December 12th, 2006
My bags are packed, my room has been cleaned, I am ready to depart for Cuba.
In the days leading up to this moment, an anticipation is building. I am desperate to return to my lover, my friends, and my adopted family.
Each time I return it is bittersweet , for I know I must endure the oppression as well. The black outs that last 12 hours in the sweltering August heat, the water shortage due to a cistern destroyed by a drunken delinquent neighbor. Four families had shared 2 cisterns until the delinquent, in a drunken rage, smashed the cistern with a hammer. The neighbors are too afraid to call the police, and none can afford a new cistern. We all share the one tank, and water never lasts past 6 o'clock in the evening. The paranoia each Cuban feels about his neighbor spying on him, and informing the governement of any, 'anti-revolutionary' behavior.
Merely talking about the government induces fear and silence upon any group of Cubans. There, they speak not his name, but instead, make a gesture, which reveals it all. A hand stroking an imaginary beard from cheek to chin, that is the sign for Fidel, or "El Caballo" the horse. His lust for power and complete control of the island has filled the inhabitants with fear for decades. Fear of prison, torture, or death. In a quote from his speech on January 3rd, 1959, in Santiago de Cuba, the new provisional Capital he says, "
I Am Not Interested in Power
"I should add that, personally, I am not interested in power nor
do I envisage assuming it at any time. All that I will do is to make sure
that the sacrifices of so many compatriots should not be in vain, whatever
the future may hold in store for me.
"In all my dealings, I have always acted loyally and frankly. One
should never consider what has been obtained underhandedly and with
duplicity as a triumph and the language of honor which you have heard from
my lips is the only language I know. "
Looking back on 47 years of Revolution, I would have to say, yes, you were interested in power, adn keeping it at all costs.
In these days, I have had my share of obstacles to overcome. Mexico is like a DMV nightmare, but worse. Here, any instutition; Bank, School, Government office, is guaranteed to be run by the most hapless, irresponsible hacks you could ever imagine. Think West Virgina, with salsa.
The offices all close at 1pm. If you are cueing for a line, take a number, run out for a sandwhich, when you return at 1:15, you lost your place, and " so sorry, we will see you tomorrow". You will ask what number they are calling. They will say, "39" . You will have the number 42. You will see your friends from the line, waiting inside, watching Sylvester and Arnold action films on the giant screen TV in the waiting salon. You will think you still have a place in the line, and a right to be there watching the guns and gore. They will ask for you to return the worn out, plastic laminated card, the one that's handwritten in magic marker, and fading. You will hold on to that card likes its the winning lottery ticket. It will be the only way to prove to an intelligent person, not some rent a cop with a black baret, combat boots and fatigues printed with the word 'SEGURIDAD" on them that you are NEXT. Some quasi manager type will come to the door, and repeat, like a parrot, that you will come back another day. You will take the laminated card, and throw it in the toilet when you get home.
The day you need to change money at a Bank it will be closed, unexpectedly. Maybe it will be the change of the government, done at midnight in secret ceremony to avoid the scrutiny of the pugilistic representatives denouncing the presidents election. Or maybe it's the Virgin of Guadelupe's feast day. A national holiday, where pilgrims from the whole of Mexico converge on the chapel constructed on the site of the appearance of the virgin mary to the shepard Juan Diego on December 9th, 1531. Her image was imprinted on his cloak as he presented the roses he had miraculously picked on a hill close to her appearance. She is the patron saint of Mexico, and many will walk on their knees in the street approaching the many churches to the virgin in this holy week. They request blessings, and some will walk from their villages, however far, to Mexico city to glimpse the image that remains, in perfect condition after 475 years.
If the Bank tells you can deposit an international check, be sure that when you try, you will be denied. If the Bank tells you their hours are until 7pm, when you arrive at 5 to make a deposit, you will find out you can only make deposits until 2pm. They will happily remain open an extra 5 hours to taunt and ridicule any naive yanki like myself. Here, the mexican state is like a giant DMV. Endless lines, confused workers, endless paper workd and procedures that take days, not hours. Here the life is slow, and the service, slower.
If this a little glimpse into life in Mexico, imagine what Cuba is like!!
Cuba is the country where a computer with a Pentium is considered high tech. Where internet inside the home is forbidden, as satellite TV and DVDs, VCRs and VCD players. Sharing information, is downright anti-revolutionary, comrades!!
I remember the visit to the Cuban Visa office, where the staff are from the " Ministerio de Interior" . The Cuban equivilant of the CIA, or MI5. They dress in a horrible green shades, lime green shirts with hunter green pants. The Jolly Green Giant would be proud. They have the overbearing, intimidating quality of prison guards. Scowls, snarls, and disgusted looks are given out freely, especially in cases where you ask to live in your friend's house for a week.
