CUBAN TRANSITIONS

El Cemetario del Cristóbal Colón.

One of the many sites we discovered as tourists, the trip to Colon Cemetery was also one of the most profound days of my life. Its hard to explain it wholly – it was so experiential – but I’ll do my best as I write and conceive this blog post. I think it starts with Colleen’s lecture of “sight vs. site” and how we can visit certain places as tourists to see the physical site of interest but then there are moments where we truly intake the things before, and on a deeper level, understand the sights in front of us. The events of that day are pretty hazy – I don’t really remember much, vividly at least, until we arrived at the cemetery. It was hot, I do remember that, and I wasn’t looking forward to walking around a bunch of dead people while I was sweating and overheating.

But, we were there and I couldn’t change my circumstances, now could I? As we met our guide – and Yoel quickly told us this tour would be a fast one – I grew less and less excited. For me, cemeteries are places of reverie and peacefulness. I don’t claim to be particularly religious but the spiritual part of myself was uncomfortable with walking around the final resting place of thousands of people just so I could “experience” this tourist sight. Yes, I know we have places that can be deemed as touristy cemeteries in the US – Arlington National, anyone? – but I have never made the choice, or been forced to make the choice, to seek out a cemetery. That left me with a stone cold feeling even in the hot weather.

At first I tried to reason with myself. I kept telling myself to enjoy the experience for what it was, that I couldn’t change the circumstances, and that maybe I’d even learn some fun facts about deceased folks. I also told myself that the Cuba government brought us here for a reason and that maybe, just maybe, there was something so culturally important at this cemetery that I needed to be here. False. On all accounts.

As the tour started, I quickly departed from the group to grab a few photos of mausoleums and headstones that caught my eye. It was a relatively quick process that I likened to my shopping habits – I went in, got what I wanted, and was done. Unfortunately for me, the group had disappeared to some other part of the gravesites and I was left to meander towards the church, central to the entire place. I immediately noticed that the church seemed to be buzzing with more activity than I would have suspected – which made me uncomfortable to say the least. As I was seated on steps of the church, I was shocked to see a Cuban hearse drive right up towards me. Immediately I grabbed my things and headed to the sidewalk, awkwardly pacing and actively trying to avoid “looking” at the procession that was occurring.

Maybe I was taking this to heart too much or maybe I felt guilty as, in comparison to most Cubans, an upper class 1^st world citizen but my heart dropped when I saw the procession heading towards our tour group. I just couldn’t imagine being at home, burying one of my parents, and seeing an awkward group of people taking snapshots and talking during what would probably be one of the hardest things to experience ever in life. It was, to say the least, a shocking moment for me. In that instance I think I felt every negative emotion about 20 times in concussive succession. I was angry, I was hurt, I was saddened, I was alarmed – everything. I don’t think I was near tears, but if I was a crier, I’d have been shedding alligator tears.

It took the rest of the day for me to analyze and ingest what I’d seen. I talked to various people about it, especially those that were in the group that accidentally walked through the middle of the procession, and most felt the same way I did. What were we feeling? Guilt, definitely. But what kind of guilt? The guilt of tourists? The guilt of 1^st world citizens? The guilt of privilege? The guilt of gaze? I didn’t know then and I still don’t know now. But even as I sit in my room and write this blog post, the memories and visceral feelings come flooding back as if I were watching the whole event again.

The sight/site will never leave my mind.

Driving around Havana, one is struck by the beauty of the huge houses that still stand. Many on the Malecón are in are complete disrepair after decades of being beaten by the waves flying up from the ocean day after day.

One such building on the Malecón

Others are falling in on themselves – and tragically sometimes their inhabitants – from a simple lack of funds to maintain them. Still others are perfectly preserved with relatively fresh coats of paint. As one moves west from the neighborhoods of Vedado to Miramar to Sibonay, in Havana, the well-preserved mansions only appear more frequently and are often larger. Are these lavish homes the residences of Cuba’s top politicians and the of those lucky people who have managed to become wealthy in a country where everyone is supposed to have an equal share of not very much?

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, no.

Of course, those with more money (specifically access to foreign money) do finagle their ways into better living spaces but that is not what the houses that used to be symbols of the United States’ dominance is used for. In Vedado, we visited two lavish homes built by non-Cubans that have since been re appropriated for usage by the Cuban state.
The first was the Instituto Cubano de Amistad con los Pueblos (ICAP) house.

A (not too great) picture of the front of the ICAP House

As you can see, the house is amazing. I haven’t the faintest idea why I don’t have pictures from the inside but it was equally beautiful with, if memory serves, lovely marble and much of the original furniture and fixtures. The back had a wrap-around porch which was shaded by the green awning you can see in the picture above that looked out on a garden that I imagine was once much bigger and better maintained. This was the kind of place that was owned by the men who made Cuba a playground, who caused Havana to be flooded with prostitutes and casinos. This wasn’t even the most expensive and lavish house we visited in Havana.

