Karl Marx's Camel
7th August 2006, 15:37
ALAN FREEMAN
From Monday's Globe and Mail
PLAYA DEL ESTE, CUBA — Luisa is conflicted. She despises Cuba's Communist government, yet admits that she became anxious when she heard that Fidel Castro temporarily ceded his presidential powers last week after surgery for gastrointestinal bleeding.
“He's like a grandfather to me,” the 23-year-old student says. “It's very strange. I hate the government, but when this happened I was scared. It's very complicated.”
Luisa and a half dozen of her friends were starting a brief beach vacation when news of Mr. Castro's illness hit. Dressed in T-shirts, shorts and flip-flops, they spent much of last week taking in the sun, playing music and drinking rum and cola, but their discussions were dominated by talk of the future.
They agreed to be interviewed, but to protect their identities in a country where dissent can have a high price, their names have been altered.
For Luisa and her friends, all in their 20s and 30s, the President's illness is an opportunity to hope for a new beginning.
They talk of a Cuba where they will be free to express their opinions, determine their own lives and have a say in who governs them.
Yet they also fear what the future holds, concerned that the economic and political situation can still get worse and worried that the United States is anxious to return the island nation to the kind of virtual colony it was before the 1959 revolution.
It's the lack of personal freedom that most vexes these young Cubans. Most have never travelled outside Cuba. They feel cut off from the world and from independent sources of information.
Private Internet connections are illegal and the only public Web access is in hotels, where it can cost $12 (U.S.) an hour, the equivalent of a monthly wage for many. “They don't want us to have access to information,” complains Maria, a 29-year-old actress.
“I was born in 1974 and I have never been anywhere but Cuba,” says her boyfriend Pedro, an actor and puppeteer. “Everything I know comes from the Cuban national press. Occasionally, I'll get a foreign newspaper or I'll catch a foreign station on TV when the weather conditions are unusual.”
Asked what they most want to see changed, the friends quickly come up with a list. “Democratic elections, so we can choose directly who represents us,” says one. “Freedom of speech,” says another.
“We want to be able to choose the kinds of jobs we do,” says Anna, a 27-year-old freelance interpreter, who says she will never be constrained by a government job. “How can anyone agree to work for a month and earn just 300 pesos (about $12)?”
Luisa is more down to earth. “I want the possibility of buying a bottle of cooking oil when I want it,” she says, reflecting widespread frustration with Cuba's mind-numbing system of rationing and constant shortages.
The beach house the friends have rented is part of Cuba's parallel economy. The house was built before the revolution so its owner is allowed to rent it out to other Cubans, though not to foreigners. For the equivalent of $10 a day, the friends get a modest cement bungalow, only 20 kilometres from Havana and a few blocks from the beach. It has two bedrooms and four beds, a bathroom and a kitchen-common room.
A turquoise Batista-era General Electric refrigerator whirs in one corner, its door kept shut by a makeshift latch. In another corner, there's an upright piano. Virtually all of its ivories are stripped off and half the keys don't work, but the Steinway & Sons label hasn't faded.
The power keeps failing, at one time causing an ancient fan to fall off its perch with a loud thud. Yet the environment is remarkably relaxed. A fence around the small yard is smothered with bright-red hibiscus blossoms and the only traffic is provided by a herd of goats passing along a nearby road.
Pedro is convinced that political change is inevitable. “I think Fidel sustains the revolution in Cuba. It's a revolution he created. I think there is no other leader that would be able to sustain what he has been able to do for so many years.”
Pedro resents the omnipresence of “Fidel” and his transformation into a secular god. He thinks politicians should be fallible and replaceable.
“I don't want a saint in government. I think I was forced to believe in a saint as a kid. The way his image was portrayed, it was like Christ for Christians or Allah for Muslims.”
His buddy Waldo, a musician and filmmaker, chimes in. “I think there has already been a change. It began on July 31 [the day that Mr. Castro's illness was made public]. The people have just not yet processed it so far.”
Waldo is upset at the selection of Mr. Castro's 75-year-old brother Raul as the “temporary” president, saying he'd prefer other younger and less rigid members of the President's entourage, such as Foreign Minister Felipe Perez Roque or Vice-President Carlos Lage.
Asked what they like about Cuba, the friends pause and quickly agree that they appreciate the virtual absence of violent crime, the lack of a drug problem, the emphasis on caring for children.
Waldo adds, with a touch of pride, “It's the only country in Latin America where there is a teacher and a doctor in every corner of the country.”
Pedro remains unimpressed. “What I like about this country has nothing to do with the system,” he says.
Yet in their yearning for change, these young people do not look across the Florida Straits for inspiration. “I don't want Raul Castro as president, but I don't want the Americans, either,” Pedro adds. “What the Americans want is money. The Americans help themselves. They don't help Cubans. They don't help people. They bomb people. They're like Romans.”
Waldo also doesn't want U.S. help. “Cuba is an island surrounded by the sea. We don't need to be a colony of anybody. We don't need a sponsor.”
