Public Health Collapses in Cuba / Iván García

“Today is the second time that pieces of the ceiling have fallen in the postoperative room of the Calixto García hospital in Havana. Slabs fell from the false ceiling. The first time, three weeks ago, some debris fell on a doctor and a patient” / X

Iván García, 12 September 2024 — After midday, Dr. Geiser, 28, arrives sweating at the ramshackle doctor’s office in the neighborhood of Santos Suarez, in the municipality of Diez de Octubre, south of Havana. Before putting on her white coat and attending to patients, she keeps a bag of soft bread, two avocados and five pounds of pork ribs she bought at a farmer’s market on her way to work.

The family doctor’s office is supposed to open at nine o’clock. But the shortage of supplies and medicines is one of the reasons why Ismary, the nurse, sleeps until eleven o’clock in the morning and, after eating a snack, walks the two kilometers between her home and the office. When she arrives, six patients are waiting in the anteroom. The place is in a dilapidated state. The floor is dirty, most of the plastic chairs in the foyer are broken, and a white light bulb hanging at an angle from the ceiling threatens to fall.

There is no lighting in the nursing room. There is only iodine and mercurochrome on the medicine shelf. A small piece of equipment for sterilising needles and aerosol nozzles, donated to them, has long since broken. In the lobby hangs an outdated poster showing public health statistics in 2003. “It seems like a century ago. The health service in the last twenty years is a disaster when you compare those numbers with today,” says a man with a burn on his right arm. continue reading

In 2003, according to the poster, Cuba’s public health institutions had 286 hospitals, of which 83 were general, 34 clinical-surgical, 26 paediatric, 18 gynaecobstetric, 18 maternal and child, 64 rural and 43 specialised. In addition, there were six cardiocentres, 289 maternity homes and 1,961 well-stocked pharmacies. The infant mortality rate was 4.8 per 1,000 live births and life expectancy for both genders was 77.79 years, while for women alone the number exceeded 80 years of age. Some 99.1 per cent of the population was served by the family doctor’s offices, which were part of the primary health care structure.

A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then, says a MINSAP (Ministry of Health) official, “infant mortality is over nine per thousand live births and in many provinces it rises as high as twelve or thirteen percent. More than a third of the hospitals have been closed or do not provide the services for which they were designed. Sixty percent of the family doctor’s offices are no longer functioning. The number of doctors, nurses and health technicians has fallen by more than 75,000 compared to 2003.”

As an example, “Between 2022 and 2023 alone there are 46,000 fewer health workers. Out of that number, 12,000 are doctors. Fifteen years ago, community polyclinics had weekly consultations with medical specialists. Today, patients have to travel, even from one province to another, to be seen, and consultations are usually every two months. Stomatology clinics are either closed or run informally as private entities. Life expectancy has fallen to 73 years for men and 76 for women. Food and medicine shortages contribute to this decline. Only emergency surgery is being performed. Hospitals are short of everything from disposable needles to adhesive tape. It’s an absolute disaster,” he says.

Dr. Geiser tries to do her job with hardly any medical supplies. “We can carry out some treatments thanks to the help of neighbors who have donated a little cotton and gauze. When people come for injections, they bring their own disposable needles. Most of the treatments I prescribe are based on green medicine. It’s very painful to treat the child of a low-income family or an old person who gets a pension of 1,500 pesos and who can’t buy the antibiotics for treatment in private businesses because they don’t have the money.

On a piece of paper from a school notebook, Dr. Geiser writes down the medicines to be taken and the treatment to be given. The pens are given to her by her patients. “We keep things going thru sheer willpower. My salary of 6,000 pesos is equivalent to 20 dollars. The nurse’s salary is 4,000 pesos. We open the clinic two or three times a week. The rest of the days we have to go out on the streets, to get food for our homes. Although it’s wrong, most doctors and health workers earn extra money by treating patients on the side. It’s the only way to avoid starving. The other way is to find work abroad.”

“Although the government keeps 80 percent of the salary in foreign currency that they pay you, you can at least get between 7,000 and 10,000 dollars, depending on the length of your stay and the country you go to. The best destinations are Italy, South Africa, Qatar, Mexico. The worst are Haiti and Venezuela. If you want to get a good posting, you have to pay two or three thousand dollars under the table”, explains the doctor.

Although medical service exports managed by the government bring in billions of dollars annually, most of the hospitals serving the population in Cuba are in fair or poor condition. Hygiene leaves much to be desired, as does medical care. Patients admitted to medical facilities must bring sheets, towels, a fan, drinking water and a bucket for washing, among other things.

According to the MINSAP official, “between 2008 and 2015, between 7 and 11 billion dollars were earned every year from export of medical services. Enough money to maintain the quality of the health system on the island. But GAESA (a military-run conglomerate) uses that money to build hotels and other businesses.”

According to figures for the first six months of 2024 published by the state-run National Statistics and Information Office (ONEI), the leisure and tourism sector received a budget fifteen times higher than agriculture, livestock and forestry. And 17 times more money than Public Health and Social Assistance, which received 769 million pesos. Although there were 46,000 fewer health workers in 2023 than in 2022, the regime has more than 22,400 Cuban health workers in 59 countries. And it is negotiating new contracts with other countries.

The shortage of medicines, poor diet, and the ageing population, with nearly 25 percent of the population is over 60 years of age, all contribute to the progressive deterioration of the health of the population. For over ten years, more people have been dying in Cuba than being born.

Dania, a psychologist with two decades of professional experience, says that “suicides and suicidal behaviour have increased by 23% in the last four years in the Diez de Octubre municipality, the most populated in Havana and the third most populated in the country after the municipalities of Santiago de Cuba and Holguín. A worrying fact: if a decade ago most of those who took their own lives, or attempted to do so, were elderly people, mainly men who lived alone, in recent years the suicide rate among young people and adolescents between the ages of 12 and 35 has skyrocketed.”

“Historically, suicide in Cuba is among the first ten causes of death. The rate per hundred thousand inhabitants has remained above 12 and 15 percent. But since 1972, the level has grown to be among the highest in the world and the fourth highest in Latin America. In 1982, a grim record was reached when suicides increased to 23.2 percent. We do not have updated figures now. But I see many cases of patients who have made an attempt on their lives due to frustration and lack of future”, the psychologist points out.

For the Castro regime it is more important to build hotels than to buy medicines.

 Translated by GH

How Do the Cubans Live Who Don’t Receive Any Dollars? / Iván García

Taken in Camajuaní in 2023, published in El Estornuso in April 2023

Iván García, 22 August 2024 — At half past two in the morning, the blackout. Luciano opened the last drawer of the wardrobe, took a piece of cardboard and went to the room where his 8-year-old son was sleeping. His wife was already cooling him with a fan. The mosquitoes buzzed like aeroplanes in his ears. An hour later, the boy burst into tears because of the heat. She brought him water and started to tell him children’s stories in an attempt to calm him down.

Luciano, his mother, his wife and his son live in a dilapidated building in the municipality of Sandino, some 220 kilometres west of Havana. They live a hard life, like most Cubans. They have no relatives abroad to send them dollars. Luciano’s family comes from a village in the mountainous Escambray region of the former Las Villas province.

“My parents owned a small farm where, in addition to growing coffee, they kept pigs, sheep and chickens. The authorities accused my father of helping guerrilla groups fighting against the government and sentenced him to twelve years in prison. They confiscated everything from him and forcibly transferred my mother, alone, to a captive village in the municipality of Sandino. My father was released from prison after serving half of his sentence, he died twenty years ago,” says Luciano, who was born in Pinar del Río.

“I remember my mother working as a tobacco picker and collector. She is 86 now and suffers from osteoarthritis and urinary incontinence. I earn my living as a day labourer growing rice and crops. In the good months my salary is 8,000 to 10,000 pesos, but that money isn’t enough to feed four people. That’s why I go fishing in the lagoon, where there are plenty of trout, some I take home, the others I sell”, says Luciano and explains that the problem is not only food, but also the shortage of drinking water, which only comes every forty days. continue reading

“Every two days I have to carry dozens of buckets of water from a turbine two kilometres away to the third floor of the building where we live. Several neighbours go in a cart and make two or three trips. A miserable life. In their free time, the men pass the time with cockfighting or a group of friends drinking a couple of bottles of rum and relieving their frustrations. In these villages there is no future. The younger people go off to the city or they emigrate. We are left, the oldest assholes, who never try to do anything to change our destiny.”

His flat is in urgent need of a lick of paint. There are dark patches on some parts of the ceiling due to damp caused by leaks from broken pipes. The termites have shattered the Miami-style windows. The most valuable object is an old Haier refrigerator, that the dictator Fidel Castro bought for a knock-down price in China when he implemented the so-called ’energy revolution’ in 2006, which was supposed to save the country’s electricity. Eighteen years later, the fridge is hardly working. The gaskets of the equipment have come loose and Luciano’s solution was to screw a crude metal clip on the door that allows the fridge to be opened and shut.

The furniture in the flat is ancient. The television set, with a 21-inch screen, has cathode ray tubes. In the kitchen hang two slotted spoons, two cast-iron pans, and a rice cooker that has lost its enamel. The three beds in the two rooms need to be replaced, as do the mattresses. “When the old woman urinates, as we don’t have disposable pads, we have to carry the mattress up to the roof of the building to dry it out in the sun. And when the water crisis hits, we relieve ourselves in nylon bags, which we then dump in the fields.

Luciano believes that in 2014 they were still eating well, by Cuban nutritional standards. “We had bread with tortillas and coffee with milk for breakfast and what was left over from dinner for lunch. We ate pork frequently, fish, chicken and sometimes beef, which I bought under the counter and a pound cost 25 or 30 pesos. Nowadays, a pound of beef is not less than 1,200 pesos. We couldn’t go to a hotel in Varadero, but we had breakfast, lunch and dinner seven days a week. Now we can only eat once a day.

According to a study carried out last July by the Cuban Observatory for Human Rights, extreme poverty on the island is close to 90 percent of the population. According to surveys by the Food Monitor Program, Cuban families currently spend almost all of their income on food, whether they have a low or a good income, whether they receive dollars or not. Nutrient deficits, lack of food hygiene, and the stress associated with food insecurity are “is having adverse consequences for the health of Cubans,” the organisation says.

Likewise, the “phenomenon of hidden hunger”, used by the FAO to describe prolonged undernourishment, is “very common in Cuban society”, which consumes more carbohydrates and sugars while going without fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as meat and dairy products, which has led to high rates of diabetes, high blood pressure and gastritis, among other ailments, said Food Monitor.

But it is not only food that is missing in Cuba. Basic services such as electricity, liquefied gas and public transport hardly work. Blackouts outside Havana often last eight to ten hours a day, or more. The shortage of medicines is more than 65 percent. Rubbish piles up for days in the streets, especially in the capital, which is dirtier and more abandoned than cities in other provinces. Due to breaks in the aqueduct, 50 per cent of the drinking water that is distributed does not reach homes or is lost through leaks. Hospitals are a mess. Patients must bring disposable syringes and cotton wool, among other supplies. And if you want good care, you need to give money or gifts to the doctors and nurses.

“The water supply cycles in the neighbourhoods of Holguín exceed 55 days,” says Yoss from Holguín. From Santiago de Cuba, Rudy says that in several areas of that city they have been without drinking water for more than 60 days. “The houses are full of containers. Those who have dollars build huge cisterns. For lack of water, despite the tremendous heat, there are people who bathe every two days. It’s as if they were in a war.

Many Cubans see no way out of the country’s structural crisis. For Luciano, from Pinar del Río, there are three options: “Emigrate, continue to put up with it or take to the streets to protest. Either we put on our trousers, like the Venezuelans, or this government starves us to death”.

Translated by GH

The Private Sector in Cuba Up Against the Wall / Iván García

A private business in Havana. Taken from El Toque.

Iván García, 26 August 2024 — Three years ago, in the summer of 2021, just a month after thousands of Cubans took to the streets to shout for freedom, the grey-haired ruler Miguel Díaz-Canel, handpicked by dictator Raúl Castro to run the country, authorised the opening of small and medium-sized businesses on the island. It was a measure that had been “studied” for ten years with the typical eagerness of communist regimes, where urgency is an unknown concept.

Yoel, 56, was not taken by surprise by the ’new regulations for economic actors’ announced on 19 August and due to come into force a month later, on 19 September. He always knew that a private entrepreneur is a presumed criminal in the eyes of the government. “Those of us who live in Cuba learned to negotiate to survive in the midst of scarcity,” he says, driving a second-hand Toyota Corola.

