Category: Pedro Espinosa

William, a neighbor by trade and on the street of El Barba, does not sleep in any doorway but in “a little house” on Avenida del Puerto. With all the patience in the world, and sometimes pushed by a neighbor, his wheelchair leaves the Malecón heading towards Obispo. He stops at the door of a store, in front of La Moderna Poesía, and – he clarifies – “I don’t call out to anyone.” It is the people who, “if they want,” leave him some money.

“I’m not selling my house because I can’t sleep in a porch,” he emphasizes, when it is recommended to him. He is right: with one leg missing – he lost it 25 years ago in an accident, when he was a Comunales employee and collected garbage – William has a hard time expressing himself. He smokes a lot, coughs often and his memory fails. “They pay me 1,000 checkbook pesos a month,” he says, and clarifies that that’s all: “No social assistance, no spare parts for the chair, no nothing.”

Every beggar is a story. Sometimes fantastical – pain rewrites the past – but always bitter: in the end, one of Fidel Castro’s countless promises to the people of Cuba was that with the Revolution there would be no beggars. Another lie. Osvaldo, who is missing both legs, knows it well. 29 years ago, at the wheel of his Moskvitch, he slammed on the brakes crossing the train line. It was the worst of times. Before he could react, a locomotive rammed into the vehicle.

With him was his wife, who died instantly, and his two daughters, who survived. In the crash he also lost both legs. Osvaldo lives in Old Havana and likes to drink. Alcohol, in any quality and caliber, helps numb pain and fosters sleep. Sleeping, in fact, is what a beggar does most in Havana. Huddled in the corners of Carlos III or in a doorway on San Rafael Street, in rags or without a shirt.

Osvaldo is also paid 1,000 pesos a month, and the wheelchair he has was not given to him by the State. There is nothing at all, was the response of every doctor or technician he asked, when he tried to get it through official means. “The worst thing is that no one told me lies: they really didn’t have even a single screw,” he admits.

Now he can just “sit there,” he admits, and witness the movement of the city. In the box where people deposit a note there is always a statuette of Saint Lazarus. The beggar and lame saint – who is also the sickly orisha Babalú Ayé – is the patron of one of the many hidden Havanas: that of those who, like Osvaldo, William or El Barba, only aspire to a quiet corner to remember and sleep.

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The leader known for waving his index finger when shouting into microphones there died in 2016 and the site lost its political importance

But the number of political rallies in the plaza have been decreasing over the years as have visits by foreigners. The leader who used to wave his index finger while shouting into microphones there died in 2016 and the site lost its political importance. The same thing has happened to other official spaces such as the Anti-Imperialist Grandstand and, more recently, La Piragua, the esplanade next to the National Hotel in Vedado. The latter, with its proximity to the sea and location at the foot of a cliff, allows for far more effective security precautions for party leaders.

But despite its decline as a revolutionary symbol, visitors still get the sense they are entering the sancta sanctorum, or peeking into the inner workings of the Cuban regime, when they take the elevator or walk past the marble benches that so often held the posteriors of Communist Party bigwigs. Even though everyone knows it was Fulgencio Batista who built the place, and that before the Revolution it was originially known as Civic Plaza, the site has become an emblem of Castroism.

Motivated by curiosity and the almost desperate public pleas by its caretakers for people to visit the site, the visitor climbs the hill and heads straight to a small ticket office to purchase a ticket to the viewing platform, galleries and temporary exhibitions, which are open, Monday to Saturday, from 9:30 A.M. to 4:00 P.M.

Those in charge of the monument took advantage of the sudden attention from goverment media outlets to point out that entry to the museum is 20 pesos for Cubans. Since currency unification, foreigners can now also pay in the local currency, for which they will need 150 pesos, less than a dollar at the unofficial exchange rate.

After buying a ticket, a guide will explain, upon request, that the tower was built on the highest point of the site, formerly known as Loma de los Catalanes. He will discuss details of the design competition that led to two of the proposals being combined into one and will describe the marble that was transported from the what is now known as the Isle of Youth.

One of the employees, most of whom are women, will provide details, names, figures and dates but will avoid mentioning the slogans about “¡paredón!” — to the wall! — that were chanted in the plaza during fits of collective hysteria demanding the executions of opponents after Castro came to power. Nor will she talk about the unsavory characters, trigger-happy figures or authoritarian leaders who have been invited to appear at the memorial. And she will certainly not allude to the turkey vultures that constant inhabits of the hilltop.

Then, after listening to this speech in which the guide takes the opportunity of to denigrate the former republic and praise Castro, one will be allowed to cross the threshold and enter an odd series of spaces. Laid out in a configuration dictated by the star shape that the tower maintains from its base to its pinnacle, the first thing that stands out are the walls with quotes by the “apostle,” José Martí. And what quotes!

“Unify, that is the word of the world.” And “Silence is the modesty of great characters.” Or the politically incorrect “The people who want to be free shall be free in business.” These are among the seventy-nine musings by Martí that can read in a mural by the Cuban painter and ceramist Enrique Caravia, all of them inscribed in 22-carat gold on a greenish blue background.

