CUBAN TRANSITIONS

Today there is an escalating inequality in the United States as higher education becomes more and more reserved for the elite. With an increasing disparity between not only who is being enrolled in the nation’s university system, but a similar issue also rises in the “quality” of the universities themselves. The right name, plenty of money, and a degree from Harvard. That’s what you need to succeed in America today. That, or a whole lot of luck, of which there is barely even a miniscule amount being spread, especially amongst the working class.

Meanwhile, less than 1500 miles Southwest of Harvard lies the University of Havana, where tuition is paid by the state and admission is open to any citizen that can prove their devotion to the Cuban revolution. And the University of Havana is not alone; Cuba has nearly 50 places of higher learning, all of which follow the same tuition and enrollment models.

The University of Havana, one of 47 Cuban universities, currently houses 60,000 students; more than half of Cuba’s total higher education enrollment of 112,000.

A great amount of differences between the United States and Cuba have always been visible, so it should be no surprise that their respective Education systems are among these differences. So, the question I find myself asking is not why are they different, but is one difference better?

As a student at Vassar College, I cannot empathize with those who join the workforce immediately after high school graduation – assuming they even do graduate – in order to support themselves and often their families. I do however realize the existence of the epidemic of the working class and more than ever understand the need to put a halt to such dire circumstances experienced by so many Americans.

At the same time, while I do turn to Cuba, see its national literacy rate of nearly 100%, and feel a sense of appreciation and respect for Fidel Castro’s achievements, I have to question what Cubans are able to do with their increasing knowledge. My question does not even go as deep as the government’s imposition on individual mobility within the country or ask what the implemented curriculum is at the primary, secondary, and university levels. I ask, quite simply, in what ways do Cuba’s economic needs come before the needs and aspirations of the students?

In 2006, Fidel’s brother, Raúl Castro, officially assumed power. Since then he has been making a gradual move towards the privatization of the economy, leading to a significant downsizing in state employment. Only construction and agriculture appear to be growing, and in order to fill these spots the University of Havana has limited availability for humanities majors and expanded space for students within the department of agriculture.

All citizens have the opportunity to learn, but how is it chosen what they learn? What does having a degree, that everyone else seems to have, gain them?

How is it that a nation who has been expanding its knowledge base since 1959 not re-revolutionized? What is causing revolutionary ideals to maintain for over half a century?

Furthermore, if Education is for a privileged few, and a major cause in the significant class disparities we see in America today, why do we still see poverty in an all-educated Cuba?

Does the society that an education system is located in cause the effects that that education system has on the society?

Further Reading:

Chase, Michelle. “Cuba Rethinks the Revolution.” Agence Global. 20 Oct. 2011. Web. 24 Feb. 2012. <http://www.agenceglobal.com/Article.asp?Id=2666>.

Golden, Daniel. The Price of Admission: How America’s Ruling Class Buys Its Way into Elite Colleges–and Who Gets Left outside the Gates. New York: Crown, 2006. Print.

Sweig, Julia E. Cuba: What Everyone Needs to Know. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2009. Print.

Ideally situated between the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, Cuba, the largest island in the Caribbean, benefits from very high amounts of direct sunlight and rainfall. Natural sciences tell us that heat and water are key components to life, and the combination of both result in some of the most extensive biodiversity levels found on Earth. All across the globe, more species are found in the equatorial zones, both on land and in water, than anywhere else. However, because of the complex trophic and energetic patterns that millennia of evolution have created, this species abundance exists in a delicate equilibrium that is all too easy to upset. Although humanity has always pushed the limits of this balance’s resilience, through the rapid industrializations of the past century our impact has increased astronomically, and many of these biologically rich zones are greatly in danger of loosing a majority of their species.

Cuba, however, due to a unique socio-political climate, has been able to retain an extraordinarily high amount of its initial biodiversity. Although Cuba had suffered severe environmental degradation during the early 1900s, the combined impact of the US’s trade embargo and the disappearance of Soviet aid cut Cuba from the drive of capitalism that pushed many countries into privileging industrial development over ecosystem conservation. Thus, accidentally perhaps, Cuba’s natural systems were exempt from many of the effects of excessive pesticides, direct CO2 pollution, and other environmentally dangerous by-products of developing nations. Today, Cuba has the highest proportion of protected forests in Latin America and the Caribbean, with an aproximate percentage of about 22% of Cuba’s national territory placed under protection due to its biodiversity.

One of the most unique features of Cuba’s biodiversity is found along Cuba’s North Western boarder. Recognized as a UNESCO world heritage site for a landscape that ‘illustrates significant stages in human history,’ Viñales Valley is known for both its extensive and traditional tobacco leaf production and it’s otherworldly rock formations called mogotes, or haystacks. Mogotes are limestone based karstic formations created by the combined impact of heavy erosion and tectonic uplifting. They tower above rich, alluvial soils created by the nutrients that slowly erode off them when it rains, which explains why tobacco plantations are still so popular in the valley. The eroding waters have riddled these haystacks with caverns, grottos, and subterranean streams.

