Category: Rebeca Monzo

Last night, once again enjoying the Spanish silent film Snow White, directed by Pablo Berger and masterfully played by Maribel Verdú, winner of several Goya Awards, an article published on Friday 25 of this in the newspaper Granma came to mind, where the journalist Castaño Salazar, suggested with great seriousness that is time to stop using “dwarf” to refer to people who have osteochondrodysplasia, the disease that shortens the extremities and spine, and to call them “people of short stature.”

I find this a very good idea and I totally agree, it is not healthy to use terms that mark differences, when this is done with a sense of separatism, derogatorily or in jest, whether it is about race, stature, disability or simply ideology. The human being is one, whatever their physique or way of thinking, what counts is what is inside of him, his moral, civic, ethical and intellectual values .

Those who now ask us and engage a crusade to get us to remove the term “dwarf” from our vocabulary the term, as valid as “giant,” both present in the Spanish language without any pejorative connotation, but simply to name a person of short or tall stature, are the same ones who for years have considered the word “tolerance” to be dangerous, and who even today continue to use, in a disparaging what, the word “dissident.”

They are the ones who created the UMAP (Military Units to Aid Production) network, within which they concentrated all the people then considered “different,” and also forbade us to listen to the songs of the Beatles or the glories or our own singers such as Celia Cruz and Olga Guillot, who are still prohibited in our media today, considering them ideologically harmful.

Now if we apply the absurd proposal, then any mother or grandmother reading the story of Snow White to their children or grandchildren would be forced to change the title and text to refer to the “dwarfs” as “little people of short stature,” or Gulliver would not be in the country of the dwarfs, but of the “achondroplasia,” and even to read our Apostle Jose Marti, we would have to change the text , when he says in his beautiful poem dedicated his son: “For a dwarf prince this party is held…”

Gentlemen, let us be more sensible and not fall back on extremism and devote our efforts, energies and work to improving the lives of our citizens, leaving these idiomatic subtleties to our academic language specialists and the United Nations who have the money and personnel to devote time to these issues.

27 October 2013

The grand colossus, a distinctive symbol of the city, remained sleeping, down on its luck. For decades dust and grime covered all of its enormous, solid structure. One day it suddenly woke up; its long-awaited moment had arrived.

Construction began during the Machado administration on one of the highest points in the city — on land where the city’s first botanical gardens originally sat — based on plans drawn up by the architect Eugenio Raynieri Piedra. Three years later, at its opening on May 20, 1929, the great neo-classical building became home to the Senate and House of Representatives and later one of the capital’s most distinctive landmarks. The period from the early decades of the 20th century until the 1950s is considered its most glorious era.

After 1959 this beautiful structure was subjected to extreme and unfortunate alterations, pillages and disastrous adaptations which gradually transformed it into the forlorn spectre we see today. Bats now shelter in its beautiful colonial chambers and fecal refuse is there to be admired on the walls of the emblematic building.

Of the many well-known stories that captured the popular imagination was the theft in 1946 of the 25-carat diamond that marked Kilometer Zero of the Central Highway. It is said to have reappeared a year later in the office of then-president Ramón Grau San Martín. It was re-installed in its original location and surrounded by an eight-pointed star crafted from Italian marble of different hues.

In 1973 the diamond was replaced with a replica. It now sits in the vaults of the National Bank of Cuba. Another restoration involves a recently discovered site that was created to honor the Unknown Mambisa Warrior. It is located directly below the cupola and the feet of its great gold-plated bronze statue, which measures seventeen feet tall and symbolizes the Republic. It is believed to be the third tallest indoor statue in the world.

