Author: Regina Coyula

In a very short video lasting less than a minute and a half, Javier Castro (about whom I have found no additional information) discusses one of Cuba’s social icebergs. Boys (and girls, to be politically correct) of primary and secondary school age reply on camera to an often-asked question. In the style of Cuban television news, their responses were narrowed down to match only what the producer wanted to show. Furthermore, the boys (and girls) were interviewed in what appeared to be a poor neighborhood; in Miramar or Vedado the responses would likely have been different. Nevertheless, the answers were still disturbing.

Hustlers (and hookers) or moving overseas, some said. Others aspired to be a DJ or a singer, a hotel manager, to own a money-making business, to be a flight attendant, a sailor, an economist, a chef, a restaurateur, a baseball or soccer player.

Except for the boy who wanted to be an astronaut, all the responses pointed to an overwhelming economic need that supersedes any ethical concerns. Policemen don’t count because they are very well paid, even without the money they make from extortion or bribes. And there was one that was particularly unsettling. It was the boy who would take everything for himself as he has already seen happen, the boy who wanted to be a dictator. 

These boys (and girls) are quite used to hearing money being discussed at home. And although they are not included in the conversation, having to get by without it affects them. They learned very quickly that it couldn’t be helped, that wishes had to be postponed, lessons more valuable than any to be found in a book.

At this point anyone should be able to realize that not only education and health care are free, that there are other things that are also free and also worthwhile that were lost in the process of forging the New Man. They will not be recovered over the short term in the headlong rush to rebuild this odious variant of capitalism without democracy.

30 August 2013

When one goes over to the “dark side of the Force,” a social radioactivity alienates many friends. It’s sad, it can even be humiliating; as compensation, wonderful people appear.

Carlos contacted me by mail just over a year ago. Through the communications interfaces of the Internet, he knew that I was married to Rafael Alcides, and wanted to write a thesis about his work. Letters went, letters came, the thesis completed, Carlos sent as an advance team his wife Lissette and his daughter Vanessa, and barely a month later, from the sidewalk, a smiling bald man, guitar on his shoulder, asking for us.

While we live ordinary lives, that of Carlos could fill several lifetimes. Rafter, convict, rogue, decorated soldier, political activists, university professor, troubadour, ecologist, pacifist. With time, as well, for five children, and all before turning fifty. Watching Alcides and Carlos converse, I thought Alcides had lost contact with a child in exile, and the exile himself had now sent this other. It’s funny how empathy can create family ties, even with physical resemblance.

19 August 2013

By nature a fan of Havana’s Industriales baseball team, I love the initiative promoted by a group from the United States to reunite retired players in Florida. I have few details because the Cuban press looks the other way, but to me it seems like an outstanding idea.

Hopefully, in other sectors they will pick up the gauntlet and come to terms with the “Cubanness” that unites us, far beyond faded political nuances.

Hopefully, the reaction won’t be as lamentable as that of Alberto Juantorena, who as a functionary of INDER (Cuban National Institute of Sports and Recreation) and in the most rancid tradition of the rulers, passed up a precious opportunity, a few days ago, to remain silent about the case of Dayron Robles.

Hopefully the retired players could play on the fields of the University of Miami where, as I’m given to understand, they cannot do so thanks to political overtones. Extremists flourish on both sides.

Play, talk, get drunk, laugh and cry together. Healing is very important.

13 August 2013

Reblogged from Manuel Díaz Martínez:

The digital newspaper Diario de Cuba today published today an article by Regina Coyula entitled “When you are king, when you are executioner,” in which the author lays bare the hypocrisy of some critics of the “pavonato” who carry the entire responsibility for this Stalinist eruption by Luis Pavón Tamayo, who died recently, as if this disciplined censor, who for five years headed the Castro tyranny’s National Council of Culture, had acted on his own and at his own risk. As he executed abominable orders, Pavón deserves condemnation, but it is obvious that his bosses deserve a more severe rejection. There are no Pavons without Castros, nor Berias without Stalins.

Finally I find a place to leave you note. Thank you very much for the reference. Tomorrow I will put up a nice post about Alcides; I would like it if you leave a comment, and Alcides will delight you, the post is a surprise party. From the title I give you an account of a certain influence of a favorite poet. A big hug.

7 June 2013

After weeks without internet, I have nothing good to say. I’ve been “faking” housewifery. Among my skills, I take care of the plumbing: the shower, the sink and the sink had their Spring and have revolted en masse. I wrote about the faucet (faucet, key, tap, you already know) of my sink two years ago in a post titled My Programmed Obsolescence; and I’m once again struggling with obsolescence.

A cheap new faucet costs 150 Cuban pesos (CUP*), but I found “look-but-don’t-touch” one for 3 CUC* (72 CUP), installed it myself and when it breaks, which undoubtedly will be soon, I’ll see. We have to turn the shower on and off with pliers, and unfortunately the sink drips, but the prices are not for me, neither in CUCs not CUPs. What it takes to maintain a house built almost sixty years defies the imagination of people who don’t live Cuban-style.