The house has come a long way from its original usage. ICAP’s main mission is to connect with nations and private groups around the world who stand in solidarity with the Cuban government. They also seek to end what the propaganda the United States disseminates against Cuba. When we met with a representative of ICAP on the covered porch, we got our first taste of the difficulties we would come up against when trying to communicate with members of the Cuban government. Our host, although lovely, stuck very much to her party line. I remember a certain defensiveness and evasiveness in the answers to many of the questions we asked. It makes sense though. For one thing, ICAP does a lot to combat the damage that the United States does to Cuba in the international community today. For another, it is located in a building that is highly representative of all of the disrespect with which people from the United States used to do to their gorgeous country; we came in, built luxurious homes and treated Cubans as though they were inconsequential. Later on, we would also met with representatives of CENESEX, Cuba’s sexual health and education department. To me, the usage of this space for purposes so important to the Cuban people is just so wonderful.

Another example of space reappropriation is the Casa de la Amistad.

La Casa de la Amistad

Sitting guard outside of La Casa de la Amistad

Our tour guide, Yoel, told us the love story that created this place which I believe took place in the late 19th century. A man and a young woman fell in love but she was already married so they fled to Spain since divorce was illegal in Cuba at the time. When it became legalized, they returned and built this mansion to live in finally as man and wife. Yoel listed all the things that were imported to decorate their home such as marble from Italy. It was one of the most expensive houses ever erected in Havana. Yoel said that not a thing in the house was from Cuba which was fitting. Today, the house has a restaurant with live entertainment some nights. It also houses Yoel’s tour company, Amistur. One could of course argue – and many do – that pandering to tourists is just a a new and different way that Cubans are being exploited by foreigners but I believe it is different because of the level of control the Cuban government has in these interactions.

The western neighborhood of Siboney is home to the last built mansions of the non-Cubans; it was the posh neighborhood when the revolution triumphed. Now, they house international consulates and embassies. Yoel’s rationale for why the Cuban government did not turn these mansions into multi-family housing in that this neighborhood was not built for or by Cubans so it does not have the schools or stores Cubans need. I find this to be a weak explanation; these are things that could be built. But I suppose when the country has almost no money, it makes some sense.

The fact that the breathtaking mansions are not inhabited by Fidel and Raul Castro and their family members is telling. It shows one of the reasons why the Cuban people are faithful to their revolution through all the challenges they face on a day-to-day basis. Because Fidel has never lived high on the hog like many dictators do, the people are able to feel that he is truly with them. Because the government gives over these speaces that are so representative of the Cuban peoples’ former oppression by outside forces, the idea that they live in a just society seems slightly less difficult to argue with. It is a brilliant move to keep up appearances but I tend to believe it is also more than that. The Cuban Revolution was so much about taking their country for them. The reappropriation of space in Havana is continuing that work in a very visible way.

The moment we arrived at Varadero, Cuba, the tourist hotspot of Cuba, I was surprised to discover that such a place exists in the socialist country. Large five-star hotel resorts have been constructed throughout the peninsula since the Special Period where guests have access to clear blue ocean water, white sand, pools, open snack and drink bars, and air-conditioned rooms with cable television. The more we traveled across Cuba, the more it became apparent that Cuba has proved that it can develop without the need of U.S. capital and investment. Cuba has initiated joint ventures or projects with other countries to gather the funds necessary to construct, manage, and maintain hotel resorts across Varadero specifically and the nation in general. To some extent, it seems as though the U.S. embargo is a positive rather than negative aspect that affects the Cuban economy. The embargo has provided the opportunity for investments from other countries that do not wish to compete with the U.S. multinational hotel corporations. Thanks to the Cuban government’s attention to social justice, it ensures that such hotel resorts are owned by both the foreign company and the Cuban state. This allows the Cuban government to reap a significant portion of the revenues in the hotel industry to fund the ambitious social programs in healthcare, nutrition, education, housing, and social security. I believe this is a great alternative to the dominant free market model of economic development where wealth is transferred from developing host countries to developed countries.

The Cuban government has the right priorities when it takes advantage of the global capitalist system of investment and consumerism to directly benefit the poor population. All it takes is for the government to implement regulation of multinational corporations and foreign investment to utilize the revenue generated by such institutions and redirect it to the population who needs it the most. Supporters of neoliberalism claim that a developing country must not attempt to regulate multinational corporations and their investments as they run the risk of such institutions leaving to other host countries, thus contributing to high rates of unemployment and halting economic development. In Varadero, I have seen the exact opposite. Cuba is regulating the hotel industry and its foreign investment and foreign companies are still willing to conduct business in Varadero to reap some level of profit even if it is shared with the Cuban state. Cuba has ended all ties with the Unholy Trinity of the World Bank, World Trade Organization, and the International Monetary Fund and yet it seems to be doing quite well for a developing country without the “support” of these institutions. Perhaps this implies that these economic institutions are not helping the economies in developing countries, but rather are making the economic situation far worse by forcing developing countries to focus solely on the production of not-very-profitable products, eliminate social programs, and remove labor and environmental standards. The Cuban government has realized that it would have a greater degree of national sovereignty and freedom if it was not tied to the institutions that do not take into consideration the interests of the Cuban population. Overall, I am quite impressed with how the Cuban economy is a direct and concrete challenge to the dominant economic discourse. More Latin American countries should adopt a similar approach to developmental economics.

