Vespers of Saint Lazarus / Rebeca Monzo

Tonight and throughout the night to go on any street and you will see the number of people walking or crawling with heavy weights, and despite the bitter cold, they head to the shrine of El Rincón. Many are walking, others are in rented or private cars, most come in buses, whose lines, fortunately, the state has foreseen to keep orderly on this day, in order to avoid disturbances.

It is always impressive to see how many people imbued with faith, continue the tradition that for half a century the mainstream media has tried to overlook.

To all who profess faith in this holy miracle, and for those who bear his name, I wish that all your requests may be met. Happy day to all Lazaruses!

December 16, 2010

Watering the Dominoes* / Yoani Sánchez

An elderly woman walks along Paseo del Prado with a sign around her neck. Made by hand in blue ink, it offers “A 2-bedroom apartment in Cerro,” in exchange for something similar in Playa. People start coming to this site at seven in the morning, with proposals to exchange one house for another in a country where it is prohibited to buy and sell them. They also work through middlemen, known as “exchangers,” who proliferate where one cannot deal in real estate, where public advertising and the illegal housing market have been demonized.

One of the toughest questions my Spanish students ask me, while I teach them this dilapidated city where I was born, is, “What kind of person lives in certain houses or in certain neighborhoods?” I try to explain that you can find a woman who makes her living scrubbing floors living in a mansion in Miramar, and a surgeon living in a shack without running water. Probably the woman living in the enormous house with her roof falling in and her garden a chaos of weeds and rust, because her wages are not enough to maintain so many square feet. The sawbones, meanwhile, has accumulated capital from his illicit breast implant business, but cannot — legally — obtain a house consistent with his means. So the humble cleaner and the doctor come to an agreement, disregard the law, and decide to exchange their homes. To accomplish this they bribe three or four officials at the Housing Institute. A year later he is enjoying his lawn dotted with bougainvillea, and she, her thousands of convertible pesos received for “trading down.”

Thousands of Cubans have been planning to do something similar, and have breathes a sign of relief on reading Point 278 of the Guidelines for the Sixth Congress of the Cuban Communist Party. As stated there, “flexible formulas for the exchange, purchase, sale and rental of housing” will be applied. Many have interpreted this as raising the flag of a housing market, with permission to buy and sell a house. I confess I have my reservations. I don’t think our authorities are prepared to accept the immediate redistribution that would occur in this city, and across the whole country, if they accept that people can decide what to do with their properties. Within a few months of the adoption of such measures, social differences — today hidden behind an unpainted mansion or a shack full of appliances — would break out into the open. The growing inequalities that official hypocrisy tries to hide would flourish.

*Note: In the language of Cuban dominoes, “to water” means to shuffle the tiles to continue playing.

December 18, 2010

FIART 2010 / Rebeca Monzo

For those of you who aren’t aware, the International Artisan Fair (FIART) is the most important exhibition on our planet, with artists-artisans exhibiting their creations and exposing them to the world once a year.

As always, despite the distance and the cold that’s been hitting us lately, the event was very well attended. We were surprised to see during mid-week days and during working hours, the number of people in line to get tickets, mostly young people of working age. The reason for the long lines could also be that there is only a small ticket booth staffed by a single person selling admissions.

This year, as almost always, metalworking is the star attraction. Many stands, including those of Peru, Mexico, Brazil exhibit very attractive silver work. The Cuban metalworkers also show their beautiful creations. There is a lot of handcrafted furniture in the largest rooms. Meanwhile, the weavers and dollmakers are crowded for lack of space.

The public that attends this event comes mostly to look, because the prices, although a little lower this year, are in CUC and this greatly diminishes the opportunity to acquire anything. But still, the fair is very popular because there are few other options for entertainment.

December 15, 2010

Ethics Sleeping/ Claudia Cadelo

Photo: Lia Villares http://habanemia.blogspot.com

Photo: Lia Villares http://habanemia.blogspot.com

I am arguing with a friend about ethics and the intellectuals and he reproaches me, “If that’s what you think you should tell those people.”

And I respond: How am I going to tell someone so intelligent, so wise, something so obvious? Don’t you know? How am I going to say to a curator that I think he should suspend his show because the artists participating in it are being threatened by State Security? How am I going to advise a musician that I think it would be ethically correct to suspend his concert because there are people outside who can’t enter because the venue has been taken over by the political police? How am I going to suggest to a theoretician that I don’t think his conference should take place because some of those interested in the topic cannot be heard, as they are considered “counterrevolutionaries”? What right, indeed, do I have to say all these things when I’m usually among the threatened, those denied entry, and the counterrevolutionaries? I feel that my position, clearly anything but neutral, obliges me to keep some of my opinions to myself. But I know that were he in any other circumstance, he would surely think the same.

