CUBA: In Transition?
Pathways to Renewal,
Long-Term Development
and Global Reintegration
Edited by
Mauricio A. Font
with the assistance of Scott Larson
Bildner Center for Western Hemisphere Studies
The Graduate Center, The City University of New York
Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
Part I: Prospects for Economic Evolution
1
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
Archibald R.M. Ritter
2
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
3
Reorientation in Agriculture
Japji Anna Bas
4
Workers Control in the 1990s
Sean Herlihy
5
The Future of Health in Cuba
Traci Potterf
6
The Island’s Healthcare Legacy
Robert Huish
7
‘ Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
Emma Phillips
8
Opportunities and Implications
Eloise Linger
Part II: Cuba in Comparative Perspective
9
Economic Reform in Cuba and China
Adrian Hearn
10
Economic Transition in Comparision
Enrique Pumar
11
Globalization in Havana and Moscow
Mervyn Bain
12
Caribbean Influence on Cuban Transition
Jorge Luis Romeu
Part III: Changing Institutions
13
International Networks and Change
Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
14
Analysis of Cuban Social Capital
Jorge Sanguinetty
15
Examining Cuban Civil Society
Bea Reaud
iii
v
vii
3
25
51
71
83
95
107
125
143
159
175
189
197
217
231
iv
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
Juan Orlando Pérez González
Internet Policy and User’s Practices
Iris Cepero
Improvements in the Cuban Legal System
James Manahan
Part IV: Making Material Culture
Art in a Changing Cuba
Natania Remba
Material Culture Across Revolutions
Raúl Rubio
Jésus Díaz Rewrites Cuban Exile
Antonio Daniel Gómez
Dissonanance in the Revolution
Juan Carlos Albarrán
247
265
277
285
293
309
315
Figures
2-1.
2-2.
2-3.
2-4.
8-1.
8-2.
13.1
Oil Facilities in Cuba
North Cuban Heavy Oil Belt
Cuba’s Exclusive Economic Zone for Oil Exploration
Cuba’s Proven Oil Reserve
Malnourishment in Four Countries
Cuba’s Real GDP
TANs in Cuba
v
37
39
41
43
126
133
202
vii
Tables
2-1.
2-2.
4-1.
8-1.
8-2.
8-3.
10-1.
10-2.
13-1.
Criteria for Sustainable Energy Development
Energy and Electricity Use
Worksites Observed
Nickel Production
Sherritt Income From Nickel
Real GDP vs. Cuba’s ‘Sustainable Social’ Measure
The Extent of Political Reforms
Basic Human Development Indicators
Awards Given to Opposition Movement Members
32
36
73
128
128
133
166
170
203
Part I
Prospects for
Economic Evolution
CHAPTER 1
Cuba’s Economic
Reorientation
Archibald R. M. Ritter
Cuba’s strategy for its economic development is in the process of reformulation.1 The “grand design” that predominated since the ending of the special
relationship with the former Soviet Union has essentially been terminated.
The basic features of a new strategy are now becoming apparent, though a
definitive delineation is not possible yet. There has been no official statement
announcing an explicit new “grand design” for Cuba’s economic development. In this essay, an attempt is made to sketch a broad outline of the strategy on the basis of incomplete information; essentially “connecting the dots”
to try to envision the “big picture.” The nature of this strategy is analyzed,
following a brief discussion of its roots. Some of the major challenges and
problems that will shape the success of the new strategy are explored as well.
There are three formative influences on new “grand design” for economic
development. First, while it did not emerge full-blown from the mind of President Castro, his vision for the future of Cuba is important in shaping most
public policies in Cuba and has been central to the reformulation of the current development strategy. Second, the new strategy is also a response to
Cuba’s new position in a changing international geo-political environment.
Third, it is also based on the economic recovery that has occurred since the
depths of the economic contraction of 1990-1993 together.
The central feature of the “grand design” is a new basis for the generation
of foreign exchange earnings now emphasizing nickel, medical and educational services, and, in time, perhaps petroleum. It emphasizes Cuba as a
“knowledge economy and society” producing high value services for Latin
America and the world. The older economic foundation—remittances, tour1. I am very grateful to Dr. Jorge Mario Sanchez of the Centro de Estudios sobre Los Estados Unidos, Universidad de La Habana, who noted the switch to a new development strategy in a personal conversation on February 23 2006. The interpretations and analyses in
this essay are solely those of the author.
3
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Archibald R.M. Ritter
ism and lesser merchandise exports—will of course continue, but are being
given less emphasis. The new economic master-plan also includes a stronger
centralized control of the economy as well as “socialist purification” and a
shoring up of the basic infrastructure necessary for sustained economic
expansion and prosperity, so far emphasizing the energy sector.
The New Development Strategy
President Castro’s Vision
As he enters the ninth decade of his life, President Castro must be concerned
about his “legacy.” Even as early as 1953, the last sentence of his self defense
in court (and the title of the book that was a write-up of that speech) was
“History will absolve me.” But will History absolve Fidel Castro? Historians
and others will debate this for many years. While Castro does not seem to be
prone to self doubt, it is likely that he would be happy to be remembered well
in future by historians and by the Cuban people. In his view History may be
less likely to absolve him if Cuba is left in a shambles and if his visions are
quickly abandoned after his demise. Perhaps for these reasons, Castro now
seems to be trying to put the Cuban Revolution and the Cuban people back
“on track,” from his perspective, of course. His legacy seems to be to “lock
in” his priorities and his vision for Cuba’s future and to create a strong and
sustainable economic foundation for his version of socialism.
What is Castro’s vision for the future? There seems to be no single speech
or writing in which President Castro has explicitly presented this vision. But,
while he has not articulated a vision in a comprehensive and coherent manner, he has expressed his views in a piecemeal and stream-of-consciousness
manner on numerous occasions. Especially significant in this respect was his
speech of the 17th of November 2005 to 405 students in the Aula Magna of
the University of Havana.
An analysis of some of the central ideas from various speeches as well as
actual policy changes allows one to piece together some of the main elements
of Castro’s grand design for Cuba’s future. The main elements of his vision
would likely include the following:
Personal and national leadership in a renewed Latin American and perhaps
developing country campaign against “neo-liberal globalization,” the United
States, and capitalist imperialism, all three being considered to be tightly
interconnected;
Irrevocable “Socialism” for Cuba; together with continuity under the leadership of the Communist Party and true to Castro’s own ideology and vision for
Cuba;
Re-ordering of Cuba’s place in the international system;
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
5
Socio-economic purification of the negative types of behavior of Cuban citizens, such as economic illegalities, corruption, private economic activities;
A return to economic prosperity and improved levels of economic well-being
of citizens;
Building on Cuba’s past successes in health and education to strengthen a
“knowledge economy” that will serve as the new source of Cuba’s international competitive advantage.
This vision provides some of the broad parameters for the development
strategy that has emerged in the period 2002 to 2006.
The New Geopolitical Context
The international geo-political environment has changed with surprising
rapidity in the new Millennium. This has created part of the context in which
Castro’s vision has evolved and Cuba’s development strategy has been reformulated.
Specifically, in Latin America, the basic geo-political reality has shifted
and now provides an opening for Cuba. President Chavez of Venezuela
favors Castro’s international political aspirations and views and provides economic support and subsidization for Cuba through low-cost oil exports, credits, and foreign exchange earnings for Cuban exports of medical services.
Evo Morales of Bolivia seems to share Castro’s views of the world. After
assuming the Presidency, Cuba was the first country he visited. He signed a
major accord with Cuba and Venezuela calling for co-operation and collaboration in a wide variety of areas (Agreement, April 29, 2006.) Were Ollanta
Humala to win the Presidency of Peru, he would provide a fourth likeminded partner. The Governments of Argentina and Uruguay are of a somewhat similar stripe, though both are likely to keep their distance. Mexico,
with a possible presidential victory by Lopez-Obrador would fit into the Castro/Chavez/Morales circle, though constrained by the close ties with the
United States. The center-left social democratic regimes of Chile, Brazil and
the English-speaking Caribbean will likely continue to go their own ways,
though with varying degrees of sympathy for the Cub/Venezuela/Bolivia
axis. Together with all of this is a swing of the pendulum in Latin America
against the perceived failures of the “neo-liberal” experience of the 1990s,
and against the United States as a leading purveyor of that approach.
An important component of Cuba’s new place in Latin America is the
“Agreement for the Application of the Bolivarian Alternative for the Peoples
of our America and the Peoples’ Trade Agreements” signed by Presidents
Castro, Chavez and Morales on April 29, 2006. This agreement calls for cooperation and integration between the three countries in health, trade, techno-
6
Archibald R.M. Ritter
logical transfer, joint ventures of various sorts, energy, culture and sports
among other things. The elements of the agreement could be beneficial to all
parties but especially to Bolivia. If this process works as envisaged, it may be
attractive to other nations in the region, such as Peru and Ecuador.
Cuba’s development assistance activities have been instrumental in winning support from a variety of countries in Latin America and the Caribbean
as well as Pakistan and some countries in Africa. Medical attention provided
by Cuban medical personnel in the Caribbean and medical education for Caribbean students, have been valuable for these countries and their citizens.
This has contributed substantially to a warming and an intensification of relations between Cuba on the one hand and Haiti and the English language
countries on the other, despite relatively little increase in trade or other types
of interaction. (Maingot, 2006)
A new actor of relevance for Cuba is China, which has provided credits
for the purchase of trains and busses and which has become a major trading
partner. China may invest up to US$500 million in nickel extraction and
refining for importation into China as well. (Grogg, 2006) Cuba is, in effect,
hitched to the Chinese economic locomotive. A possibility that is attractive
for Cuba is to become an assembly and manufacturing centre and a trade hub
or depot for China in the broader Caribbean and perhaps Atlantic areas of
Latin America. China’s political regime is much like that of Cuba, though
without the larger-than-life presence of the “founder” of current political system. China has a like-minded approach to human rights issues and is not
likely to challenge Cuba in these areas the way Canada and the European
countries have done.
Finally, the United States is in trouble, internationally and domestically.
The problems of the United States are satisfying for President Castro. In the
international arena, the US is bogged down in the war in Iraq that is of dubious usefulness, expensive, and unpopular at home and abroad. The war has
caused a major loss of reputation and moral authority in much of the world,
and has absorbed the attention and resources that could have gone for other
purposes. Financially, the US is incapacitated due to the immense public deficits and debt, and to the continuing external trade and current account deficits. It is now clear that the end of the Cold War has given small countries
greater freedom to go their own way against the wishes of the United States,
as such independence no longer implies befriending its enemy (Castaneda,
2006.)
In summary, Cuba’s new geo-political situation presents it with some
major advantages, namely expanded exports of health and education services,
security of energy supplies at a subsidized price and on credit, and Chinese
investment, credits and trade. All of these support an economic recovery for
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
7
Cuba. The age-old ambition to strengthen economic and political ties with
Latin America appears to be coming to fruition in a surprising but productive
way for Cuba. Cuba is now part of a group of like-minded countries, following over a decade of orphanage after the demise of the Soviet Union and
being “out of synch” with much of the world from about 1992 to 2000.
Economic Recuperation.
A further reason why a new development strategy has emerged is the significant economic recovery that has occurred. By the end of 2006, and accepting
Cuba’s official growth rate of 11.8 percent for 2005 and President Castro’s
estimate of 12.5 percent for 2006, Gross Domestic Product per capita (GDP
pc) would have surpassed the pre-crisis level of 1989 by almost 14 percent.
(These GDP numbers are exaggerated however, and have not been accepted
by the UN CEPAL as accurate.) A more realistic estimate for 2005 and prediction for 2006 are those of The Economist, placed at 5.2 percent and 4.5
percent respectively. GDP pc would have almost reached the 1989 level, falling short by 0.04 percent. In any case, it is clear that Cuba’s growth rate is on
a positive trajectory. (These calculations are based on data from UN CEPAL
2004, UN CEPAL, 1997 Cuadro A.1. and The Economist, p. 41.) As well,
both exports and imports have recovered dramatically vis-à-vis the worst
year, 1993, though not to the levels prior to the end of the special relationship
with the USSR.
The economic recovery makes it increasingly easier for President Castro
to contain and reverse the decentralizing reforms of 1992 to 1994. As early as
April 4, 1997, Castro expressed his displeasure with the basic reforms and
implied that they would be transitory, so that it has been a matter of time
before a process of reform reversal got underway. (Castro, 1997)
The New Development Strategy
A New Export Foundation for the Economy
A central constraint on Cuba’s economic well-being since 1950 has been its
weakness in earning foreign exchange from the export of goods and services.
This has been painfully clear in the 1961 to 1970 period and again from 1990
to the present, though the special relationship with the Soviet Union reduced
its immediacy from about 1970 to 1990. For a small country, foreign
exchange earnings constitute the economic foundation for continuing economic and social improvement. It is imperative that Cuba develop such
export activities.
From 1990 to 2005, Cuba sought to increase foreign exchange earnings
principally from an expansion of tourism, remittances from former Cubans
8
Archibald R.M. Ritter
living abroad and growing nickel exports. Sugar, rum, tobacco products, biotechnological exports and a few smaller exports also made a contribution.
This was supplemented with direct investment within joint venture arrangements and five export processing zones. Cuba also successfully reduced the
need to import petroleum through increases in the domestic extraction of
petroleum and natural gas.
By 2006, Cuba had re-oriented its drive to earn and conserve foreign
exchange. The foreign exchange locomotives for the economy are or will be
medical services, petroleum processing and exportation and possible future
petroleum extraction, with some possible increases in nickel, bio-technological products and tourism. The drive to increase foreign investment has
waned, though new inflows are still being promoted in petroleum, nickel, and
now, the sugar sector. The export processing zones have not been successful
and are being de-emphasized.
Nickel continues to be a key prospect, with increased extraction and processing likely to occur as a result of investments of US$450 from Sherritt of
Canada for an expansion of the Moa refinery and US$500 million from
China. However, nickel prices are unlikely to remain as high as they were in
2006, because nickel supplies will increase in the near future. (Four major
new projects are slated to come on stream in the next few years, the Cuban
expansion projects will likely go ahead, and there are some 13 projects with
development plans likely to bring them on-stream by 2012. (Sturk, 2006) For
this reason, nickel will be a major export earner, but perhaps less than one
might imagine in the high price era of 2005-06.
Sugar exports will continue, mainly for the Chinese market. Starting from
the low level of around 500,000 tons in 2005 and 2006, they will probably
recover slightly in the next few years to 1.5 or 2.5 million tons. Tobacco,
rum, and shellfish exports also should continue, but at low levels. Remittances can be expected to continue, but perhaps at a declining rate unless
there are new surges of emigration from the island or unless the economy
goes into a downward trend. Tourism should remain buoyant with a new
emphasis on Venezuelan and Chinese tourists, but with reduced relative reliance placed upon it in future. The renewal of state trading within the Venezuela-Cuba-Bolivia Trade Agreement of 2006 may lead to some diversification
and expansion of exports. However, a significant diversification of merchandise exports is unlikely to occur until the exchange rate regime is repaired
and rationalized.
A major new export prospect is the exportation of medical services. Cuba
has turned its large surplus of doctors2 into a foreign exchange earning
resource, sending medical personnel to Venezuela and elsewhere and with
Venezuelan and other foreign nationals obtaining medical attention in Cuba.
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
9
A portion of such services are provided as development assistance to recipient countries and individuals in both the Caribbean and some parts of Latin
America and Africa as well as to the earthquake regions of Pakistan. To handle increasing numbers of “medical tourists,” Cuba has converted secondary
schools and residences in the countryside that are no longer used due to the
reduced numbers of young people requiring education, reflecting the declining fertility rate of the last 20 years, to medical centres. This is an effective
and low cost means of expanding medical and residential facilities. Such
“medical tourism” may be significant for some years or even a decade, but
perhaps does not have a long term future as Latin American countries build
their own medical capabilities. However, Cuba may have a future role as the
educator of foreign doctors, specialists and other medical personnel for those
countries, principally in Africa, that have underdeveloped health systems and
personnel shortages. Linked to the provision of such medical services is
access to Cuban-made medicines. Provision of medical services abroad, as
assistance or commercially, may help develop markets for Cuban pharmaceuticals.
An additional component for Cuba’s export sector will be petroleum processing and perhaps in time, oil exports. Cuba and Venezuela have reached an
agreement to invest US$800 to US$1,000 million to refurbish and complete
the old Soviet era petroleum refinery in Cienfuegos. (FOCAL, April, 2006) It
will refine Venezuelan crude oil into derivatives for sale in the Caribbean
region. If the subsidization of petroleum that Venezuela is offering the Caribbean countries continues, the prospects for market expansion in the region
may be good, (though with negative consequences for Trinidad and Tobago,
currently a supplier to the region).
Recent petroleum discoveries in deep waters off the Cuban north-west
coast provide indications of substantial reserves. Some 16 sub-areas are currently being explored in detail by Canadian and Chinese firms, with Spanish,
Norwegian and Indian firms also planning exploration. Whether sufficient
reserves are “proved up” so that development takes place is not clear. If oil
prices remain high, extraction may be viable despite the high costs of deep
water extraction. It is conceivable that Cuba may become a net oil exporter,
though its current petroleum security with Venezuela makes self-sufficiency
and exportation less imperative.
2. In the late 1990s, small hotels such as the Colina and the Deauville had their own
doctor and nurse, and nursery schools had their own doctors. Cuba has by far the most doctors per capita of any country in the world, at 591 physicians per 100,000 persons in comparison with 209 for Canada, 356 for Norway and 549 for the U.S.A. (UNDP, 2005, p. 236.)
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Archibald R.M. Ritter
A Knowledge Economy and Society
In keeping with President Castro’s intensifying enthusiasm for higher education, Cuba has expanded the educational system at the post-secondary level.
The objective is to upgrade the quality of human resources to the highest levels as quickly as possible, in order to re-orient Cuba’s trajectory into that of a
knowledge-based economy rather than a resource, agriculture, or tourism
based economy. This will permit Cuba to expand its medical service exports
further, to provide medical education for ever larger numbers as students
from Latin America and elsewhere, and to move into educational service
exports more generally.
The recent expansion of the post-secondary educational system has been
rapid. According to President Castro, there are 958 university “campuses” in
Cuba, and an intention to develop “…1000 plus and the 2000 plus that we
shall quickly have,” with about 500,000 students and 122,000 professors.
(Castro, November 17, 2005, and May 1, 2006) The campuses include the
established universities, 169 municipal campuses of the universities, 169
public health campuses in each municipality, 240 sports campuses under the
national sports federation INDER, 130 campuses in a so-called Alvaro Reinoso grouping, including 84 in sugar mill towns and 18 in prisons. Castro
also stated that “….in a few short years there will be 100,000 doctors. When
those are not enough there will be 150,000.” (Castro, November 17, 2005,
and May 1, 2006)
“Many who were part of the bureaucracy in the sugar mills and in other
areas are today teaching courses as associate professors, thus the number of
professors at the higher level has grown.” (Castro, November 17, 2005, and
May 1, 2006)The expansion of the post-secondary educational system is
impressive in quantitative terms. However, much of this alleged expansion
results from the re-labeling of sports and medical training facilities. Presumably and hopefully, some of the campuses are more like “community colleges” and small training centers rather than universities, especially those in
the former sugar mill towns and prisons, teaching trades and practical skills.
Quality levels have likely suffered in this expansion process. The caliber of
teaching must have declined at least for a transitional period, as new less
qualified people were incorporated into the professoriate. For example, in
Castro’s words, in some established universities such as the University of
Havana, recent graduates with a bachelor’s degree are kept on to work as university teachers.
Unfortunately, this heroic post-secondary expansion may be an indicator
of Castro’s old command economy fixation with quantitative targetry. It also
appears that Castro may lack an appreciation for the “law of diminishing
returns.” University graduates can be over-produced like anything else or any
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
11
other factor of production, so that their average value to society declines. For
example, if there are 958 post-secondary campuses with an intention to have
some 2000 in future, this amounts to about one campus for every 11,5000
people in the country moving to one for every 5,500 people. Is this reasonable? Many of the “campuses” at polyclinics or sports centers for example,
are campuses in name only. Similarly, the professor-student ratio would
appear to be 500,000 to 122,000 or 4.1 to 1, with many of the students being
part-time so that the ratio of full-time equivalent students per professor would
be a less. (Castro, May 1, 2006, and January 17, 2006) This appears to be an
extravagant use of trained personnel and their productivity would appear to
be low by international standards. In Canada in 2005, the student/faculty ratio
for full-time equivalent students was 21.9 to 1. (CAUT, 2006)
A further development in post-secondary education is the establishment
of a new University of Computational Science (Universidad de Ciencias de
Computacion) established in September 2002 at the former Lourdes military
base of the Soviet Union outside Havana. By January 2003 it had 2000 students. One of its initial focuses is on educational programming for literacy
and other training aimed at export markets.
Institutional Strategy
The new development strategy also includes some institutional dimensions,
such as a return to a more intense level of administrative centralization in the
economy, intensifying containment of self-employment, intensified patriarchal distribution of goods in the economy, and the Trabajadores Sociale.
Micro-enterprise has been subject to refusals to grant licenses to potential
entrepreneurs. Tightening regulations have shut many self-employed operations down. Punitive taxation makes survival difficult and impossible for
some.
Various measures to recentralize the economic administration have been
enacted, reducing the role of market forces and replacing them with bureaucratic control. Control of foreign exchange has been removed from state
enterprises and centralized under the Central Bank. Control of foreign trade
was removed from state enterprises and turned over to the Ministry of Trade.
The number of joint ventures with foreign enterprises has been reduced. It
can be convincingly argued that the underlying reason for these centralization
moves is to re-establish political control of the economy.
The distribution of a proportion of goods and services in Cuba has long
been characterized by political patronage. The allocation of housing and cars,
for example, has been based on political criteria. In work places as well,
when various types of durable products became available, the right to purchase them was determined by one’s work record, voluntary work, political
12
Archibald R.M. Ritter
reliability as well as need. In this way, the party could try to strengthen its
control of the citizenry. A reason why the government dislikes private enterprise in a market economy is that the individuals involved break their dependence on the Party, as they earn their own incomes and are no linger subject
to control or influence by their needs for material goods and services.
A somewhat different type of distribution process has been emphasized in
the latter part of 2005 and 2006. This system could be labeled a “patriarchal”
distribution of goods and services. In this system, the state, following the
announcements of President Castro, determines what people ostensibly need
and should have. It then physically removes the things it deems they should
not have and makes available the new products at subsidized prices. As part
of La Revolución Energetica, President Castro announced that all households
would have a pressure cooker and an electric rice cooker, provided at subsidized prices (the pressure cooker cost 150 pesos, a good deal but for many, a
major proportion of the average monthly income. The trabajadores sociales
then visited homes in Pinar del Rio and Havana Provinces to remove old light
bulbs and replace then with (weaker) fluorescent bulbs, and to remove energy
inefficient refrigerators, air conditioners and fans. Energy efficient fans and
refrigerators were then made available at low prices and on credit. The distribution of these products was announced by President Castro as if the products were gifts from the state if not from him. This is an interesting command
economy type of measure. However, this approach assumes that citizens can
not make intelligent choices for themselves and that the state must do this for
them. Similar, though perhaps slower results could have been obtained by
raising the energy prices, as was done, making energy-efficient products
available, and letting people make their own decisions. The patriarchal distribution approach appears to “infantilize” Cuban citizens, considering them as
being too irresponsible and unreliable to make their own choices and decisions.
A further institutional innovati0on of interest is the creation of the corps
of trabajadores sociales or social workers. Some 28,000 young high school
graduates, 72 percent female and mainly from Eastern Cuba, have been given
special training and are used to combat illegalities of various sorts, such as
the theft of gasoline and to undertake the household energy monitoring visits.
The “social workers” are housed in special facilities, with special transport
arrangements, dining arrangements etc. and special status. This is an interesting type of work creation process and some of the work that they do may be
useful. This represents a quasi military mode of labor mobilization, with a
corps that is available to undertake diverse tasks for the state. Whether this
mode of labor mobilization is useful and effective method in the longer term
remains to be seen.3
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
13
In summary, the Cuban institutional re-orientation has been characterized
by a more highly centralized and more tightly controlled economic system, in
terms of self-employment, the functioning of state enterprises, the distribution of goods and services, labor force mobilization and state control of citizens.
Rebuilding Basic Infrastructure: La Revolución
Energética
The deterioration of Cuba’s basic infrastructure is well known and obvious to
many casual observers. This includes housing, public buildings, schools,
waterworks, sewage systems, side-walks, streets, highways, public transportation (road and rail), and the electrical system. There are two main reasons
for this. First, maintenance has always been a problem in centrally planned
economies that place emphasis on new production and typically allocate
insufficient resources to maintenance. Second, in the difficult years from
1988 to 2000, maintenance and re-investment was postponed to release
resources for urgent new investments in tourism, for example. The result is
that almost all basic infrastructure is in bad shape. While maintenance and
reinvestment can be postponed, insufficient maintenance can also lead to the
premature demise of infrastructure of all types. The result in many parts of
Cuba is an electrical crisis, a housing crisis, a transportation crisis, a water
crisis, a sewage crisis, etc.
For electricity, the crisis was severe, as perennial break-downs and blackouts had became widespread and frequent. Maintenance and reinvestment
could no longer be postponed. The Year 2006 was then proclaimed as the
Year of the Energy Revolution.” On January 17, 2006, President Castro presented the main elements of his energy master-plan to the nation, stating:
“Pinar del Rio will no longer suffer black-outs. Who could have possibly
imagined that?” A few days later a black-out plunged Western Cuba into
darkness, Havana for a day and Pinar del Rio Province for about two weeks.
This was not an auspicious way to inaugurate La Revolución Energética.
Cuba has launched a major restructuring and reinvestment program in the
energy and especially electricity sector, long overdue. Castro’s design for the
sector is ambitious and innovative, and contains some valuable components.
However, there are questionable elements that are more in the tradition of
Castro’s flamboyant economic disasters, such as the instant industrialization
strategy of 1961-6 and the 10 million-ton sugar production strategy of 196470.
3.
Using the trabajadores sociales to pump gasoline to replace the pisteros or station
attendants who were fired for pilferage of gasoline does not appear to be a long term productive employment.
14
Archibald R.M. Ritter
The major symptom of Cuba’s energy crisis has been the innumerable
black-outs, some resulting from hurricanes but many from equipment failures
and still more from supply rationing when demand exceeds generation capacity. Regardless of the causes, the results include shut-downs of economic
activity, the loss of food in people’s refrigerators, and discomfort in the heat
of summer.
The roots of the energy problem lay in recent economic history. From
1962-1992, Cuba’s energy came mainly from petroleum imported from the
Soviet Union at heavily subsidized prices after 1973. Low prices produced a
culture of wasteful consumption in residential, transportation and industrial
usage. The 75-percent reduction of foreign exchange earnings when the
Soviet Union stopped subsidizing the Cuban economy then led to an approximate 50 percent cut in oil imports and to further contraction of reinvestment
and maintenance. Unfortunately the US$2 to US$3 billion investment in the
Cienfuegos thermo-nuclear electrical plant in the 1980s was a total waste of
resources, as it will probably never be completed. It is 80 percent complete
and the estimated cost of completion was US$700 million in 2001 (UN
ECLAC, 2001: 332.)
The availability of primary energy from sugar production was also
reduced by 69 percent from 1990 to 2004, resulting from the reductions of
sugar production, the dismantling of some half of the sugar mills and the
moth-balling of another 30 in 2003. (ONE, 2006) While much of this primary
energy was used in the sugar sector itself, its reduced supply led to reductions
in electricity contributed to the national electrical grid. Perhaps worst of all,
the sector was not allocated the foreign exchange it needed to purchase the
imports required for reinvestment and maintenance in generation and transmission capacity.
President Castro approached the energy situation with a micro-managed
and quasi-military campaign. The advantage of this approach is that of the
command economy, namely rapid though simple actions. However, the
weaknesses are also those of the command economy: over-riding of people’s
decision-making based on their own perceived best interests, aborted gradualist learning-by-doing, and to an amplification of error.
The basic policy measures of the master-plan for the energy sector are as
follows:
a) Conservation: replacement of energy-inefficient light bulbs, fans, refrigerators etc. in peoples homes; Provision of lower-cost pressure-cookers and electric rice cookers, ultimately, for every home; Price increases for electrical use.
b) Increased Investment in Repair and Maintenance;
c) New Generating Capacity: Replacement of older thermal electric generating plants with hundreds of small generators spread around the Island and
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
15
increased gas-fired generating capacity; Installation of 4,900 emergency generators at polyclinics, hospitals, schools, tourist centres, food storage depots,
etc.; A break-up of the national electrical grid into provincial components;
Research in alternate energy sources: wind, solar and tides.
d) Exclusions from the Master-Plan: Cienfuegos nuclear generating plant: no
completion considered; out of sunch with Castro’s new “small is beautiful”
phases; No co-ordination of the sugar and energy sectors.
Some of the components of the program, such as the gas-fired electrical
generation and reduction of leakages from the electrical grid make sense. The
household conservation measures may be reasonable despite their mass
imposition.
The most questionable feature of the plan is the replacement of largescale thermal-electric plants with numerous small generators dispersed
around the Island. The rationale for this approach is to accelerate capacity
increases rather than wait for the six years required for a large plant. But the
use of the small-scale generators is also questionable, and may constitute a
colossal error for the following reasons:
the economies of large scale electricity generation will be lost;
expensive diesel fuel will be used rather than heavy oil;
diesel fuel will have to be transported to the generators around the island at
substantial cost;
significant investments for the storage and protection of diesel fuel in numerous supply depots will be necessary;
problems of pilferage of diesel fuel will be significant;
problems and costs of maintaining the numerous dispersed generators, especially the seldom used emergency back-up generators, will be high;
synchronizing the supply of electricity generated from numerous locations to
meet the minute-by-minute changes in electricity demand will be complicated;
logistical control and management costs will escalate as the national grid is
replaced with regional systems.
No other country in the world has adopted this method of generating electricity, suggesting that it does not make sense economically.
The energy master-plan ignores a role of the sugar sector in producing
ethanol and contributing to energy supplies. The experience of Brazil indicates that at higher petroleum prices, ethanol from sugar cane becomes economically viable. The shut-down of some 70 out of 156 Cuba’s sugar mills in
2003, the moth-balling of another 40 and the contraction of the whole sugar
agro-industrial-service cluster is a major loss for electricity generation.
16
Archibald R.M. Ritter
In summary, it is unclear whether La Revolución Energética will be a positive or negative element of Castro’s legacy to Cuba. Cuba now awaits similar campaigns or grand designs to deal with housing, water, sewerage, public
buildings, etc.
Renewed Sucrophilia?
Cuba has alternated from “sucro-phobia” to “sucro-philia” in its development
strategies a number of times since 1961. In the first strategy for economic
development in 1961 to 1963, sugar was de-emphasized completely and an
attempt was made to industrialize instantaneously. When this course of action
proved disastrous, Cuba shifted to “sugar as the engine of growth” strategy
for the 1964, 1970 period. Castro staked the “honour and prestige of the Revolution” on producing 10 million tons by 1970. When this proved disastrous,
a more balanced approach was followed for the next two decades, but with
the sugar sector as a “cash-cow” slowly being pushed into the ground.
In the 1992-2003 period, sugar continued as a “cash cow,” gradually
being milked to death, as foreign exchange earning was squeezed out of it
with little re-investment back into the sector, and with an exchange rate
regime that starved it of resources.4 A downward tendency for international
sugar prices from a high of US$0.13 cents per pound in 1990 to US$0.06 in
2003 did not help the sector, but prices were declining mainly because of
increased production and export market shares in higher-productivity countries such as Brazil, Australia, India and Thailand.
In 2003, a decision was reached to shut down much of the sector: 71 of
the 156 sugar mills were closed for dismantling, and only about 30 of the
remainder were actually in operation. The result has been a collapse of sugar
production to 1.3 million tons in 2005 and probably 1.2 in 2006, with
destruction of the economic base of the sugar mill towns,5 and major impacts
on regional development, employment and unemployment patterns, and the
viability of the whole cluster of economic activities surrounding the sugar
sector.
The shut-down of the sugar sector appears to be an economic calamity for
Cuba, currently obscured by the profitable relationship with Venezuela and
the good news in some other areas of the economy. Billions of dollars in
export earnings have been lost as sugar production levels plummeted while
prices rose. Sugar prices will likely remain high as consumption in China,
4. Basically, $US1.00 sugar exported earned Cu Peso 1.00 for the sector, so that the sector always appeared to be inefficient and a drain on the national economy. In fact, if the
exchange rate had been even half that prevailing for Cuban citizens, i.e. around 26 pesos
per US dollar, the sector would have been highly profitable.
5. See J. Steinecke (2006) for a description of the impact of the closing of the sugar mill
on Hershey, a mill town between Havana and Matanzas.
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
17
India and other developing countries increases, as ethanol fuel from sugar
becomes competitive with higher petroleum prices, and as European producers try to wean themselves off their highly subsidization of sugar production.
Will this last round of “sucro-phobia” give way to a renewed “sucrophilia” if prices can be expected to remain higher for the above-mentioned
reasons? Should the sugar sector be integrated into the energy sector, with
ethanol and bio-diesel products and renewed electricity generation from
bagasse? Could the sugar sector recuperate even partially to an annual production level of 3.5 million tons, i.e. about half the level of the 1970s and
1980s? These are questions that pre-occupied Cuban policy makers in 2006.
(Marin, 2006) Indeed, the desire to revive the sector has intensified to the
degree that the Cuban government is for the first time seeking direct foreign
investment in sugar cultivation and milling, and in the production of ethanol,
alcohol, energy and other derivatives—not an endorsement of 47 years of
socialist management of the sector. (Frank, 2006) It is probable that Cuba
will in fact revive the sector at least to a reasonable capacity, perhaps around
3.5 million tons per year, with 40 to 60 mills in operation. The fundamental
economic potential for the sector given Cuba’s resource endowments is simply too positive to ignore.
Socialist Purification: Combating Economic
Illegalities and Corruption
Cuba is awash with economic illegalities. Here are a few that I have observed:
Security guards at cigar factory sell cigars to passersby;
Security guard at dollar store pilfers an item to sell to a client at 20 percent of
the official price;
An official uses a public car and chauffeur as a private vehicle for continuous
personal purposes;
A public official uses a public vehicle and its chauffeur as private property;
A legal bicycle repairman illegally sells replacement parts;
A taxi driver provides a ride with the meter off and for a fixed fee;
A foreign organization pays a salary supplement in Convertible Pesos to its
Cuban employees;
A citizen buys a birthday cake from an unlicensed baker;
A citizen sets up a satellite dish, receives foreign programming and provides
24 hour cable service to neighbors
These types of illegalities are pervasive and occur throughout the economy. Cuban citizens assert that everyone is involved. It is often stated that
18
Archibald R.M. Ritter
everything imaginable is available on the black market, via pilferage from the
state sector. An interesting example was mentioned by President Castro:
I recall, we were building an important biotechnological center in Bejucal.
There was a little cemetery close by. I was making my rounds, and one day I
passed by the cemetery. There I saw a colossal market where the construction
crew, both the foreman and many of the workers, had put up a market selling
cement, steel rods, wood, paint, you name it, all kinds of construction materials.
(Castro, 2005)
More recently the scale of gasoline theft became apparent when the gasoline attendants were replaced by the “social workers” leading to a doubling of
revenues from gasoline sales, according to Castro. (Castro, 2005)
Illegalities of these sorts have colonial roots in contraband trade with the
French, British and later the United States as well as with pirates and the evasion of various edicts and regulations from Spain.6 A large informal economy
existed in the 1950s attracting the attention of the 1951 IBRD (Truslow) Mission to Cuba. The central planning system itself fostered ubiquitous illegalities.7 There is also a “Common Property Resource Phenomenon” regarding
illegalities: state property is perceived as belonging to no one and to everyone
so that if one person does not help himself to it, someone else will. Arbitrage
between the old peso economy and the convertible peso economy is an additional factor. And the limitations on legal micro-enterprise—restrictive
licensing, excruciating regulations and heavy taxation—forcing otherwise
legitimate enterprises into the underground economy. But most important is
economic necessity: illegal economic actions are necessary to survive. Why?
The central reason is that people earn Moneda Nacional or “old pesos” but
their earnings are insufficient to purchase the basic foodstuffs. People must
find additional income in “old pesos” or convertible pesos and resort to illegal actions to do so.
The consequences of these illegalities are complex and mixed. Truly
criminal activities such as the sale of jobs that earn good incomes and major
theft are socially and economically noxious. Low-level pilferage from the
enterprises and institutions is also noxious though necessary for people’s survival, and as a measure self defense in a dysfunctional economic system.8
6. The motto of the period was “Obedezco pero no cumplo,” or, “I obey but do not comply.”
7. The rationing system encouraged many people to become became mini-capitalist, selling those products they did not want and buying those they did, all on flourishing “black
markets.” Enterprise managers also found it necessary to resolve problems via the illegal
acquisition of necessary inputs, and indeed their prowess as managers was determined by
their capabilities to do so.
8. This is a point made to me in a personal communication by Adrian Denis, University
of Californa, Los Angeles, March 6, 2006
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
19
Other types of illegalities such as payment of income supplements in cash or
in kind are largely benign, permitting people to be paid a reasonable income
for tasks rendered. Unlicensed (and thence officially illegal) self-employment
has positive consequences, and indeed generates major benefits for the economy in terms of job creation, income generation, production of needed goods
and services, high levels of domestic value-added, generation of entrepreneurship, foreign exchange earnings for art and handicraft activities. To deal
with these illegalities, a campaign was launched in October 2005. As of May
2006, it has included:
October 17, 2005: some 15,000 “Social Workers” take over the gas stations to
prevent pilfering of gasoline;
October 17: Military intervention in the management of the Port of Havana;
October: fulminations about the “new rich” from cuenta propismo and corrupt
practices;
November 7-9: raids on mercados agropecuarios (aimed at sales by farmers
prior to fulfilling their state quotas);
November 17-18: Castro’s 5-6 hour speech, aimed at legal micro-enterprise
and alluding to deficient ministers and officials;
Late November: Operación Arana against illegal satellite TV access;
November 29: Operation against un-licensed bicycle taxis in Havana;
March 22: establishment of the Ejercito Nacional de Vigiláncia, within the
Comités por la Defensa de la Revolución.
To deal with the illegalities, basic economic reforms focusing on the
underlying causes are required, such as legalizing micro-enterprise and eliminating the dual economy. Preaching, policing, punishment and proscription
are unlikely to work effectively for long if the fundamental causes are not
addressed.9
Central Problems
There are a variety of continuing problems faced by the Cuban economy and
its management. This section summarizes two of the foremost problems and
challenges.
President Castro
The first problem for the Cuban economy is its high degree of centralization
under President Castro, who continues his proclivity to micro-manage almost
everything of any importance. This was seen long ago in his conduct of the
campaign to produce 10 million tons of sugar in 1970. It was also apparent in
9.
For an analysis of economic illegalities and public policy, see Ritter, 2006.
20
Archibald R.M. Ritter
the design, announcement and implementation of La Revolución Energética
in 2006. There can be no doubting Castro’s intelligence and talents. However,
it is not feasible for him to become and expert in everything. Unfortunately,
economics has never been his strong suit. An example of his disdain and lack
of comprehension of what economics is all about was illustrated in his
November 17 2005 speech at the University of Havana where he stated:
The price of oil nowadays is not in keeping with any supply and demand rule;
it’s not a price that is in keeping with economic rules either…The reason behind
it is the shortage of this product together with the increasing and extraordinary
demand for it.
Indeed, Cuba would have been immensely better off over the last 47 years
if Castro had taken and understood Economics 101. Moreover, Castro’s central role in Cuban society means his personal political imperatives continue to
dominate Cuban society and the political system. His personal prejudices and
idiosyncratic views become state objectives or public policies. The result is
occasional massive error and pervasive micro-irrationalities. In a moment of
personal self-analysis, after the calamitous attempt to produce 10 million tons
of sugar in 1970, Castro stated, “We have cost the people too much in our
process of learning…The learning process of revolutionaries in the field of
economic construction is more difficult than we had imagined.”
In spite of his insight, this continues to be Castro’s and Cuba’s reality.
This problem awaits a solution induced by Mother Nature and Father
Time. There may be some inducements for President Castro’s successors to
follow in his domineering, micro-managing footsteps. Formal institutions are
also likely to play a larger role after his departure, so that the high degree of
personalistic centralization characterizing the Castro era will not likely be
continued. But the Castro era may last another decade.
Openness, Transparency, Accountability, Democracy
A central problem for Cuba’s economy is the lack of open discussion and
debate. Democratic countries have free presses and open debate on the issues
of the day. Opposition political parties, academics, interest groups and
NGOs, and journalists continuously analyze and critique public policy issues
and proposals and the functioning of private and public enterprises and institutions. Indeed, there is major competition among economic and business
journalists to be the most perspicacious analysts of public policy. Open analysis and criticism in a context of open diffusion of information, rather than
official secrecy provide a mechanism for self-correction, exposing flawed
policies and errors leading to improved policy design and implementation.
Free analysis and criticism is also vital in order to bring illicit actions to light
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
21
and to correct errors on the part of all institutions and enterprises in a society.
Unfortunately all of this is lacking in Cuba. The press, academia, interest
groups, and of course politicians, perform the role of cheerleaders, unless
issues have been opened up for discussion by the President and the party. For
example, there was little public discussion or debate concerning the shutdown of most of the sugar sector in 2003, of the continuing attacks on selfemployment, or the elements of the current Revolución Energética. This
means that public policies get announced full-blown without critical input
into their formulation, and without criticism and early correction.
The absence of checks and balances on the priorities and the micro-management by President Castro also contribute to obscuring or over-riding society’s real priorities and to prolonging and amplifying error. The cost for Cuba
of this situation over the years has been enormous. It is unfortunate that Cuba
lacks the concept and reality of a “Loyal Opposition” within the electoral system and in civil society. These are vital for economic efficiency, not to mention, of course, for authentic participatory democracy.
Furthermore, when major policy blunders occur, there are no consequences for the highest leadership. Lower level ministers and officials can be
fired and demoted. However, even when catastrophic policy mistakes are
made, there are no consequences and thence no meaningful accountability on
the part of the micro-managing president or for the first vice-president.
Another major economic problem for Cuba is the lack of transparency
and absence of critical and serious self analysis. Other developing countries
are becoming increasing transparent in their presentation of detailed information on which policy analysis must be based, and increasingly present such
information on the Internet.10 In Cuba’s case, however, the basic methodologies for the measurement of fundamental economic data such as labor force,
employment and unemployment, consumer price index and national accounts
are not public. As a result, there can be little confidence that this basic information and analyses based on it are meaningful. Certain areas of the economy appear to be essentially off limits to careful analysis and scrutiny,
notably the bio-technological industry and the conglomerate enterprises that
straddle the peso and the convertible peso economies. Finally, the political
decision-making process within the highest levels of the Government is a
“black box,” the workings of which we can only speculate about, as there are
no Departments of Political Science in Cuban Universities that make it their
business to analyze this aspect of the political process.
10. Chile and Tanzania are examples of countries that now present make detailed economic information generally available, with household survey information presented on the
web by Tanzania (2006) and detailed income distribution surveys made public by Chile
(2005)
22
Archibald R.M. Ritter
Conclusion
Cuba is in the process of formulating a new development strategy. The basic
reasons for this are the economic recovery and the ending of the extreme crisis that Cuba endured in the first half of the 1990s, Castro’s vision and his
priorities for Cuba together with a concern for his legacy. The international
environment has also led to an opening for Cuba in Latin America and the
Caribbean, especially with Castro’s relationships with the Presidents of Venezuela and Bolivia, but with empathy and support from other countries as
well.
Cuba is not “in transition” towards a decentralized market economy or to
a pluralistic participatory political democracy with freedom of expression
and assembly. On the other hand, Cuba has re-oriented its economic development strategy significantly. It also has regressed to some extent and moved
towards greater centralization and de-marketization in economic organization.
The new development strategy places emphasis on medical services,
petroleum derivatives, and nickel as key sources of foreign exchange for the
future. Established sources of foreign exchange will continue, including tourism, tobacco, rum, sugar, bio-technology products, and citric fruit as well as
remittances from Cubans abroad. Of special interest is the drive to build a
“knowledge economy” with large investments in higher education and informatics. Cuba has recognized the urgent need for rebuilding basic infrastructure following decades of neglect and disinvestment. President Castro’s
energy program is an attempt to resuscitate the sector, with a multi billion
dollar investment program. The energy master-plan has some weak as well as
positive elements that create a risk of high cost and ineffectiveness.
There are a number of uncertainties concerning the possible future success of the new development strategy. There is no certainty that the new
export sectors—medical services, petroleum derivatives, and nickel—will
prove to be winners in the longer term, and other merchandise exports may
not thrive as well. Some risks are of course unavoidable—future nickel price
volatility for example. The knowledge economy objective may pay dividends
in the long term but there also is a danger of over-producing excessive numbers of graduates in areas that society does not need. Finally, there are two
specific problems that will impede future economic success. The first of
these is economic over-centralization together with the over-bearing micromanagement of the President. Second, the absence of a free press and of freedom of assembly, the absence of transparency, the blockage of free information flows leading to the amplification and prolonging of policy blunders—
such as the severe restrictions on micro-entrepreneurship and possibly some
Cuba’s Economic Reorientation
23
elements of the energy master-plan and of the drive towards a “knowledge
economy.”
Bibliography
Agreement for the Application of the Bolivarian Alternative for the peoples
of our America and the Peoples’ Trade Agreements. April 29, 2006. Evo
Morales Ayma, President of the Republic of Bolivia, Hugo Chávez Frías,
President of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, and Fidel Castro Ruz,
President of the Council of State of the Republic of Cuba, Havana
Canadian Association of University teachers, Almanac of Post-Secondary
Education, 2006.Ottawa Canada
Castro, President Fidel. 1997. “The Consequences of Neo-Liberalism Affect
Europe Itself, Not Only the Third World, Speech, Havana April 4.
Granma International, pp 7-9. 23 April, 1997.
Castro, President Fidel. 2006. Speech, on the Occasion of the 47th Anniversary of his entry into Pinar del Rio Province (Stenographic Version,
Council of State.) January 17, 2006
Castro, President Fidel. 2006. Address for the International Workers Day
Ceremony. Havana. May 1
FOCAL. 2006. Cubasource: Chronicle on Cuba, Economy, April 11.
FOCAL, Ottawa
Frank, Marc. 2006. “Cuba Seeks Direct Investment in Sugar Mills.” Financial Times, London. April 13, 2006.
Gobierno de Chile, Ministerio de Planificación (MIDEPLAN). La Encuesta
de Caracterización Socioeconómica (CASEN). Santiago Chile, http://
www.mideplan.cl/casen/index.html, accessed on May 12, 2006
Gobierno de Cuba, Oficina Nacional de Estadisticas (ONE). 2006. “Producción
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http://www/one.cu/
aec2004c8tl.htm, accessed May 12, 2006
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Household Budget Survey, 2000-2001. Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, http://
www.tanzania.go.tz/hbs/Homepage_HBS.html, accessed May 12, 2006
Grogg, Patricia, 2006. “China is planning to invest $500 million dollars in
Cuban nickel.” IPS, Havana. February 21, 2006
Grogg, Patricia. 2002. “Cuba: Universidad de informatica en Antigua base
Sovietica.” IPS La Habana. 10 Septiembre, 2002
Maingot, Anthony P. 2006. “Bridging the Ideological Divide: Cuban Doctors
for Caribbean Recognition, FOCAL Point: Spotlight on the Americas,
5(4).
Marin, Mar. 2006. “Cuba promoting sugar industry due to rising market
prices” EFE, Havana. March, 13, 2006.
Ritter, Archibald R. M. 2006. “Survival Strategies and Economic Illegalities
in Cuba,” Cuba in Transition, Vol. 15, Conference Proceedings, the
Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy
Steinecke, Julia, January 16, 2006. Hershey sugar mill: Bittersweet death of a
small town in Cuba.” Toronto Star, Toronto Canada.
Sturk, Wendy. March 16, 2006. “Nickel glut could flood the market, harm
prices.” Globe and Mail. Toronto Canada
The Economist. 2006. The World in 2006. London
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United Nations CEPAL. 1997. La Economia Cubana: Reformas estructurales y desempeno en los noventas. Mexico: UN CEPAL
United Nations CEPAL. 2004. Preliminary Overview of the Economies of
Latin America and the Caribbean, 2004. Santiago, Chile: UN CEPAL
United Nations, Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean. 2001. The Cuban Economy: Structural reforms and Achievements
in the 1990s. Mexico: UN CEPAL. Chapter IX “Current Situation and
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United Nations Development Program. 2006. Human Development Report,
2005. New York: Oxford University Press.
CHAPTER 2
Prospects for
Sustainable Energy
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado1
“Energy services are essential for sustainable development. The way in which
these services are produced, distributed and used affects the social, economic
and environmental dimensions of any development achieved. Although energy
itself is not a basic human need, it is critical for the fulfillment of all needs. Lack
of access to diverse and affordable energy services means that the basic needs of
many people are not being met.” — A Framework for Action on Energy, World
Summit on Sustainable Development, Johannesburg 2002
In the summer of 2005, Hurricane Dennis had a devastating impact on the
Cuba’s energy infrastructure. A vast majority of the damage occurred in the
eastern part of the island, a region that had been generally spared extensive
damage from the spate of hurricane activity in the Caribbean over the course
of the past few years. But this is ironic because by the end of 2005, Cuba had
suffered 16 direct hits from hurricanes in a 15 year period. Dennis, like some
of its predecessors, had essentially cut the national electrical grid in half.
There are two main network links traversing the island east-to-west. The
lines nearest the south-central coast bore the brunt of the hurricane’s force
and areas in the vicinity of Cienfuegos went nearly two weeks without electricity after the storm. All provisions and potable water had to be trucked in
almost daily to offset the already arduous tasks of cleaning up the mess. For
some observers this compounded an already difficult situation related to
energy production on the island. (Curbelo Alonso, 2005)
After remarkable gains in first stabilizing and then increasing energy production after the Special Period, the recent past had been disappointing.
1. The author wishes to thank the Cuban Ministry of Basic Industry, CUPET - Cuba
Petroleo S.A., Union Electrica de Cuba, Sherritt Inc., Alamar Associates, The World Security Institute and in particular the following individuals for granting me access and valuable information for conducting this research: Kirby Jones, Vice Minister Raul Perez de
Prado, Eloy Leon Gomez, Bruce Blair and Glen Baker.
25
26
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
While Cuba has been able to relieve its external dependency on oil imports
by increasing its domestic production capacity, this has not allowed Cuba to
address a more pressing issue of an ageing energy production infrastructure.
1996 was the last year that any major renovations were undertaken and
almost all other production facilities date back to the 1970s and early 1980s,
and are of varying design and varying states of maintenance (or the lack of it)
and disrepair.
The energy efficiencies gained in the Energas/Sherritt Oil joint venture of
re-capturing gas and using it for energy generation was limited to three sites
of limited generation capacity only. Moreover, the poor quality of Cuban oil
(heavy and sulfurous), while representative of a larger share of energy production (over 95 percent in 2004 and 2005) has taken a toll on existing
thermo-electric generation facilities that were already plagued by questionable maintenance regimes and a lack of spare parts and prone to being chronically offline.2
By 2004, an increasing demand for electricity on the island required
energy officials to run the island’s energy production at levels above the 90
percent of capacity. It was simply a matter of time until the precarious balance of poor quality oil, old and failing thermo-electric generation facilities,
and transmission and delivery system was upset. By early 2005, the results
were dramatic. After having reversed the trend of apagones (blackouts) so
prevalent during the early stages of the “Special Period,” they appeared once
again and this time the lack of oil was not to blame.3 Plant breakdowns
caused the productive capacity of electricity to be reduced to less than 80 percent prompting energy officials to reluctantly ration electricity in the Havana
metropolitan area. It was reported that this prompted much in-fighting within
the Cuban government resulting in the dismissal of Marcos Portal as the Minister of Basic Industry. (Erickson, 2005; Reuters News Service, 2004)
Yet, that itself did little to stem the growing public dissatisfaction over
energy matters. In Marianao and Habana Vieja spontaneous demonstrations
broke out in May and June 2005 over chronic blackout conditions.4 After
promises of increased productive capacity online by July 2005, the impact of
Hurricane Dennis essentially rendered them empty. Another factor mitigating
the integrity of the electrical grid is the associated losses in the transmission
2. Although Cuban energy officials admit that the Antonio Guiteras 330MW thermoelectric generation facility in Matanzas has been taken offline there has been little in the
way of explanation other than to state it was plagued with significant breakdown and repair
issues.
3. To emphasize the gravity of this situation FOCAL, the Candian Foundation on the
Americas dedicated an entire section of its 2005 Cuba/Energy Chronology to the “Electricity Crisis” citing no less than 26 events that were reported in the international media.
(www.cubasource.org/index.asp)
4. Loss of water is one of the major service disruptions caused during blackout periods
owing to the fact that water pumping stations are usually run off the electrical system.
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
27
and delivery system. The most recent figures place these losses at 15 to 20
percent, and over 30 percent across the entire system. (de la O, 2006) The end
result of these recent developments has been powerful as Cuba has been
forced to contend with the following factors:
The rapid decline of energy productive capacity that must be addressed posthaste;
The nagging decrepit-ness of the national transmission and delivery system
also demanding immediate attention;
Apagones, if they are an inevitable by-product of the energy problem, will
increase public dissatisfaction with the regime.
From this we can only surmise that the government’s reaction to these
outpourings will be less than benevolent; and, developments under the
growth of international cooperation in energy (renovating refineries,
increased investment in oil and gas exploration) will do little to address these
critical short term problems.
Added to this domestic element of the energy problem is the growing
presence of new actors on the Cuban scene. Over the course of the past three
years, both Venezuela and China have made significant inroads in Cuba’s
energy sector. Venezuela by virtue of the massive imports from that oil rich
country (75,000 to 85,000 barrels of oil per day) and China by its investment
in the energy sector, both of which will generate new and much needed capital inflows that will increase economic capacity and improve infrastructure in
the energy sector. But assuming that there are no changes in the Cuban government or any significant changes in the U.S. policy towards Cuba, these
new players on the Cuban stage present a threat to the U.S. interests. This is
ironic, inasmuch as the U.S. has no formal economic or diplomatic relations
with Cuba, and yet considers it a strategic interest while simultaneously seeking to isolate and cut-off Cuba from the rest of the world.
Because of the less than favorable relations between the governments of
the United States of America and the Republic of Cuba over the past 45 years
the free flow of accurate information has become and continues to be a somewhat rare commodity. This owes in large part to inaccurate reporting, less
than reliable sources and politically motivated disinformation emanating
from both sides of the Straits of Florida. In some areas of inquiry, this has
been the case for much more than just ideological reasons, especially so in
areas critical to the material well-being and the survival en lo actual of the
Cuban state.
Without a doubt, energy has been one of those areas. This paper seeks to
fill that gap by presenting an analysis that definitively and comprehensively
speaks to the issue of energy development and the challenges facing the
Cuban state in both the short and long term. More importantly, this requires
28
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
us to frame this inquiry within an additional context that addresses more than
just the existing and possible base of resources and constraints facing Cuban
energy policy makers, that context being sustainability.