Going out to look for the faucet, I took to the streets, and in the street, people are pissed off. Maybe it’s the heat, but verbal violence has become the natural way of communication for many people. To speak ill of the “thing” is normal. Even foreigners who know Cuba fairly well having visited it several times, comment to me about it, because it is so noticeable.

It is true that it’s summer vacation time, but in the Los Sitios neighborhood the number of young people sitting in the doorways or on the edge of the sidewalk killing time, or messing around with I don’t know what, caught my eye. I can not explain the siege at the door of the hardware store where several young men offer you the same thing the shop sells and more.

The beautiful people are traveling by car or in the videoclips, because man, are people ever ugly! Ugly and badly dressed. I’m not talking about the people in rags. The cheap clothes that the savvy traders go to Ecuador to buy (one of the few countries where we don’t need a visa), have contributed to the aesthetic calamity. I don’t buy my clothes in boutiques. I get them at flea markets and, when I am in Spain in Chinatown and at Caritas charity shops, and I’m not embarrassed to admit it. I would be embarrassed to put on the cheap Ecuadorean rags so worthy of reggaeton.

So many days without updating my blog and I appear with this as the second post. It’s the heat that’s affecting me; at least I don’t resort to verbal violence. I prefer to wear my Chinese-Ecuadorian clothes.

*Translator’s note: There are two currencies in Cuba: Cuban pesos, also know as “national money or CUP, worth roughly 24 to the dollar; and Cuban convertible pesos (which are only “convertible” in Cuba), exchanged at 24 to the CUP and nominally worth 1 dollar, although exchange fees add to the cost. Most wages are paid in CUP, but many things are only available for sale in CUC. The monthly wage averages less than $20.

2 August 2013

Young people want a break in the routine. They are on vacation. What are the options?

Rafael, 19, is a student. His Federation of University Student (FEU) card facilitated his entry into some places for a lower price. La Cecilia, El Diablo TunTun, Café Cantante at the National Theater are in this category, but if you don’t arrive early, other more savvy college students fill the FEU quota of five or ten Cuban pesos (~ 20¢ to 40¢ USD) per person, and the entry fee stays the same but in Cuban Convertible Pesos (about $5 to $10 USD).*

Several places are the trendsetters. Once a month Parque Villalón brings together the lovers of electronic music with the DJ Lejardi y Analógica with their Fiestas Uniks. It’s a public park, it’s free, and the urban tribes of G Street go down to Villalón for lack of anything better. Both projects have spaces in the Tropical Gardens for twenty pesos.

The rock is concentrated at the Maxim Rock, with an almost always metalcore sound, and the Yellow Submarine and Stairway to Heaven has nostalgic rock. Cover bands alternate with recorded music, there are also bands with original music. In these places the entry price between 30 and 75 Cuban pesos.

The Alamar Amphitheater and the Metropolitan Park are places for hip hop. Apparently, they are the least favored, with both places weather dependent.

The young trova have the Casona de Línea. Trova and fusion music alternate in many places: Café Cantante, El Sauce, La Cecilia, Morro-Cabaña Park, Barbaram … At Café Bertolt Brecht and La Zorra y El Cuervo mix jazz and fusion. Entry is between 25 and 100 Cuban pesos.

Projects like PMM, Havanashow, Fiestahabana, with recorded music, powerful equipment, smoke machines and foam are a good party idea for many young people. The Copa Room of the Riviera, El Pedregal, at 3rd and 8th and at 7th and 22nd are some of the places where these projects are presented. The price of these parties varies between 3 and 5 CUCs, although they usually have more economical presentations for youth activities.

Timba and reggaeton dancers have the Salon Rosado at the Tropical, and the Casa de la Musica on Galiano with live groups; here the prices are from 50 Cuban pesos at the Salon Rosado, up to 10 CUC in the Casa de la Musica, if the artists are famous like Baby Lores or Gente d Zone.

Private businesses begin to appear in the list of preferences. Buddha bar at the back of La Cabaña with an excellent price (25 Cuban pesos) and good atmosphere, is very popular despite its remote location.

The nightclubs in the hotels and recreational centers are big. You can also forget about distance and the carrying on if you get a stereo, put the amplifiers facing the street and torment the neighbors according to the decibels your equipment puts out. It’s free and all, ‘n’ nothin’ happens.

Translator’s note: The average monthly wage in Cuba is less than 500 Cuban pesos. 1 CUC is worth about 24 Cuban pesos.

19 July 2013

When it seems to me that mediocrity will win the battle in our little country, there are things that make my day. Last week I passed by a privately-run cafe across from the Surgical Hospital on 26 Avenue and saw that they sell Purita brand dried rosemary, oregano, basil and celery. I asked for garlic, which I knew, the employee told me they always ran out early. I bought a package of celery and with this residual aroma delighting me, Saturday I went to where they process spices.

