A
Glimpse of Cuba
Juan Doe. Digital
Freedom, December 14, 2003.
These vignettes are a glimpse of my
experiences and the people met while visiting
Cuba to see relatives this past year. All
of the names have been changed to protect
these contacts. Cubans shared their thoughts
and stories at the personal risk of harassment,
detention and even years in prison. I feel
obligated to share what they told me with
friends and perhaps the press as well.
Ay Cuba! Finally, after years of curiosity,
Havana came into sight under my plane's
window. Cuba is the largest island in the
Greater Antilles, a long extended claw that
is home to Fidel Castro as well as about
11 million other Cubans. At 21-23 degrees
north, Cuba lies on the same latitudes as
Algeria, Egypt, India, Mauritania, Oman,
Vietnam and Hawaii. My stated purpose-necessary
for the US to grant me a general license
to travel to Cuba--was to visit my mother's
cousin whom no one from the Cuban side of
my family had seen since the beginning of
the Revolution (1959). But what I really
wanted was to explore the land of Rum, Rumba
and Revolution for the next three weeks.
While in Cuba, I would come to fall in
love with the graciousness and humor of
its people, the beauty of its land and climate
and the charm of its architecture. But I
would leave grieving over the poverty in
the country, the grinding oppression, the
lack of any semblance of human and civil
rights, and the pervasive fear by Cubans
of their own government. Though many Cubans
would greet me with a smile, their disaffection
and dwindling faith in the Revolution shocked
me. I learned that the Revolution was for
sale.
Ever since my father died five years ago,
I have had a passion to learn more about
my family's roots. My father, an American,
met my mother in Havana while on a business
trip. It was love at first sight. They wed
in 1954, years before the takeover by Castro
in 1959. All but two of my mother's relatives
left Cuba by 1960 after their businesses
and freedoms had been confiscated. My mother
neither spoke of Cuba nor of her relatives
still there. She even declined to visit
her former friends from Havana who had settled
in Miami. Not being a sentimental woman,
she refused to reminisce about the past,
especially a tragic past. She felt that
Castro had laid waste to Cuba. She had moved
on with her life.
I had pestered her with questions about
her childhood. What she remembered most
were the parties in Havana. She came of
age in the early 1950's-the belle epoch-of
Havana. My father used to joke that that
is why the Revolution occurred-the rich
were oblivious to the problems in the country.
My Mom partied while the sugar cane burned.
I also begged my Cuban Aunts and Uncles
for their remembrances of Cuba. Though I
forget the details of their stories, I remembered
their loathing of Fidel Castro's lies and
oppression, their sadness over losing their
country and how they didn't think my traveling
to Cuba was such a bright idea. They worried
that Castro's thugs would hurl me into one
of his island Gulags for some imaginary
offense. One friend thought that my incessant
curiosity would cause me to ask impertinent
questions resulting in a stay behind bars.
Later I would learn that tourists were almost
a special, protected class. As one Cuban
told me, "We have less rights than
a dog while foreigners are treated like
royalty."
For my first night in Havana I chose to
stay in an upscale hotel. The prices were
as expensive as a hotel in the Cayman Islands
or Bermuda, but the services and food were
miserable. Maybe the only reason Fidel was
letting me onto his island was so my dollars
could help bail out his plunging economy.
That evening I couldn't help but notice
the dozens of hermetically sealed tourist
buses waiting outside to take the package
tourists to their next destination. State
security agents in their black pants, white
Guayabera shirts and walkie-talkies were
everywhere. My hotel was safe from being
stormed by hungry Cubans. Or perhaps the
guards were necessary to protect some government
dignitary. Anyway, I felt oppressed.
Most Cuban tours are highly structured
and controlled by the government which doesn't
want to reveal too much of the Cuban reality.
Most tourists come to the island on two-week
packages. Few have direct contact with Cubans
outside the tourist centers, much to the
satisfaction of the Communist government.
To Castro, tourism is a necessary evil and
tourists are no more than dollar signs.
"It's out of necessity," he would
say apologetically. "Tourism is a sacrifice
we must make. There is no choice."
Besides, if tourists can be herded from
government owned hotels to tourist resorts,
less dollars slip out of its control and
onto the black market or other non-governmental
entities like casa particulars (small bed
& breakfast homes) or paladares (private
restaurants). This is why upon arrival,
custom agents often require bookings for
three nights at a hotel by tourists entering
the country.
I asked a young Cuban outside the hotel
who was waiting to guide tourists why he
was not allowed into a hotel in his own
country. He replied, "There are places
Cubans are not allowed to go. They (the
government) don't want Cuban people to mix
with foreigners, they don't want us to trouble
you, to steal from you, or tell you the
problems of our lives. We are all humiliated."
"It must be difficult," I said.
"No, it is inconceivable," he
said.
After a night in a Cuban hotel, an experience
I vowed never to repeat, I wanted to look
up my relatives. I had obtained the address
from my Aunt Tona, who told me the house
had been in the family for generations.
October is still a hot month in Havana.
The sun blistered and my shirt became soaked
from walking the 12 blocks from the hotel
to my cousin's house. When I stood in front
of the door, I thought it might be condemned
or abandoned. The house number was painted
with whitewash in large scrawling letters
by the door, the shutters were closed and
the floorboards on the porch were cracked.