The immense size and structure of mogotes makes them particularly hard to access by conventional means, particularly for local flora and fauna. Each of them is, in effect, a secluded biosphere in an island-nation that has been biologically isolated for thousands of years, allowing species to evolve independently from one another in very small area. Although a land version, and admittedly on a smaller scale, mogotes have been compared to Darwin’s Galapagos Islands. Each is home to a great variety of endemic plant species, birds, and a number of gastropods and small amphibians that evolved separately from the species living on the neighboring mogote. Very little research and full species classification has been done on them to date, in part, and not for lack of being inventive, because Cuban scientists don’t necessarily have the funds and equipment to identify and inventory the fauna and flora there.

However, just as with Darwin’s Islands, the native species living in, on, and around the mogotes face rising threats of extinction due to increased tourism. Vinales Valley is a choice tourist destination not only because of its location (just out of Havana), its majestical scenery removed from time (what other extinct species might be hidden just around that outcrop?), but also for the spelunking and rock climbing tourists can enjoy there. An increase in the demand for tobacco, and the much needed revenue it would generate, also has plantations expanding and developing, which furthers the risks to the mogotes‘ endemic species. All of these activities impede upon the natural habitats of the unique, and in come cases undiscovered, specifies present – threatening to destroy them forever.

As Cuba returns to the world scene, the impetus to privilege economic development over natural conservation will become an increasingly prominent consideration for both the government and the cuban population as a whole. The direct economic impact of Cuba’s natural beauty is minimal, representing only about 4% of the tourist industry, in part because the government closely monitors the number of people that visit the protected areas. But Cuba’s natural beauty and richness has never been reduced to simple economic benefits, from the early days of the islands discovery where its lushness was greatly praised by José Marti, to the modern day where conservation methods are actually incorporated into the Cuban constitution (Article 27).

So where is Cuba going? The lush island-nation is faced with the delicate opportunity of striking a balance between preserving a biodiversity so rich it seems to be a thing of the past and economic development to improve the lives of its citizens. The difference between Cuba and the rest of the world is that its people are acutely aware of the effects development can have on their natural landscape, and now have the chance to do better than we have in preserving its natural heritage, both known and unknown, modern and ancient.

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Additional sources

Patricia Grogg, “Cuba Encourages Ecotourism in Largest Wetland”

I think it’s a shame that the UK-based Bitter Lemon Press decided that Havana Fever should be the title of the English edition of Leonardo Padura’s most recent novel in the Mario Conde series, originally titled La neblina del ayer. The sizzling nightlife of pre-Castro Havana is where we meet the beautiful yet elusive Bolero singer Conde becomes almost obsessed with in one of the many plot threads of Padura’s intricately woven mystery. La neblina del ayer (the mists of yesterday) however, does a far better job of capturing the careful negotiating of past and present that often takes place in revolutionary Cuba and is clearly present in Padura’s story.

The tensions caused by this attempt to negotiate the past and the present, the effort to compromise revolutionary ideals with an often times harsh and sobering reality are felt all throughout the island, on varying levels. We see them in in Raul’s speeches post-2006 where he outlines plans for liberal economic reforms while at the same time assuring no Cuban will be “abandoned to their fate” due to the social costs of privatization. According to Omar Everleny, a professor at the Center for the Study of the Cuban Economy at the University of Havana, “when you read the Guidelines and Raúl’s speeches, you realize he’s determined to change things. At the same time, I also realize he’s committed to the past, and that’s the complicated part — his commitment to history,” (Chase, Cuba Rethinks the Revolution). Julia Sweig writes about Cuba’s resourcefulness in the face of the deep economic hardship of the Special Period in a section of her book Cuba: What Everyone Needs to Know. “Thus, even in the context of terrible and debilitating material deprivation, leading Cuban thinkers embraced the opportunity to chart their own course and helped to usher in a period of enormous creative thinking.” (Sweig, 130) But what does this “new course” mean for Cuba’s revolutionary history and its people?

These tensions are equally visible on the landscape of Cuban’s daily life, as we saw in the characters of Padura’s novel. It might be a stretch of the imagination, but the progression of Mario Conde’s life bears interesting similarities to the Revolution itself. The retired detective is growing older, has become skinny from scarcity, and is not as invincible as he was in his youth. Yet he is resilient. At one point in the novel he is severely beaten, left almost for dead, but still refuses to give up. Conde is also maybe less incorruptible than he once was and may be willing to do things he once wouldn’t have, to ensure his own survival. By the end of the story we find Conde, the most honorable member of Havana’s police force turned genuinely honest book dealer, pocketing a few samples of Cuba’s most prized publications for himself and his closest friends… and shedding bitter tears over it.