“From when I was a child in my house, people used to buy food and clothes on the black market. It was the most normal thing in the world. Hands up anyone who didn’t buy a cheap pair of jeans, a litre of oil or five pounds of beef “under the counter”. When there wasn’t a shortage of bread, there was a shortage of butter. People learned to live by their wits’. Nobody asks where what they are buying came from. They guess. And from a State Security officer to the neighbourhood informer, they are forced to resort to illegalities in order to survive. There are thousands of laws to prohibit and control offences. But nobody takes any notice of them. It’s an unwritten understanding between government and society. They let you do it until they think you’ve crossed the line. Then media campaigns are unleashed against illegalities and police raids and summary prosecutions of those operating in the private sector begin.

“In these 65 years we have been humiliated with various labels: outlaws, hucksters, or leaches on the backs of poor people. Some of these traders have been imprisoned, others have emigrated or have taken a step back until the dust settles. It’s a merry-go-round that repeats itself over and over again”. In his opinion, there is a revolving door on the island where people move from legality to the underground with astonishing ease. He gives an example. “When I was 17, I used to buy dollars, which was illegal and if you were caught you could be sentenced to four years in prison. With those ’illegal dollars’, an Angolan partner bought me clothes in shops for continue reading

foreign technicians, which I then resold on the street.

“I have collected money for the bolita (illegal lottery) and sold beer and bread and steak. Like many Cubans, I have done everything, trying to live as well as possible. When in 1993 they authorised self-employment, I had some money saved up thanks to those little tricks. There is a myth that most of the businesses that emerged in the country were opened with dollars sent by family members living in the United States. In some cases this was true, in others it was not. Many ’bisnes’ in the depths of rural Cuba have been financed with money earned from the sale of food, clothes or construction materials on the black market.

According to Yoel, “these attacks on MSMEs and the self-employed were to be expected. You would have to be very naïve to believe that a government that is anti-capitalist is going to let private businesses prosper. They allow them because the system has broken down. Private business is an umbrella under which these scoundrels protect themselves. They accept us, but with the boot on our backs, a lot of regulations, very high taxes, an army of inspectors who inspect you and when they feel like it, they put you in jail”.

“Opening a business allows you to earn money and live without the crumbs from the state. Most of us are double bookkeepers and under-declare when paying taxes. It’s a war. They screw you with decrees, threats and lies. And we pretend to comply, but then we do whatever we want. When they order businesses to stop, people know what to do. Either they get out of Cuba or they continue to do the same thing informally. Since the emergence of self-employment in 1993, everything has been a government bluff. The private sector is designed for survival, not to make lots of money. These openings serve as international propaganda to sell themselves as reformers.

“We are labelled as entrepreneurs out there. But almost none of us have studied business administration or marketing techniques. In my case, I was a go-getter who worked my way up to owning several businesses. If I see that things are getting hot, I will know that it is time to get on the plane. But behind me, other ’entrepreneurs’ will emerge. Until the system, which is incapable of generating wealth, changes, that will be the the way it goes,” says Yoel.

The owner of two small stores in the old part of Havana, a guy who knows his way around the sewers of the corrupt local bureaucracy, thinks that “it is likely that the government will try to clamp down on MSMEs. This campaign is aimed primarily at autonomous private businesses, which compete against MSMEs run by front men for high-ranking government officials or retired military officers. The reason is simple: they are more efficient and have developed a network of suppliers that works.

“The state, used to receiving dollars from exports, tourism, sales in foreign currency shops and the banking system, thought that we would not be a problem, not least because we could not access foreign currency. But we have been creative. The sales cycles are faster. We have accounts in foreign banks. And to replenish our supplies, we buy dollars on the street at the informal market price. The state-owned companies can’t compete with us even on a tilted playing field” says the entrepreneur.

Dunia, a hairdresser, agrees that “the new regulations are a declaration of war on the private sector. Some will leave the country or shut up shop. Others will start working under the counter. Every Cuban knows that to live in any comfort we have to fend for ourselves. The state can’t even guarantee the seven pounds of rice it provides through the ration card. The government should concern itself with dealing with poverty, not fighting the people who create wealth.

An official of the ONAT, the institution that governs private labour, revealed to Diario Las Américas that the regime’s intention “in addition to more rigorous supervision of the non-state sector, is to recover the two billion that the banking system has stopped receiving. From now on, priority will be given to the opening of state-owned MSMEs. (Micro, Small, and Medium-sized Enterprises). Especially in the commerce sector and in companies that are at a standstill or generate losses for the state. There is the intention that political and mass organisations, such as CDR (Committees for the Defense of the Revolution) and FMC (Federation of Cuban Women), can open MIPYMES that allow them to finance themselves with small shops in the neighbourhood, as well as private stores, where they can sell food and confectionery at lower prices.

Gustavo, an economist, considers that “these new measures show that the government is living in a surreal world. This interference in private property, the idea that MSMEs should be chained to bankrupt state-owned companies and the earmarking of a voluntary reserve to finance vulnerable sectors is a crazy project. And it will fail. No entrepreneur is going to allow the authorities to use his or her capital to finance Cuba’s failed economic model. For entrepreneurs to use the inefficient national banking system for their purchases abroad is nonsense. For the state to implement MSMEs is absurd. It doesn’t exist anywhere in the world.

The government is well aware of this. Its strategy is to supplant autonomous MSMEs with entities under the control of relatives and government officials. It was already happening. Now the mask has definitely come off.

Translated by GH

Cuba, Fewer Teachers and More Indoctrination in Schools / Iván García

Photo: From the ceremony for the start of the 2024-2025 school year in Santa Clara. Taken from Radio Sancti Spiritu

Iván García, Desde La Habana, 10 October 2024 — As always on the island, the official story is far removed from reality. A secondary school methodologist in a Havana municipality says that in meetings with senior officials from the Ministry of Education, political slogans predominated in an attempt to camouflage the disaster in the planning of the 2024-2025 school year.

“Whatever our level of seniority, we Cuban civil servants are manipulated by the communist party, which tells us what has to be done. It’s all a stage and we are the actors. At first you try to rebel. But then you see that you can’t change anything. You have two options: either you bend to the system or the system devours you. I chose to bend. Colouring reality, telling lies and looking for ways to make a profit from my position. I give informal help sessions, and charge 400 pesos for each class. It’s unethical, but most teachers do it.”

In the opinion of the methodologist, Education Minister Naima Trujillo Barreto, “is an official with dyed blonde hair who, when the directors complain, appeals to revolutionary principles, to creativity and sticking her ear to the ground, the same discourse as Díaz-Canel and his entourage. She, like her comrades in the party, must be told what they want to hear. At that meeting, problems were downplayed. Statistics on the teacher shortage, the number of schools repaired and the narrative that the so-called Third Improvement of the Education System is going well was sold to the public.”

On Tuesday 27 August, the minister and her court attended the Round Table, a doctrinaire programme of political fiction that distorts the harsh reality faced by Cubans. In front of the television cameras, Trujillo Barreto pointed out that a tour of the country had identified many problems that would be dealt with over the next few days, but “there is a lot of commitment and deep interpretation of all the issues worked on in the national seminars. Many people are working hard in the territories and are committed to ensuring that the course is as successful as we can make it,” said the minister to the flattering smile of Randy Alonso, a submissive state journalist.

Among the priorities for the new school year, according to the regime’s aides-de-camp, is a programme of “cultural decolonisation, learning history (Castro’s version) as well as the development of language skills, innovation and digital culture”. Dennis, a computer teacher, smiles when asked about education in the country. “For some time now, government institutions have been competing to see who can tell the biggest lie. You continue reading

can’t talk about innovation and digital culture when schools in Cuba don’t have access to the internet, except for universities, and its use is rationed, and computer classes are suspended because the equipment is from the year dot and most of it is broken or doesn’t work”.

A pre-university teacher explains what the ‘cultural decolonisation and history learning’ programme is all about. “We were given a seminar as part of the course. The authorities consider that there is a regression in the teaching of history to children and young people. They claim that the use of social media, watching US serials and films, promotes a ‘hegemonic cultural discourse that distorts revolutionary values’. Imagine standing up in a classroom and talking such nonsense that nobody believes, when most students have plans or dreams of emigrating. They don’t see that it’s ridiculous.”

A primary school teacher comments that the education directors in his municipality, “proposed to us that among the activities to encourage love for the revolution and its leaders, we should organise visits to the local museum and the Fidel Castro Centre, which is located in Vedado. These people live in Narnia. They don’t know that the municipal museum has been closed for two years. And how am I going to get dozens of children to Vedado with no transport in the capital? Unless the Ministry of Education provides buses to take us there and back. These are things they say to make themselves look good to the government, but they know that they can’t be done in current conditions in the country.”

An education official notes that “the official version of the new school year is totally out of touch with reality. In the municipality where I work, only ten percent of the schools have been repaired. Almost all of them have closed toilets, almost none of them have water, and a large part of the school furniture is in a bad state. A very serious problem is the lack of teachers. According to the Ministry of Education, there is a shortage of 24,000 teachers on the island. It is probably many more than that. Half of the teachers do not have teaching qualifications. Some are professionals who are hired to teach at the primary, secondary and pre-university levels.”

“Others are ‘instant teachers,’ as they are called, because they are pulled out of their training in the second or third year of their degree. There are cases of teachers who finish a class shift in one school and have to walk a kilometre to another school to teach because there is no teacher for a certain subject. Due to the shortage, recruitment rules have been relaxed. I have had to rehire people who for various reasons have been expelled from education. In addition to this disaster, school supplies are not complete. We have not received the new books. They say they will arrive before the end of the year. They said the same thing last year and they never arrived,” says the official.

When you talk to relatives of pupils at all levels of education, the list of complaints is long. Reinier, the father of two primary school children, says that this year, his children are due a new uniform, “but they haven’t arrived at the shop. I have had to spend 5,000 pesos on four shirts and 10,000 pesos on four pairs of trousers, 15,000 pesos in total. And my salary as an accountant in a company is 6,400,000 pesos. Thanks to my brother who lives in Miami I was able to buy the uniforms. He also sent me tennis shoes, backpacks and school supplies. I can’t complain.”

But many parents in Cuba do not have relatives abroad. This is the case with Sonia, who admits to being extremely stressed. “My daughter is a pre-university student, I have no relatives in the US and I had to scrape together the money to buy her a mobile phone, a bag and a decent pair of trainers, because the boys made fun of her shoes in school and she had a complex. Not to mention that I have to give her money to buy something to eat when she gets out of school. And I have to pay 200 or 300 pesos for a tutor, because some teachers aren’t very good. Then the school has the nerve to ask parents for ‘help’, whether it’s detergent to clean the classrooms or let’s raise money and buy a fan so the kids don’t get so hot.”

But the issue that parents are most unhappy about is the regime’s intention to have students work for a fortnight in agriculture or fixing tiles and monuments. Diario Las Américas asked eleven families if they would allow their children to do it. All eleven answered No.

“It’s no longer enough for them to indoctrinate in schools, talking about Fidel and telling their version of history. Now they want to go back to the fateful schools in the countryside, where children were separated from their parents, working for free in agricultural work. That era is over. Times have changed,” said Maritza, a housewife and mother of two secondary school students.

In Cuba, education is supposed to be free. Luisa, grandmother of a grandson in fifth grade, thinks it’s quite expensive. “What with buying two uniforms, a pair of tennis shoes, a backpack, a lunch box, pencils, notebooks and pens, I’ve already spent 250 dollars. In a country where there is nothing, students want to go to school in Adidas or Nike tennis shoes. The schools look like catwalks. Luckily my daughter, my grandson’s mother, sends me dollars from the US for these expenses and to prepare good snacks for him.”

A pesar de tener un nivel de vida un poco mejor, Luisa reconoce que es muy deprimente la vida actual de los cubanos. “En los barrios apenas ves muchachos jugando en las calles. Y han aumentado los niños, como mi nieto, que sus madres han emigrado y son cuidados por sus abuelos». Dentro de un tiempo, los progenitores sacarán del país a sus hijos. Y en Cuba solo quedarán los más viejos.

 Despite having a slightly better standard of living, Luisa acknowledges that life in Cuba today is very depressing. “In the neighbourhoods, you hardly see any children playing in the streets. And there are more children, like my grandson, whose mothers have emigrated and who are cared for by their grandparents. In time, parents will take their children out of the country. And only the old people will remain in Cuba.