The wooden doors seemed to be from the time
of the Spanish Conquistadors. I went over
to the next house to ask a neighbor if my
cousin still lived there. "Si, claro,
si" (yes, of course) came the reply.
I then knocked on the door. Immediately
two barking dogs lunged against it. A commotion
ensued, as the dogs were dragged back and
a slat in the door opened. "Who is
there?" a voice called out. ""It
is a relative of Garcia's from New York,
Juan," I replied. The door opened and
I stepped into a large foyer with high 14-foot
ceilings. The home is a row house with two
stories and windows facing the Malecon and
the sea. It has an open-air interior garden
at the center of the house. A row house
indicated that my family had been rich enough
to have a two-story house on a block with
two to four story buildings throughout the
neighborhood.
My second cousin, Garcia, certainly looked
like one of my Grandfather's nephews. He
was tall, rail thin with white hair and
a quiet English air about him. I had brought
a photo album including a family tree with
pictures of all my Cuban relatives. I pointed
out that my mother, Elena, had been named
after his mother, the sister of my Grandfather.
We embraced, and he introduced me to his
two daughters, three grandchildren, a daughter-in-law,
and the mother of his deceased wife. Typical
of many Cuban families, three generations
were living under one roof. His grandson
and daughter-in-law were living there since
they could neither find nor afford other
housing.
I was led through the house where my mother,
aunt and uncle had grown up. It was where
my Grandparents had raised their family
and lived most of their lives. Most of the
house now seemed in disrepair and decay.
The walls had crumbling plaster, almost
all paint had peeled away from doors, window
frames and floors, and the shutters were
cracked and missing slats. Forty years of
salty air, sun and rainstorms had beaten
the house into crumbling submission. My
cousin could read my mind because he said
that it had been difficult to maintain the
house with the lack of paint, wood and other
materials due to rationing and the economy.
Though I thought the house was in similar
condition to a deteriorating tenement, I
would learn later that my family lived better
than most Havana residents.
My mood was darkening. Any hope of bringing
my mother back to Cuba was gone. She would
be aghast to see her family home. And, thank
the Lord, my Grandfather couldn't see it
either. Finally, Fredrico took me to where
a pig was housed -- kept for food. The pig's
vocal cords had been cut, since a squealing
pig would alert neighbors to an illegal
possession. The government prohibits livestock
in Havana homes.
I sat with my cousin asking questions in
my broken Spanish. Was he happy living in
Cuba? What was most difficult about the
current situation? What had the Revolution
achieved? Garcia, 78, had lived all his
life in Cuba working as a civil engineer.
He was now retired, supplementing his $8
a month pension with a small business of
selling ice water to vendors at the market
behind his house. He was a cuenta propista,
a small entrepreneur. Yes, he was happy
because Cuba is peaceful with little crime.
All children can go to school and, when
they graduate, find work. He told me Castro
fought for the liberty and sovereignty of
Cuba after years of domination by the Spanish
and the Americans. Castro had followed in
the footsteps of Jose Marti. Yes, the economy
was weak, but the embargo was the main reason.
Cuba couldn't buy needed supplies from the
U.S. I was taken aback by my cousin's answers,
but I wasn't going to probe any further.
I accepted his beliefs at face value, but
I promised myself to ask the same of other
Cubans. I would revisit him after my travels
through Cuba.
Then I walked over to the Malecon and sat
with my back to the sea and Miami, 90 miles
away. My emotions were conflicted. My cousin
sat in a crumbling house with no new paint
or plaster available to improve conditions,
he had a pittance of a pension, and his
house was jammed with relatives and even
livestock, yet he was happy. Why? I would
try to find out through my travels. Well,
if he was content, who am I to judge, I
thought.
My thoughts turned to Papa and Mama, my
grandparents, and to my uncle and aunts
who fled from Cuba during the Revolution.
Did they have to leave in the middle of
the night with police at their door? Did
they think they would return? After spending
70 years of his life raising his family,
building a business, working honestly, what
was my Grandfather feeling and thinking
as he packed his small suitcase while being
exiled from his own country? His freedoms
had been denied, his property stolen in
the name of the State and his business confiscated.
Was he fearful for his life? I couldn't
imagine how painful it must have been leaving
for the airport and closing the door behind
him-the same door I had entered ten minutes
ago.
Ernesto Che had scribbled a warning in
his notebook that revolution is impersonal,
that it consumes the innocent and guilty
together, and then manipulates the memory
of the dead as an instrument of control.
Perhaps my Grandfather and his family and
millions more were "consumed"
by the revolution, but for what purpose
and at what price? Did the Cuban Revolution
"liberate" Cuba from foreign domination
or did the Cuban people just trade one dictator,
Batista, for another, Castro? It was time
to go ask the Cuban people.
It's another hot, steamy night in Centro
Habana as I am met on the street corner
by Carlos, a jinitero or hustler, who asks
me, "Quieres una chica, cigar o run?"
I politely decline his offer of a woman,
cigar or rum, but we hang out and talk.
So what is life like in Castro's Cuba, I
ask? Glancing left and right, he says, "Sin
Libertad" (without freedom). Next to
us, four of his neighborhood buddies are
playing dominoes for a bottle of rum while
across the street several young men and
women gyrate to disco music booming from
a cassette player. I feel like it's a block
party.
"What do you mean?" I ask. "All
is illegal here," he answers, "The
government can't provide for the people,
so we must break the law to survive. There
is a huge conflict between reality and rhetoric
here, between what Castro says to the wider
world and what he actually permits inside
the country. Castro is an aging megalomaniac
who doesn't know his time is past,"
he said.
