Clotheslines of electricity for everyone

It’s been about three years since the wires in my building, constructed in the 1940s, said enough and walked out on us.* Bit by bit, in less than a month, our apartments lost power, we gradually slipped into darkness.

So the neighbors had three meetings a week to decide on a fast and effective solution, while those of us who were most desperate shared the cost of a private electrician who soon arrived and temporarily strung a cable for each of us from the box to the apartment. Tied to the pipes and among the pipelines, climbing over walls and hanging in the air, colored cables began to enter our doors and windows to rescue us from the gloom.

But suddenly the ground floor of the building shook with an explosion and the lights on the stairs and in the hallways also went out (I started welcoming my visitors with an ironic: “Welcome to Kosovo!”) Everyone was condemned to the clothesline current.

Four different political solutions were quickly suggested. Those retired from the Ministry of the Interior and the building’s fighters began a super-optimistic effort with the government: visits and letters to the ministers; those well-placed made their telephone calls; the CDR board contacted the micro-social; and we, the infidels, found a professional who, for 10 CUCs per apartment, would give us a new building in three days.

Months passed and no one could agree, even though our “clotheslines” were passing through the room of the director of the electric company, not even he came up with anything concrete. Those from MININT had Faith and took the position that everything would be resolved soon, as promised. Because there were apartments who in no way could pay 10 CUCs because they didn’t have it, our delegation undertook to pay, among ourselves, what they could not, but others demanded patience, they didn’t want to pay the 10 CUCs: to them it seemed an impudence and an abuse.

The electric company, micro-social, and housing all tossed the responsibility back and forth, kicking us around. Finally, the electric company gave an answer: their responsibility was the cables from the electric pole in the street to the electric box in the building; from the box out to us was beyond their jurisdiction. Our building was officially declared a no man’s zone.

As the boxes were old (the same age as the cables), the electric company did what belonged to it: came and changed them. The neighbors built a wall to take them off the stairs for safety. After 15 days we had all new boxes and all the lines were well oriented to each apartment. We continue to pay, of course, the same for electricity as before.

Some years have passed and several hurricanes, sometimes spreading panic, and many leave (as I do) when there are atmospheric events. Now no one remembers sending letters, calling their contacts, or convincing people to pay. We are accustomed to it, the danger has become ordinary and everyday reality: it has lost completely its semantic sense.

* "This great humanity has said: Enough! and has started to walk, and their march of giants will not be halted.”
Ernesto Guevara

About Generation Y

Yoani is having some problems with the portal Desde Cuba and because of this her blog can't be read. It seems the changes are taking a little longer then expected but we hope everything will be working again soon.
In any case, she told me she would put a note in Voces Cubanas.

There was no discussion*

The Young Filmmakers Festival takes place once a year in Havana, specifically in the Riviera, Chaplin, and 23 and 12 cinemas, and in the Strawberry and Chocolate projection room. Unfortunately the series is small and there is little promotion; it sometimes seems that the films are shown for the young filmmakers and not for us, the public. The festival doesn’t reach the areas on the periphery of Havana and in the provinces it simply doesn't exist. Those of us who are fans know that many of the things that will be seen will never be shown in our theaters again, much less on television. Sure, there will be surprises, some directors are sought out by the public in the notice board: When are you going to show the latest short from Eduardo del Llano? (Brainstorm)

The sampling has let us know about the lives of the divers and hear their stories ("De buzos, leones y tanqueros," by Daniel Vera); has guided us to the “shanty towns” of migrants from the provinces and has thrown in our faces their poverty and despair (“Looking for Havana,” by Alina Rodríguez); has criticized the absurdities of much of the “ideological battles” and of the “programs of the revolution” (“Utopia” by Arturo Infante); we have listened to art critics, artists, writers, and experts speak freely about censorship and about the history of Cuba, what we don’t study in books or in school (“Zone of Silence” by Karel Ducasse); and it has given us, inserted into the programs, the songs of musicians who are censored in every other type of media (the documentary, “Everything was better in the past,” by Zoe Garcia, and the short, “The Desire,” by Alejandro Arango, also with the music of Ciro Díaz).