My friend tells me my answer is cowardly, and he’s probably right. I don’t like to tell people what I consider ethical, I know perfectly well that they agree with me on these issues and for reasons having nothing to do with ethics they take other positions.

I guess I’m turning into a radical. When I studied history in school they told me that was good. Will they be right?

December 17, 2010

Times of Crisis Even for the Prostitutes / Iván García

They are hard to convince. These girls in short shorts and tights; lots of cleavage and excessive lipstick does not stop the police harassment or the years in jail if they’re caught. Or sexually transmitted diseases.

Nor do they fear the cold winds and the dampness visited on Havana these days. There they are, on the hunt for clients. They stand in groups of three outside a nightclub.

In the 21st century, the hooker of Generation C (all of them were born with the Castro Revolution) are used to partying, drinks and sex with cocaine or a good marijuana joint with the tourists.

It’s desirable. Hook up with a ‘Paco’ (Spaniard) or an old Canadian. But these are times of crisis. “The Spanish who come here are cheap now,” says Yordana, 16, sitting in a park with some friends.

They take advantage of it to offer their services. Sex on demand. And not too expensive from the perspective of a foreigner or a Cuban loaded with silver who goes out at night fishing for whores. And they also promote themselves. “We are meaty mulatas silicone tits,” says one of them. For a blow job, 5 dollars, 10 for penetration, and 20 for a lesbian display.

Still and all, if you’re not up for that and are a little short on “bullets” (cash), and you treat them nicely and buy them some beers, as a bonus they’ll allow you to masturbate, but you can’t touch them.

The morning is coming in Havana. The cold wind has chased the Bohemians, sodomites and whore hunters off to their beds. But Yordana and her friends are hesitant to go home without money.

They walk the length of Linea Street, and stop at the entrance to each nocturnal attraction, at this hour full of boys and tourists who passed out drinks, to see if anyone is seduced by their hard flesh.

But it’s not their lucky night. The competition is fierce. A group of hookers, none of who are older than 15, have already “marked the territory” and taken the clients. Tired of walking, the girls take off their high heels and head for the bus stop, heads hanging. The cold gets into their bones. They hug themselves, trying to warm up.

On 23rd Street, four guys with a quart of cheap rum eye them lasciviously and make a proposal. Walking along with their working clothes and dried cement on their arms. The hookers were doubtful.

“Show me the money,” said one of them. An older gentleman showed them a wad of bills. “We’re bricklayers and we’re partying. We’re about to spend 300 convertible pesos (360 dollars,),” he said in a hoarse voice with his libido in the clouds.

they talked it over and Yordana, the leader, accepted. “They were a mess. But it’s the end of the year and we need money. And after spending a whole night with the cold and not even some cocoa or a nice drink of rum, we deserve to go home with some money,” emphasized Yordana.

The sun was coming up when they went off in a group, arm in arm, singing ballads along the Malecon. These are times of crisis, even for the hookers.

December 15, 2010

After Vampires in Havana, It’s the Turn of the Zombies / Iván García


In 1985, long before the vampire theme became a literary and movie phenomenon, Cuban filmmaker Juan Padrón, premiered Vampires in Havana, an animated film that ranked 50 in the top 100 Latin American films.

Now, Alejandro Brugués, another Cuban director, puts the finishing touches to Juan of the Dead, a zombie story co-produced with Spain. “It will be more successful than the Vampires, because it is a story that unfolds in these times and the artists are so well characterized they frighten you,” said Jesus, a gourmet who watched moments of the shooting by the Havana seawall.

The subject of zombies is closely associated with Haiti and Voodoo. “In Cuba there have also been stories of the ‘living dead’, particularly in eastern parts of the island, where a major Haitian community settled,”says Roberto, 40, grandson of a Haitian.

In the book Castro’s Final Hour, Andres Oppenheimer wrote that we Cubans are like zombies. So we seemed to the Argentine journalist in 2001 and so we still seem to some foreigners. Like Gerhard, a German tourist who asked, “Why you want more zombies than are already here?”