A Criterion for Energy Policy Sustainability
While being aware of, and sensitive to the nature of the various narratives
that animate efforts to design and implement sustainable energy policy, states
(for better or worse) are served by standing organizations (governmental
agencies and bureaucracies) that, while not diametrically opposed to, are
often ignorant of such principles in decision-making. Moreover, the in-state
capacity (or lack of capacity) requires these states to seek external assistance
to carry out the development of energy policy. Detailed below is one such
effort. The Organizacion Latino Americano de Energia or OLADE, has
devised a general criteria for what they term “sustainable energy development.” As such, it serves as an arena for the reflection upon and formulation
of energy policies that can legitimately be termed “sustainable.”5 While by no
means are these principles comprehensive, they do provide a template or heuristic orientation to the design, implementation and evaluation of a sustainable energy development policy that is consistent with the notion of
generating and supporting a social adaptive capacity within a particular setting. Detailed below are the OLADE principles.
Energy Security
States under development must constantly guard against disruptions in the
source of energy supply, production and distribution. This is a paramount
concern owing to the often tenuous nature of developing economies and the
generally high level of dependency upon imports of oil and petroleum related
products. In essence, these states cannot account for, neither to sufficiently
inure themselves from the vagaries in world market prices for oil, nor are
they situated to deflect the externalities of disruptions in trade due to war,
natural disasters, and the like. Energy security is contingent on the state’s
ability to develop a sound energy infrastructure that can account for temporary losses of energy supply. The key objective is to diversify and augment
the domestic sources of energy in general, thereby diminishing dependence
on any one source of supply and perhaps reducing the dependence on
imported energy sources. While it is beyond the capacity of most developing
states, some possess storage and refinement capacity that when coupled with
domestic production provides the state with a modicum of additional secu5. Energy use can also de evaluated using indicators for sustainable energy development
(ISED) developed by the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA). An example of the
application of ISED can be found in David Perez, I Lopez, and I Berdellans, “Evaluating
Energy Policy in Cuba using ISED,” Natural Resources Forum 29 (2005) 298-307.
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
29
rity. Beyond the scope of a sole reliance on oil, some states have sought to
increase energy production by developing hydro and nuclear power capabilities. Few if any developing states have the requisite financial and technical
resources for such an undertaking and often encounter additional challenges
in the pursuit. (Benjamin-Alvarado, 2000)
Improving Energy Efficiency
States under development often face resource constraints that limit the full
and integral application of advanced technologies. Sustainable development
requires the development of domestic technical capabilities that contribute to
the effective management of these types of systems. Major infrastructural
development requires an on-going regime of preventative maintenance and
replacement of hardware to ensure the efficient operation of such systems.
The failure to maintain the regime often results in poor performance, reduced
productivity and a significant loss of return on investment. Moreover, if
states are plagued by losses from theft and diversion this further erodes the
return on investment, raises the costs of transmission and delivery of electricity.
The state must also work to improve energy conservation and limit waste
in the commercial, industrial and residential sectors of the economy. This
often requires aggressive public information campaigns, the replacement of
high energy use appliances and machinery, and the inculcation of values and
norms consistent with energy saving and conservation.
The failure to address any of these concerns will almost certainly result in
the erosion and limits the ability of state’s to effectively design and implement a meaningful program of energy efficiency, either in the short term or
the long term.
Greater Use of Renewable Energy
The diversification of energy supply is a must for developing economies. The
reliance and dependence upon imported oil and petroleum over-exposes
developing states to the vagaries of world market prices and supply. Most
developing states do not have sufficient storage and refining capabilities in
the case of extended loss of, or major disruptions in supply of oil exports.
Those states possessing a relative comparative advantage in natural resources
in terms of solar-, wind- and hydro – power should assiduously pursue their
long-term development. Considering the high costs of initial development,
these renewable energy sources provide developing states with an additional
buffer in energy and economic security over the long term.
30
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
Making Markets Function
The principle driving forces behind this reform movement in the development community, include the following: (a) the poor performance of the
state-run electricity sector in terms of high costs, inadequate expansion of
access to electricity service for the general population, and/or unreliable supply; (b) the inability of the state sector to finance the needed expenditures on
new investment and/or maintenance; (c) the need to remove subsidies to the
sector in order to release resources to other pressing public expenditure
needs; and (d) the desire to raise immediate revenue for the government
through the sale of assets from the sector. Sector problems in energy are most
likely to be felt in terms of non-delivery of the product. Power blackouts and
brownouts (apagones) are the most dramatic instance of this, with their very
high costs of alternative supply for those who have come to count on the public supply of electricity. Quality of service, which takes many forms, also can
deteriorate and impact users adversely. The failure of supply may be partly
associated with very low operating efficiency caused by lack of maintenance,
theft, etc., and partly associated with lack of investment caused by financial
restrictions. The inability of a state enterprise (and eventually government) to
finance new and needed investment is often compounded by poor public sector price or tariff setting, which does not allow the state to recoup all of its
costs, as well as by inefficiency in collecting all revenue due it. Hence, a
strong hypotheses is that policy reform is more likely where there are obvious
problems of shortage of supply, such as blackouts, and less likely where there
is excess capacity, making financing investment less likely.6
The Proper Role of Technology and Research
There is a large and growing technological gulf between the major industrial
and developing states. Any state energy development program should have as
one of its primary objectives the development of individuals possessing core
scientific competencies. This enables states to access new and advanced technologies capable of providing the developing state the ability to effectively
and efficiently exploit them as a part the overall development project. The
investment in human capital then ensures the ability of the state to evaluate
the best means for achieving sustainable development. Unfortunately, for
most states this is not a task that can be taken in isolation. The international
community must understand the implications of this “technological divide.”
Not only is the technological potential for development squandered, the failure to more widely disseminate technological innovations and methodologies
6. This is especially important in when state electricity firms engage in energy development through turn-key projects. States lacking the personnel trained in all aspects of operational safety, management, repair and maintenance quickly realize lost value and
efficiency in their investment.
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
31
has profound implications for planning, evaluation research and public
administration when such large infrastructural projects are put into place.
Increasing Access to Energy
At the beginning to the 21st century, the access to electricity in the Americas
varies greatly from 35 percent coverage in Haiti to 98 percent coverage in
Barbados. Resources for the transmission and delivery of electricity (and the
lack of them) and geography also play large role in development of national
electrical grids. Moreover, in the face of such constraints, policy-makers may
favor interests whose linkages to, and demands upon, state power are meaningful. In some settings this contributes to what can be termed the “BelIndia” syndrome. That is, the wildly uneven development resulting in pockets
of development, on one hand, that rival the posh urban settings in a developed state like Belgium, and on the other hand, the squalor and misery associated with the most egregious forms of abject poverty and penury like that
found in parts of India. In reference to the opening quotation of this chapter,
energy, while not a basic need, is indeed critical to the fulfillment of those
needs. The access to energy is at the core of our understanding of equity, justice and the quest for material well-being in the modern world.
Sustainable Transportation
The major urban centers of the world are increasingly mired in gridlocked
traffic and choking in dangerous levels of air pollution. The principle of sustainable transportation calls upon all states to begin addressing these challenges by looking to increased the capacity of infrastructure to deal more
effectively with the movement of populations in and out of major urban centers. This also implies: (a) the more efficient consumption of petroleum products for public, private and state transportation; (b) the promotion of for
efficient fuel consumption standards; and (c) the promotion and development
of efficient mass transit systems.7
Environmental, Health and Safety Concerns
This criterion is the most obvious and perhaps the most easily evaluated
because it relies on formal responses by states to address these concerns. The
extent to which states: (a) provide adequate regulation and legislation for
public and environmental concerns; (b) creates responsive bureaucracies
(both administrative and technical) that place into force these regulations; (c)
provides a legal framework for the adjudication of violations, and (d) provides sufficient resources to the responsible government agencies, determines
7. This is especially important in when state electricity firms engage in energy development through turn-key projects. States lacking the personnel trained in all aspects of operational safety, management, repair and maintenance quickly realize lost value and
efficiency in their investment.
32
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
the effectiveness of state responses to this critical component of sustainability.
TABLE 2-1. Criteria for Sustainable Energy Development
Criteria
Energy security
Improving energy efficiency
Greater use of renwable energy
Making markets function
The proper role of technology and research
Sustainable transportation
Environmental health and safety concerns
Source: OLADE, 2004
All told, these principles are not efforts easily undertaken or financed by
developing states. But they do reflect the guiding heuristic that states must
assume if they are to successfully address the need for and implementation of
sustainable energy policy. Obviously, this is not done in isolation as it reflects
a posture that must be assumed if such endeavors are to be even remotely
successful. It is not to cast aspersions or doubts at developing states or
emerging markets, rather it is a reflection of the need for the redoubling of
efforts by both the developing states and the international development community to guard against the failures of the past. Rather than being viewed as a
repudiation of the prevailing neo-liberal models of economic development,
sustainable energy development is the product of the integration of a wider
set of imperatives that seek to expand development beyond the purely instrumental indicators of capital cost and return on investment toward a heterogeneous model that serves multiple interests in a sustaining fashion.
These ideas are critically important for three reasons: First, the extent to
which energy policy initiatives can be deemed sustainable will be highly
determinate of the ability of policy measures to meet both the existing and
future energy demands on the island under any scenario; Second, the sustainability of Cuban energy initiatives must necessarily take into consideration
the external political and economic environment including U.S.–Cuban relations and global energy markets; and third, the sustainability must include the
extent to which energy policy is adaptable to the evolving natural resource
environment, inasmuch as all states’ must take into consideration the impact
of diminishing global stocks of fossil fuels, changing weather systems, etc.
(Kunstler, 2006)8
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
33
It suffices to say that in the post-Cold War era that energy has been and
remains the Achilles heel of the Cuban economy although to a much lesser
extent than it was in 1992. The loss of Soviet subsidies and the resulting
energy catastrophe of the early 1990s, the effort to develop a nuclear energy
capability, and the recurring crisis due to an ageing energy complex highlight
the tenuous nature of Cuban energy. The recent discovery of oil reserves off
the north coast of the island provides yet another arena of inquiry that perhaps offers Cuban energy policy-makers with a buffer against the vagaries of
world oil markets, but of that there is no guarantee. Cuba is confronted with a
mounting bill for the modernization of the energy complex and a legitimate
question that arises is, who will ultimately bear that cost, as it may total into
the hundreds of billions of dollars?
This analysis is based on field work conducted in Havana over the course
of the past three years and a series of primary interviews and discussions of
these matters with Cuban senior government officials, and representatives of
national and foreign firms presently engaged in any number of energy related
activities on the island. Especially critical to the analysis is the presentation
of information recently collected at the U.S.–Cuba Energy Summit in February, 2006, in Mexico City that included discussions with American oil industry representatives, and extended interviews with Cuban President Fidel
Castro and high level Cuban energy policy makers in February and March
2006.9 This includes discussions related to the following issue areas: oil
exploration and production in Cuba; the status of Cuba’s energy infrastructure; international cooperation in Cuba’s energy sector; the development of
alternative energy projects; and the plausibility of various future energy scenarios in Cuba. As such this discussion will serve as the basis of the evaluation of the sustainability Cuban energy policy objectives.
The analysis concludes with an argument that Cuba’s energy future will
largely be determined by the extent to which American resources are open
and accessible to Cuba in its effort to renovate and restore the integrity of the
island’s energy infrastructure. It will also offer a series of policy recommendations for both Cuban energy officials and American policy makers and
businesses that could possibly serve as a template for ensuring that the results
of bilateral, regional and international cooperation produces a lasting and
sustainable future for energy development for Cuba. This includes recom8. Kuntsler argues that as we have already begun to experience a “long emergency” in
terms of a changing energy reality, states’ should radically change consumption patterns
rather than proceed with a “business-as-usual” mentality toward the manner in which we
organize of collective lives in terms of energy consumption patterns.
9. The author was part of an American delegation that visited Cuba from March 2-5,
2006 to discuss collective energy security issues. Included in that visit were meetings, site
visits and interviews with officials from: Cupet, the Cuban state oil enterprise; Union Electrica, the Cuban state electrical utility enterprise; the Cuban Ministry of Basic Industry;
and members of the Cuban Council of State including President Fidel Castro.
34
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
mendations for substantive political, economic and environmental considerations as they pertain to energy development prospects.
The analysis frames the discussion of the abovementioned issues area
within the context of pathways to renewal of Cuba’s energy sector, long-term
energy development, and reintegration of Cuban energy prospects within the
context of regional energy security interests.
The Context for Renewal and Revolution in Cuba’s
Energy Sector
A brief history of the Cuban energy sector in period since the collapse of the
Soviet bloc and the loss of economic subsidies to the Cuban state can be
marked by the devastation, recovery, renewal and revolution within the
energy sector. One can hardly imagine the toll that losing more than half of
the nation’s oil imports would have on the American economy but this is
indeed what transpired in Cuba in the period between 1991 and 1993. The
well-documented collapse of the Cuban economy compelled the Castro
regime to put into place strict measures aimed at easing the collapse of the
Cuban society. In part this is the success of the “Special Period in A Time of
Peace.” Because Cuba had lost its preferential trade relations the Soviet
Union, whereas Cuba would receive 13 million tons of oil annually at below
world oil prices and the Soviet Bloc nations would agree to purchase Cuban
sugar at above world market prices. Cuban annual demand was between 11
and 11.5 millions tons of oil, and it was free to sell the excess on the open
market in order to earn much needed hard currency. (Benjamin-Alvarado and
Belkin, 1994)
The impact of the loss of Soviet oil was crushing. As a result, Cuba’s
economy collapsed by over 35 percent in a two year period, and its industrial
capacity reduced by over half. All aspects of Cuban life were impacted by the
devastation to the energy sector from the almost complete disappearance of
gasoline for public and private use, significant periods of blackouts and
brownouts. These were literally the “dark days” of the Special Period where
economic and social lives were brought to a standstill and the prospects of
recovery were indeed grim. At the same time, Cuba was trying to keep its
nuclear energy development program alive. Beginning in 1982, Cuba and the
Soviet Union had been working together to construct two 440 mw VVER
model, light-water reactors at Juragua in Cienfuegos province. Completing
the project would have certainly solved the energy dilemma and the idea was
originally hatched in the 1970s as a means of addressing Cuba’s dependency
on oil imports. Over the course of the next decade, the Chernobyl accident,
the Soviet Union’s lack of experience in building a plant in the tropics, con-
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
35
struction delays and project re-designs, and the collapsing capacity of the
Soviet Union had brought the entire venture to a halt by 1992 when it was
only partially constructed and in need of perhaps US$1 billion dollars to
complete. Cuba would spend the next few years attempting to secure the
funding to complete the reactors. This issue was compounded by growing
concerns over the safety of the reactors should they become operational. By
the end of the decade, Cuba would officially abandon the project, but quietly
it had looked in another direction to address its long-term energy concerns.
(Benjamin-Alvarado, 1998)
Recovery through Domestic Means – Increasing Oil Production
Cuba had long been aware of the existence of oil reserves in the MatanzasVaradero region on the north coast of the island. Indeed most of Cuba’s oil
industry was concentrated in the region. But they were also aware that the
quality of the oil was heavy and contained high levels of sulfur. The quality
of the oil was such that it had little potential for being refined into gasoline or
any other high quality petroleum by-product. But the Cubans found that it
could be used in the nation’s network of thermoelectric power generation
plants to produce electricity. Over the course of the next 10 years Cuba
increased the production of its crudo nacional and dedicated almost all of it to
the production of electricity by burning it in the national network of thermoelectric generation facilities. Cuba now produces in excess of 95 percent of
all of its electricity using Cuban oil. This has allowed Cuba concentrate its
search for external sources to be focused on refined petroleum products for
industrial, commercial and domestic uses. Under that scenario Cuba still
must import nearly 50 percent the oil that it consumes on an annual basis and
this would necessitate that Cuba dedicate nearly half of its export earnings
annually to meet that demand for oil imports. But since 2000 Cuba has had
the benefit of receiving significant oil imports from Venezuela (nearly 85,000
barrels per day) in an exchange reminiscent to the preferential arrangements
that it enjoyed during the Cold War with the former Soviet Union. Cuba has
exported (as it were) nearly 30,000 medical personnel to the Chavez regime
in Venezuela to provide basic preventive medical care to the poor of that oil
rich country in exchange for oil imports. This may explain why the Cuban
economic indicators have remained relatively robust in a time of downturns
in tourism since the 9/11 disaster (4.2 percent increase in GDP in 2005 with a
projected growth of 4.3 percent in 2006) (Morris, 2005) and why it has been
able to expand the social welfare safety net on the island, by increasing salaries and distributing household appliances across the entire island as a part of
its energy conservation program. These efforts have prompted significant
“chatter” on the Cuban street that Cuba will soon be an oil rich country due to
36
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
the oil discoveries and the rising number of joint venture projects with a
growing number of international oil exploration and production firms.
TABLE 2-2. Energy and Electricity Use
1970
1975
1980
1985
1990
1995
2000
2002
10.30
9.96
11.51
11.78
13.89
7.51
8.25
8.16
Industry
76
66.8
66.6
67.2
70.9
73.3
66.7
64.1
Transport
6.6
9.1
10.3
11.3
9
8.8
8.4
9.3
Services
10.2
14.7
13.4
10.5
11.2
7.4
13.7
14
Household
7.2
9.4
9.7
11
8.9
10.6
11.2
12.6
Electricity use,
GWh
3.983
5.517
8.574
9.924
11.950
9.133
9.794
10.482
Final energy use,
Mtoe
Share of sectors,
%
Generation
matrix, %
Fossil
80.13
87.57
89.48
90.28
89.75
93.87
92.52
93.34
Renewable
19.87
12.43
10.52
9.72
10.25
6.13
7.48
6.66
Sources: CEE (1986, 1990); ONE (1998-2003)
Table 2 reveals that while Cuba increased its total GW/h of electricity
production by over 14 percent in the period from 1995 until 2002, the amount
of electricity generated using fossil fuels remained constant at around 93 percent annually. (Perez, et al, 2005) Hidden in those figures is the amount of
Cuban oil that is used for the production of electricity. This amount has
increased steadily from 10 percent in 1990 to the 95 percent figure consistently presented by Cuban energy officials.10 Cuba presently produces around
75,000 barrels per day of a total daily demand of 170,000 barrels. (Piñon
Cervera, 2006)
Cuba’s Joint Venture Success – Energas, Sherritt and the
Environment
In 1997, Cuba launched an ambitious Energas joint venture project with the
Canadian energy and mining firm Sherritt Ltd. to convert flared gas from its
Matanzas-Varadero oil fields into fuel through a combined cycle process.
(Benjamin-Alvarado, 2000: 97-98) The project would allow Cuba to make
use of the gas for low yield generation facilities in Boca de Jaruco and Varadero on 15MW and 30MW respectively. The project was financed by an initial
public offering (IPO) in Canada by Sherritt and construction was completed
10. This is information presented by Cuban energy officials at professional conferences
and private meetings in February and March 2006 in Mexico City and Havana.
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
37
in 2004. The process entailed the removal of the sulfur from the heavy crude
from the region, and utilizing the gas to fuel turbines. Environmentally, this
process is much cleaner and allowed the Cubans to capture emissions and
particulates that were previously being discharged into the environment. This
is especially critical as the Matanzas-Varadero oil fields are contiguous to
Cuba’s major tourist destination, the beaches of Varadero, located some 90
miles east of La Habana. Ironically, there are no tell-tale signs of the existence of the oil production in this region to the tourist crowds owing to two
factors. First, most of the offshore fields are accessed by slant and horizontal
drilling techniques behind and out of sight of the Varadero peninsula, and the
thermo-electric generation stations are relatively distant from the tourist
zone.
FIGURE 2-1. Oil Facilities in Cuba
Source: CUPET, 2006
The Energas facilities are small-scale showcase of the Cuban energy sector exemplifying the application of ecologically-friendly processes for the
production of electricity to the national grid in a partnership with a foreign
firm that has been successful in creatively utilizing the existing oil reserves in
a manner that promotes efficiency and was by all indications, provided a
sound return on investment for the joint venture.
But why has Sherritt succeeded when the perception on the part of many
American observers has been that Cubans are difficult and mercurial part-
38
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
ners? Sherritt Oil is a medium sized firm with medium sized aspirations that
simultaneously seeks to produce a reasonable return on investment for its
ventures in Cuba while operating a humanistic commercial enterprise that is
working within a country in dire need of reliable energy sources that operates
under the strictures of a command economy. (Hatt, 2005)
This perhaps explains why Sherritt has been successful where others
failed. The terms of “doing business” in Cuba are often too severe for conventional profit-seeking firms, but in this case, Sherritt appears to have
altered its basis for success to coordinate its objectives with those available
under the prevailing Cuban joint venture model. The Spanish oil firm, Repsol
spent $53 million in oil and gas exploration in 2004 and came up with nothing and yet has contracted to continue exploration of 8 offshore tracts on the
northwest coast of Cuba.11
It is also interesting that all, of the firms operating in Cuba at the present
time are operating with dated technology and must be able to service all of its
own exploration operations. This owes in part to the fact that American oil
engineering represents the leading edge of oil exploration technology and
explicit in all of its foreign sales are export control stipulations that none of
that technology can be sold or transferred to a short but well known list of
countries: Iraq; North Korea; until recently Libya; and of course, Cuba. This
prescription adds up to 30 percent to the operating costs that what is still for
Sherritt, and other joint venture partners, a profit making venture. Sherritt
must also account for being largely responsible for providing all engineering
support services as Cuba provides few of these services owing to the technology denial on the part of the U.S.
On this point, the U.S. embargo has been successful in relegating Cuba’s
energy development schemes to a less than world class status. Moreover, it
appears to have had a residual effect – as not to appear to be suffering from a
technology gap, Cuba pursues upstream investment, such as the purchase of
three drilling rigs from the Chinese for symbolic as well as practical reasons.12 Legitimately, given the existing resources on the island and interest
from oil and gas exploration firms from Europe, Latin America and Canada,
and especially because of Cuba’s cozy relationship with oil-rich Venezuela it
11. One could argue that like many oil exploration firms, Repsol subjected itself to “gambler’s ruin” by placing all of its chips on a single bet -making the enormous oil find in
Cuba. From all estimates, there is oil in Cuba but not readily present and of the scope necessary for firms like Respol, Petrobras, Total SA or ExxonMobil for that matter to justify in
the already risky business of oil and gas exploration. For an excellent review of the joint
venture project, see Eloise Linger, “Joint Ventures: New Developments in Cuban Mining
and Oil Exploration,” paper presented at the National Summit on Cuba, June 10, 2005,
Mobile, Alabama.
12. Cuba Petroleo (CUPET) signed a $40 million dollar contract for drilling rigs with
China’s SINOPEC Group – a state-run oil firm to conduct drilling operations in Santa Cruz
de Norte, some 33 miles east of Havana. EFE, Prensa Latina, 1/31/05 and Reuters, 6/4/05).
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
39
is perhaps a questionable investment. American oil industry experts suggest
that a small country like Cuba could derive a greater benefit from investment
in oil infrastructure such as pipelines, terminals, batteries, etc. These are the
types of services essential to oil production and serve as revenue generating
sources long after the reverie of an oil find. In an inherently risk driven industry it makes better sense for a small, relatively resource-constrained state to
pursue this course of energy investment.
FIGURE 2-2. North Cuban Heavy Oil Belt
Source: CUPET, 2006
Another example of the Cuban effort to address la problematica energetica is the creation of remote diesel fueled generation sub-stations in Pinar del
Rio province. (Perez de Prado, 2006; de la O, 2006) In the past 16 years,
Cuba has suffered direct hits from hurricanes in the Caribbean. While there
has been almost no loss of human lives from these natural disasters, the
impact on the national electrical grid of the country has been devastating.
This owes to the fact that the electrical grid extends the length of the island,
traversing it east to west. Almost all of the hurricanes pass over the island in
a south-north direction essentially slicing the island in half, destroying everything in its path, and in this case, the towers support the high-tension electrical wires of the national grid.
After the storms’ passing, these towers often resemble the set of monster
movie where the path of the beast has rendered a swath of flattened and
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Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
twisted metal in its wake. This was most critically evident in 2004 in the path
of Hurricane Charley. The path of Charley cut across the island over Pinar del
Rio province on August 12th (Fidel Castro’s birthday) with winds in excess
of 145 mph, cutting the national electrical grid in half and leaving the entire
province of nearly a quarter of a million inhabitants without electricity for the
next 14 days. The Cuban electrical utility, Union Electrica and the Cuban
Ministry of Basic Industry subsequently designed and implemented a project
that would address the nature of energy supply disruptions to the grid from
natural disasters and allow for additional electricity to be generated during
peak demand periods.
Most importantly, this would enable the officials of Union Electrica to
deal with an increase in the number of, and the strength of hurricanes and
tropical storms in the region.
Buscando Oro Negro: The Reality of a Cuban Oil
Bonanza
In December 2004, the Cuban regime of Fidel Castro announced that it had
discovered a significant oil reserve off the northwest coast of the island.
More importantly, the potential of the oil finds could dramatically decrease
the island’s dependence on imported oil and could serve as boon to the Cuban
economy. There has been much conjecture of the size and scope of oil
reserves in the 59 offshore tracts in Cuban exclusive economic zone (EEZ).
The working estimates are that there is the potential for 120 thousand barrels
of oil per day, perhaps more, but the sea floor is over a mile deep and the oil
reserves perhaps an additional 3,000 feet beneath the sea floor. This lies
within the capacity of the existing oil drilling technology, but as previously
explained, the task of extracting the oil will have to be undertaken using second- or third-generation technology because of U.S. export control regulations against trading with Cuba. The challenge for Cuban oil development
policy makers is to simultaneously pursue frontier exploration in the Gulf of
Mexico, while continuing to produce from the existing mature oil reserves
with higher levels of efficiency and environmental integrity. Add to this challenge the additional question of securing the appropriate technology for the
task.
The shaded blocks in Figure 3 indicate the 16 blocks under contract with
various oil companies. Six blocks are under contract to Repsol-YSP from
Spain,13 four blocks with Sherritt from Canada, six blocks are presently under
negotiation, and the remaining 43 are presently open. According to Cuban
energy officials, the objectives for 2006 are to increase the drilling of wells
by over 50 percent, to carry out a seismic campaign to collect more data for
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
41
the available tracts, to increase the domestic production of oil and gas (presently 85,000 barrels/day, and to put more drilling rigs into operation.
FIGURE 2-3. Cuba’s Exclusive Economic Zone for Oil Exploration
Source: CUPET, 2006
Since the announcement of the discovery of oil reserves off the northwest
coast, discussions with American oil industry representatives strongly suggest that there is credibility to the claims being made.
The Long-term Energy Development Prospects and
the New “Cuban Energy Revolution”
Cuba’s present electricity market has 3.18 million customers. Its annual generation is 11.30 million giga-watt/hours (GW/h) with an average peak hourly
demand of 2,199 megawatts. The structure of electricity consumption is 45
percent residential, and 55 percent non-residential (commercial, service and
state enterprises). Rather than concentrating the focus on energy development
on increasing oil production and hence the production of electricity, Cuban
13. Spanish oil-prospecting company Repsol YPF resumed subsurface sounding in Cuban
waters, following a failed attempt last year. With a new joint-venture deal that entitles it to
40 percent of all revenues and puts it at the helm of the drilling rig, the company is planning to pick up where it left off. Other shareholders in the joint-venture will be Chinese
state-owned CNOOC, with a 30 percent stake, and Norwegian Norsk Hydro, with the
remaining 30 percent. (Notimex, 3/6/05)
energy officials have decided to take a revolutionary course towards addressing it energy demands—that is to eliminate waste in the production, transmission and delivery of electricity, while simultaneously improving conservation
and reducing waste on the consumption end. Unlike open societies where
consumers are free to consume to their hearts content and producers are free
pass the costs of waste onto consumers, the Cuban energy revolution seeks to
minimize and hopefully eliminate these losses and concentrate on the energy
savings as a source of the production of what have been termed “nega-watts.”
Nega-watts are the idea that energy savings can be viewed as the production
of new sources of energy through conservation measures, including the introduction of high energy efficiency household appliances, the application of a
graduated fee/fine structure in the domestic sector, the rehabilitation of the
national transmission and delivery system, and a concerted effort to minimize
losses at the production inputs of energy generation.
The essential aim of the “Cuban Energy Revolution” is to create a new
energy saving culture in the Cuban society.14 This effort is coordinated
though the Programa de Ahorros de Energia Cubana (PAEC), a program first
implemented in 1997 to promote the following measures:
The promotion of energy efficiency in the commercial, industrial and residential sectors through an aggressive program of public information through all
instruments of the state media, schools and community organizations;
The distribution of efficient household appliances, this has commenced in
Pinar del Rio province and will extent across the entire island;
Increase efficiency in the production, transmission and delivery of electricity,
including the process of rehabilitation of networks has begun in order to
reduce loss in distribution and low voltage levels the production of distribution transformers will be triplicated, and new brigades of linesmen are being
formed in the whole country. (de la O, 2006)
In addition, in recent years Cuba has developed an increasing capacity to
extract significant quantities of gas that are generated with the petroleum production. The associated gas equivalence used has been about one MM tons/
year. Cuban energy officials are seeking to continue this practice and potentially increase the usage of associated gas in energy generation. They plan on
installing two new gas turbines and with a second combined cycle facility
developed by ENERGAS, an additional 90 MW will be available in the near
future. The thermo-electrical plant in Boca de Jaruco (east of Havana) is
ready for simultaneous burning of associated gas and crude oil. Cuba energy
officials will augment the national electrical generation capacity with the
14. This policy objective was formally unveiled during Fidel Castro’s speech commemorating the Moncada Barracks attack on July 26, 2005. It has been an important part of most
policy speeches related to energy in the time since, and it now referred to as the “Energy
Revolution.”
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
43
installation of batteries for energy generation plants, synchronized to the
National Electric System (SEN), for generation in rural sub-stations, and the
installation of independent energy generation plants in key places of economy and services. (Leon Gomez, 2006; de la O, 2006)
FIGURE 2-4. Cuba’s Proven Oil Reserves
Source: CUPET, 2006
The development of new and renovated thermo-electric generation capacity is being conducted in alternative energy resources domestically and in
conjunction with projects with foreign universities, governments and intergovernmental organizations such as the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) which is presently coordinating a project on the Isla de la
Juventud with Cuba’s Centro de la Gerencia de Proyectos Priorizados of the
Ministry of Science, Technology and the Environment (CITMA) to develop a
pilot project employing wind, solar and biomass produced energy in isolated
island settings. Cuba’s role is significant in the design and implementation
and may provide for small-scale alternative energy production in similarly
isolated locations across the island. (Curbelo Alonso, 2005)
One should also bear in mind that Cuba still possesses a large and wellarticulated capacity in nuclear technology owing to its 15-year effort to
develop a nuclear energy capability at the end of the Soviet era. There are
large number of nuclear scientists and technicians who were dedicated to the
effort and it allowed Cuba to design and develop and significant educational
capacity from pre-university through post-graduate programs of study in
nuclear engineering, physics and medicine. In the coming decades and as
petroleum stocks diminish, Cuba may re-visit the nuclear option for energy
production and could utilize this option as a means of addressing energy
demands. Cuba continues to cooperate with international and regional enti-
44
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
ties on matters related to the peaceful uses of nuclear energy and perhaps
could emerge as a Latin American leader in global nonproliferation efforts.
Reintegration of the Cuban Energy Sector and
Development Prospects
The Sheraton Mexico City Debacle
The convening of the U.S.–Cuba Energy Summit in Mexico City in February,
2006 marked a watershed of sorts for the Cuban energy sector. Dating back to
the early 1990s and echoing back to before the Cuban revolution, the most
logical choice for Cuban energy production partners has been American
firms. Consistently, through the Special Period, in discussions related to rescuing the nuclear option and now in the wake of the oil finds off the northwest coast, Cuban officials have stated that because la tecnolgia de pico
(cutting edge technology) can be found in the United States, and because of
proximity and cost efficiencies, it makes the most sense for Cubans to seek
American partnerships in meeting its energy development objectives. So for
observers of the campo energetico the extent to which American oil company
representatives would find Cuba’s presentation of its oil and gas development
plans credible would go along way to achieving that particular objective. The
fact that a number of major American firms were represented and came away
stating that there is significant interest in discussing options for investment
created a sense of excitement of what might transpire in the near term. The
decision of the Sheraton Maria Isabel to expel the Cuban delegation from the
hotel, notwithstanding, did not dampen the enthusiasm for what to most
appeared to be a logical and mutually beneficial relationship for the two
nations. What the Mexico City meeting revealed is that the Cuban and American oil and gas interests are aligned to pursue a path where technology transfer, investment and production projects and cooperation can become a reality.
The fact that no less than 20 firms from eight countries are already an indication that the Cuban energy sector is already “reintegrated” into the global
market, and that the United States is not already a partner perhaps spells an
exclusion from the process of revitalization that merely slows the progress
already being made in this critical sector.
The American solution
Regardless of the American foreign policy vis-à-vis the Castro regime, the
United States will play an important role in the sustainability of Cuban
energy policy imperatives well into the 21st century for three critical reasons.
First, the United States, and its business community will bear most of the cost
for investment and development in Cuba after transition. Because the U.S.
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
45
presently holds the outstanding claims against the Cuban government for
expropriated properties, the resolution of these claims assume a priority in
the process of normalization of diplomatic and economic relations between
the two countries. It should also be noted that the because of the influential
role and owing to the contributions the U.S. makes to multilateral lending
institutions the brunt of the financing for the renovation of Cuba’s aged
energy infrastructure will fall these agencies, U.S. government agencies
through grants and assistance, and through direct foreign investment by U.S.
firms. That fact alone requires that it is incumbent upon the U.S. at this time
to calculate a “best-guess” estimate of what the bill for this project will cost.
One can easily surmise that the cost of this effort will total in the billions of
dollars, but it is important to note that the more that the work is put-off or
delayed, insinuates a higher cost of renovation down the road. Second,
because of proximity and affinity, the Cubans have always expressed a preference for utilizing leading-edge American technology and working with
Americans. Virtually all of Cuba’s engineering and scientific community
speaks, reads and write English owing to the fact that all technical and scientific journals and textbooks are almost exclusively in English. Moreover, in
the few instances where Cubans and Americans have had the opportunity to
interact and discuss the possibility of cooperation and collaboration, Americans have left impressed and given serious thought to what types of projects
and joint ventures might develop if the diplomatic relations between the two
countries were normal. It is taken as an article of faith by most Cuba observers, that every major corporation in the United States has in its files a “Cuba”
folder waiting for the day when they will be allowed to conduct business on
the island. Finally, there have been interesting proposals that see Cuba as a
potential entrepot for American petroleum interests. (Myers Jaffe and Soligo,
2006) This includes the development of oil storage and refining facilities to
offset the concentration of this type of facility in the Gulf Coast of the Southern United States, as a hedge against what appears to be a long-term shift in
Caribbean weather patterns, promising a spike in the number of tropical
storms and hurricanes for the near future. Ironically, in the wake of Hurricanes Rita and Katrina there is a call to increase the number and to diversify
the location of American oil refineries away from the Gulf Coast region insofar that 25 percent of the refining capacity for the United States is still offline
nearly a year later at the beginning of the new hurricane season. This could
alter the strategic view of Cuba for American policy makers, but under the
present set of circumstances and with the prevailing policy prerogatives of
the Bush Administration, Cuba for all of the well-documented reasons will
remain isolated and beyond the reach of U.S. business interests.
46
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
The Cuban solution
“We are not going to spend our nights dreaming about offshore oil” — Fidel
Castro, March 4, 2006
All indications from the series of interviews and site visits in Cuba indicate
that Cuba fully intends to seek the means of developing oil and gas resources
wherever they exist on the island and with whoever chooses to partner with
the Cuban government. That much is very clear. But the statement by President Castro also insinuates that the present and existing energy resources and
issues will guide Cuba’s responses to energy development issues. Those
responses include a vigorous program of energy conservation from the power
plant to the kitchen seeking to extract energy savings and economies of scale
that credibly meet policy objectives, while simultaneously boosting domestic
oil production and increasing efficiency in the production, transmission and
delivery of electricity across the island.
Moreover, the efforts on the island to enhance energy efficiency along the
entire chain of production to consumption compliments the possible gains
derived from increasing Cuba’s domestic production capacity through oil
exploration in the deep water tracks off the northwest coast of the island.
That Cuba can still import its shortfall in domestic production of refined
petroleum products through its favorable trade arrangements with Venezuela
gives Cuba the type of energy security cushion it enjoyed during the latter
Soviet period. And similar to that period Cuba has chosen to aggressively
pursue energy independence by virtue of its recent offshore discoveries and
by promoting a revolution in the end uses of energy in all sectors of the
Cuban economy.
Events in the past few months within the Cuban energy policy arena indicate that the possibility of increasing the island’s energy productive capacity
is well within reach of the Castro regime. What is perhaps most evident is the
growing presence of international partners that will be instrumental in assisting Cuba to push the effort forward. Canada, China and Venezuela are all
playing critical roles in the drive to increase domestic productive capacity as
well as assisting the Cuban effort to put into place remarkably creative and
important technological developments to meet the many challenges facing
Cuban policy makers. Moreover, it is also abundantly evident that the
“Cuban energy revolution” as a policy development, while not entirely new,
places Cuba at the forefront of implementing a concerted energy conservation program that is unique among developing states and responds to the
challenges that all states are now facing in the wake of rising oil prices.
But an equally significant energy challenge is going unmet at this particular time in Cuba, that of an effort to address a complete modernization of the
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
47
energy infrastructure on the island, an infrastructure that ranges in age from
30 to 80 years and is in dire need of repair, maintenance and replacement.
Cuba has announced that it is investing in the rehabilitation of transmission
and delivery systems in an attempt to curb the significant losses of electricity
generated and one can be relatively certain that the effort corresponds to a
task to which Cuban policy makers are determined to complete. But it suffices to say that the cost of such an all-encompassing task perhaps lies
beyond the financial capacity of the Cuban government, and the negative
influence of the American economic sanctions against the island chills the
investment environment in the country’s energy sector. It is not that progress
isn’t being made. And by almost any measure, the Cuban joint venture
approach to energy development has been successful but not at the level that
meets the totality of the challenge. We can only estimate that the cost of modernizing the energy sector on the island totals into the billions of dollars, and
the millions now being dedicated to the task only partially addresses the myriad projects that could be undertaken. For now the piecemeal approach will
address the most critical needs facing the Cuban energy sector but all said it
only scratches the surface. Perhaps, if and when the offshore production
promise becomes a reality, Cuban policy makers may once and for all be able
to address this grand undertaking inasmuch as it will be the grandest and
most important infrastructural project of the century.
Conclusion
In closing, the overview of the Cuban energy developments clearly and
unambiguously reveals that the Castro regime has every intention of continuing to promote, design and implement energy development policies that will
benefit Cuba for generations to come. Cuba is sparing no effort by instituting
bottom-up and top-down policy initiatives to meet this challenge. It has significantly increased its international cooperation in the energy sector and
continues to enhance its efforts to ensure energy security in these most uncertain of times. But it stands to reason that no matter how successful these
efforts are, they will come up short. Two factors may alter this present situation. First, Cuba may indeed realize a bonanza from the offshore tracts that
will allow it to possibly address its many energy challenges, from increasing
oil production and refining capacity, to improving the nation’s energy infrastructure, ensuring a stable energy future. Second, and no less significant, is
the possibility of normalization of trade relations with the United States. This
is important not only because it will allow direct foreign investment, technology transfer and information sharing between these neighboring states but it
possibly enhances the energy security of both states, and hence, the region,
realized through a division of labor and dispersion of resources that serve as a
48
Jonathan Benjamin-Alvarado
hedge against natural disaster and market disruptions. Moreover, all states
could derive benefit from the public information campaigns to promote
energy efficiency and conservation presently being promoted in Cuba in the
face of diminishing energy stocks and uncertain global markets. Ultimately,
and only after normalization, the task still falls to the Cuban government, but
the cost will necessarily be spread through a number of sources that are predominately American because of strategic interests, proximity and affinity. It
suffices to say that the requisite investment and assistance will have a distinct
American tinge to it, inasmuch as American corporations, U.S. government
agencies, and international financial institutions, to which the U.S. is a major
contributor, will play important roles in the funding of the effort to revitalize
the Cuban energy sector. Cuban officials are not averse and perhaps would
prefer that the U.S. be its major partner in this effort owing to the fact that
most if not all of the cutting-edge technology in energy, oil and gas comes
from the United States. It is remarkable that the Cuban energy sector is as
vibrant as it presently is, absent the type of infrastructural investment that is
available to most developing states, in large part because of the American
economic embargo.
Finally, the cost is significant and it stands to reason that the longer one
waits to address the challenge at hand the higher the cost of modernizing the
energy sector. For this reason alone, the American role in assisting Cuba in
this effort will be significant and every day that the task is put off, it increases
the cost of the effort. This should serve as an obvious point of entry into
cooperation with the Cuban government and perhaps can serve as a catalyst
for promoting confidence, trust and cooperation in this critical issues area
across the region.
Bibliography
Benjamin-Alvarado, Jonathan C. 2000. Power to the People: Energy and the
Cuban Nuclear Program. New York: Routledge.
Benjamin-Alvarado, Jonathan. 1998. “Non-Issue: Cuba’s Mothballed
Nuclear Power Plant,” An International Policy Report, No. 17, Center for
International Policy, Washington, D.C. July, 1998
Benjamin-Alvarado, Jonathan; and Alexander Belkin. 1994. “El Programa
Nuclear Cubano y Las Presiones del Periodo Posterior a la Guerra Fria,”
Revista Occidental, 11(4): 169-188.
Curbelo Alonso, Alfredo, GEPROP-CITMA. Interview by author. Havana,
Cuba, July 10, 2005.
de la O, Vicente, Director General, Union Electrica. Interview by author.
Pinar del Rio, Cuba, March 3-4, 2006,.
Erickson, Daniel P. 2005. “Charting Castro’s Possible Successors.” SAIS
Review. 25(1): 89-103.
Hatt, Barry, Senior Vice President, Sherritt Oil Ltd. Interview by author.
Havana, Cuba, July 20, 2005.
Prospects for Sustainable Energy
49
Kuntsler, James Howard. 2006. The Long Emergency: Surviving the End of
the Oil Age, Climate Change, and Other Converging Catastrophes of the
Twenty-first Century. New York: Grove Press.
Leon Gomez, Eloy, Interview by author. Havana, Cuba, March 3-4, 2006.
Morris, Emily. 2005. “The Cuban Economy: Current Performance and Future
Trends – Focus on External Trade.” Presentation at the National Summit
on Cuba, Mobile, Alabama, June 10, 2005.
OLADE, 2000. Energia y Desarollo Sustenable En America Latina y el Caribe: Guia para la Formulacion de Politicas Energeticas. Quito, Ecuador:
OLADE.Myers Jaffe, Amy and Ron Soligo, 2006. “Energy in Cuba” in
Cuba in Transition: Volume 15. Papers and Proceedings of the Fifteenth
Annual Meeting of the Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy
(ASCE).
Perez, David; I. Lopez, and I. Berdellans. 2005. “Evaluating Energy Policy in
Cuba using ISED.” Natural Resources Forum, 29: 298-307.
Perez de Prado, Raul, Cuban Vice Minister of Basic Industry. Interview by
author. Havana, Cuba, Feb. 4, 2006.
Piñon Cervera, Jorge R. 2006. “Cuba’s Energy Challenge: Fueling the
Engine of Future Economic Growth” forthcoming in Cuba in Transition:
Volume 15. (2006) Papers and Proceedings of the Fifteenth Annual
Meeting of the Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy
(ASCE).
Reuters News Service. 2004. “Destituyen a Un Ministro Por La Crisis Electrica.” October 15, 2004.
CHAPTER 3
Reorientation in
Agriculture
Japji Anna Bas
The breakdown of the Soviet Union and the socialist bloc in Eastern Europe
which began in 1989 led many to believe that the collapse of Castro’s Cuba
would follow closely behind. Instead, Cuban policy-makers demonstrated
remarkable ingenuity, carving a new path for socialist Cuba and surviving a
crisis “few developing nations could have endured…without falling into
chaos” (Azicri, 2000: 69). In August of 1990 Cuban leadership declared the
beginning of the Special Period in Peacetime, employing austerity measures
designed for war conditions to brace the nation for the deep economic crisis
which ensued. Both statistically and anecdotally, the crisis was at its worst in
1993 when the average Cuban adult lost 20 pounds due to food shortages
(Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 10) and there was an eruption of 51,000 cases
of optic neuropathy—a degenerative illness caused by nutrient deficiencies
(Azicri, 2000: 84). The early 1990’s thus marked a particularly difficult and
volatile time for the Cuban revolution. It was a time where “days were frequently filled with unrelieved hardship and adversity in the pursuit of even
the most minimum needs of everyday life, day after day” (Pérez, 1995: 387).
It was also a time when, bit by bit, the government made substantial and
unforeseen changes in its approach to everything from economic policy to
agriculture. This paper thus establishes the basis of the need for change by
considering contributing factors of the Special Period and looking at the
depth of the crisis in both agriculture and food security. The paper then
moves on to explore the radical redirection of Cuban agriculture, looking at
the Basic Units of Cooperative Production, Farmers’ Markets, Urban Agriculture, and Low Input Sustainable Agriculture.
51
52
Japji Anna Bas
Contributing Factors
Literature regarding the economic crisis which precipitated the Special
Period in Cuba consistently cites the collapse of the Soviet Union in conjunction with the tightening of the U.S. embargo as the cause. It is certain both
that the demise of the Soviet socialist bloc was the event which set the course
for Cuba’s economic crisis and that the reinforcement of the U. S. blockade
ensured that the path would be difficult. Yet to exclude the actions and policies of the Cuban government from the equation is to reduce Cuba to the role
of pawn in its own historical process.1 Indeed, the recognition of the role of
the actions of the Cuban state in the contributing factors of the crisis is recognition of Cuban agency. Cuban social scientist Espinoza Martínez (1995), in
his analysis of the economic crisis of the early 1990’s, argues that it was the
demise of the Soviet Union and the tightening of the U.S. embargo, combined with vulnerabilities of the Cuban economy, which led to near collapse.
Espinoza’s analysis is echoed in Álvarez’ discussion of “Antecedents of the
Agricultural Policies of the 1990’s” in which he argues that “the inefficiency
of the state agricultural sector” was the third factor which led to the severity
of the crisis in the early 1990s. (Álvarez, 2004: 52, 69) The notion that a third
factor—vulnerability of the Cuban economy and the inefficiency of the state
sector of agriculture—contributed to the crisis is both central to an advanced
understanding of the Cuban economy and Cuban agriculture, respectively,
and was essential for recognition of the agency of the Cuban state. If Cuba is
to play (or has played) a role in its own historical process, then it is, by necessity, an actor. To deny the role of the Cuban state in the successes or the failures of the revolution is to disempower Cuba and Cubans. This paper thus
argues that there are three factors contributing to the economic crisis of the
early 1990’s: the collapse of the Soviet Union, the tightening of the U.S.
blockade, and a dependent and inefficient state sector.
Depth of the Crisis
The experience of the early 1990’s, especially 1993, has left an indelible
mark on the consciousness of the Cuban people. Living in a survival economy, life during the Special Period “came to resemble life under war conditions” (Azicri, 2000: 75), as access to food, medicine, transportation and even
electricity became uncertain. Indeed, average daily caloric intake dropped by
more than 500 calories per person (FAO, 2004: 1) and many women left their
jobs to dedicate themselves to the pursuit of now-scarce basic necessities full
1. In both the so-called Spanish-American War in 1898 and in the resolution of the
Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, the Americans and the Spanish and the Americans and the
Soviets, respectively, excluded Cubans from the resolution of crises and, thereby denied
them agency.
Reorientation in Agriculture
53
time. The situation got so bad that “street demonstrations and anti-government protests erupted in Cojímar and Regla in 1993 and in Havana in 1994.”
(Pérez, 1995: 396) This section looks at the agricultural conditions and the
consequent state of food security during this extraordinarily difficult time.
Agriculture
Cuba’s dominant state sector had developed an input-dependent agriculture
which relied heavily on their trading relationship with the socialist bloc in
Eastern Europe. When the socialist bloc crumbled and the United States
tightened its embargo against Cuba, the precariousness of the chemical-intensive mono-crop, monoculture model of agriculture revealed itself and, by
1994, agricultural production levels had dropped to 55 percent of 1990 levels.
(Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 10) At the same time, world prices for sugar
(which had typically been one-fifth of what the Soviets had paid for Cuban
sugar) fell from 13.6 U.S. cents per pound in 1989-1990 to 9.1 cents per
pound in 1990-1991. (Azicri, 2000: 132) The effect was devastating and a
new, extensive rationing system was instituted to ensure equitable distribution of scarce resources. (Murphy, 1999: 8) As a result, there were “sharp
reductions in the availability of food products in the rationed market.” (Álvarez, 2004: 140) Lack of replacement parts and fuel meant that farm machinery sat idle in the fields and as much as a third of harvests rotted in the fields.
(Burchardt, 2000: 2) Thus, the government re-instituted the use of draught
animals in the fields. (Pérez, 1995: 386) In 1991, Fidel called upon Cubans
for a large scale mobilization of voluntary agricultural work (Pérez, 1995:
388; Rosset and Benjamin, 1994: 66-69; Frank, 1993: 153) as the decades of
the Classical Model had precipitated urban migration. The agricultural development model pursued during the revolutionary era produced a dependent
food economy which, when the Soviet Union began to disintegrate, devastated Cuba.2
Food security
Though Cuba “has always ranked as a food deficit country” (Nieto and Delgado, 2001: 47), “it should be noted that during the period preceding the economic crisis, food production levels showed sustained growth for almost
every commodity” (Martin, 2001: 58) under the Programa Alimentario
Nacional or PAN.3 The implementation of the PAN, however, was interrupted
by the onset of the crisis which reversed Cuba’s remarkable achievements in
2. When considering Cuba’s agricultural redirection as a possible model for food security, it is worth noting that most countries in the world are currently engaged in deeply
dependant food economies.
3. The PAN, introduced as part of the process of Rectification of Errors and Negative
Tendancies, consisted of 36 programs designed to meet the goals of agricultural diversification and food self-sufficiency which had been abandoned in the early years of the revolution.
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Japji Anna Bas
food security (Rosset and Benjamin, 1994: 24). By 1993, “the daily intake of
the average Cuban citizen had descended to 1863 calories” (Koont, 2004: 12), well below the FAO recommended minima for Cuba of 2,400 calories
(Álvarez, 2004b: 6), and a far cry from the 2,898 calorie diet of the late
1980’s (Perfecto, 1994: 99). Cuba’s food security crisis was unique in that,
whereas in other countries crises consistently affect the poor disproportionately, Cuba’s food programs for vulnerable populations and the ration system
ensured that the weight of the problem was shared. (Sinclair and Thompson,
2001: 10) Thus, during the economic crisis of the early 1990’s, food security
threatened to be the destabilizing factor in Cuban politics, but through fair
and effective distribution—even of insufficient resources—the Cuban leadership was able to weather the storm.
Radical Redirection of Agriculture
By 1991, Fidel Castro had declared food the number one national priority.
(Chaplowe, 1996: 1) Indeed, as evidenced by the anti-government protests in
1994, lack of food security had demonstrated itself to be the most critical
dimension of the crisis because it threatened national security. (Carranza and
Valdés, 2004: 5) Something had to be done. Thus, since the magnitude of the
problem required alternative solutions (Díaz, 1997: 19), the government
embarked on the so-called third agrarian reform in 1993-1994. (Díaz, 1997:
15).State farms were converted into Unidades Básicas de Producción Cooperativa (UBPCs or Basic Units of Cooperative Production), farmers’ markets
called agropecuarios were opened, Urban Agriculture (UA) was facilitated
by the government, the nation switched from Classical Model agriculture to
alternative Low Input Sustainable Agriculture (LISA), and in addition a number of existing strategies were re-emphasized.
Aspects of this third agrarian reform represented a drastic shift in ideology. For the formation of the UBPCs, the traditional preference for state-controlled agriculture was dropped; for the opening of the agropecuarios the
strong government opposition to free markets was overruled; while the
switch to LISA agriculture ran contrary to paradigm of an entire generation
of Soviet-influenced agriculturists and scientists. Even the drive for increased
UA stood in contrast to the expectations of Cubans who had become accustomed to the paternalism of the state. Indeed, the redirection of agriculture
initially promised an empowering new model in place of tightly controlled,
centralized agriculture. Simultaneously, major changes were taking place in
all sectors of the economy. There was a renewed emphasis on tourism (Azicri, 2000: 157), foreign trade was restructured to favor Latin America, Canada, Europe and Asia (Nieto and Delgado, 2001: 41), and the U.S. dollar was
Reorientation in Agriculture
55
legalized. (Azicri, 2000: 74) In fact, it is fair to say that the radical redirection
of agriculture took place as part of an overall liberalization of the economy.
The major changes in both agriculture and the economy in general were a
rapid and direct response to the enormous depths of the crisis in an attempt to
secure the gains made in the revolutionary era. Broadly speaking, the measures have proven successful. This has been possible because of the government’s overwhelming determination to achieve the most equitable
distribution possible. The government placed all available products under a
regimen of rationing,4 subsidized central industries, and maintained the priority of health care, education, and social security. (Carranza and Valdés, 2004:
4) Nevertheless, some measures, like the opening of the agropecuarios, the
legalization of the dollar and the promotion of tourism, also generated a
renewed situation of differential access. In fact, “Fidel himself recognized the
increment of inequality and called for the revolutionaries to be understanding” (Azicri, 2000: 140)—a tall order for a population raised for two generations on the ideology of absolute social equity. Thus, while the policies
enacted in the depth of the crisis were designed to safeguard social equity,
they simultaneously re-established an economy of differential access.
Measures which engendered renewed differential access were those measures which both sought to bring about increased production through material incentives (as with the agropecuarios) and to facilitate capital
accumulation for the purchase of foreign foodstuffs and goods (as with the
legalization of the U.S. dollar and the new emphasis on tourism). Both
increases in production and capital accumulation were required to address the
severe food insecurity (largely brought about by the loss of trading partners
and the U.S. embargo) because of the ongoing inefficiency of the agricultural
sector (which had already been a problem prior to the onset of the crisis). It is
worth reiterating that Cuba has always ranked as a food deficit country.
While this is, in part, due to the island’s colonial and neocolonial history as a
sugar producer for Spain and the United States, respectively, it is important to
bear in mind that early in the revolution the new government elected to continue on this path with the Soviet Union, thereby reproducing the dependent
mono-crop, mono-export economy. Both the inefficiency and the ongoing
mono-crop character of the agricultural sector played key roles in the devastating food crisis of the early 1990’s. In the search for solutions to the food
crisis, initially the government emphasized productive efficacy while sugar
continued to dominate the agricultural sector.
4. Though the system of rationing first implemented in 1962 has been widely criticized—both for its extraordinary duration and, since the inception of the Special Period,
for being insufficient—the government’s recent commitment to eliminate the ration system
is disconcerting because Cuba’s ration system has long been the structure which guarantees
a base level of food security to all citizens.