Finally, the sampling of young filmmakers each year offers us on the screen the reality we see daily but that we all know continues ‘officially’ to not exist. And it lets us dream, at the least if not of a different society, at least of a free society: it’s the only time of the year we immerse ourselves, no doubt, in documentaries and shorts that show the reality of the misery and social needs, that reflect, in a general way, all the things that worry us today: the future, change, society, poverty, censorship, individual freedoms and the perspectives of life.

February 28 in the Fresa y Chocolate [Strawberry and Chocolate] room they projected “Everything in the Past Was Better” by Zoe García, and “The Future is Now” by Sandra Ramos; two excellent, very young directors who, I, despite not having much knowledge of film, think have enriched the documentary story of Cuba with their projects. At the end of the showing there was a “discussion” where the filmmakers went to the front to answer questions from the public. There was also a moderator and a man who didn’t know exactly what he was doing there, but who called on the public by pointing to them and inviting them to speak (I should say that I didn’t have the luck to be called on, despite being among the few of us who raised our hands).

The moderator quickly announced that the discussion would last about 5 minutes: the managers of the night’s party, in the same Fresa y Chocolate room, couldn’t allow the discussion to be extended because people were waiting anxiously in the patio. He also noted that those of us who had enjoyed the “premiere” had no right to be at the party because it was by invitation only, and said in passing that we shouldn’t waste our time hiding in the bathroom because they would throw us out. The uncomfortable questions never came, and the answers were left hanging in the air. Even a boy wanted to know why they didn’t bring the festival to other parts of the country, and one of the moderators answered, “We showed it where we could.” Afterwards she talked for the remaining minutes (speaking about the excessive subjectivity of some images), which seemed to me an overly lengthy speech from the moderator.

Still, in spite of not having any real discussion, we connect a lot with the screen and we close the presentation with a phrase from her (the moderator): “We must continue pushing the wall.”

* "There was no discussion" is the name of Fidel Castro’s Reflection, published about his meeting with Argentine President Cristina Kirchner.

Clarification: Because of connection problems I can’t check to see if these documentaries and shorts are on the Internet and put links to them. If anyone knows of any links where those interested can see them, please share them in the comments. To see the official site, click here.

They didn’t want changes?

Image: El Guamá
Text: La Salamandra Blanca

Instigate, liberate, designate, amalgamate, verbs in the notice. For those who believed, the long-awaited changes have already arrived.

Of the most renowned, tres tristes tigres,* and others replaced by the work and grace of God.

Few imagined it so. Or did they think that the changes would be those they wanted, asked for, suggested, from below?

And in any case, because there will be many comments (although, of course, no one up there cares about that), a final sentence, only for “ethics,” like a band-aid on the wound:

“The institutionality is one of the pillars of invulnerability of the Revolution in the political arena, for which we must work on its constant advancement. We must never believe that what we have done is perfect.”

It’s already been said: Nothing is eternal and Perfection doesn’t exist.

They limit themselves to this. Caballero, this also is Revolution, change, renovation, constant improvement. Weren’t we shouting for it? There we go, they give it to us, it’s already announced. And no one laughs, but nor do we cry for the boys, eh?

*Translator’s note: Tres Tristes Tigres [Three Sad Tigers], is a well-known novel by the Cuban writer Guillermo Cabrera Infante. Translator Suzanne Jill Levine, working in cooperation with Cabrera Infante, who also spoke English, preserved the alliteration in the book’s English title: Three Trapped Tigers.

Like Goldilocks: Three by three

I felt like Goldilocks today when, finally, the long announced, discussed and expected (even from abroad), potatoes arrived. I took my monthly prize in my hands (no need to bring a bag): Papa Potato, Mama Potato and Baby Potato, that’s my quota.

