People love to say that Cuba is stuck in time. Certainly, before I ever visited, I'd seen the images of its classic cars, the colonial architecture, and cobblestone streets, but the sentiment always struck me as outrageously ethnocentric. I tend to agree with the anthropologist Wade Davis, whose TED Talk lauds the virtues of other cultures, and explains that the world around us "is just one model of reality, the consequence of one particular set of adaptive choices," while people from other cultures can "teach us that there are other ways of being."
After just one short visit, I can safely say this is true for Cuba, where the mindset is distinctly fresh, even as the backdrop is unmistakably decaying.
Going into it I expected primitive toilets and a lack of wifi. But I was shocked to learn I'd have to find a black market dealer to get an adaptor even to charge my iPhone. Easier to just go without, like most everyone else. Everywhere, people sat and talked, or even sat and stared — all without being online.
The first thing to hit my eyeballs was the artwork, everywhere. Even in the poorest neighborhoods I saw sculptures and murals. And get this: Many were in homage to Jose Martí, who put forth the still-popular idea that the Cuban government should not seek to imitate existing models. Sure, it's all part of the propaganda machine that extolls the virtues of the revolution. But still. A writer!
Martí was not entirely unknown to me; his likeness lives on in Tampa at the Jose Martí Park. What I didn't realize was that he'd visited Tampa some 20 times between 1891 and 1894 in preparation for war against colonialist Spain. Back then, Tampa was considered a safe haven for open discussion about overthrowing the regime.
Today, the Fabrica de Arte Cubano offers an entire compound dedicated to the artwork of Cuban artists. Calling itself a "community project," the FAC straddles the line between a state-run and a privately-owned enterprise. And the scene is pumping. Artwork hangs on the walls of the various rooms, some of which are cordoned off for special exhibitions. Every month the space closes for new installations. The FAC also doubles as a venue for activities that often happen simultaneously — fashion shows, band performances, capoeira demonstrations and more. And there are multiple bars and restaurants. As I moved from room to room I went from feeing like I was in a fabulous nightclub, to the quaintest cafe, to even a 1990s music video. But what compelled me was the quality of the work — thought-provoking pieces, executed flawlessly.
Sadly, all is not well in Cuba's art world. The country's first independent art biennial, held earlier this year, was mounted despite the fact that the government threatened to de-sanction participating artists, confiscate event flyers and tickets, and declared the organizers "unscrupulous." An artist running afoul of the government could lose valuable commissions on sculptures of Jose Marti and the like, so it's historically been a potent tool of suppression. Today, however, many of these artists are gaining recognition in the world market — meaning they have access to independent revenue streams — and certainly that helps offset the effectiveness. Or perhaps the biggest reason the work I saw felt so provocative was precisely because it's government approved, which is by definition anti-capitalist. But the questioning of authority wasn't limited to visual art.
In the interest of full disclosure I must confess I don't speak Spanish, so my deepest conversations were with English-speaking tour guides. Thus my survey of resistance to the status quo is far from complete, but something I did see repeatedly, starting with Claudia. This young woman led me in a cooking class, which was actually given by another woman who spoke only Spanish. Claudia stressed she was only there to translate. "I don't cook, I eat. My boyfriend does all the cooking. I clean. That's our arrangement." It's not revolutionary, but it got my interest — feminism has had its struggles within socialism, so anything close to it is heartening. But it got me wondering who was the top earner in the pair. The growth of the private sector since Raul Castro took over in 2010 has disrupted Cuban life. Self-employed business owners out-earn their compatriots who barely get by on state wages. When Claudia isn't leading Airbnb Experience tours, she has a state job as a dancer with a state-run company. Even our class was arranged through yet a third party's Airbnb account. I didn't ask Claudia if she was the made more, but unless her partner has a side hustle, too, it's most likely she does.
Another young woman provided a tour of the city's architecture. She was upfront about the fact that she didn't have a license and was operating outside the bounds of the law. Yet her talking points were steeped in colonial thought — "Havana was founded in 1514," she told us while standing in front of an enormous painting of native people being christened, and from the looks of it against their will. Even so, she said that her college dissertation explored the ways in which the media is manipulated. "But of course I couldn't call it that, so I called it comparative studies," she hastened to add. She wasn't ignorant by any stretch, she was shrewd. Her plan is to get a position with the Red Cross in order to get out of the country.
There is much more to Cuban culture than the time-warp visuals we're inundated with. The imagery is real enough, but the idea that goes along with it, that Cubans are somehow out of step, dismisses their lived contemporary experiences. I couldn't help but sense that revolution is in progress, but I believe Marti's sentiments will prevail. There's no telling what Cuba will look like in years to come.
This article appears in Nov 1-8, 2018.