Other characters in the novel depict similar conflicts. Dionisio Ferrero, once “ a hundred percent behind the Revolution,” who had gone to “educate the illiterate in the hills of Oriente,” (Padura, 24), is forced to sell his nearly mythical library, disobeying his mother’s dying wishes and threatening a part of Cuba’s invaluable cultural and artistic legacy, in order to provide the next day’s meal for himself and his sister. The backgrounds and perspectives of the book dealers who negotiate this sale are also telling. There is Conde, the older, prematurely retired detective, who is often morally conflicted by his behavior and new found career path. His partner Yoyi, is a university trained civil engineer, who having been born to a time of scarcity and shortages, found that building public roads and bridges could not provide for him the life the buying and selling of second hand books, antiques and works of art could. Both these characters, while fictional, represent the very real, and potentially problematic issue of the vast number of professionals “deskilling” and leaving the public sector for industries, such as tourism or black market dealing, that provide access to the otherwise unattainable foreign currency. Throughout Padura’s story, in his description of grim realities of Havana’s poorest barrios and the moral dilemmas of his characters, we are reminded of the lofty toll the Special Period has taken on the Revolution. Its face has undoubtedly changed. What the lasting effects of these “new courses” being drawn into the map of Revolutionary Cuba are has yet to be seen.

Untitled (Havana), Alexey Titarenko, 2003. The J. Paul Getty Museum. © Alexey Titarenko

Sources:

Julia Sweig, Cuba: What Everyone Needs to Know (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009)

Leonardo Padura, Havana Fever (London: Bitter End Press, 2009)

Michelle Chase, Cuba Rethinks the Revolutio

In one of her recent posts on the blog Generation Y, Yoani Sanchéz describes Avenida Quinta, or 5^th Avenue, in Havana, a street deemed “Avenue of the Americas” on which there is a consistent stream of joggers, pet-walkers, and other leisurely pedestrians. Sanchéz explains a typical scenario of one well-to-do after another passing by and chatting with familiar faces – A retired colonel and a new corporation manager, an official’s daughter and an actress just back from Europe, as well as a poet and his “purebread dog”. She describes the scene before her as a rarity, “and not because such urban beauty is scarce on this island.” Rather, it is a unique for Cuba because the people on Avenida Quinta are engaging in activities exclusively for pleasure, exuding signs of opulence and carelessness not evident elsewhere in Cuba:

“There is a touch of comfort in them, an attention to their bodies and attire, a tranquility derived from the lack of daily annoyances. They are like some caricature of the bourgeoisie that official discourse tried to make us hate from the time we were little.”

After discussing the concept of “space” in our class within several different contexts – racially segregated neighborhoods, spaces for homosexuals, jineteras and designated tourist spaces – I think it is interesting to look at this street as a space designated for the wealthy, or more specifically for the leisure of the wealthy.

(This video takes us on a long – and slightly dizzying – tour of Havana’s 5th Avenue)

The concept of a space for the wealthy reminds me of the the representation of status inequalities within the film Habanastation. We see how off putting it is for Mayito, coming from a wealthy background, to enter the space of Carlos’s more impoverished community, and we see from the terrified reactions of his teacher and parents that it is indeed not standard to venture into such neighborhoods, even though it is where one of his classmates lives. The film also portrays the way Mayito is unwilling to invite Carlos into his “space,” saying he is not allowed to host strangers in his home.

Although this might just be because Mayito is arrogant and naive (before his charming transformation), it is clear that there are distinct spaces that different social strata occupy exclusively. Although this is true in many countries, it was interesting in the movie to see how the two boys had such different home lives that in no way overlapped, and yet there were some spaces that the children still shared, such as the public school. To me this seems like a sort of ironic consequence of the revolution, that while stark inequalities exist there are indeed certain elements that are completely universal.

Going back to Avenida Quinta, it is especially interesting to look at a well defined space for the upper class to gather outside. While the lack of privacy and private property accounts for much of the well defined spaces of other groups, forcing them to congregate in parks or streets, the idea of a public space for an upper class is interesting because of their, most likely, more well developed spaces of their own. This might suggest that jogging along Avenida Quinta – “wearing Adidas, bottles of water, and white earbuds” – is a way of flaunting a certain status, a very antirevolutionary idea.

Habanastation provides some evidence to this idea that Mayito’s space is less appreciative and nationalistic toward Cuba and the revolution. Mayito spends his time alone – indoors with no friends, supported only by his parents (perhaps excessively). He is not encouraged to take advantage of the nature he is surrounded by and, in fact, on rainy days he is apparently forbidden! Carlos’s neighborhood, on the other hand, greatly appreciates the outdoors. Having no access to foreign goods (such as playstations) they thrive on the natural beauty of their city and accept their Cuban commodities. This more communal neighborhood seems to better represent the goals of the revolution, with the inhabitants more appreciative of what their own country has to offer.

However one of the comments on Yoani Sanchez’s post about on inequalities represented by Avenida Quinta seems to blatantly disagree. A blogger by the name of “Cuba Libre” criticizes the post, saying:

“Thank you Miss Sanchez for posting such a wonderful post. I guess 5th Avenue is the perfect example to prove that life is good in Cuba if you abide by the laws. Maybe if you used all your talents as a writer to boast the achievements of the Revolutionary government instead of defaming it with your lies, maybe you also would have a house on 5th Avenue.”

This comment struck me because it reveals some of the inherent contradictions of Cuban society that we have been talking about. Whereas playing by the rules is indeed a message that should indicate a road to success, it is clear that within Cuba, the spaces occupied by those who are successful are the same spaces where it is often impossible to play by the rules.