I feel profoundly fortunate not to have to depend on the kindness of the Revolution to feed myself; the consequences for my weight and health could be catastrophic.

Even so, we must be infinitely grateful, oh yes Sir, for these three potatoes that we do not deserve to be “given” by our socialist government. It’s the investment of the millennium, no? Three potatoes may well be worth the freedom of one human being, if sometimes it’s been worth less, who cares.

Three potatoes that we will eat, and with them we will also eat all of our civil rights.

Slight but sincere comments

Photo: Blogger Meeting
Text: La Salamandra Blanca

To write and post this is not easy for me, it takes time, concentration, strength, and other things, and even more if writing is not your line of work. Especially when you want to say something, but there are so many things to do in your daily life, like work, or do the things you need to do to meet your needs and even your wants, things that don’t come with a salary. Because even though there are some who believe that if you openly criticize the government the money “falls from the Empire,” that’s not the case.

However, it’s very flattering to read something you wrote, published on the web, and to see, each time, the increase in the number of comments from those who cheer you on. And the others, well the fact that they took the trouble, that’s good, isn’t it? Many make me laugh. Even when they’re confused and think it’s Claudia and not La Salamandra who wrote, it doesn’t bother me. It’s good that they congratulate her, after all, she’s the owner of the blog, right?

But best of all is to be near to something that makes you feel alive in this half dead space, at times immobile and pulverized, to be able to help or support people full of bravery and courage, to say and do what they think, even when you think you aren’t as bold as they are and are only anonymous and invisible, you feel a little bit further from the stupidity.

There are also moments of thrilling joy to know you’ve advanced another step on the road to pushing back, a little more, the line that censors and segregates those who are tired of shutting up and waiting. After having lived, seen, read or heard something that you know exceeds the limits of the suppression of civil liberties, that they try to crush through threats and intimidation, you can no longer be complacent when people manage to join together, whether close friends or not, to show the injustice. They demonstrate this when someone is indicted, imprisoned, labeled a dissident lackey or simply can’t publish a book, because of the way they dress, sing, write, feel, or think with all their human rights.

I regret that I can’t be closer, physically, to the many people who provide support with their comments, although they are greatly appreciated. You could, from supposed anonymity or not, better feel this vibration, and each time would be stronger, when we must move that boundary, as it becomes more asphyxiating, but also pushed back further.

Fidel: This is your house

I never knew if the people who put this poster at the entrance of their houses were sufficiently aware to understand that it is not a metaphor. Their houses were Fidel’s and, furthermore, all of our houses are the Revolution’s, because everything around us belongs to that abstract concept. In Cuba, we’ve opted for the old Greek philosophy, everything is made from a single substance and this, in turn, is the origin of all things. Western history is divided by the year zero, before and after Christ; Cuban history is divided by the year 59, before the Revolution nothing, after the Revolution everything.

It surprises me to think that there be people, even within Cuba, who claim that it’s very difficult to evict a family from their home. I will not relate the stories of others because I had the misfortune to deal with the eviction brigade when I was 20 years old.

My father lived in the house of my maternal grandmother, my grandmother decided to put the house in my name as a sort of last act of lucidity. When my father died, I came into my house, which was logical. However, a person close to my father and with a little power thought this wasn’t good, that the right thing was for the house to go to her. At that very moment she started a battle that I knew nothing about, her first blow coming from an unexpected direction: in my absence, she started taking out the toilet, the sink, the wiring for the lights and the pipeline for the gas (why even mention the other things that were in the house); she passed off false accusations that I signed the Varela Project petition (which I didn’t sign because I didn’t see a copy); the subsequent mini-repudiation-meeting-visit of members of the soldiers’ association; the prolonged lack of a registered address; people noted as temporary residents in my house whom I’d never seen; denunciations for receiving illicit rents; and, the finishing touch, the terrible “eviction.”

I'm not going to tell the whole story because it's not worth the trouble. She couldn't throw me out thanks to my father, who, even though he was dead, I mentioned because, evidently, by legal means they were going to kick me out of my house.