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Japji Anna Bas
Unidades Basicos de Produccion Cooperativos
Seeking a more efficient model, the Cuban government looked to its own
agricultural landscape. In the spring of 1993, farmland in Cuba was distributed as follows: 80 percent belonged to state farms, 15 percent to cooperatives, and 5 percent to individual private farmers. (Levins, 1993: 55) Yet,
with only 20 percent of the agricultural land, the non-state sector “contributed 35 percent of national production, using less than 20 percent of the
resources invested in agriculture.” (Nova, 1994, cited in Martin, 2001: 58)
The comparatively autonomous sector proved notably more efficient than the
state sector. Thus on September 10, 1993, a bill was passed by the Communist party approving the creation of UBPCs (Díaz, 1999: 111), and on September 20, 1993, Law-Decree No. 142 formally established the UBPCs
(Álvarez, 2004: 75) based on the model of the successful non-state agricultural production cooperatives or CPAs. (Nova González, 1998: 1) The transition occurred rapidly and by late 1994 there were 2,879 UBPCs which held
46.5 percent of all agricultural lands (Azicri, 2000: 145), approximately 50
percent of state agricultural land. The idea was that by following both the
economic framework and the means of remuneration used by the CPAs
(Álvarez, 2004: 80) the state could facilitate more efficient and sustainable
agriculture on its land. (Messina, 2000: 435) Thus began Cuba’s so-called
third agrarian reform.
The formation of UBPCs took place as state lands were granted to former
state farm employees in the form of permanent usufruct. (Díaz, 1997: 15)5
Now the predominant farm structure in Cuba (Martin, 2001: 62), UBPCs are,
on average, 10 percent of the size of previous state farms (Messina, 2000:
435). The smaller size is designed not only to promote productive efficiency,
but also to facilitate the democratization of the agricultural sector through
decentralized decision-making. The shift from centralized planning to locally
centered, empowered decision-making (Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 19)
represents a radical ideological shift. At the same time, however, fuller steps
clearly remain to be taken. Indeed, while Cuban social scientist Beatriz Díaz
describes the creation of the UBPCs as “part of a larger political and economic process of decentralization in Cuba aimed at diversifying civil society
and creating bases for greater democratization by increasing the direct participation of the workers in decision-making,” (Díaz, 1999: 18), she elsewhere
cites the lack of autonomy and absence of a sense of ownership as reasons for
the poor performance of the UBPCs. (Díaz, 1997: 16) In fact, the state retains
ownership of the land, reserves the right to “dissolve any UBPC… according
to economic or social interests determined by the government,” (Gaceta offi5. The International Development Research Centre of Canada defines usufruct as “the
rights to farm a piece of land and profit from the produce but not to ownership” (IDRC,
2005: 3).
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cial 1993 cited in Burchardt, 2000: 3) determines which crops are to be
planted, sets production quotas, and determines the location of sale of 80 percent of produce (Álvarez, 2004: 78). Thus the cooperatives’ autonomy was
effectively restricted to 20 percent of their production (above state established quotas) which, in their first year they could not legally sell. Despite the
stated objective to expand the cooperative sector in agriculture, at least in
terms of the UBPCs, structural rigidities inhibited real decentralized decision-making and undermined possibilities for an empowered agricultural sector.
The initial results were very disappointing. Indeed, in his study on agricultural reform in Cuba, William Messina Jr. finds that agricultural reforms
have been insufficient in so far as structural rigidities remain in place and
have impeded the drive towards efficiency. (Messina, 2000: 437, 441) While
it is true that even the partial achievements of the UBPCs are notable given
the profound economic crisis (Burchardt, 2000: 5), it is significant that for
the period 1994-2001 more than 50 percent of Cuba’s UBPCs were operating
at a deficit. (Álvarez, 2004b: 5) In fact, after a series of provincial meetings
on the status of UBPCs in 2002, even Communist party officials concluded
that most UBPCs were bankrupt. Indeed, as early as 1995 a study conducted
by the Polo Científico de Humanidades at the University of Havana identified key problems with the UBPCs—lack of autonomy, inexperienced leadership, reluctant adoption of organic agricultural techniques, unstable labur
force, lack of familiarity with notions of ownership, and lack of suitable
housing—problems which persisted for nearly a decade. (Álvarez, 2004: 8486) Yet Armando Nova of the University of Havana’s Centro de Estudio de la
Economía Cubana (Center for the Study of the Cuban Economy) stresses that
UBPCs, in fact, experienced slow growth until 2001 when drought led to a
slight decline in production for 2002 and 2003. (Nova, 2004: 11)6 Indeed, statistics from the Dirección de Producción de Caña (Sugar Production Centre)
indicate that changes made7 have been successful—production per hectare
has increased from 31.9 tons per hectare in 1993-1994 to 35.3 tons per hectare in 2003-2004. (Dirección de Producció de Caña, 2004: 6) Thus, though it
appears that the initial failure of UBPCs to produce efficiently was a function
of a paternalistic state unwilling to relinquish control in a meaningful way, in
recent years there has been some increase in productivity. Because these
increases in productivity are recent and have been impacted by environmental factors (i.e. drought and hurricanes), they require further monitoring. Nevertheless, it is fair to say that UBPCs are increasingly successful.
6. Best results in the last five years, for UBPCs, have been seen in the areas of rice production, citrus fruit, and pork (Nova, 2004: 11).
7. In 2002, the least productive cane fields and their mills, representing nearly 50 percent of Cuban land dedicated to sugar, were shut down in an effort to increase efficiency.
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Agropecuarios, or Farmers’ Markets
On September 23, 1994 the government reintroduced free market farmers’
markets, this time called agropecuarios, with governmental decree No. 191/
94 (Enríquez, 2000: 12), thereby granting a legal market for surplus production for both the UBPCs and the non-state sector. This move, in conjunction
with the UPBCs, formed the basis of the third agrarian reform and has been
credited with the alleviation of the food crisis. The internally contentious
move to liberalize the prices of foodstuffs sold outside the ration channel
(Koont, 2004: 5) had two primary objectives: to increase production through
material incentives and to provide an alternative to (and competition for) the
black market which had mushroomed out of control. Because the government
had historically set prices very low (in order to keep food costs down and
thereby facilitate massive food security) farmers, obligated to sell to the state,
had felt little incentive to produce to capacity. (Sinclair and Thompson, 2001:
31) Once the agropecuarios were opened, both non-state sector farmers and
state sector cooperatives were free to sell their excess produce to earn extra
income. (Enríquez, 2000: 14) As we shall see below, this increased the level
of control, effectively spurred production and has thereby provided more
food for the population (Álvarez, 2001: 82). Indeed, in my own work in Cuba
I have been to many cooperatives at which the average income is upwards of
800 pesos a month, nearly four times the national average peso income,
thanks to sales at agropecuarios. Because prices at the agropecuarios were
much lower than those on the black market,8 the agropecuarios both severely
undercut black market sales and increased general access to food, thereby
positively impacting food security.
While agropecuarios do not directly address the food needs of some of
the most vulnerable sectors, there are some indirect benefits to the general
population through taxation and the depreciation of the U.S. dollar vis á vis
the Cuban peso. Though a preferential taxation policy has been instituted to
stimulate food production and availability, especially in the hard-hit Havana
area (Koont, 2004: 5), vendors’ taxes are applied to reduce the government’s
budget deficit (Enríquez, 2001: 15), incurred through the provision of a vast
array of social services. Also, once the agropecuarios were opened, both the
value and the purchasing power of the peso improved. In 1994, as the black
market skyrocketed, the exchange rate ranged from 80 to 140 pesos to the
U.S. dollar. By 1995, however, it had fallen to 35 pesos to the dollar (Azicri,
2000: 143), by 1999 it dropped to 20 pesos to the dollar (Nieto and Delgado,
2001: 43), and since 2001 it has rested at between 26 and 27 pesos to the dollar (Álvarez, 2004: 102). Thus, despite high costs and differential access,
8. Pork, for example, sold for 25 pesos per pound at the agropecuario and 75 pesos per
pound on the black market (Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 28).
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agropecuarios have managed to both alleviate the food security crisis for
some and ameliorate the overall economic conditions on the island. Though
the agropecuarios positively impacted food security, they were (and remain)
contentious in Cuba, especially amongst staunch revolutionaries. An earlier
experiment with farmers’ markets in the mid-1980’s, the Mercados Libres
Campesinos, or the MLCs, had been terminated in 1986 because these markets were seen to promote inequality by providing extraordinary salaries for
food producers and, especially, middlemen. Indeed, as recently as 1990 most
policy-makers in Cuba viewed the MLCs in a wholly negative light.
(Enríquez, 2000: 15) Yet the rafter emigration crisis of 1994 (Álvarez, 2004:
98), and the protests of 1994, prompted the government to reluctantly
embrace this change as a means of remedying Cuba’s desperate food crisis.
(Enríquez, 2000: 15) The problem is that this remedy is still of limited access
to much of the general population due to high costs. (Nieto and Delgado,
2001: 49) A pound of onions can run from 12 to 15 pesos, approximately 5 to
6 percent of the average monthly salary of 250 pesos. This would be tantamount to paying US$48 for a pound of onions on a US$800-a-month salary.
Though the ration book does provide some basic foodstuff, monthly rations
often last no more than 10 to 14 days. (Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 28) The
agropecuarios are therefore contentious because while they do offer food to
Cubans with disposable income, they also engender differential access to
foodstuffs in the marketplace.
Indeed, the agropecuarios have been hugely successful since their inception at increasing food access for some, though they have also contributed to
the social cleavage effect. Within the first year, sales at the agropecuarios
had reached over 20,000 tons of agricultural and meat products, representing
25 to 30 percent of total production sold to the population (Álvarez, 2004:
103), within their first year these markets began to supply between a quarter
and a third of the Cuban population’s total caloric intake. By 1999 the sales
volume had tripled and the markets were generating more than 5 million
pesos in taxes annually. (Peters 2000: 5) Clearly, these markets did much to
increase food access for some. However, it is widely recognized that the
prices of these markets are so high that they preclude the participation of
many Cubans. (Álvarez, 2004: 101; Koont, 2005: 6; Messina, 2000: 441;
Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 28) Unfortunately, while this differential
access runs contrary to the Cuban revolution’s objective of equality, it is precisely the high cost of goods at the agropecuarios which engendered the
material incentives that in turn spurred production. Indeed, Lucy Martin
argues just this, explaining that “the ability to get higher prices and raise
incomes by surpassing contracted production quotas has led to a more active
and efficient management of productive resources, with one outcome being
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the greater availability of food for the population.” (Martin, 2001: 65) In an
effort to drive down the prices at the agropecuarios, the government opened
agricultural markets with fixed maximum prices in 1999. While the quality,
variety and consistency of the goods sold at these fixed price markets is relatively poor (Álvarez, 2004: 145-146), they do provide an alternative for those
who cannot afford the agropecuarios. Unfortunately, because of the poor
quality of the produce, they have not effectively generated competition and
price reduction. It thus emerges that the agropecuarios, on the one hand,
increased both production and availability of foodstuffs and, on the other
hand, generated differential access under the revolutionary government for
the first time.9
Urban Agriculture (UA)
Prior to the advent of the agropecuarios, citizens faced with the profound
food crisis began to develop their own response to the severe shortages. As
Catherine Murphy, a specialist in UA in Cuba, writes, “urban gardens sprang
up all over Havana…on balconies, patios, and rooftops.” (Murphy, 1999: 12)
Indeed, what had previously been both prohibited by the government and
seen as a sign of poverty and underdevelopment (Henn, 2001: 15), now flourished into a widespread movement which both alleviated food insecurity and
garnered the government much international praise. In 1993 the Ministry of
Agriculture (MINAGRI) restructured urban land use rights allow for urban
agricultural gardens10 and in 1994 MINAGRI created an agricultural department for the city of Havana which, in turn, developed an Urban Agriculture
Department (Murphy, 1999: 12-13). The goal of this movement is to maximize produce production “from every patch of previously unused urban land”
(Companioni et al., 2001: 220) by granting land access to would-be gardeners
through usufruct—the land remains under the control of the gardener as long
as the land remains under cultivation. (Bourque and Cañizares, 2000: 3)
Urban Agriculture emerged as a uniquely grassroots movement and flourished as a result of government support.
Once government support was in place to secure land rights for urban gardeners, UA developed along three branches: small urban plots, organization
specific plots, and peri-urban farms. Small urban plots produce in huertos
populares (popular gardens), organopónicos, and huertos intensivos; the
organization specific plots or autoconsumos are discussed below; and peri9. This system, however, may be on the brink of transformation. In late 2005, as part of
the battle against corruption, the government began to restrict the movement of illegal middlmen who (like the transporters in the Mercados Libres Campesinos of the early 1980’s)
would transport foodstuffs from farm to market, substantially marking up prices. The initial
impact was a reduction of goods available at the agropecuarios for several days. Though
availability of foodstuffs at agropecuarios does appear to have returned to normal levels,
the long-term consequences of this move are not yet known.
10. Previously only ornamentals were permitted in visible urban settings (Murphy, 1999:
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61
urban farms are comparatively large, covering 2 to 15 hectares (Companioni
et al., 2001: 227), forming a greenbelt around metropolitan Havana. (Murphy, 1999: 21) The small urban plots in Cuba’s UA are of particular interest
in so far as it is with this type of agriculture that Cuban cities, especially
Havana, have managed to transform every imaginable type of idle land into
fruitful land, literally. The term huertos populares refers to the above-mentioned patio, balcony and rooftop gardens that began to appear at the very
onset of the crisis. Huertos populares have become so common that they now
make significant contributions to urban food security (Companioni et al.,
2001: 227-228). Both organopónicos and huertos intensivos are urban gardening techniques which are designed to augment the poor soil quality found
in the converted vacant lots. Organopónicos use raised container beds filled
with a high compost to soil ratio for the intensive planting of fresh vegetables. (Murphy, 1999: 19) This method is particularly useful in areas with
extremely poor soil quality and can even be built on artificial surfaces. (Companioni et al., 2001: 226) Similarly, huertos intensivos use raised beds for
intensive gardening of fresh produce (Koont, 2004: 3), though this method is
used where soil quality is higher. The essential component of both methods is
their intercropping for intensive use of small areas so as to maximize production.
Because most of those involved in UA had no previous agricultural experience and nearly all had no experience in low-input agriculture, horticultural
groups were formed throughout the island. These groups initially emerged at
a grassroots level for members to pool resources and share information.
(Chaplowe, 1996: 3) As the UA movement took hold, extension workers
from the newly formed Urban Agriculture Division began running educational workshops to facilitate organic agriculture. (Murphy, 1999: 17) Today
there are over 70 tiendas de consultario agrícola or seed houses all over
Havana which offer information guides, tools, seeds and advice to urban agriculturists. (Koont, 2004: 6) Using intercropping, household compost and vermiculture, “garden productivity has been achieved with minimal external
inputs, applying principles of organic agriculture that are low cost, readily
available, and environmentally sustainable.” (Chaplowe, 1996: 2) As one of
the few truly grassroots movements in contemporary Cuba, UA has made a
significant impact on urban food security without depending on scarce agricultural inputs or transportation. Indeed, this empowered, sustainable, ecological, grassroots movement is renowned amongst food security theorists
the world over.
Though it is undeniable that Cuban UA has been successful, production
statistics vary. Catherine Murphy reports that in 1997 over 160,000 tons of
food were produced in UA (Murphy, 1999: 24), and Nieto and Delgado
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report that by 1999 the figure had increased to 800,000 tons of food produced
in the urban sector alone. (Nieto and Delgado, 2001: 45) By 2000, reports
indicate that UA was providing nearly 30 percent of caloric intake in urban
areas. (Bourque and Cañizares, 2000: 6; and Offenheiser, 2000: 5) While
early reports are consistent and show steady growth, reports in the last few
years begin to show inconsistencies. For 2001 Sinclair and Thompson
describe UA as providing 50 percent of the produce consumed in Cuba (Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 24), while Egidio Paez, then-president of the
Association of Agricultural and Forestry Professionals (ACTAF), claimed in
a personal communication that 90 percent of all produce consumed in
Havana is produced within the city limits. (Companioni et al., 2001: 235) The
latter figure is reflected in Jon Lamb’s report that by 2002 UA produced 3.4
million tons of produce nationally, providing 90 percent of all produce consumed in Havana. (Lamb, 2005: 2) Most recent reports note that 4 million
tons of produce were produced in the urban sector in 2004 and that figures
for 2005 are expected to exceed that amount by 100,000 tons. (Bosch, 2005:
1) Despite some inconsistencies, statistics for urban agriculture reflect steady
growth and a significant contribution to urban food security.
Urban Agriculture has contributed to increased access to organically produced produce. In part, UA is guaranteed to increase access to a variety of
sectors of the population through direct participation in production and
through contributions to local schools and hospitals. While contributions to
hospitals and schools are technically voluntary, it is in effect required by local
governments as a form of social rent in return for granting free access to land
(Koont, 2005: 6). Furthermore, because the city of Havana passed a law prohibiting the use of chemical pesticides within the city limits, Havana’s UA
has become the most completely organic sector in Cuban agriculture (Murphy, 1999: 27). Cuba’s UA program has effectively increased food security
while expanding ecological approaches to agriculture.
Low Input Sustainable Agriculture (LISA)
Cuba has also won a great deal of international support for the national conversion to LISA which took place as a direct response to the unavailability of
inputs at the onset of the Special Period. Indeed, Cuba’s conversion to sustainable agriculture has been enthusiastically referred to as “a unique event,
both on the world scene and in the history of socialism” (Levins, 1993: 52)
“because this was the first case in the world where a whole country turned to
low-input agriculture.” (Perfecto, 1994: 98) It is fair to say that this is the
“largest scale conversion from conventional agriculture to organic or semiorganic farming in history.” (Rosset and Benjamin, 1994: 34) Moreover, it
“has been easier for Cuban farmers than in other countries because of the
security bestowed by the Cuban government” such as land rights, secure mar-
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63
kets, health care and education. (Álvarez, M.D., 2001: 85) In other words, the
first ever national conversion to LISA has been possible due to Cuba’s
unique social and political context—the government has been both willing
and able to facilitate this conversion.
While an organic or LISA movement had existed in Cuba long before the
crisis hit,11 these farmers and scientists were generally marginalized by the
established scientists who believed strongly in the chemically intensive pesticide model (Rosset and Benjamin, 1994: 28). Nevertheless, once the government elected to make low input agriculture national policy, they quickly took
the reins of the movement. This was in the wake of the foundation of the formative group of the Cuban Organic Farming Association (ACAO), a group
of independent farmers, agriculturists, scientists and proponents from abroad
which formed in 1992 to promote and support the dissemination of low input
farming approaches (Funes et al, 2001: 11). Of course, as this autonomous
group gained national support and began to win international awards, it was
subsumed as a section of the Cuban Association of Agricultural and Forestry
Professionals (ACTAF) and renamed the Organic Farming Group (GAO) in
April of 1999 (Funes et al, 2001: 14-15). While this is generally presented
rather innocuously, it is an example of the tight control of the Cuban state.12
Thus with the move from marginalization to official policy, the Cuban sustainable agriculture movement traded autonomy for state control.
In trading autonomy for state control, Cuba’s LISA movement has had the
opportunity to become the largest organic experiment in the hemisphere.
(Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 25) Indeed, “Cuba has pioneered the use and
propagation of generalist ants to control insect pests in annual and semiperennial crops” (Perfecto, 1994: 99), has developed massive vermiculture
composting networks, and has reverted to animal traction. (Perfecto, 1994:
102) Because with only 2 percent of the population of Latin America, Cuba
has approximately 11 percent of the scientists (Rosset and Benjamin 1994,
28), Cuban scientists, backed by the Cuban government, are able to generate
new ecological technology at a rapid rate. (Perfecto, 1994: 103) Cuba’s alternative agricultural model favors diversity over monoculture, biofertilizers
over chemical ones, biopesticides over chemical ones, animal traction over
mechanization, and rainfall over irrigation. (Rosset and Benjamin, 1994: 29)
Cuba is indeed uniquely poised for such a transition, both because of the
security bestowed by the government and because of the government’s absolute control over planning.
11. Proponents cite dates ranging from the 1970’s when some scientists began to be interested (Funes, 2001: 11), to 1982 when policy began to favor local technology (Rosset and
Benjamin, 1994:, 27), to the late 1980’s when policy implementation began (Levins, 1993:
58).
12. Indeed, many of my Cuban colleagues continue to refer to this as a prime example of
the disempowering effect of the Cuban government’s paternalism.
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Cuba is renowned for its low input approach to agriculture in both urban
and rural zones. Indeed, proponents are right to call this project “startlingly
successful” (Barclay, 2003: 1), given that statistics for 2003 reveal that Cuba
was using only 50 percent of the fuel, less than 10 percent of the chemical
fertilizers, and a mere 7 percent of the synthetic insecticides it had used in
1989. (Lamb, 2005: 2) This drastic shift has been possible both because of
full government support and a high concentration of scientists. Three elements of the organic agriculture program have proven particularly successful—the approach to biological control agents, production of compost, and
use of animal traction. Beginning with a few centers in 1988, by 1992 the
government had opened 218 Centers for the Production of Entomophages
and Entomopathogens (CREEs). These on-site centers supply the pest control
needs of entire cooperatives or farming communities, essentially producing
modern biotechnology on a local scale. (Rosset and Benjamin, 1994: 41; and
Koont, 2005: 4) Compost production in Cuba ranges from organic amendments and biofertilizers to green manures and worm hummus, and all statistics indicate impressive growth. (Sinclair and Thompson, 2001: 26-27) In
fact, in one year, 2001 to 2002, output increased seven-fold, and by 2003, 15
million tons of compost were produced. (Koont, 2005: 4) Finally, the use of
animal traction has both cut down on soil erosion and been overwhelmingly
successful in reducing the reliance on fuel for agriculture.
Proponents of Cuba’s agricultural conversion often point out that “Cuba is
ideally situated to demonstrate the full possibilities of organic farming and to
truly achieve sustainable agricultural systems” (Funes, 2001: 22) because of
Cuba’s social and political landscape. Indeed, Cuba’s Organic Agriculture
Group (GAO) was awarded the Right Livelihood Award in 1999 (Mittal,
1999: 1)13 for facilitating the national conversion to low input agriculture.
Cuba’s conversion to LISA has certainly been tremendously successful and
has given proponents of organic agriculture around the world a real world
example. Yet the pursuit of sustainable farming practices was a pragmatic
response to a food crisis, not an end in itself. In fact, many saw sustainable
practices as a transitory ill of the Special Period and even in the depths of the
crisis, from 1990 to 1996, Cuba was investing approximately US$50 million
in biotechnology annually. (Lehmann, 2000: 2) Significantly, the ideal is not
organic agriculture but rather national food security—and public interest in
organic agriculture or concern about genetically modified organisms (GMOs)
is negligible (Lehmann, 2000: 5-6). Thus, while Cuba has effectively
employed LISA on a national scale for over a decade, it is important to view
this practice in context and to bear the pragmatism of the Cuban government
13. The Right Livelihood Award is usually referred to as the Alternative Nobel Prize, is
widely recognized, and is quite an honor.
Reorientation in Agriculture
65
in mind. Indeed it is important to note the government’s selective emphasis of
facets of the program, depending on the interests of the audience.14
Conclusion
The collapse of the socialist bloc,15 the tightening of the U.S. embargo, and
inefficiencies in the Cuban system all coalesced to produce the crisis of the
early 1990s, and every aspect of every Cuban’s life was affected. The collapse of the Soviet Union and Eastern European Socialism was, indeed the
spark that instigated the crisis—those former partners had represented nearly
all of Cuba’s trade. The tightening of the U.S. blockade was designed to set in
motion the downfall of the Castro government. While it failed to achieve its
objective, it was widely condemned by important U.S. trading partners and it
also had devastating consequences on the lives of ordinary Cuban citizens.
Yet it is the role of the Cuban government, often overlooked, which provides
the space for empowered action. A critique of Cuba’s dependent and inefficient state sector is essential not because it lays blame on the Cuban government, but rather because it is an internal factor which Cuba has the power to
change. It is therefore critical to recognize that there were three factors, not
two, which contributed to the crisis of the early 1990s—the demise of Soviet
socialism, the strengthening of the U.S. blockade, and a largely dependent
and inefficient state sector.
When the effects of these three factors were felt in Cuba, agriculture came
to a halt, food security eroded. By 1994 agricultural production levels had
fallen to 55 percent of their 1990 levels and, for lack of transport, much of
what was produced rotted before it reached the ration stores. Fortunately, the
government’s absolute dedication to equal access meant that extant resources
were shared with remarkable equity. Nevertheless, there were severe health
consequences and the average adult lost 20 pounds. In this time of extreme
scarcity, there were those who capitalized on the situation fueling the black
market and forcing inflation rates to skyrocket up to 1000 percent. The
depths of the crisis are almost unimaginable and have left an indelible mark
on the consciousness of all Cubans and on Cuban society.
14. During my time as an intern with ACTAF, I worked at the main office and demonstration site of ACTAF Havana. We frequently received visitors in tour groups or individually—groups such as Global Exchange, Food First’s Peter Rosset, and then-Agriculture
Minister of South Africa, Thuko Didiza. Assisting with translation, my colleague and I
became quickly aware that the emphasis of the presentation—either organic agriculture or
biotechnology—shifted in response to the ideological preference of the audience. Therefore, the relatively sparse literature on Cuban biotechnology can be understood, essentially,
in terms of the interests of Cuba scholars.
15. Recall that in 1989, 85 percent of Cuba’s international trade was with the Soviet
Union and the socialist bloc (HIA, 1998: 206).
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The government was drastic in its response and quickly amended the constitution to allow for a degree of liberalization and a total restructuring of the
agricultural sector. Based on the relative success of Cuban agricultural production cooperatives or CPAs, the predominant and inefficient state sector
was rapidly broken down into basic units of cooperative production or
UBPCs. In addition, the private sale of surplus foodstuffs was legalized both
as an incentive for production and to counter the black market. The government also tapped into a grassroots surge in urban gardening, providing free
access to land through usufruct rights and facilitating an extensive network of
urban agriculture or UA. Furthermore, out of pure necessity, the government
turned to its own organic farming movement to lead Cuba in the world’s first
ever national experiment in Low Input Sustainable Agriculture or LISA. The
state was quick to respond and radically redirected agriculture with the formation of the UBPCs, the re-opening of contentious farmers’ markets or
agropecuarios, support for a burgeoning urban agriculture movement, a massive transition to LISA, and new emphasis on existing strategies for efficiency.
Cuba was powerless to change the fact that they had lost their trading
partners or that the strangle-hold of the embargo was nearly suffocating, yet
the island was able to make changes within its own borders and did so with
radical fervor. Nevertheless, state paternalism remains present in this transformed agricultural landscape and, despite a relatively high level of decentralization (by Cuban standards), a prohibitively high level of centralization
has impeded the productivity of the UBPCs. It appears that the Cuban government is radical, within a particular framework.
Though the Special Period is not officially over, Cuba has doubtlessly
emerged from the depths of the crisis felt in 1993. But the Cuba that emerges
is quite different from the Cuba of the revolutionary era and, while social
indicators remain high, it is precisely the measures which have carried the
island through the crisis that have reintroduced social differentiation. Indeed,
the impacts of the radical redirection in agriculture were most notable in the
case of the agropecuarios where the high cost of goods (which generated differential access to foodstuffs) actually provided the material incentive for
increased production. Ultimately, the undeniable success of Cuba’s UA and
the Cuban government’s pragmatic conversion to Low Input Sustainable
Agriculture speak to the importance of a government’s will to prioritize food
security. These two strategies are effective, inexpensive, community-based
initiatives which require little more than the protection of their local government, though UA does enjoy massive support from NGOs and aid agencies
around the world. Perhaps the most important action of the Cuban govern-
Reorientation in Agriculture
67
ment was the decision to prioritize food security above all else (Azicri, 2000:
144) in a time of severe economic crisis.
The crisis of the early 1990’s rocked the nation and, by some accounts,
came close to bringing about the downfall of the revolution. Ever pragmatic,
the Cuban government took great steps to guarantee food security, protect
social gains and restructure both state and society. While the state of Cuban
food security over the last decade and a half is not without severe problems,
the government’s dedication to guaranteeing the human right to food is both
unique and impressive, and has justifiably garnered support within the island
and around the world.
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Azicri, Max. 2000. Cuba Today and Tomorrow: Reinventing Socialism.
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Bourque, Martin and Cañizares, Kristina. 2000. “Food Production in the
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Burchardt, Hans-Jurgen. 2000. “Cuba’s Agriculture after the New Reforms:
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CHAPTER 4
Worker Control in
the 1990s
Sean Herlihy
The revolution stumbled, and yet workers won more power in the workplace.
During the retreat of the revolutionary government in Cuba in the 1990s, a
moment of elites offsetting one another allowed working people to gain significant measures of workers’ control. This article presents a strategic explanation of observations in Cuba, over some eight months of dissertation
fieldwork in the 1990s. Its model helps to explain other self-management
movements such as, the factory committees of the Russian Revolution, privatizations to the workers in Nicaragua in the 1990s, enterprise seizures of 2001
Argentinazo, land invasions in Zimbabwe, and even a briefly democratic cigarette factory in U.S.-occupied Iraq. In all of these situations, workers and
peasants took advantage of counter-balanced or weakened elites to win
greater control of production.
This model has four explanatory advantages over state-oriented versions
of Marxism and over mainstream democratization and privatization theories.
First, it challenges the idea of the state as relatively exclusive strategic vantage point. Liberal critiques of "totalitarianism" tend to overemphasize the
state. At the same time Marxist, and particularly Leninist and social democratic theory, while seeing control of the means of production as important
theoretically, tend to direct their strategic attention to the state. Second, it
assigns more agency to the popular classes as maneuvering between capitalist
and statist forces, sometimes taking advantage of them and at other times
trapped between them. The popular classes intervene in the transformation of
the means of production. Third, it embraces a popular and socialist, rather
than middle class, capitalist construction of civil society in contrast with most
democratization theories. It also allows that the state is not completely monolithic, with many loci of authority that can help create civil society, by providing education, club organization, neighborhood political representation,
71
72
Sean Herlihy
unions, cooperative management committees, and workplace assemblies.
Fourth, these movements offer a grassroots strategy to resist the social service cuts, impoverishment, joblessness, and inequality of the ruthless types of
marketization in a post-Soviet world. The strategies of squatting and building
cooperative enterprises were applied to a privatizing state socialist system in
Cuba, but they could as well apply to privatizing enterprises of corporatisttype Latin American states, and to collapsing capitalist enterprises, as has
occurred in Argentina, Uruguay, and Brazil.
This model explains a movement of working people taking control of production in Cuba, based on the accounts of journalists, scholars and representatives of three clusters of social forces. These are: high officials, economists,
and social theorists who have advocated cooperativization within the socialist
framework; Communist Party officials and enterprise administrators, who
have been skeptical about cooperativization and marketization; and working
people. The number of production centers researched—25—is not large in
absolute terms, and the observations are subjective, yet the sample considers
seven significant variables: one. The two different countries: two. Types of
production including: industrial, service, retail or agricultural, 3. Proximity to
the capital: four. Regions of the country: five. Whether urban or rural: six.
Form of ownership: seven. Whether successful or unsuccessful: eight. and
pro- or anti-regime.
Methodology
I was able to visit Cuba in 1993, when tensions between it and the US were
relaxed enough to conduct a long series of interviews about workers’ control
in a metallurgical factory. When I returned in 1996 Raul Castro, Fidel’s
brother and heir apparent, had launched an ideological offensive against the
research center that had provided the main contacts for this study, making it
much harder to get official approval to do in-depth interviews with ordinary
workers. Therefore most of the interviews in 1996 were conducted in a kind
of limbo status, where there was no official policy against doing interviews,
but there was no official policy permitting them either. Although it was
harder to do interviews, dozens of academics and trade union leaders did
grant interviews and the farm workers union arranged for me to see a cooperative assembly, to interview the co-op leadership and to speak with some of
its workers.
Interviews and observations were conducted in work places covering key
permutations of seven variables: 1. Industrial, service or agricultural; 2. Proximity to the capital; 3. Region of the country; 4. Urban or rural; 5. Ownership: state, cooperative, capitalist, squatter or mixed; 6.Successful,
unsuccessful; 7. Pro- or anti-revolutionary; 8. The respondents included male
Worker Control in the 1990s
73
and female, young and old, black, white, ladino, and indigenous, educated
and uneducated, and Protestant, Catholic, atheist and Santero.
This methodology has certain advantages. It is a contemporary version of
the political-anthropological method used by Alexis De’Tocqueville. Traveling alone people were more willing to approach, and to be approached by, the
researcher than with a group or a guide. In Cuba, interviews were conducted
in Havana, the nearby Playas del Este, a little inland to Guines, across the
island’s spine to The Bay of Pigs, along the Southern side through Sancti
Espiritu and Trinidad, east to Cienfuegos, Las Tunas, and north east to
Holguin, then south east again through rural co-ops on the way to Santiago de
Cuba and Pico Turquino. Riding the same of cheap, heavy, Chinese bicycle
that Cubans use gives one closer access to the people and the work sites than
traveling by car, makes one less intimidating and lets them see that one is
experiencing a little of what they were living through.
TABLE 4-1. Worksites Observed
Name
Type
City
Region
Urban or
Rural
Ownership
Success/
Failure
Pro/Antiregime
1. State, urban (industrial or service)
Cubana
de Acero
Industrial/
metallurgical
Havana
North
coast
Urban
State
Success,
but very
slow
Mostly
pro
“forklift”
warehouse
Industrial
Havana
North
coast
Urban
State
Successful
Mostly
pro but
broke
rules
Hotel La
Colina
Service
Havana
North
coast
Urban
State
Successful
Could not
tell
De Lido
Hotel
Service
Havana
North
coast
Urban
State
Successful
Could not
tell
cigar &
black
market
Industrial
Havana
North
coast
Urban
State
Rather
successful
Somewhat anti
Cienfuegos
East end
of island
Town
Joint venture
Very successful
Very pro
2. Joint venture
“Eastside”
Hotel
Service
3. Service, retail and artisan “co-ops”
Paladar
“Terpsichore”
Service
Havana
North
coast
Urban
Co-op
Successful
Pro, cadre
in family
“Guajira’s”
Paladar
Service
Havana
North
coast
Urban
Co-op
Successful
Seem
“fed up”
with
regime
4. Capitalist: Did not visit any purely capitalist ventures
74
Sean Herlihy
TABLE 4-1. Worksites Observed
Name
Type
City
Region
Urban or
Rural
Ownership
Success/
Failure
Pro/Antiregime
5. Small Private Business
Sandwich
Shop
Vender
Retailer
Playas
del Este
North
coast
Town
Private
Very Successful
Seemed
antiregime
“Parade”
bed/
breakfast
Service
Guaimaro
South
Urban
Private
Supplemented
income
Moderately pro
“Spelunker”
bed/
breakfast
Service
Santiago de
Cuba
East
coast
Urban
Private
Supplemented
income
Moderately pro
“Señora”
bed/
breakfast
Service
Havana
North
coast
Urban
Private
Very successful
Mix of
pro and
anti
Tire
repair
shops
Service
Havana,
highways
All
regions
Urban,
roads
Private
Minimally successful
Some anti
6. Black market
Carpenter/driver
Construction
Havana
North
coast
Urban
Private
NA
Somewhat anti
Jinoteras
Service
Santiago de
Cuba/
Havana
All
regions
More
urban
Private
Rather
successful
Evenly
pro and
anti
Cockfights
Service
Playa
Larga/
Bay of
Pigs
South
coast
Town
Private
Very Successful
Somewhat pro
Apartments
Construction/
service
Havana
North
coast
Urban
Private
Very successful
Could not
tell
Farming
Jicotea
East end
of island
Rural
State
Surviving
at a loss
Pro
7. State farms
Farm of
the Diver
8. Agricultural co-ops—UBPCs
Food
UBPC
Farming
Near
Havana
North
inland
Rural
Co-op
Surviving
Acted pro
Cane
UBPC
Farming
Maja
East end
of island
Rural
Co-op
Losing
money
Mostly
anti
Dairy
UBPC
Farming
Jimonguaya
Central
Rural
Co-op
Poor but
surviving
Could not
tell
Cattle
UBPC
Farming
Jicotea
Central
Rural
Co-op
Moderately poor
Could not
tell
9. Small private farms
Worker Control in the 1990s
75
TABLE 4-1. Worksites Observed
Urban or
Rural
Ownership
Success/
Failure
Pro/Antiregime
South
coast
Rural
Private
Poor
Seemed
somewhat anti
Cumanyagua
Central
Cuba
Rural
Private
Successful
Anti
Jardin
Botanica
Central
Cuba
Rural
Informal
land use
Just
started
Resigned
to
regime’s
existance
Name
Type
City
Region
“Por que
nosotros”
Farming
Near
the Bay
of Pigs
Tobacco
Farming
Precarista,
semisquatter
Farming
Quotation marks signify a pseudonym.
Shaken elites in Cuba
In Cuba the bureaucracy faced a collapse of self-confidence and popular support in 1991-1993. The Cuban elite did not confront an internal capitalist
class as the Sandinistas did, but an external one, principally from U.S. corporate and government interests, and from wealthy, influential, Cuban refugees.
Cuba’s principle strategic allies that had provided protection, trade, membership in an international community, and triumphal confidence, had crumbled.
With the fall of the Soviet system, Cuba’s exports declined 70 percent and
imports 75 percent from 1989 to 1993. The GDP dropped by more than one
third (Blackburn, 2000). Although Washington’s hostility to Castroist Cuba
has been long standing, it tried to take advantage of the island’s economic crisis, and the expectation that the government could soon collapse. In 1992
presidential candidate Bill Clinton tried to win over the Cuban American
vote, by chiding President George H. W. Bush for not signing the Cuban
Democracy Act and missing a chance to “put the hammer down on Fidel
Castro.” (Blackburn, 2000) Bush then made up for this by signing the Act,
and in 1994, President Clinton signed the Helms Burton Act, further tightening sanctions. At the Cuban government’s weakest moment, it made concessions, giving peasants and workers more control over production,
cooperativizing state farms, allowing farmers’ markets, and setting up small
“cooperative” businesses. As Laura Enriquez states, “Cuba’s agricultural
transformation is being carried out by a socialist regime whose objective is to
fortify its economy and government in the face of serious threats to its existence.” (Enriquez, 2000)
The official state farms, and later the cooperatives, lacked sufficient
resources to cultivate all the land available to them, so in October 1991 Fidel
Castro gave a speech at the Communist Party Congress saying that the food
76
Sean Herlihy
crisis would be the highest priority, and there should be not one inch of idle
land in Cuba while it lasted. (Deere, et al., 1994: 211-212; Whitefield, 1993)
Rural working people took this as a green light to occupy and farm the uncultivated land. Apparently most people obtained unofficial nods from local
administrators, but, Cuban scholar Niurka Perez tells me personally that
some peasants informally started cultivating idle land without seeking permission, and Perez along with Diana Deere and Ernel Gonzales wrote that
some peasants had actually seized land leading managers to lend, or authorize peasants to cultivate, parcels of the state farms from the beginning of
1992 (Deere et al., 1994). There were food riots in Havana as well. It seems,
then, that there was agency from above and from below. This unacknowledged squatter movement went on for two years until the government gave
notice, on September 15, 1993 that it would form the new farm cooperatives Basic Units of Cooperative Production, (UBPC)—and establish regular channels for individual citizens, mainly retired, to cultivate unused land. (Whitefield, 1993). A Ministry of Agriculture administrator said that MINAGRI
received about 5,000 formal requests to cultivate little plots of land within a
month after the September 1993 laws were passed (Enriquez, 2000; Deere, et
al., 1994). As of April 1998, 45,804 people managed to get parcels of land
from government amounting to 10,943 hectares (Enriquez, 2000) or about
27,000 acres.
I encountered three men just off the road from the Bay of Pigs to Santa
Clara, on the Southern side of the island between Torriente and Playa Larga
at a Jardin Botanica—Botanical Garden—that cultivates exotic, but useful
flora and fauna. Wearing yellow straw hats and rubber boots, their ages
appeared to run from almost 40 to about 60. One had a machete and two had
Chinese bicycles, like mine. One said they had received permission from a
local official to farm the land but, “We are precarios.” That is, they are squatters on the land or using it at sufferance of the official. The field was grassy,
but invaded by marabú—a rough, thorny, bush, so difficult to remove that the
financially strapped government could not be bothered with it.
Cubans in the 1990s set up conucos—little gardens on land not legally
their own to raise vegetables or a few chickens where the responsible officials would not notice or care. The word conuco is thought to derive from the
indigenous Arawak or Taino languages and from colonial times when slaves
would cultivate small individual plots of land during unsupervised moments.
In the 1990s, the government established a formal policy to set up areas of
autoconsumo—self-consumption—on all farms and coops and in any cultivatable spaces within urban areas, even including the front lawn of the Ministry of Agriculture. One dissident cooperative farmer within Cuba claims that
officials complain that workers spend half of their time on their conucos so
Worker Control in the 1990s
77
that they are the main obstacle to productivity in the cooperatives. (Alonso,
2000) The precarios such as those in the Botanical Garden applied a kind of
influence, sometimes forceful and other times very gentle.
Social forces were most determining in the shift toward more workers’
control, but institutional, economic, and cultural/political forces had impact
as well. Working people had exerted pressure on the system since the 1970s,
although not in an organized, and often, perhaps, not even in a conscious
way, by withholding labor. When the lack of worker motivation led to the
failure of the 1970 sugar cane harvest, Fidel Castro began to encourage revitalization of the trade unions and certain forms of worker participation.
(Fuller, 1992). In the early 1990s the economic crisis, the food riots in
Havana, the country people’s land hunger, and the regime’s doubts about its
own survival, all gave these working people the opportunity to acquire direct
control of the means of production. The sense of elite weakness, and the
opportunity that this gave to country people, were the major impulsions for
the regime to offer land and for people to take it. The decisions of key persons in governing institutions, especially Castro’s green light and the policy
of cooperativization, were also critical. The economic crisis was the proximate cause for country folk to take the land and city dwellers to riot. The
political culture was important as well, with Cuban ideology favoring workers, and the poor. Government officials were acculturated to believe their role
was to help working people, so they were not prepared to repress vast numbers of them to maintain control.
In Cuba, although the conflict between the Cuban elite as a whole and
international capital was important, the conflict within the bureaucratic elite
affected workers’ control even more. Arturo Villar describes elite conflict
underway in Cuba as an “internal war. The battlefield is the economy…And
the combatants are foreign investors, bureaucrats and managers of state-operated enterprises.” (Villar, 1999) Villar favors management methods in the
joint ventures including ability to “fire workers at will.” Cuban workers have
been free to goof off, and worker decision-making bodies have formally
blocked management sanctions and, informally, driven out unwanted managers. Villar thinks that some bureaucrats see capitalism as “the wave of the
future,” while others “constantly place stumbling blocks in the way.” A state
economic planner says, “Resurrection of capitalism in Cuba is inevitable…we are simply looking for ways to do it while keeping the social costs
down.” He says the Cuban managers support Fidel Castro “circling the wagons while we learn the tricks of the trade to face the Yankee invasion and the
soldiers from Miami,” which indicates that even though the managerial elite
in Cuba may hope to become more market oriented, it remains at odds with
the Miami Cuban business elite. He says, “Among the managerial class, it
78
Sean Herlihy
seems only hard-line revolutionaries and incompetents are against foreign
investment.” An ex-vice minister says “We are fighting our own war
here…the managers [struggle] with the help of the foreign investors.” (Villar,
1999) So Villar and his sources clearly believe, from a counterrevolutionary
perspective, that there was a serious conflict, apparently between more entrepreneurial managers and investors, on the one hand and those politically
committed to socialism on the other.
Enterprise managers (such as the one I interviewed at Cubana de Acero)
see certain regulations as constraining productivity, so they hope a more market-oriented system would eliminate these constraints. In the late 1990’s
Cuba began the perfecionamiento empresarial program to introduce more
independent capitalist-style management. Phillip Peters, a far-right, ReaganBush, State Department official, quotes Lázaro González, a Cuban manager,
who says his authority at a rubber enterprise had been, “very limited practically all our problems were resolved at higher levels…I couldn’t structure my
payroll or designate who works with me.” (Peters, 2001)
In Cuba, as in the former Soviet system, managers who hoped to do well
became the pro-capitalist lobby within the bureaucracy. The managers might
consider being careful what they wish for, however. In transitions of most of
the former Soviet bloc and in Nicaragua, new constraints emerged, and the
central planning mechanisms collapsed before market mechanisms could
replace them, so although speculators profited, most real producers did not.
In Cuba and China the complete collapse did not take place as the government never released its grip on the economy and the agricultural administrators never released control over the new cooperative units.
I talked with Cuban metallurgical workers and managers who perceive
managers as representing the enterprise and its workers in negotiating with
the government ministries. Executives seeking allies for enterprise autonomy
looked naturally to their employees, offering greater participation—although
not real workers’ control. Gonzalez, the rubber executive, describes drafting
a proposal to the ministry for greater enterprise autonomy and managerial
authority. He says, “Without the participation of workers in each step the process doesn’t work.” The managers would offer rosy business forecasts telling
their workers if you let us be more independent of the government—to have
more freedom to make enterprise decisions, to seek investors, lenders—we
will all make more money and we will give you more power in the factory.
Peters writes that González says, “he was concerned about worker support
for the process…[and he] moved quickly to heed worker concerns about conditions and benefits.” Peters describes a construction materials plant CEO,
Alejandro Gutiérrez, who stated that “his first step was to eliminate fear of
layoffs,” telling workers that if any jobs were eliminated, the Foreign Trade
Worker Control in the 1990s
79
Ministry would have positions for them. The firm did increase worker remuneration, but had 15-percent fewer personnel, suggesting that layoffs may
well have occurred. Peters quotes an unidentified observer of the perfeccionamiento empresarial who claims, “This is the first time workers’ opinions
are truly being taken into account.” (Peters, 2001) However, even though
managers may seek worker support in the short run, their desire for the power
to “fire workers at will” would reduce workplace democracy in long run.
The Cuban government made a similar case to win support for the new
UBPC cooperatives. The workers do not seem to have bought the pitch or
received the touted benefits in the sugar cane coops, but the idea seems to
have gotten some ‘traction’ in the food coops, as evidenced by the fact that
cane has continued to lose money, while food coops have improved, so that
they are nearly breaking even. So in both the enterprises and the cooperatives, pro-market managers offered what might be considered a short term
democratization of the workplace in order to win over the workers.
The Pattern
Haroldo Dilla, a Cuban former Communist party member, and critical supporter of the Revolution from the left, offers his analysis of this process. He
describes a “technocratic-entrepreneurial bloc” with access to global markets
that emerged in Cuba along with the arrival of some 260 international investors and 800 foreign firms. He says this “techno-managerial sector” of “probably no more than a few thousand” began to appear just prior to the 1991
CCP Congress. “For several months, Cuba experienced the most democratic
public debate in its history.” He says, however, that the “techno-managerial
elite’s” goal is not empowerment of the people, but a “sugar-coated Chinese
model,” that is economic marketization plus political authoritarianism. He
notes that when the Spanish Melia investors established their first hotel in
Cuba in this period, they tried, unsuccessfully, to prevent the union from
operating. Concerned that the enterprising elite may foreshadow a “Cuban
thermidor” or a “tropical mafia,” Dilla proposes an alliance between the
“popular classes” and “the political elite that emerged from the revolution” to
check this technocratic-entrepreneurial tendency. He advocates, among other
things, a “renewal of popular forces,” more efficient “participatory municipal
institutions,” and “decentralized, pluralist, local democratic planning” (Dilla,
2000)
A recognizable pattern emerges. First pro-capitalist bureaucrats and then
actual capitalists try to ally with working people. The main social actor trying
to bring about workers’ control will be the workers and peasants themselves.
80
Sean Herlihy
They hope to save jobs and earnings through their own private ownership or
collective control over the enterprise, or failing those alternatives, to get
behind a strong captain to navigate a frail ship in the stormy seas of globalization. After the capitalist reorganization and economic crash, workers get
laid off (thrown overboard), pensions shrivel up and citizens lose social services. Ordinary people are hammered by marketization, so they resist it
through old or reformed workplace organizations. Working peoples’ allies
then become the former orthodox supporters of the socialist system, who by
now are usually less orthodox and offer them a measure of workers’ control.
Conclusion
First, workers and peasants used the stalemate of elites to assert control over
farms and enterprises in Cuba. These were the moments of division in the
Cuban political/managerial class after the fall of the Soviet system. Second,
the elites never intended to give the workers as much workers’ control as
they took for themselves. The Cuban government had tried for three decades
to set up a centralized agricultural system and had actually recentralized that
system in the Rectification of Errors campaign of the late 1980s, but working
people pressured the government to allow informal parcelization of idle land,
cooperativization of the state farms, and self-owned micro-businesses.
Third, although the Cuban mass organizations have virtually no independence from the government, party and state cadres retain a sense of themselves as tough, but enlightened, servants of the people. Although they
engage in repression, they have been unwilling to resort to mass terror, or to
let people starve as have, for example, the Stalinist, Romanian, or North
Korean regimes. In order for working people to use the pervasive, low-key,
rule breaking of squatter tactics, and black market small enterprise, the
Cuban officials had to have been willing to play the game.
Fourth, among the elites, the weaker party usually becomes the best ally
of working people, who tend to be weakest of all the major players. Working
people, as the weakest actor, usually have to join with the second-place
player of the moment to balance against the strongest. Marketization creates
conflicts among elites. Some expect to be winners and others expect to be
losers. Just before, the pro-capitalist elite tends to be working people’s best
ally. Just after, the hard line socialists tend to be best. Elites have to hustle to
find friends, so they look to working people for support, and one thing they
can offer is a degree of workplace democracy.
Worker Control in the 1990s
81
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from Below: Cuban Agriculture in the Special Period in Peacetime.”
Journal of Peasant Studies. 21(2): 194-234.
Dilla, Haroldo Alfonso. 2000. “Comrades and Investors: The Uncertain Transition in Cuba.” Envío. 231: 40-50.
Enriquez, Laura J. 2000. “Cuba’s New Agricultural Revolution.” Food First
Development Report. 14: 6.
Fuller, Linda. 1992. Work and Democracy in Socialist Cuba. Philadelphia:
Temple University Press.
Peters, Philip. 2001. “State Enterprise Reform in Cuba.” Lexington Institute,
http://www.lexingtoninstitute.org/cuba/pdf/enterprisereform.pdf.
Accessed July 2005.
Villar, Arturo. 1999. “The Trials and Tribulations of Cuba’s Managers.” Wall
Street Journal, Feb. 12, 1999.
Whitefield, Mimi. 1993. “Rapid changes push Cuba into unknown.” Miami
Herald, Sept. 27, 1993.
CHAPTER 5
The Future of Health
in Cuba
Traci Potterf
While the term “Cuban health care” conjures visions of a state-run health
delivery infrastructure, the struggle for health and well-being in Cuba
extends beyond both biomedicine and government planning. The complex
lived reality of Cuban health seeking may only be understood in the context
of everyday actors’ struggles and creativity. The phrase invento Cubano
(Cuban invention) is used daily to refer to the endless creative strategies people devise to overcome the obstacles that impede their most routine endeavors. They may fill sausage casings with flour and pork fat where meat is too
expensive, or use ashes to wash dishes where there is no detergent. Tin cans
are commonly transformed into light fixture or bath water heating elements.
Similarly, healthcare professionals and average citizens alike consider the
ability to creatively resolve health concerns essential for overall well-being.
In many cases it saves lives.
People are increasingly combining free access to state sponsored biomedicine, internationally recognized forms of “alternative” medicine, a variety of
popular healing modalities and eclectic forms of self medication. Cuba’s citizens have experienced a tumultuous history of political economic upheaval
and fluctuating degrees of social control alongside the benefits of progressive
social reforms, including free health care. The effects of these dynamics have
been felt in people’s day-to-day lives, impacting their health and influencing
the availability and appeal of diverse health strategies.
Background
The 1959 Revolutionary government nationalized health care and succeeded
in extending medical services into the most remote populations. (Rojas,
1986; Araújo and Figueroa, 1985; Danielson, 1979; Ministerio de Relaciones
Exteriores, 1965) As public health statistics approached those of “first world”
83
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countries, Cuba’s public health program received international fame. MacDonald, 1999; Bravo, 1993; Feinsilver, 1989; Díaz-Briquets, 1983; Danielson, 1979) With the support of the Soviet Union, the government focused
economic production on cash crops, and most Cubans could survive on their
meager salaries. These achievements were accomplished in spite of continuing U.S. economic sanctions that increased food and health care costs as well
as denied Cubans access to U.S. patented medications and manufactured
products, such as parts necessary to repair and maintain hospital equipment
and water treatment facilities. (MacDonald 1999; Rosendahl 1997; American
Association for World Health, 1997; Nayeri 1995)
The fall of the Soviet Union resulted in a severe economic crisis, coined
by Castro as the “Special Period,” that left Cuba without enough food, fuel or
medical supplies. Hospital equipment and water treatment facilities fell into
disrepair. This resulted in malnutrition, diminished the quality of health care
and compromised water sanitation among many other significant hardships
with direct health implications. While the Special Period is frequently
referred to in the past tense, most people I spoke to still feel its effects today.
Improvements have been due, for the most part, to tourism, biotech, the
legalization of the dollar, limited privatization of the economy and agricultural reform. (Enriquez, 2000 and 1994) Furthermore, Cuba’s alliance with
Venezuela has not only provided a political ally but also served as a primary
source of affordable petroleum. Cubans fear that political upheaval surrounding Hugo Chavez’s government might lead to severe fuel shortages, resulting
in a return to conditions not unlike those suffered during the height of the
Special Period. During that time oil shortages paralyzed farm equipment and
transportation of people, food and supplies, as well as left homes, factories,
hospitals and water treatment plants with precious little electrical power.
With the onset of the Special Period, Cubans could no longer live off of
their salaries. They responded with a shift to a dominant, albeit submerged,
black market economy which persists today. Cubans’ survival has come to
depend on the black market, which is built on networking, cooperation, creativity and calculated risk. However, the government has consistently
responded to external political pressure and internal economic crisis with a
system of strict social control to identify and eradicate anti-government activity, black market business and any other behavior considered “anti-revolutionary” or “anti-social.”
When the need to survive on the black market is combined with ensuing
policies of strict government control, the result is increased paranoia and
interpersonal conflict, which, according to Baracoeses, increased the prevalence of envidia (envy), nervios (nerves) and even accusations of witchcraft.
The outcome is a distrustful, forced interdependence in the struggle to put
The Future of Health in Cuba
85
food on the table—a stressful combination that is in itself a cause of illness.
In fact, nervios, a term predominantly used by both doctors and patients to
describe stress, depression and anxiety, has become one of the most common
health complaints in Cuba. (Potterf 2006)1 Most of the individuals I interviewed had in the past or were currently taking sedatives for their “nerves,”
most commonly diazepam, meprobamate, chlordiazepoxide and chloral
hydrate.
In addition to psychological stress, many other illnesses can be linked to
political and economic factors. For example, during the Special Period neuropathy nearly became an epidemic as a result of malnutrition and is still common today. (Claudio 1999; American Association for World Health, 1997;
Nayeri 1995) Although agricultural reform is gradually diversifying food
production, dietary culture is slow to change. (Enriquez, 2000 and 1994)
According to observations and interviews with health care workers, obesity is
on the rise, largely due to diets high in sugar, starch, refined carbohydrates
and animal fat. These foods are popular, not only due to historical limitation
of options, but because in times of poverty, popular emphasis has been to fatten oneself up (engordarse). Ironically, as a result, many overweight people
still suffer malnutrition due to vitamin and mineral deficiencies. Diabetes is
also very widespread, which is largely attributable to diet. Nearly every person I interviewed complained of blood pressure problems, which they linked
to diet, climate and stress. Kidney problems as well as dermatological and
intestinal parasites are rampant, arising from poor hygiene and bad water
quality.
