CUBAN TRANSITIONS

Since the revolution, many changes have swiftly transformed Cuban society, through extensive programs aimed at various aspects of daily life. One of the most impressive changes is the shift in mindset that has apparently occurred regarding sexual rights and homosexual behavior. Considering that prior to the 1970s homosexuality was punishable by law in Cuba, acceptance of any deviance from heterosexuality is “revolutionary” for the island. However since then there has not only been a transformation to tolerate homosexuality, but a progressive movement toward equalizing rights and viewing the LGBT community with respect.

At our visit to the National Center for Sexual Education (CENESEX), I was impressed by discussion about the apparent emphasis placed on sexual education in schools. At the start of the meeting we watched a video in which young children discussed gender roles, women’s rights, and homosexuality in eloquent and well informed jargon – whether or not these were the words of the children themselves is unclear, but the fact that these messages are evidently at least emphasized is revealing of the priorities of CENESEX. This sort of sexual education is offered in all schools, and considering that education is required and available for all Cuban citizens, this signifies that all children are exposed to these positive messages at a young age.

One of the reasons for such progress in sexuality is the work of Mariela Castro, who serves as a strong leader for the movement. She is a forceful public image, recognized and supported by the government and the populace. While she derives legitimacy in part through her relationship to her father, she is unquestionably a qualified  and sensible leader passionate about tackling any attitudes or manifestations of homophobia.

The status of gay marriage in Cuba is up in the air at the moment, but one thing that was clear from our talk at CENESEX is that the Cuban idea of marriage is very different from our perception of marriage in the US. For one thing, the “perks” involved are less tangible – Since all Cubans should have access to healthcare, education and a home prior to getting married, the legal impetus for marriage  – some inheritance and property rights – are less pronounced. Another aspect that clashes with marriage in the United States is the different terminology used. Our questions about the status of gay marriage seemed to keep being dodged, or answered doubtfully, which initially gave many of us the impression that gay marriage was not a realistic goal. It turns out, however, that this was a miscommunication, due to the language barrier and different vocabulary that was confusing us. CENESEX was not promoting gay marriage because they are tackling the issue from a different angle. Rather than trying to attain marriage rights for gays, they are attempting to switch all marriage over to civil unions. This is to avoid the religious connotations of marriage that they feel are, in many cases, irrelevant and arbitrary.

The progressiveness of the Cuban ideology about marriage was very impressive, especially considering the swiftness of these changes. One question that remains unanswerable is how changes in policy are manifested in the attitudes and behavior of citizens, but it is extremely reassuring to see that these issues are clearly a priority.

Sources

http://www.cenesex.sld.cu/webs/cenesex.htm

Wherever we were in Cuba, the acronym “CDR” seemed to be too. It was sprayed onto sides of buildings, lampposts, and fences. Even on our rickety horse-drawn cart ride to the botanical garden outside Cienfuegos, deep in rural farmland, “CDR” made an appearance as a rock formation in front of a small run-down house. Many of us naturally began to ask: What is this CDR?

We got to experience it first-hand when we went to a local CDR meeting in Trinidad. CDR stands for “Comités de Defensa de la Revolución” or Committees for the Defense of the Revolution. Since this was a mandatory activity scheduled by ICAP (the Cuban Institute of Friendship with the Peoples), I was wary about its authenticity. I expected an official sit-down meeting during which leaders would discuss politics and feed us socialist propaganda. To my surprise, our walk through the cobblestone streets of Trinidad led us to the equivalent of an American block party. A group of about 50 Cubans of all ages was awaiting our arrival in a small outdoor space between their homes. Their doors and windows were wide open, allowing intimate moments to seep into the street, blurring the line between public life and private life. Colorful paper chains hung between rooftops and a wooden table was plump with cake and fruity drinks. After a brief welcome and introduction by the leader of the CDR, the local Cuban children took to the floor with poetry readings, traditional dances, and an exhilarating (and humorous) fashion show. Then the children began to salsa dance, gradually pulling Vassar students and professors into the crowd, until we’d become a jumbled mix of 5-year-olds, 20-year-olds, 60-year olds, males and females, awkward American dancers and talented Cuban ones, all moving to the same rhythm, getting a sense of one another’s culture and mannerisms. By the end of the evening, my original understanding of the CDR was completely different than it had been when we’d arrived. The meeting had been so informal and we had not been bombarded with political marketing. The CDR seemed to be a tool for community development, a method of fostering a sense of belonging among its members and establishing trusting relationships.

Yoél’s description of the CDR generally fit our first-hand experience: The largest non-governmental organization in Cuba, it was founded in 1960 by Fidel Castro. Every neighborhood/district has a CDR and the main goal is to create a cohesive community and work towards social change on a local level. It is completely voluntary and does not receive government funding, but millions of Cubans are members. The CDR organizes vaccinations and blood drives (they donated blood to the United States after Hurricane Katrina), and its members campaign against the arrest of the Cuban 5.

