CUBAN TRANSITIONS

Earlier this month, Cuban actors Anailin de la Rua de la Torre and Javier Nuñez Florian  disappeared in Miami, en route to the first American screening of the film in which they star, Una Noche, at the Tribeca Film Festival. Days after their disappearance, the couple emerged from hiding to confirm, in a televised statement on a Miami TV network, that had defected from Cuba and planned to seek political asylum in the United States. Although de la Rua and Nuñez’ journey was not as dramatic as the story of the characters they portray in Una Noche, who attempt to float to Miami from Cuba on a homemade raft, their story grabbed headlines. A Daily Mail article covering the actors’ disappearance was accompanied by a still from Una Noche of a young man sitting on a rooftop, with the city of Havana laid out in soft focus behind him. The image had a caption that read “Havana Have-Nots: Neither Ms Mulloy nor Mr Arrechada judged the two actors for fleeing Fidel Castro’s island,” referencing the film’s director and its third star. I was struck by how the writers of the Daily Mail chose to refer to Cuba as “Fidel Castro’s island”. At first it seemed rather odd to me: wouldn’t these journalists know that Raúl Castro is now in power, not Fidel? But the more I thought about it, the more the caption seemed fitting. For despite the fact that Raúl, officially in power as President since 2008, is the executive power in Cuba, Fidel still casts an enormous shadow over the island.

While traveling throughout Cuba, images of Fidel far outnumbered renderings of Raúl. Although Fidel could not compete in number with the ubiquitous images of Che, his face was still all over, on signs and billboards and painted on walls. At ICAP, the Cuban Institute of Friendship with the Peoples, a painting over the main entrance read “Con Cuba Siempre,” with Che, Fidel and Camilo Cienfuegos shown in green fatigues, along with the silhouettes of the Cuban Five and a slogan calling for their release. In the foyer of the old mansion that houses ICAP, there was a modern style portrait of Fidel sitting on an easel in the otherwise largely empty room. At the Casa de la Amistad, a smiling Fidel is pictured next to an image of Jose Marti and the Cuban Five. Fidel’s face bedecked a large green porcelain vase in the room where we heard a presentation from members of the Cuban Agencia de Rap. At the Plaza de la Revolución, the wire sculpture of Cienfuegos read “Vas bien Fidel,” even though it was constructed in 2009, after Fidel left the presidency. In the Museum of the Revolution, again it was Che, Cienfuegos and Fidel who dominated the displays, even though Raúl was an essential military commander throughout the Revolution.

In the Casa de la Amistad

It was not only in imagery where Fidel dominated over Raúl. In taking to Cubans, many openly questioned Raúl’s policies and said that anything good Raúl had accomplished as president was actually an idea of Fidel; that Fidel remained the brains of the operation. Another popular opinion was that Raúl was able to succeed only because of the foundation left by his older brother. Few seemed to have genuine words of praise for Raúl that were not quickly followed by a “yes, but Fidel…”. It will be interesting to see what legacy Raúl, now 80, will have when he leaves office, whether or not Fidel will shape how Raúl is remembered. Because, for the moment at least, the caption in the Daily Mail’s article rings quite true: Cuba remains, despite the exchange of presidential power, Fidel, not Raúl, Castro’s island.

Sources

Daily Mail Reporter. “Young Actors in Film about Fleeing Cuba Arrive in U.S. for Film Festival… and Promptly Disappear.” Mail Online. The Daily Mail, 22 Apr. 2012. Web. 29 Apr. 2012. <http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2133509/Actors-film-fleeing-Cuba-arrive-US-film-festival–disappear-fled-Cuba.html?ito=feeds-newsxml>.

Tatar, Andre. “Cuban Actors Portraying Would-Be Defectors in New Film Una Noche Defect For Real.” Vulture. New York Magazine, 28 Apr. 2012. Web. 29 Apr. 2012. <http://www.vulture.com/2012/04/cuban-actors-playing-defectors-defect-for-real.html>.

Every day of our trip to Cuba was packed full of different activities: meetings with musicians, cooperative farmers, college professors and representatives from various governmental organizations and NGOs, not to mention visits to more traditional tourist sites and cities like Cienfuegos, Trinidad and Santa Clara. But in between these meetings and visits, we spent several hours a day being driven from place to place on a large tour bus. It was just one of the 7,000 new buses (according to our guide Joel) that the Cuban government has purchased from the Chinese company Yutong since 2005.[1] While some of the thousands of new buses have been incorporated into public transport and the national bus system for regular Cubans (I saw only one new Yutong bus being used for public transport in Havana), a large number of them are devoted exclusively to the more lucrative tourism industry. This raises several problems that the Cuban government will have to face as tourism increasingly drives the island’s economy: first, by giving tourists the most expensive and comfortable means of transportation available, the Cuban government gives them privileges that far exceed those given to regular Cubans and limits the contact foreigners have with Cubans outside of tourism and related industries. The second problem is that by focusing on short term expansion of tourism infrastructure, the Cuban government risks neglecting the country’s regular infrastructure needs and ultimately harming the long-term expansion of both domestic and international tourism.