Carlos, 33, is a Havana University Physics
professor who moonlights hustling tourists
or, more appropriately, procuring services
for them. He can make potentially more money
in one night through earning dollars than
being paid in Cuban pesos for one month's
teaching. Cubans joke that, "We're
paid in pesos, but life is lived in dollars."
Cubans face a daily struggle to supplement
their ration cards and meager peso salaries.
To survive they must break the law and operate
in the black market; they face the abyss
of starvation on one side and imprisonment
on the other.
Carlos continued to speak in a low voice.
He did not want our neighbors to hear, "The
government doesn't provide adequate rations
of rice, yet it is illegal to buy rice on
the black market. This is the contradictory
chasm that disgusts us. Castro profits on
the dollars, yet punishes those who try
to earn dollars outside the system. The
average Cuban is paid 220 pesos ($8.00)
per month, which is impossible to live on,
so the rest of the time is spent in line
trying to obtain rationed items where they
can be found-on the black market. Some say
it is the way the government prevents Cubans
from organizing. We are all too exhausted
from standing in line or going hungry to
protest. To get by we pretend to go along.
We wear a mask and say that all is fine.
But people are tired of living a lie."
I was lucky to have found an articulate
observer, so I asked, "So what happened
to the Revolution?" Carlos smirked
and said, "It was hijacked by one person
and turned into a tool for personal power.
Castro's vision has turned it into a nightmare
for 11 million people. The original social
contract between the State and people exchanged
free education, healthcare and security
for allegiance to the Party/State/Revolution.
It worked at first because of the support
of the eastern block and the redistribution
of accumulated wealth from before the Revolution.
"Then," he continued, "After
1990, during Castro's "Special Period"
when the government here couldn't deliver,
things changed. There have been developments
in the last decade such as an increase in
tourism and small businesses and the liberation
of the dollar. But these things weakened
the original social contract. If the people
could provide for themselves, what happened
to their absolute allegiance and dependence
on the State? Now, of course, it is too
late to roll back the socialist system,
but Castro is trying, in small ways, to
do just that while constantly pointing to
the failings of capitalism in the outside
world. As a result, people are confused,
disillusioned and very frustrated, especially
the young. Any protests to voice opinions
are met with
" Carlos moved his
finger across his throat like a knife cutting
flesh.
"What happens if someone is brave
or foolish enough to speak out?" I
interjected. Carlos answered, "The
huge police and military presence is meant
as a deterrent to crime and as a reminder
of State power. And if you push against
all that? Well, the first response is to
ignore you, to isolate and make you seem
irrelevant, powerless. The State has almost
a total monopoly on jobs, of course, which
is a powerful weapon, and then there are
the CDRs, Comites para Defensa La Revolucion
(similar to a neighborhood watch), which
make about 90% of us collaborators in the
repression and control of dissidents. The
second response would be to crush you. Our
jails are full of political prisoners."
"Then who does support Castro and
the "Revolution?" I asked. Carlos
replied, "Cuba is split three ways.
There is the sixty-plus generation who remember
the years before Castro, who probably fought
in the war and who retain some of the youthful
ideals. To them, Castro is still a hero.
But this group is dying off or becoming
undone by all the sacrifices. Then there
is the lost generation, people of my age,
who, being on the periphery, suffered the
most and perhaps understood the least, having
neither the ideals nor the advantages. Then
there are the under-thirties who have never
known anything else, who are bewildered
and blankly angry because none of the propaganda
about the revolution had any personal relevance."
"What about the praises for free education
and health care?" I pleaded. Carlos
sighed, "You can give people education
of course, but what is it worth if you don't
allow freedom of thought or action? An educated
person here can't think independently. Even
obtaining books from outside Cuba is difficult.
No one here really knows what the outside
world is like. We have "Granma,"
the State published newspaper, which we
use for toilet paper."
During my stay in Cuba I had read Granma,
the Communist party newspaper. It would
be a stretch to call it a newspaper, for
it is free of any news. Articles are monologues
by party officials fleshing out truisms,
such as "The quality of education is
important for our society."
Carlos continued, "The young question
the value of an education. They say, 'Why
study to become a slave of the State and
earn $8.00 a month when by trading cigars
on the black market, I can make five times
that?' Also, education is not completely
free. Parents have to buy books, paper and
pencils for their children. The schools
have nothing."
"And free healthcare?" I asked,
"Yes," Carlos agreed, "Healthcare
is free, but the reality is different depending
if you have dollars to buy medicine. I have
heard that even doctors have not been able
to help their own mothers obtain needed
care since they lacked dollars for medicines.
The excuse is the American blockade, but,
of course, anyone knows Cuba could buy cheaper
medicines from Mexico. So, where is the
medicine? We are broke or Castro steals
the money, I don't know, but I suspect.
Propaganda tells us that we are building
a biotechnology industry, that we are building
more and more hotels for the tourists, yet
we Cubans can't even buy an aspirin. A disgrace!"
(Cubans with dollars usually asked me to
purchase medicine for them since they could
not enter international pharmacies. These
medicines were first reserved for the Communist
Party Elite and foreign tourists.)
"Why do people accept such frustrations?"
I asked. Carlos answered, "Many Cubans
outside the country, particularly in Florida,
who feel sentimental about their homeland,
send large sums of money to their families.
