10. No hay - Cuba

---

(Cuban Spanish to English)

“This is life.” The smile turned into a laugh.

“So...is it that the Government controls everything that happens here? I’m not sure I understand. If you don’t mind telling me, I would love to hear your opinions...”

“Opinions don’t really matter here...you have to keep them to yourself...and if local people are seen speaking with foreigners, the police soon wander over and ask for identification, take names and want to know the details of what they were talking about...the police can cause a lot of problems if they want to. You see, we’re not allowed to say negative things about our Government...people can be taken to jail for years...” The hands clasped gently together.

“Have you had friends taken away?”

“Yes, yes...everyone knows someone who has disappeared...my parents know many...” The eyes were conventionally placed beyond the dirty bay.

“So isn’t this a big risk for you? Speaking with me?”

“There are never any police down here by this dock. There are many up at the plaza though, the risk is up there, the plaza is full of police...” The arms were folded and the legs crossed. Closed.

“Your family know many people who have disappeared? Are you close with your family? Do you live with them?”

“Yes of course I live with them. My mother and father...my three brothers... and my one sister and her three kids. Oh, and a cat. It’s a pretty tight fit. I just hope my sister doesn’t have any more kids! But, the kids do keep her busy...” One side of the smile went up, and crease in the eye.

“What kind of work do you do? You do get paid, right?”

“I work in construction Monday to Saturday 7.30am to 4pm, and get paid around US$10 a month. There isn’t much work on at the moment...everything is pretty quiet...my parents work at the port cleaning boats...” The face was blank. Nothing.

“Are construction and working at the port fairly common jobs?”

“A lot of people work there, so yeah I suppose it’s fairly common...but the best jobs are at hotels, the people that work there are a different class.” Another empty stare.

“How do you survive on US$10 a month?”

“We are given vouchers for everything we need...we are clothed well and fed well, but US$10 a month doesn’t give much for saving...actually, last year I bought a textbook that taught me a bit of English, it is great. You see, we don’t get taught languages in school...they don’t want us to know anything from the world...” The torso leaned forward slightly, but not too much.

“That is unbelievable! Well, I believe you, but it’s just so...so...so stupid! I can’t think of any other way to describe it! It just seems so wrong to be stopping people being able to experience the rest of the world. Hey, do you want to go have lunch and talk some more?”

“We have to stay on this side of town where the police are not in great amounts...oh...and I have no money either...” The eyes looked to the ground, then turned and scouted around.

“That’s okay, just tell me where to go and I’ll meet you there. And I can buy lunch for you, no problems.”



Jaida is determined to understand this man’s life to some extent. Meeting in a Cuban concrete park on the median strip in-between duel highway traffic was purely by chance. Jaida was sitting enjoying the sun. Jorge had just finished work and was doing what so many Latin Americans do; just hanging out with no particular purpose.

Jorge is a 23 year old well-built man, with a big white-toothed smile which highlights his bright face. He has a small but deep scar on his forehead and his dark skinned scalp can be seen through his thick hair which is cut closely and neatly. His voice is deep, and serious, and doesn’t change tone until he speaks of something light, or funny, or cute, where his voice squeaks a little at the end of the sentence.

They walk to a dark restaurant which has no more than four tables, although there is room for at least eight or nine more. They sit in the sun on its balcony, which overlooks a thin straight street, which is flanked by the boxy-sized but round-cornered colours and shapes of the classic old cars Cuba is famous for.



“Do you come to restaurants often?”

“I don’t remember the last time I did...” He looks directly at her, as though waiting for a rebuttal.

“Well you can get whatever you’d like, and to drink also...”

“Thank you, thank you so much my friend,” his hand extends and is offered to Jaida. She shakes it and smiles. “It is a pleasure. Tell me, do you ever feel real anger towards your Government? What do you do, or not do, about it?”

“Angry of course...like everyone! There is no freedom, and no one believes there ever will be. And our Government tells us to never speak the truth to anybody of how life is here in Cuba, because foreigners will only get us into trouble. You can’t argue with our Government. If people spark a protest, they all just get jailed,” his face reads absolute seriousness, with the whites in his eyes showing just a little more than the calm, collected character of earlier.