There are several fairly obvious reasons for the Cuban government to use its new buses for tourist groups, the most basic of which is that tourist groups provide large amounts of money that the government can spend on its budget priorities of healthcare and education. The Cuban government is also aware that most the tourists who visit the island are from North America and Western Europe and expect faster and more comfortable transportation than Cubans do. Beyond these fairly obvious reasons, there also lies Cuba’s desire to control tourism so that it does not interfere with the government’s larger goals. By transporting tourists around the country in government owned buses, the government is able to quite rigidly control where most tourists go, where they spend their money and who they interact with. The government sees this as desirable because Cubans are less exposed to the potentially corrupting influence of foreigners and tourists are “protected” from potential “harassment” by jineteros or even from Cubans who are just interested in talking to them.

The problems this privileged isolation the Cuban tourist industry provides are evident even now but could grow as the industry expands, especially if the U.S. embargo ends in the near future. Although Cubans seem to understand the government’s motives in providing tourists with exclusive resorts, hotels and transportation, resentment may grow over time if the money generated from tourism does provide material benefits outside of simply maintaining existing social programs. Furthermore, by controlling where tourists go and spend money, as well by having them use an alternate and much more valuable currency (the CUC as opposed to the regular Cuban peso), the government limits the number of people who can benefit directly from tourist spending to a small number of people who work in tourism industries and have direct contact with visitors. This is already creating growing income inequality that will only grow as time goes on and it could become much more difficult for the Cuban government to defend its practices.[2]

In addition to the purchase of buses for tour groups, the government has also spent considerable amounts of money building new resorts, mostly as joint ventures with European and Canadian investors. Tourism statistics from the Oficina Nacional de Estadisticas reflect these new investments. In 2005, there were a total of 450 hotels with 45,999 rooms in the entire country. By 2008, there were only 414 hotels but the number of rooms available had gone up to 48,638. In 2010, the last year for which records are available, the number of hotels had started to go up again, to 434, and there were 56,432 rooms available, an increase of over 10,000 rooms from 2005, representing an increased capacity of almost 23%.[3] The smaller number of hotels overall, along with the increase in the number of rooms, suggests that the Cuban government has been either eliminating or renovating existing hotels and prioritizing massive resorts like the kind we saw during our stay in Varadero.

Although these new resorts, along with the addition of the new buses, will allow for the expansion of the tourist industry under the existing system, I think it would make more sense for Cuba to pursue some sort of unified infrastructure, instead of strictly separating tourist infrastructure from that used by Cubans. Outside of organized tour groups that rent individual buses, there is already a national bus system called Víazul that is, in theory, available to both tourists and Cubans.[4] Nonetheless, since the prices for Víazul are in CUCs, tickets are far too expensive for most Cubans, except, perhaps, those who work in the tourism industry. The majority of Cubans are forced to either hitchhike across the island or take the less reliable Astro bus line, which is targeted specifically at Cubans. Ultimately, it would make the most sense and be most efficient if all transportation were reliable, comfortable and available to both Cubans and tourists. The reason this probably won’t happen anytime soon is that it would require the Cuban government to tackle the contradictions it has created through the expansion of tourism over the last 20 years. Cuba would need to address the inequalities inherent to the dual currency economy and figure out a fair way to allow both tourists and Cubans to use the same infrastructure. Only in this way would the massive investments in the tourism sector bring real material benefits to Cubans and not just preserve the status quo.

Before heading to Cuba, our class studied jinterismo, a term that literally means “horse tamer” or ‘wrangler.” Jinterismo is most equivalent to the english term, “hustling,” specifically in the tourist industry, although it is heavily associated with prostitution. As a result of the economic crisis in Cuba, many Cubans have turned to jinterismo in order to earn precious CUCs from the incoming tourists hoping to gain an exciting Caribbean experience. According to the United States Department of State, a jinetero is a, “street “jockeys,” who specialize in swindling tourists. While most jineteros speak English and go out of their way to appear friendly… many are in fact professional criminals.” Although in class we talked about many of the stereotypes (i.e. racism and sexism), issues of authenticity and the economic necessity surrounding the jinetero and tourism industry, we did not heavily focus on the tourists who experience jineterismo. (Our group invented the verb form, jineteroed, to describe this experience.)  Our class was warned that Cubans would offer to take us to places (clubs, restaurants, etc.) and would expect monetary compensation and that Cubans would ask us for things; however, I did not realize the extent to which our group would experience jineterismo.