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/sto...ernational/home (http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20060807.wCuba07/BNStory/International/home)
From Monday's Globe and Mail
PLAYA DEL ESTE, CUBA — Luisa is conflicted. She despises Cuba's Communist government, yet admits that she became anxious when she heard that Fidel Castro temporarily ceded his presidential powers last week after surgery for gastrointestinal bleeding.
“He's like a grandfather to me,” the 23-year-old student says. “It's very strange. I hate the government, but when this happened I was scared. It's very complicated.”
Luisa and a half dozen of her friends were starting a brief beach vacation when news of Mr. Castro's illness hit. Dressed in T-shirts, shorts and flip-flops, they spent much of last week taking in the sun, playing music and drinking rum and cola, but their discussions were dominated by talk of the future.
They agreed to be interviewed, but to protect their identities in a country where dissent can have a high price, their names have been altered.
For Luisa and her friends, all in their 20s and 30s, the President's illness is an opportunity to hope for a new beginning.
They talk of a Cuba where they will be free to express their opinions, determine their own lives and have a say in who governs them.
Yet they also fear what the future holds, concerned that the economic and political situation can still get worse and worried that the United States is anxious to return the island nation to the kind of virtual colony it was before the 1959 revolution.
It's the lack of personal freedom that most vexes these young Cubans. Most have never travelled outside Cuba. They feel cut off from the world and from independent sources of information.
Private Internet connections are illegal and the only public Web access is in hotels, where it can cost $12 (U.S.) an hour, the equivalent of a monthly wage for many. “They don't want us to have access to information,” complains Maria, a 29-year-old actress.
“I was born in 1974 and I have never been anywhere but Cuba,” says her boyfriend Pedro, an actor and puppeteer. “Everything I know comes from the Cuban national press. Occasionally, I'll get a foreign newspaper or I'll catch a foreign station on TV when the weather conditions are unusual.”
Asked what they most want to see changed, the friends quickly come up with a list. “Democratic elections, so we can choose directly who represents us,” says one. “Freedom of speech,” says another.
“We want to be able to choose the kinds of jobs we do,” says Anna, a 27-year-old freelance interpreter, who says she will never be constrained by a government job. “How can anyone agree to work for a month and earn just 300 pesos (about $12)?”
Luisa is more down to earth. “I want the possibility of buying a bottle of cooking oil when I want it,” she says, reflecting widespread frustration with Cuba's mind-numbing system of rationing and constant shortages.
The beach house the friends have rented is part of Cuba's parallel economy. The house was built before the revolution so its owner is allowed to rent it out to other Cubans, though not to foreigners. For the equivalent of $10 a day, the friends get a modest cement bungalow, only 20 kilometres from Havana and a few blocks from the beach. It has two bedrooms and four beds, a bathroom and a kitchen-common room.
A turquoise Batista-era General Electric refrigerator whirs in one corner, its door kept shut by a makeshift latch. In another corner, there's an upright piano. Virtually all of its ivories are stripped off and half the keys don't work, but the Steinway & Sons label hasn't faded.
The power keeps failing, at one time causing an ancient fan to fall off its perch with a loud thud. Yet the environment is remarkably relaxed. A fence around the small yard is smothered with bright-red hibiscus blossoms and the only traffic is provided by a herd of goats passing along a nearby road.
Pedro is convinced that political change is inevitable. “I think Fidel sustains the revolution in Cuba. It's a revolution he created. I think there is no other leader that would be able to sustain what he has been able to do for so many years.”
Pedro resents the omnipresence of “Fidel” and his transformation into a secular god. He thinks politicians should be fallible and replaceable.
“I don't want a saint in government. I think I was forced to believe in a saint as a kid. The way his image was portrayed, it was like Christ for Christians or Allah for Muslims.”
His buddy Waldo, a musician and filmmaker, chimes in. “I think there has already been a change. It began on July 31 [the day that Mr. Castro's illness was made public]. The people have just not yet processed it so far.”
Waldo is upset at the selection of Mr. Castro's 75-year-old brother Raul as the “temporary” president, saying he'd prefer other younger and less rigid members of the President's entourage, such as Foreign Minister Felipe Perez Roque or Vice-President Carlos Lage.
Asked what they like about Cuba, the friends pause and quickly agree that they appreciate the virtual absence of violent crime, the lack of a drug problem, the emphasis on caring for children.
Waldo adds, with a touch of pride, “It's the only country in Latin America where there is a teacher and a doctor in every corner of the country.”
Pedro remains unimpressed. “What I like about this country has nothing to do with the system,” he says.
Yet in their yearning for change, these young people do not look across the Florida Straits for inspiration. “I don't want Raul Castro as president, but I don't want the Americans, either,” Pedro adds. “What the Americans want is money. The Americans help themselves. They don't help Cubans. They don't help people. They bomb people. They're like Romans.”
Waldo also doesn't want U.S. help. “Cuba is an island surrounded by the sea. We don't need to be a colony of anybody. We don't need a sponsor.”
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/sto...ernational/home (http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20060807.wCuba07/BNStory/International/home)