Translated by GH

Cooking Gas Is Also Lacking In Cuba

Wood-fired kitchen typical of the Cuban country dwellings. Taken from Invasor, the provincial newspaper of Ciego de Ávila province, located some 400 kilometers to the east of Havana.

Ivan García, 26 May 2023 — The National Highway running through Matanzas province divides Los Arabos municipality in two directions. On the left, a town of just over 23 thousand inhabitants, cracked streets, and wagons pulled by horses that in their tiresome trot leave their poop on the main road.

On the right, a handful of isolated villages with clapboard huts and thatched roofs, surrounded by small food plantations and a few lean cows grazing under the gaze of their owners. If not watched, they are lynched by clandestine butchers.

160 kilometers east of Havana, in the middle of the 21st century—the century of new technologies, 5G and artificial intelligence—Pedro, 56 years old, a generous guy as are almost all the residents of the interior of Cuba, still plows the land with a team of of oxen and cooks with firewood. He lives with his wife and two children in a wattle-and-daub hut with a polished cement floor.

Pedro and his family own few belongings. An antique cathode-ray tube television set, a Haier [Chinese] refrigerator, and a rice pot “from when the Government was giving them out in 2007 during the Energy Revolution,” Pedro explains, and begins plucking a hen. Besides a patch of yuca [cassava] and another of plantains, there are mango, avocado, and sour orange trees. In a pigpen are five native Cuban hogs with shiny black coats.

Two cows and a bull sleep in a shed at the back, attached to the house. “I have to keep them close so they don’t get stolen. It’s a daily struggle to make sure the thieves don’t slaughter the animals and destroy the harvest.” With the milk from the cattle he makes cheeses that his children later sell along the National Highway. continue reading

The fuel shortage prevents him from renting a tractor to plow the land. “We are the same or worse off than during the Special Period. A liter of oil to run the turbine costs me 200 pesos on the informal market. And you can’t always find it. The government talks about food sovereignty, but it provides no fertilizers or fuel, and farm implements and tractors are sold for hard currency. If they don’t change their methods, we are heading for famine,” Pedro predicts.

Three years ago, his wife started cooking with firewood in an open field. “We have a kerosene stove, but it is difficult to find fuel for it. The fuel is usually dry firewood or marabou–the best and healthiest. It doesn’t smoke and the food tastes good. If there is anything in surplus around here, it’s marabú”.

Some 200 kilometers from Pedro’s ranch, in Havana’s Sevillano district, Julia, an 81-year-old housewife, saves liquefied gas down to the smallest measurement. “In March and April, we had a hard time. We had to cook and boil water with an electric oven. In May they gave us a gas cylinder that lasted fifteen days. They should have given us another one, but liquefied gas has not reached the point of sale yet,” she states, then adds:

“There are six people in my house, including a small child. Almost all the gas we expend is for boiling drinking water we and preparing food. At most, it lasts us nine or ten days. On the black market, the gas cylinder costs between 1,000 and 1,200 pesos. Add to that what the courier charges to deliver it. There is no wallet big enough. Before Díaz-Canel’s economic crisis, the gas would be used up sooner, because there were beans to soften, a piece of pork to roast, or a panetela [Cuban sponge cake] to bake. But now, there ain’t nothin’ to cook.”

On April 17, Vicente de la O Levy, Minister of Energy and Mines, said that one of the country’s products with low available reserves is domestic fuel. “Some provinces have one day’s worth left in reserve, others two. But in the eastern region, for example, the fuel in CUPET [state-run petroleum company] tanks at our bases has already run out,” he said.

From end of February to the first days of May, instability in the delivery of liquefied gas has raised alarms among Cubans, who live in constant suspense, awaiting a new crisis. More than 1.8 million customers cook with liquefied gas.

“In Santiago de Cuba we have only the month of May guaranteed. In June, we will see if a fuel ship arrives,” said a worker from the gas company. On May 21 in Havana, families who depend on street gas for cooking lost service that day for a period of more than 24 hours.

“It was about two in the afternoon and I was making dinner. When I turn on the stove, I see that there is no gas. We were like this until Monday afternoon. These people (the rulers) have turned the country into a hell. When it’s not gas that’s lacking, then sugar is scarce, there’s no water, or the electricity goes out. We live in a bloody state of shock,” Luisa, a pensioner, complains.

According to the state-run press, the street gas deficit was caused by an accident at the Puerto Escondido plant, east of the capital. So far in 2023, the fuel shortage in Cuba has grown. There are provinces where gasoline is not sold to private drivers.

“You have to have a permit from the governor or the provincial mayor. That represents another avenue of corruption, because you have to pay an arm and a leg to get the permit. Also, they only sell you 20 liters a week,” stressed a private taxi driver in Villa Clara.

State-owned companies have had to make drastic cuts in fuel use. ETECSA [the state-run telecommunications company], for example, is only receiving fuel for ten or fifteen work days. Most state companies have ceased providing transportation for workers, except military corporations and Communist Party institutions.

On Tuesday the 23rd, the line to buy fuel at the gas station at Infanta and San Rafael streets was three blocks long. “They have tried to alleviate the queues with a WhatsApp feature that notifies you the day you should come to buy. But since there is so much corruption, people arrive early to verify that they’re dispensing gasoline, because sometimes when you get there, they tell you that they’ve run out,” says a private taxi driver.

A liter of gasoline is sold in the informal market for between 500 and 800 pesos, and oil between 200 and 300 pesos. The fuel crisis has shot up transportation costs within the city and also for travel to other provinces.

The fare from La Víbora to Vedado by collective taxi [taxis that pick up people and travel set routes, often in old American cars], which used to cost 100 pesos, increased to 150 pesos–and 200 at night. If you rent a taxi using a WhatsApp feature–a kind of local Uber–an eight-kilometer trip comes out to no less than 1,200 pesos.

This inflationary spiral generated by the fuel shortage has, in a domino effect, caused food prices to increase by between 10 and 40 percent on the informal market–where the vast majority of people are forced to do much of their shopping.

To illustrate: The price of a carton of eggs rose from 1,500 to 2,000 pesos. A pound of rice was 170 pesos, and is now 200–280 if the grain is of higher quality. A pound of ham that used to cost 850 pesos is now priced at 950. The cost of fish increased from 500 to 650 pesos per pound. The biggest increase was that of chicken imported from the US, from 230 to almost 400 pesos per pound. A box of chicken that used to be priced at 7,000 pesos now exceeds 11,000 pesos.

Within the last year and a half, the price of food in Cuba has risen by almost 71%. Various factors have an impact, ranging from the systemic crisis of the economic, political and social model implemented by the regime, to the rise in food and fuel prices on the international market.

Pedro, the farmer from Los Arabos, considers himself lucky. “We don’t even have clothes to wear, and if a cyclone were to pass over us, the house would be blown away by the wind. But at least we have food,” he says. Meanwhile, his wife continues tenderizing a hen with a piece of marabou firewood. And that, in Cuba, is a luxury.

Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison  

Crony Capitalism in Cuba

Private business in Havana. Source: Diario de Cuba

Ivan García, Havana, 22 May 2023 — Juan José, a private entrepreneur in Cuba, spent a year and a half trying to find a place to install a mini-brewery west of Havana. “He greased the palms of several government officials in the Playa municipality with bills to speed up the procedures. But no go. Things never loosened up,” said a relative of Juan José.

Two years ago, on February 21, 2021, the state newspaper Juventud Rebelde published this news: “Companies from China and Cuba sign an agreement to install a mini-brewery in Havana.” According to the official press, the Cuban ambassador in Beijing, Carlos Miguel Pereira, commented that the agreement was signed by the company Jinan China-Germany Co LTD and the Cuban company Maquimport.

“This is the first import of this type carried out by the Foreign Trade Business Group in the Asian State, to support a non-state form of management. Pereira explained that the purchased equipment will go to a vacant locale of the Playa Municipal Government, west of Havana, which will be converted into a gastronomic complex,” the report reads.

On April 5 of that same year, Cubadebate published an extensive report entitled “Local Project without a locale, or, the dream that dissipates like beer foam,” and showed the extensive catalog of economic absurdities that operate on the Island.

What the entrepreneur Juan José and his group have experienced is an authentic criollo farce. They invested a considerable sum of dollars to import the machinery, following to the letter the convoluted regulation instituted for “non-state forms of management”, as the regime pompously calls private businesses.

Goodbye to the dream

Juan José went through all the twists and turns designed by the Cuban bureaucracy, trying to obtain a license that would allow him to produce top quality malt and beer. But the state bureaucracy monopoly did not approve him. He bid goodbye to the dream of opening a business that would generate 30 new jobs and could produce up to 4,500 liters of malt and beer daily. continue reading

Why was Juan José not approved? “A guy with more money and better connections appeared on the scene. It’s that simple,” says a former Communist party official in the capital. He tells Diario Las Américas* about the shady dealings behind a legal bidding process, or the granting of a permit to a private business or “Micro, Small, or Medium Enterprise” (MSME). Here is his testimony:

“I know the case of the brewery that was going to be set up in Playa. Those entrepreneurs passed the screening and internal investigations. We were still in the pandemic stage and it was urgently needed to reactivate the economy and generate new businesses in goods and services. But in Cuba there is no marketplace to determine, according to the proposals presented, who is to be granted permission to open the business.”

Under the table

“Everything works through relationships and money moving ‘under the table’ [to buy influence]. After the MSME is approved by the ministries of finance and prices, economy and planning, and other government functionaries, the mayor of the municipality is the one who gives the OK. From the outset, they saw a gold mine in the emerging MSMEs. Those are big chunks of money. To approve a certain business, such as a restaurant that sells food or a mini-industry that produces preserves, you have to pay between 3 and 5,000 dollars or its equivalent in pesos.

“The money is there for the taking. If the business is a construction cooperative, party officials in the municipality or province are in charge of getting you the jobs. For example, a contract to paint a certain state company is valued at 300,000 pesos and from that money the president of the cooperative pays 30 or 40,000 pesos to the mayor. Of course, never directly.

“With the MSMEs, the business is more succulent and a flock of government vultures are hovering around those ‘businesses’ that fork out money. From the import permit (state importers charge a fee of up to 20%), to paying 300 dollars to the little guys to speed up the operation or 2,000 or 3,000 dollars to a high-level official to lease you premises in a central area of the city”.

According to the former official, the government’s intention is to approve as many MSMEs as possible. Since the process began in September 2021, and until November 2022, the Ministry of Economy and Planning had approved 5,643 private MSMEs, 68 state-owned MSMEs, and 59 non-agricultural cooperatives.

“In the corridors of the provincial government headquarters it is rumored that MSMEs are going to sell their merchandise even in the warehouses of the Ministry of Interior Commerce. Businesses that can invest hundreds of thousands of dollars or one or two million are being favored. The strategy is to dismantle the blockade (US trade embargo), because those private businesses can import directly from the United States and OFAC grants them a license,” he clarifies.

“Of course, not all the people who manage these businesses are politically reliable. That is why a group of mysterious MSMEs have burst on the scene, run by ‘heavyweights’ from the Revolutionary Armed Forces, the Ministry of the Interior, or relatives and friends of important government officials. This business has the approval of the Russians, who are currently advising the Cuban economy. The State does not disburse a single dollar. All expenses are paid by the MSMEs, which are charged 30 or 35% taxes. It’s a good deal,” concludes the former official.

An employee of a Havana MSME confesses that all “these businesses do not have the same rank. There are MSMEs that move a few thousand dollars and others that handle millions. The government has its eye on those. Almost all of them are in a conspiracy with the authorities or the high-ranking government officials who own the business”. And he describes the modus operandi to replenish themselves with dollars and have a clientele on the side.

“As the State banks do not sell you dollars–only privileged MSMEs are sold foreign currency at a lower price and are allowed to import products directly–the others buy euros and dollars on the informal market, according to the daily exchange rate published on the site, El Toque. But because right now there is a deficit of dollars, I am paying the dollar at 195 pesos, one or two pesos above the daily rate. Then, when we buy the container of foodstuffs, that increase in the price of the dollar is added to the cost of sale. As the dollar becomes more expensive, the prices of the products we sell go up. Some MSMEs are allowed to import pork, chicken, cheese, and sausages. The owner of the business sells a part of it on the leased premises and another part is sold on the informal market–in order not to avoid taxes–to VIP clients, usually restaurant owners and others who pay in cash with dollars and buy large quantities”.