My own experience with jineterismo in Cuba was extremely frustrating at the time, but in retrospect it was a good experience. While out for a brief walk before dinner in Havana (after having spent a few days in Havana), my roommate and I ran into a couple in the streets who began talking to us. The man spoke fair English (very impressive considering he taught himself) and his wife spoke only Spanish. However, between the Spanish of my roommate and I, we were able to have a very interesting conversation with them. After talking to them for a few minutes in the streets, they suggested that we go to dinner. We explained that we already had plans and only had a small amount of time and so we suggested drinks instead. He took us to a restaurant away from the tourist parts of Havana (although still only a few minutes walk from the Hotel Plaza). The couple told us we were going to have the best drinks in Cuba (what turned out to be only mojitos, although excellent mojitos). We ordered the drinks, six in total as both he and his wife felt entitled to a second drink, and began to have a conversation about various aspects of life in Cuba. We discussed the government, censorship, topics for my research paper, among other things. When we asked what the couple thought of tourism, they told us that they didn’t have a problem with it. I mentioned the economic benefits of bringing tourist dollars to Cuba and we were informed that, “The tourism industry doesn’t really affect us. All of the money just goes to the government. The average Cuban doesn’t get any money from the tourist industry.” To an extent, they are right. The money from the hotels in Old Havana goes into creating more hotels, not restoring housing, for example, in Old Havana. However, shortly after this conversation we received the bill for over fifty CUCs. Although this restaurant clearly was not a tourist place that traditionally accepted CUCs and this price was three times the amount a mojito should have cost, my feeble attempts to argue with the waiter were not helpful. As we begrudgingly pulled out the money for the most expensive conversation I have ever had, we were warmly told goodbye by the couple. His statement about not benefitting from tourists looked very foolish, but not as foolish as we felt as we walked back to the hotel. Lesson learned.

The most expensive drinks in the world.

The jinetero industry is almost admirable, or perhaps interesting is a better word, when compared to begging. Cuba has an extremely low homeless population (very close to zero, some sources even claiming that homelessness is non-existent in Cuba). Although, we may not have noticed the absence (something far more difficult to notice than presence), there defiantly was an absence of a certain kind of person from the majority of the Cuban streets: beggars. We did experience some beggars, a large amount of people asking for pens (of all things), women asking for clothes, even the clothes off our backs, however, for the most part pure begging, especially for just money, was very minimal. It was most noticeable at Che Guevera’s grave, an obvious tourist hot spot where masses of tourist buses were constantly arriving and leaving. Cubans were actually more interesting in offering services than begging. There are clearing many downsides to this; however, at the very least it requires a skill set, whether that be hustling or an actual service, that simply begging does not. We were not dealing with uneducated, unintelligent people. The man from our excursion was currently enrolled at the university and the woman was a professor of salsa.

It is easy for the U.S. to categorize jineteros as criminals, and some are, but that is a broad definition that is lacking understanding of the economic situation, caused in a large part by the U.S. embargo. Jineterismo is a use of resources available to the Cubans. Cuba is lucky in comparison to the poverty of the Carribean. Cubans have enough access to education that they can communicate intelligently with tourists. They are wealthy (or not poor) enough to have a flourishing tourist industry. Our jinetero may have said that the tourism industry did not affect the average Cuban, an ironic statement coming form him, but this is not true. Cubans regrettably have (or choose) to turn to jineterismo to compensate for low wages, but this is valuable option that many impoverished people do not have. The option of jinterismo, of access to tourist dollars, is a privilege that does make an impact on average Cubans.

Sources:

http://xklsv.org/viewwiki.php?title=Jinetera

Varadero’s peninsula in northern Cuba is a heavily touristed area that boasts extensive shoreline and beautiful beaches, attracting tourists from all over the globe. The all inclusive resorts that line the beach offer tourists everything they could ever need on their vacation, creating a sort of trap, one which makes tourists and their experience and exposure to Cuba highly controlled and commodified. The image of Cuba that these all-inclusive packages want to give to tourists is highly racialized and sexist, based on decades, if not centuries, of conditioning that many tourists are exposed to prior to their trip, thus creating certain unrealistic expectations that can only be met through manipulation and regulation of the industry.

In Varadero, most hotel workers are trained at a local school in which their age, skin color, and attractiveness are factors in their training, development, and job placement. Lighter skinned Cubans are purposely put in the more interactive and ‘official’ roles such as at the front desk, whereas darker skinned workers are placed as back-kitchen help and entertainers. Dark skinned, scantily clad women perform shows in these hotels and resorts that are highly sexualized. Amalia Cabezas in her work “Between Love and Money: Sex, Tourism, and Citizenship in Cuba and the Dominican Republic” sums it up. She says:

The organization of work is, therefore, a circuitous interplay of international tourism’s rigidly formalistic prescription of inclusion and exclusion of workers based on racial and sexual occupational categories. The racial and sexual ordering reflects the consequences and legacy of colonialism as they play out on this current stage of global capitalism (998).

The creation of all-inclusive resorts as a way to control tourist and Cuban interactions has had devastating consequences for workers and for neighboring areas. Those who used to depend on tips to supplement their wages are no longer receiving them. For both men and women, but most predominantly for women, this translates to a push towards sex work. Those who are already working in resort culture have easy means by which to transition into sex work with resort guests in order to earn supplements to their incomes. This means not only sex for money but also full blown relationships for other rewards, such as gifts, trips, and the possibility of marriage and mobility. While there is a stigma against prostitution, the term jineterismo creates a more socially acceptable means by which Cuban women are able to earn a living through the sale of their time and their bodies.