Yoél’s insistence that the CDR is completely citizen-run and apolitical made me wonder: How could the local defense of the revolution, initiated by Fidel Castro himself, be so disassociated from the communist regime? When I returned to the U.S, I did further research and discovered that there are two sides to the CDR story. The CDR was originally, and still is to a certain extent, responsible for seeking out dissidents and counterrevolutionaries. CDR leaders keep a detailed report of all neighborhood members: names, addresses, occupations, and political views. Though the government does not support the CDR financially, the CDR is a direct player in ensuring the implementation of socialism. Yoél put the CDR in an exclusively positive light, but opinions about the CDR are varied. Critical voices complicate our benevolent impression of the CDR. A 2010 article by the French news agency AFP notes that many critics and human rights groups say CDR neighborhood watch units are “a repressive tool” used to inform the government about dissident activities and “the non-compliant.” The article mentions one Cuban who was irritated by having to give up her personal information because jealousy and gossip often accompany such intimate knowledge about one’s neighbors. Was the sense of trust and familiarity I perceived in Trinidad actually muddled by a layer of suspicion and uneasiness? In a recent article about a declining excitement among Cubans to join the CDR, a writer for Havana Times argued that information-sharing turns into “a form of us watching over each other (finding out who was entering and leaving each home and who was sleeping with whom).”

None of this critical discourse undermines the genuine hospitality we experienced during our CDR meeting in Trinidad, but it highlights the importance of seeking out “the other side of the story”—particularly given our position as Americans on a specific tourist track. There are benefits and setbacks of the CDR, and maybe we will never know just how much of the truth we were exposed to during our visit. However, whether the CDR is politically repressive or not, our dance with the Cubans of Trinidad transcended politics. It was a cross-cultural dialogue that ultimately boiled down to humans enjoying the company of other humans, regardless of the political tensions that encumber our governments.

References:

http://www.google.com/hostednews/afp/article/ALeqM5gq3GU2QzFyRWT84_YNvI3mgOy7tg?docId=CNG.cd0ab416a2c7901c0abb23f392c5057d.ad1

http://www.havanatimes.org/?p=51933

Buying large ritual items at a street side Santeria shop in Havana

A fusion of African Yoruba and Spanish Catholic practices, Santeria is a spiritual tradition deeply entrenched in Cuban life. Born from early colonial slave culture, Santeria’s past has been both tumultuous- with its criminalization after the colonial period- and celebrated- in the 1980s the Cuban government declared several Santeria objects national heritage items and Santeria started became officially recognized. Today Santeria enjoys much more public acceptance. Indicators of the tradition are noticeably visible on the streets: from roadside shops selling ritual items to santeros walking the streets in all white and colorful beads. Santeria heritage and tradition seem to have even extended to the tourist consumer market. We experienced these intersections of local religion and tourism when we visited the Santeria museum in Trinidad, Casa Templo de Santería Yemayá, and observed women dressed up as fortune telling babalawos in Plaza Vieja and Plaza de la Catedral in Old Havana.

Casa Templo de Santería Yemayá, the Santeria museum we visited in Trinidad

Although Santeria still has its secrets reserved for followers only, the babalawo we spoke with at Casa Templo de Santería Yemayá told us that most Santeria traditions are practiced very publically and openly. One can see signs of Santeria practice and traditions at every turn if you know what to look for.

Once I became familiar with aspects of the religious tradition I did indeed start seeing them pop up all around me. Suddenly I noticed that the man approaching me on the street wore an entirely white outfit and his neck and wrists were laden with different colored beaded bracelets: he was a santero in the process of initiation. Additionally when we met with the rap group Hermanazos I noticed that the male rappers all wore green beaded bracelets, representative of the orisha Ogun. Therefore I anticipated their later assertion that their group was very in touch with religion and that it had a big impact on their music. To demonstrate this to the rest of the group the rappers pointed to their bracelets and showed us their longer beaded green necklaces hidden under their shirts.

During our first free afternoon in Havana I discovered a shop that sold Santeria ritual items. Although it was tiny and located in the depths of a dark building, its brightly colored street-side sign attracted buyers to its inner location. As I approached the doorway I saw that the threshold of the shop was adorned with short raffia fringe and was accompanied by a small tin amulet image of an eye, tongue and sword. Once inside the shop a friendly young man and his elderly grandmother greeted me warmly and described the uses and associated orishas of the many ritual objects. The shop featured additional threshold amulets, large and small beaded necklaces, copper crowns, orisha dolls, rocks, coconuts, wooden pedestals and many other personal and ritual implements. I was surprised that I was so welcome at this shop and that religious items were so commercially accessible to the public.