Nevertheless, it would make sense to go to Old Havana and contact all the people who in these last years have been evicted from their homes so that the historic center can be adapted for the tourists; or to ask the neighbors of Vedado, near 11th and K, why MININT doesn’t allow them either to exchange their houses or to leave them, as an inheritance, to someone in their family.

I don’t know if the singer, Bárbara Grave de Peralta, was finally evicted or not, I sincerely hope not. But I would also like to say that her case was neither unique nor isolated, rather it’s one more example of what happens daily on this ideal island. I hope that her complaint and the solidarity that her situation may have awakened helps her somehow, and my best wishes go out to her.

The strange case of the P4

Photo: Claudio Fuentes Madan

On the 7:30 AM news, selected people from different ministries are invited to present criteria, explain situations, propose solutions, etc. This morning one of them was talking about transportation. The truth is that I started to watch it incredulously, I went through laughter and anger, I drew my conclusions and ended up turning off the TV.

I have been talking to the TV for a while now; it has become a private hobby. It's my way of establishing a genuine squabble with the status quo: they talk and I answer, it's a lot of fun. The only one I don't talk to is Randy*, because that would be stooping too low.

So the guy was very clear, even speaking in an unofficial capacity. By coincidence, he takes the same bus I take and at the same time. However, incomprehensible paradox, he has no problems getting on, is never late, and the bus is half empty. I decided that perhaps he took it going in the opposite direction to mine, otherwise, I would have to assume that he and I live in parallel worlds: in my world, the P4, if it comes, is packed and sometimes I cannot get on; in his, the Vedado-Beach route is a pleasant tour.

But that was not all, he then did some weird figuring. Apparently, the number of passengers using public transportation has increased by 50% across Cuba thanks to an increase in vehicles (we do not know what percentage represented the previous calculations, nor the date used to mark the difference between the two). Later, he said that in Ciudad-Habana there was an increase of 48%. He did not say how much it had increased for the rest of Cuba, so I wondered what was represented by that 50 on a national level if we remove Havana.

He confessed, dismayed, that, incomprehensibly, and in spite of the increase in buses and conditions, inter-provincial travel had declined. Perhaps the analysts were so overwhelmed with the numbers that they forgot that fares for those buses almost tripled, and traveling from the provinces to Havana is very complicated if you do not make clear exactly why you are going, for how long, and where you will be staying.

He saved the best for his very comprehensive closing, concluding that people arrive late at work because they do not plan well (this is not a joke, I'm quoting him verbatim) and he wisely advised us to take action (I guess that such ineptitude does not correspond with this people).

You have to have a real stone face to say this on open Cuban television. Frankly, I hope he gets a car soon, and that they give him a promotion and another task, even if it's a more obscure one than this, at least that way we would be liberated from his absurd morning reprimands.

* Translator's note: Cuban 'journalist' Randy Alonso, hosts the nightly "Round Table" program.

Crossing the Rubicon

Photo: "Civic Ghosts,” Performance Group Omni-Zona Franca, 2003, La Habana.

I still believe, and always will believe, that “Boring Home” was a victory over censorship, and I like to think even over State Security, because for the first time they couldn’t take their clubs to the “strange kids.” But I don’t think I should get carried way by the euphoria of an event that doesn’t imply a change in government policy towards those of us who are different: we dream of change, we hope one day to have the freedom to think, to choose, to say, to work and to dissent.

Orlando continues to receive calls, this time they say they will not forget him, and even that they are going to kick his face in that earliest opportunity. Yoani continues living in the state of siege they’ve installed at her building, where two muscular weight-lifting types pass their days with two objectives: to intimidate her and her entire family and, incidentally, the entire neighborhood, and to report on her activities. Gorki received information through a supportive neighbor that Security has ordered them to report on his every move. And finally, demonstrating their filthy techniques, they have called in the husband of Miriam Celaya of the blog Sin Evasion [Without Evasion]. Not only have they interrogated a person who has never dissented, at least not publicly, but they have threatened him: his work, his family, his children. And I know of others who have been intimidated in these last few months, but they’ve preferred to consider it a random act and haven’t reported it, which I think is a mistake, because with this government and all, I believe, we've crossed the Rubicon.