It is a paradox, but our government is supported
by its enemies in Miami. The money (the
biggest source, one-fifth, of foreign exchange)
contains what would otherwise be a very
difficult situation. Then there are four
classes of people in Cuba. The majority
consists of the lowest class, the comemierdas,
the "shit-eaters," the people
who work for around 250 pesos or roughly
$10 dollars per month. Then there are the
people who work at the bottom of the tourist
market. They have some problems, pay expensive
licenses, get into trouble over nothing,
get shut down. But mostly they survive.
Then there are the top people who work for
the government, maybe in tourism or other
businesses. These people travel abroad,
they have holidays in Varadero, they are
very comfortable. The top of the heap is
the army
.the chupadores, the "
the exploiters who own everything and have
everything in their control. Finally, Castro
exiles many of the troublemakers, so you
have the more passive people left who are
just waiting and surviving."
"Carlos, I read that for Castro the
revolution seems bent on creating financial
and living equality for Cuba's 11 million
people. To Castro, the ideology suffers
when the elements of a free market appear.
These are the seeds of capitalism and if
allowed to grow, mass corruption will follow
and things will return to their pre-1959
state overnight," I prodded. Carlos
sarcastically replied, "The alienation
between the government and the people stems
from this attitude because Castro doesn't
trust the Cuban people to care for and maintain
the "Revolution's" integrity.
It's a "People's Revolution" that
the people have no say or part in."
I thanked Carlos for his insights and he
offered to take me to visit his family the
following night. He then invited me to accompany
him to a Cuban disco. I was depressed at
what I had heard, but whenever my gloom
crept in, cheerfulness in Cuba always seemed
to erupt. The situation was sad, even desperate,
but Cubans levy most things with jokes:
"Cuba has all the ingredients for a
paradise, but Castro doesn't know how to
cook." Eager to experience the music
and dance of Cuba, I set off with Carlos.
We enter a Casa de Trova (a music house)
where the walls pulse with Rhumba. The crowd
dances side by side or in tight pairs, putting
on a spontaneous, erotic display. Women
swivel their hips in a maneuver appropriately
referred to as la batidora (the blender)
or do el tembleque (the shake), punching
the air and rippling their torsos as if
they have just received electroshock. I
stand with mouth agape and stare.
Cuban women are striking. Tan muy Linda!
(So very beautiful!) Centuries of mingling
Spanish, indigenous, and African blood have
created skin colors that range from creamy
white to dark chocolate. Noses are aquiline;
cheekbones are well-defined. Eyes are almond-shaped
and framed with long, black lashes. Cuban
men worship las nalgas cubanas-the Cuban
Ass. Excess flesh is no sin. They celebrate
it in all of its glory. I noticed that Cubanas
sway, they don't walk. To my right is a
large Mulatta gyrating her ample endowments
in a glistening, sweaty fury. She has swaddled
her galactic ass in pink spandex and stuffed
her papaya-shaped breasts into polka dot
halter-tops. A bouffant of Afro-mermaid
hair spills across her body. Now I know
that sensuality is a state of mind, not
body.
In Communist Cuba, I found shortages of
everything except ironies. The Bay of Pigs
is a beach resort now. The Isle of Youth,
long the most famous Alcatraz of the Caribbean,
now entices visitors with its International
Scuba Center. Havana has the ramshackle
glamour of an abandoned stage set. That
sense of wistfulness, of a life arrested
in mid-breath, is everywhere in Cuba: the
boarded up stores, Hemingway's house left
exactly as he had left it, the unread "Field
and Sports Illustrated" scattered across
the bed. The buildings all around, unpainted
and unrepaired, speak of departed hopes.
I often thought, "Why ask the time
when time has stopped here?" But I
knew there were changes, conditions in Cuba
that were causing people to question themselves,
their government and their faith.
I was going to meet Carlos' family. I strolled
from the decaying mansions of Vedado towards
the teeming tenements of Centro Havana.
Havana has a fascinating mix of architecture,
which includes churches from the 16th century
to the art deco of the 1950's. I wish I
could spend three months photographing the
buildings of this city.
As I dodge a rickshaw, I hear a tremendous
rumble, like an avalanche or landslide.
Derrumbe! Derrumbe! I hear people scream.
Where a four-story building used to stand
is now a heap of cinders, splintered wood
and dust. A crowd is rapidly gathering.
"Oh no," I think, "Could
it be?" Through the haze of dust, I
glimpse what could be a hand sticking up
through the rubble. I am snapping pictures
when a policeman yells, "Prohibido!
Prohibido!" The policeman knows that
it is against the law to take photos of
these catastrophes. Castro doesn't want
the foreign press to make negative propaganda
of Cuba's collapsing buildings. Or is it
because Castro can't see the irony symbolized
in his crumbling "Revolution"?
I duck into the crowd, ashamed at my voyeurism.
"Why didn't I jump in and heave the
bricks off of that poor soul?" I pondered.
My eyes sting from the dust, but I notice
former occupants of the building huddled
to my left holding each other, crying, wondering
who of their family, friends and neighbors
had been killed.