Opinions aside, the fact is that Juan of the Dead, starring the actor Alexis Diaz de Villegas, besides breaking audience records in Cuba, could break them in other countries. “And not only because of the fictional zombies, but also for the additional morbidity that comes from knowing that the Revolution has aged and several of its leaders have been zombified,” said Magaly, an art student, laughing maliciously.

December 15, 2010

On the Bus / Regina Coyula

In addition to my undergraduate degree from the university, I have another I’ve found much more useful: A degree in Public Transport. This is in recognition of the deep knowledge of various forms of travel within the country, and, for those who don’t know Cuba, I assure you that it takes strength, knowledge, and physical and mental agility. Well, yesterday I tutored a friend not versed in this matter, in the intricacies of public transport in order to go to the International Artisan Fair (FIART) in the Pabexpo fairgrounds west of the city. Despite my recommendations, my friend carried an enormous portfolio which became an impediment from the moment we boarded the first bus.

One man behind her warned her, “Madam, take care of that portfolio because things aren’t good and the end of the year is approaching.” After that warning, the driver, with spontaneous kindness, added, “And this is nothing, in January a number of people are going to take out licenses to become self-employed thieves.” People in the front of the bus were laughing openly, though it was too crowded and a little too warm, despite the chill of the day. My friend, a former teacher, using the voice with which she controlled the classroom and stopped the driver so we could board, answered, “No way, the TRDs already have this license!” Knowing laughter and a voice answering, “They have to live!”

A woman between 35 and 40 feels obliged to say something, so she adds, “Yes, but here the learning is free and anyone who wants to can attend the University.” My friend the retired teacher is not light weight when it comes to a riposte, “Hey, Lady! Here,” (and notice the word she uses), “the university graduate then buys a job as a bartender or a taxi driver, the only place where a graduate can get these jobs without being an emigrant!” The woman is a bit annoyed, and left hanging by herself, because she finds no agreement for her position among the other passengers who move to the back.

The discontent and dissatisfaction were obvious in the tight space, though it is certainly not evident in the ballot boxes, but you can feel it if you just pay a little attention. Another passenger dropped a friendly hint, “There’s a lot of global warming and a lot of nuclear winter, but here, nothing.” Before we got off a boy with a long ponytail remarked wryly, “What for if HE say the war is coming?”

TRD: Tiendas Recaudadoras de Divisas — Stores selling in foreign currency (Cuban convertible pesos)

December 16, 2010

“Guaguariando” (Riding the bus) / Rebeca Monzo

In many countries in Latin America they call a small child “guagua.” But I understand that in the Canaries, the same as on our planet (surely the term came with us from there), a guagua is a bus, with the characteristic that those here are always full of people.

Today, Regina and I headed out early to ride one of these famous buses.

It was a lot of work to get on board. Once inside, we were packed in like sardines, and the man who collects the fares (substituting for the farebox), was in a hurry to charge us. This person is something new, recently introduced as a result of an article that came out in the paper saying that sixty percent of the total fare revenue is lost. It occurred to me to ask why, if they have replaced the fare boxes, they don’t do away with these busybodies who take up so much room and annoy the passengers, who can barely squeeze past them into the bus. He didn’t give me any explanation.

Again, speaking to him, I commented on the few guaguas in circulation, given how congested the stops are. He replied that there are few guaguas, and what happens is that there are a lot of people on the street. There was nothing for me to say to this, I January there will be many more people in the street when one million two hundred thousand people are laid off. A funny guy interrupted and said that those people are going to have to get licenses to be self-employed thieves. I replied that the TRD stores (hard-currency stores) already have those particular licenses. The silence was deadly. The journey continued with the usual pushing and shoving. Well what can I say? I got on the bus with jeans and a jacket, and nearly had to get off dressed like a Hawaiian!

December 14, 2010

Christmas Story / Regina Coyula

As I had unforgettable Christmases in my own childhood, I wanted to awaken those emotions in my son; and I managed to do it while he was little. But Rafael grew up and last year there weren’t decorations, I didn’t have the energy for the fake tree, fake snow, old Christmas cards, empty boxes wrapped up in place of gifts. This year it was a little more difficult than the one before, for reasons everyone knows and for other, more intricate ones. Come November, my husband, ignoring my authority over him, announced that this year I should put up a Christmas tree without any questioning; to make it softer, he told me a cute tale in which the protagonist suffered from a string of bad luck, until he decides to celebrate the holidays at the end of the year. Like all cute stories, it ends well. So yesterday, Sunday, I dusted off all the boxes and put together an idea for Christmas with the same fake tree, the same old Christmas cards, the same boxes – empty but wrapped like an imitation of gifts. Hugging my husband and my son, with the lights out, we contemplated the tree. It was a really beautiful moment.