This too becomes extremely racialized. Whereas lighter skinned women may be seen simply as companions to foreigners and tourists, darker skinned women are seen as harassing tourists and suffer harder police harassment and punishment for even going into heavily touristed areas. There is a double standard because light skinned women as well as most male sex workers and jineteros do not suffer the same kind of harassment as dark skinned women do. ‘Rehabilitation centers’ have even been created for these ‘morally questionable’ women in which they are confined and trained to work jobs that do not pay well, thus pushing these women back into prostitution and jineterismo after they are done in the centers. This, in turn, facilitates the continuation of the image of the mulata woman as hyper-sexualized and easily exploitable.

In the time before the Spanish-American War, King Sugar ruled the land in Cuba. One of the most famous and important sites for sugar production in Cuba was in the Valley of the Sugar Mills (Valle de los Ingenios) located 12 kilometers outside the beautiful city of Trinidad near the southern coast of central Cuba. In its heyday during the 19th century this area boasted the heaviest sugar production on the island, with over 50 mills in operation and over 30,000 slaves working in production and harvesting of the profitable crop.

Now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the majority of the structures dotting the beautiful landscape now lay in ruins. However, certain sites remain intact, like the Manaca Iznaga plantation. The original owner of this plantation, Alejo Maria Iznaga y Borrell was one of the wealthiest plantation owners on the island, as exemplified by his house and the tower he built, both of which are kept well maintained today.

The house is now home to a beautiful restaurant with delicious cafe and live music.

The tower remains a tourist destination. At 147 feet tall, at one time the Iznaga Tower was the tallest structure in Cuba. It functioned as a watch tower, while the bell that was once stationed at the very top signaled the start and end of the work day for the slaves, as well as prayer time in the morning, afternoon, and evening. Legend has it that the Iznago brothers, Alejo and Pedro, were both in love with the same woman. As a way to determine who would marry her, the two brothers entered a contest to build a structure whose length in meters would determine the winner. Alejo built the 45 meters tall tower, while Pedro dug a 28 meter deep well, both of which continue to be used today. In the end, despite Alejo’s decisive victory, neither brother got the girl.

At the time of its construction in 1816, the tower symbolized Iznaga’s wealth and power as well as the flourishing success of sugar production at the time. Now, it remains as a symbol of Cuba’s once booming economy during colonial Spanish rule.

Sources:

“World Heritage List: Trinidad and the Valle de los Ingenios”. UNESCO. 1997. Retrieved 29 April 2012.  http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/460

Our first breaths of Cuban air--an airport full of "feeling"

As I wade through the memories and reactions to our time in Cuba, it already seems so far away, not only geographically but like a long past century. The only way I can feel like I’m back in that place of adventure, confusion, curiosity, and enlightenment is through reading my journal and listening to the music that infused our travels. Therefore, this reflection is going to be shaped by excerpts from my journal and the words of the Cubans who let me into their lives.

The night of arrival, 2:30 a.m.: The heat envelopes me like a fog as we descend the airplane stairs to the tarmac. We twirl and rejoice in the authentic night, pointing excitedly at our first picture of Che, observing beneficently from a nearby plaster wall. I sneak into the crowd outside the airport doors, smiling and craning my neck expectantly every time the doors slide open. The anticipation is tangible and my eyes fill, overcome with relief when a mother and daughter embrace, sobbing silently. Fathers, cousins, friends…the crowd sings, chatters, and takes swigs of a strong smelling alcohol as we wait—I’m back in a feeling showing, and loving culture.

Those strong emotions I felt for complete strangers stayed with me throughout our first days in Cuba.  I wanted to understand why they would leave a country they so clearly loved, people they so clearly cherished, and a culture so much more open, warm, and generous than ours. I made it a goal to ask every Cuban I met a simple question: If you could leave the country tomorrow would you go? The answers I got were far from simple. Here are some of them; many are paraphrased as they were longwinded.

• Lazaro, middle aged gardener at the ICAP mansion: I migrated here from Pinar de Rio because there is more money here. I have a cousin in Arizona; do you live near there? I’d like to go visit, but I don’t speak the language and I’d never get a Visa. Being in Havana is already far enough from my family.
• Saydi, 19 yr. old dancer from Havana, one of our salsa teachers: No, I love my job. I’ve been dancing since I was 5 in a street parade and now I have a job at the Las Vegas Cabaret and here. My father works on a cruise ship and I never see him; I don’t want that for my family.
• Yasmani, 24 yr. old jeweler in Havana, we met at a bar on Obispo: My brother works here with tourists and that’s the only reason I’m here drinking a mojito with you. I earn 12 pesos (50¢)/day as a jeweler. It’s not fair that I can’t earn a decent living as a professional; I would definitely leave given the chance.
• Adrian, 25 yr. old bicitaxi driver from Havana: I want to visit other countries like you are doing here, so yes I would leave, but not to live forever.
• Endy, middle aged barber in Havana: I wouldn’t leave Cuba.
  