A shop selling religious items for Santeria practitioners

raffia fringe and an eye-tongue-sword amulet mark the threshold of the Santeria shop and practitioners homes

a young man and his grandmother in their family's 'religious articles' shop

Later that day I quickly realized that Havana actually has a healthy and thriving religious marketplace. Two blocks away I spotted another Santeria shop whose four windows opened directly to the street and murals of various orishas adorned their exterior wall above the sidewalk. These windows were crowded with Cubans buying various items, presumably many for the upcoming holiday for Yemeya. As I continued strolling down the local streets of Old Havana I spotted a few other doorways marked ‘articulos religios’- a Santeria vendor sign- and spotted at least a dozen other doorways that were marked by the one or both of the threshold items I had seen at the first shop- a raffia fringe or copper eye amulet.

A Santeria shop open to the street mobbed with buyers stocking up on items for the approaching Yemaya celebration

A tucked away Santeria shop in the neighborhood streets of Old Havana

Days earlier when we had been in Trinidad I had wandered into an art gallery and immediately been drawn to the artist’s two heavily adorned shrines, one to Shango and one to Yemaya. These were beautiful and very public signs of the artist’s involvement in Santeria. I smiled when we were back in Havana at the tourist bazaar and I stopped to admire a vendor’s dolls- they closely resembled the ornate orishas I had seen days before in Trinidad. It was very intriguing to see Santeria in Cuba unfolding as my eyes learned how to recognize it as a regular part of the everyday marketplace and public life on the street.

A shrine to the orisha Shango, in an artist's studio in Trinidad

A shrine to the orisha Yemaya, in an artist's studio in Trinidad

This doll sold in a souvenir stall at the Havana Tourist Bazaar represents the orisha Yemaya

References:
http://www.moon.com/blogs/cuba-costa-rica/four-places-check-out-santeria-cuba
http://www.khm.uio.no/utstillinger2/amerika/english/santeria.html

A jazz club for mainly teenagers and university students in Havana.

Believe it or not, there is a cultural transformation taking place in the hearts and minds of the Cuban people and it’s being spearheaded by the  younger generation.  Cuba still has a long way to go, as do Americans, in creating a country that is more sensitive to issues  of race, class, and gender- but there is a hopeful  presence that can be felt in Cuba either walking down the Malecon or on Obispo street that represents  the  Cubans in the mist of  change. In my opinion, it is only a matter of time before  it’s completely out with the old and in with the new. A country that prides itself on the excellence of its performing arts and completely understands the importance of expression through artistic means of representation, cannot continue to invalidate the fluidity of gender and the diversity of its people. It’s contradictory to the essence of art and  the nature of what Cuba has decided to fully integrate into its ideals and structure. However, there is hope, and it’s to no surprise  that the artists of Cuba’s younger generation have located the contradictions and are working towards a more open and tolerant Cuban identity. The Cultural center, El Menjunje, in Santa Clara that our group visited while in the area is a perfect example of the strides that young people are taking to make their country a safer space for diversity. The center started the beginning of the gay movement on the island in 1984, and since then El Menjunje has remained a space where the Queer are strongly represented and can be appreciated for the artistic contributions that they wish to share with the rest of the world. One of the  founders of the center, whose name shamefully escapes me, shared with us, ” It was not easy, but Menjunje has managed to do it. It is not a gay place, but a place where everyone is present and respected.” El Menjunje, a center where mostly young artists come to train in their specific craft and be heard, is arduously working to create a more tolerant city by integrating more young people into the cultural life. Menjunje welcomes rappers, transvestites,  and rock bands-groups that were once considered to be counterrevolutionary and who still face struggles today- with open arms. Generally, the artists don’t make a lot of money at the center, but they continue to study and perform knowing that the work that they are doing has much bigger rewards for the future.

A wall of graffiti by artists at the El Menjunje Cultural Center in Santa Clara.