But the life of Cubans is not a happy story.

December 14, 2010

What to Buy? / Yoani Sánchez

The money came in a white envelope, brought to the door by an agency — alternative and illegal — that distributes remittances. It was accompanied by a letter from the uncle who went to New Jersey thirty years ago and never returned. “Use it to celebrate Christmas,” he wrote, in his stylized handwriting, ending the note with a brief, “bye.” The lady closed the door, still in disbelief that the relative who emigrated had sent them, for the end of the year, these fifty dollars of salvation. She shouted to her son and daughter-in-law, while the great question started to take shape in her mind: “What will I buy?”

First they thought about repairing the roof that leaks every time it rains, but after subtracting the twenty percent tax levied in Cuba on U.S. dollars, there wasn’t enough to buy the materials. Another possibility was to invest in a license to sell juice from the door of the house. But her son quickly convinced her not to, as the profits from such self-employment would be too long delayed and they were desperate for money as soon as possible. He pointed out that his wife was going to give birth in three weeks and the priority was disposable diapers for the baby. But the lady of the house refused to convert all the money into Pampers; they could use the little capital to repair the washing machine that had been broken for years. “Besides, I need a pair of shoes, because it hurts me to keep going to work like this.” The uncle — far away — had no idea of the turmoil his remittance was causing.

They spent the rest of the week discussing what to do with the 40 convertible pesos they got from the bank. The dispute took on an aggressive tone at times, when the daughter who didn’t live in the house showed up to claim that part of the money was hers. None of them gave serious thought to doing what the exiled relative had intended: buying themselves some nougat, a bottle of cider and piece of pork for Christmas Eve. As a Saturday in December dawned, the toilet appeared clogged. They found a plumber who charged 38 CUC to repair it and replace a piece of pipe. Life itself had established their spending priorities. The woman sat down on the living room couch and wondered, again, what she should buy now, with the 2 CUC remaining.

December 15, 2010

Placebos / Claudia Cadelo

I still remember how at the height of the Special Period my house was deteriorating before our eyes. The walls were peeling, the lights gradually burned out, the wood of the doors and windows buckled, and in general everything became impoverished too fast for my child’s mind to fathom. At times I wondered why the world was becoming so ugly with the passing of time, and it was not a subjective reflection. I never got an answer. That’s also when the messiness started. It seemed that things didn’t “go” anywhere: there were boxes, clothes, papers and junk everywhere. The worst of it was that the same thing was happening outside, as well.

My mother, for her part, never stopped trying to mark the space with what she called “change.” Once a month she would rearrange all the furniture in the house. The same easy chair with the rotted bagasse would be found at the entrance to the apartment in January, next to the telephone in February, between the living and dining rooms in March, and in April it would be on the balcony. The neighbors were moved by her perseverance and sometimes when they visited us they would exclaim, “But everything looks new! How do you manage it?” Now that the years have passed, that sentence sometimes makes me strangely sad: she, helpless before the collapse of the world represented by her home, moving things from one place to another, as if she could stop the inevitable impoverishment; and me, super happy at her side, proud to have a magician for a mother while the condescending neighbors patronized the illusion we threw over our growing poverty.

I was always grateful to her for having tried, without wavering for an instant, to light up my life in the midst of so many grievances: not having school shoes, not having winter coats, not having milk in the morning, and, finally, having absolutely nothing at all. If I were in her shoes for one day I hope I would have the aplomb to act toward myself and toward others exactly as she did. Even so, I can’t understand now, after so long and from my adult point of view, that we fed on an infinite placebo that never solved any of our problems and that, if I look at it from a larger context, is the same placebo that is consuming our nation; changing exactly that which doesn’t change anything.

December 14, 2010

Cuba: More than 50 Opponents Arrested on Human Rights Day / Iván García

More than 50 dissidents and activists were arrested on December 10 in Cuba by the combined forces of the National Police and State Security for attempting to mark the International Day of Human Rights, according to the Cuban Commission for Human Rights and National Reconciliation led by Elizardo Sánchez Santacruz.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights was signed in 1948 and the Republic of Cuba is a signatory. In several parts of the capital, the atmosphere was tense with the notable activity of students and workers, who were mobilized to counter the marches planned by the Ladies in White and other organizations of the emerging civil society.