  Brian, 6 yrs., living with his grandparents while his parents make money in the US

• Mayda, 52 yr. old doctor, we met at Rancho Luna Resort: Yes, I want to move to the US to be with my daughter. She paid for us to celebrate my birthday here. My grandson, Brian, lives with me now and he can’t visit his parents because he’ll lose his Cuban citizenship. It’s so sad, I don’t want us to lose our citizenship, but I want him to grow up with his parents and newborn brother.
• Salek, in his 20s musician/magician in tourist industry in Trinidad: It depends on the country.
• Unnamed Magician in Trinidad: I would leave to work, but not to live. You have to return every 11 months to maintain citizenship.
• “Negra”, 20 yr old mother, sells baked goods out of a private home: I would go to another country if given the opportunity. You don’t see the fruits of your labor here. My husband makes 315 pesos ($12.50)/month as a trucker and he’s gone almost all the time.
• Jhan, in his 30s, drummer in a band for tourists in Trinidad: I definitely wouldn’t leave. The inspiration for my music is in my blood. I’m Cuban.
• William, 26 yr old bartender in Veradero resort: I wouldn’t leave. I’m building my dream house here little by little. I live with my parents now, but I’m making enough money to have my own life very soon.
• Yoel, 36 yr old tour guide: I’ve already been to many countries! I must stay here to start Joe’s Travel Agency.
• Ariam, in his early 20s studying piano at the Instituto Superior de Arte: I couldn’t tell you. Many people leave due to living conditions here, but I don’t know. It would depend on many factors. Today I’m here talking to you, but tomorrow I could be leaving the country. There’s nothing left to do except live in the moment.

It’s hard to extract cold numbers from these interviews. For example, I counted people like Adrian and the magician who wanted to visit other places, but not live as a “NO” because that’s not really plausible in Cuba at this time. So, subject to my discretion here are the results:

NO: 8

YES: 3

MAYBE: 2

These are interesting numbers considering the general sentiment in the US that all Cubans want to leave their country.  I was surprised at these numbers because most Cubans I talked to expressed discontent with their living standards; apparently not enough to want to abandon their county. What isn’t surprising is the fact that so many foreigners believe all Cubans want to leave. Stories of Cubans dying at sea while trying to cross the two hundred miles between Cuba and Florida are well known in the US, helped along by the documentary “Balseros”. This illegal form of crossing by whatever means has largely been abandoned, but Cubans still seek to immigrate to the US. In 2000, the Census reported over seven hundred thousand Cubans living in Miami alone. The overall Cuban population in the US rose from 1.2 million in 2000 to 1.8 million in 2010. However, I’m less concerned with how many Cubans immigrate but instead why they choose to go. Why did so many of the Cubans I talked to during our trip say they would not leave? How are the motives for immigration today different from those ten, twenty, or fifty years ago?

Caught in the middle

Sociologists Eckstein and Barberia argue that we have to take into account contextual and historic factors when analyzing immigrant adaption, not simply generations or number of years they’ve been in a country.  If we separate the two main “cohorts” of immigrants into the politically driven exiles from the Revolution up until the Special Period and the more economically driven immigrants of the past two decades, their motives are just one layer of difference. Ties to family in Cuba, intentions of permanence and integration in US society, and the types of people leaving are just a few of the other layers present in this complex process.  Unlike the first émigrés after the Revolution who left Cuba because they didn’t agree with Castro’s plan for the country, many immigrants today leave for purely economic reasons while maintaining support for Castro, the Revolution, and Cuban ways of life in general. This idea is greatly reflected in my discussions of immigration with Cubans.  Adrian, Yasmani, and “Negra” all expressed interest in immigrating for economic reasons, but also in coming back to Cuba to spend their money. Among younger Cubans (early 20s), this seemed to be a common response.  In contrast, older people like Mayda and Lazaro stated familial reasons as the primary reason they would leave Cuba.

Eckstein and Barberia suggest that increased communication, lack of ideological opposition, and the diminishing of fear and cultural constraints on travel have helped create this new idea of temporary migration. Furthermore, travel barriers have become harder to enforce and increased tourism has given Cubans another economic option. Transnational ties among the second cohort of émigrés are much stronger than the first wave because the first wave did not visit the island as much and most of their family now lives in the US. According to the article, most of the leading elite in Florida are members or children of that first wave of post-revolutionary immigration, giving them vested interest in the Cuban American community. Meanwhile the second wave are creating a new type of Cuban-American; “they are creating a transnational, increasingly borderless social, cultural, and economic  field  and, in so doing,  generating unintended consequences at the family, community, and macro levels. Cubans who do not emigrate, as well as those who do, are changing in the process” (833). This process of change is clearly visible in my conversations with a diverse selection of Cubans.  Ariam’s unsure and confused response as well as many of the others’ conditional decisions show the complicated cultural, political, and social hurdles that have to be confronted when deciding to leave such a special country.

I can’t pretend to understand any better why Cubans come and go, but I feel the ever present pain of the reality of so much immigration. During our talk with the Cenesex representative, he mentioned that Cubans have shown high levels of self-worth. A question I’d like to further explore is how Cubans are translating this identity into a transnational network of movement. I caught a glimpse of this in that first Cuban experience, the dramatic and emotional scene in the airport, which now stands in stark contrast to our return to the US.

Last Day, Miami Airport: The Miami airport felt so abundant and luxurious, teaming with overly equipped and provided for people, too much food, and so much sound. Life, technology, privilege is so stingingly present. Anna y yo had our last comida cubana (ropa vieja con arroz morro y platano) in La Carreta Restaurant. Ciao Cuba—que viva!