“But you’re talking with me...why would you risk being jailed, or even worse...”

“Because I like telling you things...you seem genuinely interested, and it’s safe in this area...” His body relaxed back into the seat.

“What do you do at night? As in, party or relax? TV or Internet?”

“We, and our neighbours, have a get together once or twice a week, meet up, talk, drink, eat, have fun. The television has two channels, mostly Cuban news, but sometimes quickly shows a murder or disaster in the US...news from overseas is never anything positive. And the Internet is restricted. Only some people can own a computer, and only some people can email, but everything is traced, and only certain websites can be seen. If you connect to the Internet illegally, you will be found out, and you will go to jail for a long time...” his shoulders shrugged.

“Wow! That is something I’ve never heard of for sure! You should become a really good swimmer and get outta here!”

“They used to do that in generations gone by, it’s not that far to the Florida Keys, but now it’s too heavily patrolled,” again, looking unworried, unbothered, unoppressed.

“What does the future hold for you?”

“I live day to day. I don’t give the future too much thought. There is no point. That’s not lost hope, that’s just being aware that your country has removed so many opportunities by taking away freedom. Yeah. I live day to day....day to day...”

Cuba

The first night we were in Habana, Cubas capital, it was definitely a shock. We had done no research on the town and when we arrived at our “casa particular” (where people rent out a room in their own house. Some are affiliated with the Government licenced program, where they have to pay a monthly fee and get to advertise the symbol outside their house. Most casa particulars are not licenced, so the whole “under the table” thing is done, it’s quite hush-hush is some areas, and much cheaper than hotels), got settled, and went for a walk, it was absolutely depressing! Little did we know, we were not in the nicest part of town, Vedado.
The rain was stopping and starting, the buildings were large and of no particular colour, grey-ish, brown-ish, something-ish. Some were burnt out within completely, as if leaving a skeleton with damaged skin covering the bones. It was strange to see the cars and the clothes people wore stand out so much against the setting, like being photo-shopped into the picture. There was no signage at all, no advertising, no bright flashing neon colour anywhere, which was another shock to the system. We had dinner at a restaurant that didn’t advertise as being a restaurant, but they did have a simple menu, so we had some rice, which was terrible, like dirty water had been used to cook it. Jayne couldn’t finish hers, and if her appetite goes, something is wrong!! Turns out we were just in the wrong part of town. The crap area you may say.

Next day, we bussed it to Veradero which was okay, nothing special though, then down to Santiago de Cuba, which was much easier, and also very different. The Cuban people there looked very mixed, as in, its very obvious of the mixes of race through this area and Cuba, everything from the Spanish descendents to Africans and Asians, every size shape and colour you can think of.
They really hammer the hell out of the cigars here, and the locals toking on the massive extensions aren’t in short supply either. I was watching an old white haired woman in a plain dark blue dress wearing simple white thongs (she could’ve been any ones Nan, that’s why I give the description) perched against a window sill facing the main plaza sucking back an enormous Cuban cigar. She seemed happy being there.
The shops are quite different too, and the queues outside a lot of them are nearly always there. People lined up and a shotgun-armed guard at the door letting people in one at a time, like its a bank. That was one thing of many that I definitely never understood. And the products in the shops were very oddly chosen; for instance, one shop had only three things to choose from; perfume, washing machines and fake plants! Unlucky for me as I wasn’t in the market for any of them.
The Cuban flag is everywhere, the national rum Havana Club is everywhere, and that old rhyme; old cars and Cuban cigars are everywhere too.