Another experience that informed my thinking about an undergoing cultural transformation in Cuba was the experience that I had one night at a jazz club in the city of Havana. I attended the  jazz club with some friends on my last night in Cuba and having been to various bars and restaurants throughout the city, there was nothing about this particular venue that struck me as being different. As we pulled up to the club, there were many college age students like us waiting to be let in. This scene immediately grabbed my attention, not because I’d never seen  young people in Cuba before, but because I had never seen so many people my age at a specific club or an event like this. The salsa club down Obispo and La Casa de Musica a couple blocks away from our hotel where a lot of Cubans tend to frequent, and that a couple of us visited in our first few nights in Havana were filled mainly with much older Cubans and tourists. I immediately felt a connection to the kids who were standing outside of the jazz club with me; they could easily have been some friends that I hang out with at Vassar on a Friday or Saturday night. At first glance, I thought that it was the way that they dressed and carried themselves that brought on this connection. For the first time since I’d been in  Cuba, I saw people wearing converse sneakers, ripped jeans, and other aesthetics of the Hipster clothing fad that has taken much of the developed world by storm. However, when I walked into the club, I realized that clothing wasn’t the only thing that we had in common. I could very well have been at a Vassar Villard room party rocking out to Top 40’s or a funk band at “Jazz Night” in the Mug. All of the music was original Cuban music, performed by an awesome live band called Deja Vu, but the  style and feel of the music was definitely something that I’d experienced before and liked.  Upon my visit, I also found out that the club was very diverse in terms of sexuality; homosexuals frequented the club and are treated no differently while they are there expressing themselves with no reason or need to hide. One of our tour guides who had originally invited us to the club, brought along her gay friend to hang out with us and  talk to some of us about gay spaces in Cuba.  This jazz club is apart of the inkling of change that is taking place in Cuba right now, and I’m so happy that on my first visit I got to see what that looks like.

The lead singer of Deja Vu.

Charmed as I was by the friendliness and wit of the Cuban people, again and again I found myself fascinated with a very different sort of Cuban native: the dogs.  I’d never seen so many stray dogs on the streets before, and certainly never seen them so well behaved. The dogs would look hopefully up at you as you walked by, perhaps expecting a scrap from your bocadillo, but would rarely bark, beg, or follow.  The Cuban people seemed to be similarly at ease with the dogs, occationally reaching down to stroke a stray on the head but otherwise offering little in the way of affection.  The Cuban dogs seemed as amicable as their human counterparts, eager to make friends but hardly heartbroken if their advances were spurned.  I found myself wondering about these dogs throughout the trip: How did they find food and water? Did anyone see to their health?  Did anyone own these animals? What follows are my attempts to answer these questions.

Cubans have a long history of being dog lovers.  While one may hear the street dogs referenced as being descendants of Columbus’s own canine companions, in fact the legacy of dogs in Cuba is far older, dating back to ancient colonists from present-day Mexico and other Caribbean islands.  Today, most of the dogs one sees on the streets are the result of unions between these endemic breeds and their more “pedigreed” European counterparts.

I was surprised at how small and low-slung the feral dogs in Havana and elsewhere appeared to be; most of these dogs are mixed-breed individuals with considerable dachshund ancestry.  The dachshund (sometimes called the “wiener dog” after its sausage-like body) is one of the most popular breeds in Cuba, along with boxers, Afghan hounds, and Dalmatians.  Of Cuba’s estimated one million dogs, about half are thought to have owners.  While providing enough food for their pets is sometimes a struggle for Cubans, the deep-seeded affection they feel for their animals means that even strays usually find enough handouts to eke out an existence.  This concern for dogs may be a vestige of African Yoruba beliefs that inform much of Cuban culture.  Dogs are honored in the Yoruba tradition for their usefulness as protectors, hunters, and companions, and this respected status extends to modern Cuban dogs.  During my stay in the country, it was not uncommon to see Cubans reach down in the midst of a conversation to give a passing perrito a pat on the head.

It is perhaps this moral imperative to care for “man’s best friend” that explains how friendly and generally healthy Cuban dogs are, especially when compared to populations of strays in other countries.  It also likely leads to the development of such organizations as the Association for the Protection of Animals and Plants (ANIPLANT), founded by Nora Garcia Gonzalez in 1987 to fill the lack of readily available health services for animals in Cuba.  The primary focus of ANIPLANT is on sterilizing both stray and owned cats and dogs, with the goal of reducing the number of feral animals on the streets.  This serves to lessen the amount of animals rounded up and euthanized by Cuban authorities, and also lessen the incident of tourists to Cuba witnessing dead or malnourished animals on the street.  ANIPLANT’s services are provided on a “love offering basis,” meaning pet owners pay what they can for care, even if they cannot pay at all.

My research into the matter of Cuban dogs has shown that the warm hearts of the Cuban people extend to their animals as well as their visitors.  The long history of dog loving in Cuba lives on.  If the efforts of ANIPLANT and others prove fruitful, the dogs of Cuba can look forward to a happy and healthy future.

Sources:
http://www.folklore.ee/folklore/vol30/olusala.pdf
http://www.havana-unwrapped.com/dogs-of-havana.html
https://theaniplantproject.org/OUR_WORK.html
http://www.havanatimes.org/?p=25712
http://www.moon.com/blogs/cuba-costa-rica/dogs-are-havana-cats-are-naples

During our afternoon of free time in Havana, I took the opportunity to visit the Museo de la Revolución in Old Havana.

