Sin Evasión / Without Evasion

Infanta Mariela Castro is brave: the insignificant commoner Yoani crashed a day when she woke up “more lucid than usual” (less bad), and asked her about something “that had nothing to do with the issue of the meeting.”  Well, yes, despite the lucidity of the great social researcher and the “professional and scientific rigor of the meeting” of her personal social gathering that took place in Belles Artes, Yoani left without the answer she’d hoped for and the Infanta, at that moment, froze a smile somewhere between perplexed and incredulous on her face.  And for this, no less: a mere mortal invaded her Parnassus and dared to suggest extending the debate on tolerance to other spheres of social life, beyond the thalamus of intimate relations and the sexual orientation of each person.  Yes, Yoani, what a smart aleck!  And ignorant, imagine not even knowing that one only attends these meetings of the anointed one to listen and to honor.

I will never understand the contrary Infanta who, on this occasion, instead of babbling nonsense, had a golden opportunity to demonstrate that she herself is a brilliant shining light, which is not possible for a self-proclaimed social researcher locked in her own world—and enjoying, by the way, all the impunity of her many illustrious names—to avoid professional responsibilities.  For my part, I worked for over 20 years in the Social Sciences Institute of this country and I know that in the majority of cases the investigations that lay bare the profound social conflicts of this nation are never published.

For that reason I’m not going to appeal to such a notable lady from the point of view of politics (which appears to be foreign and uncomfortable for her) but from the perspective of social research which she refers to in her complaining message, “To Arturo.”   As she seems to consider it not her place to debate current aspects of Cuban society that have nothing to do with narrow framework of sexuality and gender, I would like to know her opinion of how official policy has manifested itself around the subject of sexuality—her specialty, as she says—throughout the last 50 years.  I am particularly interested in the long-silenced reality of the so-called Military Units to Assist Production (UMAP), to which the government sent thousands of homosexuals, as well as ‘inconvenient’ heterosexuals, to perform hard labor during the 1960s and part of the 1970s.  It would interest me to know why the government has never explained its motive for denying homosexuals entry into the ranks of the Communist Party of Cuba, (although I, were I one of them, would take this as a favor), or by virtue of what peculiar politics they have not been allowed to fill certain management positions or hold certain jobs.

Lady Mariela’s reaction has been not only disproportionate but also hypocritical and misleading.  Her reference to independent Cuban bloggers as dissidents and mercenaries linked to “the Empire” is the same old tiresome story.  Everyone who thinks differently is the enemy: nothing is more alien to the tolerance she preaches.  The question Yoani asked has no effect on the sovereignty of Cuba, it appeals to the rights of millions of Cubans.  We still haven’t heard an apology from this government—which so generously funds Mariela’s “research”—for the decades of abuse and atrocities against those “different,” homosexual or otherwise.

Our blogger journey has started and already has had meetings at several stops.  As it has grown and developed, we bloggers of the Island have preferred to avoid the boring designations associated with the hide-bound bureaucracy, and so we didn’t want to call it an “Event” and opted for the term “Journey.”   Because that’s what it’s about: a route we use to communicate and come together, a permanent way to exchange experiences, to defend the piece of cyberspace that belongs to us all in its own right and which, with voracity and impotence, the authorities try to take from us, as was demonstrated by the express prohibition of our meeting in Pinar del Río where we would have held the inauguration of this event.  If anyone thought that with such dictatorial bullying they could prevent our meeting, by now they must be convinced otherwise.

But today I only want to talk about one post in particular of all that have been presented so far on our journey.  This one touched me to the depths of my heart, maybe because all of us bloggers of this battered country are united by the same yearning for freedom, by the same eagerness to say our piece.  “The old man, the Internet and me” is the title given by El Guajiro Azul [The Blue Peasant] (www.desdecuba.com/retazos) to an entry singularly poignant in its simplicity and clarity, as well as its inclusive character.  On each point, the Guajiro touches on the reality for all of us, our worries and longings, hopes and disappointments, our little crises of faith, our willingness to continue blogging in spite of everything.  His work sums up, perhaps unintentionally, that spirit of individual freedom which each of the blogs on the Island—with its own characteristics and style—represents.  That is why the Guajiro, like all of us, did not renounce this solitary exercise that frees us and impels us to sit down, again and again, in front of the keyboard—without being sure how or when we will publish, without the pursuit of glory or fame, with no other yearning than an addiction to freedom—to circumvent the wall of government censorship and to have our own voice.