A very different kind of airport

Eckstein, Susan; Barberia, Lorena. Grounding immigrant generations in history: Cuban Americans and their transnational ties. The   International Migration Review 36.3 (Fall 2002), Sociological Abstracts.

United States Census 2010. “2010 Census Shows Nation’s Hispanic Population Grew Four Times Faster   Than Total U.S. Population.” Web. April 26 2012. <http://2010.census.gov/news/releases/operations/cb11-cn146.html>

On our second to last night in Cuba, Kelsey, Krystal and I wandered out to try to find a good meal. We were getting a late start and wanted to find something quickly; we were starving and food is known to take a very long time in a lot of Cuban restaurants. First we tried a hotel restaurant nearby but it was expensive and not quite what we were looking for so we thanked the waitress and walked back out to the thoroughfare, still hungry and without a direction. As we walked away from the restaurant, I saw the shadow of two figures behind us and got a little nervous. My paranoid New Yorker instincts kicked in until I heard the man’s voice call out something like “That place is expensive, no?” We agreed and he asked if we were trying to find somewhere cheap to eat. He told us we wanted to find a paladar and we told him he was absolutely right. Paladares are small, supposedly family-owned restaurants that the Cuban government has allowed to exist since early Special Period. Through the paladares, families are able to earn some extra money and they often give them access to the CUC, the valuable, convertible currency used by tourists. Not all paladares are small; we went to a restaurant early in our trip that seemed like it could have been in New York. The only difference was the limited menu.

The man offered to take us to a paladar and we took him up on his offer. Soon we were making pretty standard conversation with him. Do you speak Spanish? Where are you from? Estados Unidos? Wow! We wound down dark side streets in a way I am extremely unaccustomed to. I never go anywhere with strangers, certainly when I don’t know the area and definitely not when I am getting increasingly disoriented as we turned corner after corner. I tamped down my nervousness and soon we were at a packed little restaurant. The proprietor told our new friend that she didn’t have any room (good for her!) and so we kept moving. We turned another corner and he stopped in front of a building that did not appear to house any sort of commercial activity. He rung a bell and a head popped out of an upstairs windows telling him to wait. The door opened and we followed him up an extremely steep set of stairs. At the top of the first flight of stairs, we suddenly realized that this was a real paladar; we were in someone’s living room. We wove our way up two more flights through a kitchen and right past bedrooms. We walked by lounging family members, unmade beds and drying laundry. It was a surreal moment but one I really appreciated it. There was a certain amount of trust that these people were displaying by letting strangers walk into their house. Of course the three of us are not particularly threatening but still, I cannot imagine this kind of a system existing in my neighborhood. I wondered where we were going to finally land, what kind of a dining set up they had. When got to the third floor, we were led onto a sort of outdoor patio. It was absolutely gorgeous, beautifully decorated with mosaic-style, a handful of tables and a little bar.

One of the male residents of the house pay us no mind as we settled in at our table. Here you can see the small bar.

I wondered and still wonder how they managed to set this up, what kind of work must have gone into this venture. Kelsey tipped our jinetero friend and we sat down. The lady of the house came over wearing an apron that said silly something like “Sexy Senior Citizen” (an indicator of family members in the United States, I’m guessing) and showed us the menu. For 15 CUC, we were to get an appetizer, a full plate and a mojito (of course a mojito). My stomach dropped momentarily; the menu was seafood items and cerdo asado or roast pork. I don’t generally like pork but I was too hungry and too aware that it was too late to go elsewhere. All three of us ordered the cerdo asado since we were told it was the specialty of the house.

Soon we were sipping very good mojitos and watching the house cat walk along the wall, irritating some of the dogs next door. He’d come close to us and rub up on our legs which our server/cook/hostess was having none of.

“¡Felipe! ¡No!”

And he’d run off but soon he was back.

Meet Felipe!

In the midst of Felipe’s antics, we were brought a plate of sizzling hot plantain chips, clearly fresh from the frying pan. I cannot explain how tasty they were. They were almost too hot to eat but all three of us could not help ourselves; we absolutely inhaled them. Hungry again, we waited in anticipation for the main course. When it came out, our eyes almost bugged out of our heads. The plates were huge. On them was two good-sized pieces of roast pork, a couple pieces of probably boiled potato (as is most potato in Cuba for some bizarre reason), a small standard Cuban salad (cabbage, cucumber, tomato), and a heaping portion of rice and beans.

When I say I don’t like pork, I don’t like pork. But the cerdo asado from that paladar was so good, I daydream about italmost daily. It was so tender, we could barely spear it with our forks; it just fell apart. The rice and beans were wonderful. It was one of those meals that you finish and even though you’re full, are truly sad it is over. I could honestly burst into tears knowing I will more than likely never eat there again.

After paying our bill and happily overtipping, we made our way back down the stairs and one of the younger female members of the house let us out by pulling a string from the second floor that way tied to the lock down on the front door. We wandered into the night and could not stop talking about how well we’d just eaten. Even though we weren’t 100% where we were, we felt no fear on the dark Havana streets. After all, what did we have to fear? Havana is a city where strangers lead me to the best meal of my trip, and maybe even one of the best meals of my life.

