The second day in Cuba started with my being awaken by the sound of frying eggs. The host family cook prepared the same meal each morning: scrambled eggs, fruit, toast, and some sort of meat. The realization of being in Cuba began to sink in. I kept thinking “I'm in Cuba; this is crazy!” As we left the apartment there was a cockeyed optimism inside me. It’s a sort of romantic feeling that one sometimes get when thrust into a new environment. As we got on the bus headed to old Habana (in Cuba its Habana not Havana), I noticed as we passed the Gulf, sunlight dancing off each ripple, as each ray bounced up and down. It almost seemed like a warm hug welcoming us. Old Habana was a mix of beautiful and colorful old architecture – Spanish designed churches, old military forts and three story riads of Moroccan design. I remembering thinking, “Its amazing how widespread the Moorish influence reaches.” These were broken by modern cafes, vendors stores, galleries, other structures and street artists. It was the touristy area of Habana, like Time Square in New York, and had that sort of energy. As in other tourist areas around the world, there were people who sold their likeness dressed as historical, eccentric, or sometime stereotypical costumes. While I understood the why, I always wondered how they felt. Do they feel isolated? Do they feel like people look through them? These areas always feel imbalanced and exploitative relationships, with the native people seemingly surrendering too much of themselves. At one point, we walked by a café with tons of handwriting on the walls outside of the building. Lots of writing in English about how much they love beer, each other, and Cuba. It looked like property destruction and they had no respect for the country. It wasn’t graffiti which can be political and symbolic. It felt like an exertion of privilege. I turned to some of the students and sad, “Y’all not doing that.” To which they looked at me and with their eyes say, “Child Please.” Walking through Havana, the guide took us on a walk through Cuba's history. I felt this spirit of revolution. It’s a different feeling than I have ever felt in a place. It’s hard to describe, it’s like an active awakeness with a side of don’t-mind-getting-the party-started-if-something-goes-wrong activism. This was supported by the many artifacts, statues of freedom fighters, like Manuel de Cespedes, known as the father of Cuba. Despedes let Spain kill his son, rather than give up the fight against Spain famously saying the he was “the father of all of Cuba.” Murals of Cubans plotting revolution, and the presence of organizations like the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR) a network of neighborhood organizations that promote social welfare and report against counter revolutionary activity showed that revolutionary history. The Cuban people share a solidarity around revolution and activism that was strange to me. They work for each other and embrace who they are as a group. Being Cuban and living in Cuba means something beyond the words. Living through the economic crisis of the 1959 embargo and the collapse of the USSR in the 1990’s created what is called the Special Period. It’s a lot to take in. I also began to notice that there were a lot of dark skin Cubans. I felt a kinship to the Afro Cubans and wondered if they felt the same but at that point I couldn't tell. Later that night I would begin to understand. We went into an art gallery (Cubans are amazing artists) to view some contemporary art. I pulled the tour guide aside and asked about the women in fishnets at the airport. The image had stuck ( no not like that lol). She said it was totally their decision. This felt weird though coming from a patriarchy that seeks to regulate and control women’s bodies it was hard to grasp. In many ways, Cuba put the focus on me – what I saw and experience said more about how I thought coming from the United States than what I was seeing. The last activity for the day was salsa dancing and provided an interesting look at culture. We took very basic and beginning lessons – and surely some of us looked like old 1980s action figures whose arms and legs only move two directions – (lol) it was the perfect way to end the day. As we jerked and gyrated to Cuban music, we were able to appreciate the diversity of the culture and for an academic study that often gets lost in translation. That night dinner was on our own and me and Ronald, the only other Black male (and male period on the trip). It was a continuation of our lessons on culture, race, and gender. Walking through the neighborhood was fascinating. There were huge beautiful villas of all colors of the rainbow. It was sort of like walking through Candyland (lol). Most needed some level repairs. Pillars were cracked, painting chipped, some of the yards had half-finished fences, blocks of cement scattered around the yards. Other smaller homes also in need of repairs. There were stray dogs and cats everywhere. As we walked, I was sort of nervous but not only did the dogs and cats not say anything to us but ignored each other. (They at peace lol) There were many restaurants and cafes sprinkled throughout the neighborhoods. Most are a part of large homes and had been converted. Kids were playing all over, mostly soccer and hide-and-go seek. I remember thinking, “how is hide and go seek the most perfect game ever.” There also were adults of all ages sitting on porches listening to music, flirting or have conversations. I once again felt nostalgic thinking this time of my small town, Eudora, Arkansas. How many times I had seen these beautiful human expressions. Even with the decay of some sidewalks and buildings, a direct result of the 1959 embargo, they made it work and stuck together. Women are walking by themselves all times of day and night already. There’s no anxiousness, no looking back, no keys in the hand, nothing. This seemed to indicate that there must not be a rape culture and women in fact feel very much in control of their social surroundings. I asked about this later and was told that rape is considered a very rare crime in Cuba. While exploring the area, I noticed it is mostly Afro Cubans. Cubans rarely see Black Americans and they were very vocal to us. Ronald, who was wearing a Huey P. Newton t-shirt, and I were affectionately greeted with calls of “my brothers”. As we walked, calls of “Black power” with clenched fist raised peppered throughout the neighborhood. The roar of the water in the back, it’s a powerful act of unity and let me know that race mattered even in Cuba. These two days set a nice foundation and in the coming days I will begin to discuss specifics like social structure, economy, race and gender with more depth.
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5/21/2023 09:42:01 pm
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Myron Strong
professor. learner. traveler. emerging artist Archives
November 2018
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