I want to thank the Guajiro for his work, a beautiful point on this journey, and offer my promise that from now forward, on every small occasion that I have the good luck to be able to access the internet, I will endeavor to make sure that your blog is one of the ports where I will stop.  Go, Guajiro!  Mend the mosquito netting, have a coffee and a cigarette, and turn again to fire up your machine!  We will be waiting!

It seems that the expansion of social apathy has reached its peak in Cuba and has ended the only thing that remained intact after 50 years of setbacks: the celebrated Cuban sense of humor.  So, now we don’t even have the joke that somehow worked as a palliative in the face of misfortunes.  At least, from my personal impressions, everything indicates that after decades of anxiety, heartaches, losses and shortages, laziness has conquered humor and we are witnessing the disappearance of that wittiness, often criticized and not without reason, but always encouraging for its perspicacity and vivacity, that has been with us even in the most difficult moments.
Almost imperceptibly we have been losing the opportune joke, placed in the middle of the most varied and irritating situations: a long and tiring line, a jam packed and hot bus, a widespread black out… In these situations there always seemed to appear some funny guy who would improvise a bold and malicious jab which, as a general rule, would get everyone laughing.  Certainly it’s not always opportune to joke.  Critics of the renowned Cuban flippancy maintain that this is a national trait of immaturity, a kind of safety valve that led to the shirking of civic responsibility: laughter instead of action.

Well then, there is evidence now that this has changed.  For my part, I don’t remember when was the last time that I heard a joke on the street or when the last Pepito story appeared.  Because, as people say, Pepito is a kind of folk hero, the most famous Cuban of all, the one we all know.  Pepito seemed immortal, fresh and fearless, even when reality was as dark as it could be.  Who doesn’t remember his presence in the ‘90s?  There, in the absurdity of the greatest misery that several generations of Cubans could remember, the epoch of “root pasta,” and “fricassee,” of the “pertaining to meat mass” and of “gutless dog”—gastronomic monstrosities responsible for a great deal of gastritis and whose effects are still claiming victims.  There Pepito arose, happy and fun, also suffering hunger and all kinds of hardships, also emigrating, also immersed in the barter needed to survive, but never defeated or sad.

Somehow, in the midst of that crisis, many of us felt that we were forced to change.  The old world had been transformed, now there was no socialist camp, no Comecon, we didn’t have the Soviets, the Cuban government was compelled to allow small family businesses and farmers markets resurfaced, tossed out in the ‘80s, now new necessities to alleviate the acute food shortages, at least for those families whose purses had the capacity to face the stunning prices of the new reality.  At the same time, the proliferation of foreign currency stores and the decriminalization of the dollar (the first, until then, restricted to foreigners and a small group of Cubans with access to hard currency; the second whose possession had been severely penalized before the crisis), extended access to their products to Cubans, primarily those receiving family remittances from relatives abroad, which would become a major source of income for the State.

Nearly two decades later, the current crisis does not seem like a joke to anyone in Cuba.  While in the ‘90s there was a kind of quiet tolerance form the government in the face of certain illegalities and shady dealings, if then the government allowed itself  a little leeway to avoid major consequences; now the reality is quite different.  In the economic crisis in which the hurricanes Gustav and Ike were only catalysts and not the real cause, is added the worsening repression against “every kind of illegality.”  Correspondingly, there is not a single light in the bleak national picture.  When there is not even hope, it’s clear that there’s nothing to laugh about.

If one of the heroes of the nineteenth century wars for Cuban Independence decided to rise from his grave, he would almost certainly fall back as if struck by lightening to see the large number of Cubans who have initiated civil proceedings with the hope of obtaining Spanish citizenship through the possible immediate approval by the authorities of that country, on the basis of a law that grants that status to the grandchildren of those Spanish mainlanders who lost it after emigrating from Spain.