Aside from the obvious superficial connection between languages, Cuba’s rich historical relationship with Spain has impacted the country in many ways. After Columbus discovered the island in 1492, the Spanish consequently founded cities and eradicated the local Taíno population. These cities, such as Havana and Trinidad, are reflections of Spanish character and their architectural fabric of the cities expound the relationship between Spain and Cuba prior to Cuba’s independence in 1898. They detail that the connection between the two countries was profound, and although independence was achieved, Spain’s influence is still far-reaching in the island.

There are many striking similarities between Spanish architecture in Spain and the layout of the cities in Cuba, specifically Trinidad and Habana Vieja. The first similarity that comes to mind is the presence of plazas in all of the cities. Specifically in Habana Vieja, as opposed to most of the rest of the city that was largely built after 1898, plazas are very visible parts of the architectural fabric. Much like the plazas in Spain, these plazas function as meeting areas for locals and places where restaurants and other commerce thrives. Even some of the names of the plazas are similar. For example, in Trinidad, Plaza Mayor serves as the central plaza and marks the middle of the city, much like the Plaza Mayor in Madrid serves as the center of the city as well. At the same time plazas punctuate Habana Vieja and Trinidad much the same way they punctuate cities in Spain. In much the same way they punctuate Spanish plazas, they are often the sites of famous cathedrals as well: Plaza Catedral in Havana was home to the Catedral de la Habana.

However, plazas are not the only architectural similarities. Perhaps the most striking example of Spain’s architectural influence is the Paseo del Prado in Havana; it was inspired for the same reason the Paseo del Prado in Madrid was constructed. Both Paseos del Prado are along major arterial roads of the city and highlight sites of historical importance along the roads. It was not surprising to see Cuban sites that were similar to Spanish sites; however, the degree to which the city was modeled after Spain in such detail was surprising. The architecture serves as a viewable, palpable connection between the two nations that, although weakened by the independence struggle, still persists fairly strongly today.

Much like the conquistadors of the old colonial empire walked through Cuban cities (walking through the same place in Trinidad where Hernán Cortés once walked before his Aztec conquest was pretty remarkable) in search of riches in a new land, Spain now invests heavily in its former colony in search of different riches. The difference is this time Cuba is free and capable of negotiating itself favorable conditions. Spain had a long, illustrious relationship with Cuba while it was a colony, and although the independence struggle severed that relationship for a while it is now still quite strong. The bond has always been there, you simply have to look at the architecture.

My father was a professional photojournalist, so since an early age I have been exposed to photography. I am compelled by the ability to capture fleeting moments and to frame reality to form an image of my own. When I travel, I always bring a camera and when I went to Cuba it was no different. I was particularly excited to visit this infamously photogenic island, but my travels to other countries has left me wary of certain aspects of photography.

On a solo-backpacking trip to Europe, I first encountered the alienating elements of the camera. Most basically, I noticed the caution one is forced to have towards an expensive piece of technology. Fear of theft forces the photographer to keep up a guard, and suspicion or paranoia can stain the traveling experience (all for the benefit of a commodity). Moreover, the photographer is always on one level a viewer, and there is a voyeuristic compulsion to investigate places that other tourists “did not see.” All of a sudden, places are given hierarchical value based on their cohesive aesthetic composition or illusions of “authenticity.”

Last semester, I studied abroad in Tunisia and experienced an all-together different problem with photography. Although the majority of the country is tolerant towards photo-taking, certain adherents to Islam believe cameras can capture the soul and are evil. Therefore, one has to take caution when photographing individuals so as to not offend their deeply-held religious beliefs. This awareness forces another consideration: what does it mean to photograph another human being, in the first place?

In towns such as Valadero, old men will sit on stoops with chickens on their head. They are posing for tourists, and often have a can out for money. Many tourists, however, do not drop a coin into the cans; with the almost infinite storage capacity of digital cameras, people seem to find less significance in the single image. But these men are turning their external image into a source of capital, a will-full act of objectification and commodification that complicates ethical considerations. On one hand, they are profiting of touristic voyeurism; on the other, there is a deep degree of class separation and the aestheticization of financial lack that is accentuated. Additionally, the images they create out of their own bodies are often meant to typify their economic situation, labor conditions, or “existence” in a singular shot. For the photographer, it is easy to relish lack; poverty is picturesque.