The city’s official historian, Eusebio Leal, has indicated that fortunately there is no evidence of structural damage to the building. But when it comes to building’s internal systems, there are in fact many problems. At this point in time restoration of the great cupola is well underway. Work has also begun on the  patios and garden areas, which were designed by the famous French landscape architect Jean-Claude Nicolas Forestier, who also designed much of Havana’s Vedado neighborhood. Similarly, the two statues flanking the grand stairway — those of a man and a woman — are being cleaned and polished. These sculptures, as well as the one symbolizing the Republic, are the work of the famous Italian sculptor Ángelo Zanelli.

Soon the Hall of Lost Steps will be returned to its former glory. The final touches are being given to all its fittings, furnishings, curtains as well as to other valuable objects such as its lamps, some of which were made by Saunier Duval Frisquet in Paris, while others were gold-plated and fitted with glass at the Societé Anonime Bague. Their value is incalculable.

All the minute details of the restoration are being carried out by specialists who work for the city’s Office of the Historian as well as by freelance artists working in collaboration with the office. The latter are currently at work restoring the bronze bas-reliefs panels adorning the Capitolio’s large main doorways.

Once restoration work has been completed, the Parliament will return to its former home. In addition to its governmental role, the doors of the Capitolio will remain open to the public, who will have access to spaces such as the Hall of Lost Steps and the library, whose walls are paneled with rare hardwoods similar to those found in the Vatican library. As Dr. Eusebio Leal might well say, “this is the restoration of a memory.”

23 October 2013

Many people wonder why there is such a low birthrate in our country, where there is an excellent climate for raising a baby: no extreme temperatures, good sun and magnificent beaches.

Here are some images that will answer this question for themselves.

The first is the facade of the González Coro Hospital, formerly the Sacred Heart Clinic, one of the most modern installations of this type in the fifties. The dream of most future mothers was to be seen here throughout their entire pregnancy and after the birth, particularly in the late sixties when the other similar facilities, constructed earlier, started to demonstrate the deterioration of the already incipient abandonment.

More than twenty-eight years ago, a little drip started in the OB/GYN waiting room. Then the solution was to place a bucket under it and a blanket under that.

Today, the same situation persists, only made worse by three decades. It has become larger and greatly affected the false ceiling, which shows a creeping deterioration, even more so because it’s a health center and safety and hygiene should come first.

What solutions have the health authorities found to deal directly with this and other facilities?

Simply to place an enormous bucket to collect as much water as possible, and instead of placing blankets around it on the floor (which are rare and expensive) as they used to do to absorb the spray, they have placed enormous cartons, to prevent the pregnant women from slipping.

18 October 2013

Raimundo arrived early to an offsite clinic affiliated with General Calixto García Hospital that was located in the basements of two old satellite buildings. The waiting room was full and the rumble of voices prevented him from concentrating on the book he had brought along to make the obligatory wait more tolerable. Suddenly an older woman entered the waiting room. She was a newspaper vendor hawking Workers and inviting everyone there to buy a copy to pass the time while waiting their turns. She went on and on, telling everyone she had to do this in order to eat, that she had been a worker at the hospital for many years and that, if she did not do this, she would die of hunger because her pension was so meager, though even when she was working, she still barely made a living.

It was then that an eighty-year-old man, who was waiting to be seen, spoke up and said, “Señora, this is fascism and all our rights are being taken away. This hospital is disgusting. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned for months. We’re in a dark, humid basement and no one has even put a fan down here to get a little air circulation. If the doctors can’t take it, then what about the patients?”

“Tell it like it is, old man,” someone there said.

The murmur of voices rose in crescendo. Everyone began commenting on the filth, the shortages, the lack of sanitary conditions, the hassles they had to endure to get there by bus because not everybody had ten pesos for a tarecón (a taxi from the 1950s).

Suddenly, a male nurse looked down the wide stairway leading to the basement and called out to the patients in the waiting room, “This man has had surgery. Can someone give me a hand getting him and his wheelchair down the stairs?” The clinic’s door opened and a doctor, fanning himself with a piece of cardboard, said in a loud voice, “Next”

The same old man takes the floor again and raising his voice, so that everyone can hear, says, “Gentlemen, this is our hospital!”