Happy faces

As a child, the stories that my Abuelo and Abuela told be about their youth were never things I looked at as moments from the life of a generation two before my own, but rather moments from the life of Cuban culture, which was then coexisting with my present life in Portland, Oregon.

I never thought of Salsa as Cuba’s equivalent to the American Fox Trot, which in fact it is… to an extent. But while in Cuba I found that what the tourism industry there has done is force pre-revolutionary culture to persist in the international eye. My experiences that I would term “expected” or “familiar” based on stories and interactions with my relatives were ones that took place in a tourist-geared environment. From the music and dance of the government owned restaurant where we had our first official lunch to the structure of every organized meal following.

What I would have been surprised by had I not been exposed to so many educational readings prior to our departure was the prevalence of rap music and modern dance in the Cuban youth. The day that we were privy to a performance by, and class with the dance company of Rosario Cardenas was a show familiar to me not because of my familial origins but because of my participation in the dance program at my arts focused middle school.

It was something I would consider an American encounter, though that consideration would be abundantly wrong. Perhaps the growth of technology leading to the expanse of international communication has lead to lesser cultural divides in the arts, and it is amazing that this has reached embargoed Cuba. In fact, at the end of our lesson Colleen requested an additional Salsa lesson (because we had forgone such an opportunity to be there), which was met with a confused response by the dancers, one primarily of disappointment in our interest. This reaction, however, was not one of laughter in the way we would respond as Americans if asked to teach a foreign visitor the Fox Trot, but rather one of disenchantment and frustration with the tourism sector’s selling of Salsa to the international community.

Florence Babb (2012) conducts research on Cuban tourism and a recent project of hers “focuses on the coexisting cultural-historical tourism that is typified by longings for the revolutionary days,” she further writes, “Contemporary tourism reveals the frequent tension between these two sides of Cuban experience” (108). For me, it was an interesting to witness these two cultures that coexist in Cuba, and while it is true that in many ways they overlap, I couldn’t help but realize that the tension between them has become unavoidable. Furthermore, it was fascinating to discover during my research on music education in the public school system that all teachings are geared toward the transmission of Cuban culture by constructing the lessons solely from Cuban folk music. Not necessarily surprising considering the importance of instilling a Cuban identity to produce Socialist citizens, but surprising after witnessing the negative effect the tourist industry has had on these “Cuban” images for such citizens.

Reference:

The national heroes recognized by any nation are quite often figures that are considered an embodiment values or abilities that the nation’s people hold in high regard. And in this respect, Cuba is certainly no exception—the most obvious example are the figures of Che, Camillo Cienfuegos, Jose Martí, and Fidel, all of whom are held synonymous in Cuba with cherished notions of revolution, courage, and resistance.

A quick scroll through this blog makes it clear that Cuba is a nation that has invested so much in arts education and that has produced such incredible quantities of highly esteemed art—including music, literature, theatre, plastic arts, and dance. That said, it is hardly surprising that among the many national icons recognized in Cuba are a number of gifted artists. Before we even had the chance to really grasp the importance of artistic excellence in Cuba, a few of us witnessed the appreciation Cubans have for one such icon. This blog-post is a spotlight on the incredible Cuban dancer/choreographer/director, Alicia Alonso.

Just before the start of Copelia at the Cuban National Ballet, when almost all the seats were occupied and the orchestra was ready, a slow applause began at the back of the theatre and grew steadily more intense, until the entire audience was on its feet. Following the gaze of those around me, I realized that all eyes were turned towards an elderly woman on the second-floor balcony, as she was helped slowly into her seat. As the standing ovation ended, I murmured a little with my classmates as to who the woman might be, but soon forgot my curiosity and turned my attention to the stage where the ballet was beginning.

Returning to her seat at the end of the intermission, the elderly woman on the second floor was bestowed another standing ovation, and yet another after the ballet ended. Of course, by this point my curiosity was peaked. As we filed into the aisles, I inquired to two Cuban women as to the identity apparently famous woman. “That is Alicia Alonso,” they answered, “She was a pretty well known dancer.”

Well…let’s just call that the understatement of the century, because a quick google search made it clear that she was more than just “pretty well known”…

Alicia Alonso began her training in Havana, but then enrolled in the School of American Ballet in New York City when she was just 17. By 1940 Alicia was dancing in the American Ballet Theatre. However, after just a year she was forced to leave the dance company due to problems with sight. For the next two years, Alicia was absent from the dance scene as she underwent multiple operations in an attempt to recover her sight. The operations were mostly ineffective, and Alicia struggled with visual impairment for the rest of her life. Returning to the stage in 1943 (again with the American Ballet Theatre), Alicia’s staring role as Giselle solidified her presence in the world of ballet theatre and her career took off from there. Given her problems with sight—she had no peripheral vision—Alicia’s partners (she worked most especially with Igor Youskevitch) had to be in precisely the correct position on the stage at all times. Oftentimes the stages on which she performed were lit with particular colors in particular locations to alert Alicia if she were too close to the orchestra, or otherwise out of position.