Almost every member of a group had a camera. Collectively, we took many photographs of many people. In doing so, many of us found ourselves constantly reflecting back on what that suggested. Some of us experienced people offended when we took images of them or their children. Other times, we felt dismayed by people financially dependent on being the subject of a photo. We discussed eye-contact with our models and what we imagined were tacit agreements of consent. But what plateaus of human interaction can never be reached when we consider other people in aesthetic terms? In the process of these conversations, I, at least, became deeply aware of my own position in Cuba. I was a visitor and a tourist, staying for a set period of time. While I could create my own experiences of Cuba, and I cherish the memories we all formed, ultimately I could not break the wall between me and the Cuban people that I find typified in the lens of a camera.

The place of homosexuality in Castro’s Cuba has been a complicated and much contested one. When the Revolution triumphed in 1959 and began its project of creating a revolutionary society, homosexuality had no place in the new Cuba. Building from a long history of Cuban machismo that traces its origins to colonization, the Revolutionary government initially actively persecuted homosexuals.  From 1965-8 many gay men and women were even sent (along with other Cubans who did not fit revolutionary standards) to forced labor camps known as UMAP for rehabilitation (Larson, 63). As late as the 1980s Cuba was harshly criticized for its program of forced quarantine of AIDS victims, who were mostly gay men. However, more recently, Mariela Castro has made it her personal mission to reverse this previous injustice and ascertain equal rights and protections for homosexuals through her position as the head of CENESEX, which was established in 1989. One of their major successes has been passing a bill that includes sex change operations as part of the free national health care system. Presently, Legalizing civil unions for same-sex partners is one of CENESEX’s top priorities, as is legalizing gay adoption. (CENESEX talk, 2012).

An official CENESEX video against homophobia
Professor Scott Larson, a scholar on gay space in Havana, writes that public spaces like the Malecón, Parque Central, and La Rampa all serve as meeting spaces for gay Cuban males. He emphasizes the importance of public space in a socialist society where until recently the government owned all property (Larson, 70). In capitalist countries gay neighborhoods (or “gay ghettos”) have historically emerged as centers of gay culture and community with privately owned gay businesses providing social spaces for these marginalized populations. Since this has not been a possibility in socialist Cuba, queer men and women have had to find alternative methods of expressing their sexuality, often appropriating public space for their own uses.

During our brief stay in Santa Clara we met with the founder of the Centro Mejunje, a sort of government-funded community center in the city of 237,580 people that focuses on the “inclusion of everyone.” The center was founded in 1984 and was an important part of the beginning of the gay rights movement in Cuba. Currently it is not an exclusively “gay place” but existing as a welcoming place for gay people is an important part of its identity and activities. There have been significant improvements in the life of the gay residents of Santa Clara as a result of the center. The center helps reunite families who have kicked their gay children out of the house, and have even gotten police harassment to stop. Unfortunately, however, Mejunje is fairly unique in Cuba and similar centers do not exist elsewhere in the country. Additionally, we can infer from his remarks that significant police harassment of queer Cubans still persists outside of Santa Clara (Mejunje interview, 2012).

As an alternative to centers like Mejunje, the director of that program mentioned that a few gay clubs have recently opened in Havana and other provinces. Our guide Adriana also mentioned that the government recently transformed an abandoned movie theatre in Havana into a gay club/space for gays to meet and hang out. She also said there are a few bars that while not officially “gay bars” are known for having a significant gay and lesbian clientele. It is important to note that the bar she specifically mentioned is a paladar, which goes back to Larson’s point about the role of private property in creating gay space. Raúl Castro’s reforms are causing sweeping changes in Cuba, and I wonder how the legalization of private property and enterprise will affect the position of gay and lesbian Cubans. It is too early to make any judgments but I am concerned that any new permanent gay spaces that emerge as a result of free enterprise will be raced and classed due to the inequalities in which Cubans have access to hard currency and can thus frequent those establishments.
As to the position of homosexuals in general, Adriana’s opinion was that Cuba is becoming a much more accepting society largely thanks to CENESEX’s work, but that “it takes time for a culture to change.” When I went to a club my last night in Havana with the rapperos I found this graffiti, which to me was an indication, however small,  that the culture is indeed changing.*

*However, note that it is written in English, not Spanish.

 Sources

Interview with Adriana at Hotel Ancón, March 2012

Talk with an official representative of CENESEX, March 2012

Talk with the founder of the Mejunje Center in Santa Clara, March 2012

Larson, Scott (2010). Gay Space in Havana, in The Politics of Sexuality in Latin
America: A Reader on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Rights, Javier
Corrales and Mario Pecheny, eds. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, pp.
334‐348

Today, Cuba faces (once again) a critical new horizon. The extreme poverty of the Special Period, after the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 90s, has been mitigated to a degree. Progressive new conceptions of collectivity, as well as selective liberalizations to the economy, have already begun to radically transform the country. In particular, tourism has proven itself a major resource-generator, and has already changed the everyday experience of the capital and other cities. For example, recent renewal projects have given a facelift to parts of Old Havana. Fresh paint and thriving small private businesses have helped create a lively ambience for a particular public. While the inhabitants of these buildings have certainly benefited, these renovations seem to be catered to the masses of tourists who are funneled in large Chinese buses to particular “heritage sites” and other landmarks. They serve as a backdrop, helping to frame a singular image of that especially photogenic city. Juxtaposed with decay, these beautiful old buildings leave the traveler trembling in the face of the physical materialization of that forgotten dream of the picturesque. But other realities belie singular images; as has already been suggested, all urbanization projects are political.