From repressor to businessman

Former FAR and MININT officers have been allowed to open private businesses. Yoandy Riverón, identified as agent ‘Cristian’ of State Security–who harassed and repressed dissident activists in Villa Clara province and is now a businessman–owns the shoe store Jona’s SURL in the town of Camajuaní. A former manager of CIMEX [the state-owned Domestic Business, External Market conglomerate], emphasizes that there is “a strategy to convert a group of retired military and civil servants into business owners so that in the future they can circumvent the yanqui blockade. For some time now, government heavyweights have had accounts in tax havens and are owners of very lucrative businesses. They use frontmen and foreign citizens as intermediaries to establish companies abroad”.

The dictatorship tries to monopolize the most profitable private businesses and tack on an incipient oligarchy obedient to its interests. As happens in Russia. There is a segment of commerce–online food sales paid with international credit cards–whose owners are important government figures. This is the case of Supermarket, run by Guillermo García Frías, a nonagenarian former combatant in Fidel Castro’s guerrilla forces in the Sierra Maestra, who no longer holds any political office, but he has more power than any minister. Or Ramiro Valdés, another of the so-called ‘historical’ ones, at the head of COPEXTE [National Electronics], who manages a digital business in dollars.

Hugo Cancio, a Cuban-American businessman, owner of the company Fuego Enterprise, does not belong to the official nomenklatura nor is he affiliated with the Communist party, but he manages a food sales business that imports directly from the United States. And recently OFAC granted him a license to import automobiles to Cuba.

The crony capitalism that prevails in Cuba takes brings us ever closer to Haiti.

Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison

Testimony of Lazaro Yuri Valle Roca Currently Being Held at Combinado del Este Prison / Ivan Garcia

Taken at the time Valle Roca was arrested outside the Yara cinema on the downtown Havana corner of 23 and L, when together with other activists he was demonstrating peacefully on December 10, 2015, International Human Rights Day. Before being imprisoned at Villa Marista on June 15, 2021 and then sent to the Combinado del Este, Yuri was detained many times. Image taken from Radio Viva 24.

From the Blog: Iván García at Desde de la Habana, 4 July 2022, Havana

Author: Lazaro Yuri Valle Roca, political prisoner of conscience. Combinado del Este, maximum security prison, June 25, 2022, three days after being arbitrarily and unjustly tried by a court.

I write these lines to release those thoughts and events that led me to make the most correct decision I have ever made in my life: to declare myself an opponent and fight against the oldest dictatorship in Latin America.

It was the year 1978 or 79 when my grandfather Blas Roca arrived at the house feeling unwell. As I heard my grandmother, Dulce Antúnez, tell it, he had had a fierce argument with Fidel Castro. Those heated discussions with Fidel were quite frequent. It is already known what the character of the dictator was like, his arrogance and smugness.

My grandmother asked Dr. Cabeza what was wrong with my grandfather and he told her that it was nothing, that it had only been a headache and he had given him a painkiller. But my grandmother, who knew my grandfather well, called me into the room and told me to get ready because we were going to take him to the clinic. Dr. Cabeza questioned my grandmother’s decision, but she told him that she knew her husband well, after having been married for more than 50 years. When we arrived at the clinic, my grandfather’s face and mouth were already disfigured and he was diagnosed with a cerebral venous thrombosis.

From that moment on, things began to get tense, to the point that they got my grandparents divorced so that they could marry him to his secretary Justina  Álvarez. They argued that my grandfather and Justina had an extramarital affair of many years, something totally untrue. In that state that my grandfather was in, Raúl Castro got him divorced and then married to Justina. There were countless things they did to my family, to the point of not letting us go to see him. I went on several occasions and Justina would say that she had to give advance notice and schedule an appointment. On other occasions they threw me out because I would talk with my grandfather about subjects they didn’t like, especially the humiliations and contempt towards my family.

I remember the day my grandfather died. My grandmother, with tremendous courage, said to me, “Yuri, your grandfather died. Get dressed, we’re going to the viewing.” And so we walked to the Plaza de la Revolución. She sat next to the coffin and I sat next to her. Imagine the scene when Justina arrived, but my grandmother and I were unshakable. Fidel, Raúl, Ramiro Valdés and Guillermo García were looking on from behind a divider nearby.

At that moment Raúl calls me over to tell me why did I not take my grandmother home, so that she could rest, to which I replied: “Why the fuck don’t you tell her yourselves, or you don’t have the courage to do it, so go fuck yourselves, you sons of bitches.” And I went back and sat next to my grandmother. Five minutes later they ended the viewing. They requested that my grandmother not continue reading

attend the burial. After the ceremony ended, my mother, seeing that there were people throwing earth inside the grave, went and took the shovels from the gravediggers and gave them to her children, so that it would be her family who would bury her father, Blas Roca Calderío.

There were many vexations and humiliations against my family. There was a lot of hatred on the part of Fidel and his clique against my grandfather, who was a humble man, simple and correct. We ate, as did the people, according to the ration book. My grandfather never wanted houses on the beach and – after much insistence from Fidel and Raúl – he would rent a beach house for vacation, but the family had would have to save all year to pay for it.

On one occasion, Raúl sent a gift Jeep to my grandfather and he returned it to him. He told him that in the Central Committee you could only have one car. There are countless things I could tell you; that’s why my grandfather was not liked, because they could never corrupt him. He had arguments with Fidel when the 1976 Constitution was drawn up, because Fidel wanted to impose arbitrary things and my grandfather never agreed with it. He was the only one who would dare tell Fidel Castro that something could not be done. That’s why they hated him, that’s why they got him divorced while he was sick, with his brain shattered by clots from thrombosis.

On another occasion, in 1981, I was 20 years old and was spending my military service in border guard troops, in the national squadron located in the Ensenada de Cubanacán, near Jaimanitas, Havana, where I worked as a radarist on a Griffin interceptor ship. Many leaders kept their boat and yachts at that marina, including Fidel. The skipper of his yachts was Colonel Kiki Finalé, who was going around there that day in a speedboat. One of the boys I had under my command ran to find me, to tell me that Finalé was harassing and humiliating them, showing off and imposing on them his arrogance and despotism for being a colonel and the skipper of Fidel Castro’s yachts.

I went to the aid of the soldiers, getting into a tremendous argument with Colonel Finalé, to whom I ended up saying that over my cojones would he leave the marina towards Varadero – where they were headed that day – and then I left on the ship to do my guard duty. When I saw his battle-drill motorboat coming and fired the warning shots at him, he stopped the boat. When I approached, in the boat with Finalé were Alejandro Castro and Juan Juan Almeida, who immediately recognized me. I didn’t know that Kiki was accompanied by them, I apologized and they continued their journey. This incident resulted in the fact that five days later I was expelled from military service, with the prohibition that I could not carry any firearm.

I hope you understand that I cannot be more explicit and provide more facts and details. I am imprisoned and I have many inmates around me, keeping an eye on the smallest detail – what I eat, what I write – everything. In addition, to produce this text and make it reach its destination, I must circumvent searches and inspections. I hope that with these few examples you understand why I decided to stand against the dictatorship.

My grandparents always told me to think and do whatever I wanted. From them I learned to hate the dictatorship, to help the most needy, and that the people – the sovereign – are the ones who rule. I was also taught these words of our Apostle*: “One man is worth no more than an entire people, but there are men who do not tire when their people get tired, and they choose war before entire peoples do, because they do not have to consult anyone but themselves. And peoples have many men, and cannot consult each other as quickly.”

The time I was most proud of my grandparents, Blas Roca and Dulce Antúnez, was on one of my trips to the United States, when I was greeted by friends who knew my family. Their words of admiration and respect for my family were moving. That is why I fight against the dictatorship, that is why every day I feel proud of my grandparents and of my mother, Lydia Roca Antúnez, who instilled in me pure and patriotic feelings.

It is my commitment to continue with the fight they started. To carry out their ideas is my guide and my strength. And the examples of Martí, [Antonio] Maceo, [Ignacio] Agramonte – they give me strength to face all of the abuses and humiliations that inflicted on me in an effort to make me desist in my struggle so that Cuba and Cubans are free once and for all. The Apostle taught us that “heroes are those who fight to make peoples free, or those who suffer in poverty and misfortune to defend a great truth.”

Thank you very much to all the brothers who raise their voices in my defense to get me out of this unjust and arbitrary confinement, which I face with the firmness of my family legacy and my ideals. And with the conviction that Cuba has to be free now.

Homeland, Life and Freedom.

Lázaro Yuri Valle Roca, political prisoner of conscience.

Combinado del Este, maximum security prison, June 25, 2022, three days after being arbitrarily and unjustly tried by a court.

Note from Iván:

This testimony was made known in Havana by Eralidis Frómeta, wife of Lázaro Yuri.

*Translator’s note: José Martí, the 19th century national hero, is often called the “Apostle of Cuba” or the “Apostle of Cuban Independence.”

Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison

The Ordeal of Cuban Dissidents / Ivan Garcia

After a life of poverty, disease, and repression, Lisset Naranjo Girón, opposition figure and a Lady in White, died in Havana on April 10, 2021 at the age of 36. As the photographer and activist Claudio Fuentes wrote on his Facebook, from where this photo was taken, “the lack of protection of dissidents and political prisoners in Cuba is not only the responsibility of Castroism.”

Ivan García, Desde La Habana, May 2022 — For the act of writing this article, the regime – were they to deem it pertinent to do so – could prosecute me and slap me with up to twenty years in prison, according to the current Law 88 which was approved in February, 1999. For collecting payment for my contributions to Diario Las Américas, the new Penal Code says that I could be sentenced to ten years in prison.

If I were to leave the following comment on social networks – “Simply because they are enemies of the United States, their enemy the Cuban regime supports a comic-opera dictatorship in Nicaragua and is an ally of a nation like Russia that violates the rights of homosexuals, and of an autocratic asylum like North Korea” – the punishment could vary. Depending on the judge, I could be sentenced under Law 35 to pay a fine of three thousand pesos, or if Law 370 were applied I could be subject to three years of criminal sanctions.

The colleagues who produce the digital newspaper 14ymedio in Havana could also be sanctioned for “affecting world peace” or some other legal nonsense used for cracking down on free expression in Cuba – in addition to being charged under any current law that exists to muzzle independent journalism.

I do not consider myself a hero. But ever since I began writing in December 1995 for the independent press agency Cuba Press, directed by the formidable poet and journalist Raúl Rivero who died on November 6, 2021 in Miami, I have accepted the consequences of my way of thinking.

If there is something that those who oppose Castroism have never lacked it is laws and sentencing rules to forewarn us of long prison terms and even the death penalty.

Therefore, the new Penal Code, wherein the regulations against dissidence are expanded upon, is more of the same. Another roundabout message from the regime to warn us that we live on the razor’s edge, that we have few options to defend ourselves. If they open a case against us, not even the best lawyer in the world can keep us out of jail; the sanctions against opponents are pre-established by the State.

Years ago, I decided to be transparent. My opinion that Cuba will – sooner rather than later – begin the path towards democracy is one that I have always written and to which I have signed my full name in the digital and print media, where I have published for more than 25 years.

I am an uncomfortable journalist. I have no commitments to any opposition group or political current. My commitment is to journalism. I recognize that the newly approved Penal Code intimidates some sectors of the opposition and free journalism. And faced with the prospect of future criminal sanctions, members of those sectors often decide to leave the country.

When a dissident appears on State Security’s radar, the harassment that ensues is inhuman. The hostility of the political police affects the individual’s family, friends and neighbors. Almost all activists and reporters who have left the country have been arrested multiple times, faced imprisonment, and been harassed in countless ways.

Independent journalist Camila Acosta has been evicted at least eight times from the rental house where she lived because of pressure from State Security on the owners. Luz Escobar has been held under house arrest by State Security in her own home. continue reading

The repression in Cuba is constant. For this reason, opponents and journalists – particularly the youngest ones – have left their homeland or are packing their bags.

Currently, the internal opposition and ungagged journalism are at a low ebb. When you chat with any dissidents, they tell you about their plans to emigrate.

As the political refugee program of the United States Embassy in Havana has not been operating for several years, activists plot their itinerary like any other irregular immigrant, to try to reach the southern border of the United States and, once there, request asylum or cross illegally.

I remember the case of Ramón Arboláez, from Villa Clara, a cancer patient, who in 2016 fled Cuba with his wife and two children, harassed by the political police. Thanks to the involvement of Maite Luna, a reporter in Miami, and follow-up by Diario Las Américas, Arboláez was granted a humanitarian visa after being stranded in Mexico for two months.