Alicia danced with the American Ballet Theatre for five more years, after which she traveled internationally, guest starring on Spanish, Parisian, Soviet (she was the first Western dancer invited to perform in the Soviet Union!), and of course, Cuban, stages.
In 1948 she founded the Alicia Alonso Ballet in Cuba, later renamed the National Cuban Ballet, of which she is still the leading director (even though she is in her 90s!!!).

Alicia Alonso has become a recognized figure in Cuban society, and has been given a long list of national awards and titles, including that of National Heroine of Labor and the Order of Jose Martí in 2000. UNESCO awarded her the Pablo Picasso Medal in 1999 for her notable contribution to art and culture, and made her a goodwill Ambassador in 2002.
Additionally, she has been internationally recognized by just about every prestigious dance society, and has been awarded many of the most important prizes in the world of dance (including the Dance Magazine Award in 1938 and 1958, and the Grand Prix de la Ville de Paris in 1966 and 1999).

I everyone to watch a clip or two of Alicia Alonso dancing—not only are her performances incredible and beautiful, but they are made all the more impressive given her difficulties with sight. She is an important addition to the long tradition of excellence in Cuban theatre, dance, and (performance) art in general.

Thinking back on our two weeks in Cuba, what is still astounding to me is how often we were presented with, happened to stumble upon, and were generally surrounded by art and cultural expressions. Our program included countless cultural activities such as visits to Fuster’s studio in Jaimanitas and a modern dance studio in Havana, a meeting with representatives from the Agencia Cubana del Rap, a visit to the Korimakao community arts project in the Cienega de Zapata, a tour of the Benny Moré Art School in Cienfuegos, a visit to the Mejunje cultural center in Santa Clara and the Higher Institute for the Arts in Havana. But more striking perhaps was how art, especially music, was everywhere and seemed to play such an important role in the daily life of Cubans.

Some of it was obviously that  “pre-packaged” culture meant to paint Cuba as a land of “libidinous young salsa dancers and sensual Afro-Cuban rhythms,” as one travel website described it. We definitely saw that travelling through the island; there was live music and usually some sort of dance performance at practically every restaurant we went to and hotel we stayed at.  But for Cubans, music and art in general, serve a purpose that is much greater than simply creating a product for tourist consumption.

Yohaned, the female singer from Hermanazos went so far as to say that “music has been the breath we’ve needed to survive. Cubans have been able to cope with tough times through music, as a way to let go, have fun.” This seemed to true everywhere we went in Cuba, with people of all ages… from those groups of young people who gathered with guitars and bottles of rum to sing the night away at the Malecon to the elderly gentlemen (along with throngs of other tourists and locals alike) who congregated at the main square in Trinidad to dance to the sounds of Los Van Van and Sierra Maestra.

And yet music and other types of artistic production are more than just a national pastime. Arts education and artistic production have been a focal point of the post ’59 government and used to strengthen nationalistic and revolutionary ideals. La Escuela Nacional de Arte (ENA) was one of the earliest and most successful projects created by the Revolution geared towards the arts. It was founded in February of 1962 as a multidisciplinary center for the teaching of diverse, yet inter-connected art forms to students from all regions and socio-economic sectors of the Cuban population. As we saw on our visit to the Benny Moré Art School in Cienfuegos as well, the Cuban government devotes significant resources and places considerable emphasis on arts education. In fact, Cuba is one of the countries with the highest percentage of musicians per capita (one professional musician for every 900 inhabitants). However, it is not simply formal arts education that receives state funding, but also various community based arts projects such as the Korimakao project that seeks to bring art and culture to isolated communities in the Cienaga de Zapata and the Mejunje cultural center in Santa Clara that uses the arts to carry out social campaigns to battle different forms of social, economic, racial and sexual discrimination.

I spoke to a young man (I failed to get his name through Yoel’s urgent calls for us to return to the bus) at the Mejujnje who was an architect/musician/graphic designer about the government’s emphasis on culture and the importance of the arts for Cuban people. He said that “people in Cuba have many needs and culture is a way of meeting those needs. Even though we might not have enough to eat at times, we can feed our souls.” And recently, it seems as if the government has opened up space for Cuban artists to be more vocal about those needs and depict their realities in a way that might once have been deemed anti-revolutionary, and yet is now government-endorsed.  This is well exemplified in the creation of the Agencia Cubana del Rap, an organization subsidized by the Cuban government aimed at promoting hip hop and rap in Cuba. While most of Cuban rap is deeply politicized, touches on sensitive topics such as racism and is often critical of government, in 1999, Abel Prieto, the minister of Culture, declared rap to be ” an authentic expression of Cuban culture”.

While it is definitely not representative of Cuban art or culture, below is short video of the art we were “ presented with, happened to stumble upon, and were generally surrounded by” during our two weeks in Cuba.

Sources:

http://adventures.worldnomads.com/destinations/56/Cuba.aspx

http://www.encaribe.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=1924:escuela-nacional-de-arte-ena&catid=80:baile&Itemid=99

http://www.ecured.cu/index.php/El_Mejunje