Mariela Castro, director of Cuba’s National Center for Sex Education, is interviewed in January about the Sixth Congress on Sex Education, Orientation and Therapy hosted in Havana (Photo: Reuters/Stringer).

The recent eruption of women’s health issues on the U.S. political agenda has sparked controversy, to say the least. The latest point of contention manifested during a February 16 hearing on birth control held by House Republicans. The first five panelists to testify were men. “Where are the women?” asked Nancy Pelosi, House Minority Leader (D-Calif). “Imagine having a panel on women’s health and they don’t have any women on the panel.”

Coinciding with the Cuban gender and sexuality unit of our class curriculum, this controversy shaped the critical perspective with which I read and understood texts such as the article “Black Women, Gender and Families” by Tanya Saunders and the documentary Urban Design and Planning in Havana, Cuba (US, 2001). These works and my further research have painted a portrait of pre-revolutionary Cuba as a patriarchal state, practicing machismo, encouraging homophobia and revering the traditional heterosexual family. Within this society, trapped is the woman. She struggles to do all: raise children, build a career, make money and escape her silencing.

Still, sources agree that much has changed since the Revolution of 1959. In terms of women’s rights, one of the biggest pushes for change came with the promulgation of Article 44 of the Cuban Constitution, as modified in 1976. The amendment granted women equal rights in the economic, political and domestic spheres. Furthermore, women were recognized with equal access to education and health services and the right to family planning, abortion included. It had already been legalized in 1965 (Cuba Solidarity).

By nature of its socialist government, it is impossible to remove the social movement in favor of reproductive rights from its political context. Cuba’s National Center for Sex Education (CENESEX) cooperates with other branches of the government and Cuban citizens; in some ways, it acts as a mediator between them. Mariela Castro, president Raúl Castro’s daughter, currently serves as CENESEX director. Her political ties are obvious, even from her surname.

Still, she becomes an accessible figure to Cuban citizens. She makes public appearances, gives talks, marches at Pride parades, and promotes the sex-positive publication, Sexología y Sociedad. She has spearheaded an initiative to provide free sexual reassignment surgery and recently announced her interest in a 2012 campaign for marriage equality. As CENESEX director, this individual humanizes a branch of government. She advocates LGBTQ rights, represents women’s reproductive interests and promotes the express mission of CENESEX: to aid in “the development of a culture of sexuality that is full, pleasurable and responsible, as well as to promote the full exercise of sexual rights” (MEDICC Interview with Mariela Castro; emphasis mine).  Her description of Cuban sexuality as “full” speaks to its tolerance—and perhaps even better, its budding acceptance—of all sexualities, all sexes and all genders.

Because of CENESEX’s acknowledgment that one size does not necessarily fit all, many of their programs are targeted to specific demographics. In the same interview with Ms. Castro, she speaks about sexual education programs oriented toward women: “In the 70s and 80s, we found a lot of fear and resistance to a national program for sex education with such a gender focus.  The program was finally accepted in 1996, and now it’s taught throughout the country; since then it has reduced school dropouts from early marriages and childbirth by one half.”

Other figures also support this claim. Despite its “developing” status, Cuba has been called a low-fertility area, a designation common to developed countries like Australia and many nations in Western Europe. This low fertility rate was not anticipated ten years ago. The 2001 documentary we watched last Sunday, Urban Design and Planning in Havana, Cuba, actually posed rapid population growth as a threat, but the island’s population has actually shrunk since the movie’s release. According to statistics from the CIA’s World Fact Book, the island’s low birth rate (9.96 births per 1,000 population) does not replace the population lost annually to death (death rate: 7.52 per 1,000 population) and emigration (net migration rate: -3.59 per 1,000). While much of the population decline can be attributed to the high emigration rate, the lowering fertility rate must be affected by wider access to resources essential to family planning like information, contraceptives and abortion.

Mariela Castro continues in her interview with MEDICC, “… education for safe sex must have a gender component, a gender approach… We have to learn to recognize which elements of the traditional masculinity or femininity are actually doing us damage.  What parts of the picture actually take away from our freedom, fulfillment and dignity.”

Wouldn’t it be nice if soon the U.S. could follow Cuba’s lead: to have accessible public representatives, women representing women?

Sources:

https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/geos/cu.html

http://www.medicc.org/publications/medicc_review/0406/mr-interview.html

http://nwhn.org/not-feminist-not-bad-cubas-surprisingly-pro-woman-health-system

Saunders, Tanya L. “Black Women, Gender and Families.” Project Muse 4.1 (2010). Print.
Urban Design and Planning in Havana, Cuba (US, 2001). Film.

Photo Credit:

http://news.yahoo.com/photos/mariela-castro-head-cubas-national-center-sex-education-photo-235326689.html

Under Cuban criminal law it is illegal for Cubans to leave their country or to assist others to leave without government permission and violators are subject to a prison term of one to ten years (Sweig, 2009). However, in defiance of the law, more than 63,000 Cuban citizens have left between 1959 and 1994 thus they have become collectively known as Balseros [Rafters]. It is estimated that at least 16,000 rafters did not survive the crossing.