Old Havana

While on a tour with a representative from Havana’s preservation and planning agency, we were able to remark at the scope and care with which Old Havana has been restored. Deeply aware of its historical significance, skilled architects, urbanists and historians researched every aspect of their work, down to restoring original paint colors. The representative noted the difficulty of the project, particularly when considering the economic ramification of the embargo and the Special Period. But the work has also benefited from these conditions; Havana did not experience either the modernist urban renewal projects that ravaged cities worldwide (such as in New York under Robert Moses), or the large-scale developments that occurred with the cyclical boom periods of late capitalism. Additionally, in 1982 Old Havana and its fortifications were named UNESCO World Heritage sites. The UNESCO website states:

“Despite its turbulent history, the city suffered little damage in the country’s wars and revolutions, and stands today much as it was built 100 years ago or more. It is today a sprawling metropolis of 2 million inhabitants, its old centre retaining an interesting mix of Baroque and neoclassical monuments, and a homogeneous ensemble of private houses with arcades, balconies, wrought-iron gates and internal courtyards.”

With this status, Havana has benefited financially and politically.

Havana is a UNESCO World Heritage Site

Similar renewal and revitalization efforts have been slated for the historic Malecón, which serves as a porous membrane between Havana and the sea. The street is at once a major thoroughfare; a promenade for flâneurs and lovers; a substantial resource for food and money for fishermen; and, an access point into the sea, which is deeply imbued with religious and cultural meaning for many Cubans. While in the city, we heard anecdotes from Santeria practitioners of the importance of the ocean. For example, one man I encountered explained that the ocean is an orisha, or spirit, with whom one can communicate. This limited and partial glimpse at the meanings embedded into this public space by the multitudes that experience it reveals the complexity necessary for an urban renewal project that aimed to be truly sensitive to the nature of the place.

Julio César Pérez Hernández, a Cuban architect and urban planner/designer, published A Vision for the Future of Havana, a proposed master plan for the city. Hernández begins with a thorough, if opinion laden, history of Havana’s development. In particular, he mourns the abandoning of mixed-use areas in the 1920s for American-style sprawl designed around the automobile. Similarly, he asserts that the switch of government focus from urban areas to rural areas following the Revolution contributed to the sprawling growth of the city. He mourns the “incompatibility” of the Soviet-style apartment towers and the “loss of the traditional grid.” Finally, he denigrates the foreign investments of the 1980s and 1990s for their ignoring of sustainable or regionally-sensitive architecture in favor of an air-conditioned “hostile environment devoid of a recognizable spirit of place.”

Hernandez's masterplan

Hernández writes:

“A team of Cuban architects, led by this author, has designed a Master Plan aimed at preserving the city’s spirit and its historic, urban and architectural legacy, while encouraging its future urban and economic development. The urban plan expresses a holistic vision that is independent from the government’s ideas and from the official planning agencies that replicate the official mandate. It looks toward Havana’s future while remaining true to its history, its people’s idiosyncrasies and its landscapes. For the first time, it provides a comprehensive scope, spanning both urban planning and urban design, in such a way as to give continuity to Havana’s traditions and to seek a contemporary image.”

In his plan, he names ten key concepts: defining the city’s “image” through waterfront revitalization; “reinforcing” the city’s “polycentric structure” to assert its “identity”; increasing public space; new public transportation systems; upgrading infrastructure; mix-use development; “social and cultural integration”; redeveloping the traditional Calzadas; increasing greenery; and urban infill.

While particularly sensitive to ecological issues, his plan contradicts its intention almost immediately. By claiming the waterfront as the city’s “image,” the project would further the negative ramifications of earlier projects in Old Havana that make claim to a single part of the city being the “authentic Havana” and, theoretically, displacing other parts of the city as “inauthentic.” Hernández’s stated dislike for certain aspects of development, while understandable considering contemporary aesthetic preference, posits certain historical periods as better than others. This ignores the everyday use of the city, for even in the large Soviet towers and the “hostile environments” of new developments, individuals act out their lives, imbue places with meaning, and creatively interact with their environment. Hernández’s type of thinking parallels the pre-Revolutionary sentiment that privileged urban areas over rural areas, and suggests a perspective that is locked in its singularity. Likewise, his perspective suggests the fixed images of photographs or aerial maps, and this can be read in his diagrams.