Next we went to Trinidad, and enjoyed the beautiful relaxed beach there, and lived it up a little (coz we had been doing it really hard!) by staying at a resort! We met two awesome Kiwis that call themselves Aussies named Stevo and Deano, who were great to hang out with. These two blokes were much more well-informed on Cuba than Jayne and I were, and we lapped up their knowledge and (hate to admit it) Lonely Planet. Top blokes, top fun.
Then we went back up north to give the capital Habana another go. Stevo and Deano convinced us we were seeing the wrong area there, and our second attempt was much more welcomed. On the night we arrived back in Habana we met even more Aussies at a restaurant (to make things better, or actually maybe worse, all three of them were Melbournians, so Jayne felt right at home) (so she could talk about fashion and flash cars and trendy bars), Jono, Louise and Timbo were great fun. The next day we went on a city tourist-bus tour which was only reasonably touristy, which made it not just bearable but quite enjoyable. We then narrowly missed out on the cigar factory tour, but met some majorly-dodgy looking young guys out the front of the factory willing to sell us “original authentic” cigars at the fraction of the price.
So, all five of us went around the corner...yeah c’mon just a little bit further...not far now...oh and around this corner as well...and just into this dark building and up two flights of stairs...not far now...yes don’t mind the war-torn interior decorator look that we are going for...mind that big crack in the floor...and watch out for the rats...and we’re here! Welcome to my home... (well, his home) (sorry, I’ll get out of character now)...a two bedroom flat openly connected to everybody else’s two bedroom flat with exposed plumbing and wiring, simple mattresses with no bed frames on the floor, and two posters on the wall...one a homemade collage of semi-naked women (pornography is illegal in Cuba) and the other an informative guide to all the different breeds of marijuana there is. The cigars came out, and we all had a look and feel and decided which ones we liked, pretty much based on what they looked like as none of us had much idea. I had priced some at the factory and boxes that sold for US$180, we were getting for US$50, so we will have to see how dodgy they are if they make it through Aussie Customs.

Cuba was an amazing place to visit, even if only for a week. Generally, the people that I saw of Cuba living in its Socialist-run society didn’t look happy, but they didn’t look unhappy either; they looked healthy, neither skinny nor fat, neither strong nor weak, and the homelessness seemed at a minimum, there were a few crazies, but very few beggars, particularly compared with every country I visited through South and Central America.
There was a definite lack in people’s work ethic though. From what I saw, nobody had any real drive to do anything quickly, or even slowly, or with good service or bad service, or preparing or cooking tasty food, or unpleasant food...they just did it. I still don’t claim to understand Cuba or its political command, but it was very obvious that the people here lacked simple choices through life, and not only did this make me feel empathetic towards them, but made me realise, again, how lucky we are in such a beautiful country like Australia.

Over Cubas extremely involved history, they have had the Spanish claim ownership for gold (amongst other things); suffered infectious disease that virtually wiped out the indigenous population; produced an economy based on agriculture where the work was done by African slaves; declared a Spanish-American war and gained independence from the US; maintained prison camps where in any year up to 20,000 dissenters (people against communism or socialism, homosexuals) were held and tortured or subject to medical-political “re-education” (and that was as recently as the 1960’s! One estimate is that up to 17,000 people were executed); supported the Soviet-supported wars in Africa; experienced several strikes, coups, rigged elections, arms embargos and trade embargos; and recently found new aid with China. And, check this out; when a kid goes to school (from age six to fifteen normally, then onto University) a file is kept on the child’s "revolutionary integration" and it accompanies the child for life. University options will depend on how well the person is integrated to Marxist (Marxism is a pretty involved worldview, but from what I understand, it is when a person is exploited if he or she performs more labour than necessary to produce the goods society consumes) ideology, as well as a permission from the "Committee for the Defense of the Revolution". The Code for Children, Youth and Family states that a parent who teaches ideas contrary to communism can be sentenced to three years in prison. Can you imagine such a thing!!!