9 October 2013

Unfortunately, the entire country has been impoverished as a result, among other factors coming to light, of living for many years on a survival diet. The medical field has not been exempt from this phenomenon. Medical professionals are paid low salaries and have to exercise their profession under the precarious conditions of today’s health care centers. They must also deal with a shortage of prescription drugs, which forces them to constantly keep abreast of which medicines “are in” and for sale so that they know which they can prescribe for their patients.

As a result the interaction between doctors and patients has, for three decades now, been marked by too much familiarity and, on occasion, excessive displays of confidence. In most cases there has been a loss of the mutual respect and ethical behavior that should should exist between doctor and patient. Because they are obliged to seek treatment at a clinic near where they live rather than one they might prefer, patients do not complain about mistakes and mistreatment by some physicians and healthcare workers for fear of reprisal.

A few days ago my friend from Nuevo Vedado, Patricia, went with her pregnant daughter to Clinic 20 for a follow-up visit. They arrived early and were the first ones there. Gradually the small waiting room began filling up. A doctor arrived after 9:00 AM but offered no apologies for being late, saying in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear only that she had had to “put up” with a long line to buy cigarettes.

She then went into her office and moments later looked through the door while motioning to a woman who was accompanied by her husband. They had come in after my friend’s daughter, who was actually first in line. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get this visit with your whore over with.” After finishing with the patient, she came out again and said, “I’m going to smoke a cigarette and take a break.” And with that, she sat on the low wall outside and began smoking away.

My friend and her daughter left the place fuming. A few days later they received a visit from their family doctor and the nurse from the clinic, who wanted them to explain why the patient had left the clinic without being seen by the doctor there. Since they are required to provide ongoing maternity care, it was an action that had gotten them into trouble with the clinic’s directors. My friend took the opportunity to tell them that it was she and her daughter who had been harmed as a result of the disrespect shown by this doctor and that, of course, they should inform her superiors because she would be doing so through other channels.

This, unfortunately, is only one small demonstration of the point to which doctor-patient relationships have arrived, because both are stubborn in overcoming daily so many difficulties and scarcities that regrettably have been affecting behavior, ethics and social coexistence.  None of this justifies the actions described here, but what can be deduced from it all is that in the training of new doctors, professional ethics continue to be unfinished business.

6 October 2013

Twenty-eight years ago, when Patricia was pregnant, she was treated at González Coro Hospital, the former Holy Cross Clinic, on 21st Street between 4th and 5th in Vedado. In those days it was the desire of every mother-to-be to be treated there since it was the place with the most prominent specialists. Among the last such facilities to have been built in the 1950s, it also had not yet deteriorated as much as its counterparts.

At the time my friend noticed that in the Obstetrics and Gynecology waiting room there was a leak coming from the dropped ceiling under which a towel and bucket had been placed to catch the splashing water. Back then, this could be “overlooked” since it was logical to assume it was only a temporary situation. At least that is what she thought.

Twenty-eight years have passed and my friend recently returned to the same waiting room, this time with her daughter, who is now expecting. Imagine her horror when she saw that the same old leak, which had been her constant companion during the nine months of her pregnancy, was not only still there but had grown to be much bigger. It is now almost a waterfall, like the one at Soroa*, and a large part of the dropped ceiling has been destroyed. The bucket currently used to catch the water is much bigger and the towel is no longer large enough to contain the splashes forming a giant puddle around which the medical personnel and patients must navigate, subject to the obvious risk of slipping and falling.

It seems to me that, with all the money invested over the last twenty-eight years in buckets and towels, they could have — if they so desired — fixed the  problem in the dropped ceiling, as they should have, and thus avoided the risk of an accident, which in the case of a pregnant woman could be fatal. Who are the officials responsible for correcting this situation? It is perhaps the hospital director? Might it be members of the National Assembly. What is quite clear to me is that it is certainly not the doctors or patients who are responsible for fixing this problem. I am also convinced that, if no one complains, this unfortunate situation will continue until one day the waiting room is closed, then the clinic, then the whole floor and finally the hospital, as we have seen happen with other such facilities.