In San Mariano between Párraga and Poey, in Vibora, the unusual fireplace and the garish colors of the house serve as unambiguous reference. I had been once, but I couldn’t see the young entrepreneurs. This time I got lucky. Boris Albrecht Zaldivar, a 26-year-old mechanical engineer, is one of the parents of this creature and the licensee of the light foods processor-seller.

Boris tells me the conversation with Carlitos (Carlos Fdez-Aballí Altamirano), from which arose the idea of what today can be considered a successful business despite being still in the red. Without knowing about garlic, or dehydration, with no feasibility or market study, they decided, and then experimented.

A combination of financial need and talent led to feverish experiments and from these came the design of the machines that carried a friend with a workshop. They were ugly, but functional. These engineers also took into account the energy consumption and pollution. Along the way they learned that they intended to start up business is considered “scientifically” not profitable for poor performance, a difficulty that in practice they have overcome. They made their feasibility and market studies, and of course, there was nothing in that niche. Spices in Cuba are overwhelmingly imported.

Producing it is one thing, selling it is another. Because their products are quality, they were able to contract with hotels, sell retail is in places like this cafe I mentioned at the beginning, but the main places are the farmers markets, and, why not, the hard currency stores.

With Carlos and Boris’s experience of having a cooperative in Spain for the construction of housing modules from a core (wrecked by remoteness of the managers), Purita, with Alexander and Fidel as wholesale and retail sellers respectively, Erlin of operations, along with Boris and Carlos, now can become one of national cooperatives within the Ministry of the Food Industry. With this they can expect to receive bank loans, rent an industrial space and expand production. Boris thinks big, not in terms of numbers, but with the pragmatism of his scientific and technical intelligence.

As we said goodbye he surprised me: he knows my name (I hadn’t mentioned it), knows my blog, and said to me, a little sarcastically, “You’re an independent journalist.” I explained that writing a blog doesn’t pay anyone, and we would have started another long and rich conversation but for the threat of a huge downpour. This post is a good excuse to pick up where we left off.

12 July 2013

I removed the photo from the previous post, as it was the Sarrá Drugstore, not the Taquechal as appeared in the label on the photo.

8 July 2013

My husband is not just any writer.  He belongs to the generation known as “The Generation of the ’50s,” a rather arbitrary poetic grouping that started with Carilda Oliver (1922) and ran through David Chericián (1940). His generation’s peers — if they haven’t died or emigrated — have received the National Literature Prize and enjoyed social and official recognition. This is one of the reasons he is an extraordinary writer. Not only that he wasn’t seduced by the siren song of the National Prize ten years ago. Not only that he willingly “inxiled” himself from Cuba’s cultural life for twenty years and is not published in Cuba.

For him, the prize has been that his book Agradecido como un perro (Grateful As a Dog) was traded for cigarettes in the Combinado del Este prison in the late eighties, and asked around for; kids coming from the provinces discovered him by chance in a second-hand bookshop. His books today would be collectors’ items, of a writer unknown to the young and unpublished after 1990, if it weren’t for the Seville publisher Abelardo Linares who knocked on our door one day.

He is not a run-of-the-mill writer. Foreign publishers are highly sought after, their visits to Cuba put them in a position to receive a ton of unpublished and published texts from hopeful authors who either fete the foreign visitor or put a Santeria spell on them.

Alcides is incapable of boarding a bus, a shared taxi (almendrón), a called taxi (panataxi); he is incapable of walking even 200 yards to meet a celebrity. Instead, he is an extraordinary host, so warm and attentive, who immediately makes even new acquaintances feel comfortable.

In this era of ideological polarization, he maintains an intact and intense affection for those he loves, whether a high government official or a senior opposition leader in exile. He forgives (but does not forget, he has excellent memory) some highbrow (?!) silliness from a fledgling poet to a functionary who from his new position has been allowed to treat him coldly. He will regrets the error of omission in the dedication to Roberto Fernández Retamar in a poem in a book just published in Colombia.

Another of the things that makes him extraordinary has to do with his appearance. When we started our relationship 24 years (!!) ago, my niece, with all the candor of ten years, wondered if he was Eliseo Diego. He was then a venerable white beard unsuspectedly balding. His contemporaries seemed like younger brothers. It turned out the joke was on them as he didn’t get any older while others lost their freshness, hair, pounds, physical and/or mental agility and for a long time the tables have been turned. That, despite a copious medical record very well concealed.

With the bias of affection, there are those who say he’s the best poet in the world. There’s no need to exaggerate, although some verses are saved for posterity.

These fires feed this man who writes and writes on a battered computer with no more to give. Leaving poetry behind he is dedicated to finishing enormous drafts, novels that became priorities in the rush of life.

No one would expect that behind this thunderous voice asking who’s last in line at the farmer’s market, this competent cook who saves me from the daily doldrums, is this Amazing Poet in “atrocious invisibility” who tomorrow, June 9th, will be 80 years old.

8 June 2013