Oppositionist José Daniel Ferrer, the artists Luis Manuel Otero and Maykel Osorbo, and independent journalist Lázaro Yuri Valle Roca have been in prison for months without being tried. The regime has proposed exchanging imprisonment for exile for all four. They have not accepted it. Activist Anamely Ramos is a victim of political exile in the 21st century.

The dissidents on the Island have it increasingly difficult. Like the vast majority of Cubans, they are suffering from the economic crisis, rising inflation, and widespread shortages. They have to queue for hours to buy a package of chicken or a bag of detergent. The health status of several opposition veterans is fragile.

Juan González Febles, an independent journalist who turned 72 on May 21, suffers from senile dementia and urinary incontinence. “He and his wife Ana Torricella, also an independent journalist, are going hungry,” a mutual friend tells me. Febles and Luis Cino founded the online newspaper Primavera Digital [“Digital Spring”] in November 2007; in June 2012 they also began publishing a printed edition that boasted a weekly circulation.

In Cuba, dissidents and independent journalists do not enjoy job protections, nor the right to take sick leave, vacations, or retirement. One example is that of my mother, Tania Quintero Antúnez, born in Havana in 1942, and since November 2003 living in Switzerland as a political refugee. In August 1959, at just 17 years old, she started working. On April 4, 1996, a 37-year career working for State-run institutions was cast aside when at age 54 she was expelled from the Cuban Institute of Radio and Television (where she worked as a reporter for the Cuban Television Information System) for having signed on as an independent journalist with Cuba Press. They did not pay her a penny of the pension to which she was entitled by national and international law.

Some die destitute. Vladimiro Roca – a prominent dissident who in 1997, together with Martha Beatriz Roque, René Gómez Manzano and Félix Bonne Carcassés (he died in 2017 of a heart attack, blind and forgotten), authored the 1997 paper, The Homeland Belongs to All* – sold his residence in Nuevo Vedado and moved into a small and stuffy apartment. The money from the sale supports him in his old age.

Luis Cino, 62 years old, a brilliant columnist, lives on the edge. He cares for a sick aunt and supports her family with a salary of around 15,000 pesos a month, but due to rising inflation, barely has enough to buy food. “If I, who earn almost four times the average salary in Cuba, am having a hard time, imagine those who earn less or whose pensions are lower. I have friends and neighbors who go to bed hungry.”

Neither the Inter-American Press Association (IAPA), the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ), nor Reporters Without Borders (RSF) have budgets to send stipends or subsidies to journalists living in dictatorial regimes. Instead, the latter must leave their countries because their lives are in danger or because advanced age or health problems have prevented them from writing.

A few years ago, there was a program in the United States, run by Cuban exiles, that every two or three months sent packages of food, personal hygiene products, and medicines to the most-needy dissidents in Cuba. For unknown reasons it was abolished, it no longer exists.

Due to economic hardships and constant threats of imprisonment, oppositionists in their 60s and 70s are emigrating. “It is preferable to be in a care home in Miami than to live without knowing what you are going to eat every day in Cuba, and with State Security harassing you 24 hours a day,” confesses an activist from Santiago de Cuba (who, because he lives far from Havana, is not known). Many compatriots in the diaspora, out of their own pockets, help dissidents on the Island. But something more than altruism is needed.

Iván García

*Translator’s Note: Archived copy of the Spanish original here: La Patria Es De Todos.

Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison

Shipments to Cuba to be Paid for in Miami

Taken from the Shipments to Cuba section of the Cuban Directory

Ivan Garcia, Havana, 4 April 2022 — After shaving his incipient beard, Sergio, 36, a software programmer, gets his smartphone and goes online. Using the WhatsApp tool Infotienda, he tracks down which market in Havana is stocking cheese, toilet paper, and milk powder.

His 10-year-old daughter and two of her friends play The Sims on a state-of-the-art PlayStation in the living room, while Mildred, his wife of 34 years and owner of a hairdressing business, seasons chickpeas in the kitchen. Sergio can’t complain. He lives in a two-story villa with a patio and garage in El Casino, a quiet suburb of the Cerro municipality thirty minutes from the center of Havana.

His house is equipped with all the comforts of modern life: appliances, air-conditioned rooms, and a small jacuzzi. He drives a 2018 KIA Picanto that cost him $55,000 on the informal market. This young professional couple, successful entrepreneurs, would probably not attract attention in any other country. But in Cuba, where on average people stand in line four hours a day to buy bread or food, that comfort level is the exclusive domain of foreign residents, or of the opulent olive-green* bourgeoisie who preach social justice while living the high life.

Sergio has shielded himself in these times of crisis. Gates, security cameras, burglar alarms and a pair of intimidating Rottweiler dogs protect the property. But “resolving”** the food problem, even with money, is a not-infrequent problem. “Getting food is a very tough battle in Cuba. You can buy beef in government hard currency stores, but it isn’t always available. They also run out of chicken breast sometimes as well as quality sausages, and the seafood costs an arm and a leg. On the black market you can buy some things like fresh fish and shrimp. If you buy beef you have to have a trusted contact, because many times the meat that is sold is not suitable for human consumption,” he says.

“The other big problem is the high prices and minimal variety,” Sergio continues. “For example, two weeks ago I bought eight kilos of beef and six kilos of veal from an MLC [hard currency] store and it cost me $237. Or, I could buy it in one of those places that sells food to Cubans living abroad. Some have better deals than others. For me, the two best are Supermarket and Katapulk, which sell food imported directly from the United States such as chicken, pork, rice, milk powder and toiletries, among other things. But the prices are scandalous and these places have a discriminatory policy against Cubans who live on the island, because you can only pay with Visa, Mastercard or some other foreign bank card.” continue reading

I’ll give you a price list. Katapulk, a mysterious agency founded by Hugo Cancio, a Cuban-American who presents himself as a businessman and also runs the online site OnCuba News, sells a pack of four five-kilogram bags of milk powder for $279.96. A 25-kilogram sack of long grain rice at $60.79. A small pig for roasting, 12 to 16 kilograms, for 131 dollars. And two pigs’ legs of 24 to 26 kilograms at $178.47. All Made in the USA.

Despite the vaunted economic embargo, Katapulk offers everything from frozen chicken, juices, compotes, smoothies, instant soft drinks, soaps, Colgate toothpaste, Palmolive shower gel and shampoo, to cereals and frozen green plantains*** brought directly from the United States. Cuban food producers sell beef, seafood, pasta sauces, juices, sausages, dressings, ice cream and cookies on Katapulk. This last fact is a reason for discontent among the population, because such items are rarely found in the poorly-stocked “peso” markets, or even in the so-called “MLC” [freely-convertible currency] stores.

Such is not the case with Sergio, a Havana man who in a month can earn up to three thousand dollars selling software and can afford to have cards from foreign banks that allow him to buy on sites enabled for Cubans living abroad, especially in Miami.

“If you travel to another country, what you do is open an account there, or you get a relative who lives abroad to send you a Visa or Mastercard. When I get paid, I deposit part of the money directly onto the card. You must use an address, email and telephone number of a relative or friend who resides outside the country. For home delivery they charge you between 15 and 18 dollars, depending on the site. You have the advantage that you can buy food that is not sold even in the MLC stores. But the prices are outrageous. Even for me, who makes a salary much higher than the average salaries in Cuba, buying in those markets is unsustainable. What I do is combine my sources. There are things that I get on digital sites, others on the black market and others in MLC stores,” Sergio confesses.

For María Elena, an 80-year-old retiree, her children in Miami send her food and personal hygiene products purchased on one of the more than 25 digital e-commerce sites designed for the Cuban emigration. “My children spend a fortune, from 400 to 500 dollars a month on food and toiletries for their family on the Island.”

A former foreign trade official comments that “most of these sites are camouflaged businesses of high-ranking government officials. The Council of State, with its Palco enterprise, is behind many of these businesses. COPEXTEL, owned by Ramiro Valdés, has also set up a beach bar. All these stores sell food at between three and eight times higher prices than in any Western country. They squeeze the pockets of the emigrants as though they were oranges. They are extremely lucrative businesses.”

The question that ordinary Cubans ask themselves is where and how does the regime spend all that money. The water leaks that abound in the country, the cracked streets,  and the 50 percent of houses that cry out to be renovated, are a sign that these profits are not invested in improving the quality of life of the people.

The only investments in Cuba right now are the construction of four- and five-star hotels. These are executed by GAESA, a military company that is a parallel State within the State. It’s likely that part of the foreign currency that enters the country through this route stays there.

Iván García

Translator’s Notes:
* “Resolving” is how Cubans refer to dealing with, or surmounting, the many daily impediments they face in meeting their basic needs.
** “Olive-green” is a reference to the color of the combat fatigues worn for years by Cuba’s top echelon of leaders.
*** Green plantains are used in Cuban cuisine to make the popular chips,
tostones, and other dishes. 

Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison

Rollero, the Most Unpopular Minister in Cuba / Ivan Garcia

Gustavo Rodríguez Rollero, Cuban Minister of Agriculture (left, in red cap and plaid shirt) (Taken from Radio Habana Cuba.).

Iván García, Havana, December 16, 2019 – I’ll introduce him to you. His name is Gustavo Luis Rodríguez Rollero. He was born on December 21, 1963 in the town of Iguará, Yaguajay municipality, Sancti Spíritus province, about 224 miles east of Havana.

According to EcuRed, the Cuban digital encyclopedia, Rollero was, as they say, a platoon leader of motorized infantry in the armed forces. Once discharged from the army, he worked as an agricultural technician, brigade chief, agricultural deputy director and director of an agro-industrial complex in Ranchuelo, Villa Clara. He later became a provincial delegate of the Ministry of Agriculture and vice minister in that ministry. Afterward, deputy minister of the Ministry of Sugar, where he became first deputy minister. In June 2010 he reached the top and was appointed Minister of Agriculture, a promotion that would be ratified in July 2018 by the National Assembly of People’s Power.

His biography, like that of other officials of the Communist Party of Cuba, is unblemished. But no expert on the island can explain what his merits are that have allowed him to remain in office for nine years, despite the fact that since 2013 the statistics in the agricultural sector have plummeted.

If you ask people on the street who the most unpopular minister in the country is, they will first point to Rollero, the one from Agriculture. In second place to continue reading

Eduardo Rodríguez, of Transport, but since he was appointed in January of this year, he is not as well known as the previous one, Adel Yzquierdo, who spent four years at the head of MITRANS.

Eduardo, now retired, worked for 55 years in the old Toledo plant, located in Marianao, west of Havana. He recalls that in 2000, when Fidel Castro ordered the restructuring of the sugar industry (a restructuring that was called Tarea Álvaro Reinoso) more than a hundred sugar mills were closed, including Toledo, the only one in the capital, which had been renamed by the revolution “Manuel Martínez Prieto,” after a union leader from that area assassinated in 1958 by the Batista dictatorship.

“Screw by screw, the entire plant was disassembled. The dismantling allowed neighboring residents to take advantage and steal. MINAZ (Sugar Ministry) officials passed through central Toledo promising villas and castles. But the biggest liar was Rollero. He showed up one day, looking like a student at Ñico López (Communist Party high school), assuring that an industry was going to be set up to process alcohol and take advantage of the by-products of sugar cane. He said that the production was going to be exported. “It was all a lie,”recalls Eduardo,” who at 72 sells brown sugar coquitos, allowing him to earn a few pesos and supplement his pension, which is equivalent to twelve dollars a month.

It is well-known that disinformation is habitual among high officials of the Castro regime. Some are more disinformed than others. Foreign Minister Bruno Rodríguez Parrilla, for example, was unaware that Cuban doctors who deserted their missions were prohibited from visiting their homeland. He also didn’t know that almost a hundred dissidents and independent journalists are “regulated” and cannot travel abroad, despite having no criminal charges against them.

In a meeting with Cuban émigrés residing in Ireland last October, President Miguel Díaz-Canel asserted that the government did not repress those who thought differently. In a country where lying has become a way of life, the staging, the deluge of hollow slogans, and the media barrage of ideological content slanted and manipulated by experts controlled by state media is understandable.

Right now, Gustavo Rodríguez Rollero is the perfect target for ordinary people. A few weeks ago, he appeared on the national television news, surrounded by a mountain of papers. While he was adjusting his glasses, he asserted that in a meeting of ministers with President Díaz-Canel, it had been said that “the goal of each Cuban eating 30 pounds per month of fruit, vegetables, and meat” was being fulfilled. And he claimed that he was “working to guarantee 5 kilograms of animal protein per capita per month.”