However, between 1994 and 1995, over 40,000 impoverished Cubans made a desperate attempt to navigate the 90-mile dangerous waters between the their island and the Florida coast prompting President Castro to announce that the Cuban Frontier Guard (the Cuban Coast Guard) would not enforce laws against leaving. The 2002 documentary Balseros by filmmaker Carlos Bosch followed the stories of seven Cuban exiles from their exodus from Cuba to their nine-month stay at Guantanamo Bay and eventual immigration into the U.S. to see where their dreams of freedom took them. These refugees repeatedly and interchangeably used the term “Freedom” and the “American Dream”. Out of curiosity and as an immigrant myself, this prompted me to explore what this ‘dream’ meant to the Balseros refugees in the film.

2002 Documentary Balseros

What really is the ‘American Dream?’ I ask this question that until fairly recently, I assumed had an obvious answer. I always believed that we all knew what that dream was because we hear about it so much, sacrifice so much for it, die for it or in the case of the Balseros immigrants, risk lives under inhumane conditions to realize it. Well, again I ask, what is this dream? Rafael Cano from the film, Balseros said all he wanted was to own a house and a car because that’s what was worth risking his life for while Juan Carlos wanted to reunite with his wife and daughter who had to flee Cuba in pursuit of a better life. Did the “American Dream” therefore represent the house and car? Reunion with family? Jobs? Freedom?

Juan Carlos from the documentary Balseros

Well I guess the most obvious question I felt had to be directed to myself; why did I move to America and what was this dream to me? Honestly, I never even critically thought about the answer to this question; I always felt that it was a ‘no-brainer’ because it was an assumption of a common pursuit but to my dismay, I still cannot answer what this dream is because I feel that it doesn’t exist for me. I have been able to have tremendous opportunities as a result of being in America that I would have otherwise no had access to in Kenya but if had to choose I would avail the same opportunities at home, close to my family and loved ones and have the option [unlike most exiles and refugees] to visit and be visited in the event that I decided to immigrate. But, that is no the reality!

More importantly I was amazed at the drive and excitement that overshadowed the impact of moving to a foreign place away from loved ones and a familiar environment. Well, after being here for a little over five year, I realize how hard this transition was and cannot imagine what went on for the Barselos immigrants.
The scene where Oscar Del Valle talks on the phone with his then wife [he eventually cuts off communication with her and his daughter] about supporting them stuck with me very much and in turn, gave me an appetite for inquiring into the immense shift of priorities and ideology that they [the cast] has to undergo.

Oscar and his then wife from the documentary Balseros

Obviously Oscar wanted to provide for his wife and daughter but his believes completely changed as he got his orientation about the necessity for him to develop individuality taking precedence over supporting his family because this was the only way to ‘make it in America’ as his mentor told him. Clearly as an immigrant who is accustomed to different ideologies and social norms, pursing this dream requires a re-orientation of personal and social values. Now I understand that this necessity might seem oblivious especially because these immigrants are moving to a different country with different societal values and lifestyle, how would they expect to maintain their values? I always held a similar general understanding but after personal experiences as an immigrant, I have since changed my mind.
Initially it seemed to me that the pursuit of this dream was well worth the erosion/neglect/reprioritization of my previously held values but after the excitement ended and reality set in, I realized how great of a sacrifice this involves and was saddened by the simplistic attitude commonly held about immigration. Think about it, these people had to risk their lives, leave their families and start life in unknown places. The psychological impacts of the pursuit are often neglected if not dismissed in the overwhelming excitement of a wonderful life. Am not saying that America is not a wonderful place; my point is that these immigrants had to develop a sub-human attitude in order to attain this dream that as it turns out, cannot be explicitly defined.
It was hurt breaking to watch the Balseros immigrants leave their families and five years later find themselves in difficult circumstances; apart from Juan who was happily working as Employee of the Month at Staples and reunited with his family [notice that his daughter who spoke Spanish could not speak it fluently anymore], the others had undergone difficult transformation from break-ups, drugs [hustling] and so on. So did they finally realize the dream they sacrificed so much to pursue? Well am sure the answer to this lies with them but I could not help but empathize with the difficulty involved in choosing to immigrate under such circumstances and what state of mind one has to be in order to have the courage to do as the Balseros immigrants did.

Sources
State of Florida, HRS:OSRA. 1994. 1994: The Status of Florida’s Refugee/Entrant Population, Entrants: Florida’s Unique Population.
United States Coast Guard. Alien migrant interdiction statistics. http://www.uscg.mil/hq/g-o/g-opl/amio/AMIO.htm
United States. Congress. House. Committee on International Relations. Subcommittee on the Western Hemisphere. 1996. The Clinton administration’s reversal of U.S. immigration policy toward Cuba: hearing before the Subcommittee on the Western Hemisphere of the Committee on International Relations, House of Representatives, One Hundred Fourth Congress, first session, May 18, 1995. Washington: U.S. G.P.O.
http://www.bausanfilms.com/fitxaEquipo.php?idioma=EN&produccio=50&tipo=documentales&titulo=BALSEROS
http://www.unhcr.org/home/RSDCOI/44eb2fd44.pdf

Through all the Cuban based readings, movies, and discussions that this class has allowed me to experience, one of the most interesting concepts that I’ve been introduced to has been that of isolation. Perhaps we haven’t read anything explicitly about this notion, most of the feelings of isolation have been through the lens of other things; sexism, racism, economic needs, etc. However, this notion of isolation seems to be an intrinsic component of everything I learn about Cuba.