While tourist facilities, including tourist hospitals are run with new, wellmaintained equipment, including up-to-date back-up generators, most of
Cuba does not enjoy this luxury. Just as pharmacies lack important medications, hospitals are often without the most basic necessities, such as sterilization chemicals, suturing thread and anesthesia. Laboratory test specimens
often become contaminated and must be repeated. Hospital bathrooms are,
more often than not, on par with those in bars for locals, while tourist facilities are always impeccable. Not surprisingly, staphylococcus infections are
quite common among Cubans, particularly following hospitalizations. Luckily, antibiotics are generally available.
Dr. Javier Muñoz, a surgeon I knew in Baracoa, nearly decided to give up
medicine when, during a blackout, a generator failed, causing the deaths of
patients on artificial respiration. He was both devastated and angry. Why, he
demanded to know, should his country’s poverty, exacerbated by the U.S.
1. For more on nervios in the contexts of poverty and socio-political repression, see
Green 1994, Rebhun 1993, Scheper-Hughes 1987, 1992.
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embargo, be the cause of these people’s deaths? In the game of politics, what
fault did they have?
Hospital equipment often predates the Revolution. Many units were made
in the U.S. which, due to both the embargo and the fact that most are no
longer manufactured, precludes the possibility of acquiring replacement
parts. Others may be obsolete Soviet models whose parts are also nearly
impossible to obtain. Not only can the government not afford to replace all of
the equipment, but small towns, such as Baracoa, are lower on the priority list
than facilities in cities serving larger populations. It is also important to
understand that Cuba’s electricity is petroleum derived. Therefore, petroleum
shortages translate into regular, sometimes daily, planned and unplanned
electrical outages. The failure of a hospital’s back-up generator during a
blackout is certain to prove life-threatening.
Overcoming Illness
Fieldwork in Baracoa revealed how national and international political economic pressures not only constitute root causes of health concerns, but also
shape coping mechanisms. Cubans have responded to health crises much as
they respond to any other need—with cooperation, networking, stop gap
solutions, creative inventions and black market strategies. A long history of
natural and traditional healing, access to modern medical technology, the
influences of foreign visitors and international trends in alternative medicine
have led both state-administered and popular sectors to adopt increasingly
pluralistic medical practices.
State Sponsored Health Care
As previously discussed, while the Cuban government is world-renowned for
its free health delivery, the system often does not work the way it was originally designed. This is not due to lack of competent and dedicated practitioners, but due to the effects of scarcity, such as electrical outages, outdated
equipment, contaminated water and supply shortages. Many supplies “disappear” into the black market and mysteriously reappear in time for state
inspections. Not only do many health professionals earn more money selling
socks or renting rooms to tourists, but there are also individuals who make
use of their access to medical supplies to augment their income.
Nevertheless, scientists and public health employees are constantly adapting to their circumstances and coming up with new ways to overcome these
problems. On a day-to-day basis, doctors must turn to stop gap solutions,
such as substituting sewing thread for suturing thread or prescribing Benadryl
instead of Valium. Meanwhile, public health officials search for more longterm approaches.
The Future of Health in Cuba
87
Whereas at the outset of the 1959 Revolution, “popular” and “traditional”
medicine was strongly discouraged, if not prohibited, the state now utilizes a
wide range of approaches, such as homeopathy, acupuncture, apitherapy
(medicinal use of bees and bee products) and phytotherapy (medicinal use of
plants) in conjunction with conventional allopathy as part of their Medicina
Tradicional y Natural (Traditional and Natural Medicine) agenda. Doctors I
interviewed report that Cubans are highly receptive to natural and traditional
therapies, which is not surprising given Cuba’s long tradition of curing with
an eclectic blend of plant, animal, mineral and spiritual modalities. (Cabrera,
1984 and 1954; Seoane 1984 and 1962) Nevertheless, while natural and traditional remedies are lower in cost than many conventional therapies, limited
access to supplies and information is still a hindrance, particularly in facilities outside of Santiago de Cuba and Havana.
Popular Healing and Self Medication
Fieldwork revealed that, although the Cuban health system has won people’s
trust in treating a wide array of illnesses, shortages of medical resources are
not its only limitation. There are underlying causes of illnesses that the Ministry of Public Health (MINSAP) does not sufficiently address, such as
dietary deficiencies, environmental contamination, political repression and
pay so disproportionately low that it often covers less than 10 percent of that
which is needed for basic subsistence. Patients are often hesitant to openly
discuss the effects of these issues on their health for fear that their sentiments
will be associated with an “anti-revolutionary” attitude.
What is now termed “natural and traditional medicine” by the government
is generally reduced to “alternative medicine” and secular elements of popular healing. While Cuba has its share of Atheists, a great many Cubans—doctors and scientists included—observe direct relationships among their social
reality, the roots of illness and the spiritual realm. As is the case in most biomedical systems, state care is not designed to deal with social and spiritual
elements considered intrinsic to many health concerns. Via informal strategies within the popular sector, Cubans often find ways to treat social and spiritual aspects of illnesses that state care does not officially address. They may
also turn to these alternatives due to pharmaceutical shortages, to avoid long
waits or simply because they believe that “natural” or “spiritual” remedies
are better at curing certain ailments. In fact, doctors and scientists commonly
seek popular healers for their own concerns and informally refer patients to
santeros, spiritists and herbalists.
One common type of popular healer is the botánico, or botanical doctor,
who in addition to utilizing plants employs animal and mineral remedies
indigenous to the region. They may either harvest materials themselves to
prepare medicines or direct their patients to prepare more common remedies
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at home. While some Botánicos have no formal scientific background, many
others are trained scientists who combine both traditional and scientific concepts in their practices and whose knowledge is actively sought out by stateemployed doctors and scientists.
Religion and spirituality play an important role in healing for a great
many Cubans. (Orozco and Bolívar, 1998) God, spirits and saints, often synchronized with Afro-Cuban deities, are seen as possessing powers far mightier than the government or science and often provide a “way out” or around
seemingly formidable circumstance. (Fernández, 2002) Medico-religious
healers include spiritists and practitioners of Afro-Cuban religions, such as
Santería and Palo Monte. (Córdova Martínez and Barzaga Sablón, 2000; Larduet Luaces, 2000; Barnet, 1997; Bolívar, 1997; Sandoval, 1975; Ortiz, 1973;
Bascom, 1950) Practitioners may attribute disease, disturbing life events and
bad luck to factors such as a person’s envidia (envy), mal de ojo (evil eye), or,
in rare cases, hechicería (witchcraft). Health concerns might also stem from a
displeased orixa, saint or muerto (deceased person) who must be appeased
with rituals, offerings and prayer. For many, Catholic and Protestant church
attendance provides community support in times of illness, a venue to seek
the help of God or saints and, in many cases, an opportunity for a faith healing experience. Cubans also consult with people they simply refer to as gente
que sabe (people who know), usually elders that have a don (gift from God)
or who have passed along knowledge from one generation to the next.
Cuba follows the Caribbean pattern of predominantly female-headed
households. (Holgado Fernández, 2000; Trouillot, 1992) Despite the undeniable presence of machísmo in Cuba, women play a very important role in
health management. My study revealed that, in addition to their active participation in the official health care sector, the predominance of women’s roles
as household heads, breadwinners, caregivers and sources of vast arrays of
both traditional and scientific knowledge are crucial in overcoming scarcity
to maximize health for the population as a whole.2 Women and men were
highly communicative and openly share health issues with each other. More
often than not, men deferred to female household members in making decisions about their health.
Another crucial aspect of health management in Cuba is self-medication.
In addition to consultations with state health practitioners and popular healers, Cubans commonly self-medicate for a wide array of conditions, from
parasites, cystitis and nervios (nerves) to envidia [envy] and mal de ojo [evil
eye]. The household is a focal point for health negotiation as well as for the
storage and preparation of “natural,” “traditional” and conventional reme2. For more on women’s roles in Cuba, see Holgado Fernández, 2000 and Rosendahl,
1997.
The Future of Health in Cuba
89
dies. While many people’s medications are prescribed by a doctor, others
obtain pharmaceuticals through social networking and the black market.
Most households have a dozen or so medications on hand at all times, including state-prepared “natural and traditional” remedies, such as plant-based
syrups and creams. In addition to prescription medicines, people will often
grow medicinal plants in the patios of their homes, maintain altars and prepare do-it-yourself rituals.
People are heavily reliant on tourists and relatives living abroad, not only
for financial support, but also to supply them with information and medications that are otherwise unobtainable. Though few Cubans who are not health
care practitioners or researchers have access to the internet, those who do are
able to obtain and share health knowledge with their communities. Citizens
are also increasingly motivated by both public health propaganda and international health and fitness trends to exercise and watch their diet, despite limited access to equipment and a popular dietary culture that encourages highcaloric intake and significant animal fat consumption.
Pluralisms and Crossovers
It is important to note that the hybrid and inventive nature of medicine a lo
Cubano is not a new phenomenon. The island has seen a protracted history of
blending both medico-religious and nonreligious concepts. Cuban medical
practices, as eclectic as Cubans themselves, have long mingled African,
Spanish, French, North American and indigenous derived traditions with science and knowledge of local flora, fauna and minerals. (Cabrera, 1984 and
1954; Roig y Mesa, 1945) However, prior to the revolution, access to conventional allopathy generally correlated with social class and racial divides.
Poor people, particularly rural populations and blacks, had little choice than
to rely on popular medicine. That is not to say that those who were given the
choice did not combine conventional medical remedies with both secular and
religious forms of popular medicine.
The Revolution’s approach to traditional medicine was, at first, one of
disallowance. There was an effort to replace “popular” healing with “community” support of state sponsored biomedicine. (Iatridis, 1990; Rojas, 1986;
Ministerio de Salud Pública, 1977) Even so, people continued to utilize medico-religious and natural remedies behind closed doors. The resource shortages sparked by the Special Period combined with acceptance of
“alternative” medicine in international scientific circles opened dialogue.
Individuals began to utilize traditional medicine more openly and health officials reconsidered their initial position. Not only has the state officially
embraced “Traditional and Natural Medicine,” but the general population has
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acquired an astounding level of health literacy, incorporating biomedical and
“alternative” concepts into both popular expert healing and self medication
practices. The result has been increasingly dynamic exchanges among biomedicine, international trends in “natural” medicine and Cuban health traditions, as scientists biomedicalize traditional Cuban remedies and Cubans
popularize scientifically validated remedies.
The government has developed native medicinal plants into medications,
such as oreganón (a large-leaf species of oregano) and copal for respiratory
problems and the bark of the mango macho tree for inflammation and a variety of dermatological conditions, including cancer, wrinkles and burns. State
and scientific validation of these remedies has dramatically increased their
popularity. Now, people vie for the limited production of plant-based syrups
and strip mango macho trees of their bark to prepare as a tisane.
Doctors in Baracoa encourage patients to do inhalaciones (inhalations) to
clear lung congestion as has been done for generations, by boiling bitter
orange leaves and inhaling the vapors, though nowadays many people add
menthol from the pharmacy. Similarly, doctors might formally or informally
recommend any number of indigenous plant-based tisanes or the water of the
young coconut to remedy kidney problems, which are common due to the
local water’s high mineral and miocrobial content.
Similarly, in response to its world reknown, the Cuban government has
begun manufacturing placenta shampoo. I knew women in Baracoa with
access to dollars who would buy human placentas from doctors and fry them
in coconut oil, which people would then apply to their hair to prevent
breakage and promote growth. Doctors and scientists I interviewed
laughingly point to this as an example of an invento Cubano (Cuban
invention)—a creative strategy that they explain, in this case, is not effective
because the heat from the frying destroys the beneficial properties of the
placenta. The international popularity of noni—a fruit which grows in eastern
Cuba and was previously considered useless—has taken off in Cuba as a sort
of panacea thought to cure over 100 illnesses. The government now
cultivates and packages noni for foreign markets, tourist hospitals and use in
public health where, due to financial constraints, it is reserved for serious
conditions, such as cancer. Noni trees may be easily found in and around
Baracoa. As MINSAP touted the curative properties of this fruit via
publications, television, and notices in the local hospital, Baracoeses began
selling it in markets and attempting to prepare it in home remedies.
The Future of Health in Cuba
91
Concluding Remarks: Cuba’s Health Care Trajectory
This study revealed how particular events, policies and practices, on both
domestic and international scales, impact everyday Cubans’ health and wellbeing. The black market, stop-gap solutions and medical pluralism constitute
adaptive strategies that enable people to deal with a wide range of illnesses in
times of severe economic and social hardship. In fact, one of the most significant findings revealed in my research is that these ever-evolving “informal”
strategies compose one of the most vital aspects of overall health-seeking in
both state and popular sectors. While current academic literature on health in
Cuba is generally limited to “formal” aspects of state sponsored biomedicine,
this project confirms the importance of examining the health care struggle
from a much broader perspective to reflect health dynamics as they are lived
and experienced.
Though prior to the 1959 Revolution, Cuba was ahead of most of Latin
America in terms of health statistics, healthcare was largely unavailable to
the majority of Cubans, particularly rural, poor and black citizens. Since that
time, Cubans have come to see unlimited access to state health care as an
inalienable right that has proven essential for their well-being in times of
extreme hardship. In fact, in a country divided by political views, health care
as a human right seems to be one of the few points of agreement among Revolutionary supporters and dissenters alike. The people I interviewed
expressed a profound fear that, should U.S. and radical Miami Cubans’ agendas prevail upon Castro’s passing, Cubans will have to endure the prohibitive
healthcare costs and abject inequity suffered in the U.S. and the rest of Latin
America.
It is also crucial to recognize that biomedicine composes only one component of health seeking. The case of health care in Cuba reveals an eclectic
blend of science, tradition, technology and nature, enmeshed in a complex
political economic and social reality. Findings suggest a popular preference
for the continued development of a state-sponsored, medically pluralistic
health care model. People also expressed a desire for the conservation of popular spiritual and healing practices.
Health care efforts currently underway are riddled with obstacles and pitfalls that fall only in part under the jurisdiction of MINSAP. The future health
care options that will be available to Cubans, both during and following Castro’s regime, depend in large part on the very same factors that have shaped
health care up until now: Cuba’s economic policies, wealth equity, social policies (including those of MINSAP), world events and foreign relations. The
impacts of U.S. policies as well as the influence of predominantly Miamibased dissident groups will undeniably play important roles that may facilitate some aspects of Cuban people’s sovereignty while, as a great many fear,
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undermining others, such as their desire for continued social programs,
including state-sponsored health care and education. Communication, information and bio technologies will continue to make their mark as will global
health trends, tourism and Cubans living abroad.
As necessity is the mother of invention, crisis and hardship have bred a
movement toward progressive, integrative health care practices that are, nevertheless, still greatly limited by economic constraints and political rigidity.
Optimistically, one would hope that despite present shortcomings Cubans
would continue on this path through prosperity and regime change. Even
with economic improvement, Cubans will need the continued support of their
government to improve sanitary conditions as well as to prioritize equitable
access to health services. Cubans will, in all likelihood continue the use of
natural and traditional remedies, including those of a spiritual nature, regardless of economic conditions, as these modalities have been integral to
Cubans’ well-being from the country’s inception.
Material, political and social dynamics will shape, but not entirely determine, the diversity and availability of tool boxes with which Cubans will
mend their health. Individual Cubans will play a great role in determining the
future of health in Cuba. After all, they are the ones who are caught in the
middle of Cuba’s internal and external political economic tug-of-wars and
who will live the consequences through their bodies.
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CHAPTER 6
The Island’s
Healthcare Legacy
Robert Huish
There is a little-known anecdote from Goiania City, Brazil, in 1987 that fittingly depicts Cuban medical internationalism. While Chernobyl burned
itself into a global consciousness, another nuclear disaster was ignored and
forgotten by most of the world. Two scavengers were searching through
Goiania’s abandoned private cancer clinic, when they discovered a canister
containing Cesium-137. Unable to understand the word “radioactive,” they
opened the tube to find a blue stone, that “made everything it touch glow in
the night.” (Galeano, 2000) In their favela the blue stone was passed around.
Children and adults alike rubbed pieces of the stone on their bodies and they
began to illuminate. (Reuters, 2005) The radiation spread through the favela
contaminating 244 persons. For a week the health authorities figured it as
nothing more than food poisoning. Next to Chernobyl, Goiania City was the
worst nuclear disaster in history, and is possibly the most forgotten. And yet
alongside the victims of Chernobyl receiving treatment in Havana, were the
children of Goiania City to whom Cuba provided free healthcare. While little
attention is given to Goiania City, Cuba selflessly provided care to those in
need.
This is a beseeming example of how Cuban medical internationalism
treats health as a human right, especially in places loaded with too much inequality and too little understanding. Beyond a mere political stunt, this epistemology has endured through the Soviet years, during the special period,
and continues today. Cuba routinely offers healthcare for Latin America’s
poor, and has benevolently forgotten to send on a bill.
To cynics, the goal of Cuba’s medical internationalism must come down
to political pork-barreling. But, did Cuba offer aid to victims of Chernobyl,
or attempt to offer victims of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans medical
attention, just to get on the six o’clock news and receive laurels from ambas95
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sadors? Belittling the Cuban human security approach to a publicity stunt is a
disparaging and inane criticism. Cuban doctors, teachers and nurses routinely
journey to attend to the most impoverished and forgotten regions of the
South. They go to places where electricity and sanitation dare not tread, let
alone television cameras; from Brazil’s forgotten villages to Haiti’s menacing
countryside. Built on traditions of community-based care, person-to-person
contact, and proven methods of primary care, Cuba’s medical internationalism is first and foremost dedicated to saving lives. The success of this policy
is in saving lives and empowering communities, before strategizing any sort
of global political scheme. A commitment to save lives is what drives the
doctors into the jungles. And yet, according to experts of political science,
the ends of this extraordinary human security endeavor must be about gaining
political allies, before the ability to save lives. Certainly the role of healthcare
provision in Cuba’s foreign policy will have some political capital. Is there
any country today that crafts foreign policy in order to not gain some economic or political gain? But, to follow a cynic’s logic, assuming that medical
internationalism is a mere stunt, it’s safe to assume that this policy would be
abandoned with political change. But from the perspective of the actors in
this production, the doctors, medical students and patients, is it really about
political strategy? For the doctors who can check for broken bones without an
x-ray and who deliver babies with little more than hot water and heaps of
effort, how do they politically strategize? For the students who came to the
Latin American School of Medicine (ELAM) without shoes on their feet, and
left with white coats on their backs, where did they find time to formulate
political grand strategy amid studying medicine in a six-year window that
would take a North American student ten years to get through? And to the
parents of newly born children who were not the one in 10 to die before their
first birthday, where do their political allegiances lie (UNICEF, 2003: 110)?
I argue that in the Cuban context health and healthcare have been
enabling expressions of self determination; bringing human security and
empowerment to people who otherwise would go without. Instead of rationalizing Cuba’s medical internationalism into broader political discourses,
we can couch notions of transition, democratization and self determination
into the health context. Perhaps it is time to consider good health as a means
of self determination, before political gain rather than the other way around.
Social institutions and community health methodologies brought Cuba
into the epidemiological transition, which is certainly one of the most successful social transitions in the history of the Americas. Current Cuban innovation in healthcare capacity building and accessibility may very well bring
new health transitions at the community level in the South. Looking at pro-
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grams like ELAM and Mission Miracle, it may be more fitting to ask what is
Cuba’s role in creating transitions rather than being in transition.
The epidemiological transition, and the institutions that made it possible,
reveals that the nature of the programs, rather than assumed societal equality,
plays a leading role in not only improving the quality of life, but empowering
communities as well. While some critiques argue that inequalities in access
to expensive pharmaceuticals, equipment, and other healthcare products,
shows a failure of the Cuban model, they overlook that this is an endemic
problem with all healthcare models. (Marchildon, 2006) What makes the
Cuban approach unique is that consumption inequality poses little threat to
the community focused primary care principles. Community care is not
uniquely Cuban, but the fact that it costs next to nothing to create and even
less to use is unique indeed. Accessibility to healthcare at the community
level is not directly impacted by discrepancies in pharmaceutical distribution.
Rather, human resource based healthcare, accessibility, and capacity building
all remain unscathed by growing market influences. Indeed, the Cuban health
legacy has already made tremendous social transitions through this human
resource focused model, even in times of economic anarchy. It continues to
do so as capacity-building programs expand into more dynamic dimensions
and show little sign of collapse or retraction regardless of economic and
political uncertainty. Perhaps the real crisis from inequality lies in a broader
deficit of ideas of how the Cuban health paradox may continue to be a driver
in social and community transitions throughout the Americas.
Imperialism, Self-determination and the Idea of
Transition
I would like to discuss political philosophy and geographies of health, as I
think it is necessary to understand how limited dialogue is in linking health,
along with human security in general, to self determination in the Cuban
case. To date, discussions of national health and national self determination
remain strangers. Some studies acknowledge that national health is meant to
provide well being to all those in the nation state, but they often fall far short
in doing so. (Lightner, 2004) Hence the assumption that healthcare can be an
enabling factor for an entire society is rarely considered. Perhaps as an
unconscious consequence most chatter on self determination remains in highpolitical discourses of democratizing processes and political frameworks,
which really have more to do with determination of an imagined nation state
and not that of individuals and communities. (Anderson, 1991) Likewise,
good health is seen as good thing, but is rarely acknowledged in political and
legal frameworks as being a means of self determination beyond symbolic
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capital. (Feinsilver, 1993) Still, Cuba’s healthcare legacy has quite a lot to do
with self determination by empowering individuals and communities alike.
Overlooking the epidemiological experience in discussions of “Cuba in transition” omits important elements of autonomy gained through good health,
and inherently constructs dialogues that bear narrow imperialist visions. In
respect to the theme of this book, I would like to discuss some points made
by James Tully on imperialist language and how it dominates the “Cuba in
transition” question all the while omitting the other important social transitions.
If Cuba is only in transition now, then what was it before? Defining a
Cuban transition on its relation into, or away from, the global system is a
question that satisfies a hegemonic normative framework. Especially when
considering that Cuba is a very active player in the U.N. and other global networks. Normative frameworks of democratization, reintegration and self
determination have more to do with the country’s so-called expected place in
a system that is ridden with imperial traditions and hegemonic discourses; no
less intrusive than in early twentieth-century Havana when school teachers
thought it best to conduct lessons in English because of practical inevitability.
It is possible to consider discussions of national self determination to be a
hegemonic language. For Tully, imperialist language flows through Kantian,
and neo-Kantian understandings of the global order, but it remains, he argues,
in the language of advocates of self determination. (Tully, 2005: 23-24) Tully
uses Immanuel Kant’s Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch to show that
the so-called just and universal “post-colonial world of free and independent
states under international law, [is] bound together by free trade, governed by
a league of advanced states, [and is] the particular historical product of European colonial imperialism.” (Tully, 2005: 25) Kant, among his many pearls of
wisdom including his declaration that “Indians were incapable of civilization,” (Galeano, 2000: 46) affirmed that the correct ordering of humanity is
done through the establishment of European republican or constitutional
states that are “formally equal and sovereign” and engage in their duty of free
trade. (Kant, 1992: Tully, 2005: 25) Among other things, Kant believed that
this league of nations has the right, if not obligation, to intervene into a society that was in any way different from the European norm. (Tully, 2005: 25)
The Kantian approach does not justify the use of imperialism to establish
good constitutional states; it is taken as necessary and righteous. That said,
participants of this system cannot recognize any other narratives, traditions or
civilizations as equal yet different, as the European model state is the obligatory narrative. (Tully, 2005: 30) In the post-colonial world, the colonies
dressed as nation states may be formally equal, but informally inequitable
economic and historical exploitation doesn’t skip a beat. The result is an
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exemplary example of imperial relations through so-called non-imperial normative frameworks. (Tully, 2005).
For the Kantian and neo-Kantian perspectives, imperialism is an unavoidable necessary. Yet some argue that “the language and practice of political
self determination of peoples and furthering of democracy offer a genuinely
non-imperial and anti-imperial alternative.” (Tully, 2005: 34) The idea is that
political self-determination from within, regardless if the leadership has been
directly or indirectly influenced by foreign actors, will be a form of nonimperialism. Unfortunately this doesn’t hold up. Democratic collectivisation
does little to break imperial traditions, and it is unequipped to ward off intrusion from so-called “non-imperial actors” like multinational corporations,
development agencies and such. Moreover the generally assumed form of
democratic freedom is that of which Isaiah Berlin titled “negative freedom.”
(Berlin, 1958) Being negatively free may remove repressive governors, but it
makes no guarantee for working civic-democratic relations whereby the ruled
and rulers are able to have open dialogue and speak frankly with each other.
(Tully, 2003) All too often democratizing nations, especially those which
have been aided into the process from Western powers, often with bombs and
then ballots, experience the burden of the governed being too distraught to
effectively communicate with their rulers, and governors being under
equipped to meet the needs of the entire population. For Tully, this process is
“not so much an alternative to contemporary imperialism but a move within
the strategic-tactical logic of informal imperialism.” (Tully, 2005: 48) Kant’s
framework shows how the roots of imperialism transcend into modern dialogue between nation states, but it fails to handle informal imperialism. Tully
argues that “changes in international law, the rise of powerful multinational
corporations, and the role of soft-norm creation by non-governmental organizations” all play a role in redirecting power and control. (Tully, 2005: 32)
These multi-dimensional sources of power and control are often presented as
non-imperial, which, as Tully suggests, is as if to say that a centralized world
empire is the only form of imperialism. (Tully, 2005)
If political self determination is more to do with imperial transformation
of groups and nation states, then perhaps we should scale down the idea of
self determination to the level of the individual? From the point of view of
doctors who administer free vaccines, and newly born children who would
not make it otherwise, health is a first step in self determination. What health
and human security mean on the ground falls through the gaping holes of
most political dialogues and with it tumble public imagination and awareness. Some say that “we have no alternative but to adapt to reality” of neoliberalism and neo-conservatism. (Galeano, 2000) But what if that reality is
about improving health at the community level, about training doctors who
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heal instead of doctors who bill, and about educating mothers and children
about the environmental and social determinants of health so that they can
experience far more birthdays and far less funerals together? From this perspective can we consider political achievements to be subsequent to human
achievements? We may in fact be able to entertain more sensitive and appreciative understandings of how health as a human right, an inkling that Hippocrates mentioned but modern society forgot to write down, can bring on self
determination and transition.
Domestic Success with health and healthcare,
showcase or spark?
Healthcare provision during the Revolution has hardly been a static operation. Developments and successes have been matched by just as many perils
and failures. Nevertheless, the ministry of health never wavered from two
goals. The first was to ensure that every single Cuban had access to necessary
medical services, and the second was to emphasize person-to-person care
before investment in infrastructure and technology. Radical or reasonable?
Tommy Douglas, a prairie farmer turned politician in Canada, came up with a
similar idea during the 1960s. In the initial stages of the revolution the health
issues were not difficult, and they did not necessarily require advanced medical science. Cubans mostly suffered from poverty-stricken parasitical diseases, and as such, the doctors of the revolution were mostly monitors and
mentors of basic health. Doctors often administered basic antibiotics and promoted clean water usage, which relieved most juvenile intestinal disorders.
(Danielson, 1985) Educating doctors in complex obstetrics as well as providing clean facilities for birth and neonatal care greatly reduced the infant mortality rate. By 1979, only 19 of every 1,000 live births died before the age of
five, and by 1983, the figure dropped to 16 for each 1,000 (Feinsilver, 1993:
95). Today the figure is seven per thousand, a figure equal to the United
States. (UNICEF, 2003: 110) Infant mortality was generally decreasing
worldwide between 1960 and 1985, but compared to the 1979 Latin American average of 92 deaths per thousand live births, or neighboring Haiti of 127
per thousand, Cuba was far ahead. (Collins & Benjamin, 1985) As Collins
and Benjamin point out, in 1982 the infant mortality rate of 18.1 per thousand
for the black population in the United States was higher than Cuba. (Collins
& Benjamin, 1985: 64)
By the 1980s, Cuba succeeded in removing diarrhea and tuberculosis
from the top 10 causes of death, along with infectious and parasitic disease
causing 13.3 percent of deaths in 1962 to only 2 percent in 1980. The life
expectancy rate increased by nearly 20 years from 57 years in 1958 74 years
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in 1980. (Collins & Benjamin, 1985) A slow process no doubt, but Cuba kept
its promise to deliver effective health services that virtually eliminated the
country’s Third World health problems. The success came not in just creating
health services, but through ensuring that the citizenry had access to them. In
1959, 1,800,000 medical visits were recorded, compared to 13,818,000 in
1979. (Danielson, 1985) The polyclinic was the entry point for most persons
into the health system. (Feinsilver, 1993) These facilities provided health services for populations up to 25,000 persons. Teams of doctors operated in the
clinics, with at least one obstetrician/gynecologist for every 3,000 women,
and one pediatrician for every 3,000 children. (Gilpin & Rodríguez-Trias,
1979) At the polyclinic itself, doctors and nurses commonly held information
sessions about hygiene and preventable activities while patients waited for
their appointments. As Feinsilver notes, the polyclinic practiced “medicine in
the community,” not “community medicine.” (Feinsilver, 1993)
Even today, the ministry of health continues to receive praise from the
WHO and the PAHO for excellent monitoring systems, encouraging preventive treatments thorough data collection, and epidemiological tracking of
major health issues. (Spiegel & Yassi, 2004) Critics of thorough record keeping in public health may employ Bashford’s thesis to see it as more of a
means of social control, and an instrument to reorder society. (Bashford,
2004) The most fatuous critiques have charged Cuba with micro-managing
medical statistics in order to produce attractive health indicators for the WHO
and the United Nations. Indeed, more appreciative studies done by Cooper
and Spiegel and Yassi, clearly showed epidemiological tracking and data collection are integral parts of the Cuban health approach, as they act to take
action on developing public health crisis, and monitor pattern changes in
chronic and degenerative diseases within the society. (Spiegel & Yassi, 2004;
Cooper, 2006) Indeed the sort of bio-medical imperialism that Bashford’s
case study deals with is non-existent in Cuba because the practice of healthcare in Cuba actually improves the health and quality of life for those whom
receive it.
Despite the epidemiological transition, Cuba doesn’t give up the ghost on
first world diseases. Prevention and education are employed as much as surgery in warding off cardiovascular disease and other such calamities. Cooper
et al. claim that the data resources in Cuba allow for comprehensive descriptions and trends of advanced conditions like cardiovascular disease. Good
knowledge of indicators and outbreaks allows for prevention in the community and preservation of the individual. (Cooper et al., 2006). Cuba’s data collection and public health response mechanisms are well beyond the normalcy
of the third world, and in some cases well past the first world. Cooper et al.
show that diseases of the heart and suicide are just as common in other Carib-
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bean countries, but accountable record keeping practices are not, and hence it
is always Cuba that gets charged with having high heart disease and suicides
when in fact it is such data that allows for not only taking account but taking
action as well.
El pensamiento de salud para todos en Nuestra
América
Dissatisfied with the short-term relief projects that are congruous with disaster management, the ministry of health’s post-Mitch plan moved towards
long-term capacity building strategy to empower locals to become active participants in their own health outcomes. The result was ELAM. Established in
a former naval academy just to the west of Havana, the school accepted, at no
charge, students who were from rural or under-serviced areas of Central
America and South America. In 1999 ELAM accepted just fewer than 2,000
students from these regions, but since 2000 the school has welcomed students
from Africa, the United States and even Europe. Students are selected on
basis of merit, and special consideration is given to those from marginalized
communities. During the six-year program, students are provided with free
tuition, accommodation, books, sustenance, and are given a small monthly
allowance to spend as they choose. Disease and poor health, despite homeland security’s best efforts, do not stop at borders and neither does the Cuban
approach. Building on a long-standing tradition of medical of offering medical aid, Cuba sent 1,300 doctors to Central American in 1998, to help cope
with the aftermath of Hurricane Mitch. Despite cool diplomatic relations with
Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua, and considering the domestic economic chaos of the Special Period, Cuba generously offered its services.
(Cole, 1998: Kirk, 2000) Indeed the medical brigade’s presence offered some
immediate relief to the destitute, but it was shadowed by a sense of hopelessness, as these pillaged rural areas had skeletal healthcare infrastructure and
almost no intersectoral support as a result of a decade of neo-liberal restructuring support. (Ugalde & Homedes, 2005a: 2005b) These two elements were
vital for the success in the Cuban epidemiological transition, and indeed they
are necessary for any resource strapped society to adapt in order to improve
health at the local level. Frustrated by offering triage within a health framework that was as hollow as a gourd, Cuba revisited their post-Mitch strategy
to put a great emphasis on capacity building and creating human resources
for health, rather than continually sending their own doctors in to do patchwork healthcare within a crumbling system. (Sebastian et al., 2005) In order
to cope with the cavernous void left from neo-liberal restructuring in the
healthcare sector, the energy would have to turn towards capacity building
and prevention within communities at the local level.
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While most medical schools in the world are becoming more economically and socially exclusive, ELAM seeks those who would not have the fortune of attending medical schools in their home countries. (Jolly, 2005)
Moreover, in order to be accepted into the program, the students agree to
return to their home countries to offer their services where they are most
needed. There is no written contract to enforce this pledge, and Cuba would
be powerless to stop a graduate from practicing in the for-profit sector; it is
simply a moral commitment for the graduates to do what they can for the forgotten ones who need it the most.
The life of a student is by no means a cakewalk. It is a challenging curriculum, covering in six-years what most North American medical students
complete in eight to 10 years of training. Courses range from anatomy and
molecular biology to physical education, and acupuncture and even disaster
medicine. Working-level English is also taught so students may keep up with
recent developments in medical literature, which is almost entirely published
in English. In the early years of the program the challenges of this rigorous
curriculum were compounded with a lack of up-to-date textbooks and adequate lab equipment. Students must also endure the challenges of Havana’s
erratic municipal services, which can leave students studying by candlelight
for hours during a blackout. Nevertheless, such challenges will likely pale in
comparison to those to be found on the ground when graduates return to their
homes to practice in their over-burdened and under-serviced homes.
So far the program has received thousands of students from 29 countries
in the Americas and Africa. Over 10,000 students were enrolled in the ELAM
program in 2005. (Frank & Reed, 2005) Only about 4,000 of these students
study at the school, while the remaining 6,000 study alongside Cuban students at medical schools throughout the country. The numbers are quite
impressive indeed. By sheer volume alone, these graduating students,
roughly 2,000 per year, will inevitably make a considerable impact on Latin
America’s anemic human resources for health landscape. While only a small
percentage of students have dropped out of the program, others may be a
flight risk to the United States or at least to the private sectors of their home
countries. These young, bilingual and eager physicians could be seen as
highly valued commodities in the healthcare marketplace. Indeed the demand
for family physicians in the north, coupled with lucrative offers for foreign
doctors to work in North America, may prove as the ultimate test for the
moral commitment of ELAM graduates, and to the value-driven basis of
Cuban medical internationalism.
While ELAM is a case in point of Cuba’s approach to medical internationalism through long-term capacity building, other more short-term and
collaborative medical initiatives are being undertaken. Mission Miracle is a
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joint-venture project with Venezuela designed to restore sight at no cost to
poor Latin Americans. The program offers free eye surgery (mainly on cataracts) to the poor and marginalized in Latin America and the Caribbean. To
date over 122,000 patients from two dozen countries have been treated,
although the vast majority are from Venezuela, which is offering the capital
for the project. Cuba hopes to provide 1.5 million eye operations a year, and
it plans to conduct 10.5 million procedures through this initiative. Cataract
surgery is relatively cheap and quick to perform.
The gift of sight, the chance to learn, the ability to heal, is it a mere political move? Or is it unabashed human compassion? I am hard pressed to categorize life-saving practices as being one in the same as political payola. They
are extensions of a sound ontology that provides care at the community level
in addition to converting military and corporate edifices into hospitals and
schools. (Spiegel & Yassi, 2004) Such projects directly aim to provide security, human security as defined by Axworthy, and well-being at the individual
level, to empower individuals. (Axworthy, 2001) Indeed the success and
uniqueness of these programs creates political capital on the world stage. Is
there a country today that does not aim to gain some form of self-benefit
from their foreign policy? Indeed Cuba is not out of line any more than any
other nation-state in this regard, however, their approach is one that has just
as many benefits for empowering people on the ground as it does in forums
of high-level policy.
Conclusions
To conclude, the question of Cuba in transition should pay special attention
to role of health and healthcare. Not only has Cuba made outstanding
progress in the past, but it actively continues to do so in programs that are
structured on sound knowledge of community health, social determinants of
health, investment in human resources for health, and, above all, experience.
Ensuring access to community-based primary care and attempting to extend
this beyond its borders may indeed generate symbolic capital, but it ultimately empowers individuals and saves lives.
What better tool than good health do people need for self determination?
Considering that so many of the south’s functioning democracies, from
Liberia to Bolivia, do not guarantee personal security and freedom from illness and want, we should ask how Cuba’s approach to human security can
better enable individuals to make choices at personal, community and
national levels. As Ignatieff argues, an individual’s priority is first to personal
security, and then to the nation state. (Ignatieff, 1993) Cuba’s human security
is an integral part of a functioning civic nation state and it is certainly
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entrenched into foreign policy that provides personal security first and
national loyalty second. Understanding this experience as self determination,
at the individual level, brings us into a dialogue that focuses less on imperialistic forecasts and more on seeking understanding to overcome inequalities.
Perhaps its time to remove the painful burdens of misunderstanding and nonimagination and instead reflect not so much on how Cuba copes with political transition, but how its approach to good health enables transition and how
it could enable us.
Bibliograpy:
Axworthy, Lloyd. 2001. “Human security and global governance: Putting
people first.” Global Governance, 7(1): 19-23.
Berlin, Isaiah. 1958. “Two concepts of liberty: an inaugural lecture delivered
before the University of Oxford.” October, 31 1958. Oxford: Clarendon.
Cole, Ken. 1998. Cuba: From Revolution to Development. London; Washington, DC: Pinter.
Collins, Joseph, & Benjamin, Medea. 1985. “Cuba’s Food Distribution System.” In Cuba, Twenty-Five Years of Revolution, 1959-1984, Sandor
Halebsky and John M. Kirk, eds. New York: Praeger.
Cooper, Richard, Ordunez, Pedro, Ferrer, Marcos Iraola, Munoz, Jose Luis
Bernal, & Espinosa-Brito, Alfredo. 2006. “Cardiovascular Disease and
Associated Risk Factors in Cuba: Prospects for Prevention and Control.”
Public Health Matters, 96(1): 94-101.
Danielson, Ross. 1985. “Medicine in the Community.” In Cuba, Twenty-Five
Years of Revolution, 1959-1984, Sandor Halebsky and John M. Kirk eds.
New York: Praeger.
Feinsilver, Julie Margot. 1993. Healing the masses: Cuban Health Politics at
Home and Abroad. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Frank, Michele, & Reed, Gail A. 2005. “Doctors for the (Developing)
World.” MEDICC Review, VII(8).
Galeano, Eduardo H. 2000. Upside Down: A Primer for the Looking-Glass
World (Mark Fried, Trans. 1st American ed.). New York: Metropolitan
Books.
Gilpin, Margaret, & Rodríguez-Trias, Helen. 1979. “Looking at Health in a
Healthy Way.” Cuba Review, 7(1).
Ignatieff, Michael. 1993. Blood and Belonging: Journeys Into the New
Nationalism. Toronto: Viking.
Kant, Immanuel. 1992. Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Essay. Bristol:
Thoemmes Press.
Kirk, John M. 2000. “Forward.” In Cuba's Foreign Relations in a Post-Soviet
World. Michael Erisman, ed. Tampa: University of Florida Press.
Reuters. 2005. “Young Chernobyl victims heal in Cuban sun.” Stuff.con.nz.
Sebastian, M. S., Hurtig, A. K., Breilh, J., & Peralta, A. Q. 2005. “The People’s Health Movement: Health For All Now.” Revista Panamericana De
Salud Publica-Pan American Journal of Public Health, 18(1): 45-49.
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Spiegel, Jerry M, and Anna-Lee Yassi. 2004. “Lessons From the Margins of
Globalization: Appreciating the Cuban Health Paradox.” Journal of Public Health Policy, 25(1): 85-110.
Tully, James Hamilton. 2003. “Civic Freedom in a Globalising Age.” Cahiers 1(2): 7-11.
Tully, James Hamilton. 2005. “On Law, Democracy and Imperialism.” Paper
presented at the Twenty-First Annual Public Lecture Centre for Law and
Society, March 10-11, 2005, University of Edinburgh.
Ugalde, A., & Homedes, N. 2005a. “Neoliberal Health Sector Reforms in
Latin America: Unprepared Managers and Unhappy Workers.” Revista
Panamericana De Salud Publica-Pan American Journal of Public
Health, 17(3): 202-209.
Ugalde, A., & Homedes, N. 2005b. “Why Neoliberal Health Reforms Have
Failed in Latin America.” Health Policy, 71(1): 83-96.
UNICEF. 2003. The State of the World’s Children 2004: Girls, Education and
Development. New York: UNICEF.
CHAPTER 7
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a
Socialist State1
Emma Phillips
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll turn capitalist,” Alejandro jokingly tells me, “today
I’m staying home!”2 Alejandro is one of a small number of licensed selfemployed workers in Cuba, or “trabajadores por cuenta propia” (workers for
own account). Although legal in Cuba since 1993, trabajo por cuenta propia
remains a controversial sector in the Cuban economy. As the first Cubans to
shift from the centralized state sector to self-employment in the private sector, cuentapropistas challenge the state socialist monopoly on labor and production. For a country whose Constitution states that it is a nation “composed
of workers, peasants, and other manual and intellectual laborers” (Constitutición de la República de Cuba 1992), the legalization of independent workers motivated by private gain is particularly contentious. Of course, trabajo
por cuenta propia is not a unique change in the Cuban labor market, and the
creation of joint-venture and “market-oriented” state enterprises, as well as
an active black market, pose equally strong challenges to the socialist labor
regime. Yet cuentapropistas are one of the most potent symbols of Cuba’s
changing economic, political and ideological character—in part because of
the significance that outside observers have attached to their existence.
Indeed, the group has frequently been portrayed as a kind of capitalist van1. For an extended exploration of the material covered in this article, focusing on the
relationship between legal regulation and the formation of identity, see my article “‘Maybe
Tomorrow I’ll Turn Capitalist’: Cuentapropismo in a Workers’ State,” forthcoming in Law
and Society Review. The germ of this paper originated in an undergraduate thesis in
Anthropology entitled “Transforming Identities: An Ethnography of Change in a Cuban
Market” (2000) at Harvard University, in which the ethnographic material is more fully
presented. I wish to express my gratitude to the Anthropology Department and the David
Rockefeller Center for Latin American Studies for the funding to undertake this research,
and to Brian Palmer and William Fisher for their comments and encouragement. The
project evolved further with the financial assistance of the Centre for Criminology at the
University of Toronto and under the intellectual guidance of Ron Levi and Mariana
Valverde, to whom I would also like to express my thanks.
2. All of the names in this article have been changed.
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Emma Phillips
guard by North American commentators, the shepherds of Cuba’s transition
from socialism to a free-market democracy.
In examining the tension surrounding cuentapropismo, this article argues
that an anthropological, “on-the-ground” approach can help to expose the
overly-rigid assumptions which have frequently informed analyses of Cuba’s
limited opening of self-employment. Cuba-observers have tended to view
Cuba’s “transition” to a free-market economy as all but inevitable, with cuentapropistas as its personal agents. Viewed from the inside, however, the picture looks significantly different. As Alejandro’s comment illustrates,
cuentapropistas themselves are ambivalent about claiming a larger group
identity, on the one hand taking pride in their unique position outside of the
state-controlled centralized economy, and on the other hand disclaiming any
kind of capitalist mentality or work culture. Rather than asking whether cuentapropistas are “capitalist” or “socialist”—rubrics which are closely bound
up in Cold War ideology and hard-line rhetoric in Cuba and the United
States—a more productive line of investigation might focus on the ways in
which identity is constructed around particular kinds of economic and social
activity, and the longer term impact this may have for models of citizenship
and governance. Such an approach can therefore help to complicate ideological interpretations of transition by highlighting how changes in the regulation
of labor put pressure on traditional socialist models of state and citizen, and
the way in which this renegotiation of the citizen-state relationship may itself
become constitutive of fundamental social change in a way that is not easily
captured by the binary of communism/capitalism.
One of the complexities of employing the term “transition” is the difficulty of distinguishing a period of “transition” from the less sharply marked
fluctuations of social evolution. While Cuba’s direction remains unknown, it
is almost certainly a country undergoing a period of profound transformation.
The pace and scale of economic change since 1990, including the “dollarization” of the economy, the growth of foreign investment and the explosion of
foreign tourism, have created a fundamental shift in Cuba’s socialist framework which will be difficult to reverse, despite the government’s recent
announcement that Cuba is in a phase of “deepening socialism.”3 Thus while
this article specifically rejects a teleological, “evolutionist” conception of
transition, it does suggest that the contemporary moment in Cuba is one of
profound and radical change. As a close examination of cuentapropismo
illustrates, the legalization of self-employment has important consequences
for the renegotiation of individual-state relations and the construction of citi-
3. Announcement of National Assembly President Ricardo Alarcón, EFE News Service,
December 1, 2005.
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
109
zenship. This renegotiation may itself help to contribute to the creation, shape
and character of a transitional period.
Methodology
This paper builds on fieldwork conducted in Havana, Cuba, over a period of
seven years, from 1998 to 2005, with cuentapropista craftsmen. Interview
questions focussed on the individual’s education and work prior to becoming
a cuentapropista, reasons for entering into self-employment, perceived
advantages and disadvantages of the shift in work practices and income,
attempts to balance family and work time, plans for the future, and aspirations for their children. The ability to return to Havana over a period of seven
years added an important dimension to the research, allowing me to compare
points of variance or constancy over time, to recognize that a phenomenon
first seen in a moment of apparent stability was in fact in a state of flux, or
that something which seemed short-lived was able to endure. As such, my
return visits did not so much constitute ethnographic “updates” as opportunities for a re-theorization of self-employment and the relationship between
work, identity and the state. (Burrawoy, 2003)
The focus on artisans inevitably gives this paper a particular perspective
on trabajo por cuenta propia. In some ways craftsmanship is one of the least
controversial activities authorized for self-employment. Where private taxis,
restaurants, or casas particulares (room rentals in private homes) are perceived as competing with their state counterparts for tourist revenue, the government is less likely to attempt to nationalize craftsmanship since the very
fact that an object is hand-made by an individual artisan is what gives it
value. Moreover, tourists flock to craft markets precisely for the sensation of
buying “authentic” local goods. Craftsmen are also able to draw on the image
of the “artist”—a significant advantage for craftsmen given the government’s
changing attitude towards artistic activity. (Hernández-Reguant, 2004)
The focus on artisans, however, does not limit the relevancy of the analysis to other types of cuentapropismo. While the less precarious position of
artisans may allow them to speak more freely with a foreign researcher, the
fundamental changes they have experienced in the regulation of their daily
work—the freedom to set their own schedule and negotiate their own prices,
the difficulty of dealing with government licenses and inspectors, the exclusion from state welfare programs—is shared by all cuentapropistas. Furthermore, I was able to put my observations and interviews into context through
discussions with Cuban scholars at the Centre Psícologicó y Sociologico,
who have conducted extensive sociological studies of the Cuban labor market, as well as through daily interactions with a variety of cuentapropistas.
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Of course, this study cannot claim to represent all cuentapropistas and
remains limited by its geographical focus and small empirical base. The challenges and advantages of cuentapropismo may vary significantly in smaller
communities or in regions less affected by tourism. Cuentapropistas whose
work focuses on providing services to Cubans rather than to tourists may also
experience the regulation of their daily work differently, and a more comprehensive study would benefit from a comparison of self-employment in the
tourist industry with self-employment in the “domestic” sector. Nor can a few
craftsmen be said to speak for a single “cuentapropista work culture.” Indeed,
a key finding of the study is that cuentapropistas themselves reject adopting a
cohesive group identity, and therefore any attempt at generalization must be
treated with caution. While these limitations are significant, they do not,
however, undermine the broader conclusion of this study—that cuentapropistas are neither capitalist nor socialist, but are helping to redefine what it
means to be a productive worker, and therefore a citizen, in Cuba.
“Mal necesario” or Harbinger of Capitalism?
The deep ambivalence surrounding self-employment can only be understood
in relation to the powerful symbolic role of the worker in the Cuban Revolution, typified most clearly in Che Guevara’s conceptualization of the “New
Socialist Man” (el hombre nuevo)—a figure which denoted more than a productive worker or an individual dedicated to revolutionary ideals, but the
forging of a new morality and consciousness. (Pérez, 1998: 340) It is hardly
surprising, then, that a figure as antithetical to the social ideal of worker as
the trabajador por cuenta propia has been received as a “mal necesario” (necessary evil) by the Cuban government. Yet perhaps an even more significant
factor shaping the government’s reception of cuentapropismo has been the
keen interest that American commentators have shown in the growth of selfemployment. As Arnaldo Pérez Garcia, a Cuban psychologist who has written about recent changes in the Cuban labor market, explains, “You have to
remember that the disagreement between Cuba and the United States penetrates every single decision made in Cuba. You cannot understand cuentapropismo outside of this context.” (Personal communication, Havana,
February 2005) Drawing a circle on a piece of paper, he explained that the
circle represents “the system,” and that, from the Cuban government’s point
of view, anything that falls outside of the system is vulnerable to manipulation by American interests and is therefore a threat. A 1997 statement by
Raúl Valdés Vivo, the Communist Party’s Academy Director, supports Pérez
Garcia’s comments. Writing in the state newspaper, Granma Internacional,
Valdés Vivó effectively announced the government’s intention to limit cuentapropismo, stating: “The creation of the seeds of a local bourgeoisie would
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
111
bring in a social force which sooner or later would serve the counterrevolution.”
American media and academics have added to this perception. For example, one analysis of self-employed workers in Cuba, presented at the annual
meeting of the Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy in Miami in
1998, suggested that the “highly visible success” achieved by cuentapropistas,
...is what makes the self-employed phenomenon so interesting and important for
the near term future of the country; when a transition toward a true free market
economy occurs in Cuba, the self-employed will be an important minority of
Cubans who have small enterprise experience, who are familiar with risk taking,
investment and profits, taxes and regulation. They will be uniquely equipped to
thrive in a capitalist setting. They will continue to sell goods and services to the
domestic population and cater to tourists, but they will be able to expand their
businesses, hire other people, and generate real wealth. (Smith, 1998:58)
Secure in the assumption that Cuba will transform itself into a free-market
economy, the author concludes: “To the extent that the self-employed can
create employment and demonstrate the tangible benefits of hard work for
average Cubans, they will do much to smooth the transition to a market economy in Cuba.” (Smith 1998: 59) Cuentapropistas, in this account, serve a
symbolic function in promoting popular support for reform by demonstrating
that widely-held fears about capitalism are unfounded, and that hard work
will result in material gain.
The specific position that cuentapropistas occupy within Cuba’s economic and political infrastructure is therefore as significant as the kind of
economic, “capitalist” activity they engage in. While representing only a very
small percentage of the Cuban labor force—minuscule in comparison with
the number of Cubans who participate in the black market—cuentapropistas
pose a powerful symbolic challenge to the socialist regime. In particular,
cuentapropistas embody an increasing tension between Cuba’s socialist past
and uncertain future. In this period of “late socialism,” many Cubans express
both a deep attachment and pride in the successes of the Revolution, and an
increasing certainty that socialism is no longer economically or politically
viable. Yet, many Cubans are equally reluctant to embrace a “capitalist”
future, which they worry will breed avarice, income inequality and a lack of
compassion. This ambivalence is further heightened by deep strains of
nationalism, which lead some Cubans to rejoice at being one of the only
countries to withstand the political interference of the United States, even as
they decry the socialist Revolution that helped to protect Cuban sovereignty.
The figure of the cuentapropista, in its ambiguous position between social-
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ism and capitalism, captures this tension in a particularly explicit way, making the cuentapropista both a powerful and a vulnerable actor in the Cuban
landscape.
The Legalization of an Anomaly
As noted, cuentapropismo has been an uncomfortable development for the
Cuban government since its inception. In the midst of the “special period”—
a series of austerity measures and radical economic reforms adopted in the
face of Cuba’s dramatic economic decline—National Assembly members
vigorously debated the wisdom of expanding the private sector.4 Those who
argued in favor of cuenta propia maintained that it would create jobs for the
unemployed, provide goods and services which the state could not satisfy,
increase control of illegal activities, boost tax revenues, and satisfy a popular
demand. Among the opposing arguments were concerns that self-employment encourages profiteering, that it would compete with state enterprises for
labor, or that it is too small-scale to be efficient—possibly creating deformities in the system (Jatar-Hausmann, 1999: 93-94). Even those in favour of the
economic reforms were constrained to maintain that the economic pragmatism motivating the limited opening of self-employment was not indicative of
changed ideological orientation.
While self-employment was ultimately authorized, political and ideological ambivalence informs its very existence, and the attempt to harmonize
economic pragmatism with ideological purity has been imperfect and contradictory. This ambivalence is evident in the strict legal regime which governs
self-employment. Under law decree no. 141, 162 occupations5 are eligible for
self-employment, including food vendor, taxi driver, carpenter, bicycle and
car repairperson, artisan, hairdresser, shoe repairperson, and manicurist. University graduates are not allowed to carry out self-employed activity in their
own profession (for example, doctors cannot establish private clinics), nor
can state or foreign enterprises contract the services of self-employed workers. (Evenson, 2003: 265)
Even more importantly, government regulations are carefully designed to
prevent the exploitation of labor and the development of significant income
inequalities within the population. (Núñez Moreno, 1998: 44) Self-employed
4. While self-employment was never completely banned after the triumph of the Revolution in 1959, it all but disappeared and was mostly limited to peasant-farmers who did not
join the agricultural cooperatives.
5. This number has fluctuated somewhat since the inception of self-employment. In
1993, 110 activities were authorized for self-employment. Five activities were struck off
the list in 1994, apparently in reaction to the growing popularity of cuentrapropismo. In
1995, 19 new occupations were added to the list and in 1996 the government authorized
another 40 activities. However, in 2004, 40 occupations were again removed from the list.
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
113
workers cannot employ others, prices may be standardized by the government if there is any evidence of abuse, and the government can adopt measures to “forestall the excessive proliferation of vendors and to prohibit the
emergence of middlemen.”6 Heavy licensing fees and an annual progressive
income tax make it difficult for many cuentapropistas to continue their trade,
or at least to accumulate a net profit. Artisans in Havana, for example, pay
around US$150 a month, while those who rent rooms to tourists commonly
pay US$250 per room, regardless of whether the rooms are occupied. The
combined effect of such strict, sometimes irrational, regulations has been a
marked decrease in the number of licensed cuentapropistas. At its peak in
1997, about 200,000 cuentapropistas were licensed; this number is now
closer to 140,000. (Ritter, 2006)
Cuentapropismo is, therefore, a strictly regulated work sector. Yet what
makes cuentapropistas distinct is their position outside of the normal legal
regulation of labor. In choosing to leave state employment, cuentapropistas
not only relinquish the social benefits distributed through state employment—everything from pensions to the use of a beach house in the summer—but they also remove themselves from a system of state incorporation
and control. Under socialist ideology, according to Cuban sociologists José
Luis Martin Romero and Armando Capote González (1998: 80), “The individual existed more as a member of a group—of the neighborhood, of the
work centre…the ‘we’ was privileged over the ‘I,’ the interests of the collective over the interests of individuals.” Cuentapropismo, by contrast, depends
on the decentralization of the organization of work, allowing for increased
autonomy not simply in the distribution of labor and resources, but also in the
realm of decision-making.