Mirta, a housewife, regularly watches television news. “The lies that the officials tell on TV raise my blood pressure. But I’m a masochist and I still watch the news, especially the ’estelar’, as they call one at 8 pm. The one who lies the most is Rollero. The guy rolls longer than a movie. Thirty pounds of fruits and vegetables and five kilograms of meat? Don’t make me laugh, Mr. Minister,” says Mirta, and she mentions the situation in which Havana’s grocery stores find themselves:

“In December, the price of pork meat continued to rise in Havana. A pound of boneless pork doesn’t fall below 50 or 60 pesos. Probably for the last week of the year it will cost even more. In state agricultural markets there’s nothing, only bananas, sweet potatoes, yuccas and black beans, no tomatoes or onions. Sometimes fruits, dried sweet oranges – sour and  juiceless – and some miniature pineapples that, after you remove the peel, barely give two glasses of juice. It’s true that there are Cubans who are able to eat 30 pounds of food per month, vegetables and fruits and 5 kilograms of chicken, pork or mutton. What Rollero’s lying face doesn’t say is the amount of money those people spend every month to be able to consume these products.”

Diario Las Américas toured several state agromarkets in Havana. The shortage is striking. Usually just five or six agricultural products, almost always bananas, yuccas, sweet potatoes, black and red beans.

Private sellers have a better selection, but prices are through the roof: a pound of tomatoes is 20 to 25 pesos; a pound of onions 30 to 40 pesos; a cabbage, 15 to 20 pesos; a lemon 7 or 8 pesos; and a pound of chickpeas, 25 pesos; guava, 8 to 10 pesos per pound; a ripe pineapple, 15 or 20 pesos; a mamey, 25 pesos; a four-pound melon, 40 pesos, at ten pesos a pound; and a whole papaya can cost more than 50 pesos.

Liliana and her husband, private entrepreneurs, say that they try to keep the menu as healthy as possible. “But the amount of money we spend is tremendous,” says Liliana and shows a notebook where she records the expenses.

“Every month we spend more than two thousand pesos, about 80 dollars, just on fruits, vegetables, food and beans. And between 250 and 300 Cuban convertible pesos [CUC – a currency that has been taken out circulation] on beef, chicken, fish, cheese, yogurt, spaghetti and tomato puree, among other foods from the foreign exchange markets. When you add it up, you get 9 to 10 thousand pesos a month, just so that three people, my husband, our daughter and I can have breakfast, lunch and dinner. I pray every day not to get sick and be unable to work, because if we lack the money we’re not going to be in the black.”

For six decades, the number one priority of Cuban families has been to be able to prepare one or two hot meals at home seven days a week. But as the “Revolution has advanced,” on an island with a tropical climate, it is incredibly increasingly complex, difficult, and expensive to get food in Cuba.

Ordinary people blame the government and in particular the Minister of Agriculture, Gustavo Rodríguez Rollero, for scarcities, shortages, poor quality, and high prices. And for firing off volleys of lies.

Translated by Tomás A.

What Really Interests the Cuban Regime? / Ivan Garcia

Photo Credit: Dominoes, from Diario de Cuba.

Iván García, Havana, 21 June 2021 — On July 4, 2016, in the splendid residence of the U.S. Chargé d’Affaires in Cuba located west of Havana, there was a celebration of that country’s Independence Day. Hundreds of guests nibbled on hors d’oeuvres, sipped red wine or cold beer, and chatted on sundry topics in small groups. Following the re-establishment of relations between the U.S. and Cuba on December 17, 2014, the harmony between the two peoples was noticeable.

At the long tables dressed in white tablecloths and under the canopies set up in the gardens, you could see renowned artists, business executives, prelates of the Catholic Church, as well as activists, opponents, and independent journalists. A blues soundtrack could be heard in the background while I conversed with a Spanish businessman based in Florida, who told me how the huge state bureaucracy was preventing him from opening a ferry line between Havana and Miami.

That July 4th, I remembered that in November of 2015, Saul Berenthal and Horace Clemmons — of the Alabama-based tractor manufacturer Cleber LLC — had made the news when they wanted to install a small tractor assembly plant in the Mariel Special Development Zone, which would have been a beneficial business for the unproductive agriculture of Cuba, especially for private farmers and agricultural cooperatives. Berenthal and Clemmons intended to sell the tractors in national currency. It seemed that the Cuban authorities were going to approve the deal, as it was profitable for both parties. By then, the Sheraton hotel chain had opened a property in Miramar in partnership with the military-run company Gaviota. continue reading

Day in and day out, famous Americans would visit Havana and roam the city in antique convertibles. Travelers from the United States were amazed to see no advertising in the capital city, to have no internet connection, and they lamented the deterioration of buildings that were architectural jewels. On the streets of Havana, Barack Obama was more popular than Fidel and Raúl Castro. From balconies, bicitaxis and collective taxis, you could see the American flag waving next to the Cuban. Paladares (private restaurants) and private lodgings were bursting. At Sloppys Joe’s — a bar located next to the Hotel Sevilla that before 1959 was frequented by the actor Errol Flynn — between mojitos and “ropa vieja” (shredded beef) sandwiches, a bartender told me that on a bad day, he would earn 150 dollars in tips thanks to American tourists.

During that honeymoon period — when many Cubans naively believed that in ten years, skyscrapers would once again grace the Havana skyline and Starbucks and McDonald’s franchises would be seen everywhere — I would have assumed that the Spanish businessman from Florida was optimistic. But the Cuban government had applied the brakes. The official press and functionaries of the dictatorship were accusing Obama of not doing enough to dismantle the embargo. And the amanuenses were issuing warnings about the cultural “danger” inherent in thousands of American tourists being on the Island.

That afternoon in 2016, I was unaware that the Castro brothers’ order was to return to the Cold War trench. The Spanish businessman warned me: “They are not interested in businesses that benefit the people. All business has to be with military companies, and they must make good profits. I told a senior government official about my project to open a ferry service, which would lower travel costs. In addition, Cubans living in Florida could bring 300 pounds of luggage, and even cars. The official told me privately that this was not in the government’s interest, as it would affect the military companies that run the foreign exchange stores. And he confessed to me that the business they were interested in was cruise ships.”

Obama approved at least three packages of measures that favored the private sector in Cuba. When you chat confidentially with Cuban private entrepreneurs, they recognize that the internal blockade, the government’s distrust, and excessive taxes and controls affect them more than the U.S. embargo. Two business owners who were at the meeting with Obama said that “if the government wants it, we can import food, raw materials, and other items from the United States.”

One of them told me that they “imported cuts of beef from Canada. But when the authorities found out, they banned it. There is no manifest will for private businesses to flourish. All that support for entrepreneurs expressed by the rulers is what they say publicly. But the reality is different. They drown you with absurd taxes, excessive controls, and a lot of corruption. They force you to cheat and commit illegalities in order to be profitable.”

It was the regime that never approved, nor cared, that the measures passed by the Obama administration would strengthen the private sector. The dictatorship and its military companies were never interested in opening businesses that would benefit the families of émigrés by authorizing them to bring hundreds of pounds on their ferry trips. It is the Cuban government that charges excessive sums of money for the shipments sent from abroad by émigrés. A box weighing five kilograms mailed to Cuba requires the recipient to pay about two thousand pesos to receive it. It is a way of discouraging imports to poor relatives on the Island.

The Cuban government is lying when its officials try to sell the story that “it is the U.S. blockade that affects the Cuban family.” The regime has never cared about the Cubans who leave, except whether they support the system and do not publicly express their differences with it.

In the spring of 2015, I covered the exodus of Cubans to Central America together with Celeste Matos, a formidable reporter based in Florida. We traveled from one end of Costa Rica to the other, from Paso Canoas, on the border with Panama, to Peñas Blancas, bordering Nicaragua. Dozens of Cubans told me that the Cuban Embassy in San José never gave them any help or legal advice. Cuban émigrés are only useful to the regime as ATMs.

Never has the autocracy apologized for the verbal abuses and lynchings to which they subjected Cubans who wanted to emigrate. According to a former Interior Ministry official, in 1980, Fidel Castro ordered the delivery of only two thousand food rations during the occupation by more than ten thousand Cubans of the Peruvian Embassy. “He did it on purpose, to create riots, fights, and present them to the world as a savage scum.” A few days later, Castro released hundreds of dangerous and mentally ill criminals to contaminate the exodus that was leaving through the Port of Mariel.

The regime charges Cuban émigrés very high prices for their passports and permits to visit their homeland. Emigrés have absolutely no political rights. They cannot vote or be elected to public office. This new measure to suspend the use of the dollar is another act of arrogance against expatriates and their relatives in Cuba. The authorities, because of the economic madhouse, mismanagement, and the unproductive state sector — a kind of sit-down strike by the workers due to their insufficient wages — cannot offer a decent life or efficient public services to the population.

There are several ways to dismantle the embargo. The measures approved by Obama are still in force, so if the State were to allow the private sector to import food and goods from the U.S., to later sell them in their businesses, this would alleviate the fierce shortages.

The government itself can buy food from the U.S., as long as it pays in cash. If, as the Central Bank of Cuba officials say, they had their vaults full of dollars, they could buy tons of beef, fish and sausages in addition to the usual frozen chicken. If the regime is unable to guarantee the supply and production of food, why does it not allow foreign chains to import and sell food in Cuba?

The dictatorship only issues measures that allow them to stay in power. They detest private business. They have prohibited Cubans from accumulating wealth. They speak of authorizing investments by Cubans who reside abroad, but they delay approval, because it is a contradiction for their ideological adversaries to return to Cuba as successful entrepreneurs. Each new unpopular measure decreed by the government headed by Miguel Díaz-Canel digs its own grave deeper. Authoritarian systems doing things half-assed crumble on their own. Cuba is not going to be the exception.

Translated By:  Alicia Barraqué Ellison

Surviving in the Cuban Jungle / Ivan Garcia

A crowd of people lining up in front of a store in Havana, waiting for their turn to shop (Photo Mario Muñoz – Facebook).

Ivan Garcia, Havana, 10 May 2021 — It is the law of survival of the fittest: only the most quarrelsome, opportunistic, and worthless citizens can get ahead. From top to bottom, today’s Cuban society is a jungle. A failed state that lives off ideological propaganda, promises it never keeps, and a chaotic subsistence economy.

If you ask Magda – a 40-year-old from Havana who supports herself by reselling for dollars the merchandise she buys at exclusive stores and has made a business out of managing the long lines of shoppers – why this is so, she will give you a concise answer: “The system forces you.” She is silent for a few seconds and then makes the following case:

“The Cuban system works by caste. The mayimbes (bosses) do not want for anything, nor do the senior officers in the armed forces. They get free housing and food, and they can take vacations at recreational villas for reasonable prices. Mid-level party officials also enjoy their little privileges. The cuadros (administrators) of tourism, domestic trade and other ministries and large companies, they live by stealing and profiting from food, fuel and construction materials. We – those at the bottom, the marginalized, almost all blacks – who live in poverty, we have to fight each other for the crumbs. Wherever money can be made, that’s where I’ll be. I’m not afraid to fight, and I’m not afraid of the police. Whatever it takes.” continue reading

Then in a calm voice, Magda recounts how since childhood she has had to deal with family violence, husbands who beat her, and neighborhood fights. “I have been imprisoned twice. There, you have to be a lioness. It’s not that I’m a bad person, but I don’t have too many options. Either I sit on my hands while my children go to bed hungry, or I go out and fight in the street for money and food. Necessity forces me to fight like a beast to get ahead.”

Like Magda, many women and men in the capital and in other provinces make a living by earning dollars organizing the lines, buying food for resale, and bribing police officers and officials who are supposed to be ensuring the social order. “You also have to grease the palms of store managers and employees. There are people who spend a week in line and never reach what they need. If you don’t pay 500 or a thousand pesos to a colero (someone who stands in line – “cola” – for others) you won’t get anything. If it’s a freezer you’re after, you have to pay them $70 or $100. It’s hard, but right now in Cuba, the law of the jungle rules,” Magda explains.

At any store in Havana, the coleros have organized a corrupt structure in cahoots with store managers and employees. On the outskirts of the market at 5th and 42nd in Miramar, half a thousand people await entry to go shopping. A policeman tells the crowd that only the first 150 will be allowed in. “The rest of you, please go home,” he says. Those who have not advanced to one of those spots have an alternative: they can, for a higher price, buy food and toiletries at private homes nearby.