These people had next to nothing and had
now lost the rest of their possessions to
the elements of erosion, time, lack of maintenance,
rain and the salty, corrosive sea air. I
asked a man at the edge of the crowd what
would happen to the families. He replied,
"When the buildings collapse, the families
are moved to the suburbs in Guanabacoa and
Habana del Este. They will be promised a
new home, but that will never happen, perhaps
in ten years. Now when they go to work,
they must pay a peso to park their bicycles
and cars at the empty lot where their homes
used to be. Havana is becoming one big parqueo
(parking lot)."
The government's own study estimates that
nearly 25% of the buildings housing the
2.2 million Havana residents, or more than
20% of Cuba's population, are in poor condition.
If a minor earthquake ever shakes Havana,
many of the city's buildings would be leveled
within seconds. Foreign investment is helping
to restore a few of the oldest buildings
at the center of tourist areas, but this
is only a tiny portion. Havana would need
billions of new investment to restore itself
to its pre-revolutionary glory.
Shaken by my experience, I hurried towards
my meeting with Carlos' family. Cecilia
met me at the door. She was 65, the mother
of Carlos, and behind her were her sister,
Juanita, her nephew, Juan and her aunt,
Marsala. Carlos was not there, because the
police had arrested him. No one knew what
for.
I was there to learn what the older generations
thought of Cuba and the Revolution. Cecilia,
a light colored mulatto, had come of age
when the Revolution began in 1959; she had
lived most of her adult life during Castro's
reign. She graduated from Havana University
and became an Economics Professor until
she quit to sell coffee and rent out a room
in her apartment.
"La vida esta un poco deficil, verdad?"
(Life is a bit difficult?) I ventured. "La
Lucha" (the struggle), she said. "The
people are tired. The embargo is used as
an excuse, but that is an excuse for everything.
We have been made to feel that we are at
war for forty years and we are tired. What
kind of war continues for forty years? You,
foreigners, can never really know what it
is like since you are always free to leave,
to return to your own country. Cubans have
no other country. This is home."
"Why is Fidel always mentioned and
no one else?" I ask. Cecila responds,
"Fidel has an iron lock on control
as President of the Republic of Cuba, the
first secretary of the 's Central Committee,
chairman of the Council of Ministers, and
the commander-in-chief of the Cuban Armed
Forces. That is why he is called "El
Lider Maximo" (the maximum leader).
His only threat is the wavering faith of
the people. Castro has turned Cuba into
a Fidelista state, one where Marxist-Leninism
has been loosely grafted onto Cuban nationalism,
then used as an instrument of control by
one man. Fidel once promised free elections
as a stalling tactic while he consolidated
his power. He will lie, betray, and kill
to remain in power. His megalomania and
obduracy in following a failed system is
leading us to ruin. Whether every Cuban
starves, every monument crumbles doesn't
concern him. He is totally out of touch
with the Cuban reality."
"How?" I asked. Cecila answers,
"By refusing to allow the free expressions
of Cubans to create, trade, buy and sell
with one another and with foreigners, he
hinders Cubans from empowering and sustaining
themselves. Castro's Revolution is bankrupt
because he refuses to cede power to his
own people. In trying to control everything,
he has ended up disenfranchising his support.
"His failed experiments have devastated
the economy. For example, when la zafra--the
sugar harvest-- failed, the people lost
faith in Castro's ability to run the economy.
Now the State is closing many Centrales,
(Sugar Refineries) due to the high cost
of inefficient production caused by lack
of capital investment leaving many unemployed
in the countryside. Rural poverty throughout
Cuba is increasing because sugar is on the
decline and without dollar commodity crops
to replace it, the campesinos (farmers)
have no alternatives for making a living.
And ironically those poor, unemployed workers
are prevented by law from moving to where
they could get work.
"Isn't Castro liberating the economy
slightly by allowing some private businesses?"
I asked. Cecila laughed, "Oh, you mean
capitalism frio, or cold capitalism. That
has been a result of a battle between reformers
and hardliners in Castro's ruling class."
"Ruling Class?" I interrupt. Cecila
continued, "Yes, Castro has built a
privileged ruling class based on top government
officials, the security apparatus and the
military. Who do you think rides around
Havana in black Mercedes? Obviously, with
Cuba having two unequal currencies, the
peso and the dollar, there will be huge
differences between those who have dollars
and those who don't.
"Reformers think that Cuba will become
so poor that there will be little left to
steal so they have pushed for some openings
in the economy. Before 1993, Cubans caught
with even one dollar were sentenced to four
years in prison while now dollars keep Cuba
afloat. But if the people are too successful
like the farmer's markets in the early 1980's,
Castro stamps them out. Currently, private
businesses like casa particulars (Bed &
Breakfast lodging) or private restaurants
face ruinously high taxation and cumbersome
licensing regulations to protect inefficient
State hotels. (Casa particular owners told
me that they had to pay their taxes $200
to $300 per month up front to the government
whether they earned revenues or not). Advertising
is restricted so we as business owners have
to pay middlemen like Jiniteros to find
customers while the government tries to
arrest them. We suffer the indignity of
contradictions upon contradictions."
Cecila continued, "The government
wants you out of business so you can work
for them at 200 pesos a month. When I worked
at the university I saw that the harder
I worked, every year, I am in the same place.
Why should I be a slave for the government?
So, I quit and began in the black market.
This is the Cuban black market reality.
It is a web and the entire population operates
in it. It is a matter of survival. In Cuba,
everything is illegal. Everybody is committing
a crime to survive. Not all the laws are
enforced, but when the State wishes to,
it only has to find out which crime is being
committed. For example, without paying absurdly
high license fees, any making of dollars
is considered "illegal enrichment."