A “New Breed” of Workers
The partial abstraction of cuentapropistas from the centralized state labor
system represents a fundamental challenge to the collectivist social pact
underlying Cuban socialism. Arguably, it is this relational shift that, more
than economic status or capitalist mentality, distinguishes trabajadores por
cuenta propia from the rest of the populace and provides some sense of group
identity. This restructuring of worker-state relations may also be at the heart
of the Cuban government’s anxiety about trabajo por cuenta propia. As Maribel, a 37-year old cuentapropista who sells leather goods in a market in
Havana, commented to me:
Before, the state provided you with the necessities of life. Now, the trabajador
por cuenta propia can acquire things, and we control ourselves. The state
6.
Resolution No. 10/95.
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doesn’t interest us, because it doesn’t do anything for us. We even have to pay to
do our work. What it does do is sell us things at a high price, and at the same
time imposes more taxes and sends more inspectors. [The government] realizes
that they are losing control of trabajo por cuenta propia….And so it seems to
me that that’s what the government fears, not that we have a capitalist mentality,
but that we don’t depend on the state for anything, nothing more than to pay our
$163 each month. (Personal communication, Malecón Market, August 1999)
Similarly, economist Ana Julia Jatar-Hausmann (1999:107) writes in
describing a cuentapropista shoemaker she interviewed, “Jorge likes to work
at odd hours, he likes to raise the prices of his shoes, to lower them, to give
them away…to speak out about and defend the need to develop the miniscule
private sector open to Cubans. He is part of a new social breed who does not
rely on the government to earn a decent living; and he is enjoying it with a
vengeance.”
This “new breed” of workers is characterized by an unprecedented autonomy within the Cuban labor market. Vendors at a tourist market on the
Malecón frequently cite their newfound independence as one of the greatest
advantages of the shift to self-employment from the state sector. The ability
to set their own schedule and to see the fruits of their labor are frequently
recurring themes. “We’re our own masters,” Maribel comments:
Despite the regulations we have, we’re our own masters because you can get up
at the hour that you want…I come if I want, take vacation when I want…I don’t
have to wait for my colleagues to take vacation—when I want to take them, I
take them, I go where I want. You understand? And we really obtain the fruits of
our own effort. If we push ourselves more, we gain more. If we push ourselves
less, we gain less. The difference is that the rest of the workers [in the state sector] don’t have this [incentive]. Push yourself more or less, you almost always
get the same. You have to establish goals in life, depending on what you want to
obtain. (Personal communication, Malecón Market, February 2005)
It is important to note, however, that not all cuentapropistas express the same
sense of freedom as the Malecón craftsmen. Barbara, for example, was an economist in the sugar industry before obtaining a cuentapropista license, first to sell
pizzas, and then to rent out an apartment in her home to tourists. Commenting
that she feels tied down because she must constantly take care of clients, watch
out for inspectors, and obtain food—frequently from black market vendors selling door to door—Barbara sometimes longs for her old profession. “If you could
live from [state] work,” she comments, “it would be better because you have
your work for eight hours a day, or your studies or whatever. But all this with the
house is difficult. You have to be paying attention 24 hours a day.” (Personal
communication, Barbara’s home, Havana, February 2005) Cuentapropistas are
therefore able to step outside of the state controlled economy and to challenge
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
115
existing social and legal norms. It is for this reason that Lilia Núñez Moreno, a
Cuban sociologist (1998:41) refers to the creation of cuentapropistas as the
“change with the greatest capacity to dissolve Cuban socialism.” Under the mantle of legal legitimacy, cuentapropistas are not only breaking down traditional
institutions and avenues of power, but they are also helping to create new social
norms characterized by increased individualism and autonomy. (Ewick and Silbey, 2003: 1332-33) The result is the development of a “culturally demarcated”
group whose authorized experimentation with new forms of property and market
relations is leading to the formation of “a new work culture” and “a new kind of
worker.” (Martin Romero and Capote González, 1998:79)
Rachel, Alejandro’s wife, similarly expresses a sense of being trapped
inside her home as a result of self-employment. Rachel is not a licensed cuentapropista, but helps Alejandro to produce, in contravention of the regulations, the papier maché objects that he sells. In recent years Rachel has begun
to long for her old job as a teacher. As she puts it, “It’s not easy. Here you’re
like a slave. If you work for the state you have a fixed schedule. You have
your weekends free, or you spend them doing something else like reading.
But I’m always here working, working, working. I know that I have to do it,
but really, I’m exhausted with this.” (Personal communication, Rachel’s
home, Havana, February 2005) Significantly, however, it is likely that even if
Rachel were working in the state sector in the current economy, she would
spend all her available free time engaging in some kind of illegal or informal
work in order to gain extra income, and would have even less leisure time
than she currently has.
Rachel and Barbara’s comments indicate not only that the degree of independence enjoyed by self-employed workers may vary by activity, but also
that there is an important gender dimension to the benefits of cuentapropismo. While certain self-employed activities may enjoy greater autonomy
and mobility, such as vending to tourists or driving a taxi, these activities tend
to be dominated by men. By contrast, anecdotal evidence suggests that cuentapropista businesses that occur within the home, such as renting a room to
tourists, selling snacks from a ‘cafeteria,’ or running a hairdressing salon, are
overwhelmingly run by women. Women cuentapropistas may therefore be
much less likely to enjoy the freedom and flexibility their male counterparts
do.7
These differences in daily schedule, however, do not obviate the fact that
cuentapropistas, both men and women, enjoy an independence of decisionmaking that is rarely seen in the state sector. Once removed from the centralized state system, furthermore, cuentapropistas are rapidly developing their
own networks of social and economic relations outside of state-controlled
7. One exception to this might be family-run restaurants, or paladares, which usually
involve the whole family working from the home.
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venues. Alejandro and his family, for example, sometimes rent a beach house
in the summer since they no longer have access to state-subsidized holidays.
The woman they rent the house from is also a licensed cuentapropista and the
transportation they use are licensed taxi drivers. What is therefore becoming
increasingly evident is that cuentapropistas are developing “a whole range of
flexible options permitting each individual to structure his or her own [life]strategies.” (Martin Romero and Capote González, 1998:80) As a result,
cuentapropistas are consciously experimenting with new models not only of
private economic activity, but of private social activity as well.
Of course, cuentapropistas are not the only Cubans to engage in private
work, and a far greater number of Cubans are involved in informal or black
market activities. Yet ironically, the state’s authorization of self-employment
may create a situation of even greater ambivalence for cuentapropistas than
for those who engage in illegal work. While black marketeers can claim that
their illegal wheeling and dealing is more a matter of survival than of ideology, cuentapropistas have greater difficulty reconciling their official, “legitimate” activity with membership in a socialist state. Recognizing the
liminality of cuentapropistas’ structural position—one which is ideologically
threatening in part because it is legally authorized—helps to illuminate why
they are regarded with suspicion by the Cuban government. As legally authorized private, for-profit workers, cuentapropistas throw into confusion the
ideologically clear-cut categories of “socialism” and “capitalism.”
The legalization of self-employment thus creates the paradoxical question
of whether cuentapropistas can claim to be “socialist citizens.” Alejandro
suggests that the answer lies in cuentapropistas’ contributions to the everyday functioning of their country:
We’re bringing in a lot of money to the country, to the government. Plus services
that the government can’t provide. If the agropecuario closes, where will people
find things to eat? And if they stop the taxi drivers, how will people move
around Havana? Or if they stop the shoe repairmen, who will repair the shoes?
The trabajador por cuenta propia resolves many problems for the population
that the government just can’t provide for the moment. (Personal communication, Alejandro’s home, Havana, August, 1999)
Alejandro thus emphasizes not only the financial benefit that cuentapropistas bring, but also their key role in facilitating the day-to-day functioning of
the country. This is an imperfect answer, however, since it is through private,
profit-making activity antithetical to the socialist paradigm that cuentapropistas are able to make this contribution. Yet it illustrates both the strength and
the vulnerability of cuentapropistas as they straddle the socialist past and an
uncertain future.
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
117
Safety in Numbers? The Shift to State Unionism
Given the value that cuentapropistas attach to their independence, it is perhaps surprising that the vendors in the Malecón tourist market voted to join a
national union in 2004.8 State workers in Cuba are organized into sector-wide
national unions. Although Cuban unions have, historically, played a role in
protecting individual workers at disciplinary hearings or in conflicts with
management, critics have argued that they are, fundamentally, adjuncts of the
state and function to subjugate workers’ rights to the interests of the state
(Leiva, 2000:481). Yet it is, arguably, precisely the unions’ close relationship
to the state that makes them attractive to cuentapropistas. While selfemployed workers are proud of their position outside of the state, they are
also keenly aware of the threat this independence poses to the government,
and thus of the vulnerability of their work sector. As Maribel explains,
It’s completely uncertain…We imagine…that we’re a stable sector, because we
don’t cost anything [to the state] and we bring a lot—in dollars and in national
pesos. But at the same time, we’re a privileged sector because we’ve obtained
independence with our work…and that brings advantages and disadvantages.
Because when we’ve become too privileged relative to the rest of the population, we could disappear any minute. (Personal communication, Malecón market, Havana, February 2005)
Similarly, Majela, who taught technical drawing in a faculty of engineering before obtaining a license to sell leather goods in the Malecón market in
1996, is keenly aware that in the eyes of the government, self-employment is
a “necessary evil:”
This is like anything else—today we’re here and tomorrow self-employment is
over, and we have to find a place for ourselves [in the state sector.] This work
isn’t secure, we’re not secure. [Self-employment] arose because of the special
period, the lack of employment…We’ve brought benefits—we contribute a lot
to the state. But just as quickly as this appeared, it could disappear. It appeared
at a specific moment and because of a specific set of conditions in the country. If
this situation ends, well, I assume we could also disappear. (Personal communication, Malecón market, Havana, February 2005)
Because cuentapropismo originated in the economic crisis, Majela worries that the government may decide to close the sector down as soon as the
economy recuperates. Majela and Maribel’s comments illustrate not only the
deep uncertainty that underlies self-employment, but also their profound
awareness that they are living through a particular historical phase that has
demanded radical—and quite possibly temporary—measures.
8.
Specifically, they joined the Sindicato de Industría Ligera, or Union of Light Industry.
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While cuentapropistas may value the independence they enjoy in determining their work conditions they are also clearly aware that this independence is self-defeating if it means that the government will continue to view
them with hostility. Unionization may help to mitigate the threat posed by
cuentapropismo by reincorporating self-employed workers back into the state
through labor regulation. As Maribel explains,
At a minimum [unionization] incorporates us into the rest of society. Now we’re
no longer an isolated society…We’re incorporated, regardless of whether we
work in the private sector and we have private earnings…We want to be independent workers, but not independent in spirit. (Personal communication,
Malecón Market, Havana, February 2005)
In addition to helping vendors make small but concrete improvements to
their workplace conditions, unionization may also, therefore, provide cuentapropistas with an important mantel of legitimacy, and thus with an added
degree of security. As members of a union, cuentapropistas demonstrate their
social citizenship through the frequent collections that the union takes up for
charitable and Revolutionary causes, such as the children’s ward at a local
cancer hospital or for uniforms for the Movimiento de Tropas Teritoriales.9 It
also provides cuentapropistas with valuable symbolic capital. As members of
the union, cuentapropistas are no longer outliers in the system, but can
instead claim full membership in the Cuban state—without giving up their
autonomy and material benefits. In this sense, the distinction that Maribel
makes between being independent workers and being independent “in spirit”
is a significant one because it indicates a desire to be viewed as part of the
same “spirit,” or social fabric, as the rest of Cuban society, even if their work
habits differ from those of state workers.
The Cuban government appears to have come to a similar conclusion;
through unionization the government can retain the economic benefits of
self-employment,10 while reasserting some control over self-employed workers. At a recent conference, the Congreso de Trabajadores Cubano (National
Congress of Workers, or CTC), which coordinates the national unions and
represents workers’ interests to the national government, recognized that
cuentapropistas are now a “substantial entity,”11 and announced a campaign
to invite self-employed workers to join the national unions. Magalys, an older
cuentapropista in the Malecón market and the main representative of the
9. A local peoples’ militia which played an important role in the Revolution.
10. Smith (1998: 58) notes that in 1997 cuentrapropistas brought in an estimated US$130
million in tax revenue. The government does not release data on tax revenues from selfemployed workers.
11. Interview with the secretaría géneral of the Malecón market to the Union of Light
Industry. This is an interested comment, given the steep decrease in the number of selfemployed workers over the last five years.
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
119
Malecón vendors to the union12 suggests that the government may be waiting
until the private sector is organized—ie. unionized—before it permits new
licenses:
What happened was that to allow us to organize ourselves they stopped allowing
new licenses. Right now they aren’t giving out new licenses in order to say to
people: “Stop. Let’s get organized.” And after everything’s organized, it will
open up again…So that when new people enter [the sector], they enter into
something organized. (Personal communication, Malecón market, Havana, February 2005)
While it is unclear whether cuentapropismo will be allowed to grow again
after unionization is complete, Magalys’ comments affirm the idea that the
government is seeking to integrate cuentapropistas into the state sector.
Cuentapropistas are being invited to join either the union most related to
their work activity or physically closest to their home. Noticeably, no suggestion has been made of creating a “cuentapropista union,” which would allow
self-employed workers to pool economic power and to develop—or solidify—a sense of common identity and purpose. Indeed, cuentapropistas are
strictly prohibited from forming cooperatives or associations. It is unclear
how many cuentapropistas have decided to take-up the invitation to join a
union, although Barbara reports that the idea was discussed and rejected at a
recent meeting of cuentapropistas who are licensed to rent rooms.
Conclusion: Cuentapropistas in the Cuban Transition
As the comments of Alejandro, Maribel, Barbara and others make clear,
cuentapropistas cannot easily be cast in an ideological mold. While cuentapropistas themselves argue that their existence provides crucial support to the
continuation of the socialist state, it is clear that their activities also amount to
an expansion of spheres of individual autonomy and alternate social and economic networks that circumvent official state avenues. In so doing, cuentapropistas are developing new conceptions of what it means to be a productive
worker in Cuban society and what kind of relationship workers will have
with the state. The rise of market relations, in particular, requires workers in
the new labor paradigm to assess a variety of state, informal, illegal and private work options, to develop strategies for economic survival, deal with new
forms of property, and make independent decisions unnecessary under the
socialist system. Such new levels of individual autonomy, risk-taking, and
12. There are 12 cuentrapropistas in the market who serve as union representatives and
Magalys is the secretaría géneral, or general secretary. She is also a member of the National
Commitee of the Union of Light Industry to the Cuban Labor Congress.
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decision-making have consequences far beyond the workplace, extending to
other realms of social and family life.
As the focus on cuentapropismo illustrates, workplaces are a particularly
significant site of governance and identity formation. The bond between individual and workplace, Martin Romero and Capote González (1998:81),
observe,
generates a set of relations which are incorporated, as part of the individual’s
experiences, into the existence of the person and, as such, into his or her subjective internal world….Through this bond, people construct a form of existence
which converts employment into a social condition necessary for self-realization….
By structuring workers’ time, activities, aspirations, economic remuneration, and social interactions, worksites play a formative role in conditioning
the interests and desires of workers to align with those of the employer and
the state (Rose, 1999:157). In socialist societies, the link between work, governmental power and the construction of citizenship is particularly clear
because of the state’s monopoly over employment and its ideological position
as the voice of the workers. The legitimacy of the state depends, at least rhetorically, on its identification with workers’ interests, and in a “workers’
state” workers are presumed to share in state policies encouraging productivity and efficiency. The state, moreover, has direct control over worksites to
ensure the implementation of these policies. The authoritarianism of socialist
states, as well as their ideological formation, thus reinforces the importance
of worksites as a “governable space” (Rose, 1999:31) for the dissemination
of state power and the construction of citizenship. As Martin Romero and
Capote González (1998:82) observe, “In the Cuban case, more then any
other, inclusion in the program of employment…is a form of incorporating
[individuals] into the sociopolitical project and of fostering proactive participation in the creation of the base and the socio-political system.”
The central role of work in the construction of citizenship makes work a
particularly important factor in periods of transition. In post-socialist transitions in particular, new forms of property and modes of economic activity
frequently come into existence which are completely antithetical to the outgoing regime. With the diversification of employment and forms of property
typical of post-socialist economies, the individual no longer exists purely as a
member of the collective and must begin to explore new spheres of individual
decision-making and self-reliance.
In transitional societies, work—both in official discourse and in day-today practice—thus becomes a battleground for the development of new governmental powers. Significantly, the contest to define what will constitute
‘Cuentapropismo’ in a Socialist State
121
“work” and who will be a legitimate “worker” within the new socio-economic model is itself constitutive of the transitional period. As Cuban psychologist Arnaldo Pérez García (2004:148) observes, “Work, as the backbone
of society, is not only impacted [by external factors], it also produces them,
converting itself, together with the crisis and the reforms, into a cause of the
transformations occurring in the social structure.” As worker subjectivities
are reconstructed to encompass a growing range of individual choices and
opportunities, new ideas evolve about who is a productive member of society
and how citizen-state relationships should be mediated. This, in turn, has an
impact on how new models of governance are envisioned and within what
parameters.
The renegotiation of work thus has implications far beyond the day-today lives of cuentapropistas themselves, and poses a significant challenge to
socialist orthodoxy. This insight into the relationship between work and identity during transitional periods helps to complicate the conventional “transition paradigm,” in which transition is framed in unidirectional and unidimensional terms, rather than as a product of contestation and negotiation
among individuals, officials, and state institutions. Taking a “close-up” look
at cuentapropismo can therefore help us to create not only a more nuanced
understanding of the significance of self-employment in Cuba, but also a
more complex and multi-faceted picture of Cuba’s current transformations.
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Alexander, Robert J. 2002. A History of Organized Labor in Cuba. Westport,
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Evenson, Debra, 2003. Law and Society in Contemporary Cuba, 2nd Ed.
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CHAPTER 8
Opportunities and
Implications
Eloise Linger
The title “Opportunities and Implications” implies there are new economic
opportunities. However, to understand the significance of the new opportunities, it would be helpful to review exactly how far Cuba’s economy fell during the “Special Period in times of peace,” declared to have begun in late
September 1990. The research seeks to answer the question of whether the
country has surpassed the crisis, to examine the new sources of income and
growth, the new relations of political forces in the hemisphere that seem to be
sources for hope for the material improvement and well-being of the people
of Cuba.
How severe was the crisis?
After the implosion of the Soviet bloc countries, in a very short time,
Cuba lost 86 percent of its foreign trade, which included large quantities of
Eastern European foods. One would expect wheat to be imported to a semitropical island, but even potatoes and poultry from abroad had replaced
Cuban agricultural products. Massive investment in the growth and automation of the harvesting of sugar, a remarkable trend over the 1970s and 1980s,
had led the island into an almost traditional mono-crop (sugar) dependency.
Those economic decisions backfired as the buyers, who had paid more than
the world market price for sugar, disappeared. World sugar prices continued
plummeting and, even worse, many antiquated mills simply could not compete in the global marketplace.
Add to these factors a sharp drop in Soviet petroleum deliveries. Most
workers found it impossible to get to work on time, if at all. “By the end of
1992, nearly 40 percent of national bus service and train schedules had been
suspended. Lack of spare parts exacerbated Cuban transportation woes.”
(Perez, 1995) The lack of transportation also lowered internal commerce, and
led to a massive food crisis as trucks could not get the fuel to bring food to
125
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Eloise Linger
the cities, and the population lost truly vital food supplies—viandas, vegetables and fruits from the Cuban countryside. The years 1990-1994 were,
indeed, grave for social conditions, as Figure 1 shows. Aside from the longheld conviction that Cubans were far better off that many of the peoples of
Bolivia and Brazil, where widespread hunger and disease had been around a
long time, two other facts emerge from the graph.
FIGURE 8-1. Malnourishment in Four Countries.
Malnourishment in four countries
30
1990-92 population
malnourished
25
20
2000-02 population
malnourished
15
under 5 underweight
1995-2003
10
5
low birthweight 19982003
0
Bolivia
Brazil
Mexico
Cuba
Source: UNDP: Human Development Report, 2005
First, in the years 1990-1992, a very health-conscious, educated country
experienced malnourishment. Second, with the cumulative effects of undernourishment in adolescent girls, eight to 10 years later, despite heroic efforts
of medical providers to attend to pregnant women, more than 5 percent of
babies were born with low birth weight in the years 1998-2003.1 At the personal level, on several mornings, families left for school and work with nothing more than a breakfast of sugar water, hoping there would be something
solid to eat, if a lunchtime meal were offered at the place of work or study.
They could, however, always expect the daily allotment of one large roll per
person that should have been available in the morning to be available later in
the day. The percentage of Cuba’s population that was malnourished far surpassed the percentage in Mexico in the years 1990-1992, the beginning of the
“Special Period.” Food supplies would become even more scarce for two
more years, until late 1994. It is no joke, nor exaggeration, that in the years
1. It will take more years before the impact shows up in long-term trends for life expectancy.
Opportunities and Implications
127
1992, 1993 and 1994 there were no pets to be seen in the streets of Havana, in
the context of hunger and the great need for protein.2
What about other sources of nutrition? “Domestic production of meat,
milk, and eggs was hampered by the lack of imported animal feed.” (Perez,
1995) Cubans abroad sought to send aid to their families; dollar stores
emerged to earn foreign currency, which alleviated severe needs for those
lucky enough to have dollars after the U.S. currency was legalized in 1993.
Only the state-organized mobilization of military youth, with some fastgrowing potatoes and traditional viandas saved parts of the country from starvation. Soy was not very popular with Cubans, but it is a safe wager to say
that soy helped save lives. The government also launched a major concentration on poultry production to return the very vital egg to Cuban kitchens.
The other result of declining petroleum imports was a 38-percent drop in
the GDP in the early 1990s, officially 35 percent cumulative for the years
1989 through 1993 (Campbell, who cites both Bohemia, May 1995, and the
Economist Intelligence Unit, 1996). Using 1989 as base year of 100 percent,
Cuban non-sugar production had fallen by 1993 to only 10 percent to 15 percent of the 1989 level (Campbell, 2000, based on Hiram Marquetti Nodarse,
CEEC [Center for Study of the Cuban Economy, 1996].
Many economists and observers of life in Cuba have discussed the crisis
of the 1990s, and enough has been said to conclude that it was, indeed, very
serious for the well being of the people on the island. The cotidiana (everyday life) is still no bed of roses in 2006, but food supplies and medicines and
transportation have certainly improved for many in Cuba. Rising urban pollution attests to more cars and trucks on the streets, many of them old and
spewing smoke that sets off asthma attacks and respiratory problems. But at
least most people have more to eat, which is physically observable in the
bodies of young and old as they walk in the streets.
Climbing out of the deep hole
When and how Cuba began to climb out of the depths of deprivation in 1994
is a somewhat contentious issue, because despite overall healthy economic
indicators, some sectors of the population, those without foreign currency
and those on fixed income, are still living in relatively dire straits. Nevertheless, several economic strategies enable us to say that what began as uncertain innovations and restructuring of Cuba’s economy now are showing
positive results.
2. These observations are personal for several neighborhoods in the City of Havana, and
based on anecdotal reports by acquaintances living in other cities and towns in Cuba at the
time.
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Eloise Linger
Nickel, the reliable natural resource
Throughout the decades of U.S. embargo, and the close economic relationship with the Soviet bloc, Cuba had a long-time investment partner in Sherritt
International that mined Cuba’s nickel. In 2004, Cuban nickel sales brought
in more than US$1 billion due to exceptionally high commodity prices for
nickel. Sherritt’s Canadian coal was used to help produce Cuban nickel,
cobalt and electricity. Sherritt’s worth was also enhanced by its discovery of
oil in Cuban waters. Luckily for both Cuba and Sherritt, high nickel prices
continued through 2005.
TABLE 8-1. Nickel
Production (1993-2004 with projections through 2008)
Year
Nickel
Production
(metric tons)
1993
26,900
1997
67,700
2001
76,530
2003
71,700
2004
76,500
2006, projected+16k
92,500
2008, projected
100,000
Source: Sherritt.com/Sherritt reports 2004 earnings
Sherritt’s net income has increased almost six-fold over the years 20022004, as Table X.2 shows.
TABLE 8-2. Sherritt
Net Income
Income From Nickel (in U.S.$)
12/31/04
12/31/03
12/31/02
133,332,800
61,959,480
23,654,494
Source: Deloitte & Touche LLP, C.A., Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2, 2005
With its profits from Cuban nickel and its rapidly expanding energy sales,
Sherritt’s Dec 31, 2005 earnings are listed as US$164.7 million (or US$155.2
million excluding certain items). Nickel plus cobalt reserves in the northeastern part of the island are among the world’s largest, and Cuba is the world’s
sixth-largest producer of nickel. So we should expect, logically, that Sherritt
International is not the only force seeking to develop Cuban nickel mining
and production.
China’s rapid industrialization makes it hungry for resources and its stateowned Minmetals signed an agreement to invest in a new unit to produce
Opportunities and Implications
129
22.5 million tons/year at the ferronickel extraction unit at the mothballed Las
Camariocas plant, also located near Moa Bay. If the figure was correctly
stated, China will extract 250 times the amount of ferro-nickel that Sherritt is
planning—and a Chinese company may spend up to US$600 million to allow
reactivation of the old mothballed plant. In trilateral agreements, Venezuela
and China will be working with Cuba to develop new ferro-nickel processing
facilities.
The tourism and foreign investment gamble
In the late 1990s, Cuba’s investment in tourism finally yielded dramatic earnings. By opening the economy to relatively large-scale foreign investment,
new tourist facilities arose rapidly on almost every natural beach, and by
1993 Cuba welcomed over half a million tourists. By 1996 the number
reached one million. By 1997, income from tourism rose sharply as more
tourists came and they spent on average a lot more dollars on the island
(Campbell, 2000: 178). By 2000, Cuba was ready and came close to receiving two million tourists.
Additionally, “Health tourism” for mineral baths and for surgery in the
specializations of cardiology, neurology, ophthalmology, nephrology and
orthopedics, in addition to cancer treatments and other specialized treatments, boosted Cuba’s struggling healthcare system. This specialized Cuban
“niche” of tourism for healthcare brought badly needed hard currency into
the hospital systems and specialized clinics of the island. (Oswald and
Henthorne, 2000) Although the September 11, 2001 terrorist attack almost
ruined tourism throughout the Caribbean and elsewhere, in recent years the
tourists, including those coming for treatments, have started arriving in large
numbers for Caribbean sun, song, and sand.
Between 1990 and 1997, gross revenue increased almost tenfold from the
joint ventures in tourism. Before large-scale foreign investment in biotechnology, manufacturing, and expanded mining and oil explorations, as early as
1995, over 100,000 Cubans were working in the joint venture tourist industry
(Campbell, 2000: 179).
There has been much discussion elsewhere (and lots of Cuban jokes)
about the tragic fact that neurosurgeons, full professors, and medical personnel have left their posts for higher-paying jobs as taxi drivers and hotel
employees who receive hard currency tips. Many other devastating results of
the tourist influx have challenged (and at the same time, paradoxically,
enhanced economic conditions for) Cuban family life. Sociologically speaking, tourism has been both a blessing and a curse, but economically, in the
late 1990s and again after the 2001 travel jitters receded, Cuba’s tourist
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Eloise Linger
industry, including its ugly side, has brought a restructuring of the Cuban
economy and a great deal of badly needed hard currency.
One must add, however, that to sustain tourists with the comforts they
expect—from hotel sheets to luxury foods, to taxis and toilet paper—Cuba’s
foreign debt would have to increase. Balance-of-trade deficits widened
through the 1990s. On the brighter side, foreign debt as a percentage of goods
and services began falling in 1993, and the rate or proportion was down by
more than one third between 1993 and 1996. (Carranza, 2000) Imports kept
rising both for the tourist industry and for internal consumption.
Yet, by late 2005, “export earnings and strong growth in services exports
were sufficient to keep the current-account balance positive, with a surplus
officially estimated to be around US$300 million.” This surplus, in turn, will
boost Cuba’s ability to obtain better interest rates for its external financing
(Economist Intelligence Unit [EIU], 2006). In another acrobatic twist for the
island’s economy, tourism, a service export, had surpassed sugar, a goods
export, and the tourism export earnings would intensify through 2005, while
sugar accounted for only 10 percent of Cuba’s 2005 export earnings.
Humbling King Sugar
The 2005 figure of sugar earnings below US$200 million reflects a gradual
phasing out of many out-dated sugar mills and the displacement of tens of
thousands of sugar workers. The social problem of a vast unemployed layer
of the workforce was acknowledged as early as the 1990s when it became
obvious that many of the Cuban mills could not produce at competitive levels. Given the continuing fall in demand and prices, the painful decision was
made to rely less on Cuba’s longtime top export earner and somehow retrain
and find gainful employment for many thousands of its workers.
Besides hard currency from tourism, Cuba’s major goods exports, nickel
and ferro-nickel remained high, in part due to continuing high prices for
nickel in 2004 and 2005.Of total earnings from goods exports, almost 50 percent was accounted for by nickel in 2005. Although output of the mineral was
disappointing (a fact attributed to the heavy rains in the second half of the
year that hindered operations in the open-cast mines), strong global nickel
prices ensured an increase in income. (EIU, 2006) After nickel and ferronickel, tobacco products are the third largest export goods earner, and pharmaceuticals, medicines, and biotechnological innovations may soon rise
above the level of tobacco, especially if tobacco consumption continues to
fall.
Biotechnology built up from the 1980s
A personal friend recounted the skepticism among party circles when Fidel
Castro presented the idea to build a new industry, something big and bold that
Opportunities and Implications
131
could help end disease and suffering. It should be cutting-edge, set an example, and help meet the needs of Cuba’s population and of others in the world.
Before the fall of the Soviet system, a huge complex was built on the outskirts of Havana, and an entire scientific research community settled into
new, nearby apartment complexes. Once the country began offering joint
venture investment, the logical next step was to turn Cuba’s well-educated
corps of biochemists, physicists, and medical research doctors into a productive force, then find companies that could invest and work with Cuban scientists to produce and market medicines, several of which were the first of their
kind to be introduced to the world.
Herber Biotec, a major joint venture investor, now exports from Cuba to
more than 50 countries products obtained from genetic engineering, chemical
synthesis, derivatives of the human placenta, and genetic medicines, recombinant vaccines against Hepatitis B, the combined vaccine against Haemophilus Influenzae Type B and a tetravalent against diphtheria, pertussis,
tetanus and Hepatitis B. The company also produces five generic anti-retroviral medicines for AIDS treatment, the anti-viral recombinant interpheron
Alfa 2b, and a transference factor used to increase the immune response.
(EIU, 2006)
Cuba also has 271 companies with quality management systems meeting
international ISO standards that guarantee the quality of products, total quality management, and stability over time of the product’s quality. (EIU, 2006)
The growth in pharmaceutical exports would help Cuba become less susceptible to the many unforeseen variables in the volatile business of tourism.
Pharmaceutical goods increased greatly the income from export goods,
which now account for only 30 percent, down from 90 percent of export
earnings in 1990, before the economy began its crisis and structural transformation. (EIU, 2006) In the opinion of some Cubans, their industries are turning out terrific, proven vaccines and innovative medicines, but they are not
being packaged and marketed in a way to compete on the world market. If
that were to change and medical exports were to expand, then the goods-toservices ratio of export earnings could put the Cuban economy on more solid
footing.
“Human capital” for health, education and multilateral politics
Until recently, the large growth in services earnings since 1990 came primarily from international tourism, but in 2005 another kind of service export
accounted for a significant percentage of service export earnings. The socalled “Doctors-for-oil” arrangement between Cuba and Venezuela in 2005
made up nearly half the services exports. Whether the amount is literally a
barter that would increase proportionally the amount Venezuela pays for
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Eloise Linger
Cuban health services as oil prices go up, is not known. If so, the ratio could
vary greatly for Cuba, depending on fluctuating oil prices. Although not yet
officially confirmed, public speeches have suggested that the amount in 2005
may have exceeded US$500 million in the Venezuela-Cuba trade. (EIU,
2006)
If the figure of 20,000 Cuban medical doctors in Venezuela is also correct
(Spadoni, 2005), then Cuba should not have to worry too much about its oil
needs, and could use its income on badly needed infrastructural needs, especially electricity and transportation that affect directly the well-being of people’s lives. Venezuela is a crucial ally for Cuba and at the moment it seems
that Cuban expertise is vital for Venezuela’s previously ignored majority, and
a positive factor for maintaining the popularity of Hugo Chávez in the more
humble neighborhoods of cities and countryside.
Besides health care workers in Venezuela, Cuba developed and signed
more than 100 agreements with Brazilian universities, in the context of
advancing integration in the region and for the project of the Latin American
universities. How many agreements came under the Cardoso government,
and how many after the election of Lula is not so important as the main point:
the agreements with Brazil allow highly trained Cubans to help with the
socio-economic development of Brazil, a badly needed answer to old practices of corruption and inefficiency.
Recent talks between Bolivia’s new president, Evo Morales, and Fidel
Castro suggest even more agreements for one of the continent’s most needy
populations. As more progressive candidates continue winning elections in
other countries, the question arises: How many doctors and nurses does Cuba
have, and could these bilateral agreements put a strain on the number of
healthcare providers remaining in Cuba? In response, one must acknowledge
that the opportunities for education and healthcare in remote areas and poor
urban neighborhoods throughout the continent will create immeasurable
goodwill for Cuba in global circles. Furthermore, each graduating class from
Cuba’s new international School of Medicine means more healthcare and
goodwill, and more doctors to slow down disease and death of the poor.
Does Cuban economic growth = the end of the
Special Period?
In Table X.3, the Economist Intelligence Unit’s “Real GDP” calculations for
the years 2000-2005 are somewhat less glowing than Cuba’s own “sustain-
Opportunities and Implications
133
able social” measure3 (EIU, 2006). Nevertheless both sets of calculations
show the economy climbing “out of the hole.”
TABLE 8-3. Real
GDP vs. Cuba’s ‘Sustainable Social’ Measure
Real GDP
Sustainable Social Measure
2000
26,482
30,531
2001
27,268
31,447
2002
27,686
32,013
2003
28,502
33,229
2004
29,706
35,024
2005
32,082
39,172
Source: Oficina Nacional Estadisticas, reprinted from EIU, February 1, 2006
Regardless of those details, whether we consider the “sustainable social”
or the traditional calculations represented in the 2000-2005 table, the conclusion is clear: Cuba’s economy is finally growing significantly. Furthermore,
from the more conservative EIU calculation of “Real GDP” (Figure X.2) it
seems that the most harrowing sacrifices may soon be alleviated by a more
prosperous economy.
FIGURE 8-2. Cuba’s Real GDP
3. Cuba’s calculations seek to quantify the intangible production that is estimated in
pesos and time for service work in schools, offices, social agencies, and medical facilities,
possibly household care of the elderly and the young, i.e., work that is performed for infrastructure and not for directly marketable goods.
134
Eloise Linger
Thus, recent global economic and political factors have given cause for
Cubans to smile. It seems that in the socio-economic sphere some positive
changes are on the way for the Cuban people—although they may have to
endure a few more years of power outages and (relative) food shortages.
Newer opportunities imply better conditions of life
Next to food, Cuba’s greatest need has been for petroleum to keep its electricity and its economy moving. Money from sales of nickel and its services
exports (especially tourism but also the medical and teaching services to
other countries) all contribute to Cuba’s ability to climb out and stay out of
the deep hole of economic crisis. Cuba has oil, but not enough thus far to
meet its own domestic needs. Cuban oil development more than tripled in the
first dozen years after the loss of Soviet oil shipments in 1990 and 1991.
Domestic barrels per day quadrupled from 1990 to 75,000 barrels per day in
2004—no small achievement, but most of it was not the right kind of oil and
additional technology is required to use it to meet Cuba’s domestic needs.
New offshore explorations for oil and minerals, and many joint venture
plans, are no longer of the small company variety, but, rather, involve largescale metals manufacturing and major oil companies. Oil explorations continue and Cuba, as in the past, is not giving out much information about the
results. One reason is probably the false raising of expectations for rapid
improvement, when in fact it takes about seven years to prepare a region with
known reserves for deep, underwater drilling.
Offshore, deep-water discoveries have been made by Montreal-based
Pebercan, Toronto-based Sherritt International, the Spanish company Respol,
and possibly a Chinese exploration company. Sherritt found one field with
100 million barrels of oil reserves in December 2004. China’s Sinopec, has
announced an agreement with the Cuban state oil company, Cupet, to produce oil from a coastal oil field with known reserves in the northwestern part
of Cuba. In light of other Chinese investment in Cuba, Sinopec, China's second largest oil company, stated in 2005 the goal of helping boost oil production to meet 60 percent of Cuba's domestic oil needs by 2006. SINOPEC,
Petro China and CINOOC—China National Offshore Corporation—are all
involved in a large agreement, probably already underway, for more coastal
and deep-water explorations.
The list is long, but a short list provides some idea of the scope of explorations and global eagerness to get at the virtually virgin fields of oil that surround much of Cuba’s long coastlines. New Delhi’s Videsh Ltd. will invest in
seven oil and gas blocks it acquired in Cuba, blocks known to hold more than
four billion barrels of oil reserves. Videsh also entered into an agreement
with Repsol-YPF of Spain to acquire 30-percent participating interest in the
Opportunities and Implications
135
deepwater exploration in Cuba. (Economic Times, India, 2005) Brazil’s state
oil giant Petrobras began in 2005 to increase its energy co-operation in Cuba,
and after an initial hesitancy, is now planning (or carrying out) deep-water
offshore prospecting.
After securing his political stature and legitimacy, President Hugo Chavez
led Venezuela to become Cuba’s top trade partner in 2004.4 PDVSA of Venezuela also will search for oil and plans to help Cuba in refining and marketing. A new CUPET/ PDVSA lubricants plant, and a facility for storing
600,000 barrels a day of residual petrochemicals will be built in Matanzas.
PDVSA also will help reopen the oil refinery and terminal in Cienfuegos, a
facility built with Soviet technology in 1990 but which ground to a halt
almost immediately due to its high energy consumption. (Agence France
Presse, 2005) In late 2005, South Africa’s state-owned oil firm, PetroSA and
South African mining and energy sectors also signed a general co-operation
agreement with Cuba. Strengthening relations between Cuba, Venezuela and
China have resulted in trilateral agreements for building manufacturing
plants for stainless steel (made with Cuban ferro-nickel), updating infrastructure with freight trains and buses, lots of new buses, that will be built in Cuba
for local use and for export. New freight and new passenger trains will also
help Cuba’s population to once again have a more dependable means of
transportation. China, in fact, has become Cuba’s second most important
trading partner after Venezuela.
Food supplies from the U.S.
Years of draught and severe hurricane damage, made food imports a dire
necessity and for the first time in decades U.S. farmers and agro-business
began selling to Cuba. Under the pressure of U.S. agricultural producers and
humanitarian groups, the U.S. government allowed agricultural producers
and pharmaceutical manufacturers to sell to Cuba, with certain restrictions.
Food imports from the US climbed steadily from 2001 to 2004, and seem to
have peaked at around US$400 million in 2004.5
The U.S. International Trade Commission showed “only” US$361.4 million in 2005, a decline, but still a sizable amount for Cuba, which by law
must pay in cash for U.S. goods. (http://dataweb.ustic.gov/scripts/
cy_m3_run.asp) The numbers are not yet available for early 2006. It is likely
that the new Bush administration restrictions of 2004 that require not only
4. Venezuela exported goods worth around US$1.4 billion (US$1.1 billion for oil and
around $300 million for food and other products), accounting for 22 percent of Cuba’s total
trade in 2005. Based on trade talks between heads of state, Castro and Chávez, Cuba is
expected to buy US$2 billion from Venezuela in 2006.
5. In 2004, the Bush administration placed greater restrictions on sales, cut family visits
by 2/3, ended short academic exchanges, and ended much educational travel to Cuba. The
Bush White House, however, is hurting the U.S. farmers more than Cuban consumers.
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cash payments, but now cash payments in advance of a shipment’s leaving a
U.S. port, will lead Cuba to turn away from its “natural trading partner” to
import more from Brazil, Canada and Vietnam.
Canada is now seeking to increase food exports to Cuba. The Netherlands
and other Europeans supply food (especially cheeses, snack foods, and chocolates for increasing numbers of tourists). Vietnam and Brazil are supplying
rice and other foods, much to the consternation of U.S. rice producers.
The most important point for our inquiry, however, is that Cubans are able
to import more, and there is more food available, although the prices may be
very high for Cuban salary earners, even those at the high end of the salary
scale. While not all U.S. sales in the graph above were food supplies, most
were. Cuba was finally able to buy food from the most logical “natural” supplier, since shipping down the major rivers and across the Gulf of Mexico
from Mobile, New Orleans, Galveston, or Baton Rouge, is far less costly than
long ocean voyages.
What does all this mean for the ordinary Cuban family? The farmers’
markets (that had been closed since 1986) re-opened in October 1994, and
most families found a better supply of food for their dinner tables, even good,
fresh (and costly) meats at several outdoor markets. Russian oil began flowing in larger amounts back into Cuban ports, which permitted a larger deployment of volunteers into various phases of agriculture and, by 1995, egg
production was up to 45 percent and poultry was up to 46 percent of 1991
levels. By 2006, Cuban agriculture seemed to be closer to its earlier levels,
but we will have to wait for the statistics.6
At the family level, clothing, food, medicine, and transportation remain
highly serious challenges for all. Although the food supply has increased, the
“special period” is continuing on some levels. Certain imported medicines
are still available only for dollars. In a step away from total education subsidies, students have had to start buying their books and pencils. At the community level, there are some signs of pothole repairs and work on buildings,
but schools, roads and other infrastructure continue to deteriorate, and most
people are still lacking several basic consumer needs a few years into the new
millennium.
Cuba’s trade expansion with China involves sugar exports to China, and,
just as in the U.S., Cubans are also buying cheaper Chinese consumer goods
such as clothing, shoes, and small appliances. We can predict that if the political trends continue and more Latin American populations elect left-leaning
governments, and if China’s connections with Latin America continue to
grow, Cuba will be in an even better position in the global political and eco6. Fuller bellies and refrigerators were observable in early January 2006, in the City of
Havana. This might have represented the availability of extra foods around the holidays, or
there might be a real upward trend of ongoing food production and distribution.
Opportunities and Implications
137
nomic spheres. I now return to other social implications of rapid growth for
the quality of life in Cuba.
What about family-owned businesses or the cuenta propistas which support families? After a long period of a weakened state, of growing gaps in
income and access to goods and services, inequalities in access to food, the
Cuban state is now re-centralizing, and seeking to establish an economy that
is accountable, that can show accurately the performance of both state and
private enterprises. The Cuban state is focusing on reducing the high degree
of theft from state enterprises. In fact, many of the youth who ended up in the
highly promoted social worker program did so as a way of avoiding jail for
delinquent actions. A most interesting point, which says a lot about internal
Cuban politics today, is that many, in fact “thousands,” of these new social
workers are reported to have been turned into tax collectors. Revenue collection and stopping theft (which is usually of state gods or parts that are used
by the cuenta propistas, skilled workers who privately sell their services as
mechanics, plumbers, carpenters, and so on) has become a state priority.
The leadership of the state apparently believes that by collecting more
taxes on income, and thwarting some of the massive theft of state goods, they
can slow the widening social gap between those becoming rich and those
remaining poor. Whether the growing economy and its international ties will
enable or hinder these re-centralizing and leveling moves by the state remains
to be seen.
Can we conclude with optimism about food, housing, education, and
healthcare? For ordinary folks, the expanding economy is good news. Gas
exports are up and oil production is increasing. Whether U.S. agricultural
imports will climb back to the 2004 levels is almost irrelevant, if Cubans
have enough food imports from other countries like Brazil, Canada, Vietnam
and the European Union. More imports mean that simple antibiotics, antiinflammatory pills, spices, sanitary products for women, shampoos and other
goods, which once were very scarce for those without dollars, will again
become affordable.
More foreign investment should mean more jobs. Everyone will benefit
from the expansion of businesses, for example the Centro de Inmunología
Molecular that now employs about 400 workers. The Center’s research, production and quality control of medications, ranging from anti-rejection drugs
for transplant patients, to genetic research for treatment of everything from
anemia to tumors to cancer, will pay salaries that support many hundreds of
family members. Cuba also benefits politically from the development of new
drugs, by its treatment of patients at Cuban clinics, and by humanitarian acts
such as sending doctors to Pakistan, where the Minister of Health credited
Cubans with examining between 70 percent and 80 percent of the earthquake
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Eloise Linger
victims in a mountainous region. Such acts of kindness are not forgotten and,
in the future, will help Cuba’s long-term economic trade and political partnerships.
Finally, now that emergency food supplies have been secured, we can end
with the biggest problem facing both the population and the economic functioning of the island as a whole. Electricity, whatever the source, is the
energy on which all else depends. Can Venezuelan and Chinese projects (and
low-cost loans) enable the repair or replacement of the crumbling infrastructure for electrical power? In early 2005, Castro in his explanation to the population of the long “apagones” or power outages, stated that the country
could not meet even 50 percent of the demand by the population and its economic production. Some entire areas or grids have to be shut down in order to
make repairs on others. In October 2004, 118 factories had to close and
schools and workplaces closed one-half hour early for several months due to
grid repairs.7 Vivian Bustamante reported in Trabajadores that 400 new
trucks were being purchased for electrical workers to provide for the most
rapid repair schedules possible, which, of course, also depends on supplies of
gasoline, which seems likely with Venezuela’s large oil shipments.
Salaries were raised significantly in late 2005, but in January 2006, several Cubans were complaining that their raises were all going to pay the
increases in the cost of electricity, a move aimed to curb consumption and
bring in revenue to help upgrade the entire system.
The promise of upgrading of schools and school equipment, and the renovation of thousands of older housing units, while also building new housing
and new schools for the needs of a larger population, has led to the December
2005 decision to allot 70 percent of the national budget to social programs in
education, health, culture and art, science and technology, sports, and social
security and work. In 2006, plans were announced and housing construction
begun for hundreds of thousands of new housing units. Furthermore, plans
were unveiled to construct new schools, a complete replacement of all
schools, presumably ecologically sound, schools.8
To summarize, it looks as if Cubans, who have suffered so long under the
cruel twist of world events, may be seeing the proverbial light at the end of
the tunnel. If their electrical infrastructure were completely revamped, life
would be easier. If more trains and buses were available, they could go see
their families more often—and maybe take a long-awaited vacation trip.
7. Besides major grid repairs and energy supply, Cuba needs to replace 10,563 miles of
power lines and replace 44,000 power line poles to modernize the country's electricity distribution system (Granma, May, 2005).
8. Many people in Cuba wonder why the well-constructed older schools in the neighborhoods cannot be renovated, in order to spend money on other, more badly needed construction.
Opportunities and Implications
139
Finally, if the Latin American political context creates more friendly governments, and if Cuba’s human capital can help overcome some of the worst
problems of ignorance, malnutrition and disease, then many others’ higher
standard of living would become something even bigger to report.
Bibliography
Agence France Presse, “Castro gets best possible economic news: Venezuela's PDVSA to search for oil off Cuba.” English. April 28, 2005.
Bustamante, Vivian. 2005. Trabajadores May 27, 2005.
Campbell, Al. 2000. “The Cuban Economy has Turned the Corner: Question
now is Where is it Going?” In Cuban Transitions at the Millennium,
Eloise Linger and John W. Cotman, eds. Largo, Md: International Development Options.
Julio Carranza. 2000. “External Finances and the Limits of Economic
Growth in Cuba: 1996-1997.” In Cuban Transitions at the Millennium,
Eloise Linger and John W. Cotman, eds. Largo, Md: International Development Options.
Economist Intelligence Unit. 2006. “Country Report, Main Report,” February 1, 2006.
Energy Intelligence Group, Inc. 2005. Oil Daily. January 13, 2005.
Granma staff. 2005. “Cooking with Fidel: As blackouts multiply, Castro
pleads for power thrift.” www.Granma.cu. May 27, 2005. Accessed, May
28, 2005.
Oswald, Sharon L. and Tony L. Henthorne. 2000. “Health Tourism: A Niching Strategy for Marketplace Survival in Cuba.” In Cuban Transitions at
the Millennium, Eloise Linger and John W. Cotman, eds. Largo, Md:
International Development Options.
Pérez, Louis A. Jr. 1995. Cuba: Between Reform & Revolution. USA: Oxford
University Press, 2nd edition.
Pérez-López, Jorge F. and José Alvarez, eds. 2005. Reinventing the Cuban
Sugar Agroindustry (Rural Economies in Transition). Lanham, MD:
Lexington Books.
National Post's Financial Post & FP Investing (Canada) 2005. Toronto Edition. January 29, 2005.
Spadoni, Paolo. 2005. “Truth about Cuba's economy lies in middle,” (Special
to the Sentinel) Orlando Sentinel, August 29, 2005.
Part II
Cuba In
Comparative Perspective
CHAPTER 9
Economic Reform in
Cuba and China
Adrian Hearn
Despite significant differences in economic and demographic scale,1 the governments of Cuba and China have confronted a comparable “dual” challenge
as they open their economies to foreign investment. (UNCTAD, 2005; United
Nations Population Information Network, 2005) The first part of this challenge has been to promote greater interdependence and collaboration
between foreign multinationals and local enterprise; the second part has been
to build stronger links between state and non-state actors to promote civic
participation and social stability. The governments of both countries have
confronted this challenge not by replacing the state apparatus with market
forces but by encouraging their coexistence. (Hearn, 2004; Foster, 2002;
March Poquet, 2000; Dilla Alfonso et al, 1999; Goldstein, 1995; The goal has
been to harness local creativity, initiative, and social capital within the framework of nationally integrated, state-guided commercial initiatives that both
facilitate economic growth and consolidate political support. Economic
reforms were introduced in China long before—and have advanced well
beyond—those adopted in Cuba, though the recent decentralization of economic governance in Havana’s historical zone, by far the most progressive
economic plan in contemporary Cuba, has proven itself to be a viable model
for other urban centers.2
Comparing political and economic decentralization in Cuba and China
reveals how societies in transition from centralized governance can derive a
range of advantages from their social and political legacy. Socialism in both
countries brought about strong popular nationalism, but the scarcity of
1. By 2003 China had accumulated inward FDI stocks of US $571,471 million compared
to US $79.9 million in Cuba; China’s population currently exceeds 1,315,844,000 compared to Cuba’s 11,269,000.
2. The success of Old Havana’s economic decentralisation program has prompted similar
initiatives in the cities of Santiago de Cuba, Camagüey, and Trinidad.
143
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Adrian Hearn
resources and consumer goods also produced resilient networks of informal
commerce and black market exchange. One of the most intriguing developments in recent years has been the evolution of these circles of unofficial
cooperation into semi-official networks capable of open engagement (and in
some cases integration) with state and commercial institutions. In Cuba this
has occurred mainly at the grassroots level, where unregistered neighborhood
groups and associations that were previously not recognized in the official
scheme of the Revolution have begun to work in legally sanctioned partnerships with state urban development institutions. By comparison, in China networks of informal cooperation and professional solidarity (or guanxi) have
assumed an increasingly open and predominant role in the growth and development of the Chinese investment and manufacturing sectors since the mid
1980s.
During the mid-to-late 20th century informal exchange networks in both
countries were shaped largely by the attempted socio-economic omnipresence of the state. Although economic governance has been significantly
decentralized and liberalized since then, informal practices continue to be
shaped by the ongoing authority of state institutions particularly in the areas
of commercial coordination, community development, and market research.
Indeed, state participation in the economy has been a critical feature of
Cuban and Chinese development strategies, yielding outcomes in social and
economic programs that cannot be easily dismissed. As Jean Oi notes, in an
era of global privatization and state downsizing, the productive capacities of
public-private collaboration are often overlooked:
There has been a rush to get government out of the economy, but a minimalist
state is not necessarily the answer. The goal should be more effective government. Instead of thinking that there must be either state or market, one should
instead look at the interaction of state and market and the adjustment of state
actions. As a number of observers have pointed out, even in the classic statements of laissez faire economics, there is a crucial role for states to play…Not
all state intervention is Leninist…China’s experience suggests that one should
disaggregate the “state” into its component parts to distinguish between levels of
government and the incentives for different levels to perform. There is a need
for strong state capacity, but this capacity should exist at both the local and the
central levels. (Oi, 1995: 1146-47)
Like China, Cuba since the early 1990s has experimented with the decentralization of administrative authority to provincial and municipal governments to more effectively address emerging local needs and support
diversifying productive capacities as foreign direct investment (FDI) accrues
in specific, often relatively isolated, industrial sectors.3 A key challenge has
been to implement locally integrated programs capable of stemming social
Economic Reform in Cuba and China
145
fragmentation and inequality at the grassroots before they evolve into political discontent. Strategies for accomplishing this have focused on building
commercially viable, socially inclusive, schemes linking local industry to the
foreign business sector. There is a strong social dimension to this economic
strategy arising from the extension of opportunities for economic development to the neighborhood level, thereby encouraging popular participation
and consolidating political support at the grassroots.
FDI Regulation and National Stability
Until the late 1970s, most developing countries sought to leverage domestic
benefits from foreign trade through ownership controls and import tariffs.
These strategies have become less viable because of the increasingly stringent structural adjustment conditions of international financial institutions,
the membership requirements of the World Trade Organization, and proliferating Free and Preferential Trade Agreements. (Lee, 2004; Kyaw, 2003; Collier and Dollar, 2002) Although the global economic landscape has
transformed in fundamental ways, the design and implementation of appropriate regulatory frameworks that harness the power of market forces remains
perhaps the most salient economic challenge for developing countries.
The renewed interest of investors in the East Asian region in the wake of
the Asian financial crisis of the late 1990s has brought important opportunities for economic growth, but as Leonora Angeles has argued, East Asian
governments have an important role to play in managing these opportunities:
The crisis may prove a blessing if exporting firms respond to the crisis by substituting local materials for imported products. Such a move could be aided by
national development plans aimed at reducing the import-dependence of export
firms by providing incentives to integrate their operations with domestic enterprises, by procuring their supplies from local sources, by helping upgrade the
quality of local products, and by improving local technological capabilities and
human resources. (Angeles, 2003: 211)
Such legislation could create local jobs and, importantly, enable domestic
exporters to respond to overseas demand free from dependency on imports.
Consequently, reforms of this sort carry growing relevance for developing
countries as “harder” national protection strategies, such as ownership controls and trade tariffs, are progressively dismantled. Efforts to integrate and
“embed” foreign capital into domestic economies through structures of insti3. Phases of economic decentralisation and opening in Cuba have typically been followed by periods of re-centralisation and reassertion of state authority. This pattern
roughly coincides with the electoral cycle of provincial (2.5-year) and municipal (5-year)
governments, which have tended to demonstrate their legal weight early in their tenure by
reigning in the more progressive initiatives of their predecessors.
