Cuba Battling Ruin

“Where are you from?” asked our Don Juan-type guide on the narrow street where centuries and continents collided, in baroque decorated buildings and squares that could belong to an old European city, sometimes Sicily, Nice or Barcelona. The light is Caribbean.

Women leaned over a baroque Moorish inspired Spanish colonial sixteenth century balcony hung with bleached whitewashing, looked over brightly painted American convertibles with the exaggerated flair of the 50s (they are recycled, the engine changed the frame kept), a man clutched at his chickens in a horse-drawn carriage, a group of older men played dominoes, a blind Rasta’s face lit up at the sound of a violin and groped his way towards the music, and two girls stared at a mobile phone.

“You heard of the Trinidad Carnival?” “Never heard of it. But I am sure Rio is better.” “The greatest show on earth,” I said, tailing off. He was not interested. He was keen on showing us the restoration in old Havana being done on such a massive scale that thousands of students are being trained in the restoration of that period of architecture.

We whipped through the tour of a city which was an assault on the senses with its ancient rows of balconied apartments, magnificent plazas, and monuments, from the white-columned Grand Theatre, and El Capitolio with its imposing cupola, to dozens of parks and museums, including– Ambos Mundos, once occupied by Hemmingway.

So here is a sprawling mansion built by the American mafia in the 40s where 20 families now live after Castro confiscated it. Here a 16th-century convent with coral walls is now a music school for children. Here is a spectacular cathedral with stained glass windows. The State doesn’t encourage religion but doesn’t stop it either.

He pointed out a few “ugly buildings” built by the Americans including a stunning convent razed down to make a casino. “Thank God Castro stopped all that. We had no money, so a trick of history preserved our heritage.

“Our motto is “All are for all.” Before Castro, a few people had most of the wealth. Now it’s shared with the poor. Don’t think of us like communists. There are countries who live from the waist down and those that live from the waist up. Castro banned prostitution, pornography, and gambling after the Americans left. We all sacrifice for one another for the greater good.

“Is your country better than ours?” I was at a loss for words. “It’s true, housing is a problem. There are no banks and two separate currencies, one for tourists and another for locals. People deal in cash. There is black market trading and shops are empty. But food, education, and housing are provided for all. No illegal guns have entered this State for 62 years. We’ve had problems with the drug trade but there is no violent crime here. Our people are perfectly safe.”

When the guide stopped to speak to the old woman who stood by the garden walls near a bust of Gabriel Garcia Marquez to feed a multitude of cats now all about her in the warm gold light of the cool evening, I had entered this world of magic realism.

Later, in Revolution Square, he told us that one million people gathered both for Castro and Pope Francis, both of whom the people love.

It’s difficult not to be perpetually astonished by Cuba. Sixty years of American economic sanctions, depending on the now combusting Venezuela for oil and highspeed cable, the Russians for transport, short of foreign exchange, struggling to build manufacturing and industry without trade could have destroyed the place.

Castro ingeniously used human capital to make something out of nothing. For an island of 11 million inhabitants, there are 60 free universities, churning out doctors who are now in 67 countries worldwide. With the highest ratio of patient to doctors in the region, Cubans have a greater life expectancy even than the US.

Everyone I spoke to in Cuba—African, European or mixed descent, felt equal. There were reports of human rights violations under Castro, but it feels tragic that just as Cubans are ready to open up to the world, under president Miguel Díaz-Canel, Trump is preparing to squeeze them some more.

Now hearing the sweet strong voice of the old lady singing in a cramped room, as ghostly figures walked along the dimly lit street smelling of the city’s detritus and smoke, I see that Cuba is valiantly battling ruin, yearning for more, holding fast to its ideals of looking after the most vulnerable.

Cuba is a big brother we should embrace.