When I read one of my last assignments for this class, a section of Cuba: What Everyone Needs to Know by Julia Sweig, this idea jumped out at me more explicitly than it previously had. One of the sections was dedicated to Raul Castro as a leader and the differences between him and his brother in both leadership style and disposition. Sweig elaborated, “Raul also reportedly probed the possibility of eliminating the tarjeta blanca, the onerous and widely reviled permission slip long required for all Cubans to leave the country and travel abroad…” (Sweig 216) The fact that the tarjeta blanca, a very real symbol of the isolation that regular Cubans face, was not explained until page 216 of a book that is supposedly designed to tell all that “everyone needs to know” about the fascinating nation of Cuba is very telling.

In retrospect I was introduced to isolation as an important concept in the very first film screening for this class, the American made ¡Cuba Va! The format of this film was mostly that of an interview session, as well as what one might hear when listening in to debates featuring the younger generation about Cuban citizenship or the future of the country. The young people that were featured reveal a varying degrees of response to the issue of isolation; acceptance, anger, rebelliousness, hopelessness, and even sometimes, hopefulness. Some attempted to make the best of their situation and realize the blessed nature of their health care and education systems, things that can even compete (and perhaps beat) their American counterparts.

The second film we watched, Balseros, also had a strong message about isolation. Here, the issue centered more closely around connecting with family members that had left the island rather than the political freedoms involved in the debate of isolation. However, the images of the long lines at the customs officials and the coarsely crafted boats intended to cross the dangerous waters to the United States were none the less very poignant.

Isolation manifests itself in many paths. One critical form is that of economical or consumption based isolation. In our travel preparations, we are warned to bring everything we will need for two weeks as it will be almost impossible to obtain things that we as American tourists often take for granted. For many who have traveled to other foreign nations, I suppose this might be old hat, but the meaning is still amplified when preparing to travel to a country that has been economically isolated to such a degree from the rest of the world.

Beyond the consumption based constraints, I’m reminded of Balseros in my own preparations for travel. I applied for my first passport in October. My foreign travel is limited to the roadtrips I had taken to both Mexico and Canada before passports were required for entry into either of those two nations via automobile. I recognize that I am very privileged in my ability to travel to Cuba; a barrier that many Americans are still expected to face for the next few years. Still, this procedural difficulty for Americans is such a minimal barrier compared to the everyday battles that many Cubans face in their attempts to leave the country.

Cuba: THE PARADISE OF SNAILS!

Not a title often associated with the colonial island – unless you’re a biologist or conservationist – Cuba is home to some of the most beautiful and biologically diverse species of snails in the world. A teeming bevvy of these tiny, slow moving creatures populates the island and they leave their own mark in more ways than one. As we saw in our video “Cuba: The Accidental Eden”, these small gastropods are found all over Cuba. Especially varied in the Viñales Valley, mojotes show some of the most intricate and isolated ecosystems that snails reproduce, grow and thrive in. But, before we get to those species endemic to Cuba, let’s talk about some basic caracol (Spanish for snail) facts.

Snails and slugs all fall into the animal kingdom. As invertebrates, they are specified to be under the phylum Mollusca – amazingly, they are also the most populous species in this phylum with over 80% of that phylum being gastropods. Taking it a step further, gastropods consist of land snails, fresh water snails, sea snails and slugs (of all varieties) – its no wonder these little guys rule their phylum. One of the reasons for the multitude of different species of snail is their hardiness and ability to adapt to even the most strenuous situations. Gastropods can be found any place from woodlands to hydrothermal vents in the ocean.

For the purposes of this blog post, I’ll be talking about land snails and slugs. These little guys look for sustenance in lichens and under fern leaves while also attaining their water source from the plants and trees they roam freely over. Land snails can also ingest fruit, decaying animals and bark. They inch along on a part of their anatomy called a ‘foot’, which is nothing more than a muscle. They have eyestalks, which are less important because gastropods are usually nocturnal creatures and olfactory senses that are their most important sensory organ. Land snails and slugs also have a central and peripheral nervous system but they don’t have a ‘brain’ in the conventional way that we think about it. Instead, they have a series of paired ganglia membranes that are primitive in form and control all their basic functions.

One of the most interesting characteristics of land snails, though, is their sexual reproduction. Land snails, like most species of gastropods, are hermaphrodites. They can fertilize themselves and require no mate to reproduce – BUT snails are just like most other creatures and do enjoy coitus with mates every so often (who doesn’t?). The Cuban painted snail (Polymita picta) has an elaborate – if slow – dance where they circle one another before they come together to mate. The real kicker is that, once comfortable, they shoot a “love dart” into one another. Meaning, they pierce each other’s sensitive zone (ouch) and exchange sperm to fertilize their mates.