 *Translator’s note: A site in Cuba’s Pinar del Rio province.

1 October 2013

I live on a planet called Cuba. I belong to a species that almost became in extinct here in the 1980s. In later years I became, like many of my species, a “protected specimen.”

But in this nature reserve we do not all enjoy the same privileges. There are specimens with much more flexibility in their necks and knees who enjoy greater protection.

I, like many, am a mere number in this great park. But rather than that being a disadvantage, this gives us a certain level of protection, allowing for “small freedoms,” which we realize we must exercise with caution. However, there are others — the more “notorious” ones —  who are not allowed them, though they enjoy other, greater advantages.

During the above-mentioned decade there was exhibition of the plastic arts* that lasted only twenty-fours hours and ended like “the party at Guatao.”** Because of a huge confrontation between the public and officials over the artworks on display, the exhibition was shut down, sparking the subsequent exodus of participating artists as well as the imposition of disciplinary measures on its organizers, which left a great void in this artistic field.

Since then, certain people with some power and comparatively open minds decided to “protect” plastic artists lest they disappear entirely. It was then that we became part of this great Jurassic Park, of which I am fortunate to be a member. We are “independent artists”… until someone takes it upon himself to declare otherwise.

*Translator’s note: Art forms which involve physical manipulation of artistic media such as clay by moulding or modeling. Examples include sculpture and ceramics. 

**A Cuban expression meaning an otherwise successful event that ends badly or in violence.

29 September 2013

I have always known names were important. I would not be the same person if I were not called Rebeca. At least that’s what I think. I have two names, as does almost everyone of my generation. But if right now I heard my other name called out, I would not turn around because I would assume they were calling someone else. So it is with everything, especially streets and businesses.

When the restaurant La Rosa Negra (The Black Rose) opened, I thought the name sounded odd. Some people asked, “Why black and not another color?” When I finally looked into it, I was told that it was a rented space and, when they began construction, the landlord had specifically asked that this name be used because it was the name of a book he had read and very much enjoyed. The lessees obliged since it was really only a detail.

As soon as it opened its doors, people were impressed with the quality, the service and the wonderful group of people who made up the staff. This generated an ever-expanding and loyal clientele, who got used to the unusual name. It was the owners and staff — with their hospitality and affability — who made the “budding” rose famous at home and abroad.

Not all of the path was strewn with rose petals, however, and all too soon the thorns began to appear. Seeing the tremendous success the restaurant had achieved, the building’s owner decided to void the lease in order to take over the now flourishing and well-established business. But that wasn’t the worst of it. He wanted to keep the name since it had been his idea. Not a good thing for any new business.

Finding it impossible to convince the landlord to let them keep the name — arguing it was their efforts which had given it the prestige it now enjoys — the restaurant’s owners instead opted to buy an old house in Vedado and convert it into a beautiful new restaurant: La Catedral (The Cathedral). They are not getting the old logo but everyone who helped make La Rosa Negra famous is moving with them. I am absolutely certain that everyone will follow them to La Catedral since in the last two years everyone — customers, owners and staff — feel we have become a family.

For those who live here and those who are thinking of visiting Havana after November 2 of this year, I suggest making note of the new address: Calle 8 (8th Street), between Calzada and 5th in Vedado. You will thank me for the recommendation.

22 September 2013

I always heard since I was a child that, as the midday sun intensified, the leaves on the trees would not move. This they called a “bochorno.”