Let’s call him Hiram, who works by walking the lines and quietly selling places for a thousand pesos. “In this country there are three types of Cubans. Those who rule, who do what they want and are accountable to no one. Those who have no choice but to silently endure the foot that the government puts down on them. And the dissidents, who are cocky, but lacking weapons, are not going to overthrow the regime. Most of the population are terrified of joining the opposition, because they can lock you away for many years. Criminals don’t want anything to do with the opposition, either. However, there is an unwritten pact between the government and the underworld: they let you do what you want as long as you don’t get into politics,” explains Hiram.

He goes on to say: “That’s why you see a bunch of people in the worst neighborhoods of Havana selling stolen items, and the police don’t even show up there. Drug dealers generally work for the police, as do the higher-level prostitutes. I don’t like communism. In 1980, when I was 23 years old, I got into the Peruvian embassy. We were ten thousand people and Fidel only sent a thousand boxes of food and bottles of water. They would do this to get us to fight with each other. Now it’s the same thing. (Cuban President) Díaz-Canel’s strategy, he has said, is to break off little pieces of problems, not solve them. I was in the United States and I was arrested, and they returned me as undesirable. I have to live off something. And the best I know how to do is be in the jungle, the fights and the illegalities. When you see two old men wrapped around a package of sausages, you realize that things in this country do not work.”

For a high percentage of Cubans it is a big production just to eat, buy soap, or obtain medicines. Any errand takes five or six hours. The atrocious inefficiency of the olive-green* economic model forces the citizens to travel long distances and line up for miles to try to get a roll of toilet paper or a bottle of soda.

In the midst of the shortages, the eternal economic crisis, and the sustained pandemic outbreak (which has practically collapsed the healthcare system in Havana) the authorities – instead of calling back the thousands of specialists and doctors who work abroad to provide dollars to the State – bet on bringing doctors in from other provinces. Public health is at a low ebb in Cuba. There is a scarcity of healthcare personnel, dozens of ambulances are halted for lack of spare parts, and there is a brutal shortage of antibiotics, syringes, and medicines.

One doctor said that “physicians and nurses who work on the front line treating Covid-19 patients are exhausted. They have spent many months working in precarious conditions, deprived of the necessary security, and subsisting on a very poor diet. Government propaganda claims that the public health system here works wonders, but this is a lie. There are shortages from water to gauze and cotton swabs, not to mention broken medical equipment.”

Carlos, a sociologist, opines that “in times of economic crisis, the worst qualities of human beings come to light, such as selfishness and lack of solidarity. Civic values ​​are deteriorating, while speculation, theft and abuse of the weakest increases.”

These days, a 3-kilogram portion of Gouda cheese, which in foreign currency stores costs between 25 and 27 dollars (625 and 675 pesos at the official exchange), is resold on the black market for 1,900 or 2,100 pesos. A pound of chicken for 20 pesos is resold for 50 or 55 pesos. The pound of black beans that a year ago cost 10 pesos now costs 60. The kilogram of powdered milk that cost 40 pesos is offered at 300 or 350 pesos. Two packages of sandwich cookies and three of crackers, whose price was 70 pesos, are not available for less than 700 pesos. And worst of all, even with money in your pocket, you don’t always find what you’re seeking.

The biggest speculators are the regime’s commercial companies. The foods that are offered in stores for dollars – the so-called MLC (freely convertible currency) – obtain profit margins that sometimes exceed 300%, says an official of the TRD Caribe chain. And he gives this example: “A Samsung side-by-side refrigerator costs $1,870 here. At a retail store in Mexico, it might not even sell for $ 1,500. It’s abusive. If the reseller doesn’t murder you with his speculative prices, the State will gouge you with its inflated prices.”

The Cuba of today is an absurdity. A savage mix of dysfunctional, Soviet-style socialism and rudimentary feudal capitalism, sustained by a Zimbabwe-like public infrastructure, with prices comparable to those of Switzerland. Castroism continues to boast that its imperishable revolution was made by the humble and for the humble.

But the reality is that on the Island, the poorest eat a hot meal once a day and live in precarious huts made of aluminum and cardboard pieces. The Cuban model is a snapshot of rampant bureaucracy, full-throttle corruption, and mediocre officials. And in that jungle, people must manage as best they can to survive.

*Translator’s note: A reference to the color of the combat fatigues worn for years by Cuba’s top echelon of leaders.

Translated By: Alicia Barraqué Ellison

For Washington, Cuba is Not a Priority / Ivan Garcia

Independent journalists Iván García Quintero (left) and Rolando Rodríguez Lobaina on a street in the capital city of the United States. In March 2018, the two were invited to participate in a program on journalism sponsored by The Dialogue, a center founded in 1982, based in Washington, DC, and considered one of the leading think tanks on US and foreign policy.

Iván García, 15 February 2021 — As he drives a ramshackle Soviet-era Moskvitch down a central avenue west of Havana, Samuel, a retired athlete, explains why doing business in Cuba is very difficult. Eleven years ago, when Raúl Castro kicked off the expansion of private work, Samuel used the money he saved plus a loan from his New York-based brother to buy two Willys jeeps manufactured in the 1950s, but updated with modern engineering.

With his earnings from deploying those jeeps as collective taxis, Samuel acquired a brand-new 1958 Impala convertible that he would rent to the tide of North American tourists, who – seduced by the reestablishment of diplomatic relations and the free marketing provided by the generous Obama Doctrine – rolled in on planes and cruise ships to get to know the communist Island of the Caribbean. Samuel had a fleet of two jeeps and two cars and was planning to buy a truck, recondition it, and use it for interprovincial transportation. But he never had legal backing.

“That is the main problem with opening a business in Cuba. There is no agreement or deal, a notarized document spelling out your rights and duties. All that happens is the State one day will tell you that it is authorizing this or that business (which usually was already operating illegally) and then it imposes a severe tax on you and too many controls. You can’t count on a wholesale market, and with every passing year – with no justification – your taxes go up and the inspectors make your life impossible,” Samuel  asserts, and adds this: continue reading

“Because of certain circumstances, the government has been forced to authorize private work. This has never been to promote free enterprise, so that the most talented will prosper and generate wealth. No. It has always been a concession by the State, forced upon them by their inefficiency or, like now, because they are trapped in an economic crisis and they will  let you run certain businesses – but always while pointing the finger at you and not allowing you to gain too many profits.”

Six out of nine entrepreneurs interviewed agree that self-employment is not usually to the liking of the regime’s apparatchiks. “It is a necessary evil that allows the State to reverse the economic depression and attract the half million state workers who between 2010 and 2012 lost their jobs. But, ideologically speaking, we are out of context. We are annoying. The usual suspects who engage in speculation, tax evasion, and personal enrichment. They see us as potential criminals or dissidents of the system, “says Geovany, owner of a body shop, a business that for many years has been in legal limbo.

Manuel, an economist, believes that if a society is committed to the progress of the country and the creativity of its people, then “private work should not be a problem. It is desirable for taxes to be as low as possible so that those business that are the genesis of future small and medium-size enterprises, and even of large companies, can flourish. Under Cuba’s circumstances, it would be very difficult for Bill Gates, Steve Jobs or Jeff Bezos to become what they are today. They would not have passed the startup-in-a-garage stage. And if they had made a lot of money, they would have been accused of illicit enrichment or embezzlement.”

Onilio, a software programmer, prefers to give the regime a chance. Just one more. “I would like to believe that, this time, the announced opening of more than two thousand private jobs will unleash the creativity of Cubans. I intend to set up an electronic payment gateway for food, clothing and household appliances. But for that to work, the government must authorize imports. Either legalize the “mules” – or else make it so that we private entrepreneurs can purchase goods abroad on our own. If the level of importation is too high, then call upon the State-run import companies to manage it. We should have wide autonomy. And bet on ventures that have added value. Not just services.”

At the moment, the regime maintains some restrictions that prevent free importation. An entrepreneur who met with US President Obama during his visit to Havana in March 2016 is skeptical of the current Cuban government strategy.

“I hope I’m wrong and the authorities this time are serious and don’t put the brakes on private work. But the evidence and history make me pessimistic. I remember that as soon as I left the meeting with Obama, the ONAT (National Tax Administration Office) officials began to inspect my business. If there is no structure where to acquire raw materials, free import and export or doing business with foreign entrepreneurs is impeded, it is very difficult for businesses to be transparent. It is the regime itself, by not creating a specific legal framework and by imposing high taxes, which caused the self-employment sector to be distorted. To change things, the government must change its mentality.”

Ramiro, an analyst, considers that the expansion of private work as more a political strategy to seduce the current White House administration than a project to involve private entrepreneurs in Cuba’s economic future. “Too many coincidences. Recently, the government informed the president of Colombia of alleged terrorist plans by the ELN (Army of National Liberation), most members of which reside in Cuba.

What is the real intention here? To distance themselves from the Colombian terrorists? The Cuban government will probably leave the ELN to its own devices, sacrifice it in its attempt to negotiate with Washington. But I am left wondering if the efficient Cuban intelligence services did not know in advance of the attack on a police cadet school in Bogotá in January 2019. It is clear that this move is a message to Biden: that Cuba is willing to negotiate on any topic. It would be necessary to see if they do not sacrifice a bigger piece, such as [Nicolás] Maduro [the contested president of Venezuela]”, the analyst emphasizes and adds:

“Internally, regime leaders know that the White House’s policy guidelines favor relations with the private sector and dissidents. They yield on the issue of the private sector, hence the bait is tossed to expand self-employment, so as to continue repressing the opposition. The government knows it is racing against the clock. The historical figures of the revolutionary process will cease being valid interlocutors within a couple of years, since they are already of retirement age and close to death. It is the new breed of leaders, in my opinion, which must draw up a functional economic policy and a consequent foreign policy. The White House knows this. And within Cuba some things are no longer the same. As a result of the ‘tarea ordenamiento‘* – a strategy about which the people were not consulted – discontent, controversy and criticism from the population have changed the correlation of forces,” and he concludes:

“More and more citizens and sectors are betting on dialogue, transparency and democracy. This segment of civil society is not even dissident – something that has caught the government – which is aiming its media cannons at the opposition – by surprise, being that it is a vast majority of Cubans who seek to dialogue with the regime about the future of Cuba. And not for the regime to negotiate on its own with the United States.

On February 9, a bipartisan resolution presented in the United States Senate by Democratic legislators Bob Menéndez, Richard Durbin and Ben Cardin, and Republican Marco Rubio, expressed solidarity with members of the San Isidro Movement and requested the Cuban authorities to initiate a dialogue process with independent artists. The text also demanded the release of rapper Denis Solís, the cessation of repression against Cuban artists and the immediate repeal of decrees 349 and 370 as well as the other laws and regulations that violate freedom of expression in Cuba.

Local political operatives will choose to negotiate directly with Washington, trying to avoid a national dialogue. They believe that it is possible to return to the honeymoon period that lasted between 2014 and 2016, when the flags of the stars and stripes waved on the balconies and old collective taxis. A rupture that provoked the dictatorship itself, especially after Obama’s historic speech in Havana.

The bulk of the measures approved by the White House at that time benefited the private sector and the Cuban people, not the military companies. But this time the game board is different. The Island is caught in an extensive economic and social crisis. And on Biden’s agenda, Cuba is not a priority.

*Translator’s note: Tarea ordenamiento = the [so-called] ‘Ordering Task’ which is a collection of measures that includes eliminating the Cuban Convertible Peso (CUC), leaving the Cuban peso as the only national currency, raising prices, raising salaries (but not as much as prices), opening stores that take payment only in hard currency which must be in the form of specially issued pre-paid debit cards, and others. 

Cuban Emigrants Debate: Dialogue Or Confrontation?

Iván García, Desde La Habana, 10 August 2020 — Casa Bacardí is a venue annex just a stone’s throw from the University of Miami. One autumn morning in 2016 it became the setting for an event headlined by political analyst and writer Carlos Alberto Montaner, Agapito Rivera — who fought in the Escambray Mountains against Fidel Castro’s army in the mid-1960s — and poet and former political prisoner Angel Cuadra, who concluded the program. The audience consisted mostly of young dissident activists and independent journalists residing in Cuba and were not intimately acquainted with that opposition movement that confronted the Castro regime with weapons and subversion.

The regime’s propaganda apparatus manipulated and misrepresented that piece of history. The Bay of Pigs combatants were cast as bourgeois who came to recover their property that had been confiscated by Fidel Castro’s olive-green revolution, and the Escambray guerrillas were a band of assassins. My friend Carlos Alberto Montaner (whose articles I would furtively read while studying at the pre-university) was, according to the official historiography, by the age of 16 an old CIA hand and admitted terrorist. Angel Cuadra was a “counter-revolutionary” and was not published in Cuba — enough to erase him from Cuban culture.

