My announcement of this trip did not go over well. Especially with my grandmother. “A Cuba? A que? Yo no quiero saber nada de ese país.” The fact that I was thinking of visiting the masterminding headquarters of the failing Venezuelan “Socialism of the 21st Century” experiment disappointed her tremendously. And trust me, my decision to go was not easy. Among my qualms, I wondered, could you go there and support the Cuban people without supporting the Cuban government? How conscientiously can you really spend your resources on the island? My questions could only be answered first-hand. I had already decided; curiosity was carrying me to Cuba. Just weeks after Fidel’s passing, off I went.
As I prepared myself for the trip I was clear that the despairing Cuba we are sold in local media here in Miami was not what I was going to find. Neither was I expecting the romanticized island of Ché aficionados and the creative class. My expectation was, as most realities tend to lie, somewhere in the middle. Plus, the purpose of going was more to learn than to do. No visit to the Tropicana or quick cocktail from La Bodeguita del Medio for this traveler. The plan was to do as the people did. But I quickly came to find that was easier said than done.
From the taxi drivers, to our Airbnb host, to the owner of a by-locals-for-locals cafeteria; as much as we insisted on seeing, doing, eating and living as the Cubans did, there was apprehension to let us in. That instant hospitality and feeling of confianza present in other countries in the region was missing. There was an overwhelming protection from the outside. Despite our aversion, time and again we were encouraged to visit tourist traps. Gratuitous praise of the Castro government was plentiful. What I witnessed was a mix of evident indoctrination and simple survival. You gotsta’ get paid, you feel me? And who said we were to be trusted? What is lacking in widespread internet connection and freedom of speech is compensated in heightened vigilance. Cameras were everywhere. Make no mistake, Big Brother was watching.
But we were a resilient bunch and were not about to give up. We found a handful of candid Cubans who were upfront about the tradeoffs of living under the Castro’s. “No es facil,” “It's not easy,” is an oft-heard Cuban saying. Some folks shared that even with the rationing, lack of opportunities for advancement and quarantining from the communist-unfriendly world, “estamos tranquilos,” they lived a pretty relaxed life. Worrying about how to put food on the table and a roof over your head was not the primary motivation for waking up every morning like it is for most of us. Government subsidies, in large part, take care of the bare minimum for survival.
This complacency with the status quo was striking. The vibe signaled apathy. Apathy towards freedom, politics, tourism opening up to the U.S., Trump and Chavez and life on the other side. Folks seemed to be existing just fine. Even as locals told us their stories of difficult economic times, shortages of everything from water to soap to beans and cheese, measly pay and dismal upward mobility, there was an appreciation for the basics, and for super cheap rum to bear it all.
Five days in Cuba were not enough to get a deep understanding of the island. When you go somewhere unlike anywhere you have ever been, the mind, body and spirit simply do not know what to make of it all. During the trip, I bought several postcards. One depicted a blue-yellow ashy image of dusk in Havana with the Castle of the Royal Force, large and unmovable, in the backdrop. The picture evoked an odd and heavy stillness. Uneasy, disoriented, perplexed. That is how I felt in Cuba.
But even within the doldrums of isolation and the omnipresent propaganda of the revolution, there is no doubt Cuba is changing. Raul Castro has somewhat opened the door to privately owned small businesses, the younger generation is not as disconnected or complacent as the government would have you believe, and many in the Cuban diaspora in the U.S. are in favor of a different course of action towards Cuba. All of this matters.
Venezuela is the next Cuba, they say. It’s only a matter of time, they say. But that statement of doom precludes an unchanging reality for both countries. Hope is the last thing Venezuelans will lose. And this withdrawn island 90 miles from Florida will certainly not be this way forever. Cuba will continue to change for the better. It’s only a matter of time.