After taking our turns on the internet, my friend and I decided to go shopping at some nearby area stores to look for cleaning supplies. We were taken by surprise at a new store, dedicated exclusively to the sale of such products, when we saw a large yellow banner hanging near the entry. We immediately realized what it was all about. Paraphrasing Jose Marti, I joked to my friend, “I do not know, given the flag here, if I can enter…”

Practically pushing me inside, she said laughing, “It’s not a flag. It’s only some yellow rag they’ve been told to put up.”

We went inside, laughing to ourselves and in a joking mood.

We immediately went up to the first employee we saw. He was sporting a makeshift bow on his chest made of yellow ribbon (the kind used for wrapping gifts).

“You must be a disciple of Our Lady of Charity; yesterday was her feast day,” I said.

“No,” he replied, “They’ve ordered me to do this today for the heroes.”

“Oh, for the spies!” we said in unison.

He lowered his head, turning red.

We then went to the counter where they sell the hair dyes and did almost the same routine with the employee there. Her response was immediate: “My boss told me that, if I was a Revolutionary, I had to put it on. Remember, I work for the state.”

“Of course,” I said. “If you don’t put it on, then you’ll lose your job.”

She stood there in silence, looking at us with eyes that begged for mercy.

We left her since there were two customers behind us, looking in our direction while trying to stifle their laughter and nodding their heads.

We then went to a department store to see what they had, only to find ourselves face-to-face with the same spectacle. All the employees were wearing yellow ribbons and bows to match those displayed at the entry. We questioned the poor employee waiting on us, whose response was similar to the one we had heard before. It was then that I told her, a little impertinently, the way I saw it: “We should have decided to defend our real traditions instead, the ones that were stolen from us: Epiphany, Christmas, Christmas Eve…”

To that day’s “bochorno” we had to include our own. We had to acknowledge how we have inevitably let ourselves be manipulated for all these years, how most of our population continues to be submissive, subject to the induced fear which they have been feeding us for half a century. Unfortunately, we will be marking the twelfth like most people, submissively displaying something yellow, which also happens to be the color long associated with cowardice, now another one of our traditions.

10 September 2013

The 2013-2014 school year begun, dragging into this new stage all the deficiencies and errors accumulated during these past 30 years.

After swallowing the bitter pill of acquiring uniforms, sending them to be taken in or out, finding another from the son of a friend he no longer needs, in order to have two sets to alternate, finding the books and something to cover them with, paying for notebooks with CUC (hard currency), because the ones from the school are not enough, pencils, backpack, socks, sneakers or shoes (a parent’s worst nightmare), everything an investment in hard cash, the task with the biggest responsibility, because of what it implies, is to successfully enroll children in a school (one of those that corresponds to the area of residence), which has enough teachers, since the deficit of educators is such that many classrooms don’t have a teacher assigned to them.

Each day there are fewer young people who aspire to major in pedagogy, among other reasons, because the salaries paid are insufficient, and they don’t enjoy the minimal conditions needed or the social acknowledgment of exercising one’s profession correctly, as well as the charged ideology that being a teacher entails.

Many young people, who were taken with the profession, end up leaving the classroom to go to work in the tourism or restaurant sector, to find something more attractive and better paid. So then they call those students who didn’t succeed in passing the exam for this major, and who prepared only three months for the teaching profession, as well as those put up as substitute teachers in televised classrooms, provoking the sleepiness and boredom of students and teachers, without noticing the errors of education that has occurred through the years.

Now the government complains of the tremendous academic deficit of our educators and pupils, which prevents the latter from being accepted in the universities, which, in turn, have seen a decrease in their academic level, due to the politics and partisan ideology that has always been a priority in teaching. At this very moment, there is a case being made that this school year be dedicated to “The Five Heroes.” For this, of course, they didn’t consult the teachers or the students. Again, politics over teaching.

