But demands do exist, and today the official press puts the focus on one of them: the return of the houses on the beach that for decades worked as an incentive. Today, after passing into the hands of the hotel group Islazul, they have become a pile of ruins and debris.
“We believe that we are right. We deserve it. We feel it as an extension of the factory, because there were always spaces to share with your colleagues, with your family,” says the employee of a cement plant in Sancti Spíritus. The Trabajadores newspaper devotes an article to this issue, which appears at times as an obituary for a project that started out with benefits, including material benefits, and has ended up being a victim of abandonment.
Oscar Hernández Pérez, of Cemento Siguaney, says that there is “a large file of complaints and denunciations to state institutions, national press media and government bodies about the decision, which eliminated important incentives.” The media does not hesitate to point out that the measure never brought about a change for the better and that it would be most appropriate to return these holiday homes “to the trade union movement, to the workers.” continue reading
Oscar Hernandez Perez, of Cemento Siguaney, says that there is “a large file of complaints and denunciations to state institutions, national press media and government bodies about the decision”
The report goes back to the creation of these leisure centers, an idea of the omnipresent Fidel Castro, who indicated after the triumph of the Revolution that the homes and facilities of the “exclusive” beaches of Cuba, confiscated from exiles, would be “for the enjoyment of the workers.”
“The houses in Playas del Este alone, in the Cuban capital, had about a million workers and family members passing through each year,” says Gloria Esther Becerra, who was at the head of the program for 20 years. According to her, there were about 700 houses handed over to the unions in Havana and Jibacoa (now in Mayabeque) for their employees to restore and later enjoy.
The workers then paid a low price for the package, which included round-trip transport and food. Vacationers in general could enjoy the houses by paying a higher – but adjusted – price. The trade margin was around 5%, according to one interviewee. The plan extended throughout the country, as detailed in the text, which mentions Las Tunas, Ciego de Ávila and Pinar del Río, among many others.
“In Las Tunas we founded a movement with companies and trade unions, and sites appeared as work incentives in agriculture and the Ministry of Sugar, the two basic economic activities of the land,” says José Vistorte Pupo, then senior officer of the provincial CTC. In this case, 100 cabanas were delivered in La Boca (Puerto Padre) that were distributed and repaired .
“Tunazúcar was the mecca for its conditions, the quality of its offers and the proximity to the capital city. Its facilities housed national vanguards, distinguished cane cutters and combine operators. We had 19 rooms in Varadero and 20 at the Hotel Las Tunas,” she added. Another worker in the sector recalls that all companies in the sugar sector had centers of this type, with accommodation included, except for one in Majibacoa which was a country house with a pool.
Elci Cecilia Martínez Couce, manager of a construction company in Pinar del Río, also recounts how the workers made the decision to invest the profits of that year in building cabanas on the beach of Boca de Galafre, in the tobacco municipality of San Juan y Martínez. Land was purchased and 12 were initially built, a project that became the largest resort in the province (Playa Bailén), with 37 villas and 80 cabanas, which today belong to the company of Accommodation and Gastronomy.
Land was purchased and 12 were initially built, a project that became the largest resort in the province (Playa Bailén), with 37 villas and 80 cabanas, which today belong to the company of Accommodation and Gastronomy
The interviewees agreed that knowing that they could enjoy these houses aroused great enthusiasm among the workers, who organized themselves to participate in construction or rehabilitation, as appropriate, with voluntary overtime. “There was such joy that on some days at the construction of Tunazúcar there were almost a thousand workers on the job, from all the sugar companies in the territory,” says one of them.
The text describes a “sustainable” system in which self-consumption existed because food was provided, which also generated solidarity between different labor groups that helped each other.
Until between 2009 and 2010, during the term of office of Raul Castro, who is not even mentioned, everything ended overnight. “In the capital we were told that the houses in Playas del Este would not continue to be serviced by the unions, that Islazul would take care of it. From then on, and in a first stage, the trade union movement only received enough places to incentivize its leaders,” says Gloria Esther, who regrets how the second stage followed.
“At the beginning rents were low and food prices were quite good. Subsequently, Islazul began marketing it for the whole population, for anyone who wanted and could afford it, but in CUC [pegged to the US dollar],” she admits. This was not the worst case. In Las Tunas some had to be dismantled, and a villa was handed over that had been repaired only three years ago, while another, in Punta de Tomate, was demolished.
The workers claim that the excuses offered to them -“companies and trade unions don’t exist for this; the economy cannot support these benefits or buildings on the beach” – never took into account the impact it would have on employees. Some, in fact, were hostile to the point of refusing to hand over what was built. This was the case of the employees of Cemento Siguaney and the Agrarian Industrial Company of South Jíbaro, who have kept their claims alive for more than a decade.
“We delivered a luxury villa, without receiving any remuneration. It was the envy of any hotel. It had a total of 21 air-conditioned rooms, an air-conditioned restaurant, centralized television, a bar-cafeteria, an approved project for a swimming pool with sea water and one of the best equipped kitchens in Trinidad,” says Oscar Hernández .
The report is peppered with photographs of some of these places, and the captions could not be more eloquent. “Punta Alegre beach in Ciego de Ávila. No words needed,” says one of them
The article states that this issue is raised at most CTC congresses and adds that it is a factor of enormous discontent that not only these centers were taken away from the workers but also that they have been forgotten, even more so since they were used as isolation sites in the pandemic. The report is dotted with photographs of some of these places, and the captions could not be more eloquent. “Punta Alegre beach in Ciego de Ávila. No words needed,” says one of them.
Yosquel Resquene González, a resident of a recreation village in Ciego de Ávila, explains that “the deterioration and Hurricane Irma in 2017 took over the installation, but its biggest enemy was the lack of interest in restoring it. What the hurricane did not take away was taken away by the people who occupied it when they lost their houses.”
The cabanas of La Boca, vandalized; the hotel of the sugar farmers of Ciego de Ávila, in ruins; the houses of Playas del Este, “seem rather out of a war conflagration, although they continue to be administered by the tourist chain Islazul.” These are all scenarios of a cloaked struggle between the workers and the government that extends across the Island.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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14ymedio, Juan Diego Rodríguez/ Yunior García, Havana/Madrid, 13 May 2025 — Although Havana – like almost all of Cuba – is today a catalogue of rubble, it remains particularly painful to see the ruins of what was once the Instituto Superior de Diseño Industrial (ISDi). The facade still resists, while its interior collapses under the weight of abandonment. Among the rubble and piles of garbage, the building sinks into its own history, converted today into a metaphor for a country that is also crumbling.
