Banks make retirement payments with mountains of worn-out bills that the shops reject
14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 8 August 8, 2024 — “We don’t accept ten-peso bills,” warns a merchant on Galiano Street, in Havana, to a customer who extends 30 ten-peso banknotes to pay for a container of descaling liquid for bathrooms. “Later we can’t use them; that’s why we only take 100 pesos and up,” the seller concludes with a gesture of displeasure. The face on the paper that the buyer waves is no small thing, no more and no less than one of the patricians of national independence, Máximo Gómez. With a controversial past in his native Dominican Republic, the warrior ended up becoming one of the main faces of Cuba in arms against Spain, and he earned the designation of “Generalísimo.”
Now, just by seeing his image printed on a banknote, merchants know that the ten-peso bill has little value and many associated complications. “Do you see anything here that costs ten pesos?” asks an entrepreneur in a didactic tone, indicating his stock of pizzas, beers and cookies on Ayestarán Street. The merchant argues with a customer who wants to give him 20 Máximo Gómez bills for a purchase.
If in the past the one or five cent coins were considered small change destined for religious offerings and children’s piggy banks, now the bar has risen
“It’s just that those bills are very mistreated and they all stick together,” argues the merchant, barricaded behind bars that surround the entire portal of an old house converted into a passing bar and cafeteria. Even without a place to sit, the cafeteria takes in thousands of pesos every hour. Located in an area of confluence between two municipalities, it has “the cheapest prices in Havana for beer, soft drinks and juices,” boasts the man behind the counter.
Precisely because he isn’t short of customers, the proprietor can afford certain rules when it comes to paying. “Bills in good condition; we don’t accept anything under 50 pesos, and before electronic payment, it’s better to have cash in hand,” says the seller, aware that these restrictions limit his clientele. He doesn’t seem to care very much, because for hundreds of meters around there is no other cafeteria with an offer that matches his, not even close.
For their part, banks seem to contradict the orders of private businesses. In the branch of the Metropolitan Bank on Conill and Tulipán Street, in Plaza de la Revolución, ATMs have not been working for days, and the only possibility of withdrawing money is at the window. Of course, “you can only get 5,000 pesos and only in ten-peso bills,” warns the custodian of the premises.
Joaquín, 77, was waiting this Tuesday to withdraw two-months of his pension, which had accumulated due to the problems of the ATMs and the long lines at the bank. Although his eldest son, a resident of Germany, recently sent him a few euros “to survive,” the former employee of the state-owned Taxis Cuba planted himself in the front to collect his retirement.
Two hours in line and a lot of patience ended with a bag full of ten-peso bills that, stacked on the outer wall of the bank branch, looked like an insurmountable mountain. “I don’t know if it’s better to jump over them or turn them around because either way, all these bills take up a lot of space,” he said ironically.
[[The deterioration of paper money also influences the rejection of low-denomination banknotes]]
A few meters further on, Joaquín set out to spend part of those bills, all with the face of the grim Dominican, who, in Cuba, is a symbol of the utmost political stubbornness. He held out a pile of deteriorated banknotes, used over and over again, where one barely could see the image of a man with round eyeglasses and a goatee.
“Oh, old man, we’re not accepting small bills; from 50 up if anything!” the saleswoman stopped in her tracks when she saw the package that was extended to her for three beers. Next to him, another client was even worse off, because he was carrying a package with more than a hundred bills with the image of Antonio Maceo that was immediately rejected. “No, not that,” the woman exclaimed about the five-peso banknotes.
Others have been more transparent and have put it in writing: “We do not accept purchases over 200 CUP with five- and ten-peso bills,” reads a sign on the facade of a business managed by a mipyme in Central Havana. If before the one or five cent coins were considered small change, destined for religious offerings and children’s piggy banks, now the bar has risen, and the banknotes with the heroes of Cuban independence are no longer welcome in shops.
The deterioration of paper money also influences the rejection. “It’s not that they are worth little; it’s that it disgusts me to have to touch one of those bills: they are old, greasy, and you can hardly read what they say,” argues a young employee of another MSME, this time located in El Vedado. “Here the customer is measured by the bills he brings; the best thing is hard currency, but if they are pesos, it’s only worth it if he starts taking out 200-peso notes and up.”
“The counting machine doesn’t read them well because they are old,” justifies the waitress of a private restaurant on San Lázaro Street. “Every bill of five, ten or twenty that we accept is money that stays here, that no one wants it.”
Translated by Regina Anavy
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