Farmers can't sell excess milk to poor neighbors.
Selling privately is against the law and
butchering a steer will lead to 7 years
in prison for "illegal slaughter."
The real crime is competing against the
State. All dollars belong to Castro's elite;
nobody is allowed to make any money here.
They want every dollar for themselves."
I mentioned that I had met a man who was
serving 12 months for selling lobster on
the black market. It was another case of
a Cuban being punished for interfering with
the State's monopoly.
"Yeah," Cecelia's nephew piped
up, "Here you can be arrested for anything.
Or nothing."
"Well then, why doesn't Fidel confiscate
everything and have everyone work for the
State?" I countered. Cecila replied,
"Castro already tried that in 1970
with government controlled taxis. Then the
transportation system collapsed. Think about
it. As a driver, whenever there was a mechanical
breakdown or flat tire, why fix it? The
drivers left it to the government mechanics
while they sat home to collect 200 pesos
a month. Every taxi was in the shop.
"Don't think of Cuba in terms of capitalism,
socialism, or communism. Those are just
words. Cuba is the perfect laboratory to
observe the destruction of wealth and lives--a
country--because people lack freedom to
think, speak, and create for themselves.
Nor can we exchange our goods and services
with each other or foreigners. Cuba suffers
under the rule of an aging tyrant, bereft
of any consideration over the agonies of
his long-suffering people. If only we had
a rule of law and human and civil rights."
"At least you have the libreta,"
I offered. The libreta, a ration card for
food and basics, was created in 1962 to
provide a safety net for the population.
These ration cards typically had enough
food to last a family of four about 7 to
10 days. Meat, fish and vegetables were
not included on the libretas, so Cubans
had to find other sources of food.
Cecila shot me a withering glare. Now the
words came tumbling out of her, "But
we don't want to be given anything. We only
wish to be free to find for ourselves what
we need. We want freedom and independence
to make our own lives. We are sick of being
treated like children who don't know what
is best for ourselves. You can't imagine
a life without freedom!"
Juan joins in, "Have you ever seen
Castro clutching his libreta while waiting
4 hours in line for a bowl of watered down
soup? Where's Fidel?"
Juanita turned to her sister, "Please
-- the neighbors might hear us." "I
don't care. What difference if I am in prison
or not. We are all waiting, waiting for
something to change, for Fidel to die. We
are living lost lives," Cecila yelled.
I braced for storm troopers. Surely by
now the neighborhood watch, the CDR or Comites
para Defensa La Revolucion, had filed their
report. In 1991, Rapid Response Detachments
were formed under the Ministry of the Interior
to deal with public expressions of dissent.
These brigades were there to beat square
pegs into round holes. These pogroms were
camouflaged under the guise of spontaneous
reaction of outraged Cubans. Would I be
dragged into a waiting van and then to interrogation?
Or would I be flung into prison with not
even a show trial to present a vague charge
of "dangerousness" against me.
Would I be able to appeal?
"Are there many political prisoners
in jail? What happens if you are accused
of a crime?" I asked. My nervousness
had me glancing for exits.
"Courts are not independent. There
is no concept of individual rights or due
process. The private practice of the law
is not permitted, and the accused can't
choose their own defense. In Cuba, the judge
reads you your sentence and punishment and
then the court presents the evidence!"
said Cecila. My research concurred that
according to Article 121 of the Cuban Constitution
the judiciary is charged with "maintaining
and strengthening socialist legality, not
protecting individual rights." There
goes my defense, I thought.
(Four Cubans told me of their friends who
had been jailed and tortured for various
offenses such as "disrespect, dangerousness,
and unjust enrichment.")
"Why are there so many jiniteras (prostitutes)
in Havana," I wondered out loud.
Juanita exclaimed, "Havana is one
big garbage can. Jiniteras are a national
disgrace (Spanish for "jockeys"
or Cuban for prostitutes), but Castro is
turning the island into a brothel. Women
are selling what foreigners want-- their
bodies. The women are desperate for money
to buy things that they need like underwear,
cosmetics, and shoes, and for that they
need dollars. The government knows this.
The police exploit and beat up the girls.
They arrest girls who won't give them money
and sex. Yes, Cuban women enjoy sex, but
women with the freedom to choose wouldn't
risk disease, injury or arrest to sleep
with drunk, fat, middle-aged tourists flocking
to the island. There are girls under 12
years of age selling themselves. These girls
are trying to survive. This crazy system
is impoverishing the country. Castro and
his henchmen are driving the people to desperation."
(Later, an English tourist boasted to me
that Cuba had the world's cheapest prostitutes.
The women that I saw on the street ranged
from professionals to a college professor
moonlighting for a date. I asked one jinitera
why foreigners were more interesting to
her than Cuban men. "Cuban men are
boring," she said. "Why?"
I probed. "They don't have money; you
do," she leered. The attraction wasn't
my scraggly-toothed smile, but the dollars
in my pocket. I was a walking dollar sign.
When I entered a Havana disco, I saw dozens
of beautiful women looking to pounce. To
my left two mulattas squirmed in the laps
of two pasty white Germans, one of which
looked like he needed a C-section to relieve
his bursting gut, while to my right several
cologne drenched Italians attempted to keep
up with their "dates" on the dance
floor. For the women there, their goal was
to extract presents, dinner and perhaps
even develop a husband to get them off the
island. Economic necessity--not love--seemed
to be the driving force behind the trysts.