c/o Hernandez's masterplan

c/o Hernandez's masterplan

Hernández’s usage of ambiguous concepts such as “identity,” “image,” and “social and cultural integration” within a master plan suggest an assumption of authority. The belief that a singular urban planner or firm could understand the “identity” of a city assumes that it is possible to fix the sentiments of a multiplicity of individuals. This is, of course, impossible; but urbanists can endeavor to implicate as many people as possible to mitigate the dangers inherent in such projects. Hernández does not seem to do so, but rather assumes he has made an “authentic” reading of the city and thus can formulate a future for it. This is typical of architects, like him, involved in the International Network for Traditional Building, Architecture, and Urbanism, a group started by the Prince of Wales that attempts to preserve and replicate traditional building practices. While noble in their efforts to mitigate unfettered developments, they often elevate a particular morphology or aesthetic as “authentic,” crafting a nostalgized picture of a romanticized past. While their aesthetics are often different, such architects seem to follow in the megalomaniac approach of the same urbanists they condemn, like the modernist Luis Sert.

Sources:

http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/204

http://www.journalofbiourbanism.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/JBU1_R_93-102.pdf

http://www.intbau.org/

“Se puede bailar a cualquier música cubana, pero sobre todo preferimos la salsa.” “You can dance to any Cuban music, but overall we prefer salsa.” -Salsa dancers

“El éxito depende de las posibilidades de trabajo que tengas; hay muchos músicos en Cuba” “Success depends on the job opportunities that you have; there are a lot of musicians in Cuba” –Ariam, pianista

“La Trova y los cantantes viejos o ya muertos siguen teniendo influencia en la música de ahora” “Trova music and the old and dead singers still influence today’s music.” -CD sellers on Obispo St.

These three quotes exemplify the complexities of the Cuban music scene and the melding of genres, time periods, and styles that make up the music of today.

I left for Cuba with the idea that I was going to explore the relationship between the older genres, specifically Trova, Son, Salsa Cubana, and Latin Jazz, and the more modern genres of Timba, Rap, and Reggaeton. I discuss the closure of many nightclubs and cabarets after the Revolution and the depoliticization of music during the Special Period and the role these played in changing the musical atmosphere in Cuba. I wondered if musicians would work less for profit and more for the sake of art. I didn’t come to any definitive conclusions on these topics, but my perceptions and appreciation of Cuban music transformed dramatically over our time there. Two aspects of Cuban music that especially struck me were the abundance of Cuban musicians and the “traditional” nature of the music we were exposed to.

I knew Castro strongly supports the arts and that Cuba has multiple government institutions for training and uniting musicians, but I had no idea how many musicians there were in Cuba. I was stunned there were enough musicians to play for us in anything from a duo to a sextet at breakfast, lunch, dinner, walking down the street, and even in a crocodile preserve. In fact, “Cuba remains one of the countries with the highest percentage of musicians per capita (one professional musician for every 900 inhabitants)” and that’s just professionals (Diaz-Ayala). Many of the musicians I met learned to play “en la calle” (in the streets) as they liked to say. For example, only two members of the five person government sponsored group Hermanazos formally studied music. Needless to say, the Cuban music scene is very competitive.  I had a long conversation with a pianist named Ariam at the Plaza Hotel in La Havana. He studies at the Instituto Superior de Arte, one of the best music schools in Cuba, but he insisted that “es gratis de cierta manera” (“it’s free in a certain way”). He mysteriously stated that “there are ways to know how to do well on the entrance exam”. Furthermore, he indicated that your job prospects greatly depend on the friendships you form through institutes such as his. However, “you have to work very very hard,” he stressed many times during the interview; proof of this was his dedication to playing piano without pay at the hotel 7 hrs/day after school. Apparently the tips in CUCs make it worth the time. I wondered if he was trying to create another useful friendship when he insisted on playing me “Somos Novios” at the end of our conversation. Ariam taught me that being a musician in Cuba is hard. Being well trained/educated, like most other professions in Cuba, by no means guarantees affluence. Cubans are forced to find innovative ways of creating, performing, and making a career out of music. Scarcity in the Special Period pushed this streak of creativity which many attribute to the amazing musical accomplishments in Cuba. Increased pressure from the tourism industry has further incited a need for innovation if you are going to succeed in the Cuban economy. Musicians have to please the tourists by “selling pre-revolution Cuba to a post-revolution population” in the words of Bianca Arias. At the same time, they need to stand out from the plethora of other Cuban musicians trying to do the same. While many of the people involved in the music industry complained, like Ariam, about all the problems with the system in Cuba, I was impressed with Cubans’ perseverance and dedication to “traditional” genres and making them their own through creativity and enthusiasm.

Among many son songs, some salsa, an Orishas song, and a lot of boleros, this is one of the videos I found on YouTube when I typed in “traditional Cuban music”.