With a business card like that, anyone would think that Carlos Alberto, Agapito and Angel were intolerant and intimidating people. Nothing is further from reality. They were three old-timers bearing the infirmities of age, agreeing on one point: the war against Castro was lost, but they had fought the good fight. Times have changed. Now, the opposition is peaceful. But the plan remains in place: the goal of a democratic Cuba. continue reading

While the broken voice of Cuadra declaimed how at Playa Girón both sides fighting were Cuban, and both went to battle waving the Lone Star Flag and singing the national anthem, many of us in the audience wondered what would be the best strategy to negotiate a different future with the regime.

It was in the years of the Obama Doctrine, which boasted many supporters in the population and among the opposition. What was Barack Obama’s plan? The simple answer is, a change in policy, because the hard line of other U.S. administrations hadn’t worked. Even those who disagreed with Obama thought that, as in any negotiation, the tactic had to be quid pro quo.

The Castro autocracy, with its victim story of David versus Goliath, of the country besieged by the yanquis, suddenly ran out of arguments. Castroism was able to win at Bay of Pigs, but lost the narrative of dialogue and tolerance. All it had left were complaints, a repeat of the old discourse and absurd demands.

The rulers were exposed to their people. They were not interested in betting on democracy. They never cared about making a pact with the exiles. They did not feel comfortable having normal relations with the U.S. The issue is that the philosopher’s stone of Castroism is to perpetually maintain an enemy. Vampires live by sucking blood. The Cuban system feeds on the imperialist discourse — as long as it is about the U.S., for they have never condemned Chinese or Russian aggressions.

Was Obama’s strategy correct? Or are Trump’s restrictive measures more effective? Each faction makes its own sensible arguments. But I doubt that either of the two strategies can bring about a change in Cuba. The reforms in our country will come sooner rather than later.

Perhaps by other means. Hopefully it will not be through a social explosion. But change is on the way. It will not necessarily be a democratic project. It probably will not be. It depends on the balance of forces.

The internal opposition, disunited and unfocused, has committed a capital crime. Transferring leadership to the exile organizations in Miami. It is impossible for remote dissent to work. A new opposition must settle on the island and autonomously draw up the projects that are deemed to be most effective.

The groups in exile must be a companion voice, not the ones who design the strategies. As long as Miami shoots you WhatsApp texts about what should or should not be done, the Cuban opposition will remain irrelevant. Battles, projects and petitions are not won by litigating on social networks. They are earned with your feet on — and your ear to — the ground. By proselytizing Cubans and managing to capitalize on the widespread social discontent that exists in Cuba right now.

They say that during the Second World War, Stalin was with his generals, arranging some combat strategies, when an aide told the dictator that the Vatican had declared war on the USSR. Stalin looked at the model and wanted to know how many tank divisions these people could put in the field. None, his generals replied. And he continued to prepare the next battle against Germany, the real enemy.

As long as the internal opposition is unable to summon five or six thousand Cubans to a protest march, the regime will not negotiate with them at all. The dissidents’ weapon to confront the government is the people. On their ability to mobilize people depends the likelihood of the autocracy taking them into account.

Crusades on social media and dissident projects that are known only to their supporters, while they drink coffee in their living rooms, are never going to be successful. The Miami exile community should not wear itself out in polemics against Haila for kissing Fidel Castro* or whether former baseball player Víctor Mesa was actually an informant. These are minor issues.

What is reasonable and fruitful is to demand in international forums the right to enter and leave their homeland without having to pay a tax or obtain a visa. Claim their right to participate in national political life, to elect and be elected. To be able to invest and pay workers directly. To be heard as Cubans who matter.

Although the regime tries to ignore them, the economic and political power of the emigrants is considerable. Official statistics try to silence an overwhelming reality: remittances constitute the second industry in Cuba, after the export of medical services. As remittances are an important source of capital, the regime’s military companies have designed a commercial fabric to capture these currencies and reinvest them in the construction of golf courses and luxury hotels.

The exiles have two channels to demand their rights: negotiate with the regime, or confront it. Not with bullets. Traveling to the Island and making themselves heard. It would be more effective for thousands of compatriots to organize a protest march in Cuba and not on social media. If the internal opposition does not work, the vociferous exile community should show its face.

Something was clear to me about that event at Casa Bacardí in Miami: the incipient Cuban opposition lost the war, but risked its skin. In the hot zone. Not from an apartment on Brickell**. Outside of the ring, anyone is brave.

Translator’s Notes:

*Cuban singer Haila Mompié was harshly criticized in Cuban Miami for praising and kissing Fidel Castro during a concert in 2010.

**Brickell Avenue is the main road through the Brickell financial district of downtown Miami, and is lined with luxury condominium buildings.

Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison

Independent Journalism: A Risky Profession in Cuba

Jorge Enrique Rodríguez, an independent journalist who writes for Diario de Cuba and the Spanish newspaper ABC. (Radio Televisión Martí)

Iván García, July 6, 2020 – To do objective journalism in Cuba is an abstraction. You cannot obtain data or statistics from official institutions, as there is no public information office. What is normal in any other country in the world – knowing the president’s agenda or itinerary, accrediting yourself at a minister’s press conference, or participating in a given event – is an impossible mission on the Island.

Knowing the budget of the stealthy military business monopoly GAESA, or how much it has invested in the construction of luxury hotels, is considered a state secret. Even information about the remittances that former ‘worms’ [exiles] send to the Island is classified. Cuba is a mixture of police control, failed welfare state, and a scheme of government in the style of the former Soviet Union’s powerful bureau. Is Cuba communist? The facts indicate that Marx’s ideology was adopted to camouflage Fidel Castro’s political and military caudillismo and thirst for power.

The regime’s ideological contortions to survive could fill an anthology. At a certain stage – following the collapse of the USSR – Catholicism, Santería, and other religious currents were authorized to join the membership of the Communist Party, provided they expressed loyalty to the comandante. continue reading

Right now, an authoritarian government exercises the worst state capitalism in Cuba. It combines anachronistic command-and-control institutions with a planned economy, pockets of capitalist market economy, and a military business conglomerate that controls 90 percent of the currency that circulates in the country.

Vis-à-vis the international gallery, the olive-green* autocracy wants to sell itself as reformist and open to dialogue and foreign investment. Internally, the story is different: fear that small family businesses will make a lot of money, high taxes to curb private work, and a pseudo-nationalist discourse intended to bolster the cult of personality of the late Fidel Castro.

Although the welfare state is a drain everywhere, the regime clings to its immobility and proclaims that it is the solution to the pressing problems that Cubans suffer due to the serious economic crisis and alarming shortages of food and housing. In this unproductive system, the official press plays a fundamental role.

There is a whole network designed by the Communist Party to control the media and its journalists. The Department of Revolutionary Orientation (DOR) is the entity that supervises the press and conveys the guidelines of the highest leadership to directors, deputy directors, and chief editors. A scheme copied from the Soviet era and that works according to the top leadership’s linkages and interests.

Opinions and judgments about the international press are classified in terms of friendly, enemy, or neutral countries. Regarding the “friendly” countries – Russia, Iran, North Korea, Nicaragua, Venezuela, China, Vietnam, or Mexico – you will not read or see criticism of their governments and institutions in newspapers and television newscasts. Condemnations of human rights violations, articles highlighting the increase in poverty, police violence, unemployment, or economic crisis, are reserved for “enemy” countries, mainly the United States.

Such is the amount of human resources dedicated to the “Number One Enemy of the Revolution” that whole departments are assigned to the United States. The number of specialists and expert journalists on that nation far exceeds that of academics who should seek solutions to Cuba’s structural malfunction.

There are three national newspapers: Granma, Juventud Rebelde, and Trabajadores. The three compete to see who is the most misinformed. Granma is the organ of the Communist Party of Cuba (PCC), Juventud Rebelde of the Young Communist League (UJC), and Trabajadores of the Workers Central Union of Cuba (CTC). But only one should be published – thereby saving paper – because both the UJC and the CTC fall under the umbrella of the PCC. Pure libels.

The fifteen Cuban provinces and the special municipality, Isla de la Juventud, have their newspapers, which are more of the same. Dozens of national, provincial, and municipal radio stations, ten national and several regional television channels, are in operation. Magazines are published that vary only in name but hardly in content.

The study of journalism in Cuba is an ideological field, controlled by the Communist Party. The most irreverent journalists who have their own opinions are left without jobs. A Cuban official journalist is a type of scribe. S/he cannot write about a topic of choice, and the censor’s red pen can mutilate paragraphs

In the late 1980s, an attempt was made to populate this information desert by various journalists who came from the official press, such as Indamiro Restano, Rolando Cartaya, Tania Díaz Castro, and Rafael Solano. Solano was awarded the 1988 Rey de España prize in journalism for his articles focused on political issues. In the mid-1990s, independent press agencies emerged, among them Cuba Press, the most professional of all, directed by Raúl Rivero, and which began covering social issues, publishing stories about prostitution, drug use, illicit gambling, and other problems of national life that did not appear in the state press.

The testimonies of those who had no voice expanded the journalistic tuning fork and relegated political hack writing to the background. In addition, it was more cost-effective to tell stories of jineteras, drug addicts, beggars, and families residing in houses in danger of collapsing, since no authorization was needed to conduct the interviews, only the consent of the interviewees. But, it was still difficult to find other points of view, the necessary journalistic balance, because state officials almost never offered their impressions to an independent communicator.

With the passage of time, things changed. Visibility on the internet and international recognition of the independent press has been of great help. Journalists without muzzles began to publish pieces in newspapers of wide circulation such as El Mundo, El País, El Nuevo Herald, Diario Las Américas, The New York Times… Recently, Abraham Jiménez was appointed as a columnist at  The Washington Post.

What is the most difficult thing about doing quality journalism in Cuba? From my point of view, it is having good sources. This is done with trust and respect for diverse political opinions. Many citizens, including middle-ranking state officials, take advantage of their friendly relationships with a freelance journalist to uncover corruption cases or provide classified data and statistics. Since Cuba functions as a police state, we free journalists must take care of and protect our sources.

My advice to novice journalists seems more like a manual for spies. Among my tips: Have phone cards that are not in the name of the journalist or any close family member. When aiming to cover a high-risk event – such as the June 30 call for a peaceful demonstration to protest the murder of young Hansel Ernesto González Galiano by a policeman and against police violence in Cuba – one of the first measures that State Security takes is to cut the phone lines and disable internet data traffic.

So that we are not left without means of communication, the thing to do is to have more than one blank SIM card that would allow one to communicate with sources. Always use secure channels – not SMS, phone calls, or email. So that our plans do not leak, it is essential to be discreet, walk alone, and not talk about your plans in front of a group of people. The political police have infiltrated much of the dissident movement and of independent journalism.

To demonstrate that it is not a bloody dictatorship, Castroism boasts that a journalist has never been murdered in Cuba. This is true. It is also unnecessary. They use other methods. They murder your reputation, they try to demean you socially. They resort to disqualifications and insults, calling you ‘traitor’ and ‘mercenary’. Or they prevent you from leaving the country. This harassment has taken its toll on young and brilliant journalists and that is why they decided to emigrate.

Others, such as Camila Acosta, Mónica Baró, Abraham Jiménez or Jorge Enrique Rodríguez, have been subjected to intensified harassment.  In Rodríguez’s case, he was arrested on Sunday, June 28, on a charge of “contempt of authority,” and the authorities told him that they were going to put him on trial on Wednesday, July 8. Following a large gathering mobilized inside and outside the Island, he was released on Friday, July 3. The next day he had to report to a police unit, where he was fined 800 pesos, to be paid within ten days.

As the economic crisis worsened and with the arrival of the Covid-19 pandemic, State Security redoubled the repression, increasing brief arrests against independent journalists, as well as seizures of work equipment. Until June 16, 28 journalists had been charged under the absurd Decree 370 (or, the “Scourge Law”) and fined 3,000 pesos, eight times the minimum wage. Since September 2019, the lawyer and journalist Roberto Quiñones, 63, has remained behind bars, accused of “disobedience” and “resistance”.

It is increasingly difficult to do serious, objective, and balanced journalism in Cuba. But not impossible. Something does get done.

 *Translator’s note: A reference to the color of the combat fatigues worn for years by Cuba’s top echelon of leaders.

Translated By: Alicia Barraqué Ellison