(During a foray down to the docks of Havana,
I met three young girls who were trolling
for tourists. I traded a glance at one of
the girl's ID cards for a coke. She was
11 years old. For a country that prides
itself on protecting and educating its children,
child prostitution indicated a new low for
the "Revolution.")
I asked Cecila, "Why doesn't Fidel
know what is going on? After all, he stamped
out prostitution during the beginning of
the Revolution." Cecila threw down
two clippings from a 1992 Castro speech
about Prostitution. The quotes read, 'There
are no women forced to sell themselves to
a man, to a foreigner, to a tourist. Those
who do so, do it on their own, voluntarily,
without any need for it. We can say that
they are highly educated hookers and quite
healthy, because we are a country with the
lowest number of AIDs cases...Therefore,
there is truly no tourism healthier than
Cuba's
Women become jiniteras because
they like sex.'- Fidel Castro's 1992 speech
to the National Assembly.
(Leave it to Castro to turn any social
disaster into propaganda for his sick Revolution,
I thought. Castro was either deeply cynical
or completely delusional).
I was near the end of my rope. Every question
brought a further pummeling of the Revolution.
I turned towards Aunt Marsala to ask, "What
was life before the Revolution?" Marsala
said, "We had little money but there
was always plenty of cheap food. Socially
it was chaos: Mafia and corruption everywhere.
Batista was a butcher. The whole country
wanted him out. There was no honesty in
the government or in the country; no law.
If you did something wrong and you were
rich, you bought yourself out of the problem,
even if it was murder. Now it is much better
in that respect, but not in any other."
"Those that fought to overthrow Batista
and who wanted democracy were betrayed early.
Those people have all been exiled, jailed
or killed. Those that stayed and believed
in the Revolution are paying the price now.
We are starving on this island prison. We
live a lie to survive. Castro has betrayed
everyone. Oh God, what will become of us?"
"One more "thing," I asked.
"Is Internet access available? "Ordinary
Cubans are denied access to the Internet.
It is just another liberty that is denied
without reason or discussion," replied
Cecila.
I gratefully thanked Carlos' family for
their hospitality and the risks taken to
share their thoughts. With only a few days
before boarding a plane back to New York,
I planned an excursion to Pinar del Rio,
the finest tobacco-growing region in the
world.
The warm sea air blew against my face as
I held a cold beer and listened to thumping
salsa music while driving west along the
coastal road. Three giggling Cubanas, nurses
picked up hitchhiking, sat in the back of
my rented Fiat mocking my singing in broken
Spanish while palm trees breezed by. The
tropical colors of the blue sea, the green
forests and white beaches were spectacular.
"Could this be paradise?" I wondered.
But my conversations with Cubans about the
reality of their lives kept interrupting
my thoughts.
Along the highway, there were Cubans of
all ages sitting or standing under bridges
and walking along the road hoping to catch
a ride to their destination. Despite the
long distances between major towns, public
transport was next to nil. Some old women
held children under the broiling sun while
hundreds of Cubans lined the highway. Since
Cubans were prohibited from buying cars
without a special license and the government
was not providing more bus service, Cubans
had to walk, pedal bikes or hitch rides
from tourists or State vehicles-again, more
contradictions upon contradictions. The
lack of transport caused economic chaos.
Crops were left to rot in fields, workers
couldn't reach jobs, and supplies couldn't
find markets. My car was always packed with
Cubans of all ages.
I drove by numerous abandoned sugar refineries
and commercial trucks were scarce. Cuba
seemed on the verge of bankruptcy. Only
a paranoid would bother to look both ways
before crossing the highway since there
were few, if any, cars on the road. Back
in the States, I had read that Cuba was
billions of dollars in debt to Russia and
other trading partners. Cuba has reneged
on paying for goods from Canadian, Italian
and Spanish companies in order to cough
up the cash needed to buy American grain
and chicken. Castro knows that food riots
in the streets of Havana and Santiago de
Cuba would topple tourism and dent his propaganda
machine.
During my travels, I spoke with farmers,
college professors, students, policemen,
military, clerks, doctors, and housewives.
Everyone complained about the economy. "If
only there were jobs that paid more money;
if only life were not so hard," they
said. Though many did not know the cause
of such an economic mess, they wanted more
freedoms and less interference from government.
But, likewise, few seemed to desire an abandonment
of free healthcare or schooling.
Driving towards Pinar del Rio, I gave two
black soldiers a lift. I wondered why Castro,
who had ordered the end of racism early
in his revolution, had top leadership as
white as the Ku Klux Klan. These two men
said that blacks were hassled much more
by the police than whites. While I often
saw police ask darker skinned Cubans for
their identification papers, I did not witness
tension between races.
While in the town of Vinales, I met a man
who took me to a house formally lived in
by a political prisoner. I took a picture
of the prisoner's house because he had written
with black letters on the outside wall about
his ordeal. He had suffered electroshock
torture in a psychiatric hospital for telling
the truth about Cuba. "Cuba is ruled
by fascists, Castro and Che," he had
scrawled. When I asked neighbors where I
might find this man, they said the police
had taken him to the hospital for more "therapy."
This was one Cuban who objected to being
part of Cuba's "free" health care
system.
I encountered the first cases of malnutrition
when I helped a young Cuban woman carry
her sick child back to her village outside
Jaguey Grande, a center for citrus growing.