Photos, facsimiles of letters and personal objects on display in the galleries provide a snapshot of a man who only lived for forty-two years. Among the large format images on display, a head-to-toe photo of Fidel Castro stands out. A dark snapshot that often puzzles tourists, it shows him holding a Cuban flag on a narrow stretch of beach at Cajobabo that recalls Martí’s landing on that coast in 1895.

The image of Castro, dressed in a khaki uniform and assuming a rigid posture, clashes with the warm civility of Mariano and Leonor’s son, who has accompanied the visitor to the memorial here. Wielding the flag like a spear, the ruler seems to want to lay claim to any space or reference having anything to do with José Martí. By planting a flag, he is signaling that this is also his museum.

It is no surprise that one of the temporary exhibitions on display is titled “Fidel’s Hands.” It includes photos by Alberto Korda and Roberto Chile as well as a painting by Oswaldo Guayasamín in which Castro looks more like a saint in an El Greco painting than a stern tyrant who held power for almost half a century without allowing free elections.

Finally, it is time to go up to the lookout. The guide, always attentive to those who are curious, leads them to a narrow perch with acrylic windows. Up there, where vehicles driving along Rancho Boyeros Avenue look tiny and the Council of State building looks it was designed for the Third Reich, the guide begins to share details about the size of the building: 142 meters tall.

According to urban legends, of which there is no shortage when it comes to this topic, there is a regulation which prohibits the construction of any building in Havana taller than the José Martí Monument. But, at 154 meters, the imposing Tower K, which can clearly be seen from the windows at the top of the monument, makes it clear that this is just a hoax. Or that politics lost out to tourism in the battle over height.

The absence of human presence in the plaza, the imposing buildings and lack of trees is more noticeable from the top. One can make out, in a foreshortened view, the outline of Che Guevara’s face on the gloomy Ministry of Agriculture building, the same portrait that is slyly included in official photos so that he appears in the frame alongside official visitors such as Barack Obama and King Felipe VI of Spain.

The immediate impression one gets is that the entire architectural complex has not aged well. While the world is moving towards more people-friendly public spaces, the center of Cuban power is not a place where people choose to go voluntarily, where friends meet and mothers walk their babies in strollers. The gray marble also gives it a funereal quality that is only reinforced by the completely empty esplanade.

A turkey vulture pervades the space beyond the window. On the other side are scavenger birds drawn to high elevations and tall buildings. One cannot help but see a parallel between the rotting meat they feed on and the decadence of the Cuban system that the Plaza of Revolution represents. The guide doesn’t even glance at the huge bird just outside. Instead, she quickly wraps up her speech and warns visitors that it’s time to head down.

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COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

Although some curious people approached to nose around the store, the employee affirms that there is “movement” for the Christmas season. The products are already on the resale pages, uploaded just two days ago and advertised as new, but the conditions of purchase are a mystery.

The website, the only way to buy, has a frequently-asked-questions section that is empty. The terms and conditions refer almost exclusively to the online environment in terms of navigation. The guarantee is not mentioned in the return policy, and in “About Us” one can barely read an empty paragraph: “GD Mart Online Shop is our digital emporium, dedicated to shortening distances between loved ones and creating memorable moments. With a single click, you can send your family or friends everything they need.” And little else.

The employee explains that she does not know for sure what warranty period the products have, but “it is said” that it’s six months, a tiny amount of time for products of that profile, which in most cases are covered for at least one year.

“Scan the QR code or go to the link. Tell your friends to share it,” the saleswoman insisted with kindness.

Among the brands that can be found, according to Luis Orlando López, head of the purchasing group of Tiendas Caribe, will be LG and Samsung, although the truth is that all the appliances that are currently on sale are from the Chinese brand Konka, well known on the Island, but little known outside it. The company, despite its 45 years of experience, began selling in Europe just a year ago.

The Cuban Government opened the first stores for appliances only in dollars in 2019, when it decided to compete against the mules that imported quality products to the Island. Although the first sales were a success, the pandemic and the aggravation of the crisis have emptied state stores of these products, but the regime is determined to continue capturing foreign exchange from relatives abroad, now partnering with its foreign allies.

GD-Mart has a hard time, however. Numerous digital sites, some of them based in Florida, have long offered the online purchase of appliances with shipping included to Cuba, in addition to offers of products that are already on the Island and are delivered to the recipient’s home between 7 and 10 business days.

The Cuban Government opened the first stores for appliances only in dollars in 2019, when it decided to compete against the mules that imported quality products to the Island

Portals such as Cuballama, DimeCuba or Cubamax have a more varied offer of brands. They include U.S.-brand appliances, more valued by customers on the Island than the Chinese brands, and the customer can track the shipment until its delivery. Other portals add bonuses for future purchases, Christmas discounts and a more intuitive shopping interface.

The Konka-brand televisions that in recent years have burst into the Island’s market, mostly by the hand of official establishments, do not get the best evaluations by buyers. Some require an external decoder box because they don’t comply with the standard for capturing Cuban digital television.

Other televisions of the same brand have less up-to-date technologies than those found in markets in Panama, Mexico or Miami, from where many Cuban travelers import these devices. They also do not have a wide range of sizes, with the 32-inch Konka televisions being the most common in Cuba, at a time when the demand for devices with larger and thinner screens is growing on the Island.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.