I’m not very clear how the “ball” has come to public notice, but it happened after the publication of the seventh additional provision of Law 52/2007, about the right of an option of Spanish citizenship, which recognizes and extends rights and establishes measures in favor of those who suffered persecution or violence during the Civil War and the Dictatorship.  It’s assumed that it won’t be sufficient to be the grandchild of Spaniards but—what if, and “just in case”—thousands of Cubans have started to turn over every stone looking for their Iberian pedigree with the hope of getting, in addition to the nationality, some benefit… including (and perhaps above all) the possibility of emigrating from Cuba.    Surely some shrewd type will note here that there are also, in other third world countries, thousands of destitute emigrants trying to escape their lives.  True, but I can only report on the case in Cuba, not only because it’s the reality I live, but because it is supposed to be a society where everything good is guaranteed to the poor and there is so much justice that thousands of its beneficiaries are filled with the hope they can hurl themselves into the fierce arms of capitalism.

So, as has happened for several years with the children of Spaniards who came to this shore, this time the Islanders’ grandchildren have responded to the request for copies of their birth certificates, and those of their parents and grandparents, motivated by the hope that—at least in that way—they can change their lives a little.  For those who dream of emigrating, no matter what they hope for on the other side should they finally realize their aspirations, the point is to look for something different than what they have; others may only persist to ensure all possible choices.  In either case, things are going very badly in a country where so many people desire, not only to emigrate, but even to acquire a foreign nationality.  The numerous requests for documents in each civil registry speak for themselves and are the best illustration of what it is to be Cuban on this Island; for many, the greatest disadvantage.

Translator’s notes
Antonio Maceo (1845-1896), commemorated as “The Bronze Titan,” is a Cuban hero; he died in battle in the successful War for Independence from Spain.
The photo is the Spanish consulate in Havana.

Few things reflect so well the drabness of the Cuban regime’s propaganda as the public billboards, vectors of an ideology that publicly gasps its oxygen-starved state.  One of the most recent posters can be seen on the billboard erected on Carlos III Avenue, at the corner of Marqués González.  There, next to one of the many foreign exchange kiosks (CADECA) in the city, is the one presented in the photo above.  Another identical one can be seen at the intersection of Boyeros and Tulipán as well as on other heavily traveled routes in the city.

The first time I paused in front of this monstrous graphic I was somewhat disoriented: a group of industrious ants carrying leaves while just one lags behind her companions (is she a lazy-bones?).  What does that poster really reflect?  That we should be obedient insects?  That we are perceived to be ants?  The point to which we have we fallen in the zoological scale?  In some mysterious way I’m more likely to sympathize with the ant at the end of the line; at least she’s different, not one of the ant-army.  In any case, the design, which aims to encourage people to work, is not the happiest if you look closely at the literal message: these ants are tiny poor people who devote their entire lives to working for the queen, without other benefits to the precarious protection of the teetering anthill.  I would not say that the resemblance to reality is pure coincidence.

Other billboards in the city reflect the same message, using bees in the place of ants, in what seems to be an entomological mania on the part of authorities preoccupied by the lack of interest of their insects in using the workforce without the power to provide, ultimately, either leaves or honey.  And that in Cuba a salary has—like these billboards—only symbolic value: it shows that you are an ant—oh, sorry!—an employee of the government, but does not cover the even the basic family needs.  Perhaps that’s why my own personal reading of the billboard is otherwise, so that I think maybe the ant on the sign who is apparently lagging behind is not really a lazy-bones; perhaps she is only taking her time and is the representative of the individual who mutates, one of those who—rare but unique—has always marked an advance in the evolution of the species.

I have wanted to publish this photo to share a curiosity with you.  Some of you may recall a post titled “Conflicting symbols?” in which I questioned the dubious symbolism represented in the park located at the Fountain of Youth, in front of the Meliá and Riviera hotels.   Well the kiosks selling liquor and the flags of CIMEX, the 26th of July and of Cuba that were there have been removed from the site, as you can see in the photograph.  I don’t want to believe, because I am not so pretentious, that the system ideologues are reading me, and much less that I made this happen… but I am beginning to wonder after visiting the site earlier this month and finding they had dismantled those conflicting symbols.  You tell me what to believe.

