Economics With A Face

We entered a small apartment and before we knew it we were seated, a hearty plate of fried chicken, rice, sweet potatoes and cucumbers in front of us. An older senora and a younger duena prepared the food while a few other cubanos and Raul spoke together in quick heavily accented Spanish. At first no one spoke directly to us. Peter found a bayleaf on his plate, used to flavor the rice, and to make conversation mentioned that trees of bay leaves grew near his home in California. Instantly it struck a nerve with a young man next to us, an enfermero. He exclaimed how these leaves were incredibly expensive for Cubans to purchase, three for 1 peso convertible (equivalent to $1 US). He explained that his monthly salary was only 14 pesos convertibles. What followed was a frustrated tirade against the way of life for ordinary Cubans under Castro’s system. We quickly realized that while we were paying 5 pesos convertibles each for our meals, the price for the Cubans next to us were much lower—they had to be. And that it did not go unnoticed what tourists were willing and could afford to pay for such meals. The conversation continued between the customers, while we sat trying to understand every word. It was emphasized how certain rights that were afforded to tourists were off-limits to regular cubanos. It was clear to these Cubans that something was wrong with their system. This became clearer to us too, as the day went on.

We repaid Raul by treating him to a few mojitos at a tourist bar. He invited us later to the malecon, the sea wall, for drinks with his friends that night. We were happy to accept. However, after the first few drinks, we soon realized that we were expected to pay for all, as they would never be able to afford tourist prices for this kind of entertainment. It became clear that it wasn’t easy, or even legal, for Cubans to interact with tourists unofficially. Selling goods and services independantly is tightly tightly controlled, and so, save having an official job at a hotel or restaurant, it seemed there was no other way to benefit from the tourist industry except to sell themselves and to scam. Jintaneros, these scammers are called. They are everywhere. They are your best buddy, showing you around town and all the while milking you for all they can get.

Our experiences of the first day were typical and atypical all at the same time. Typical that we were targeted by jintaneros and spent a lot of money as a result…mojitos, cuba libres, bottle of rum, bucaneros (the local beer), taxi rides and much more, and in the end felt a bit cheated and were wary of those types the rest of the week. Atypical because we were fortunate to drop in on a real conversation in a real apartment with Cubans who are of a younger generation. These Cubans don’t fit comfortably or willingly into the system. Stuck in a crumbling situation between communism and the tourist industry. Free to see the fruits of capitalism but not allowed the basic tools to partake or attempt to better their lives. Thought to be criminals before committing a crime; living in poverty while others around them are able to benefit from the few choice jobs available as a result of the tourist industry.

My impressions of the backstreets of Havana: devastatingly hot; colorful; uneven, torn-up pavement; narrow mazes; roaring car from another eras; refuse in the street; stagnant sewer water; buildings with beautiful decorative terraces crumbling; clothes drying; dark entrances leading into the unknown; Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” blasting; no visible local businesses—I suspect that they are there hidden behind the dark entrances. No tourists, but lots of Cubanos—all shapes, ages, colors—all keep an eye on us. We walk quickly behind Raul who greets everyone. These streets in Centro y Habana Viejo are crammed with Cubanos in slum like conditions—they all are guaranteed housing, but the housing is falling apart. With Raul, no one propositions us. Without him, it’s a constant: “Cigar?” “Somewhere to eat?” “Where you from?” “Casa particular?”. All jintaneros. Dogs everywhere. My heart aches for these people. Oppressive but real.

Interspersed between these streets are the tourist areas of old Havana. Connecting Prado with Havana Vieja is Calle Obispo—a neat thoroughfare paved with cobblestones. No cars allowed. Lined with businesses for the tourists. State-run restaurants and bars in renovated beautiful buildings. Hotels owned by Europeans. Young police hanging at every corner. Tourists everywhere. Hemingway this, Hemingway that. We step into a hotel courtyard bar to have a drink and cool off. It is beautiful and lush and bright. Peacocks and parakeets; clean and fresh. A duo begins to play festive Cuban music—wonderful and perfectly placed. We buy a CD. One song is entitled Comandante Hasta Siempre (Forever Comandante), referring to Fidel. We continue walking the perfectly maintained Havana Vieja cobblestone streets to touristy Plaza de Armas, known for its bookstalls. The center of the plaza is green and lush. The bookstalls contain old encyclopedias, lots of Hemingway, and overwhelmingly, out-of-print books written by and highlighting Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, CIA conspiracy theories, Marx’s Das Kapital, volumes 1, 2 and 3. Tons and tons of books of these types: Fidel, Che, Marx, Lenin, the Imperialist U.S., over and over and over again. All have a weathered quality to them—as if attempting to keep an old, overworked idea/fantasy alive. All quaintly surround the square. All are there for tourists—and only tourists—to buy. La Revolucion for sale. Fidel’s no fool; he knows that tourists can’t get enough of it. An old man was selling the Cuban newspaper “Granma” in all languages for 1 peso convertible each. I bought an English version. On the back page was a huge spread with the headline “The Truth about the So-called Independent Libraries”. I’d heard about this…Fidel had proclaimed to the world, “No books are banned in Cuba.” Several casa particulares had started libraries in their homes, materials collected from visitors between 2001 and 2003. In 2003, the state cracked down on them and those who had housed the collections were arrested. “Granma” claimed that these materials were all brought in by Miami US-Cuban Interests groups intent on causing terrorism in Cuba. It claimed that no Cubans had admitted using these collections. (Why would they?) Elsewhere, I had seen a Cuban government poster with the slogan “Las ideas son armas poderosas” (Ideas are powerful weapons). It was no coincidence that here we were in Plaza de Armas, known for its books, and apparently, for its ideas.. However, to me, it seemed as though only one kind of idea was present and sold in the Plaza. And other ideas, other powerful and possible ideas, were being stifled.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)