I put “traditional” in quotes in the previous paragraph because my idea of this word has been completely altered after our trip. Not only is Cuban music impossible to categorize, but like any art form, each artists brings their own style to the table. A phenomenon of fusion is currently taking place in Cuba in which many distinct Latin American musical forms are combined in various ways that blur the lines of specific genres. For example, our group heard the song Gauntanamera at the Buena Vista Social Club restaurant from a sextet with horns, drums, and an electric keyboard as well as from duos sitting on the sidewalk with one guitar in the Centro Historico. This patriotic song, famed to be written around 1930, is a truly traditional Cuban song. However, another song we heard repeatedly, the Chan Chan, was actually written post-revolution in 1987. This fact surprised me since the Chan Chan had been portrayed to me as the most “traditional” song in Cuba. Clearly traditions can be created within very little time. Although Chan Chan neatly fits into the famous Cuban son genre, many contemporary Cuban musicians incorporate aspects of this style into their own, creating a uniquely Cuban genre. The Hermanazos group told me they identify with the Cuban son, and it influences their art, but doesn’t define it. This ideology can be seen in many artists of the new fusion. However, fusion was a lot more subtle in the music we experienced than it is in what many call the modern Cuban dance music, Timba. Maya Roy attributes this to Cuban musicians being “torn between their training at the schools that have forged very similar musical ideas in them, their audience, and the tendencies of the outside market” (175). Although it’s tempting to solely attribute the abundance of “traditional” music to touristic tastes, the truth is that it’s also deeply embedded in Cuban ideology.

Timba music demonstrates this dance between traditional and modern styles. Timba is a type of fusion based on a development of son that illustrates newer styles and tastes. This popular music is a form of news and expression for many Cubans as each Timba song has an improvisation component that allows musicians to sing about whatever they are passionate about at that time. A lovely painter named Juan that I met in his shop in Cienfuegos swore that the most popular band in Cuba is Los Van Van, the group that popularized Timba as its own genre.  However, as tourists, we heard little to none of this band’s music. Perhaps this was due to the perception that, as one musician told me, “a las turistas no les gusta La Timba…mucho ruido” (“tourists don’t like Tima…very loud”) or maybe we didn’t hear it because as Roy suggests, Los Van Van’s founder, Juan Formell, intended “to counter the fashion—apparently irresistible abroad—of Cuban musical expression from before the Revolution performed in the old style” (181). Regardless of the reasons for our lack of exposure to Timba, I strongly suggest everyone further explore this genre as it reveals the depth of Cuban culture and is joyously danceable.

According to Roy, the official musical goals of the Revolution were:

to safeguard the most authentic cultural roots and national traditions; to promote the movement of amateur musicians and singers in order to discover new talent; to train high-quality professional musicians by providing better musical education; and to create structures allowing for musical experimentation. (Roy, 150)

As I hope this short commentary illustrated, from my experience in Cuba these goals have largely been accomplished accompanied by many other accidental side effects like rigorous competition, fusion, and a dichotomous relationship between tourist and popular Cuban music.

Roy, Maya. Cuban Music. Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2002. Print.

Quite a ways down Calle Obispo was the Hotel Florida. Inside was a salsa club. In the club were the jineteras sitting at the bar, Cuban men picking tourists up to dance, Cuban and foreign couples dancing, and the bartenders. In case you’ve never made it to the Hotel Florida, I should describe exactly how the process works. You walk into the hotel, pause to listen for the music, and then you walk through a double set of wooden doors on the left. A man in tuxedo approaches you and holds out his hand. The price is five CUCs, and includes two free drinks from the bar. That man you just paid? He’s both waiter and bartender, and so as you take your seat, he comes over and takes the first order. On the dance floor are several couples: The obvious tourists who are pretending to know how to salsa, foreign women being spun around by Cuban men, and a Cuban couple whose dancing you’ll never live up to. At the table to your left is another group of tourists. On the set of couches to your right is a confusing group: a few Cuban men and a few women who seem to Russian based on what they’re speaking. You can’t quite figure out if they’re dating, if they’ve just met…etc. Suddenly, halfway through your cuba libre, a hand enters your vision and attached to it is a tall Cuban man asking you to dance or offering you a drink. You, of course, get up, and proceed to salsa, meringue, or bachata and have the time of your life for a song, being spun around like those dancers you see on television. After the song, you have the desire to start dancing again and never stop, but that tall Cuban man has already moved on to another woman in the club.

Couple Dancing at Restaurant

I went to the club at the Hotel Florida three times. After the first time, I realized that I recognized several of the tall Cuban men (TCMs for short). There were a few that were there all three times that I went. After a while, I started noticing things. Like the facts that they never seemed to pay for any drinks, and that they seemed very familiar with the bartenders. At first I thought that they were just regulars, but who shows up at a club for tourists on a Tuesday, Thursday and Friday over two weeks? I came up with two other hypotheses: They were there, with a running tab at the bar, in hopes of taking someone home, or they were actually employed by the hotel to attract tourists. By the third night, I began thinking that the latter was more likely to be true.