For more than a month I have not updated my blog.  During this time happy events have happened, at least they’re happy for me: the return of my husband, the triumph of Obama, and a new and deserved award for our friend Yoani Sánchez.  This is no small thing.  If I were a cadre of the Party leadership, I would surely make a self-criticism of my apparent abandonment of my page, but I’m not, God save me, which allows me to enjoy the good things without having to explain myself.  In reality, I have had very personal reasons for absenting myself for so long: some minor modifications to my new housing (which in fact isn’t really “new”) that could not be postponed and, most recently, I’ve taken a vacation to enjoy the company of my husband, who had been gone from Cuba for eight months.

It’s true that keeping a blog is a commitment that should not be laid aside and must be honored, but my kind readers should understand that I also have my heart and not everything has to be war and artillery.  Take, then, this prolonged absence from our page, not as a truce nor a symptom of fatigue, rather as another act of rebellion from the unruly and disobedient Eva who strives to be happy, in spite of everything.  Rest assured that–when another pot hole appears—it will be for motives of force majeure, but always, absolutely always, I will come back to this space.

I am one of those hundreds of thousands Cubans the journalist Reinaldo Escobar mentioned as supporters of the newly elected president of the United States.  For me, surely as for the rest, Obama is a symbol of hope.  Hope that (among other things), at last there is a the tiniest glimmer of a possibility that he will end—at least on the part of reasonable and intelligent leader—the dispute between the governments of Cuba and the United States which has provided so much ammunition to the government of the Island to “justify” the repression and shortages inside the country.  And I say “on the part of a leader…” referring to the American side, because I am convinced that the Cuban side is not prepared to put an end to the rubric that most strongly supports its absurd ideology.    Perhaps this is the reason that at this point Cuba is the only government that has not congratulated the new American president.

Just yesterday, November 19, I had the opportunity to enjoy the moving victory speech delivered by Obama in front of more than a hundred thousand souls: an emotional and happy audience that was not called together by any mass organization, by any party, nor by their work places; there was not a single uniform or fundamentalist slogan; it was a collective spirit, spontaneous and pure, of a free nation.  They were their under their own sovereign will.  All of those faces suffused with hope and I could only feel a profound empathy for them and also, I must admit, a green envy for the enormous abyss that Cubans still must cross before we can feel the magic of those two forces: freedom and hope.  Certainly Obama faces a rough road, a huge responsibility, and it is my humble vote that he will succeed in an endeavor whose results have repercussions throughout the world.

I’m convinced that Cuba will not be one of the priorities of the new president of the United States, however, the sepulchral silence of the Cuban press after the November 4th election is the most eloquent proof of the danger Obama represents to the politics of confrontation that the government of the Island has cultivated so carefully for nearly half a century.  The young president’s recent declarations about the closure of the Guantanamo prison was a first blunt blow to the face of the Cuban dictatorship; hopefully in the near future he will continue to shake the myth of David vs. Goliath.  If so, Obama would constitute—among many other promising things for us—a species of termite who, in a short time, would destroy the anachronistic Roundtable [Mesa Redonda], digesting, along the way, all of its pathetic guests.

Translator’s note:
Mesa Redonda/Roundtable is a Cuban television talk show on which Fidel was the ‘leading host’.

It is possible that Cubans who have never traveled outside of Cuba or those who don’t have a “traveling” relative or reside in a foreign county have no idea of how “up hill” it can be, not only to return to the motherland, but to trespass the limits of the territory whose corners have been marked with the sacred urine of the Customs’ employees, a specimen representative of a Cuban’s worst enemy: another empowered Cuban, even if those powers are transitory and borrowed and turn a perfect stranger into an occasional executioner.

When a Cuban returns to the country, whether he is an emancipated slave (an émigré) or one of the permanent members of the slave crews (residents of the Island) he knows that before he can happily reunite with his family, he has to sort out the customs doghouse.  Of course, there are customs controls in all the world’s airports, it’s logical.  But ours is truly its own genus.  To start, although you have already paid overweight baggage charges when boarding in the country of origin, here—inexplicably—you must pay again.  Additional vexations start later.