Around the University of Havana, hundreds of students from the Faculty of Law were jammed in the staircase and its surroundings. They had been convened with the objective of holding a counter-march to respond to the expected walk of the Woman in White.

“We have been here since 11 this morning. They told us our mission was to contain and delivery a worthy response to the provocations of the mercenary groups,” said a university student.

Other sites of the Plaza de la Revolution municipality, likely meeting points for the dissident groups, were monitored or taken by young people who celebrated and listened to music.

Such was the case Villalón Park. Many young people, keeping pace with government slogans and songs from the new trova, attended a ceremony to mark the World Festival of Youth and Students to be held in South Africa.

Coincidentally, local activists and opponents, including Dr. Darsi Ferrer, had planned to hold a rally there to commemorate the 62nd anniversary of the most famous document of the United Nations.

Outside of Havana, several acts of repudiation and arrests were reported, according to independent journalists in Villa Clara and Holguin. At Guantanamo, the opponent Néstor Rodríguez Lobaina had planned an event in a plaza in the eastern province.

Through Twitter, Martha Beatriz Roque reported that the Ladies in White were divided into three groups. Two groups demonstrated at the entrance of the Combinado del Este and 1580 prisons, on the outskirts of Havana, where 11 political prisoners remain from the Group of 75. The third group walked near the Ministry of Justice and the Directorate of Prisons, in the Vedado.

They went with pink gladioli in their hands. As on the night of Thursday the 9th, when they had to endure verbal and physical aggression by government mobs throughout their walks through the central streets of the capital.

In 1998, the president of the Lawton Foundation for Human Rights, Oscar Elias Biscet, convened a 50th commemoration of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights at Buttari Park, and since that time it has become common for Cuban authorities to ban, suppress and arrest those try to celebrate on 10 December in public places. “Legally there is no violation of law. Cuba is a signatory to the Universal Declaration. Therefore there is an inconsistency of legal procedures,” says Larisa Diversent, an independent attorney.

The government of the Castro brothers does not recognize the opposition, accusing it of “being in the service of the U.S. and other forces of reaction.” This is one of the reasons why the human rights activists are not allowed to demonstrate.

It is also because the government believes that “in Cuba human rights are fully respected.” The opposition thinks the opposite. “Not allowing us to demonstrate is proof of it,” says a Havana opponent.

Although the dissidence in Cuba is peaceful, the regime always fears on that date. Perhaps a bit more in 2010, when in recent weeks in several locations, there have been protests and incidents involving ordinary citizens.

Photo: EFE. The Ladies in White at the entrance on a prison in Havana, on December 10.
December 13, 2010

Osmany and the “Other Scars” / Luis Felipe Rojas

All photos/Rolando Rodriguez Lobaina

I knew that in 2005 he was shot several times by a law enforcement officer in Antilla municipality in Holguin province. Since that time he has become an open dissident, a staunch enemy of the olive-green power that has been running the lives of Cubans for half a century. He showed me the scars, the remains of beatings, and, eyes wide, he told me of the “other scars,” those that aren’t removed with creams or magic ointments. That is, the psychological effects of having gone to jail after being beaten and taking a bullet.

On October 31, 2010, during the last beating carried out against the defenders of Human Rights in Banes, the most talked-about, where they arrested and beat fifty activists, Osmany Espada Rodriguez was savagely handcuffed to the point where it once again left visible marks.

On more the one occasion he has been arrested, as he defends more than anyone the rights of all Cubans. His name is not on the list of the most well-known dissidents, nor do the notable organizations call him, wanting to know about the latest arrest, but those of us who know him well know that he works from the shadows and that his efforts are there in every action of the Eastern Democratic Alliance. The photos accompanying this post were given to me by Rolando Rodriguez Lobaina and are available here for your use. If you see someone defending the socialist cause from the Palace of the Revolution, or a pseudonymous commentator on my site daring to deny all this once again.

Osmany deserves attention, he is a sick man from the effects of the shootings, the hunger in prison, and the scarcities suffered by all Cubans multiplied by the most fierce repression happening right now, on this tongue of the sea that is Antilla, the corner where the Virgin of Charity of Cobre appeared once to three men: a white man, a mulato and a black man, just like Osmany Espada Rodriguez.

December 12, 2010