Another aspect to take into account is that it is principally the parents and the teachers who in the days before the classes begin, must, with their own resources, clean the classrooms and school yards and on occasion, even provide the paint with which to repair these into decency. Some parents, who can count on certain economic resources, even buy electric fans to ensure that the environment is more pleasant in their children’s classrooms. All of this is common practice. Once again the citizens resolve the problems that belong to the State, who publicly makes note of its “victorious triumph” and in the case of education, one of the “triumphant flags” raised is socialism, which in these moments is totally worn down and frayed.

In addition, there is constant talk of recovering formal education, good manners and social mores, and I wonder: who were the principals responsible for these disappeared and destroyed values, instilling in adolescents the promiscuity reigning in forced scholarships and schools in the countryside, where the good manners transmitted from the family are retracted, considered petty bourgeois behavior?

Who could have forgotten that it was the teachers themselves who, in many schools in the eighties, supplied sticks and stones to the students, under guidance from the authorities, to repress anyone who intended to leave the country?

Now, who should we blame for the improper conduct, vulgarity and marginality developed in our society where the bad examples have gone hand in hand with economic and social decline for half a century, where the fear induced has led us to be involuntarily complicit with our silence.

4 September 2013

Much has been said lately about the subject, after the most recent address of Raul, where he addressed these social problems that were simply ignored. Now the media constantly make programs dedicated to this social phenomenon, in efforts to improve what they themselves decided to ignore all these years of Revolution, becoming unwitting accomplices and partners.

Television, one of the most important means of dissemination, is precisely the one that has influenced programs and novels, where vulgar language and gestures have been the constant, regardless of the old and well-known phrase of “a picture is worth a thousand words.” This method, therefore, is a massive “fixer” of good and evil.

I remember about twenty years ago, in a famous and popular TV show on Saturdays, led by an elegant and fine presenter. Interviewing the famed Spanish actor Echenove, she asked: “How has your visit to Cuba been?” Echenove, totally uninhibited, replied, “pues me ha ido de pin…“* She blushed, then said “excuse me, but that word is ugly and you shouldn’t say it.” “What?” he argued, “it can’t be, because everyone here says it.”

As for promiscuity and poor hygiene habits, our press emphasizes offenses committed by individuals, and closes its eyes to the problems caused by bad management and the continued lack of hygiene in food handling practiced in state facilities. The most representative example is the sale of unrefrigerated pork in the farmers market, not to mention that it is transported without any hygiene in open air  vehicles, even on occasion with workers sitting on the pieces of meat.

They also criticize how and where coffee cups are rinsed, that are sold freshly brewed at the various private and public establishments, as well as the water used to make fruit juices sold, improper handling of certain foods, etc. and, what is never mentioned, is where did they learn all these bad habits reminiscent of the Middle Ages.

Weren’t voluntary work and the schools in the countryside the genesis of all this  promiscuity that also brought so much of this social indiscipline? What were the conditions of those camps and schools so that these situations didn’t occur, mainly due to the lack of clean water and adequate facilities, forcing many students to have to relieve themselves “open air” like animals? Why, then, weren’t adequate provision taken so that this didn’t happen? On the contrary, they were established as standard practice.

On the other hand, they are now also attacking the phenomenon of noise and music at soaring that makes people scream to be heard, and annoys the neighbors, forcing them to listen to what they don’t want to. This also happens in many buses, where in addition to crowding, heat and odors, we must also must stoically endure the deafening sound of music, imposed by the driver or some lazy and rude passenger who doesn’t care about disturbing the other occupants of the vehicle.

“It’s never too late if the reaction is good”, I would say, to paraphrase an old maxim, given the new concern of the media. But what concerns me, extraordinarily, is that we have had to wait nearly half a century, for Raul to talk about it in a speech, to “become aware” of it, and that, as he usually does, he continues to attack the effects without having the courage to denounce the causes and, above all, those who caused these and other social ills.

*Translator’s note: He uses a vulgar phrase [which Rebeca does not spell out in full] meaning, roughly, “it’s all gone to hell,” thinking it means “it’s been fantastic.”

26 August 2013