Yes, foreigners, "extraneros" are prohibited from staying in a Cuban's home. Anyone with a tourist visa must stay in a hotel, at $25-100 per night.
If you are caught staying in a friends home, you will be fined $2,000, they will be fined $2,000, and they will lose their house.
In the case that you ask for a family visa, and hope to get permission to stay with your friend, you will be denied if you are not married to the person, or a direct family member. If you and your Cuban friend take a trip to a city, say Santiago, you will be allowed to stay in the hotel, but the Cuban will not.
Remember in the days of Fulgencio Bautista,
The puppet dictator controlled by the US in the 1950's that Castro overthrew, that Cubans were allowed to enter hotels.
If you were black, you entered in a seperate door, and were segregated once inside the hotel, but remember Jim Crow was everywhere in the Northern Hemisphere in those days.
These days, the discrimination has gone one step further, now NO Cubans are allowed in Hotels. The hotels say that they want to keep prostitutes out, and use that as their justification to keep the Cubans out.
I remember the first time I was in the Hotel Habana Libre, a grand hotel on the corner of 23rd and L, a semi-luxurious hotel with a wonderful mural painted by Amelia Peláez del Casal. 
struck me as Miro-esque, full of vibrant colors, amorphous lines, and vague symbology. I was captivated by its size and color. I wanted to take my lover to night club, and I had heard that there was a decent DJ at this hotel. I entered paid 20 Euro to enter, and was surprised that my Cuban lover was admitted. The guards didn't seem to care one bit, it must be only for the club, and no entry for the rooms, I thought. To my surprise, there were about 30 of the most beautiful women I had ever seen inside that disco. There boyfriends? were all sharing tables, and the woman paid no attention to them. After a few hours, I noticed that with all these single women, why weren't any of the men talking to them?
Then I realized, after two middle aged German men walked in and were surrounded by 6 of the women, that they were working girls. They all came here to find their customers. After 15 minutes, and a round of drinks, the negotiations were over. The men left abrubtly with two women, and headed for the elevators.
The prostitutes are welcomed, as long as they pay the guards. Here everything works on the black market, as the socialist economy cannot support the 11 million people living on the island.
As the time gets closer to my journey, I realize there could be one problem I could not forsee. Despite all the petty obstacles of taking the trip to Cuba, the one which I had yet to imagine was the most serious, the Death of the Dinosaur.
When Castro dies, not if, there will be serious repercussions around Cuba, the US and the World. The most notorious, and historically significant figure will have passed and with this our last link to the 1950s, The Bay of Pigs invasion, Cold War, the Missile Crisis, Che Guevara, the war in Angola, Apartheid in South Africa, and the recent shift in Latin American leadership to the Socialist Left. Castro has outlived 9 US presidents, and all 9, have kept the embargo in place against the dictator that wouldn't kowtow to their feet. Castro has been a thorn in the US government's side since he confiscated and nationalized the American phone companys, electrical companys, railways, petroleum industry, sugar cane refineries and declared the Revolution to be Socialist in nature.
My next entry will discuss the possible outcomes for the Cuban people when he is declared dead.
Since his operation in July, there has been a strange stillness in the people, as they reel from the realization that their captivity was coming to an end.
In these days, there is much celebration, albeit , indoors. A friend recently returned from a visit to his family in a once prosperous, now delapidated town near Havana. I was told that the people were so happy not to see him on his birthday, as promised. Jumping for joy, they laugh and shout with the hope that he is gone. But in the streets, there is a nervous blanket of repressed anticipation.
Raul keeps releasing messages of Fidel's recovery, and the promises of his appearance, go unrealized. It seems now, the government is living on borrowed time. The day of Fidel's state sponsored birthday party celebrating his 80th birthday, the leader was conspiciously absent. Raul, his brother now in charge, made no mention of it, as he shouted Viva la Revolucion!, Viva Fidel! On the streets, there are more police, more vigilance, as the old guard ponders the thought of a revolt to grab power. The party leaders cannot lose their stranglehold on the power, or they will find themselves in the breadlines with the common man.
The people know there is a change coming, the air is thick with intrigue, hope and anticipation. Raul has reached across the Atlantic, with an olive to the US, with conditions, of course. Fidel never could face his adversary and ask for a dialogue. He was too obsessed with the idea of his perfect socialist state.
The people are talking. They are facing the inevitable. Change.
For nearly half a century, there has been no change. The Cubans are living in 1950 America. They drive 1957 Chevys, with three different colored doors, they have refrigerators, General Electric, that my grandmother has in her house, they use sewing machines from the 20th century, powered by the foot, they still use the sugar refineries built by US companys in the 19th century.
To be continued...