The museum is housed in what was formerly the official presidential palace for all Cuban presidents. Fulgencio Batista was the final occupant before the victory of the 1959 revolution. The palace is beautifully imposing; it is difficult to imagine that this was ever someone’s residence. When I visited, there was fairly intense scaffolding around the exterior of the palace, and I am still not quite sure how long of the process those renovations have been.

It cost 6 CUC to enter the museum, and another 2 CUC for the usage of cameras. At the museum’s entrance, someone in my group noticed that it was considerably cheaper for Cubans to enter, an equivalency of cents rather than dollars. I thought it was wonderful that it was so cheap for Cubans to visit this site of national pride. However, even for tourists, 6 CUC is a considerably reasonable price for entrance into such a historical place.

As we entered the museum, we were ushered to the top floor to begin the chronological journey through the progression of Cuba’s revolution. The first room gave a history of the palace’s construction, and the following rooms gave brief accounts of Cuba’s independence from Spain. The majority of the museum’s artifacts were devoted to the revolutionary fight of the 1950s, as well as the post-1959 period.

The collection of artifacts was quite interesting. They had patches of the 26^th of July Movement, army fatigues worn by guerilla soldiers, personal items of important revolutionary figures, and many more little trinkets. It was somewhat strange to see so many artifacts that belonged (belong?) to the Castro brothers, symbols of the revolution that are still alive today. I suppose this is similar to Bill Clinton’s saxophone in the Smithsonian Museum of American History, or any other such item, but said artifacts seem to be more focused on a cultural value than in building a narrative of heroism in terms of the country’s leaders.

Unlike the Che Guevara monument and museum, it was perfectly acceptable to talk and take pictures within the museum, and there was a fairly lively atmosphere within this historical space. Most of the stories were told with photographs and captions, with the artifacts adding to the narrative.

One of my favorite parts of the museum was the palace ballroom, which contained a very interesting mural of an angel carrying the Cuban flag on the ceiling, while other angels heralded Cuba’s independence from Spain. I initially thought that it was refreshing how this ballroom was kept intact for historical record, as opposed to claiming it for the second revolution. However, I then began to think that it could be just as easily applied to the 1959 revolution, and perhaps that it why it was preserved. However, this pessimism was diminished later by the fact that the museum chose to preserve the presidential office. This office, assumingly of Batista’s reign, required an extra fee to enter this space. This served as another example of a space saved for history rather than for pure revolutionary goals.

I was actually surprised by the lack of overt government propaganda in this museum. Perhaps this is because all museums of a historical nature attempt to tell the story of the country and it’s people as the government hopes to tell it. The Museo de la Revolución seemed like a museum that might be found in any country. On face value, one difference that I noticed was that this museum seemed to have less resources than other museums might have for upkeep or etcetera.

However, near the exit of the museum, I quickly walked by a display of cartoons, one that was definitely recognizable as George H. W. Bush and a few other figures that I could not immediately place in my memory. Upon returning home, and through some pretty intense googling, I found an image of this collection of cartoons. It was titled “Rincon de Cretinos” or corner of  the cretins, and it is exists as a very telling analogy between former presidents George H. W. Bush, Ronald Reagan, and Fulgencio Batista. This seemed to be the only overt symbol of anti-Americanism endemic within the museum. It is interesting that the museum chose to have tourists and non-tourists alike end their tour with these images, as opposed to an image of the victory of the revolution.

Spring Break is generally a time of relaxing; sun, surf, and sand are the three cliches that everyone looks for during the two weeks in March we have off. For almost 50 members of Vassar community, those three components of a successful Spring Break came with two weeks of cross-cultural interaction. I am talking of course about this year’s study trip, which, for the first time in a decade, returned to the quaint and historic city of Havana in that forbidden fruit of American travel: the Republic of Cuba. After six weeks of preparation (a three-hour class once a week), we all left for a two-week long adventure through a country of most of us had little experience beyond the classroom, but one we are all dying to get to know better. While we did indeed have time for sun and sandy beaches, most of our days were taken up with lectures from all parts of Cuban society—Cuban professors talking about women’s rights and the Revolution, hip-hop artists talking about the nature of having a dual identity as an artist and a Cuban within a revolutionary society, and environmentalists talking about the challenges and rewards of ecotourism coming to the island were just a few of the talks we had while in the country.