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tutional management and state authority in some ways resemble the import
substitution methods adopted in the 1960 and 1970s by governments
throughout Latin America and East Asia. Import substitution industrialization and state economic planning were relatively successful in consolidating
national economies in Latin America and East Asia in the 1960s and 1970s,
but by the mid 1980s the best prospects for further growth appeared to lie in
privatized production and distribution, a diminished state, and competitive
international integration. (Lowenthal, 2000) Consequent economic liberalization programs generally boosted GDP figures, but also exacerbated social
inequalities and popular disaffection, prompting a cautious suspicion of
unregulated trade in both regions. This suspicion persists, driven by what
Evelyn Hu-Dehart identifies as a core tension between economic growth and
responsible economic management:
What responsibilities do governments and especially the international organizations and policy-setting bodies that facilitate globalization, such as the WTO and
IMF, have to ensure minimum wage and workplace standards, including environmental and health regulations? And if these organizations do not address
these issues, then who will do so for them? (Hu-Dehart, 2003: 251)
Commentators ranging from social activists to government officials openly
recognize that while the global free market has produced GDP growth figures
around the world, growth has not been distributed uniformly. The point was
highlighted by former Clinton Labor Secretary Robert Reich, who remarked
that “the challenge for those of us who believe that free trade and global capital are essentially good things if managed correctly is to avoid the backlash
by developing progressive strategies to overcome the widening inequalities
and the environmental depredations.” (Hu-Dehart, 2003: 255) Globalization’s backlash, manifested in intensifying street protests such as those that
now routinely accompany economic summits from Seattle to Sydney, can
indeed pose a political menace for today’s image-conscious governments
(and their labor secretaries in particular). But the political implications of
mass protest are far more menacing in one-party systems where governments
stake their very legitimacy on their claim to represent and protect popular
interests. As Cuban and Chinese authorities adapt socialist principles to the
requirements of global business, they therefore harbor a fundamental interest
in linking foreign capital to local growth and popular participation.
The existence of collaborative links between state institutions and informal popular associations in Cuba and China has until recently been minimal
amidst official concerns about the potential emergence of robust, autonomous, civil society groups that could feasibly undermine state authority.
Since 1989 however, economic reforms have prompted a more flexible atti-
Economic Reform in Cuba and China
147
tude toward independent social networks and associations insofar as these
facilitate economic growth and social welfare. (Goodman, 2002; Fernández
Soriano, 1999) More effective cooperation between state and non-state actors
has become crucial to the political stability not only of Cuba and China, but
of developing countries more broadly as the effects of economic globalization intensify. This is evident in instances of violent insurgency and terrorism
in Latin America and East Asia over the past 20 years, which have been
fuelled largely by the conviction of marginalized social sectors that their governments are not doing enough to include them in national economic initiatives. Noting a pervasive and widening income gap across Latin America,
Abraham Lowenthal identifies the link between economic inequality and
social instability:
The social and political ramifications of this economic record are alarming.
Unemployment and underemployment are up and real wages are falling. Labor
conflicts and social protests are expanding. Street crime, kidnapping for profit,
and the sale of children are rising. Rejection of established authorities and institutions is growing…if unaddressed, this polarization could become social and
political dynamite, especially where resentment about gross inequalities is
heightened by rampant corruption, crime, and personal insecurity. Programs to
alleviate extreme poverty, improve tax collection, facilitate credit for microenterprises, and provide broader access to social services are thus all crucial for
Latin America’s future. (Lowenthal, 2000: 43, 54)
It is into volatile, chronically stratified scenarios such as these that popular
protest movements (both legal and illegal) have emerged in Venezuela, Peru,
Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay, Cuba, and Bolivia, demanding broader economic
inclusion as a political priority. In the East Asian region, popular demands for
economic reform and land redistribution have also intensified, in may cases
evolving into armed insurgencies, as in contemporary Irian Jaya (West
Papua), the Philippines, Southern Thailand, Myanmar, and Indonesia’s Aceh
province. (Pritchard and Hearn, 2005; Dewitt and Hernandez, 2003; Dupont,
2001; Tan, 2000) Well aware of the destabilizing potential of popular disaffection, the Cuban and Chinese governments have made serious attempts, as
they open to foreign investment, to engage economically and socially with
previously unregistered groups to pre-empt the emergence of political opposition.
Cuba
Economic linkage schemes in contemporary Cuba revolve around the country’s expanding tourism industry, which relies heavily on European venture
capital. One of the island’s principal tourist destinations is the municipality of
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Old Havana, which houses approximately 102,831 residents in 4.4 square
kilometers, making it one of the city’s most densely populated zones.
(ONUSP) In 1994 the Cuban government created the tourist agency Habaguanex, administrated by the Office of the Historian of Havana, to reinvest
profits from Old Havana tourism into the municipality’s neglected infrastructure. The Office of the Historian has successfully brokered commercial partnerships between local producers and multinational enterprises, and achieved
generally high levels of local enthusiasm for neighborhood development programs.
The director of the Office of the Historian since 1967 is Dr. Eusebio Leal
Spengler, who now functions as Old Havana’s equivalent of mayor. A writer
of poetry and researcher of Latin American history, Dr. Leal argues that tourism has been an important characteristic of the city for centuries. While the
Office’s rapid construction of hotels, entertainment venues, and shops that
operate exclusively in Cuban Convertible pesos (or CUCs) is resented by
many locals who get paid in Cuban national pesos, he views these developments as:
…a recuperation of the capacities the city has historically enjoyed. I calculate
that for every Cuban employed in tourism, 10 people live. The point is to use
tourism as a mechanism for development…It’s very hard to create ways for foreigners and Cubans to mix in clean, healthy environments. Most Cubans really
do want genuine cultural interchange, and we’re looking for ways to promote
this…We’re trying to preserve schools and houses, create jobs, and encourage
true participation, for which we’ve created dynamic fiscal structures that allow
reinvestment of profits in the historic center. (Leal Spengler, 2002)
Following the collapse of a dilapidated Old Havana convent in 1993, Dr. Leal
exercised extraordinary diplomatic skill in arranging the implementation of
these fiscal structures through Decree Law 143, which made the Office of the
Historian the first state institution in Cuba able to control spending, profits,
and general economic management at the municipal scale. Autonomous
financial management liberates the Office of the Historian from the orthodox
economic model that requires other municipalities to surrender their incomes
to centrally governed ministries, which budget according to national, rather
than municipal, priorities. It is a move toward decentralized administration of
resources that many progressive Cuban politicians and social commentators
would like to see applied to their own municipalities, notwithstanding the
diversification of living standards—Old Havana is a case in point—that this
implies.
Tourism in Havana generates profits that the Office of the Historian redistributes to under-resourced sectors such as Internet development and urban
community agriculture programs, but tourism has also played a role in stimu-
Economic Reform in Cuba and China
149
lating domestic commercial activity. While Old Havana hotels sell CocaCola and Western brand designer clothes (Adidas and Beneton among the
most popular), they also sell nationally produced items, such as coffee,
cigars, rum and a range of artisan products. The commercial marketing of
domestic products is possible because foreign investment laws in Cuba
require 51-percent state ownership in joint venture initiatives, which then
actively establish commercial links with domestic producers. Governmentsponsored neighborhood development projects have also sought to market
locally produced of pottery, clothing, and folkloric musical theatre to the
tourism sector. While these projects have not done away with racial discrimination in the CUC (previously U.S. dollar) economy, in which employers
have typically favored Cubans with lighter skin (De La Fuente, 2001; Hammond, 1999), strategic state regulation and industrial linkage has effectively
pre-empted the expansion of enclave, segregated industrial sectors, which
have characterized the tourism industry in the rest of the Caribbean.
(McDavid and Ramajeesingh, 2003) The Office of the Historian’s work in
Old Havana, which has been recognized by UNESCO, reflects the Castro
government’s determination to collaborate with foreign investors on its own
terms, an attempt that has so far confuted the apocalyptical predictions of
most international analysts since the early 1990s.
While the exile, suppression, and containment of dissidents has figured
into Cuban domestic policy, in recent years there has been a shift of focus
toward greater state engagement with vulnerable sectors of the population,
particularly if these exhibit high levels of social solidarity. State-administrated initiatives have increasingly sought to stimulate economic growth
through the marketing of local products to foreign tourists by building cooperative, economically viable links with community groups whose local allegiances and social capital might otherwise pose a threat to state authority.
This dual social and economic strategy is evident in decentralized initiatives that have begun to collaborate openly with Afro-Cuban religious kinship networks, which are strongly rooted in the urban centers of Havana,
Santiago de Cuba, and other Cuban cities. Official concerns about the capacity of Afro-Cuban religions to mobilize popular political opposition, which
date back to colonial fears of slave insurrection (such as Haiti’s in the late
1790s), manifest today in the scrupulous policing—and occasional prohibition—of large scale Afro-Cuban ceremonial gatherings.4 Furthermore, state
organizations like the Group for the Integrated Development of the Capital
(GDIC) and the Office of the Historian of Havana have explicitly attempted
to build cooperative relations with Afro-Cuban religious leaders to introduce
health and education resources (such as anti-drug pamphlets, literacy tuition
workbooks, etc.) into pre-existing networks of mutual aid and exchange.
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Their objective has been to incorporate unofficial circles social solidarity into
official structures of governance, or as the GDIC puts it, to “formalize the
informal.” (Coyula, et al, 2001) The economic thrust of these programs is to
introduce community-produced theatre and dance performances to the tourism market, which despite raising local concerns about cultural appropriation, has generally succeeded in strengthening state relations with previously
unrecognized non-state actors. (Hearn, 2004)
In 2003 the Office of the Historian expanded its administrative reach into
the suburb of Barrio Chino (Chinatown), in the municipality of Central
Havana. Like its projects in Old Havana, the Office’s work in Barrio Chino
has relied on a combination of local economic participation and foreign
financing. Local ethnic Chinese, most of whom are now third generation
Cubans and beyond, have been granted the right to set up restaurants and
small catering outlets in the hope that this might stimulate the local economy
and draw tourism into the neighborhood. To further promote tourism in the
neighborhood the Office of the Historian has assumed responsibility for
restoring sites of cultural relevance, such as the Pacifico restaurant and the
Continental cinema, which screened Chinese films up until its closure soon
after the onset of the economic crisis in 1993.
Revenue for these projects has been generated increasingly from joint
ventures with Chinese firms, some which have taken a close interest in Cuba
as a manufacturing platform, particularly in the IT and pharmaceutical industries, for the Latin American market. Over 10 years ago Dr. Leal presented
his vision for Barrio Chino at a conference entitled “Tourism and its Importance for the Understanding History and the Culture of the People”:
In less than just a few years Barrio Chino will reappear; there will reappear Chinese people from one side to the other. They will start to cook at home and start
to bring the traditional restaurants back to life…I know very well that it’s not a
matter changing it [the neighborhood] or adorning it; it’s a matter of making it
4. Many practitioners of the Afro-Cuban religion Santería view the public promotion of
the state-affiliated Yoruba Cultural Association of Cuba as an attempt to bring ceremonial
occasions, such as the reading of the socially influential letra del año (letter of the year),
into an officially controlled environment. Another interesting example of a politically sensitive ceremonial activity is the yearly street procession for the Virgen de la Caridad del
Cobre near Santiago de Cuba, which brings together believers in Christian and Afro-Cuban
religions. John Kirk writes that the 1961 march to El Cobre “was intended by many as a
show of force in political as well as religious terms” that escalated into an anti-revolution
protest and the subsequent expulsion of 130 Christian priests from the island. See Kirk,
John M., Between God and the Party, Tampa: University of South Florida Press, 1989,
p.102. In the politically turbulent year of 1990, the specter of popular religious unity once
again triggered official concerns that the procession to El Cobre might become an organized anti-government protest, resulting in its suspension. See Eckstein, Susan E., Back
From the Future: Cuba Under Castro, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1994, p.122.
On the road to El Cobre in 2001 I observed an abundance of police officers, many
equipped with video cameras, indicating that to some extent the same fear persists.
Economic Reform in Cuba and China
151
live, and life always comes from the inside out. (Chiu Wong and Salgado, 1993:
7)
Coupled with emerging interest from China in economic collaboration with
Cuba, the Office of the Historian’s recent assumption of economic administration and tourism promotion in Barrio Chino will likely bring Dr. Leal’s
vision one step closer to reality.
The growth of Cuba’s tourism industry has been the basis for industrial
linkage schemes throughout the island, but it has also been the basis for concern in Caribbean countries that have until recently dominated the market.
The Caribbean Tourism Organization (CTO) calculates that Cuba attracted
1,774,541 visitors in 2001, or 11 percent of total visitors to the Caribbean,
and 1,850,410 visitors in 2004. (CTO, 2001; and CTO, 2005) The growth
potential for Cuban tourism is enormous, particularly considering the number
of North Americans who are expected to visit the island when U.S. government travel restrictions are one day lifted. Acutely aware of this potential,
Caribbean nations have begun to show unprecedented interest in developing
economic relations with Cuba, which some view as a potential buyer of consumer products and tourism investment, and others as a key partner in
strengthening the region’s strategic position vis-à-vis the U.S. and Europe.
(González Nuñez and Verba, 1997) For its part, Cuba seems to have adopted
a similarly rational approach to Caribbean relations, viewing its regional
neighbors less as political allies in the conflict with the U.S. and increasingly
as potential commercial partners.
Two and a half decades of intensive U.S. trade with the Caribbean (consolidated largely through Ronald Reagan’s Caribbean Basin Initiative) have
confirmed FDI as a driving force behind lower labor costs, fiscal incentives,
and tax concessions. But economic restructuring in line with foreign capital
has also generated social inequalities and economic fragmentation in the
region. (González Nuñez and Verba, 1997) Regional rapprochement with
Cuba, as articulated by the Caribbean Community and Common Market
(CARICOM), would facilitate economic protection at a time when other economic blocs like NAFTA, the EU, and ASEAN are consolidating their
strength by drawing investment capital inward to their respective common
markets. Dealing with foreign business through an integrated multilateral
framework has clearly become a CARICOM goal, and Cuba’s recent admission into the Association of Caribbean States reflects regional confidence in
its economic potential. That Caribbean cooperation with Cuba is progressing
against the wishes of the U.S. government may also reflect growing regional
self-confidence. The ultimate test of this confidence and cohesion will be
whether the region can formulate a common policy for economic cooperation
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and industrial linkage, implement it vis-à-vis foreign (particularly U.S.)
investors, and openly acknowledge the level of state regulation this would
require.
China
The comparative scenario in China exhibits a dramatically grander scale, but
a similar concern with linking FDI to local participation through a regime of
decentralized economic governance. The “Open Door” policy to foreign
investment pursued by China since the early 1980s has profoundly affected
both rural and urban communities. Rural village enterprises, which were central to China’s economic reform program in the 1980s, demonstrate some of
the productive potentials of shifting managerial responsibilities previously
held by the state into the hands of local actors. The state encouraged investors
from Hong Kong, Taiwan, and other offshore Chinese communities to
actively develop small and medium size companies in this sector. Although
the resulting projects often recruited external professional managers and government officials, they were also strongly integrated into local kinship networks, resulting in growth initiatives that extended beyond specific
companies or individuals into the wider population. (Whyte, 1995)
While Confucian family values may have played a role in this process, the
institutional and legal reforms that allowed family structures to play a more
active economic role should not be underestimated. From the late 1970s the
government of Deng Xiaoping laid the foundations for economic growth
through the gradual reorientation of state support away from the former
industrial giant enterprises toward small and medium scale (often familyowned) initiatives, whose competitive edge was officially recognized in a
global economy favoring rapid response to market conditions and internal
cohesion within firms. It is easy to overlook the contribution of provincial
governments in managing local industries, which Oi argues have never been
privately owned, or even hybrid, but rather represent new forms of state
enterprise subject to the managerial decisions of Party officials, many of
whom have been in office during the Mao period. (Oi, 1995)
Tying the state to the success and failure of local industry, in part through
government ownership and in part through taxation measures, has effectively
provided incentive for local governments to see that money is made in their
jurisdictions. Chinese local governments are no longer service-providers so
much as economic actors that benefit from good business decisions and suffer the consequences of bad ones. As Oi writes:
Unlike the USSR, which undertook political reform before beginning the task of
economic restructuring, and unlike the weak authoritarian states of Africa and
Economic Reform in Cuba and China
153
Latin America, China maintained its ability to rein in economic activity after
reforms began. Not only is the political strength of a regime on the eve of
reform crucial to determining its capacity to structure economic change, but a
regime must also ensure that it retains sufficient capacity to control the course of
reform. Unlike the former Soviet Union, China has tenaciously held on to its
political power to decide the content and speed of reform. (Oi, 1995: 1147)
China’s strong bureaucratic position cannot be wholly attributed to a legacy
of political centralism. As Francis Fukuyuma writes, the mandarinate at the
core of Imperial China’s administrative system “evolved over 3,000 years
with distinctive rituals, exams, training, and meritocracy, so it is perhaps not
surprising that contemporary Chinese societies know something about how to
build a good bureaucracy.” (Fukuyama and Marwah, 2000: 87) The cultural
foundations of Chinese political organization, combined with the robust
bureaucratic legacy of the Maoist system, left the central and local governments with impressive policy instruments and capacities that have proven
much more effective than, for example, those of the Soviet system, which
never decentralized authority to local governments or committed itself to
building popular participation.
While the state has maintained a high level of industrial authority across a
range of sectors (agriculture, transport, construction, IT, finance, etc.), the
development of these industries from the early years of economic reform up
to the present day has been strongly influenced by networks of professional
solidarity, or guanxi. (Smart, 1993; Bian, 1997) Guanxi relations in China
revealed their strength in the early 1980s as the state opened the country’s
economic infrastructure to private investment. Thomas Gold argues that the
building and maintenance of cooperative, often ethnically-based, professional relationships was always important to the shortage economy of Communist China, but that institutional instability and uncertainty—resulting
partly from the Cultural Revolution and partly from rapid economic liberalization in the early 1980s—opened guanxi networks to unprecedented public
scrutiny. (Gold, Guthrie and Wank, 2002)
Circles of cooperation based in ethnic, professional, and other social connections continue to influence the trajectory of the Chinese economy, for
example, in the paths they trace out for investment capital from overseas Chinese communities into mainland cities. As Alan and Josephine Smart have
shown, the ability of business executives to establish connections with state
officials is crucial when it comes to avoiding bureaucratic red tape, prompting the formation of new corporate partnerships between multinational investors, professional intermediaries in Taiwan and Hong Kong, and state
officials on the mainland. (Smart and Hsu, 2004; Smart, 1997; Smart and
Smart, 1991) These connections are, of course, mutually beneficial since they
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set up what David Wank has called “symbiotic clientelism” structures that
serve the economic interests of business executives through access to licenses
and permits, and the political interests of state officials whose legitimacy
depends the economic performance of their territories. (Wank, 1998)
As regional officials compete to advance territorial interests, the nation’s
political leadership in Beijing is left with the task of defending its own legitimacy by maintaining national cohesion and a degree of provincial equity.
(Ding, 1994)5 Popular dissatisfaction about growing inequalities between
Eastern and Western provinces since the 1980s and the widening of this inequality with intensifying FDI in Shanghai and other urban centers has on several occasions threatened to escalate into ethnic and political conflict. To
minimize this possibility the Chinese government’s current campaign to
“Open Up the West” has taken significant steps toward integrating foreign
investment into underdeveloped, ethnically distinct rural provinces under the
decentralized supervision of local governments. (Goodman, 2004) Beyond
the inevitable consolidation of guanxi relations around these developments,
the integration of marginalized, potentially volatile, social sectors into legally
sanctioned initiatives is a key strategic goal. A recent article in The Economist notes that the past few years have seen an upsurge in the number of protests triggered by emerging economic disparities, prompting President Hu
Jintao to stress his concern for the disadvantaged—and to placate political
hardliners—through tighter regulation of foreign investment (particularly in
media) and by naming Cuba as a good model for blending social principles
with political control. (The Economist, 2005) While the governments of both
countries struggle to balance the requirements of global capital with domestic
political agendas, both have recognized the potential benefits of incorporating the social capital of previously unofficial networks into officially administrated development and commercial initiatives.
Conclusion
Like Britain in the 19th century, the East Asian newly industrialized countries in the mid 20th century, and the Southeast Asian “tiger” economies at
the century’s end, Cuba and China have sought to balance state and market
though specifically ascribed roles, rather than replacing the prior with the latter. The evidence from both countries suggests that effective state participation in economic affairs requires a level of decentralization able to
accommodate active collaboration with local non-state actors. With the aim
5. According to Xueliang Ding, the notion of legitimacy in China is based more on popular opinion and moral support (ren xin) for the political order than is generally true in Western countries, where more emphasis is placed on legal procedures and structures of public
accountability.
Economic Reform in Cuba and China
155
of promoting local creativity and entrepreneurship, this kind of decentralization is precisely what both governments have endeavored to accomplish. As a
result, rather than empowering independent civil society and the private sector to gradually assume the responsibilities the state, Cuban and Chinese
development strategies have sought to assimilate local interest groups and
networks of popular solidarity into structures of official authority.
The models of decentralized governance taking shape in Cuba and China
may represent a qualitatively new variety of state economic planning with
potential international appeal. Even the typically conservative Newsweek
magazine reports that in indicators from oil consumption to housing policy,
Chinese regulatory approaches may offer an attractive alternative to free market strategies:
The sense is that China is making the right moves. Contrast, for example,
China’s apparently effective effort to reduce oil demand to the Bush administration’s newly passed energy policy, which has done nothing to reduce U.S.
demand. Consider, too, the contrasting approach to housing bubbles, which
continue to loom in the United States as Washington watches from the laissezfaire sidelines, but are already shrinking in China, as Beijing slaps on rules to
restrain lending and speculation. It’s conceivable that if these trends end badly
for the United States but well for China, other nations will begin looking more
closely to Beijing-style states controls as a model. (Lu, 2005: 40-41)
While China and Cuba differ in economic and demographic scale, the nationbuilding efforts of both have relied on similar attempts to stimulate economic
growth by incorporating the creative capacities and social capital of informal
associations and networks into state-led initiatives. Produced in part by the
dynamics of centrally governed shortage economies, informal circles of
exchange and solidarity are tentatively beginning to show their productive
potential in the formal sphere. By attempting to harness informal initiative,
whether based in professional networks, popular religion, or community
associations, both governments have acted to address the dual challenge of
linking foreign investment to local industry while building stronger links
between state and non-state actors.
It remains to be seen to what degree the economic reforms that are currently unfolding will conserve the political regimes of Cuba and China or
incite their further transformation. The administrative expansion of the economic model pioneered in Old Havana by the Office of the Historian into
other Cuban cities and municipalities, such as Barrio Chino (Chinatown),
indicates official confidence in decentralized management and local participation. Indeed, Barrio Chino deserves close ongoing scrutiny not only
because of the high level of local ethnic entrepreneurship that has been permitted to take hold there, but because of its unique position as a point of entry
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for Chinese investment into the country. A crucial strategic issue will be
whether Cuban and Chinese economic collaboration, founded on the common challenge of adapting centralized models of governance to the requirements of foreign investment capital, may serve as a platform for both
countries to deepen their relationships not only with each other but also with
Latin America more broadly.
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CHAPTER 10
Economic Transition
in Comparison1
Enrique S. Pumar
One of the foremost concerns in the mind of policy-makers, pundits, and academics in recent years is the prospect for liberal reforms in developing
nations after experiencing social revolutions. The rate and extent of reforms
implemented by these regimes frames their domestic and international identity. In the former context, the capacity to legislate liberalizing reforms can
appease any potential opposition as well as the skeptics of the regime. It also
pleases more moderate members of the revolutionary ruling coalition who
identify with revolutionary efforts to undo the corruption and illegitimacy of
the deposed regime but might not be prepared to concede other more radical
positions to fellow coalition members. Reforms can also keep the spirit of the
revolution alive among younger generations over time. For those who did not
experience the policies and structural effects that gave way to revolutionary
process, reforms have a conversion effect. Simply put, the more reforms the
regime undertakes, the more the younger generations are likely to support
revolutionary policies, mobilization strategies and rhetoric.
Externally, the situation is no much different. It is often the case that the
international community judges the success of revolutions in great part by its
capacity to reform as well. Reformist revolutionary leaders are perceived as
sensible, pragmatic, astute heroes who sacrificed all for their country. Often,
international policy accords are formulated to reward revolutionary governments willing to commit to change. Reforms also spur a sense of bilateral
trust in what otherwise could be an anarchical society. By contrast, revolutionary antidotes like Pol Pot or Kim Jong Il hardly inspire much confidence
at all and are usually bemired as international outcasts. Finally, increasingly
1. The argument presented in this paper benefited from my early collaboration with Erin
Ennis and presentations at the Research Circle Colloquium sponsored by the Department
of Sociology at William Paterson University of New Jersey I would like to acknowledge the
comments and suggestions from Kathleen Korgen, Maboud Ansari, Gabe Wang, Jorge Sanguinetty, and, especially, Erin Ennis none of whom bares the blame for my argument.
159
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Enrique S. Pumar
scholars and policy-makers are subscribing to the notion that reform minded
regimes hardly ever fight each other.2
This paper asks some very straight forward questions about the prospects
for reforms in single party revolutions throughout the developing world.
First, if there are so many domestic and international incentives for revolutionary elites to undertake reforms, why we do not see more liberalization on
the part of these regimes? What factors lead to more reformists policies in
one post-revolutionary regime but less so in others? Why do not Caesarian
revolutionary leaders like the likes of Castro, Mao, Ho Chi Minh, or more
recently those who govern Iran concentrate so much effort on stalling
reforms rather than promoting them?
To formulate a proposition that would attempt to answer these questions, I
propose to compare recent Cuban revolutionary policy initiatives with those
of Vietnam and China.3 These three nations share many similar experiences
as developing nations that underwent a revolutionary process to rig themselves from illegitimate autocratic governments. Moreover, the three have
toyed with their own ideological version of Marxism-Leninism. Notwithstanding different epochs and distinct political cultures, they all incorporated
elements of a nationalist vision which oddly enough supported an internationalist foreign policy. Yet each of these revolutionary processes has instituted different paths and degrees of liberalizing reforms. The evidence I
examine suggests that it is probably fair to conclude that with respects to economic, social and even political reforms, China is ahead of the pack by a
small margin followed by Vietnam and Cuba. Another question that immediately comes to mind is what determines this order and how can one explain
it? In short, why are the two Asian autocracies ahead of Cuba?
One motivation for researching these questions is that in many ways it
defies logic. Smaller dependent markets like Cuba and Vietnam should
reform first to offset the limitations of restricted market demand structures. A
country like Cuba, whose political culture was not touched by Confucianism
and which underwent a short but nonetheless competitive democratic experi2. For a critical discussion on the idea of democratic peace, see the exchange between
Sebastian Rosato, Michael W. Doyle, Michael Kinsella, Branislav L Slantchev, Anna Alexandrova, and Erik Gartzke in the American Political Science Review, 99, 3, (August 2005)
467-472.
3. As I write the first draft of this paper in March 2006, the Cuban daily Gramma reports
in its online edition that the Department of Economics at the University of Uruguay is hosting a symposium on economic reforms and development in Cuba and Vietnam. The conference was attended by Alfonso Casanova, Vice Minister of Economic and Planning, and
Rogelio Martinez, Vice Minister of Finance, on the Cuban side and by Nguyen Ngoc Dien,
the Vietnamese Ambassador to Argentina, Le Anh Son, Vice President of the Development
Strategy Institute in Hanoi, and Thia Dian Tun Director General of the Department of Commerce and Services in the Ministry of Planning and Investment. The high level delegations
on both sides attending this meeting may indicate that there is some interest in Cuba to at
least study the Vietnamese model of reforms. See Granma, March 20, 2006.
Economic Transition in Comparison
161
ence not long before the revolution, should be in the forefront of political
openness and yet it is not. Ideologically, the Chinese seem to have been much
more successful articulating their own brand of Marxism and yet they are
also ahead in terms of embracing capitalism. In short, logical explanations
defy the evidence from this paradoxical comparison as well. In fact, when
one considers these cases all together, one thing is for certain: they seem to
invite further research on the subject.
In this paper I propose a framework to analyze the extent of liberalizing
reforms in post-communist developing societies. I argue that perhaps one of
the most significant impediments for reforms in these countries is whether or
not the leaders who carried the revolutionary insurgency are still in power.
For some, this inverse dichotomy can largely be explained by accounting for
the personality and psychological aberrations of political leaders. This explanation, however popular, fails to account the origins and steadfast disdain for
reforms by these types of leaders and how their persuasion is sustained over
time despite changing domestic and international political interests. By comparing Cuba with China and Vietnam, I find that the longer the core revolutionary elite stays in power, the slower the pace of reforms and the more
pronounced the tendencies towards dictatorial authoritarianism. Thereafter,
as new generations of leaders who did not participated or experienced the
revolutionary insurgency first hand takes control, we will witness more political and economic reforms as is the cases in China today and to a lesser
extent in Vietnam, but not in Cuba where Castro’s revolutionary cadres still
effectively control much of the political power in the island. As I will argue
later, this obvious but not so divulged assertion explains this quandary better
than other perspectives usually proposed to explain the intransigence of revolutionary elites. As Ortega y Gasset keenly observed close to a century earlier:
A generation lasts about thirty years. But its activity divides into two stages and
takes two forms: during approximately one half, the new generation carries out
the propaganda of its ideas, preferences, and tastes, which finally arrive at
power and are dominant in the second half or its course. But the generation educated under its sway is already bringing forward other ideas, preferences and
tastes which it begins to diffuse in the general atmosphere. When the ideas,
preferences, and tastes of the ruling generation are extremists, and therefore revolutionary, those of the new generation are anti-extremists and anti-revolutionary…..” (Ortega y Gasset, 1957: 93)
Shortly put, a comparative case study of Cuba, China and Vietnam reveals
several reasons, besides the natural outcome of generational progression
assumed in Ortega’s work, why the revolutionary generation does not give
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Enrique S. Pumar
way to reforms easily. First, revolutionary leaders have a tremendous personal stake on the implementation of revolutionary policies. Second, these
leaders usually see reality in terms of a furious battle between them and their
opponents. Third, any lingering legitimacy after the institutionalization of the
revolutionary process is rooted in an inflated nationalistic rhetoric which is
anti-reformist in tone and substance. Finally, revolutionary leaders often
adopt a messianic operational code concerning their own role in managing
the state. All and all, a study of the pace of reforms in Cuba, China and Vietnam supports the axiom that the longer revolutionary leaders are away from
holding power positions, the more dramatic opening the country will experience. This fatalistic conclusion has far reaching implications for US foreign
policy, the political economy of national development, and for exiles whose
ambition is to steer power away from revolutionary adversaries. My conclusion suggests that the option for a prudent policy of support for domestic
reforms rather than containment or destabilization represents a political virtue in these cases.
Before I proceed to elaborate the reasoning behind my conclusion, I shall
discuss how the term reform is utilized in the paper and then I will proceed to
review some prominent positions associated with the literature on policy formulation and dictatorial politics.
Liberalizing Reforms and Change in Single Party
Autocratic Regimes
The fact that autocratic single party regimes like Cuba, Vietnam and China
do not embark in liberalizing reforms when revolutionary elites continue to
hold the reigns of power does not mean that the character and policy initiatives of these regimes remain unaltered over the years. In fact, if one examines the legislative history of these regimes it is quite copious. In this paper, I
refer to these unsustainable and cosmetic legislative swings as policy adjustments.4 In the case of China, for instance, one has to simply recall the transformation that gave way to the Cultural Revolution and beyond. In Cuba, the
government position regarding reforms has been less than consistent often
shifting back and forth between short periods of relative openness only to
resort back to hard line rectification campaigns shortly after. The government
in Hanoi, on the other hand, did not deviate much from Ho Chi Minh’s political doctrine, which served as guiding principles for policies during the aftermath of the revolution, until 1986 when Vietnamese leaders spearheaded a
4. In the original version of this paper, I named unstructured policy changes cosmetic
reforms. I thank Jorge Sanguinetty for pointing out to me the advantages for using the term
adjustment.
Economic Transition in Comparison
163
major economic program aimed at decentralizing the economy and gradually
instituting market reforms.
It is usually the case that revolutionary leaders shift policies and the
appointments of apparatchiks in an effort to portray a public image of reformminded changes and keep the state bureaucracy in line. At the end, these government adjustments have the intended effect of reasserting political allegiance to the authority of the autocratic dictator rather than creating
opportunities for change. This is the case because revolutionary leaders often
change course unilaterally after consulting with their closest confidants who
usually shared the experience of fighting the insurgency together. Moreover,
personal and governmental changes are usually taken in the name of lofty
revolutionary ideals which are always executed according to the discretion of
the revolutionary leader. This environment of intimidation and political cronyism is not conducive to bold liberalizing reforms. On the contrary, it serves
to support the steadfast conviction of the regime to follow a narrow authoritarian policy course of action.
In this paper, the terms liberalizing reforms and revolutionary leaders are
used to depict two key features of the political development of revolutionary
regimes. Liberalizing reforms, like the Vietnamese doi moi or renovation,
refer to a comprehensive program or set of sustainable policy initiatives that
are designed to modify the Communist roots of these three regimes. Reforms
often take place in any realm of public policy and administration but the
argument of this paper singles out the political and economic spheres since
they are the more controversial and contentious. Revolutionary leaders, on
the other hand, are the generation of cadres who shared the experience of
fighting an insurgency together and later clique to steer the institutionalization of the revolutionary process. This political circle also experiences other
similar generational events and quite often socializes over a period of time to
the point that they form a closed web of personal contacts. Although some in
this group may be more hard line than others, they all defend publicly the role
and policies of the revolutionary leader and never air discords or cleavages
which would undermine the ideals for which they fought. In the words of
social network perspective, revolutionary leaders and this group form a
tightly bounded knit of dense solidarity. (Dixon, et al, 2004)
No where is the intransigence of revolutionary leaders more evident than
in today’s Iran. Iranian President, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, a member of one
of the revolutionary student groups who helped depose the Shah in 1979, is
currently spearheading a domestic campaign of repression against dissidents
while re-aligning himself ideologically with the most conservative factions of
the Islamic Republic. Abroad, Mr. Ahmadinejad has followed a more confrontational foreign policy than any of his predecessors, insisting on Iran’s
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right to enrich uranium at home. (International Herald Review, 2006a) Iran is
also building an internationalist foreign policy much like previous revolutionary regimes before it. For instance, in a recent report in the International
Herald Review, Tehran was said to be collaborating with the Lebanese Shiite
group Hezbollah to fill the power vacuum in Lebanon after the Syrian withdrawal. (International Herald Review, 2006b)
Among social scientists, the controversy surrounding the prospects for
reform in post-revolutionary regimes has not subsided since the outbreak of
the Chinese revolution. One popular argument, especially among exiles from
Communist regimes, is the proposition that revolutionary leaders betrayed
moderate supporters by radicalizing the revolutionary process after they
firmly control the reigns of power. This behavioralist position insinuates that
many who support armed insurgencies in developing nations do so because
they believe the lofty goals and proclamations articulated by revolutionary
leaders with regards to nationalism and development. Over time, proponents
of this position argue, revolutionary leaders hide their true radical sentiments
to secure wide broad backing and accumulate gains in their stock of political
capital. Once in power, these leaders simply uncover policies they privately
held all along. Hence, the tendency or disinclination from the part of revolutionary leaders towards substantial policy reforms once in power is a reflection of a hidden ideology and interests, the argument goes.
One of the major shortcomings of this interpretation is that it overemphasizes subjective intentions that are very difficult to support with verifiable
evidence. There are certainly plentiful reasons for the revolutionary leaders
not to present their more benign side publicly when they are trying to gather
widespread support for their cause. Yet, who is to say there are not other possible reasons for these leaders radicalization besides a calculated strategy of
deception? For instance, it is certainly possible that often during the insurgency process revolutionary leaders themselves become radicalized as they
confront indiscriminate state repression and they count among the fatalities
close collaborators and friends. When revolutionary leaders forgo opportunities for reforms, the argument goes, it is because these leaders are responding
to deep-seated crises or unexpected conditions. As is often the case, after
assuming power revolutionary leaders get to realize the extent of the social
deterioration and economic mismanagement that reigns in their country.
More importantly, by underlying unsupported arguments about intensions,
proponents of the betrayal position often underemphasize how structural
opportunities shape state policy and actions.
On the other end of the spectrum, structuralists often assert that the orthodoxy of revolutionary leaders is rooted in the imminent threat they perceive
from international state and non-state actors. As this reasoning goes, former
Economic Transition in Comparison
165
allies of the incumbent regime often mobilize neighboring countries and transnational advocacy groups to escalate any discords into potential adversarial
crises in an attempt to destabilize or curtail revolutionary legislative initiatives and policies. When this occurs, revolutionaries adopt a more autocratic
position to safeguard their own legitimacy at home and qualm the expectations of domestic political supporters. This response promotes further international provocations which then spiral downward ultimately ending in
confrontation. Following the structuralist reasoning, orthodoxy is a natural
response to menacing foreign policies designed to corner revolutionary leaders.
Almost anything said regarding the behavioralist argument can be said to
contradict the structuralists’ position. If the former was too voluntaristic, the
latter is too deterministic. Structuralists undermine any assertion that
attempts to demonstrate the inter-subjective capacity of decision-makers to
resolve differences and find common interests. In addition, they put too much
weight on the actions of disenfranchised groups and their ability to mobilize
international public opinion against revolutionary leaders. Finally, it seems
that the possibility of any discord between revolutionaries and their external
adversaries is conditioned by the structural configuration of the world politics—an argument many structuralists underestimate. As many international
relations scholars have pointed out, during periods of tensions in a bipolar
world, radical changes caused more of a stir among allies and former allies
than under any other structural conditions. (Waltz, 2000) Hence to make the
general assertion that revolutionary leaders are “pushed” by others besides
themselves to adopt authoritarian convictions could be a mistake unless one
takes into account the effects of the specific structural configurations in the
international environment.
Even international structural conditions alone should be considered with
caution in any attempt to explain the domestic policy swings. In many cases,
the structuralist argument forecasts overly optimistic predictions about the
level of commitment and durability of new policy predicaments. In fact, as
the case of Vietnam and China clearly indicate, the end of the Cold War was
not perceived by the leader of either nation as an immediate opportunity for
reforms. Political cultural arguments, on the other hand, fail to capture the
dynamic density that determines the pace of liberalizing reforms in the three
nations I compared in this paper.
Social scientists have been more persuasive when they interpret the
regime hard line or propensity to reform by reverting to the nexus between
internal regime dynamics and structural conditions. For example, in a meticulous study of how intellectuals depict Chinese and Vietnamese reforms,
Alexander Woodside illustrates how despite sharing a mandarin vision, intel-
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Enrique S. Pumar
lectuals in these two nations remarkably do not study each other’s reforms
giving path to different pace of development. (Woodside, 1998) In the case of
Cuba, reference to Fidel and his inner circle’s inclination for gamesmanship
has also been noted as another consideration why this group turned to Marxism-Leninism to legitimize their control over the state and the direction of the
revolutionary process. Proponents in the middle range position often site
such factors as the style and substance of political leadership, the size of the
market, the recurrent deepening economic crises, the structure of the state, or
the clouds periling over social ills in developing nations to explain the hard
line often subscribed to by revolutionary leaders.
Policy Reforms and Adjustments in Cuba, China and
Vietnam
In this section, I discuss some key development indicators to document the
extent of reforms in Cuba, China and Vietnam with emphasis on the first. My
purpose is to illustrate the recent political and economic reform unfolding in
these three countries and to compare their recent development performance.
This discussion is relevant because as I argue at the conclusion of the section,
development performance indicators help us explain, at least partially, how a
country like Cuba which has only undertaken tentative policy adjustments at
best has been able to endure without submerging to the recent wave of market
and political liberalization.
TABLE 10-1. The Extent of Political Reforms
Issues
Cuba
China
VIetnam
Economic Policies*
Rolled back limited
reforms from the
1990s
More market reforms
with private ownership
Reforms since 1968. Liberalization and export led
since 2001
Annual Growth Rate
1990-2003**
3.5%
8.5%
5.9%
2006 Index of Economic Freedom***
4.10 (150)
3.89 (142)
3.34 (111)
2006 Political Freedom Ranking****
7%
6.5%
6.5%
Elections*
President elected by
unanimous vote. No
rotation of top leaders.
CPV control. No opposing representation
Top leaders elected with
some opposition and
abstantion
Economic Transition in Comparison
167
TABLE 10-1. The Extent of Political Reforms
Issues
Cuba
China
VIetnam
Political Participation*
Control by PCC. No
opposing representation
CCP in control with 8
small parties registered
CPV control. No opposing
representation
*Indicators for Economic Policies, Political Elections and Political Participation derived from The World
Fact Book, 2006 Edition.
**Annual Growth Rate from the 2005 Human Development Report
***Index of Economic Freedom was complied by The Heritage Foundation. (4-5=repressed economy)
****The Political Freedom Ranking is a composite score of Political Rights and Civil Liberties (1=Most Free
and 7=Least Free). 2006 Freedom in the World, published by Freedom House.
The data in table 1 supports the assertion I put forth earlier in the paper
stating that revolutionary single party states tend to embark on political and
economic reforms when considerable time has passed after the demise of the
revolutionary leadership. China and Vietnam are far along the path of liberalization than Cuba and these two nations are also the ones where the revolutionary leadership is more removed from the reigns of power. Later in the
paper I will offer some tentative conclusions to back this apparent anomaly.
For now, I will limit my discussion to comparing the extent of reforms in
these nations.
The table also shows that China and Vietnam continue to incrementally
affirm their own interpretations of a socialist oriented market political economy. As China became the world’s third largest trading nation in 2005, the
country completed another leadership transition, trimmed its average tariff
rates by half, and changed its FDI (foreign direct investment) regime to open
the retail and distribution sector to foreign-owned companies while other
direct investments are still subjected to state control. The Chinese government recently loosened restrictions to permit foreign insurers and banks to
operate throughout the country.
Vietnam followed the Chinese path but with more modest economic
decentralization reforms. Since 2001, Vietnamese leaders also lowered trading barriers by roughly 4 percent and simultaneously signed bilateral trading
pacts with the United States, China, Australia, Japan and South Korea. In the
area of FDI, the country is well behind China with multiple restrictions and
state controls still in effect as is the case in the area of employment. In the last
Party Congress that ended in April, the party proposed an export-led development strategy as the centerpiece to promote growth. In April, the International Herald Tribune quoted Adam Sitikoff, the Executive Director of the
American Chamber of Commerce, saying that Vietnam is seeking to move
into a second wave of investment by exporting a higher level of manufactured goods, including electronics, rather than to remain “the world's best
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Enrique S. Pumar
maker of socks and towels.” (Mydans, 2006) In the same article, Jonathan
Pinkus, the country representative for the UN Development Program said
“you'll find tremendous enthusiasm among the foreign community for Vietnam as the next rising star.” (Mydans, 2006)
By all accounts, Cuba, on the other hand, seems to be moving in the opposite direction. While the first two nominally Communist nations experiment
with their own brand of market socialism, Havana is centralizing and regulating its economy, in effect rolling back the meager adjustments it implemented
to generate employment during the Periodo Especial in the 1990s. This trend
was recently authenticated by Carmelo Mesa-Lago in his latest annual overview of the Cuban economy where he concluded that “Castro launched a process of recentralization of decision making in 2004-2005 that has reversed
most advances made by the modest market oriented reforms implemented in
1993-1996.” (Mesa Lago, 2005: 13) Some of the noteworthy policy measures
Mesa Lago identifies as being more centralized since 2005 involve: (1) banning state enterprise from conducting transactions and from providing some
services in hard currency; (2) tighter controls on currency deposits and transactions by foreign owned businesses and join ventures; (3) imposing tight
controls on all tourist personnel; (4) a value added tax on currency imports;
(5) a ban on the dollar transaction and new exchange fees on currency conversions; and, (6) halting permits for about 40 self-employment activities.
(Mesa Lago, 2005: 13)
Politically, Cuba also lags behind its counterparts. Perhaps one of the
most significant electoral changes in recent years was the decision by the
Fourth Party Congress to pick municipal delegates through direct elections
by their constituents. However, electoral campaigns and debates are still
banned. There were also some changes in the statutes of the Party (PCC) to
make it more inclusive nationwide. Yet, the legislative bodies continue to
lack real power and there is still no direct election or rotation among top leaders.5 In the area of individual liberties, Cuba continues to systematically
repress any voices of dissent as was most recently demonstrated with the
incarceration and sentencing to long prison terms of 75 prominent opposition
leaders and activists.6 Finally, the island does not afford any public space to
any organized political opposition. When the Varela Project presented the
government a plebiscite, with the required number of signatures, demanding
a referendum as is guaranteed constitutionally, officials simply responded
5.
For a recent overview of electoral politics in Cuba, see William M. LeoGrande, The
Cuban Communist Party and Electoral Politics: Adaptation, Succession, and Transition,
Cuba Transition Project, Institute for Cuban and Cuban-American Studies, University of
Miami, 2002.
6.
In May 2006, four youngsters were arrested and, later intimidated, by security forces
simply because they were thought to be responsible for displaying an anti-governmental
sign in a public park in the city of Bayamo. Cubannet, on line, May 15, 2006.
Economic Transition in Comparison
169
with a plebiscite of their own in support of the regime. The difference with
regards to freedom of expression between Cuba, China, and Vietnam may be
one of degrees but nonetheless it is important because this fluctuation add
more evidence to support the assertion that countries still ruled by revolutionary leaders are less willing to entertain any notion of reforms.7
This quick overview of some recent political and economic developments
in these nations provide evidence to support my contention that in China and
Vietnam, despite disputable policy depth, reforms are further along than in
Cuba. This is not to say that the former are free or an ideal state to emulate. In
fact, both Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch continue to list
China and Vietnam among the world most repressive regimes—Cuba also
appears prominently in the list.8 The point is that the distance between newly
elected leaders and the revolutionary leadership in the two Asian nations
seems to give way to more a comprehensive process of reforms, however
meager, than in Cuba. And this trend is very likely to continue that at least
into the near future since the revolutionary leadership in the Havana is not
likely to reverse the ongoing recentralization process given the regional support they now enjoy from newly elected left-of-center governments in Latin
American, especially in the case of Venezuela which is willing to subside the
Cuban economy with very favorable energy trade arrangements.
When one compares the data from tables 1 and 2, a logical question is
how does Cuba fair so much better in terms of social safety net indicators
than both China and Vietnam? Considering this question is relevant to this
paper I will argue that the answer lies in the fact that Cuba defends its social
gains publicly to legitimize its lack of desire for structural reforms. The
Cuban regime often frames these health and educational gains in terms of
unparalleled achievements of the revolution, as achievements no other nation
can emulate, or as benefits the Cuban people could easily lose if the course of
the revolution is derailed, overturned, or halted. For example, in a May 11,
2006, front-page article on the online version of the Gramma International,
7. In another evidence of the degree of freedom between these countries, the New York
Times reported about China’s order to remove some avant-garde paintings from galleries
during the Dashanzi International Art Festival, but stated that collectors and gallery owners expressed surprise about the government actions and said they did not expect a broader
crackdown. See, “China Orders Galleries to Remove Art,” The New York Times, May 13,
2006, B16.
8. In the case of Cuba, the 2006 Human Rights Watch country report summarizes the
current state for freedom in the island in the following terms: “Cuba remains a Latin American anomaly: an undemocratic government that represses nearly all forms of political dissent. President Fidel Castro, now in his forty-seventh year in power, shows no willingness
to consider even minor reforms. Instead, his government continues to enforce political conformity using criminal prosecutions, long- and short-term detentions, mob harassment,
police warnings, surveillance, house arrests, travel restrictions, and politically-motivated
dismissals from employment. The end result is that Cubans are systematically denied basic
rights to free expression, association, assembly, privacy, movement, and due process of
law.” Human Rights Watch, online edition, 2004.
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Enrique S. Pumar
the official organ of the Party announced that Cuba has the largest number of
children receiving electronic hearing implants in the world and reminds its
readers that this is an unprecedented revolutionary achievement. (Granma
International, 2006) The same newspaper, in its April 7 edition, flatly
declared that before the revolution “poliomyelitis was the cause of quite a
few deaths, and paralyzed an average of 300 children per year. Cuba was the
first country in the Americas to eradicate polio in 1962.” (Granma InternaTABLE 10-2. Basic Human Development Indicators
Issues
Cuba
China
Vietnam
HDI Ranking
52
85
108
Life Expectancy
77.3
71.6
70.5
Literacy Rate
96.9
90.9
90.3
Education Index
0.87
0.78
0.82
GDP Index
0.67
0.65
0.54
GDP Per Capita (2005 est.)
US$3,300
US$6,300
US$3,000
Note: All indicators are from 2003 as reported by the UN Human Development Report with the exception
of GDP per capita which comes from the World Fact Book
tional, 2006)
Authoritarian Intransigence. Why?
Thus far, I have argued that the social distance between the new generation of leaders and the experience of the revolutionary insurgency seems to
explain, at least partially, the predisposition for reform among leaders in
China and Vietnam as opposed to Cuba. In this final section of the paper, I
present some plausible reasons in support of this assertion. I shall discuss five
such reasons.
First, evidence gathered from quite a few case-studies reveals a striking
conclusion. Revolutionary leaders can not resist the impulse to publicly carve
a personal affinity between their role as leaders and the revolutionary process. The social origins of these aberrations are very complex. On the one
hand, the mysticism surrounding the identity of these leaders as saviors who
rescued the nation from the excesses of previous regimes is often a necessary
condition to rally support to consolidate the revolutionary process. Revolutions are highly contested political processes and it is often the case that the
charismatic authority of revolutionary leaders serves as a rallying point to
mobilize popular support for radical measures.
Since many of these leaders have a lot of personal capital invested in the
revolutionary process and since tensions between political factions in the rev-
Economic Transition in Comparison
171
olutionary coalition are likely to erupt over time, revolutionary leaders
develop a sense of indispensability and personal affinity with the goals of the
revolutionary process which leads them to believe that they are the personal
reincarnation of the nation and the polity. This personal stake is reinforced by
subordinates who are either expected to demonstrate alliance or are coerced
to adulate the personality of these leaders. In these autocratic situations, more
often than not, it is the case that attempts to implement reforms by any other
than the leader’s inner circle or the leaders themselves is perceived as a threat
to the leader. The revolution, the nation, and the leader become in the eyes of
the beholder one and the same. The omnipotent view of authority is not new,
in fact it has been well thought through by observers of several European
upheavals since the French Revolution. Bonald’s theory of authority, for
instance, draws attention to how socializing effects on political authority led
leaders to exclude intermediate association after the French Revolution. (Nisbet, 1978)
Second, one of the most frequent communication tactics crafted by revolutionary leaders to mobilize and control is to frame policy along confrontational views—“us against them.” This perspective has multiple functions to
consolidate autocratic authority. It reduces the complex reality of political
alternatives to an unambiguous choice between supporters and detractors,
hence imposing limited political options on the population and cutting down
alternative oppositional discourses. In addition, since the common enemy is
usually depicted as an outsider, the implicit connotation is that only the
actions of the revolution are legitimate. (Becker, 1963) Furthermore, revolutionary leaders veil their confrontational view in nationalistic rhetoric and
tactics. The language supporting political activities, including policy discourses, is full of militaristic overtones and insinuations in revolutionary
regimes. This strategy of articulation has the effect of reminding citizens of a
state of belligerence where the revolution is almost always victimized. In
addition, it attempts to forge an organic collective identity where citizens and
leaders are united for the public good and against a common enemy. Various
illustrations of this rhetorical strategy can be seen in Ho Chi Min’s declaration of Vietnam’s right to independence in 1945, in many of Castro’s revolutionary proclamations, or in Mao’s Great Leap Forward, among others.
Authority is an essential capital to execute political discretion in the policy
realm. As Carl J. Friedrich argued persuasively some time ago, “discretion
without authority will appear arbitrary and generate resistance; this is likely
to be destructive of organizations and create chaos….” (Friedrich, 1972: 74)
Notwithstanding the effects of political rhetoric, another basis for the
autocracy of revolutionary leaders is the idiosyncrasies of their own operational code. Social psychologists point that the code comprises the vision,
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Enrique S. Pumar
values and norms that sustain political action. (George, 1969) In the case of
revolutionary leaders like Mao and Castro, they view the modernization of
the nation as a constant struggle to perfect socialism. They assume that the
revolution can manage to modernize society and has the capacity to perform
this function more just and effectively than any other capitalist development
path. For this reason, Castro justifies his recurrent “rectification campaigns”
in the name of combating corruption and other ills he perceives embedded in
liberal reforms and follows a Rousseaunian reasoning favoring the purity of
the revolution against the threat of extraneous forces. Mao also justified his
cultural revolution in much the same terms. The findings from a very original
research conducted by Erin Ennis empirically supports Ortega y Gasset’s
assertion that the operational code of authoritarian leaders moderates as the
social distance between the cliques of revolutionaries and new generations of
authoritarian leaders who succeed them widen (Ennis, 2002); hence, the tendency to attempt to foster modernity with liberal market reforms by current
Chinese and Vietnamese leaders but less so by Cubans.
Finally, the process of institutionalization of revolutionary regimes in
developing societies tends to devise powerless political institutions which
mainly present a facade of pluralistic democracy. Meaningless institutional
arrangements leave autocratic leaders unchallenged. These leaders arbitrarily
retain control over high level political appointments and have a tendency to
conceal real political power among trusted old cadres resulting in masking
real political leverage in the informal networks of friendship and comrades
they cultivate and far away from the public figures they appoint. Since these
associates have no real incentives for change, they often discourage or block
any attempts to implement sustainable reforms that depart from their own
intrinsic interests. (Diamond, et al., 1999)9
Conclusions
If the findings derived from my observations of Cuban, Chinese, and
Vietnamese post-revolutionary developments are correct, it seems that the
best hope for political and market reforms after revolutions among developing nations comes after a leadership change precipitates the demise of the
revolutionary leadership. When a new generation of leaders who did not
experience the tragic contention leading to revolutions comes onto the political scene, new opportunities for reforms arise. This is the case, because an
anti-extremist generation has less vested in the personal experiences and
social meanings associated with any struggle for change. With social distance
9. As Diamond, Hartlyn and Linz assert: “the style of political leaders is quite crucial. A
flexible, accommodative, consensual leadership style is more successful in developing and
maintaining democracy than a militant, uncompromising, confrontational one.”
Economic Transition in Comparison
173
comes a more rational consideration for political and economic choices and
alternatives.
This conclusion has profound implications for the policy-making community. Policy-makers might want to consider inducing reforms from revolutionary leaders through complex negotiations even if these relations yield
minor but significant outcomes over time. These negotiations may not work
right away but at least they would have the effect of building confidence and
engaging reluctant, highly ideological leaders in some form of reciprocity.
Frank negotiations also have a positive demonstration effects for up-andcoming leaders—witness the effects of Nixon’s visit to China. Pressures,
containment and embargos do not seem to have worked with revolutionary
leaders in Hanoi, Beijing, or Havana. On the contrary, they dared revolutionaries to continue to hide their own intransigence behind confrontational perception of reality. In the final analysis, the most effective strategy in these
situations seems to be serenity and fortitude.
Bibliography
Becker, Howard S. 1963. Outsiders. New York: The Free Press.
Diamond, Larry; Jonathan Hartlyn and Juan Linz. 1999. “Politics, Society
and Democracy in Latin America.” In Democracy in Developing Countries. Latin America. Larry Diamond, Jonathan Hartlyn, Juan J. Linz and
Seymour M. Lipset, eds. Second Edition. Boulder: Lynne Rienner.