Two out of three nights, I stayed until the club closed, and I never saw them settle a tab with the bartender. They were also hesitant to approach me at first; one told me that he thought I was Cuban, and usually only danced with tourists. It wasn’t until I left that I came to the conclusion that I would not have gone back to the club after the first night if it hadn’t been for the TCMs. Why would I? As a person who had just been to salsa lessons, I had absolutely no idea what to do when confronted with the dance floor. Dancing with someone who knew what they were doing was a lot different that practicing the steps with my roommate. I am now convinced that I won’t get to dance like that again. It can only happen in Cuba –

Dancing With a Tourist

– Which means that if they were actually hired by the hotel, the TCMs are doing their jobs right. As a tactic, it’s extremely effective. It kept the dance floor full of rotating people who looked like they were having a fantastic time and kept people coming back. Really, how different is that that the couple dancing at the restaurant we ate lunch at the first day? They were entertaining and inclusive of the patrons of the restaurant. Like the bands singing everywhere we ate, and like that couples, the TCMs were a form of entertainment. Whether or not it was intentional on the part of the hotel and club, they work.

My first day in Havana I was convinced I had found the most beautiful building I had ever seen. Five minutes later I found a new building more beautiful than the last. And so on for two weeks.  The city is magnificent in the sheer number of historical buildings that still exist there, which range from colonial-era churches to hotels built by American mobsters up until the Revolution.  The buildings that in particularly captured my fascination were the stunning art deco structures that dot the entirety of the city, from the Bacardi building right outside our hotel in Habana Vieja, to residential homes in Vedado and Miramar.

Deco building seen from the balcony of the Hotel Plaza

Residental buildings in the deco style

Art deco is perhaps the definitive style of the period between WWI and WWII. It emerged in Paris, but quickly spread to the US and beyond, manifesting in every facet of visual life, influencing things as small as typography, and as large as buildings, the focus of this post. The name Art Deco derives from the French term Arts Décoratifs, referring to deco as for the most part a purely aesthetic movement; its only political statement its self-conscious modernity in the Machine Age (Unger, VIII). In Cuba, Batista used Monumental Modern, an offshoot of deco, as a political statement, commissioning many large-scale projects in the style as a demonstration of his modernity and power (Unger, XII).

Deco was an international movement, but took on characteristics unique to each location in which it manifested. In his book Havana Deco David Unger describes Cuban deco as having a “sultrier” tropical flair, with palm trees and Afro-Cuban influences permeating the style (VI). Deco arrived in Cuba in 1927 (Unger, XI), and reached high recognition in 1930 with the completion of the Bacardi building, Havana’s tallest structure at the time. Unger attributes Havana’s impressive examples of the style as a result of the skill of Cuba’s architects and technicians, as well as the island’s unique position as a crossroads and its historical ability to “assimilate” and blend (X, 3-4).

Common deco elements seen in Havana include decorative frieze panels cast in cement, geometric ornamental borders, and ironwork. Friezes give Havana deco design continuity through their high presence in the city. From “modest dwellings” to upper class developments, friezes were incorporated into most new construction of the era. Deco touches could be massed produced in keeping with its modernist roots or designed for the individual structure, which gives the style an adaptability that helps explain its wide use in the city (Unger, 39).

Deco home with frieze

The biggest issue facing these buildings is the lack of money to preserve them. “Saving architecture seems like a luxury in today’s Cuba,” one article states (McGuigan).  The internationally recognized monuments like the Bacardi building are in no danger of being lost, but the many smaller gems around Havana are suffering from the same lack of funds that has caused much of the city to be crumbling.  The Office of the City Historian of Havana has a mandate to take tourism money and put it into restoration of Habana Vieja, but architecture from after the colonial period has not been prioritized. Due to tourism the funding is slowly appearing, and provided the preservation process continues as it has, the issue facing Havana will be ensuring that restored buildings are still functional, that the city is not rendered simply a “theme park” for tourists (McGuigan, 52-5).

The Bacardi Building

Finally, it is important to remember that though Cuba’s economic straights are to blame for the crumbling nature of Havana’s buildings, without the Revolution many of these structures would have been lost years ago.  Urban renewal and other development schemes destroyed many similarly aging structures around the world, and one scholar argues that “only because of the Cuban Revolution was Havana spared the disfiguring demolitions and reconstructions of other Latin American cities,” (“Saving Havana”, 2000). Just as the Special Period produced an ecological “accidental Eden” in Cuba, it seems the Revolution has done the same for architecture.

Unger mentions that some of the “most stunning” examples of deco can be seen in the Colon cemetery (VI). I was especially taken by the deco Piedad by Rita Longa, which is the centerpiece of the Aguilera Family’s vault. Photo by Nikola Alexandre

Bibliography

Alonso, Alejandro. Havana Deco. 1st American ed. New York: Norton & Company, 2007. Print.

“Editors Corner: Saving Havana.” Cuba Update Jun 30 2000: 1-. Alt-PressWatch. Web. 2 May 2012 .

McGuigan, Cathleen. “Saving Havana.” Newsweek Jul 15 2002: 52-5. ABI/INFORM Complete; ProQuest Research Library. Web. 2 May 2012 .