One of the larger themes that we heard over and over again during our trip was the embargo between the United States and Cuba—which is known over there as the more militaristic-sounding bloqueo(blockade)—and how by ending the embargo Cuba could truly take off. While the vast majority of Vassar students aren’t affected by the embargo in the slightest, in Cuba it means severe restrictions on what Cubans are and aren’t able to do. With so much produced in the United States, Cubans have had to learn how to make do without certain creature comforts (such as most electronic goods), or have had to come up with domestic alternatives. This economic reality became all the harsher starting in the early 1990s in what is known as the Periodo Especial en Tiempos de Paz (Special Period in the Times of Peace, or just Special Period) where after the USSR collapsed almost all trade including food imports stopped arriving in Cuba. At that time, Cuban society was able to pull itself up by its bootstraps (an image not generally associated with Communism) and ensure that the government’s promises of health care and education for all were not compromised; however, it meant an extreme scarcity of almost everything else throughout the island, to the point where basic products like salt are still hard to come by today. Even with our relatively privileged status as tourists and students, certain food was almost impossible to obtain and our ability to access the Internet was severely restricted. As Cuba looks to finally pull itself out of the quagmire of the Special Period, it also looks towards finally reestablishing relations with the United States. We were told time and time again how great it would be for Cubans to come to the United States and finally begin an exchange of goods and, more importantly, information.

Which isn’t to say that the United States could not benefit from lowering the wall between itself and Cuba, either. Cuba, by virtue of its health care system, has ready access to not only a large amount of doctors who would love to work here but also pharmaceuticals which could reach many patients in desperate need of medicine. With some of the best universities in Latin America, Cuba would surely be a popular destination for students willing to learn Spanish or of the many social innovations coming out of the region. Increased trade would surely bring in jobs. And it goes without saying that its destination as a tourist hotspot isn’t a tempting enough reason to end the embargo itself. Although our lives are not as negatively affected by the embargo, it would still be to the benefit of everyone if the United States and Cuba could come to an agreement and finally, two decades after the end of the Cold War that made them enemies, allow for free passage of goods and people once again.

Two problems prevent this scenario from happening: inertia and the ability of a tiny special interest group to block any debate on ending the embargo. With most of the top-level policy makers being brought up in the Cold War, they still see Cuba as an enemy. They are either unwilling or unable to look at Cuba through a 21st-century lens and more accurately assess the consequences of ending an embargo on such a small country. This myopic and anachronistic attitude is helped along by the dinosaurs of the Cuban-American expat community, who lost their fortunes in the Revolution, view Fidel Castro as a sort of demon and have poured lots of money into the coffers of legislators to ensure that a Cuba with a Castro in power is one that does not do business with the United States. However, these problems are not capable of going on indefinitely: younger people are slowly finding out about our neighbor south of Florida, and even young Cuban-Americans are joining in the call for ending the embargo, not seeing the reason for it in a world without the USSR. I recommend you join these voices. Begin educating yourself on Cuba the way our class did. You might be surprised how far a cry it is from the totalitarian Communist hellhole it is made out to be.

This article was originally published on March 28th, 2012 in the Opinions section of the Miscellany News as ”End of Cuban Embargo Mutually Beneficial” http://www.miscellanynews.com/2.1577/end-of-cuban-embargo-mutually-beneficial-1.2721215#.T3PUojH2YR8

Even before our arrival in Cuba, there were already several images that I expected to come across during our trip. For the unaware outsider, vintage cars, Cuban cigars, and Che are just a few of the symbols that have come to represent an otherwise mysterious place. However, the one image that I was not prepared to see was that of the Cuban 5. From the moment we touched down in Havana, we instantaneously became acquainted with the faces of the five men who were unfairly punished for trying to protect Cuba (or so say the Cubans). Their pictures can be seen everywhere from billboards to bus stops to murals and graffiti.

During our meeting with ICAP (the Cuban Institute of Friendship with the Peoples), we were informed that one of the organization’s three main goals is to oversee the release the Cuban 5. After a brief video narrated by Danny Glover, we learned that the Cuban 5 are five men who were convicted of espionage in the United States more than a decade ago. According to ICAP, these men were agents, not spies, who were just doing their duty to protect Cuba from terrorist attacks. Ever since then, the Cuban 5 have become a powerful symbol around which the nation has banded together to fight injustice and call attention to the unfair treatment of Cubans.

As a result of all the attention and respect these men are given, I found myself more and more curious to learn about them from an American perspective. What exactly were the charges brought against them? Why is it that almost no Americans (myself included prior to the trip) have ever heard of them? Do people outside of Cuba even really care?

One of the first steps I took when conducting my research was to dig up old information pertaining to the case. According to an article published by the New York Times in June of 2001, the Cuban 5 “were convicted of operating as foreign agents without notifying the government and conspiracy. Three of the group were convicted of conspiracy to commit espionage for their efforts to penetrate military bases even though they obtained no United States secrets.”[i] Because I first learned about the case from a Cuban, and not American perspective, I find it difficult to reconcile this description with all that I witnessed and was told during our trip. Whereas the American judicial system branded these men as potentially dangerous anti-American spies, Cuban citizens tout them as brave patriots that should be celebrated, and not condemned. Moreover, in what I take to be a subtle, but nonetheless striking blow to the characters of the convicted, the paragraph concludes by sharing that “the men showed no emotion as the verdict was read.”