Dixon, Marc; Vincent Roscigno and Randy Hodson. 2004. “Union, Solidarity
and Striking,” Social Forces, 83(1): 3-33.
Ennis, Erin. 2002. “Revolutionary Leaders, Ideology and Change.” Cuba in
Transition, 12: 312-324.
Friedrich, Carl J. 1972. Tradition and Authority. New York: Praeger.
George Alexander L. 1969. “The Operational Code: A Neglected Approach
to the Study of Political Leaders and Decision-Making.” International
Study Quarterly, 13(2): 190-222.
Gramma International. 2006. Online edition, May 11, 2006.
Gramma International. 2006. Online edition, April 7, 2006.
The International Herald Review. 2006. “In Iran, a split developing over
country hard-line stance.” On-line edition, March 15, 2006.
The International Herald Review, 2006. “Iran moves into Lebanon vacuum.”
On-line edition, March 13, 2006.
Mesa-Lago, Carmelo. 2005. “The Cuban Economy in 2004-2005.” Cuba In
Transition, 15.
Mydans, Seth. 2006. “A Fervor for Capitalism Sweeps Vietnam.” The International Herald Tribune. Accessed April 26, 2006, http://www.iht.com/
articles/2006/04/26/news/vietnam.php
Nisbet, Robert. 1978. “Conservatism.” In A History of Sociological Analysis,
Tom Bottomore and Robert Nisbet, eds. New York: Basic Books. Pp. 9197.
Ortega y Gasset, Jose. 1957. The Revolt of the Masses, 25th anniversary edition. New York: W. W. Norton.
CHAPTER 11
Globalization in
Havana and Moscow
Mervyn J. Bain
The disintegration of the Soviet Union in December 1991 did not just end the
bipolar nature of global politics but also heralded the appearance of a New
World Order. The globalisation process was an important part of this New
World Order and would have massive repercussions for politics and transnational economics. Moreover, it would also be highly significant in the relationship between Havana and Moscow.
In the 1990s Russia struggled to adapt to this situation, exacerbated by its
move to a free market economy, which had a profound effect on its citizens,
reflected in Russia’s falling Gross Domestic Product (GDP). (Tikhomirov,
2000: 209) The implosion of the Soviet Union had also simultaneously ended
Soviet-Cuban relations, resulting in the island’s economy going into freefall
with the loss of its most important economic partner. In an attempt to offset
this colossal setback the Cuban economy also underwent dramatic change
throughout the 1990s. However, from the mid-1990s the relationship
between Havana and Moscow slowly began to improve.
This article will focus on this relationship between Havana and Moscow
in the period since 1992. Firstly, the deterioration and subsequent improvement in the relationship in the 1990s will be examined and in relation to this
the significance of the globalisation process will be analysed. The final consideration of this paper will be to consider the question of whether, due to
their close economic ties for over 30 years, could Cuba follow a similar economic transition to that of the Russian Federation, once reforms commence
on the island?
175
176
Mervyn J. Bain
Havana and Moscow in the 1990s
Cuban-Soviet relations may not have always been completely harmonious
but they lasted for over 30 years and it was only with the disintegration of the
Soviet Union that they were terminated. This had massive ramifications, both
political and economic, for the Caribbean island, and it was bilateral trade
that quickly illustrated the downturn in relations, as in 1992 trade fell by over
90 percent compared to that of the Soviet era. (Trade Yearbook, 173; MesaLago, 1993: 140-143). In addition, in 1992 both the joint collaboration
project to build a nuclear power station at Juragua was mothballed, and for
the first time ever, Russia voted against Cuba at the United Nations (UN)
Conventions on Human Rights held in Geneva. Moscow repeated this in both
1993 and 1994. (Granma, 1992: 3-6; Izvestia, 1992: 7; Izvestia, 1993)
The relationship may have deteriorated but it never completely disintegrated. A number of Russians remained on the island through marriage but of
even more importance was Moscow’s decision to keep the listening post at
Lourdes open, as it was “…necessary in order to maintain stable communications with our embassies in Latin America.” (Izvestia, 1992: 5)
However, from the mid-1990s the relationship began to improve illustrated by both Moscow again voting with Cuba at the UN Human Rights
Convention, and by the return of visits by the two countries elites, which,
since 1992, had been conspicuous by their absence. The first took place in
June 1996 when the Russian Foreign Minister Yevgeny Primakov travelled to
Cuba and during this, Castro commented, “Recently, relations have been
improving little by little. There have been good moments, there have been
critical moments and now there’s an upswing.” (Granma International, 1996:
3)
A number of different reasons underpinned this improvement but a return
to Marxist-Leninism was not one of them. Instead economic links have been
a driving force; Cuban sugar was important but so also are the island’s nickel
and biotechnological industries. Cuba has also benefited not only from Russian investment, but also its position as a source of much needed spare parts
for Soviet era machinery. Globalization has also been very significant and
will be analysed in a later section. Moreover, a change in Russian foreign
policy further aided this improvement, as since the mid-1990s, Moscow has
attempted to reassert its influence in international relations. (Bain, 2006: 221223)
The legacy from the Soviet era of the Cuban debt was also very important
for the improvement in the relationship and in 2005 Russia announced that it
had deferred its payment. (Bain, 2006: 222) This is a first for Moscow, but
significantly the debt was not simply cancelled. This illustrates that Moscow
Globalization in Havana and Moscow
177
does not just continue to hope that the debt will be paid, but also the importance both of it and that of the Cuban-Russian relationship itself.
The new foundations of Cuban-Russian relations were questioned in the
year 2000 with Vladimir Putin’s ascension to the presidency of Russia. Due
to his KGB past and his December 2000 trip to Havana, made in the infancy
of his presidency, it was thought that Marxist-Leninism might have again
been increasing in importance. The agreements signed while he was in
Havana disproved this and showed that it was the Cuban economy and not
ideology that most interested Putin. In the years since, economic links have
continued to expand and diversify with trade exchanges in 2004 being 23 percent higher than in 2003, and in 2005 the Cuban purchase of a Russian made
IL-96-300 airliner, which was partly funded by loans form Russian banks.
(bbc.co.uk, 2006)
In the period from 1992 to 1995 relations between Havana and Moscow
deteriorated but they never completely disintegrated. However, from the mid1990s they have improved and, significantly, this was based on practical economic reasons and not a return to Marxist-Leninism.
Globalisation and its Effects
The end of the Soviet Union and Soviet-Cuban relations coincided with the
increase in the globalization process, which was partly due to a lack of an
alternative to the international capitalist system with the disappearance of the
socialist economic model. Globalization has, in the last decade, attracted a
massive amount of scholarly attention, which has not just focused on the process in general, but debates have appeared over a definitive definition of it
and whether it is even a new process or not. (Robertson, 2003; Gilprin, 2001;
Castells, 2000; Gwayne & Kay, 1999) In relation to this, investment in Latin
America, in general, and Cuba before 1959, from outside the region was not
new but in the 1990s it was on a truly global scale and not predominantly
from the United States, as had previously been the case.
Globalization has, however, impacted on many parts of society including
politics, increased the power of multinational companies and transnational
enterprise and has lead some to even question its effects on states’ sovereignty. Although this is the case, the effects of globalisation on countries,
even within the same region, has not been universal. However, this article
will focus on the pre-eminence of international capitalism, illustrated by the
growth of transnational investment, which has resulted in an increase in interdependence between various world economies. This would be vital for not
just the Cuban Revolution but also Cuban-Russian relations.
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This may seem a peculiar statement, due to the continued restricted nature
of Cuban society and importance of the central government in both people’s
everyday lives and the national economy. However, the loss of the island’s
economic lifeline since 1992 has caused this situation to begin to change. In
the late 1980s in an attempt to offset the adverse repercussions of the Soviet
reform processes Havana attempted to encourage tourism to the island and in
May 1990 this came to fruition when Castro was present at the opening of a
new hotel on Varadero Beach, which had been financed by foreign money.
(Granma International, 1990: 3) After 1992 various legislation was passed to
encourage even more foreign investment. This included both the right to be
self-employed and to posses U.S. dollars, the right for joint ventures with foreign capital to be created in both oil and mineral exploration and production,
and in September 1995 a new foreign investment law was passed which not
only allowed foreign companies to move their entire profits abroad, but also
very significantly allowed 100-percent foreign ownership of investments in
Cuba. With nationalism having such a prominent place in the Cuban revolution, this law was truly historic. In 1997 free trade zones were created in a
further attempt to improve the island’s dire economic situation. (Ley de le
Inversion Extranjera; Perez-Lopez, 1997)
As these changes coincided with the acceleration of the globalisation process the likelihood of more foreign investment increased. The results have
been dramatic, the socialist-trading bloc’s position within the Cuban economy has been usurped, as Cuba now trades on a truly global scale with companies from over 100 countries. In 1993 Venezuela, in no small part to its oil
reserves, supplied Cuba with 20 percent of its imports. Western European
countries, but particularly Spain, and also Canada had conducted trade with
Cuba throughout the revolutionary period but in the 1990s their importance
increased. In 1995 Canada was the Caribbean island’s main export partner
and Spain held the same position with regards to Cuba’s imports with each
holding 15 percent of their respective markets. (CIA Yearbook)
By 1995, 212 joint ventures had come to fruition with over nine different
countries from around the world, and in the period from 1998 to 2001 a further 190 joint enterprises, in conjunction with 28 countries, were created. In
comparison, in 1991 the number of joint enterprises was 11, excluding socialist bloc countries. The island’s nickel industry and telecommunications links
have attracted investment from Canadian and Mexican companies respectively, while European companies have concentrated primarily on the tourist,
tobacco and alcohol industries. Some of the most high profile deals are: in
1992 the French Company Pernod Ricard bought an interest in and global
distribution rights for Havana Club rum. In the same manner, in the year
2000 the French-Spanish company Altadis bought 50 percent of Habanos, the
Globalization in Havana and Moscow
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international distributor of Cuban cigars. (Ospina, 2002: 77; Amberg, 2000;
Perez-Lopez, 1997: 33-34)
The success of this policy can be seen as the Cuban economy has recovered from its nadir in 1993 when total trade crashed to just US$3.2 billion. Its
problems have not, however, completely disappeared and trade has not
returned to levels enjoyed in the Soviet era, but it has grown to US$5.6 billion in 1996 and US$7.3 billion in 2004. (CIA Yearbook) This is despite, in
1996, the United States government passing the Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity Act, or Helms-Burton Act, that attempted to prevent companies from third party countries trading with Cuba. Moreover, this economic
upturn has been achieved without access to money from the International
Monetary Fund (IMF), World Bank or the Inter-American Development
Bank.
The United States embargo has conversely made Cuba a more appealing
investment opportunity for non-U.S. companies. While the embargo remains
in place these companies do not have to face competition from U.S. companies, and have been able to gain a foothold in the Cuban economy. The
importance of this will be seen when the embargo ends as an influx of U.S
dollars is expected to take place, with both U.S. citizens travelling to the
island and U.S. companies investing in it. This has been borne out by a recent
survey conducted in Florida, which stated that 65 percent of the 417 executives polled would be “likely to do business in a post-Castro Cuba.”
(www.herald.com, 2005)
As stated, Russia has lost its pre-eminent position in the Cuban economy
but the realisation quickly formed in Moscow that it was missing out on the
investment potential that the Cuban economy offered. Moreover, due to links
from the Soviet era it would also be easier for Russian companies to cultivate
links with Cuban companies. In the period from 1995 to 1997, 260 joint
projects were opened with Cuban and foreign money but only two of these
were with Russia money. (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 1997: 2) Simply, Russia
wanted a “piece of the action.” In addition, the colossal investment from the
Soviet era was also simply being wasted. The Russian Foreign Minister Igor
Ivanov, in September 1999, and Putin, in December 2000, both commented
on this. Ivanov said, “It’s evident that our taking into account the wealth
accumulated in the many years of relations between both nations, it’s logical
that the ties between Cuba and Russia continue to develop.” (Newman, 1999)
Putin commented, “We lost a lot of positions which were a top priority for
both countries, and our Russian companies in Cuba have been replaced by
Western competitors.” (Newamn, 1999) In May 2005 Russian interest in the
Cuban economy was shown when 132 Russian companies from the Moscow
area attended a Cuban trade fair held in the Russian capitol. (Prensa Latina)
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Unsurprisingly, Cuba’s burgeoning tourist industry has attracted attention
from Russia. In 1996 the “Latina” travel agency opened in Moscow that specialised in travel to Latin America and the Russian travel agencies Atlantic
Travel Agency, Druzhina and Atlas have all opened offices in Havana. The
upshot was that in 1999 12,000 Russians travelled to Cuba for vacations.
This constitutes a very small percentage of Cuba’s near 1 million European
visitors per year but travel to Cuba from Russia was aided not just by the
appearance of more wealthy Russians, but also in August 1999 the airline
companies KLM and Air France began flying routes from Russia to Havana
with stopovers in Amsterdam and Paris respectively. Moreover, in December
1999 Aeroflot and Cubana began their own joint service between Russia and
Cuba. (ctp.iccas.miami.edu, 2005; Caribbean Update, 1999)
Russian interest has not just been in Cuba’s tourist industry, as Putin’s
December 2000 trip illustrated. During it a number of agreements were
signed. The Norilisk Nickel Company agreed to invest US$300m in the
nickel-ore processing plant at Las Camariocas in Holguin province and a
joint agreement to build diesel equipment for the Cuban sugar industry was
also signed. The importance of nickel to the ‘new’ relationship has increased
further as the significance of sugar has fallen and was illustrated in an interview in March 2005 with the Cuban ambassador to Russia, Jorge Marti Martinez. In this he said, “Cuba comes second in the world in nickel reserves and
fifth among nickel exporter…the world is showing a great interest in this
branch of the Cuban economy and we are keen on cooperation with Russia.”
(ITAR-TASS, 2005) In addition to this, Cuba’s much vaunted biotechnological industry was also part of an exchange deal for 2001 to 2005 signed during
Putin’s trip. Cuban sugar, rum, medicines and medical equipment were to be
exchanged for Russian oil, machinery and chemicals. (www.cnn.com, 2000)
As outlined, the Helms-Burton Act has not affected foreign investment in
Cuba, and Russia is no different. Not only did Russia vote against its implementation in the UN but it also indicated that it was simply going to ignore it,
as a Russian Foreign Ministry Declaration illustrated. It stated, “We confirm
our intention to develop and broaden beneficial co-operation with Cuba as
well as sectors of mutual interest, particularly in the commercial and economic sphere.” (Granma International, 1996: 13) Trade between the two
countries also showed this, as levels of trade have remained at a higher level
than in the early 1990s, and although at a much reduced level than during the
Soviet era, Russia remains one of Cuba’s most important trading partners.
(CIA Yearbook)
The foundations of Soviet-Cuban relations may have been socialist principles but Cuban-Russian relations post-1991 have conversely been aided by
neoliberal economic policies. As the Cuban economy was reformed and the
Globalization in Havana and Moscow
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effects of globalization were felt the realisation formed in Moscow that companies from other countries had usurped its pre-eminent position. A desire to
address this was vital in the improvement in relations between Cuba and Russia. It may not have returned to levels enjoyed in the Soviet era but economic
links between the two countries have improved.
1990s Russia: the blueprint for Cuba?
As transition processes have taken place in various countries a number of
comparisons and suggestions have been made as to which route a post-Castro
Cuba is likely to follow, or resemble the closest. The countries suggested
have included Romania, China and Spain after Franco’s death. (Ratliff, 2004;
Cruz, 2003; Radu, 2003; Montaner, 2002) It could be concluded that once
Cuba enters its own transition process it may be similar to the Russian one
due to similarities particularly in their respective economic models during the
Soviet era and Cuba, like Russia has a large army, and will also have to
undergo the transition process while saddled with a large foreign debt. (Hernandez-Cata, 1993; Hernandez-Cata, 1999) Differences do exist and these
include the Caribbean island not having to withstand a “near abroad”
demanding independence or possessing a large military industrial complex.
Despite these differences this section will examine the question of whether
the Russian experience will provide the blueprint for Cuba once Fidel Castro
has departed the political scene.
In the 1980s a number of reforms and legal changes were implemented in
an attempt to kick-start the ailing Soviet economy. (White, 2000: 117-122)
However, after 1992 the move towards a market economy accelerated greatly
as it was decided the transition was to be carried out as quickly as possible
and “shock therapy” was to be applied to the Russian economy. This would
not just reform the economy but would simultaneously help cement democracy in Russia, due to the creation of many company owners, with the aim
being “millions of owners, not hundreds of millionaires” and, it was hoped,
this would prevent a return to communism. (White, 2000: 125) In addition,
these reforms would also make the Russian economy an attractive proposition for foreign investment.
The reality of the Russian situation was, however, somewhat different to
these hopes. The voucher scheme introduced to aid privatisation was widely
abused and inflation quickly ran out of control. In 1995, in an attempt to deal
with this, a “loans for shares” project was introduced. This scheme allowed
the government to quickly borrow money from private banks in return for
shares in large state owned companies. However, when the government was
unable to re-pay these loans the companies became the possession of the
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banks, or in reality, the bank owners. It was in this way, and the voucher
scheme, that oil companies such as Yukos and Sibneft were privatised at a
fraction of their real cost. When these newly privatised companies were
given their true valuation it resulted in the new owners, people such as Boris
Berezovsky, Mikhail Khodorkovsky and Roman Abromovich, becoming not
just millionaires but billionaires. This heralded the appearance in Russia of
both oligarchs and “new Russians.”1 (White, 2000; 123-129, Satter, 2003: 51;
Tikhomirov, 2000: 207, 236)
The Russian economy may have recently been showing signs of recovery
but in the mid to late 1990s the situation was very different. Both GDP and
the population’s standard of living regularly decreased. Despite the improvement, even today, almost 20 percent of the population lives below the poverty
line. Moreover, male life expectancy has fallen to just 60 years. This is something that has not gone unnoticed in Havana, with Castro, on various occasions in the 1990s, commenting upon this situation. In addition, at a
conference on globalisation held in early 1999 in Havana, Cuban officials
repeatedly stated that the transitions undertaken in other countries had been
unsuccessful. (World Bank, 2005; Hernandez-Cata, 1999; CIA Yearbook)
Foreign investment has been attracted to the Russian economy but not in the
hoped for levels. Moreover, much of this has centred in the regions bordering
Moscow and St. Petersburg and the foreign investment that has not focused
on these areas has instead tended to be in the energy industry and oil in particular. This has occurred at the expense of the industrial sector, when it could
have been thought that due to low Russian labour costs it would have been
attractive to foreign investment. The results have been the appearance of “a
market economy with Russian characteristics:” over reliance on oil, unequal
development and massively skewed income distribution. (Ellman, 2000:
1,420; Watson, 1996; 429-455)
The motive for Castro’s comments may be to imply that the same fate
would await Cuban citizens if the island’s government collapsed, but this
will, however, be important in the transition process in a post-Castro Cuba.
Although it is likely that Cuba will also move quickly to a market economy it
would appear unlikely that similar mistakes would be made due to the knowledge that the population have of events in the Russian Federation in the early
to mid-1990s. This will certainly be the case in relation to state-owned companies, or the parts of companies that remain in the hands of the state, being
sold for below their market value. There will undoubtedly be winners and
losers in this process but because companies will be sold for their true worth
it is unlikely that Cuban versions of “new Russians” or oligarchs will appear.
1. Oligarchs were interested in achieving political influence whereas “New Russians”
were not.
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What is also very important is that as a result of economic reforms and the
globalisation process in general there is more foreign investment in the
Cuban economy than in the Soviet one of the late 1980s. This will be important, as it is not beyond reason to assume that once the opportunity arrives,
these foreign companies may increase their shareholdings in their Cuban
investments. This will, again, prevent the appearance of Cuban versions of
“new Russians” or oligarchs. The result is that due to this foreign investment,
it is likely that the Cuban path to the market economy will again be different
from the Russian experience.
Cuba may hold a strategic place within the Caribbean, and be the largest
island in the region, but it does not posses the enormous natural resources
that the Russian Federation does. This is simply the result of Cuba being
many times smaller than Russia. The island does however, have nickel
reserves, and this has attracted foreign investment, but its other main exports
today remain primary goods. This lack of natural resources means that a similar ‘sale,’ to that in Russia, of state owned companies with massive resources
of natural wealth cannot take place, as they simply do not exist. This is not to
say that Cuba’s nickel resources will not be much sought after but again the
outcome will be very different from the Russian one.
The condition of the Cuban Revolutionary Armed Forces (FAR), although
no longer the force they were during the Cold War, is much better than the
Soviet army of the early 1990s. Discipline and moral are still higher in the
FAR, partly as it has never had to regroup from the moral sapping effects of
an Afghan-style war. In addition, it has played an important part in the economic reforms of the 1990s. (Hernandez-Cata, 1994) Therefore once the
transition begins in Cuba it is very likely that the FAR will act to safeguard
their relatively privileged position within Cuban society and this will provide
some form of stability in a post-Castro Cuba and avoid many of the pitfalls
that befell the Russian Federation.
The influence, power and wealth of the Cuban exile community in the
United States will also prove to be of vital importance. It has been estimated
that their net worth is between US$40-US$50 billion. Moreover, they have
not only acquired great economic wherewithal but also technical expertise,
with both being significant in a post-Castro Cuba. It is expected that these
people will invest in their homeland when the opportunity arises and the
United States government certainly believe this to be the case, as the foreword for the report of the Commission for Assistance to a Free Cuba in May
2004 written by Colin Powell illustrates. (Powell, 2004; Diaz-Briquets &
Perez-Lopez, 2003: 14-17) The existence of an exile community is not exclusive to Cuba but what does make it different is not just its power and wealth
but the fact that it is ideally placed, a mere 90 miles from Cuba, to be, at the
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very least, able to quickly invest in a post-Castro Cuba. Again this is very different from the Russia experience.
However, the existence and geographical proximity of the exiles will also
complicate the transition process. The Cuban government has never paid
compensation for expropriated land and property, and once change commences it can be expected that a number of cases will be brought to court
where the ownership of property is questioned. This will be on a much larger
scale than in Russia, will undoubtedly be complicated but, will again, make
the Cuban transition very different form the Russia one. (Garibaldi & Kirby,
2003)
A variety of other reasons will also make the geographical proximity of
the United States very important when change begins in Cuba. Not only is it
likely that U.S. tourists will travel to Cuba, but the island’s proximity to the
largest economy in the world will also benefit the transition of the Cuban
economy and help the Caribbean island become more quickly and smoothly
integrated into the global economy. This is something that none of the other
countries that have undergone economic transitions have benefited from.
Moreover, it will be in Washington’s interests for the Cuban transition process to be different from the Russian one because if it did the result would be
the appearance of a large number of economic casualties, many of whom
may leave the island in search of an improved economic situation in the
United States. This is a scenario that Washington would rather avoid and it
can be assumed would intervene to prevent from taking place. In addition, as
stated, it can be expected many U.S. companies will once again invest in the
island. The afore mentioned 2005 survey of company executives in South
Florida interested in investing in a post-Castro Cuba illustrates this.
(www.herald.com, 2005) This influx of money will further reduce the likelihood of both a similar route to a market economy as in Russia being followed, and the need of the new Cuban government to instigate its own “loans
for shares” scheme.
Moreover, the Cuban transition when it does take place will differ from
the Russian one simply because it will occur at a different time. In 2005 levels of international investment are much higher than even 10 years ago when
Russia went through its own changes, with companies being more likely to
have an international investment portfolio. This increases the chances of further foreign investment in Cuba. Conversely, the globalisation process has
recently attracted an increasing number of critics, not least in the Western
Hemisphere, and this may result in the transition process being conducted in
a different manner than in Russia, as people no longer see the market as the
solution to the continent’s woes.
Globalization in Havana and Moscow
185
As has been stated many people expected the same fate to await the Castro regime as that which befell the socialist regimes in Eastern Europe and
the Soviet Union. However, the Cuban government has adapted to the new
situation it found itself in and continues to disprove this theory. As it was able
to dumbfound Cuban watchers in the early 1990s, who is to say that it could
not do so again in a post-Castro situation? The reforms that the government
in Havana have already implemented have reduced the chance that it will follow a similar ‘Russian path’ to the market economy and more reforms could
impact on the transition process again, further reducing this possibility.
Conclusions
The disintegration of the Soviet Union did not just simultaneously end
Soviet-Cuban relations but it also had grave repercussions for the Cuban
economy. In the years 1992 to 1994 the relationship between Havana and
Moscow deteriorated but it was never completely severed, with Lourdes
remaining open being the highest-profile symbol of this. However, from the
mid-1990s relations began to improve due to both a change in Russian foreign policy, and crucially, for practical economic reasons. In addition, Cuba’s
debt was also important, because if relations were severed, the remote chance
that Russia may be paid would have completely disappeared.
However, globalization was also crucial. The Cuban economy was reformed
to take advantage of this process and to provide much needed foreign investment but Russian companies realised that they were missing out on the
investment potential that the island offered, as they witnessed the loss of both
their pre-eminent place in it and the massive investment in the Cuban economy from the Soviet era. Simply, Russian companies wanted a ‘piece of the
action,’ made more appealing due to the lack of competition from U.S. companies as a result of the continuing embargo. Marxist-Leninism may have
been a cornerstone of Soviet-Cuban relations but, ironically, globalisation
was highly important in the ‘new’ relationship that evolved in the 1990s
between Havana and Moscow.
Despite similarities in their economic models, it is unlikely that the Cuban
transition will resemble the Russian one. The mistakes made in the Russian
transition are unlikely to be repeated in Cuba since the island’s population
have had the opportunity to learn from the Russian experience. In addition to
this, a similar ‘sale’ of state companies is further reduced as the Caribbean
island’s economy already has considerable foreign investment in it. Moreover, a Cuban version of “loans for shares” is unlikely, as Cuban state companies simply do not have the massive natural resources that the Russian ones
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had. This in conjunction with FAR acting to protect their privileged position
will result in the Cuban transition being very different from the Russian one.
The existence, proximity and wealth of the Cuban exile community
would also suggest this, as they are highly likely to invest in a post-Castro
Cuba. Moreover, Cuba’s proximity to the world’s largest economy will aid
the island’s return to the world economy. This is an advantage that no other
country undergoing an economic transition has ever had, and certainly not
Russia. Cuban exiles will undoubtedly aid Cuba’s transition but the question
of compensation for expropriated property will mean that it will not be without problems.
In addition, the Cuban transition will not be similar, as it will take place in
a different time from the Russian one. Moreover, the Cuban Revolution has
dumbfounded many experts in the manner it has adapted to the post 1992 situation and it may well do this again once change begins in Cuba. What is
apparent is that it is highly unlikely that Russia will provide the blueprint for
the Cuban transition.
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CHAPTER 12
Caribbean Influence
on Cuban Transition
Jorge Luis Romeu
When Fidel Castro came to power in 1959, Cubans of both sides of the political divide committed a costly political error: they allowed the Cuban internal
struggle to become a football in the politics of the Cold War. Castro sided
with the Soviet Union, at a time when a nuclear war could destroy everything. The Cuban opposition sided with the United States, who sought to prevent the establishment of a Soviet foothold, 90 miles away from its shores.
As a result, we lost the control of our nation’s destiny. For, Cubans have
never learned the old American political dictum that “politics ends at the
water’s edge;” nor the Mexican lesson of the French intervention of 1863,
brought upon by the conservatives, after loosing their civil war against Juarez’ forces, while trying to defeat his secularization reforms.
In 1960, the United States launched its economic embargo, which Castro
adroitly used to firmly unite the country around him in the face of a foreign
enemy, and to play little David in the foreign relation’s arena, both very old
strategies in such circumstances. The opposition abroad distanced itself from
Latin America and the Spanish Caribbean, because this region supported the
Castro government for calculated political, economic, strategic and demagogic reasons. This was yet another mistake that alienated Castro’s opposition from its natural milieu. We failed to see the real causes behind the
behavior of the Ibero-American countries and, hence, to finesse the situation
efficiently.
For, the Spanish Caribbean countries took advantage of the Cuban situation in at least three ways. First, as all produce similar goods (sugar cane,
tobacco, fruits, seafood, etc.) they were able obtain the Cuban quotas in the
American markets. In addition, they also inherited Cuba’s tourism industry
and foreign investment. Historically, this is no different from Cuba’s economic policy after 1795, when the African slaves revolted in Haiti, destroy189
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ing their slave-based economy. Cuba, then under Spanish governor Luis de
las Casas and economist Francisco de Arango y Parreno, seized the opportunity to launch its sugar and coffee industries that, until then, had languished
while thriving and enriching the neighboring French colony.
Secondly, as the attention of the United States now focused on Castro’s
Cuba, it eased on the other Spanish Caribbean countries first, by giving them
a greater political latitude (and less intervention in their internal affairs); then
providing them with badly needed economic aid (e.g. Alianza para el Progreso). Their governments thence, had an interest in maintaining an international situation where they gained both, economically as well as politically.
Finally, several of Cuba’s sister republics were far from democratic, and
could not provide a better life for their citizens. Hence, they found it convenient to nominally support the government in Havana (while internally continuing their support to local oligarchies) as such political posturing was
appealing to their poverty-stricken masses, shifting their attention from their
own lack of civil liberties, goods and services. Some people refer to such procedures as demagoguery.
Summarizing, there are three main conditions that have helped sustain the
present Cuban regime for the past 47 years. They are (1) President Castro’s
political shrewdness and ability to survive, (2) the Cold War and the US policy toward Cuba, and (3) the national interests and foreign policies of many
Ibero-American and European countries, vis-à-vis the current Cuban regime.
A Cuban Transition
In the past few years, significant changes directly related to the above mentioned three conditions have occurred, opening a window of opportunity that
facilitates a real transition to a pluralistic system in Cuba. These changes
include the following:
President Castro, close to 80 years now, is nearing the end of his natural life.
His brother and official heir has a slim chance of becoming his successor
(Cuba, and in particular the Communist Party, is full of very capable leaders
who have not had a “chance at bat” in the past 47 years). The deteriorated and
explosive socioeconomic and political conditions inside Cuba support the
possibility for negotiations between Castro’s successors and Cuba’s internal
and external opposition.
The end of the Cold War occurred more than a decade ago, leaving the US as
the only superpower. The disappearance of the danger of a US-Soviet nuclear
confrontation creates the possibility of implementing a change in the 45-yearold American policy toward Cuba, without the U.S. loosing face or endangering its citizens.
Caribbean Influence on Cuban Transition
191
Finally, Ibero-America has improved and changed much, in the last half century, and its interests are now broader. This allows the Cuban opposition to
seek their support in effecting a transition in Cuba, as occurred in Spain, Brazil, Chile and Argentina.
This paper proposes that the model for a political transition in Cuba is
Ibero-American, and not borrowed from Eastern Europe. Castro remains
more a caudillo than a pragmatic communist. But for this, the Cuban opposition needs to deal with the real or apparent perception, existing in many
Ibero-American countries, that they are part of the US foreign policy toward
Cuba.
For Cubans in the island, transition to a pluralistic political and economic
system would bring political and economic freedom and more prosperity. For
Cubans in the Diaspora, who have been away for too long, a transition would
bring closure and the possibility to return home to die, or to spend prolonged
periods in their retirement. For the current (younger) Cuban leaders, it would
provide a real opportunity to access power (presently firmly controled by
Castro’s aging inner circle) and the insurance of political and economic
safety, after Castro’s death. Finally, for the U.S., a Transition would eliminate
the presence of an enemy next door.
But, if such a transition is so evidently needed and so beneficial to all,
why then hasn’t it occurred? Some immediately blame Castro or the U.S. But
the fact is that the necessary and objective conditions for it to happen, are not
yet in place.
A peaceful transition in Cuba—or anywhere else—requires of a negotiation process (and not a capitulation) with those at the helm in Cuba. Such
negotiations require a mutually acceptable arbiter, which could well come
from Ibero-America, as occurred, for example, with the Contadora processthat helped end the bloody civil wars in Central America in the mid 1980s.
An arbiter is absolutely necessary because all parties strongly mistrust
each other (with plenty of reason). Cuban leaders want insurance that, once a
transition process is started, they won’t be obliterated as they were following
Brazilian, Chilean, Argentinean and Spanish transition processes. The U.S.
(and the Cuban opposition both internal and abroad) also want insurances
that such a transition is legitimate and not another fraud.
A neutral arbiter, acceptable to all sides, would help bring about badly
needed and real economic growth, and an orderly process of economic and
political reform. Cubans would at last, leave behind the painful past, face a
brighter future and regain control of our nation’s destiny again, just as in
post-transition Chile, Spain and Brazil.
The objective of this paper is to demonstrate how the Spanish Caribbean,
to which Cuba belongs both geographically and culturally, and which is its
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Jorge Luis Romeu
natural habitat, can play a major role in such a transition. We support the
hypothesis that the Spanish Caribbean is homogeneous, with specific characteristics in each country but with a common identity. By cultivating such a
natural association, the Cuban opposition inside the island and abroad, can
find some of the necessary arbiters required for a transition to pluralism, in
the minimum time and with the minimum cost.
The Spanish Caribbean
To start, we need to define what we mean by the Spanish Caribbean. It is the
socioeconomic and cultural collection of islands and coastal areas of the Caribbean Basin proper, as well as selected coastal areas of the Gulf of Mexico,
which were colonized and held by Spain, throughout the sixteenth to the
eighteenth centuries. Therefore, we do not include in such Spanish Caribbean, the islands colonized by the French, English or other Europeans, or the
Caribbean coast of Central America, populated by the Black Carib or Garifuna. The Spanish Caribbean, therefore, includes Puerto Rico, Dominican
Republic, Cuba, plus the Caribbean coasts of Venezuela, Colombia and Panama, and the Gulf coast of the Mexican states of Veracruz, Yucatan and
Campeche.
Their common characteristics are visible and evident, even to the casual
tourist. They include a common language, like religious practices, similar
musical roots, commonalities in cuisine and shared colonial histories, including suffering the same Spanish colonial neglect. The proof is that the people
of the Spanish Caribbean give their rhythms (son, merengue, cumbia); roots
(yautia, yucca), fruits (lechosa, papaya, platano, banano), fish (pargo,
guachinango, chillo) different names, but they remain basically the same.
The region’s main colonial cities and towns—San Juan, Santo Domingo,
La Habana, Santiago, Porto Belo, Santa Marta, Cartagena, Barranquilla,
Maracaibo, Veracruz, Campeche, Merida, etc.—were founded in the same
epoch and look very much alike. Their traditional old sections are so similar,
that often movies about one country are made in another. The people wear the
same guayaberas, use similar straw hats, smoke similar cigars and play
equally romantic boleros on Spanish guitars. But most important, they share
a huge water mass, with its beautiful beaches, that equally separates and
unites.
The peoples of the Spanish Caribbean are homogeneous because they
were formed through a slow process that took 300 years. Spanish colonialism
formed the region’s souls, giving it its laws, political traditions, good and bad
customs, and creating the Creole and the mestizo. Similar military authorities, corrupt and incompetent administrators and absentee landowners gov-
Caribbean Influence on Cuban Transition
193
erned the region, and similar independentCreoles practiced extensive and
illicit commerce with the buccaneers, lived side by side with Africans, both
slaves and free, thus creating an admixture of European and African that is
has become the Spanish Caribbean culture.
Many segmentations of the Cuban population have been made, in order to
study them: by race, by gender, by socio-economic strata, by age, etc. This
paper proposes that a new category be added: that of “old” versus “new”
Cubans, based on their. For, “old” Cubans tend to have stronger links with the
country (broader family ties, memories, ancestors who fought for our independence) as well as a higher possibility of being of mixed race, at least culturally. This new category may well shed interesting light in the current
political process.
One can establish a parallel between the current Spanish Caribbean, and
the subsequent fate of the Roman provinces in the Mediterranean, after the
fall of the Roman Empire. These were invaded by the barbarians, which
established weak and unstable kingdoms that brought 1,000 years of backwardness and chaos, known in European history as the Dark or Middle Ages,
and created today’s Spain, France, Italy and the other Mediterranean countries. It was not until the organization of the European Union, that these Mediterranean countries have finally obtained some affluence and clout. The
same can be said of the Spanish Caribbean, its present and what will become
of its future.
The Arbiters
This brings us back to our main topic: how can the Spanish Caribbean contribute to a possible transition in Cuba and to the start of negotiations
between the government in Havana, and the opposition (internal and abroad).
Such an assertion begs several important and hard questions. For example,
what can the opposition offer Havana, in such negotiation? How can promises be guaranteed? Who can mediate and arbitrate in these conversations?
Cuba is economically exhausted and politically paralyzed. The opposition
can offer the government, in exchange for a transition to political and economic pluralism, much needed economic aid, technical know-how, international business connections and internal stability. All this would help increase
the wealth of the nation, as well as the socioeconomic level of the population.
To guarantee these promises, as well as the safety and integrity of the current government officials in Havana, arbiters from groups other than the
Cuban internal and external opposition, or from the United States are needed.
For, as interested parties in these negotiations, neither the U.S. nor the Cuban
opposition will be trusted by the Cuban officials, or vice-versa. Such trusted
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Jorge Luis Romeu
arbiters can reasonably come from Ibero-America and Western Europe, and
especially from among the Spanish Caribbean nations, for they have a strong
interest in the stability, both economic and political, of the region to which
Cuba essentially belongs.
All parties to this negotiation are today in a better position to work toward
a transition. The U.S., sole remaining superpower, no longer needs to control
a region so strategically situated near its border. The Spanish Caribbean
nations have raised their educational and economic standards, and many of
them today enjoy democratic forms of government. They no longer need to
take business away from Cuba to survive. The conditions leading to the U.S.
economic embargo have disappeared, or have changed considerably. Hence,
an American change of policy in Cuba and its acceptance by a Castro succession can be now implemented without anyone “loosing face.” And after Castro’s natural disappearance, the Cuban government will be in the same
conditions in the sense of being able to change its policy without “loosing
face,” either.
Conclusions
Castro’s natural disappearance, and a change in U.S. policy toward Cuba, can
provide the initial “face saving” conditions for both the U.S. and Castro’s
successors to participate in negotiations leading to a peaceful Transition to
pluralism. The key is finding a working procedure so all participants feel safe
about their fate.
This is not much different to what occurred in Brazil, Argentina and
Chile, after the military returned the governments to the civilians during the
1980s. But such conditions do not exist yet in Cuba. Hence, we must work to
put them in place, so that a transition to pluralism can successfully occur. For,
transitions do not occur by “spontaneous generation.”
The current window of opportunity is open, but will not remain so indefinitely. AIf not taken advantage of, it will close again, returning Cubans to the
quagmire in which they have remained for the past half century.
Part III
Changing Institutions
CHAPTER 13
International Networks
and Change
Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
In November 1999 the heads of state of Latin America, Spain and Portugal
gathered in Havana for the annual Ibero-American Summit. Despite Castro’s
attempt to utilize the occasion to garner international condemnation for the
U.S. economic embargo and to position Cuba as a strategic regional actor, the
event scored an important victory for the internal opposition. Some leaders
boycotted the summit in protest of Cuba’s human rights record, and others
including the leaders of Spain and Portugal used the occasion to hold meetings with prominent members of the island’s dissident community.1 As a
result, the meeting came to be known as the “Summit of the Dissidents.”
This event symbolizes the beginning of important developments that
began to unfold in Cuba in the late 1990s, and identifies the potential role that
transnational linkages can play in facilitating the empowerment of opposition. Past research has established the growth of Cuba’s opposition movement in the last decade. (Lopez-Gottardi 2005; Espinosa 2001, 2003; Pumar
1999; Encinosa, 1994) This article explores the extent to which opposition
growth can be attained by stronger ties with the international community.
Given the nature of repression and social control exerted against opposition
and other autonomous organizations in Cuba, as well as the experience of
comparative opposition movements who have benefited from international
support, this article demonstrates that these agents can contribute to opposition development in Cuba.
International support networks are not new to Cuba, although in the past
they were largely restricted to Cuban exile groups and larger international
human rights organizations such as Amnesty International and Human Rights
Watch. In the last decade, however, we witness a sudden growth in the num1. Nicaragua, Costa Rica and El Salvador were among those to boycott the event citing
Cuba’s human rights record.
197
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
ber, diversification and activity level of international linkages. This was the
result of a number of events that began to unfold in the last several years
beginning with the 1994 sinking of the 13 de marzo tugboat, malecon demonstration and rafter crisis of the same year. These events were followed by the
crackdown against Concilio Cubano and the shootdown of two Brothers to
the Rescue planes in 1996 and the 1998 Papal Visit which together increased
international attention on Cuba’s human rights record. Finally, the 1999
Ibero-American Summit, which came to be known as the Summit of the Dissidents, “officially: marks the beginning of greater support and recognition
for Cuba’s opposition movement. The March 2003 crackdown served as the
final catalyst for the expansion of more networks. The proliferation of international linkages was also facilitated by a number of factors, including: the
sudden growth and maturity of opposition groups in the 1990s, and a greater
ability to communicate due to strides in communication and the growth of
independent journalism in Cuba which together helped to increase the flow of
information between the island and abroad.
Several cases demonstrate that international factors can empower opposition movements. (Keck and Sikkink, 1998; Angell, 1996; Pridham, 1991)
Due to the fact that Cuba’s internal opposition has no formal or institutionalized channels of representation, and their ability to effect change from within
remains grim, they have been forced to look outside of the island for a voice
and to establish their own legitimacy. Unlike the Polish Solidarity Labor
Union, civil society and opposition organizations in Cuba are not officially
recognized by the state. (Quiroz, 2003) They have no legal status and therefore little legitimacy within society. As a result, they have recognized the
need to seek external assistance in both the exile and international communities which have led to the creation of international support networks. These
networks can act as new agents of change by: (i) serving as a voice or forum
for the opposition to express their views and garner support, (ii) procure critical resources including material and organizational capacity, (iii) provide a
“safe” space or cover where the opposition can gather, (iv) and in effect creating a channel of communication and pressure between the state and civil
society that did not previously exist. Therefore, while domestic actors will be
the “principal protagonists” in a future transition, international networks
through their assistance to and support of the opposition, may also be helpful
in driving change. (Bratton and van de Walle, 1997)
International networks can serve the opposition as critical support structures, which may help to facilitate their growth and development and therefore enhance the possibility for a transition. This argument is fundamentally
based on theory advanced by Keck and Sikkink (1998) who argue that networks of activists referred to as, “transnational advocacy networks,” or
International Networks and Change
199
TANs, may assist the opposition in three critical ways: (i) information gathering and dissemination; (ii) multiplying the channels of access; and ultimately
(iii) exerting external pressure upon the regime. These networks create a
forced channel of communication between the state and civil society referred
to as the boomerang pattern of influence. (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 12-13) In
order to, “gain influence these networks seek leverage over more powerful
actors. By leveraging more powerful institutions weak groups gain influence
far beyond their ability to influence state practices directly.” (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 23) Thus the strength of these networks comes from their transnational structure and their ability to affect policies from the outside. Tarrow
(1996) makes a similar argument regarding social movements stating that,
“the power of social movements are a mix of internal and external resources.
If movement organizers succeed in mobilizing the bases of their movement,
this depends not on formal organizations, but on the social networks in which
supporters are found, and on the mobilizing structures that link them with one
another.” (Tarrow, 1996: 153) Thus this form of assistance lowers the transaction costs and increases a movement’s ability to sustain over time.
TANs are forms of voluntary, reciprocal organizations that plead the
cause of others, and in the case of Cuba ultimately aim to change state behavior. They exchange information, training, financial resources and support,
and are characterized by (i) the centrality of values or principled ideas; (ii)
the belief that individuals can make a difference;2 (iii) the creative use of
information; and (iv) the employment by nongovernmental actors of sophisticated political strategies in targeting their campaigns. TANs tend to be most
common in issue areas that have high value content and informational uncertainty. Information exchange is central to the relationship. They are significant in creating norm implementation by pressuring actors to adopt new
policies and by monitoring compliance of these policies with international
standards. (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 2-3)
In the last several years the Cuban opposition has benefited from this
form of assistance. Most notably, international response to the March 2003
crackdown against independent journalists and Varela Project organizers was
unprecedented in terms of the number of responses, the severity of criticism
directed at the regime and the actors involved. Roy (2003) noted, “the measures generated an unprecedented world wide protest not limited to the usual
conservative sectors in the United States and the Cuban exile community.
Traditionally tamed European governments in Europe made explicit protests,
while important backers of the Cuban regime abandoned their endorsement,
changing it for straight denunciation.” In addition, collaboration between
2. This is similar to Lopez’s (2002) notion of political efficacy, although his focus relates
specifically to the connection between political efficacy and its ability to initiate mass protests.
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
internal opposition groups and international human rights and exile organizations has also increased dramatically leading to the creation of TANs and thus
allowing for the facilitation of information, the distribution of supplies and
funding, moral support, increased visibility and legitimacy. The growth of the
opposition in the 1990s and these recent repressive measures have also led to
an increase in the number of foreign based organizations interested in human
rights conditions on the island. Further, these organizations are no longer
restricted to Cuban exile groups, nor larger human rights organizations
(although they continue to remain very active), rather there has been an
increase in and diffusion of international interest, particularly from European
based organizations to monitor and pressure for change. Some examples
include Reporters Without Borders (France), People in Need Foundation
(Czech Republic), Fundación Hispano Cubana (Spain), Adveniat (Germany),
Asociación Españoles por la Libertad (Spain), International Committee for
Democracy in Cuba (Czech Republic), Committee to Protect Journalists
(internationally focused, based in New York), Konrad Adenauer Foundation
(Germany), Helsinki Human Rights Foundation (Finland), Center for the
Rights of Man (Romania), among others.
This diversification has also resulted in greater legitimacy and strength
for the movement. This article explores the nature and extent of Cuba’s transnational networks, and establishes conditions for their ability to assist the
opposition in affecting real change. Regardless of the means by which a transition eventually transpires, these international linkages will serve an important supportive role that will be critical to emerging democratic forces.
International Support Networks
There is a general consensus in the literature that international factors play a
secondary role in the transition process (Bratton and van de Walle, 1997;
Whitehead, 1996; Huntington, 1991; Schmitter, 1986). Nevertheless several
cases demonstrate that they can be helpful in encouraging or initiating a transition and in supporting consolidation. (Hyde-Price, 1994; Niklasion, 1994)
The proximity of transitions in South America and Europe during the third
wave for example, in terms of both time and space, illustrate the power of
demonstration effects, or what is also referred to as contagion produced by
external events. Whitehead describes this as “the diffusion of experience
through neutral, i.e. non-coercive and often unintentional channels from one
country to another.” (Whitehead 1996: 30) This was particularly evident in
Eastern Europe as a result of the changes taking place in the former Soviet
Union under Gorbachev’s leadership. International influence can also be
achieved with pressure applied through a country’s foreign policies. The U.S.
embargo which conditions its relations with Cuba with economic sanctions,
International Networks and Change
201
and the 1996 EU Common Position which outlines specific human rights
requirements, are examples of this strategy.
According to Sikkink (1996), another manner in which international pressure can influence the transition process is “by entering into the decision
making calculus of key political actors at critical turning points.” (Sikkink,
1996: 75) She references O’Donnell and Schmitter’s (1986) assertion that
transitions are the result of divisions within the regime itself. Sikkink argues
that it is precisely at this phase “when civil society is still relatively repressed
and not yet able to mobilize actively, that international human rights efforts
may help to shift the calculations of actors inside the regime, giving weight to
arguments of softliners in favor of liberalization.” (Sikkink, 1996: 75)
TANs provide yet another international factor that may be relevant in contributing to opposition growth and precipitating a transition. TANs have
become increasingly salient in contemporary politics as the lines between
national and international arenas have blurred. This theory draws from Keohane and Nye (1977) who argued that contemporary politics are not a seamless web, but rather “a tapestry of diverse relationships.” TANs have
particular significance in repressive environments where these networks are
often the only forum available to civil society and opposition groups. They
are significant domestically as well as transnationally because, “by building
new links among actors in civil societies, states and international organizations, they multiply the channels of access to the international system…they
also make international resources available to new actors in domestic political and social struggles. Thus by blurring the boundaries between a state’s
relations with its own nationals and the recourse both citizens and states have
to the international system, advocacy networks are helping to transform the
practice of national sovereignty.” (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 1) Thus TANs
can also be viewed as political spaces. In countries such as Cuba where there
is little space for political action, TANs create new channels of communication and access, and are areas where advocacy can occur with less fear of
reprisals.
TANs are most effective in cases where: (i) the channels of communication and interaction between domestic organizations and/or individuals and
their governments are blocked; (ii) activists, in this case opposition members,
believe that networking will be effective in furthering their cause; and (iii)
international contacts serve as a forum for strengthening networks. (Keck and
Sikkink, 1998: 12) The key is that, “where channels of participation are
blocked the international arena may be the only means that domestic activists
have to gain attention to their issues. Boomerang strategies are most common
in campaigns where the target is a state’s domestic policies or behavior.”
(Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 12-13). This Boomerang Effect is the very key to
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
the operational effectiveness of these networks. As depicted in Figure 1 they
may work when domestic NGOs bypass their state and directly search out
international allies to try to bring pressure on their states from outside.”
(Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 12-13)
FIGURE 13-1. TANs in CUBA
Pressure for Change
Cuban
Regime
Repression
International
Support
Networks
Information
• Launch Campaigns
Larger
International
Community
• Pressure International Forums
Cuban
Opposition
Movement
• Moral Support
• Legitimacy
• Solidarity
• Financial Support
• Logistical and Material Support
(Adapted from Keck and Sikkink, 1998)
TANs utilize four primary tactics to generate change: (i) information politics which involve making information accessible and strategically useful.
Radio Marti and the growth of independent journalism are examples;3 (ii)
symbolic politics are used to heighten awareness by framing issues around
highly symbolic events, dates or accolades. Oswaldo Paya Sardinias’ nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize in both 2003 and 2004, and Raul Rivero’s
2004 win of the UNESCO humanitarian award are examples of symbolic politics due to their international visibility and ability to increase awareness of
Cuba’s human rights and political conditions (See Table 1); (iii) leverage politics are aimed at attaining policy changes from specific actors, and attempt
to find a negotiating platform. Examples include Cuba’s expulsion from the
OAS in 1962, the U.S. economic embargo, the EU Common Position, and the
FTAA Democracy Clause adopted at the Third Summit of the Americas in
Quebec in April 2001 which established that any unconstitutional alteration
or interruption of the democratic order in a state of the hemisphere constitutes
an insurmountable obstacle to that state's participation in the Summit of the
3.
Cubanet and Nueva Prensa have facilitated these efforts.
International Networks and Change
203
Americas Process. This clause is now incorporated as Article 19 of the Charter; and (iv) accountability politics which seek to hold actors accountable to
international laws and pronouncements, by threatening their noncompliance
to the international community. (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 80) More recently,
however, accountability politics have proven relatively ineffective in the case
of Cuba.
TABLE 13-1. Awards Given to Opposition Movement Members (A partial list)
Award
Recipient
Affiliation
Year
Honorary doctorate, Columbia University
Oswaldo Paya
Sardinias
Varela Project, Movimiento Cristiano
Liberación
2006
Shakarov Prize for Freedom
of Thought, European Parliament
Damas en Blanco
Damas en Blanco
2005
UNESCO Humanitarian
Award
Raul Rivero
Cuba Press
2004
Shakarov Prize for Freedom
of Thought, European Parliament
Oswaldo Paya
Sardinias
Varela Project, Movimiento Cristiano
Liberación
2003
Nomination, Nobel Peace
Prize
Oswaldo Paya
Sardinias
Varela Project, Movimiento Cristiano
Liberación
2002,
2003
New York Academy of Science, Heinze R. Pagel Award
Martha Beatrice
Roque
Asamblea Para Promover la Sociedad
Civil
2002
Civil Courage Prize
Vladimiro Roca
Antunez
Todos Unidos
2002
Democratic National Institute, W. Averell Harriman
Democracy Award
Oswaldo Paya
Sardinias
Varela Project, Movimiento Cristiano
Liberación
2002
Liberty Prize Pedro L. Boitel
Angel Moya
Acosta
Movimiento Opción Alternativa;
Movimiento Libertad y Democrcia
2002
Folkpartiet Liberalerna “Lars
Leijonborg” Democracy
Prize
Berta Mexidor
and Gisela Delgado Sablon
Proyecto de la Bibliotecas Independientes de Cuba
2002
Liberty Prize Pedro L. Boitel
Juan Carlos Leiva
Fundación Cubana de Derechos
Humanos
2001
People in Need Foundation
Homo Homini Human Rights
Award
Oswaldo Paya
Sardinias
Varela Project, Movimiento Cristiano
Liberación
1999
Success of each of these strategies is measured on the basis of their ability
to influence the position of relevant international actors, issue and agenda
creation, policy changes of target actors and ultimately their ability to influence state behavior. (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 25) In Cuba, the goal is to
attain a voice for opposition and dissident groups, which may require a
regime change. Keck and Sikkink (1998) have found that “transforming state
policies has come about from linking principled ideas to material goals: mili-
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
tary aid, economic aid, and trade benefits.” (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 118)
Further, these pressures are most effective “against states that have internalized the norms of the human rights regime and resist being characterized as
pariahs.” (Keck and Sikkink, 1998: 118)
Cuba’s response to this strategy presents an interesting scenario. Cuba’s
foreign relations began a profound transformation beginning in the late 1980s
that have affected the utility of this tactic. In the immediate aftermath of the
Cold War and with the initiation of the Special Period, Cuba was forced to
seek international support in order to replace the sudden loss of Soviet subsidies and to position itself as a relevant international player. During this time,
accountability or leverage politics proved effective strategies due to Cuba’s
vulnerability in the international system. More recently, however, the regime
has had to consider alternative tactics to ensure its immediate survival,
thereby demonstrating less concern regarding international norms and pressures. The March 2003 crackdown is evidence of this change in policy. As a
result, it appears that regime survival has evolved into a simple cost calculation for the time being. Once allies, tensions with the European Union in
2003, particularly against Spain and Italy, as well as Mexico and Peru are evidence of this change. In June of the same year the European Commission
ruled to scale back diplomatic and cultural contacts to the island. The EU
Presidency led by Greece, “issued an unprecedented blistering declaration on
Cuba’s deplorable actions in violating fundamental freedoms, demanding the
immediate release of all political prisoners, and calling on EU member states
to limit high-level government visits to Cuba, to reduce the profile of participation in cultural events, and to invite dissident to national day celebrations.”
(Roy 2003: 2) This decision was made just after the European Commission
opened its first diplomatic office in Havana. The Castro regime responded by
suspending the Spanish Cultural Center in Havana and organizing state-sponsored demonstrations on June 12, 2003, outside both the Spanish and Italian
ministries. (Roy, 2003)
These developments also have important economic ramifications given
that “Europe as a whole has become Cuba’s most important trade and investment course, replacing the Soviet Union as Havana’s main commercial partner.” (Roy 2003: 3) In particular, Cuba enjoys strong foreign investment from
a number of EU countries led by Spain and Italy. In addition, the EU provides
Cuba with the highest amount of development aid. Although EU relations
with Cuba remain defined by the 1996 Common Position which conditions
full economic relations on human rights reforms, since early 2005 most EU
countries, with the exception of the Netherlands, Poland, Slovakia and the
Czech Republic have resumed diplomatic contact with Cuba. Thus given
these recent developments, particularly the suspension of the EU’s diplo-
International Networks and Change
205
matic standoff, as well as changes in the political makeup of Latin America,
it remains to be seen whether this surge in international support networks are
particular to the period described or whether it will benefit from a longer trajectory. This is currently difficult to predict and will have to be closely monitored.