Three black children had the orange tinged
hair of malnourishment. Their mother said
that the family ate mostly rice and beans
without fruit, vegetables and meat. Their
shacks lacked running water, electricity
or sewage systems. Her husband was unemployed
and had left months ago in search of work.
Life was grim; not even the crumbs of the
revolution were reaching this village. Perhaps
this was what Cecila was talking about when
she mentioned rural poverty. Bleached, blubbery
Europeans on their package tours would never
cross paths with these children.
On my drive back to Havana, I couldn't
resist stopping to photograph faded, torn
and broken billboards proclaiming propaganda
such as "Socialismo o Muerte!"
(Socialism or Death!) or "Hasta La
Victoria Siempre" (Always onward towards
victory). One brave graffiti artist had
crossed out the o and written Socialismo
e Muerte (Socialism is Death!). The irony
was delicious. The contradictions and ironies
assaulted you every day while living in
Cuba.
Back in Havana a day before my flight home,
I revisited my cousin, Garcia. He asked
me what I thought of Cuba. I didn't have
the heart to reply that while I loved Cuba
and Cubans, I loathed the hunger of people
living on reduced rations, the lack of transport,
the collapsing buildings, Cubans held in
prison for the crime of selling an onion
to their neighbors, the huge investment
in a security apparatus designed to crush
dissent, and the total denial of property
rights, free expression, due process and
individual rights. Or that Jose Marti would
roll in his grave being associated with
Castro since Jose Marti sought democratic
rights for Cubans and national sovereignty
for Cuba, not a tyrannical despot like Castro.
I could have piled on, but I thanked him
for his hospitality and wished him well.
After three weeks of travel, I was appalled
by the deprivation Cubans battled daily.
I was amazed at their ability to resolver,
to survive through ingenuity, resourcefulness
and the help of family and friends. Cuba's
salvation lies in its people's ability to
create and be resourceful. Cubans had suffered
confiscation of their properties and freedoms
in exchange for some equality--free schools
and hospitals. But as the subsidies of the
Soviet Union evaporated and Castro's choking
regulations throttled the economy, Cuba
struggled to fund these services. Cubans
are now paying a terrible price in constantly
dwindling privileges while being ruled by
Fidel and his party elite. Cubans must break
laws to survive, thus tearing the moral
grounds of the society. They live in a tropical
gulag on a financially bankrupt island.
If power is fun, then absolute power must
be absolute fun for Castro as he manipulates
his levers of control. As a pragmatist,
Castro has loosened slightly the State's
total control of the economy to allow farmers'
markets and limited self-employment. But
when the private market economy shows more
vigor than the official, socialist economy,
he halts reforms abruptly. Any entrepreneur
caught being too successful is purged of
their goods and profits through Castro's
"unjust enrichment" law.
Yet, Castro can only distribute and consume
what has been produced. His dictatorship
discourages, reduces and disrupts production
while, by contrast, capitalism tends to
maximize production. Declining production
destroys Cuba's dwindling capital base,
which in turn reduces production further.
Cuba is in an economic death spiral, but
Castro is too arrogant to face the truth
of his failed social experiment.
Many Cubans have voted on the success of
Castro's revolution by leaving Cuba through
exile or death. More than 15% of Cubans
today live outside the island, and Cuba
ranks second in the Western Hemisphere in
suicide behind one of the Scandinavian countries.
I met young Cubans who were either waiting
for Castro to take his biological exit or
seeking a way out of Cuba. No one mentioned
a possible democratic transition, not while
Fidel still breathes. I asked, "What
happens after Fidel dies?" Some feared
a civil war while others did not know since
they have never lived under any ruler but
El Lider. The young do not see a viable
alternative as Castro ruthlessly stomps
out any opposition. Currently, confusion
and anomie has filled the vacuum left by
the collapse of the egalitarian promise.
I believe Castro has no intentions of relinquishing
his power to micromanage the lives of Cubans
and of holding free and fair elections.
As one Cuban waiter told me, "We are
all puppets on a string."
Castro's tyranny can be camouflaged in
the name of a revolution for the people,
yet Fidel is accountable to no one. Does
building schools or a limited healthcare
system justify the imprisonment, murder,
exile and torture of tens of thousands of
Cubans? Though Castro has not made it to
the big leagues of tyrants such as Hitler,
Stalin or Pol Pot-Castro is too subtle to
have skulls piling up on his beaches-Castro
has inflicted these crimes for 44 years
and outlasted 9 U.S. Presidents while sitting
90 miles from our shores. The international
press focuses more on the hardships of the
US embargo against Cuba and Castro's next
meeting with a foreign dignitary than on
the prisoners rotting in Castro's jails
or the difficult lives of ordinary Cubans.
That is wrong.
What hope is there for the future? While
I know that while neither lifting nor keeping
the embargo will remove Castro, Cuba is
changing under the surface. The older generation
such as my cousin, Garcia, who still believe,
are dying, while the young grow in disillusionment
and frustration, longing for more freedom.
Each day brings Castro closer to his end
while a political demographic time bomb
ticks away. Cuba will change, but how?
I pray for a peaceful transition.
Note: Carlos still had not been released
from jail by the time I left Cuba. Neither
his family nor I know why and where he is
being held.
(Editor's note: the name of the author
has been changed to protect the author's
ability to travel to Cuba in the future.)
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