Skipping ahead a few years, the New York Times revisited the Cuban 5 in a 2007 article entitled “Fate of 5 in U.S. Prisons Weighs on Cubans’ Minds”.[ii] As can be deduced by its title, the article talks a bit about what we experienced quite vividly firsthand- the ways in which the Cuban 5 have achieved a celebrity, hero-like status in Cuban society. In an attempt to avoid actually taking a stance on the issue, the reporter, James C. McKinley, Jr., sticks to presenting a very general, vague account of the case. Quite simply put, from a Cuban perspective these individuals are nothing more than “brave men who tried to ferret out right-wing terrorists determined to hurt Cuba while sheltered in the United States.” Although the article spends a great deal of time showing the Cuban perspective on the case, it does not really address how the US has responded to these claims (furthering the image that what is considered a major wrongdoing to Cuban citizens does not even register as something worthy of attention for many Americans). Through this article the reader gets a sense that Cubans do not agree with the verdict, but does not learn much about whether or not the complaints have any validity.

Nevertheless, while many Americans remain oblivious to the story of the Cuban 5, that does not mean that there is nothing being done. Websites such as http://www.freethecuban5.com/, http://www.freethefive.org/, and http://www.thecuban5.org/wordpress/ are all dedicated to informing the public about the situation at hand and soliciting individuals towards action.

Not only do these websites aim to explain the case and why it should be overturned, but also give a face to the men who have been wronged. As we saw all throughout Cuba, attaching faces to the Cuban 5 helps individuals identify more with them, and feel that it is their responsibility to help.

Overall, I think the plight of the Cuban 5 is highly indicative of the greater relationship between the United States and Cuba. From a Cuban perspective, the Cuban 5 and the blockade are major events that have indelibly shaped Cuban society and everyday life. However, on the flip side, most Americans are completely oblivious to the role our government has played in either of these events. As a US citizen, I feel a bit guilty that I have been so ignorant about incidents that others treat as monumental, especially when my own nation has played such a central role in their outcome.

As a final aside, more recently the Cuban 5 has secured a small victory in that one of the convicted, René González, has secured permission to return to Cuba to visit his ailing brother. González was released from federal prison last fall and is on probation in Miami. His is under strict instructions to return within two weeks of his departure.[iii]

This long parade of architectural wonders, an array of decaying buildings with vivid colors faded with time, hold a certain beauty. Despite their flaws, and despite debatable conservation efforts, the buildings of Havana are sure to impress with some of the most diverse architectural styles in the world.

As tired as I was from the various plane mishaps on our journey, when we first drove the bus through Havana I couldn’t help but look up in awe at the  stunning neoclassical style buildings that surrounded the city. Tall narrow doorways, wrought iron grilles, and an abundance of columns from various artistic styles make Havana the architectural marvel that it is today. The styles vary; Art Noveau can be seen on Hotel Nacional  , Neoclassical on El Templete,  Eclectic on the renowned Capitolio and Modernist in many post WWII Soviet Style buildings.

The increase in Cuba’s sugar production in the late 19^th century brought the neoclassical architectural style to prominence. Cuba’s key trading location between the Americas and Spain generated a steady flow of hard currency to Havana, capital that would serve to create many of the beautiful buildings we see in contemporary Havana. [1]Heavy American investment in Pre-Revolution Cuba modernized the city’s architecture and shaped Havana’s characteristic appearance.[2]

Intriguing about Cuban architecture was the way Cubans utilized their living spaces. Walking the streets many doors were visibly open, the interiors of living rooms exposed to all passersby, almost as if welcoming other members of the community to enter. I’m uncertain if this was an original intention in the architectural styles but it certainly serves to accommodate the warmth and openness of the Cuban people. The overhanging balconies sometimes projected so far out along the narrow streets that the spheres of public and private seem to become one in the same.

Alternatively, it’s difficult to view this array of beautiful buildings and not lament the fact that such architectural marvels are literally crumbling. From our Westernized perspectives, it seems shameful to let buildings of such splendor face the kind of decay and lack of conservation that those in Havana do.

While strolling the Malecon one night, I spoke to a small, unassuming young Cuban woman about the architecture of Havana. I asked her about how she felt for the past couple of decades watching these glorious buildings crumble. Was it just another sacrifice Cubans had to make for the Revolution?

She smirked at me and chuckled. She responded that with the U.S. embargo in place, Cuba doesn’t have the financial resources to provide these buildings with the type of conservation they need. Furthermore, the government has more important needs to spend its money on.