And not only have we crossed our own Rubicon, but we’ve dragged our friends and families across with us, despite our best efforts not to. As Miriam said, “Just a sample of this despicable and sordid system, with a total disregard for family values, the true face of Cuban socialism.”

Notwithstanding all these things, we continue to be different (the government’s teaching falls on deaf ears with us). We continue our blogger meetings, which even more than a blogger journey, seem to me now to be a blogging-cultural journey, if such a thing exists. We look at documentary photographs and last week, amid the preparations for the not-boring release of Boring Home, the artists of Omni-Zona Franca honored our space with the premiere of one of their documentaries. I have chosen photos of them to lighten, a bit, the sadness out of this post.

Photo: "Three hours of speech," Performance of the group Omni-Zona Franca, 2004, Santiago de Cuba.

The Grand Maestro of ethics

Photo: Erazm Ciolek
Text: La Salamandra Blanca

It turns out he’s taken up his Reflections again. But this time with a force that tries to keeps up a chatter with the United States. In one form or another he always draws on topics that question the approach of the government of a country that it seems he once vowed, in secret or not, to make “war” on until the end of his days.

He complains that they’ve imposed an economic blockade on us for more than 50 years and it really seems that everything he does is designed to provoke them more and more to want to keep it. We know it would be convenient for him because the Blockade has come to bear the blame for creating hunger and scarcity, and served to justify the general blockade that we have inside the country that has produced many of our disasters.

The Reflections of Thursday, February 5th, “The contradictions between the politics of Obama and his ethics,” is formulaic, with approximately 14 questions to consider about the president. Once again he tries to remind him and, also clearly, us, about every bad thing the government of this country historically has done to Cuba and the rest of the world. Almost a full page asks if Obama is right or fair, this and that, and all that he, the Grand Maestro of ethics, wants to debate and call into question in the eyes of others.

And what is fair and right here, when will he engage in self-examination and see himself as we, the ones below, the ones on foot, see him? Or is it that his ego even now doesn’t allow it?

Doesn’t he realize that we’re no longer interested in knowing any more about what the president of the United States does or doesn’t say or do, but in what they have done here, in this country, he and his government, and what they are doing or will do to resolve what really concerns us? He writes of protecting Humanity from the deterioration of the climate, but doesn’t talk about the part of Humanity that lives in this country and the pure deterioration, through no fault of the climate precisely.

Why isn’t it the role of the great sacred figure, internationally important, questioning the dignity of others, and always referring to his interest in Humanity, to publicly reflect every day, asking those questions that he says have “no easy answers.” Above all about what we want to know, have, change and see here.

What did he do for us in 50 years of absolute power? And I ask you, please talk about more than the usual, agrarian reform, literacy campaign, “free” medicine and education, that is all water under the bridge. We live now in other times, other needs, another way of thinking and of life, we are OTHERS, I mean new, different, distinct. Enough of only living in the memory of disasters overcome and resolved by the Revolution, which soon ceased to be revolutionary.

He commits no sin, he says, modestly presenting his ideas. But he doesn’t allow anyone else to express theirs, also free and modestly (unless it’s to criticize the United States), much less if it’s to question anything in this county and very much less if it’s to make it public, because he imposes censorship, or here comes the tattletale without any ethical issues and almost ubiquitous powers and a cell phone designed to make an urgent call to the police, and having freedom of expression (even if you’re wearing in a suit) is only a dream turned into a nightmare where you wake up in jail, or at least with a warning and a fine.

I could pen some reflections with the title: The contradictions between Fidel’s politics and his ethics. Where I would also ask the Maestro his own question: “Is it right to promise a reconciliation of such contradictory and antagonistic interests without transgressing ethics?”