In the sort of Ali Baba cave which is the Cuban customs, through which arriving foreign visitors can cross peacefully and easily, carrying any amount of baggage, Cubans are subjected, without the least consideration, to having their baggage opened, which customs employees search, without blushing, eager to find any “overweight” or “excess” items in order to proceed to the decommissioning, that is, to expropriate for themselves whatever is “too much” in the victim’s suitcase.  “Decommissioned” items can be anything from an electrical appliance or a computer to underwear, shavers or cosmetics.  Everything is “established and quantified.”  For instance, there is a decree that establishes that a Cuban can only bring in 8 units of each product, so if you are Cuban and decide to pack 9 pairs of underpants, you should be ready to have one pair decommissioned when you go through customs.

In spite of all this, this sort of officially sanctioned robbery is the most tolerable.  The real denigration is the abuse, the arrogance and the unbearable rudeness with which—as a general rule—customs employees treat you.  There, they are the highest authority, the super overseers who decide which personal effects or presents you are bringing for your relatives will cross over the mysterious line that separates slaves and arriving emancipated slaves from those who wait anxiously at the plantation.  Unfortunately, there are Cubans who are ready to bribe the customs official with some little present so that he “allows the rest to go through.”

The customs scrutiny can extend for an indefinite length of time, always measured in hours, depending on baggage volume, the interests and needs of the customs employees and on the number of Cubans arriving on said flight.  I have heard the anecdote about a woman whose huge case of cosmetics meant for her niece, who was turning 15, was decommissioned, another who was deprived of her hair dryer, one whose daughter’s very expensive perfume was taken from her suitcase without the least consideration.  The list of anecdotes is huge, but the systematic robbery continues.  And I think that it goes on because, deep inside, we allow it.  A Cuban woman was telling me that last year they decommissioned her computer and… what could she do?  Well, she could wreck it before allowing them to grab it from her in that way, meekly.

As for me, when I was returning from Chile towards the end of 2000, I was bringing back, of course, three bottles of very good wine to celebrate Christmas Eve with my family.  A customs employee started to quibble (he, too, wanted to uncork a good red Chilean at his table) and started to call into question whether I could only bring in 2 bottles.  “OK, I said, give me a minute to decide which one of the three I am going to empty down the sink right now.”  They let me go through with all my precious wines.  So we’ll have to see definitely to what point they make us victims in this country and how far we really allow it: they have the power, true, but we should be ashamed.

The Chinese president, Hu Jintao, is in Cuba.  The eight photographs about the visit that appear in yesterday’s (November 19) Granma newspaper are proof of our government’s determination to congratulate itself for its powerful creditor.  For the occasion, they even carefully dusted and made-up the national mummy, who surely demanded to be photographed with the Asian.  Three pages of one of the leanest newspapers in the world are dedicated to the praises and rituals surrounding the presence of the head of state, something that hasn’t occurred during recent visits by other presidents friendly to the Castros, such as the Brazilian Lula, for example. They, clearly, they are not as important as the son… of the Celestial Empire.

But, since this page is ours, not Granma’s, I will only be concerned with certain apparently minor details related to the “important accords” signed following the official conversation: extending the grace period (until the year 2018) granted for the payment of the balance of the commercial imbalance accumulated since 1994-95, and the deferment of the Chinese Government Credit granted in 1998—factors which increase our national debt to that country—as well as the Credit Agreement for the Reparation and Reconstruction of Cuba’s hospital network, for 70 million dollars.  And this last one is what caught my attention the most:  70 million is an absolutely miserly figure if it is going to be spent on the reparation and reconstruction of a hospital network that is just about ruined.  And that’s without counting the cost of the basic medical equipment and all of the technology that, one supposes, also needs to be renovated.  I’ve been thinking about all of this and have arrived at the conclusion that the Cuban people won’t really see any benefit:  simply building a center for the rehabilitation and physical therapy of the knees of our many leaders who have thrown themselves down in reverence to Hu Jintao would consume almost half of that money.