The Cuban painted snail – also known as the Cuban land snail – may be a little kinky but that doesn’t mean they aren’t beautiful (you’ve heard that saying, right? – the prettiest gastropods do the ugliest things!).  Shown below, the Cuban painted snail is prized for it’s beautiful artisan shell and varying body color. Because of this, these little guys are being poached at a rapid rate to be sold for tourism purposes – so much so, in fact, that they’ve become endangered. It doesn’t help that this type of snail is endemic to Cuba and found nowhere else in the world. As mentioned in the “Accidental Eden” video, if Cuba opens its doors to American tourism, it could signal the end for the Cuban painted snail.

Do not fear, though! There are people in Cuba (okay one person) who has dedicated her life to the conservation and study of gastropods in Cuba. Emma Palacios Lemagne is the leading gastropoda biologist and conservationist in Cuba. She has been studying different species of snail and slugs for years and most of her work is carried out in the Viñales Valley – more specifically the mojotes in that valley. Mojotes are limestone carsts that have been worn away by hundreds of years of erosion and have been little islands of ecosystems upon themselves. As Emma says, “Each slope on these mojotes has its own species and different variations of snails which all belong to the same species. The conditions and the habitat – like humidity, feeding conditions or wind resistance show the diversity of forms in such a small area.” She goes on to talk about how these mojotes provide the perfect laboratory for her studies. Each limestone hill has its own cousin species to the Cuban painted snail and because no snail or slug travels more than 60 feet from their home, they are able to grow in extreme isolation and peace. Take for instance the pancake slug – he has adapted in isolation so that he is perfectly camouflaged among the grey limestone of the mojotes.

But all isn’t what it seems in the valley of the snails; “Accidental Eden” points out that the environment for these snails is becoming endangered due to growing tobacco plantations in the Viñales Valley. Snails are also being poached more and more as a source of needed protein for poor Cubans and a source of income as their shells are being sold as tourist gifts. But Emma is working hard to keep the snail population healthy. She has her own conservatory for the tiny creatures but because she gets paid such a small amount, she can only do so much for her Mollusca friends. As she says, though, “I like them because of their lifestyle – so free, so relaxed, so interesting!” I couldn’t agree more, Emma. They are kind, they are smart, and they are important creatures to the diverse ecological community of Cuba! Long live the paradise.

The 1992 Constitution of the Republic of Cuba states, “Socialist state property…is the property of the entire people” (Article 15). It then continues by defining “state property” as all land that does not belong to small farmers or collectives, including all social, cultural, and labor-related spaces. Therefore, the physical fabric of Cuba, particularly its urban morphology, belongs ideologically to the Cuban people.

Also during the 1990s, Cuba experienced its “special period” after the collapse of the Soviet Union, its main trading partner. This period was marked by a marked decrease in the flow of capital into the country and subsequent changes to state policy in an effort to ameliorate the financial situation. In particular, tourism was allowed to increase dramatically and “tourist enclaves” were created on segregated beach towns as well as the major cities. This presents a series of problematic ideological ruptures.

David Harvey, the New York University geography professor who serves as a major Marxist proponent of “the Right to the City, ” writes, “The question of what kind of city we want cannot be divorced from that of what kind of social ties, relationship to nature, lifestyles, technologies and aesthetic values we desire. The right to the city is far more than the individual liberty to access urban resources: it is a right to change ourselves by changing the city. It is, moreover, a common rather than an individual right since this transformation inevitably depends upon the exercise of a collective power to reshape the processes of urbanization. The freedom to make and remake our cities and ourselves is, I want to argue, one of the most precious yet most neglected of our human rights.”

In capitalist societies (Harvey utilizes 19^th century Paris–– Walter Benjamin’s “Capital of Modernity”–– as his example), urbanization constitutes a prominent strategy for the expenditure of surplus capital and labor. Cities are built and rebuilt through projects of various scale, often to create new spaces for consumption and thus to generate more capital. This process initiates profound alienation of urban inhabitants from the places they once intimately knew. In many countries, particularly since the advent of the neoliberal economy, these projects have taken the form of massive tourist development.

Urbanization projects undertaken for the sake of tourism constitute a unique form of this alienation. Large sums of capital are employed to erect luxurious facilities that are not available to the local population. Additionally, these facilities are designed in a way to satisfy the image of the place desired by the tourist. Simultaneously, the areas of a city designated most “authentic” to a particular cultural image receive the largest amount of capital from the state for their preservation. The city becomes a series of façades, maintained for the visual consumption of the tourist. Likewise, Harvey notes that these processes of urbanization effectively encompass all physical space through “phenomena ranging from agribusiness to second homes and rural tourism.”

Thus, in Cuba, these developments possess major ideological implications, perhaps which are more dramatic as a result of its Marxist aspirations. As Joseph Scarpaci and Amanda Portela articulate, the choices of which places represent the patrimonial “heritage” becomes has political implications as it renders the Cuban culture into an image. Racial and misogynistic stereotypes are often applied to satisfy the expectations of foreigners. Additionally, Cubans have expressed outrage at this form of “tourist apartheid” and the economically stratifying effects of the introduction of the Cuban convertible dollar. Perhaps most importantly, the collective ownership of property in Cuba is partially negated by private enterprise and its uneven distribution of capital among the Cuban populace.