One man synonymous with the Cuban Revolution and idealised throughout Cuba is Che Guevara. He is everywhere, and his history is amazing. He was an Argentine Marxist revolutionary, physician, author, intellectual, guerilla leader and military theorist. Although Guevara remains a hated figure amongst many in the Cuban exile community, who view him with animosity as "the butcher of La Cabaña." Guevara's exiled grandson Canek Sánchez Guevara has also recently become an outspoken critic of the current Cuban regime.
Here are a few things I thought were interesting: (taken from Wikipeadia)

At one point, he had acquired the position of Finance Minister as President of the National Bank, which along with Minister of Industries, placed Che at the zenith of his power, as the "virtual czar" of the Cuban economy. As a consequence of his new position, it was now Guevara's duty to sign the Cuban currency, which per custom would bear his signature. However, instead of using his more dignified full name, he dismissively signed the bills solely "Che". It was through this symbolic act, which horrified many in the Cuban financial sector, that Guevara signaled his distaste for money and the class distinctions it brought about. Guevara's long time friend Ricardo Rojo later remarked that "the day he signed Che on the bills, he literally knocked the props from under the widespread belief that money was sacred."

Guevara's first desired economic goal, which coincided with his aversion for wealth, was to see a nation-wide elimination of material incentives in favor of moral ones. He viewed capitalism as a "contest among wolves" where "one can only win at the cost of others," and thus desired to see the creation of a "new man and woman.” Guevara continually stressed that a socialist economy in itself is not "worth the effort, sacrifice, and risks of war and destruction" if it ends up encouraging "greed and individual ambition at the expense collective spirit." A primary goal of Guevara's thus became to reform "individual consciousness" and values to produce better workers and citizens. In his view, Cuba's "new man" would be able to overcome the "egotism" and "selfishness" that he loathed and discerned was uniquely characteristic of individuals in capitalist societies.

Che Guevara was executed in Bolivia on October 9, 1967, aged 39.

On the morning of October 9, after being captured and held by Bolivian soldiers, Guevara asked to see the "maestra" (school teacher) of the village, 22-year-old Julia Cortez. Cortez would later state that she found Guevara to be an "agreeable looking man with a soft and ironic glance" and that during their conversation she found herself "unable to look him in the eye", because his "gaze was unbearable, piercing, and so tranquil." During their short conversation, Guevara complained to Cortez about the poor condition of the schoolhouse, stating that it was "anti-pedagogical" to expect campesino students to be educated there, while "government officials drive Mercedes cars" ... declaring "that's what we are fighting against."

Later that morning on October 9, Bolivian President René Barrientos ordered that Guevara be killed. The executioner was Mario Terán, a half-drunken sergeant in the Bolivian army who had requested to shoot Che on the basis of the fact that three of his friends from B Company, had been killed in an earlier firefight with Guevara's band of guerrillas. To make the bullet wounds appear consistent with the story the government planned to release to the public, Félix Rodríguez ordered Terán to aim carefully to make it appear that Guevara had been killed in action during a clash with the Bolivian army. Gary Prado, a Bolivian soldier who was with the group that captured Guevara, said that the reasons Barrientos ordered the immediate execution of Guevara is so there would be no possibility that Guevara would escape from prison, and also so there would be no drama in regards to a trial.

Moments before Guevara was executed he was asked if he was thinking about his own immortality. "No", he replied, "I'm thinking about the immortality of the revolution." When Sergeant Terán enterned the hut, Che Guevara then told his executioner, "I know you've come to kill me. Shoot, coward! You are only going to kill a man!" Terán hesitated, then opened fire with his semiautomatic rifle, hitting Guevara in the arms and legs. Guevara writhed on the ground, apparently biting one of his wrists to avoid crying out. Terán then fired several times again, wounding him fatally in the chest.

Guevara remains a beloved national hero to many in Cuba, where his image adorns the $3 Cuban Peso and school children begin each morning by pledging

"We will be like Che."

Cuba...what a truely amazing place...

---

Photos

Local and cock
Trinidad

Car
yes...car

NO HAY
THERE IS NOT
is the translation...but there is not WHAT?!! doesn't matter, there is just not...

I use CASTRO
The Cuban President would love this!!

Car
...yes...another car...

Plaza
Santiago de Cuba

Dancer shakin it
...con booty to die for...

The Slippery Floor
...its slippery...

Cars
...yes theres more...

Cop car
bad cops bad cops...watcha gonna do...