Despite her response, I wonder if the crumbling of these buildings parallels a crumbling of the Revolution’s original ideals. Havana is full of buildings considered dangerous and uninhabitable but due to the housing shortage in Cuba, people still choose to live in them. At the same time, the Cuban government has chosen to restore historically significant buildings in Old Havana for the growing tourist industry. Is choosing to serve the more financially viable tourist industry over the basic housing needs of the Cuban population a reappropriation of the goals of the Revolution or just a step towards capitalism?

When I first learned that art education is funded by the Cuban Ministry of Culture and students who study dance, music, theater, and visual arts are guaranteed a job as a teacher or professional artist, I thought: wow, the U.S has a lot to learn from Cuba. American states are cutting art classes from school budgets, but even in the darkest hour of the Special Period, Cuba found a way to set aside money for art programs. However, as I interacted with a variety of Cuban artists and ex-artists, I saw that this picture-perfect art world is more sullied, multi-dimensional, and complicated than I originally thought. At a certain point in his or her life, a Cuban artist must sacrifice a state-funded job in the art industry in order to live a relatively comfortable life.

Working solely as a professional Cuban artist is simply unsustainable. Of course there are exceptional cases for those who make it to the top, internationally-recognized ranks of the art world, but this is not the majority of Cuban musicians, dancers, painters, sculptors, and performers. One young dancer we spoke to on our visit to the Rosario Cárdenas dance troupe in Havana is only paid $10/month. She is only 19 years-old and lives with a full household of working family members helping to support her, so she is able to get along with this meager salary. She still eats very little, despite the enormous amount of energy she burns during each grueling work day, but she knows that these meal portions would be even slighter if she was completely reliant on her own wages. The hours are demanding, from early in the morning to late at night everyday, and dance students do not have time to work another job outside of the troupe. What keeps her committed? Her passion for dance and movement is enough at this point. When she performed for us, fervor emanated from every limb, each of her muscles straining with dedication to the art, and the intensity of her movement was further amplified by her intimate relationship with her dance partner. But this emotional and physical attachment to dance may not be enough as she grows up and begins supporting herself financially.

Young dancers from Rosario Cárdenas discuss life as government-paid artists in Cuba.

At a performance for Vassar students, two dancers convey physical and mental devotion to their art.

I began to understand her wariness about her future as a dancer when, in some of the most unexpected situations, I encountered a variety of middle-aged ex-artists. Along the crowded Paseo del Prado in Cienfuegos, a 30-something year-old man named Anabel Ponce Nunez runs a private book-selling business. He was once a professional actor, but he reached the point in his life about a year ago when he had to “choose between survival and passion.” He opened up this small store in the front of his aunt’s home 5 months ago and has since then been able to make more money than he did as a state-funded actor. As Anabel spoke of the rising necessity to start working in the private sector and of connecting with tourists to acquire access to the Cuban convertible peso (CUC), two customers stopped by and bought an English language workbook. A few moments later, a young man came to purchase a Spanish-French dictionary. Anabel explained that these men were likely looking to begin work in the tourist industry, as state jobs are becoming less and less sustainable. His explanation of his own decision to abandon acting cast a dimmer light on state-funded art careers in Cuba.

Anabel Nunez in his bookshop in Cienfuegos.

In a cool, yellow and blue-painted, concrete-walled Paladar in Trinidad, an ex-entertainer served us fresh red tomatoes, chicken fried in rum and honey, plantains and oozy flan. When we began asking him about life in Cuba, he reiterated the words of the Cienfuegos bookstore owner. Edel Hernandez Montero opened “Wakey Wakey and Shakey Shakey” a few years ago when he needed a higher income to support both him and his wife; he wasn’t able to do so comfortably with a state salary. He loved entertaining, but the adrenalin-fueled satisfaction of pleasing a crowd could not take precedence over his basic needs. He left his job and devoted himself to giving customers the best possible dining experience. His little restaurant is kept in spotless condition, with carefully placed decorations (olive oil bottles colorfully infused with red chilli peppers and basil), and the writing on the menu looked as though it had been meticulously perfected down to every last squiggle. As he continually assured us he would do his best to make our meal at his paladar a memorable one, even going so far as to show us the fresh ingredients we were about to eat before cooking them, I saw that by  forsaking one art, Cubans are learning to master a new one: customer service.

Edel Montero shows us the fresh ingredients that made up our meal at "Wakey Wakey and Shakey Shakey" paladar in Trinidad.

Edel tries to entice us to come back for dinner, when he planned to serve this freshly-caught lobster.

While the Cuban government’s commitment to the arts industry is impressive and worth learning from, the story of the Cuban artist is not as ideal as it may seem from afar. With the rise of the private sector and the tourist industry, many Cubans are forced to give up their state-funded work in the art world in order to secure a more prosperous livelihood.

Young music students at Benny Moré Art School in Cienfuegos. Whether they will stay in the music industry long after entering the workforce is uncertain.