Therefore, with the essential commodification and objectification of the Cuban physical landscape, graffiti and public art takes on political implications. In the 1980s, before the onslaught of mass tourism, many Cuban artists and artist collectives staged public performances that were loaded with sociopolitical critique. This incited contestations between artists and the state. Similar practices were again revived in the 1990s, in particular with the street artist Carlos Garaicoa. He began to clandestinely paint the numbers 6 and 39 around Havana. These altered the experience of the urban environment by instigating the creation of narrative explanations and a multiplicity of understandings. In the process, they provoked a re-consideration of the urban form and its inhabitant’s relationship with it.

Simultaneously, Cuban artists began to experience an inflow of foreign capital in the 1990’s. As Sujathata Fernandez explains, these “new market conditions for production” were created with the passing of a bill in 1993 that allowed for artists to be paid in convertible dollars. However, this came with the implicit condition that the work would not contain the same degree of criticism that was contained in the work of the 1980s. Towards the end of the decade there was an increase in public artist collectives that tended towards work that investigated the subjective experience in relation to the political.

a "6" by Garaicoa

In, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, Jurgen Habermas expounds the importance of physical public spaces (the coffeehouse) for the creation of the public sphere (within 19^th century bourgeois society) as a necessity for transformative political discourse. As the ideology of the Cuban government becomes threatened by its allowance of tourism, contestation may arise along the very borders of this foreign incursion. The public sphere of the country may be articulated through the long-standing tradition of public art: an attempt to utilize a physical articulation of an abstraction to defend that same abstraction.

Cuban constitution: http://www.cubanet.org/ref/dis/const_92_e.htm

 Sujatha Fernandes, “Postwar Recponstructions: State Institutions, Public Art, and the New Market Conditions of Production”

David Harvey, “The Right to the City.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 27.4 (2003): 939-41. Print.

As we considered Hip Hop in Cuba in class, I fell in love with the band Orishas.  Their rhythms were contagious, and soon I was creating entire playlists of their enchanting songs.  The music is distinctly Cuban, as the band members self describe themselves as a mix of traditional Cuban rhythms and hip hop.  The name of the band, Orishas, refers to deities in the African-based religions in the Americas, such as Santeria in Cuba.  However, though the songs often reflect Cuban life and Cuban themes, the band did not become successful until outside the island’s borders, and produced by a European label in 1999.

In “537 Cuba,” the group reminisces about Cuba, experiencing Cubanismo.

“I come from a place where there is a river
Tobacco and sugar-cane plantation
Where the sweat of the peasant
Makes the land dream.”

Though the band does not take an explicit political stance, their nostalgia and love of their country is present in every album.  The language of “dream” and “peasant” suggest an almost Marxian ideology, however Orishas relates to the population of Cuba more than the government.  Rapped over traditional son or rumba beats, thoughts about the agricultural sugar-cane and the tobacco landscape bring the audience back to Cuba, where the journey of the band began.

When Orishas left Cuba, at the time under the title “Amenaza,” or threat, a previous rap group, rap and hip-hop were not acceptable in Cuba.  After the success of Orishas, the Ministry of Culture built a studio where rappers could establish hip-hop within the country’s borders—hugely influenced by the band.

“If I live from my mothertongue
And calming my faithful sadness
How do you want me to stop
The blood of my love and my country
That runs through my veins
Old and new generations
Of heart, blood and lung.”

Orishas’ defiant connection to Cuba is more than Spanish lyrics and scenic imagery, the band members feel biologically connected to the spirit and soul of the people.  With such a politically complicated country, and a history of marked extremism, I am surprised that Cuba’s most successful music group simply reminisces about Cuba and the Cuban way of life.  That sense of pride comes through in their choices of music and lyrics, which seem to promote the Cuban culture more than anything else.

Still, I find it fascinating, that the band most associated with modern Cuban music is based in Paris.  This fact demonstrates the constraints of hip-hop within the country, and the difficulties in producing successful music.  With the help of outside European music producers, Orishas is extremely popular throughout Europe but especially in Cuba, even with the extreme distance between the group and their homeland.  How authentic can Cuban music be, if it is recorded and produced in Paris?

When the revolution began, Fidel Castro nationalized all the American companies and Che Guevara criticized American ownership in Latin America.  The dream was to return to Cuban culture and authenticity.  Now, because of Cuba’s failure to provide a production for this music outlet, Orishas has sought outside help to produce the voice of Cuba.  The intersections have become convoluted and complicated, but how authentic is Orishas’ hip-hop?  How can they be such pioneers from afar?  Is outside help needed in order to create change within Cuba?  Or is that in contradiction with the original sentiments of the revolution?

“El Kilo”

Sources:

http://www.orishasthebest.com/biografia.html

http://cubanamericanpundits.blogspot.com/2006/04/another-look-at-orishas.html