Comparative Cases
International support received by the Chilean exile community during the
Pinochet era was critical in fostering the development of a strong opposition
that organized to defeat Pinochet in the 1988 plebiscite. Similar forms of
assistance were extended to Eastern European dissident organizations from
the West. These cases are presented to provide comparative insight and share
significant parallels with the Cuban Diaspora which remains fervently active
in its campaign against Castro despite over four decades of exile.
Angell (1996) has written extensively on this subject and found that, “the
international dimension of Chilean politics, and not least the effect of exile,
was of greater importance [in Chile] than in other contemporary military dictatorships of Latin America” (Angell 1996). In particular, he cites the benefit
of: (i) financial support;4 (ii) the experience attained by exiles who returned
influenced by ideas and attitudes of where they had been (principally Europe,
the United States, and elsewhere in Latin America); (iii) ties developed with
sympathetic governments, NGOs and parties who later mobilized to support
and exert pressure for the 1988 plebiscite.5 (Angell 1996: 175) Like Cuba,
Angell notes that, “it is hardly surprising that opposition parties turned to
external support simply to survive.” (Angell 1996: 179) Political parties
which were so strong in Chilean history, remained active and formed in exile.
Because the Pinochet regime was so widely condemned, “the opposition was
widely supported.” Exile might have contributed to the short term consolidation of the Pinochet regime in so far as it removed opposition politicians from
Chile, but the long term effects were adverse for the government. Exiled politicians became adept in mobilizing international support for their opposition
to the Pinochet government, and the very fact of exile on such a dramatic
scale dramatically underlined the abuse of human rights committed by the
Pinochet regime.” (Angell 1996: 184) International support in Chile was first
directed towards humanitarian needs and was later channeled for political
purposes through a variety of research institutions, and in support of opposition press and media.
4. Angell (1996) reports that the majority of the funding was provided by Catholic organizations in the U.S. and Europe and also by the U.S. and West Germany.
5. Angell cites that the number of exiles ranged between 30,000 and 163,686 (Angell
1996: 176).
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
Bugajaski and Pollack (1989) also describe significant international support links between opposition groups in Eastern Europe and the West. In the
case of Poland, international labor unions became “natural” allies in the Polish push for democracy. Kubik and Ekiert (2000) found that, “dissident organizations developed networks of contacts and communications across the
Soviet bloc and in the 1980s a transnational dissident movement of sorts
emerged in Eastern Europe.” They report that following the Helsinki agreements in 1975, human rights groups such as Amnesty International established links to dissident organizations. Eventually these Western
organizations became protective umbrellas, publicizing the arrests of opposition leaders and the condition of dissidents under communism. (Kubik and
Ekiert 2000: 6) Funding levels indicate that the Workers Defense Committee,
KOR, was the most successful in attaining material assistance. This assistance increased following the de-legalization of Solidarity in 1981. Similar to
current USAID support to Cuban opposition groups (channeled through exile
organizations), assistance to Polish groups was initially channeled through
intermediary organizations such as Committee in Support of Solidarity in
New York, now the Institute for Democracy in Eastern Europe. (Kubik and
Ekiert 2000: 6-7)
In the former Czechoslovakia, dissidents fostered contacts with international human rights organizations who helped to launch campaigns for the
release of political prisoners. Contacts between opposition groups and exiles
abroad were also common. Additional sources of international assistance to
Eastern European countries came from the National Endowment for Democracy, Jan Hus organizations, and the Central and East European Publishing
Project which was created in 1986 by a number of major U.S. foundations
including the John D. and Catherine T. McArthur, Ford Foundation, George
Soro’s Open Society Institute, and the Rockefeller Foundation to fund samizdat literature. (Kubik and Ekiert 2000: 7)6 These linkages created political
lobbying groups, served as a source of material and financial support (to fund
research, conferences, purchase equipment, humanitarian aid, among other
initiatives), and as a “point of contact with dissidents allowing for information about opposition initiatives to flow out of Czechoslovakia and words of
support and solidarity to come in.” (Bugajaski and Pollack 1989: 100-107)
6. See Lopez (2002) for further details on international material assistance to civil society in Eastern Europe, including particular funding amounts and their intended purpose
(by relevant organizations and countries). See also related annual reports of the National
Endowment for Democracy.
International Networks and Change
207
Actors and Forms of International Support to Cuba
International support networks to Cuban opposition organizations has taken
several forms including: (i) financial funding (primarily to the families of
political prisoners); (ii) logistical, technical or strategic assistance; (iii) moral
support and solidarity; (iv) sanctions, official declarations and other foreign
policy measures; (v) awards or other accolades which increase awareness and
legitimacy; (vi) and generally providing an international platform from which
the opposition can voice their grievances. These different forms of assistance
are provided by a variety of actors, including: (i) foreign governments; (ii)
international NGOs such as Reporters Without Borders, People In Need
Foundation, among others that are profiled below; (iii) intellectuals or other
relevant individuals not necessarily officially representing any group or
nation; and (iv) exile-based groups.7
The following section profiles a selection of different actor types, the
forms of support they have provided, and demonstrates the manner in which
they have fostered Cuba’s opposition movement. The goal is to attain an
understanding of the impact of international support networks from a variety
of actors.
Case Studies
The Czechoslovakian People in Need Foundation (PINF) is a privately
funded NGO created in 1992 to assist in relief programs and missions, provide humanitarian aid, promote the protection of human rights and democratic freedoms throughout the world. In the last several years PINF has been
actively involved with Cuba’s internal opposition providing financial funding, moral and political support, technical assistance, medical supplies, and
disseminating information on Cuba to the international community. They
work with a network of organizations including select UN agencies, NGOs,
private foundations, and a variety of government representatives and entities.
Each year PINF delegates visit the island to collaborate with families of
political prisoners, independent journalists and other dissident initiatives.
They have also campaigned for increased international condemnation of the
country’s human rights practices. Most recently they lobbied support for
Oswaldo Paya Sardinias’ nomination for the 2003 and 2004 Nobel Peace
Prize, an example of symbolic politics. Through articles, documentary films
and photo exhibitions, PINF tries to spread the word on conditions in Cuba.
7. Due to the complex nature of exile politics these groups are considered
outside the scope of this study. Nevertheless they form the most significant
basis of support. Many exile groups were originally opposed to direct contact or
assistance to opposition members because in their view this represented some
form of legitimization of the regime. Today, however, the majority of exile
groups encourage direct assistance to opposition organizations.
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
Most recently they produced a film titled, La Primavera en Cuba, which presents a series of interviews with the island’s most prominent dissidents and
families of the victims of the March 2003 crackdown. It was filmed clandestinely in 2003 and has been widely distributed internationally. PINF also
recently produced an online photo exhibition of the Damas en Blanco.8
PINF has been instrumental in garnering the backing of numerous European and Latin American officials, including former Czechoslovakian President Vaclav Havel. Following the March 2003 crackdown, PINF organized a
fundraising campaign known as SOS KUBA to support the families of jailed
dissidents. These funds are personally delivered by PINF representative to
the victim’s families in Cuba.
PINF has also hosted visits from a few notable activists including
Elizardo Sanchez Santa-Cruz of the Comite Cubano de Derechos Humanos y
Reconciliación Nacional in 1999, Paya of the Varela Project in 2003 and poet
Raul Rivero in 2005. PINF is currently working on “Transformation Project”
which is a handbook of lessons learned from the Czech transition to be distributed to Cuban dissidents on the island.
Reporters Without Borders (RWB) is another example of an international
organization that has created strong international linkages with Cuba’s internal opposition. A French based organization, RWB, is dedicated to monitoring freedom of press and censorship throughout the world. They defend the
rights of journalists and have created a network of correspondents who monitor international developments. Since the March 2003 crackdown in Cuba,
RWB has initiated a targeted campaign on behalf of Cuba’s independent journalists, and seeking increased international condemnation. Towards this end,
they declared 2003 the Year of the Cuban Opposition and launched an
aggressive publicity campaign to educate the world on social and political
conditions in Cuba. In March 2004, on the one year anniversary of the crackdown, RWB organized numerous exile and internationally based opposition
groups, including the exile based Mothers and Women Against Repression
(MAR), to appear before the European Parliament to lobby for continued
sanctions against the Cuban government. In November 2004 on the occasion
of the Ibero-American Summit RWB appealed to President Castro urging the
release of the 26 journalists imprisoned in the 2003 crackdown. This came
upon the release of RWB’s annual Worldwide Press Freedom Index in which
Cuba ranked second to last (166th place) just ahead of North Korea. (Reporters Without Borders, 2004) They have also organized an “adoption program”
of political prisoners which is another attempt to raise awareness on an inter8. The “Damas en Blanco” or “Women in White” are the wives and mothers of political
prisoners. Since the March 2003 crackdown they quietly protest each Sunday outside of a
Havana church.
International Networks and Change
209
national level, and also serves as a message of support and solidarity to the
prisoners themselves.
Another interesting organization that formed in the aftermath of the
March 2003 crackdown is the Association for a Third Cuban Republic
(ATREC). ATREC is a group of Miami and French based activists fighting
for a democratic Cuba. ATREC’s principal activity includes weekly demonstrations held in front of the Cuban embassy in Paris. More recently they
have collaborated with the Associación Européenne Cuba Libre and the
Comité Pour les Droits de l’Homme to form the Comité Solidarité Cuba
Libre in order to establish an adoption program of Cuban political prisoners.
Currently all victims of the March 2003 crackdown are sponsored by members of the French Parliament.
Pax Christi is a Catholic, not-for-profit European based NGO with offices
in over 30 countries throughout the world devoted to monitoring peace, justice, human rights, security, environmental sustainability and economic justice. Pax Christi first became active in Latin America in the 1970s in
response to human rights abuses that were taking place in the region. Pax
Christi Netherland’s work in Cuba, however, is more recent and currently
focuses around support for the Movimiento Cristiano Liberación’s Varela
Project, and Vitral magazine produced by the diocese of Pinar del Rio. In
addition, Pax Christi lobbies to pressure EU trade policy to ensure that it contains a human rights component and that investment laws are also conditional
upon social concerns. Pax Christi works with a network of activists and contacts in the region to “advocate the rights of victims” through lobbying to
international organizations, capacity training, supporting local peace initiatives such as the Varela Project and encouraging dialogue.
Numerous prevalent individuals are also working to broaden international
ties with the Cuban opposition, including intellectuals, activists, and former
government officials. For example Vaclav Havel, former President of the
Czech Republic, Lech Walsea former President of Poland and Arpad Goncz,
former President of Hungary together released a letter in September 2003
titled, Time for Action, in which they condemned the March crackdown and
called on Europe and other member of the international community to defend
the rights of Cuban citizens:
Today, it is the responsibility of the democratic world to support representatives
of the Cuban opposition, irrespective of how long the Cuban Stalinists manage
to cling to power. The Cuban opposition must enjoy the same international support as political dissidents did in divided Europe...Europe ought to make it
unambiguously clear that Castro is a dictator, and that for democratic countries a
dictatorship cannot become a partner until it commences a process of political
liberalization. (The Daily Telegraph, 2003)
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
Havel also joined with other international and exile figures including
former U.S. Secretary of State under the Clinton Administration, Madeline
Albright, former Prime Minister of Estonia, Mart Laar, Polish journalist
Adam Michnik and other international and exile activists to create an international commission.9 In a letter published on December 10, 2002, in the
Financial Times to commemorate International Human Rights Day, the commission expressed their solidarity with Cuba’s opposition movement, condemned the crackdown and pushed for change on the island.
With these plain and indeed self-evident truths in mind, we, both Cubans
and non-Cubans living in the democratic world, would like to express our
solidarity with all brave men and women of Cuba still struggling for their
inalienable rights and human dignity under the difficult conditions of an
oppressive, totalitarian regime.
…We call on all democratic governments of the world to express their strongest
possible condemnation of these inexcusable acts of repression, blatantly violating obligations of Cuba and urge them to ask the Cuban government for their
immediate release.
The ICDC organized its first major conference in Madrid in July 2003
titled “Towards Democracy in Cuba,” held under the auspices of the Czech
Foreign Ministry and organized by the People in Need Foundation. Participants included NGOs, diplomats, former Chilean President Patricio Alywin
Azocar, and the former Prime Ministers of Bulgaria and Latvia, among others. Havel stressed its significance stating, “…the international recognition
that a conference affords is the lifeblood of resistance to totalitarianism…I
remember vividly what the support of the democratic world did for me when
I was persecuted and imprisoned in [communist] Czechoslovakia. I feel
obliged to repay this dept to those who are in a similar situation now.”
(Spritzer, 2004) Members of this group have more recently joined Havel to
create the International Committee for Democracy in Cuba (ICDC). The
ICDC is headquartered in Prague and holds a secretariat with the People in
Need Foundation. It seeks the following objectives: (i) to promote Cuban
prisoners of conscience and their families; (ii) support of the Varela Project,
independent libraries, independent journalists, labor activists and other civil
society groups; (iii) to continue to pressure the Cuban regime for the release
of political prisoners and promote the initiation of dialogue; (iv) to create a
9. Other signatories include: Harriet Babbit, former U.S. Ambassador; Elena Bonner,
Russian human right leader; Marek Edelman, leader of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising in
Poland; Jan Figel, MP Slovakia; Bronislaw Geremek, former Foreign Minister of Poland;
Adam Michnik, journalist, Poland; Tomas Pojar, People in Need Foundation, Czech
Republic; Jeane Kirkpatrick, former U.S. Ambassador; Carlos Alberto Montaner, Union
Liberal Cubana; Martin Palous, former dissident, Czech Republic; Ricardo Bofill, Cuban
Committee on Human Rights; among many others.
International Networks and Change
211
“European Fund for Democracy;” (vi) to lobby for Oswaldo Paya Sardinas’
nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize. In addition, the ICDC aims to (i) conduct research and sponsor events related to Cuba and to disseminate these
internationally; (ii) to create a committee for a transition10 in Cuba composed
of experts from Central and Eastern Europe; (iii) channel funds and information to activists internally; (iv) organize visits by government officials and
journalists to meet with members of the Cuban opposition; (v) produce a
Cuban radio newscast to be transmitted via shortwave radio through official
networks (such as Radio Exterior in Spain, Radio Prague, and Radio Netherlands); (vi) organize seminars that address the Cuban situation, particularly
related to issues of trade, tourism, and investment; (vii) increase “sensitization of the European and Latin American public opinion on the topic of
Cuba;” (viii) create an award which will be given to either the individual or
organization “that best contributes to Cuban freedom.”
A second conference was held in Prague in September 2004 which produced the Prague Memorandum11 in which the ICDC committed to the following:
Our goal is to help create the conditions so that the Cuban people can bring
about democracy through a non-violent transition. Our priority is to strengthen
the civil society and civic movement that are bringing about that democracy. In
order to accomplish this, we seek to set out common objectives for a general
plan of support for democracy in Cuba that can be implemented in a coordinated
manner at different levels and from different parts of the world. The task of general coordination and support for this plan will correspond to the International
Committee for Democracy in Cuba.
This summit marks the beginning of a concerted international effort to aid Cuba
in becoming a full member of the world democratic community. We are convinced that through their own efforts and with international solidarity, Cubans
will one day enjoy the true peace that only freedom brings. It is to this worthy
goal that we fully commit our efforts.
The government of the Czech Republic has been active in assisting Cuban
dissidents since 1993, and in 1999 they took the lead in condemning Cuba at
the annual UN Commission on Human Rights. More recently the Czech Foreign Ministry has established a Transition Promotion Unit focused on transition studies and promotion in Cuba, Belarus, Ukraine and Myanmar.
(Spritzer, 2004)12 In 2001 the Cuban government responded to these Czech
10. A comprehensive list of the ICDC’s goals can be viewed at the ICDC’s website, http://
www.pinf.cz/english/humanitarnipomoc/cuba.php.
11. A full copy of the Prague Memorandum is available http://www.icdcprague.org.
12. Further information on the ICDC can be obtained from the organization’s website,
http://www.pinf.cz/english/humanitarnipomoc/cuba.php.
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Cristina C. Lopez-Gottardi
initiatives by jailing Ivan Philip, former Freedom Union MP, and Jan
Bubenek, former parliamentarian, on a trip to Cuba. (Spritzer, 2004)
The Joint Commission of European and Latin American Parliamentarians
in Support of Democracy and Human Rights in Cuba is another international
initiative launched in May 2003 in the Mexican congress by a group of
approximately 50 Latin American and European government representatives
and lawmakers. This organization has also created an adoption program for
political prisoners, and is monitoring human rights conditions on the island.
Organizers include, Francisco Landero, a Mexican federal congressman from
the National Action Party; Anna Maria Stame Cervone, an activist in Italy’s
Christian Democratic party; and Alvaro Dubon, a Guatemalan member of the
Central American Parliament. (Ottey, 2004)
Together these organizations and international initiatives are having an
important impact upon the development of opposition in Cuba. While this
impact cannot be readily measured in quantitative terms due to their diffuse
nature, we can note the following trends: (i) greater facilitation and diffusion
of information on current conditions in Cuba to the international community
which would not otherwise be possible; (ii) increased lobbying for change in
a variety of international arenas and forums which the opposition would otherwise not have access to; (iii) more moral support and solidarity through
adoption and letter writing programs; and (iv) more financial assistance and
solidarity to the victims of repression and the families of political prisoners.
Financial support is critical due to the fact that the majority of these individuals are denied employment opportunities by the state which makes eligibility
based on one’s allegiance to the revolution. This factor is frequently cited as a
significant obstacle to the recruitment of opposition members and therefore
directly affects the further growth of the movement. It is a topic Lopez (2002)
discusses at length.
Conclusions
Given the nature of repression and social control placed on opposition groups
in Cuba, they have recognized the need to seek international assistance. This
article demonstrates that “external linkages” to other actors are critical in
repressive environments where avenues regularly available to civil society
are closed. The assistance received by the Polish and Chilean opposition
from these sources has been very encouraging. International linkages with
the Chilean opposition under Pinochet were significant in fostering financial
aid, active exile participation and the significant networks they fostered. In
particular, the strength of Chile’s political parties and Poland’s labor unions
also facilitated support from international sources—although these have not
International Networks and Change
213
been relevant in the Cuban case. Poland and Czechoslovakia also benefited
from Western assistance for the production of samizdat and human rights
monitoring. In the last several years the Cuban opposition has made important inroads in some of these areas which have contributed to the movement’s
growth and development although both require greater attention and
resources.
International linkages are not entirely new to Cuba, however this article
has argued that the sudden growth in the number and distribution of networks
is a new phenomenon which began to develop in the last decade. These networks became particularly active at the 1999 Ibero-American Summit, and in
the aftermath of the March 2003 crackdown. These events mark important
turning points that have had a significant impact on the proliferation of opposition, and on the degree of international pressure concerning Cuba’s human
rights record. While it is difficult to ascertain the specific impact of such networks due to their diffuse nature, we can note substantial increases in financial and material assistance, as well as greater moral support and legitimacy
though symbolic and information politics.
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CHAPTER 14
Analysis of Cuban
Social Capital
Jorge A. Sanguinetty
Nothing of significance is done, nor is any significant source of data available in Cuba without the express approval of Fidel Castro. Any research that
is marginally adverse to the official line of thinking is not allowed. The main
objective of this paper is to study how evolutionary forces in Cuban society
continue to influence some changes despite the many constraints imposed by
a highly centralized government. Some observers see or want to see in the
recent evolution of Cuban society a form of transition towards another type
of society, perhaps something closer to the socialist system once promised by
its maker Fidel Castro. First of all, it is important to point out the extreme difficulties that any independent investigator encounters in the study of most
topics in Cuba. The main cause of this condition is the fact that Cuba is a
nation with a high degree of centralization. There is no separation of powers
or any distribution or institutionalization of the system of government that
allows one to say that there are other important sources of decision making
outside of Fidel Castro’s circle. This is not a political statement; it is one of
fact. It becomes a political statement by those who refuse to acknowledge it
as a result of their own political or ideological biases or sheer ignorance.
After 47 years of Castro’s rule, there are strong indications that the country has experienced a chronic physical decapitalization process that still continues. The most visible evidence of the decay of physical capital is in the
stock of housing in the entire country. Other cases of severe decapitalization
are reported in the sugar industry, permanent plantations, infrastructure and
livestock. The country has also lost an unknown but presumably significant
portion of its human capital due to the massive exodus of Cubans at different
stages after 1959, but especially those who emigrated during the first three
and a half years of the revolution. A certain proportion of the human capital
lost was replaced with new graduates in specific fields (i.e., medical doctors),
217
218
Jorge A. Sanguinetty
but most entrepreneurs, managers, engineers, and high level experts in most
fields were lost forever. Cuba also lost its leaders in all walks of life and the
revolutionary government, given its absolutist nature, never had any incentives to replace or develop this special form of human capital.
But the wealth of a society is not limited to its stocks of human and nonhuman capital. It is also necessary to include as part of a society’s wealth
some of its less tangible, even visible, assets that are of great value to its citizens. I am referring to such factors as the network of relationships among its
citizens, enterprises and organizations in general; the institutional and productive memory of the country; the institutions that participate in the production of public goods; the aggregate of traditions and preferences among
consumers; etc. The objective of this paper is to describe the evolution of
Cuba’s intangible wealth in the form of what is now called social capital, how
social capital is essential in economic and social evolutionary processes and
its implications for the country’s economy and its future possibilities of
recovery.
Defining Social Capital
Many years before social capital became a frequently used concept in economic and social research, many authors had recognized the importance of
associations between various agents of any society. Toqueville (1969), for
instance, observed the vitality of the society in the United States and its
capacity to develop all kinds of associations. On the other extreme, Banfield
focused his research on the town of Montegrano in the Italian Mezzogiorno,
where the author concluded that the “[i]nability [of its inhabitants] to create
and maintain organization is clearly of the greatest importance in retarding
economic development in the region.” (Banfield, 1958: 87)
Yet Sobel (2002) indicates that while the concept of social capital is not
new, it is not until recently that it has been attracting a great deal of attention
by sociologists and economists. Such attention is greatly due to the work of
the sociologist James S. Coleman who contributed the concept in a seminal
article of the American Journal of Sociology in 1988, as follows:
It is not a single entity but a variety of different entities, with two elements in
common: they all consist of some aspect of social structures, and they facilitate
certain actions of actors—whether persons or corporate actors—within the
structure. (Coleman, 2000)
Coleman did not offer a rigorous definition of social capital but presented
several examples of relationships among members of various societies, while
gradually introducing the notion that the concept consists of a series of com-
Analysis of Cuban Social Capital
219
ponents that serve as an element of cohesion in the relationships among the
members of a given society.
On the other hand, Putnam (2000) applies the concept of social capital to
the evolution of relationships among Americans throughout the twentieth
century starting with a definition contributed by L. J. Hanifan in 1916 to
explain the importance of community participation in the success of their
schools. According to Putnam, Hanifan refers to social capital as:
[T]hose tangible substances [that] count for most in the daily lives of people:
namely good will, fellowship, sympathy, and social intercourse among the individuals and families who make the social unit…The individual is helpless
socially, if left to himself…If he comes into contact with his neighbor, and they
with other neighbors, there will be an accumulation of social capital, which may
immediately satisfy his social needs and which may bear a social potentiality
sufficient to the substantial improvement of living conditions in the whole community. The community as a whole will benefit by the cooperation of all its
parts, while the individual will find in his associations the advantages of the
help, the sympathy, and the fellowship of his neighbors. (Putnam, 2000: 19)
For Putnam, as well as for Hanifan, social capital consists of a network of
contacts that develop among the individuals or the groups of individuals and
without which societies could neither organize themselves nor function.
Though Arrow (2000) objects to the use of the term “social capital” and
even recommends it to be abandoned and replaced with some other, he recognizes that networks and other social connections can develop for economic
reasons. Much earlier Arrow acknowledged the importance of interpersonal
trust in the economic development of societies, in what appeared to be a reference to the research done by Banfield cited before. But while recognizing
the importance of the debate about the role of trust as a component of social
capital in the promotion of economic development, Arrow indicates that
social interactions may have positive and negative aspects in the societies.
The negative aspects of social capital can be many—for instance, the networks necessary for organized crime to operate, the organization of terrorist
groups, or the relationships among corrupt officials and other individuals.
These observations show that the level of complexity of the phenomena
involved in social capital is very high, but we will continue applying it in this
paper despite the objections for purely practical reasons.
Something similar might be applicable to Solow (2000) who equally
objects to the use of the term “social capital” and the mode it is used, but
warns that his critique should not be construed as a failure to acknowledge
the importance of the underlying ideas or the relevance for economic behavior. Solow’s most emphatic objection to the use of the concept of capital as
applied to social capital is based on the fact that social capital is not suscepti-
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ble of accumulation as a stock. Nevertheless, even though social capital does
not seem to conform to a scalar magnitude, it is in fact a factor that develops
as a network and therefore does experience some form of accumulation, but
more in a vectorial or multidimensional sense and also in an institutional one.
Some aspects of social capital—trust for instance—can be quantified or measured in principle.
Stiglitz acknowledged the value of the concept in his study of the ways
societies get organized and their interaction with the development of its economies. He identifies four different aspects of social capital. “First, social capital is tacit knowledge; it is partly the social glue that produces cohesion but
also a set of cognitive aptitudes and predispositions.” (Stiglitz, 2000) This
conception, however, could be understood as an aggregate of the stock of
human capital existing at a given point in time in any society and will not be
applied in this paper.
Stiglitz’s second conception is consistent with the definitions proposed by
other authors and consists of “a collection of networks, what sociologists
used to call ‘social group’ into which one is socialized or aspires to be socialized.” His third aspect is also congruent with that of other authors and is
based on “an aggregation of reputations and a way to sort out reputations.
Individuals invest in reputation (an implicit form of capital) because it
reduces transaction costs and it helps break barricades to entry in a variety of
production and exchange relations.” Stigltz’s four aspect of social capital
“includes the organizational capital that managers have developed through
their styles of administration, incentives and command, their labor practices,
hiring decisions, systems of dispute resolution, style of marketing, and so
on.” Implicitly, Stiglitz introduced the concept of social capital as a form of
public good which is useful to our purposes in this paper.
One of the aspects of social capital discussed by other investigators is as
“interpersonal trust” and in this regard Bacharach and Gambetta offer the
most rigorous definition: “we shall say that a person ‘trusts someone to do X’
if she acts on the expectation that he will do X when both know that two conditions obtain: if he fails to do X she would have done better to have acted
otherwise, and her acting in the way she does gives him a selfish reason not
to do X.” (Bachrach and Gambetta, 2001) These authors recognize interpersonal trust as one form of social capital and develop this view further by
describing this type of interaction as non-cooperative game that allows the
analysis of successive interactions by applying the Prisoner’s Dilemma
games.
Fukuyama (1995) also focuses his definition of social capital on trust and
relates it with the economic development capabilities of societies, while
Seligman (1995) defines trust as “confidence in the fulfillment of role expec-
Analysis of Cuban Social Capital
221
tations and the various forms of social control and sanctioning mechanisms
that ensure such performance.” (Seligman, 1995) Rose, on the other hand,
defines social capital “as the stock of formal and informal social networks
that individuals use to produce or allocate goods and services.” (Rose, 2000)
He includes social networks as a component of social capital where the variable trust is also included. For Rose, the existence of the networks determines
the social capital and he applies this concept to the recent evolution of postSoviet Russia, making it especially pertinent to this paper. Also, Rose’s differentiation between official and non-official, or private networks, and how
the latter survived the collapse of the Soviet Union is of particular interest in
the analysis of the Cuban economy. Such conception is consistent with
Arrow’s distinction between the positive and the negative aspects of the
social capital. Notice that formal as well as non-formal networks can be of
both signs. For instance, networks that serve to protect certain sectors from
free market competition can be considered negative, while networks (nonformal) that develop among citizens of a totalitarian society for their survival
through black market transactions could be considered positive.1
It is important to note that social capital also includes a society’s capacity
to develop networks, associations and organizations of various groups of
individuals, and is not limited to their existence at one point in time. In his
research into the logic of collective action Olson (1965) assumes strict rational behavior and takes for granted other cultural variables that affect organizational behavior differently in other societies. Toqueville (1969) pointed out
that U.S. citizens had an extraordinary capacity to organize many different
forms of associations, something that could be determined by underlying
capabilities carried by the citizens, among which we could include interpersonal trust. An opposite case was already given by Banfield cited above.
In the analysis that follows we will apply a wide or eclectic conception of
social capital, emphasizing interpersonal trust but also inclusive of those elements lacking in the study of Montegrano. Some of these are: the cognitive
capabilities of individuals to identify the advantages of exchange and association; the individuals’ capacity to face uncertainty and manage risk; and the
cognitive capability of individuals to communicate effectively and reach
agreements. I will also include as components of social capital the quantity
and quality of the information and knowledge that each individual has about
other individuals in the same society to allow each one to evaluate benefits,
costs and risks of association. Some types of this information can be
observed and measured in personal directories, address books, etc.
1. In this instance the sign depends on a value judgment about the kind of contribution
social capital makes to the society at large.
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As defined before, social capital can represent the cohesive force that
keeps the structural components of a society together while contributing to its
stability. The components of social capital appear to be similar to the four
forces that sustain the atomic structure of matter. Such components allow the
self-organization of societies through evolutionary processes and advance
towards more complex forms of development and institutionalization. Such
considerations are consistent with those of Markose and others of what is
known as novelty-producing Complex Adaptive Systems (CAS), typical
examples of which are “evolutionary biology, immune systems, and innovation-based structure changing growth of capitalist systems.” (Markose, 2005)
The development and growth of social capital networks is at the center of the
evolution and self-organized complexity of societies which includes its economic systems. Therefore, when we observe the many different ways social
capital evolves we are observing the results of individual actions taken as a
result of the degrees of freedom individuals have in different societies.
Social Capital In Cuba
The ensuing economic system is one of extreme centralization where the
economy is virtually dominated by one decision maker. The revolution is
essentially a process of radical reduction of the organizational complexity of
the inherited system which included the systematic destruction of most of the
existing social capital of the country.The revolutionary process that started in
Cuba in January 1959 did not encounter a sufficiently strong opposition capable of stopping, influencing or delaying it. Such weak opposition seems to
have been a result of the Cuban society’s inability to self-organize to defend
the interests of its citizens such as property rights and civil liberties. Therefore it is safe to assume that the level of development of social capital in
Cuba in 1959 was relatively low.2 The revolutionary process, on the other
hand, was organized along relatively simple lines, highly centralized but with
a strong popular support encouraged by the generalized conviction that the
country required a profound transformation as prerequisite for growth and
social justice. It became apparent years later that the actual agenda of the
movement had as its top priority the maximization of internal control over
the population as a first step towards maximization of the leader’s international influence and standing as a world figure.3 The ensuing economic sys2. Developed societies seem to have systems of defense against external and internal
threats similar to immunological systems. Equally to such systems, defense mechanisms of
societies develop when they reach a relatively high level of organizational complexity to
respond effectively to destabilizing forces.
3. In essence, the Cuban revolution can be seen as an informal and extreme privatization
process where the bulk of the country’s resources are virtually owned and managed by
Fidel Castro in absolute secrecy and no accountability whatsoever.
Analysis of Cuban Social Capital
223
tem is one of extreme centralization where the economy is virtually
dominated by one decision maker. The revolution is essentially a process or
radical reduction of the organizational complexity of the inherited system
which included the systematic destruction of most of the existing social capital of the country.
The first, and perhaps the most significant, loses of social capital in Cuba
were a result of the massive exodus of Cubans and other citizens that took
place between 1959 and the second half of 1962, when most of the managers,
business owners, engineers, bankers, attorneys, industry leaders, judges, politicians, journalists, university professors, and other key players of the economy fled the country taking with them an enormous wealth of knowledge and
information about the workings of the economy, and about their interpersonal
relations. Each economic actor is a point of contact in the network of economic, social, and political relationships. The exodus of hundreds of thousands of key economic and business players represented a major disruption of
Cuba’s productive capacities which were reflected very quickly in a reduction of good available for consumption and investment purposes.
When a business manager abandoned his enterprise, he was replaced by
an individual trusted by the official authorities, but not necessarily by a competent administrator. Many enterprises suffered losses of executives and technicians at all levels of their organizational structure. Their replacements were
not usually capable of keeping the network of business relationships that
existed before the revolution. Thus, the relationships with domestic and foreign suppliers, clients, and service providers; government agencies; sources
of credit; etc., were severely disrupted. But even when an enterprise did not
lose its key personnel, its relationships could still be disrupted by the disappearance of other business or even entire sectors. The banking system was
practically eliminated as the institution of credit ceased to exist, jointly with
all forms of financial intermediation. Something similar happened with
accounting, auditing, and legal services which were closed together with
advertising, free press, all private radio and TV stations, etc. The process of
reduction of the organizational complexity of the Cuban economy took place
as a result of the combined effects of the exodus, the elimination of private
property rights for most enterprises, and the elimination of entire sectors of
economic activity.
As state ownership was established around the country and was soon
followed by rationing of consumer goods across the board and the
introduction of central planning, almost all forms of competition were also
eliminated. Even many types of information necessary for orthodox central
planning were lost in the apparent chaos of expropriations and managerial
replacements, reducing the productive efficiency of the country and its
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general level of productivity. For instance, the consolidated domestic shoe
factories (state monopolies created after expropriations) lack basic data about
the distribution of sizes. At the same time, they lost track of retail stores (now
consolidated too) and distribution patterns while losing simultaneously their
sources of supply of raw materials, in many cases foreign.
Under these circumstances, the Cuban government assumed that the Central Planning Board and the planning offices of the ministries in charge of all
the consolidated monopolies of the country would keep or reinvent the relevant segments of the network of relationships created over so many years of
economic development. But as production capabilities fell, the government
soon encountered another type of crisis in its ability to maintain the productive capacity of the economy. The disruption of the productive capacity was
brought about by the upheaval in business relationships, knowledge and distribution systems for supplies and deliveries, but now it would be affected by
a new wave of disruptions, this time related to the inability to provide adequate and timely maintenance to the installed capacities. Some industries
were able to improvise maintenance better than others, depending on whether
some parts could be produced domestically or had to be imported. It also
depended on the ability of the new managers to create networks of contacts
with parties capable of solving some of the problems. Nevertheless, these
forms of social capital were generally precarious as they did not take place
through market or any strong incentive mechanism. Instead, such transactions took place in terms of barters or a virtual market for favors in an economy and social system where all sorts of scarcities were dominating the daily
life of all citizens. Such new forms of social capital among individuals working in the productive sector of the economy were never sufficient to replace
the lost social capital developed before 1959. It must be emphasized that
social capital was almost exclusively based on personal relationships of
opportunity. Once the individual was removed from his position in the enterprise, the lack of liberty and mobility in the Cuban society considerably constrained the ability of persons to transport his portion of social capital
elsewhere in the economy.
A similar process of social capital loss affected consumers, workers and
other members of the society, not simply those involved in the government
enterprises. The profound reforms brought about by the revolution reduced
significantly the choice set of practically all consumers in several ways. On
the one hand, rationing was so severe that the number of items available in
the ration book was a very small proportion of the goods available in previous years. Besides the extreme reduction in the number of items there were,
with few exceptions (cigarettes, sodas, and beer for example) no brand differentiation among the items available. Many items, such as durables, com-
Analysis of Cuban Social Capital
225
pletely disappeared from the market. Private building of new houses was
impossible due to lack of construction materials for non-government activities. The extent of the shortages was such that whatever became available at
one point in time was almost immediately purchased by the consumers and,
as a consequence, grocery and other stores remained empty most of the times.
On top of this, consumers were registered in one and only one store for regular groceries, one butcher shop, and one produce shop.
Under these circumstances consumers’ old networks and knowledge of
where to buy, at what prices, with what quality, became obsolete. This form
of social capital directly linked to consumer welfare was obliterated by the
new order. But new forms of social capital developed as a way to cope with
the new conditions and rules of the game. This is what Rose called unofficial
networks in his research on social capital in Russia. Illegal black market
transactions flourished in Cuba despite the severity of the sanctions imposed
by the government on those involved, especially as suppliers. Consumers and
sellers all needed to develop networks to carry out such transactions at minimum risk. Such networks included government officials who were willing to
steal goods from the state enterprises where they labored. Knowing your
neighbor and your trading partners was essential to develop the required trust
for protection against official repression. Getting caught by the authorities in
a black market transaction could be very costly for those involved, who could
be punished with stiff jail terms, confiscation of property, loss of jobs, and
other measures without right to appeal to an independent judiciary.
It is interesting to note how the principles that determine the workings of
CAS apply to the evolution of black markets as individuals still use the few
degrees of freedom left to them to create the social capital necessary to
reduce the hardships created by severe rationing, economic repression, lack
of freedom and limited and/or unwarranted individual rights. It is also interesting to note that a government, holding totalitarian or absolute powers,
endeavors to constrain the development of social capital which can also be
used for political or subversive purposes. One way to constrain social capital
growth is by implicitly rationing “leisure” time, which is a necessary factor
for investing in social capital. Relationships and interpersonal trust do not
develop quickly without relatively long periods of gestation. The rationing of
time, on the other hand, is implemented in many different ways such as forcing consumers and workers to stand in line for many activities, by frequent
participation in political rallies, and by not having easy access to transportation, making them to wait long hours to get to work and back, etc. In other
words, the government decreases the size of citizens’ choice sets by reducing
the availability of time-saving goods and services while increasing the availability of time-intensive activities. Sanguinetty (1992) has done work in this
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regard based on the theory of allocation of time by Becker (1965). The Cuban
government designs and manages its policies as if it were aware of Schelling’s proposed “theme of many writers on complexity: local, short-term
interactions can create large-scale structure.” (Krugman, 1996: 17) The government knows that “structure” in the form of social capital is what Cuban
citizens need, and probably want, to organize a movement to change the status quo as a necessary condition to improve their quality of life. But individual freedom is necessary for that purpose.
The government, however, can constrain citizen’s degrees of freedom up
to a certain point. But in order to avoid excessive use of force by applying
brutal repression, they cleverly use their absolute powers to increase the price
of leisure time to its citizens, so they are further constrained in the use of the
degrees of freedom left to them. Besides, time is even scarcer as Cubans have
less access to communications and transportation, critical ingredients in the
development of social capital. Recent international comparative data show
that Cuban citizens are among those with the least access to cellular phones,
computers and Internet connections. The total number of telephones has
remained at almost the same level as in 1959.
Until that year, workers’ social capital in Cuba mainly consisted of their
network of contacts in their specific labor markets. Nevertheless, labor markets were traditionally rigid. Many jobs were obtained as a result of personal
acquaintances, a condition that encouraged the development of friendships
and family-based connections to obtain a job. In the government labor market
the network of connections developed as an intrinsic part of electoral politics.
Many individuals supported several candidates for different public offices on
the expectation of being rewarded with a government position in case one of
the chosen candidates was elected. All this disappeared with the revolution
and instead a system of extreme labor immobility was developed, a condition
that seriously affected productive efficiency in every single industry and
enterprise. Traditional, not new, labor unions were allowed to exist but
became appendices of the government political and mass mobilization apparatus. The unions were no longer allowed to defend the interests of the rank
and file, neither the labor leaders enjoyed the political influence of the past.
The old form of social capital was replaced by a new one consisting of relationships that could best be characterized as cronyism with the purpose of
obtaining some upward mobility through the enterprise, bureaucracy or political systems.
The typical citizen, besides losing her traditional forms of social capital as
a consumer and a worker, let alone as a capitalist or an entrepreneur, also
loses her relationships with other citizens as family, social acquaintances,
friends, colleagues, neighbors, or members of a church. Cubans relationships
Analysis of Cuban Social Capital
227
with foreign citizens or organizations virtually vanished. Even relationships
with family members that emigrated out of Cuba were restricted in many
ways and even forbidden to members of the government. All social clubs
across the country were practically dismantled as many of their members left
the country and the government took over their facilities. The exodus of
Catholic priests was especially dramatic, creating a shortage of religious services in many parishes, which at the same time were losing many of their
members. All those leaving the country lost many of their contacts, some of
which they try to recover once settled in foreign lands. All those staying in
Cuba equally lose much of their social capital through emigration of personal
contacts, and by the transformation of the all structures of the Cuban society.
Yet the loss of social capital was most abrupt and radical for those individuals
who were sent to jail or even executed for their suspected opposition to the
government. Much of the government repression can be interpreted as a
series of activities aimed at the reduction of such forms of social capital that
imply relationships not necessary to the new social, political and economic
order. All forms of associations were to be dismantled, a top priority of the
citizen surveillance system. In this regard, the repressive policies were also
preventive, not simply reactive.
By eliminating social capital the government got closer to the optimum or
ideal repressive system: one that does not require violent actions against or
jail potential opponents because people repress themselves as interpersonal
trust is minimized, collective actions are limited to short-lived black market
operations of low complexity, and no one dares to express their views against
the government for fear of reprisals. At the same time the political police and
repressive policies in general generate a perverse form of trust on the effectiveness of repression. Almost all citizens develop an expectation that they
will be caught and punished by the government if they dare to deviate from
the official form of behavior. By mobilizing followers of official policy, and
even moving them into the dwellings of those who abandoned the country,
many citizens suddenly have neighbors of unknown origin, with whom they
will only relate superficially and will unlikely develop a relation of confidence. Citizens loyal to Castro were mobilized by the government and selectively mixed with the rest of the population to impede the development of
relations of trust that could facilitate political forms of collective action detrimental to the government stability. The more comprehensive the destruction
of social capital, the more isolated and impotent any citizen will feel, without
any other source of protection against the whims of the government. In the
extreme case, the ideal citizen for a totalitarian government such as Cuba’s is
one whose relationships with other citizens are minimal, insignificant, superficial, and totally compatible with official policy. In this case, social capital
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reaches a minimum expression. The residual vestiges of social capital, as
pointed out earlier, mainly survive for black market purposes.
It is practically impossible to find a segment of the Cuban society not
touched by the overwhelming force of the revolution. The upheaval is so profound that it invites one to speculate about the quality of the former social
capital of the Cuban society and its ability to defend itself against such the
threat of massive national dismemberment. Following the concept of CAS as
applied to immune systems, this phenomenon also invites one to wonder
whether some societies seem to develop their organizational structures or
social capital networks to defend themselves against external and internal
threats, while others, like Cuba before 1959, seem to suffer from what we
could call a socio-immunological deficiency that make them highly vulnerable to destabilizing shocks like this revolution.
The Castro government’s systematic destruction of virtually all institutions and organizations created before 1959 involved the disappearance of
true “markets” of all kinds of exchanges of personal interrelations. Cuban
society, in particular its economy, lost almost all of the organizations where
friendships developed, where individuals were able to know about the nature
and character of other citizens, and develop different forms of trust and confidence about the perceived distribution of cognitive and non-cognitive
attributes of the other members of the society. The list of such organizations
in any modern society includes tens or hundreds of thousands of entities,
among them professional associations, chambers of commerce and industry,
free labor unions, charitable organizations, private enterprises, cultural institutions, foreign entities, religious congregations, student associations, political parties, news agencies and media enterprises. The union of all these
organizations, freely developed by different groups of individuals with many
diverse interests is what constitutes the civil society and what allows a nation
to evolve in higher levels of progress and civilization. Its importance is
underlined by the remarkable recovery of the many individuals that carried
segments of the Cuban social capital network as they settled in certain geographical areas and reconstructed old contacts based on diverse forms of
interpersonal trust. The growth of the city of Miami, Fla., is a case in point, as
two Cuban exile bankers started providing loans to business people they
knew from Cuba as citizens to be trusted enabling them to develop new
enterprises apparently from scratch. This was only possible because of the
intangible but solid relationships created years earlier as social capital networks that survived the exodus and the dramatic change from one society to
another.
Analysis of Cuban Social Capital
229
Conclusion
Arrow (1974) determined that the set of attributes that we are calling social
capital is more than a by-product of the collective actions of a society and
represents a necessary condition to expand the efficiency frontier and rationality of individual and collective behavior. He also acknowledged the need
of some forms of collective action to reach a form of Pareto optimality
among the members of a society. In this sense, social capital is a public good
generated privately by the multiple and simultaneous actions of some members of a society to develop relationships with other members of the society
and derive advantages from those relationships. Social capital is developed
and carried by individuals and is a form of private property, but the aspect of
public good arises from the aggregate of forms of social capital that at least
some individuals carry. Thus the volume of social capital can vary as a function of the number of individuals in a society as well as a function of the
extent of the social capital that each individual develops.
One of the main implications of this paper has to do with the reconstruction of the Cuban economy (and society) once the country can rid itself of the
many constraints that impede its development. One of the future challenges
will be how to rebuild, or better, facilitate the rebuilding of the social capital
required by any modern economy. The most elementary and least complex
forms of social capital that different economic agents require can be reconstructed in a relatively short period of time, as individuals are predisposed to
develop relationships with others to their mutual advantage once they have
the freedom to do so. The most obvious advantages of exchange and other
forms of cooperation generate the incentives for social capital formation as a
result of the evolutionary forces in a free society. Cuban citizens and politicians in a transition economy must understand that freedom of enterprise and
individual freedoms in general are essential for a full economic recovery.
Nevertheless, the most complex forms of social capital, those that depend
on citizens confidence in institutions such as credit, contractual guarantees,
minimum political stability, the rule of law, the adequacy of macroeconomic
policies, public security, and expectations about the future of the country and
its institutions and governments will take longer to be achieved. This means
that enterprises that require less social capital to develop will be the first ones
to develop and operate efficiently, and they will also be the ones to contribute
first to the development of the country. This group of enterprises will probably be the smallest in size. As larger enterprises require more social capital to
be established in the country, they might have to depend on foreign capital or
credits that depend on forms of social capital that exist overseas but not yet in
Cuba, since they take longer to develop. Mid size enterprises of domestic
owners might take longer to develop.
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Stiglitz, Joseph E., 2000. “Formal and Informal Institutions.” In Social Capital: A Multifaceted Perspective. Partha Dasgupta and Ismail Serageldin,
eds. Washington, D.C.: The World Bank.
Tocqueville, Alexis de, (1969). Democracy in America. New York: Harper
Perennial.
CHAPTER 15
Examining Cuban
Civil Society
Bea Reaud
The purpose of this paper is to provide a framework for examining Cuban
civil society in order to understand the degree to which civil society organizations can act as agents of influence. This paper adopts a Gramscian definition
of civil society and posits that are three sectors of Cuban civil society:
national sector, international sector, and hybrid sector. Although studying
agents of influence naturally precedes a discussion on how agents influence
and what types of change might occur as a result, this paper tries to remain
focused in constructing an epistemological model that provides a way to view
Cuban civil society comprehensively so that questions about change outside
the scope of this paper can separately be addressed.
This paper will provide a current snapshot of the Cuban government, then
proceed to review various definitions of civil society, and define the model
for broadly examining Cuban civil society that, in some instances, can apply
pressures through “boomerang effects,” followed by application of this
model and then a conclusion based on the discussion.
Background on the State of the Cuban Government
and Economy
With a population of 11.2 million, Cuba is the largest country in the Caribbean. The country has been governed by the Partido Comunista de Cuba
(PCC) since the Batista government was overthrown by Fidel Castro in 1959.
Under the auspices of political groups forming the Organizaciones Revolucionarias Integradas (ORI), Castro led the socialization of property and commercial enterprises throughout the island, expropriating US$1 billon in 1961,
belonging to U.S. businesses. Deteriorating relations with the United States
completely broke down after an unsuccessful CIA-led attempt to invade
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Cuba at the Bay of Pigs. Cuba turned to the Soviet Union for protection and
trade, becoming a member of the Council for Mutual Economy Assistance
(CMEA) in 1972, which underscored a Cuban monoculture based sugar and
loans to finance current account deficits.
In the late 1980s, while the Soviet Union was embracing perestroika,
Cuba clung to its socialist roots and rejected liberalization. The accompanying collapse of the Soviet Union devastated the Cuban economy, because it
accounted for 80 percent of all Cuban trade which was followed by “Special
Period.” (Gray, Alexander I., 2005) The Special Period (1990-1995) was a
time in which the Cuban government sought to preserve the gains from the
revolution in areas such as education and health care which included an opening of social space to Cuban NGOs for the provision of social services
through foreign aid. In order to shore up the economy, the Cuban government
shifted its focus to services and away from manufacturing which was favored
by now-defunct CMEA. The population continues to be among the most educated in Latin America, as evidenced by student performance in school. Studies have shown that Cuban third grade language achievement test results are
the highest among 11 Latin American and Caribbean countries studied. (Gasperini, 2000: 6) Education spending increased from 6.3 percent of GDP in
1998 to 11 percent of GDP in 2004. (Economist Intelligence Unit, 2005: 17)
Health indicators are comparable to OECD countries which include the best
infant-mortality rate in the region (6.3 per 1,000 live births). Furthermore,
Cuba has the highest ratio of doctors to the population in the world.1
Economy:
The country remains economically segregated. Although it has fixed its
exchange rate at 1:1 with U.S. dollar, the floating domestic rate is closer to
26:1. Foreign commercial interests and tourists have generally been required
to use the convertible peso in hard-currency outlets. In practice, this system
underscores the dualistic nature of the domestic economy: state-set prices
versus free-market prices and official versus unofficial “exchange rates”
which encourage black markets.
Although the state remains the largest employer, accounting for 73.2 percent of employment in 2003, this figure represents a decline in state employment from 95 percent in 1989. Public employment is primarily in health and
education sectors whereas non-state sector employment is primarily in agricultural cooperatives and smallholdings (50 acres or less). Despite the withdrawal of the Soviet Union and a consequent contraction of the Cuban
economy by 33 percent in terms of GDP in the first half of the 1990s, unemployment rose only to 8 percent.2 Pressures from the withdrawal of Soviet
1. 596 doctors per 100,000 in 2005 compared to 279 doctors in the U.S. and 164 doctors
in the UK.
Examining Cuban Civil Society
233
subsidies in the early 1990s caused the Cuban government to increase tax
rates and prices on non-essential goods and also undertake limited market liberalization efforts which included creation of Ministry of Foreign Investment
and Economic Co-operation, an important development for Cuban NGOs, the
eventual establishment of consumer credit in 1999 and interest-bearing savings accounts in 2000.
Trade:
Although the European Union’s policy has been “constructive engagement”
which had included possible membership in the Cotonou Agreement, it did
not come to fruition in part because of the March 2003 crackdown on Cuban
dissidents. However, Cuba has strong trade relations in the Americas with
Canada, Mexico and Venezuela. The 1998 election of President Hugo Chavez
has provided a boon to Cuba-Venezuelan relationships which has been mutually beneficial in that Cuba is assured access to Venezuelan oil and Cuba has
provided the medical expertise of delegations of Cuban doctors to Venezuela.3 Cuba has also been engaging China on both military and tourist initiatives.
US relations:
The United States and Cuba have had an uneasy relationship since the Spanish American War when the U.S. gained ownership of land on which Guantanamo Bay Base currently sits. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union and
the end of the Cold War, American interests in Cuba have shifted from countering a Cold War military threat to promoting regime change. Substantial
political lobbies such as the Cuban American National Foundation and the
Cuban Liberty Council have guided U.S. foreign policy toward Cuba.
Recent relations with Cuba have ebbed and flowed. The 1996 Cuban
shooting down of Brothers to the Rescue planes dropping leaflets over the
island, provided an impetus for the Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity
Act of 1996, known as Helms-Burton Law, which prevents U.S. investment
in Cuba. However, by 2000, medicine and food sales where permitted to
Cuba, the first in the past forty years. In October 2003, the Commission for
the Assistance of a Free Cuba was established. The Commission report
increased restrictions on travel and remittances. The CIA’s National Intelligence Council has recently placed Cuba on a watchlist of 25 countries, such
as Nepal, Sudan, and Haiti, whose instability may require U.S. intervention.
The U.S. embargo of Cuba has been the centerpiece of U.S. foreign policy.
2. Other estimates go as high as 40 percent.
3. One-third of Cuba’s national oil needs are supplied through Petroleos de Venezuela on
preferential financing terms.
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This approach is over four decades old and has not achieved the democratic
transition some had hoped.
For 14 years, the United Nations has consistently approved a resolution
that condemns the U.S. embargo against Cuba. In 2006 the vote was 182-4,
with the four opposing countries being the United States, Israel, Palau, and
the Marshall Islands.
Framework for Examining Cuban Civil Society
I proffer that Cuban civil society is actually composed of three sectors: the
international sector, the national sector, and the hybrid sector. All three
groups work at various levels as agents of influence in Cuban society which
overlap in their spheres of influence. The international sector is composed of
groups primarily based outside of Cuba whose chief role is to collect and disseminate information about conditions in Cuba in order to foster a “boomerang effect.” (Keck and Sikkink, 1998) Human Rights Watch, Amnesty
International and Freedom House are all examples of agents of influence
within the international sector. Their sphere of influence is primarily other
foreign governments and international organizations which may, in turn,
apply pressure for change to the Cuban government. The national sector is
comprised primarily of groups based exclusively within Cuba who are officially acknowledged by the Cuban government resulting in social space in
which to operate under the state. Their primary role is as agents of influence
in perpetuating Cuban socialism but they do provide opportunities for civic
participation and engagement. Their sphere of influence as independent organizations is virtually non-existent but they have the social infrastructure and
access to the Cuban people. Mass organizations and Cuban NGOs are examples of agents of influence within the national sector. Lastly, the hybrid sector
is comprised primarily of groups that are work within Cuba but are externally
supported. They are groups that challenge the current government and ones
that are likely to be the short-term catalyst for a post-Communist transition.
Opposition and dissident groups are examples of agents of influence within
the hybrid sector.
Definition of Civil Society
This section will review the various definitions of civil society as they relate
to Cuba and then argue for a more inclusive view of aspects of Cuban civil
society. The modern concept of “civil society” evolved in reaction to developments between the seventeenth and early nineteenth centuries; specifically,
the evolution of the modern state, the contraction of religion as the result of
the Enlightenment, and increased focus on the individual.4 In this context,
Examining Cuban Civil Society
235
civil society has typically been thought of as separate and distinct from the
state and an agent of change. Dilla and Oxhorn define civil society as:
the social fabric formed by a multiplicity of self-constituted territorially-and
functionally-based units which peacefully coexist and collectively resist subordination to the state, at the same time that they demand inclusion into national
political structures. (Dilla and Oxhorn, 2002: 11)
Consequently, civil society vies for space that is held by the state. Furthermore, Dilla and Oxhorn proffer that civil society is “a multiplicity of territorially-based units.”
Civil society has been associated with the promotion of the private market, in part, because of these roots. Otero and Bryan argue for a broader view
of civil society as a civil sphere which includes Cuban black market activity.
(Otero and O’Bryan, 2002) The early 1990s in Cuba during the Special
Period provide an example of how the Cuban state, because of the withdrawal of Soviet subsidies, ceded space for the development of private agriculture and self-employment. (Chanan, 2001: 404) However, too much of a
focus on market development erodes what Dilla and Oxhorn call the “associative principle” that undergirds civil society. (Dilla and Oxhorn, 2002: 12)
Civil society development is also linked to democracy development
because liberal democracy fosters a plurality of perspectives and a distribution of decision-making conducive to the development of multiple non-state
civil society organizations. Lopez argues that the bellweather of democratization efforts in Cuba is the development of “groups that emerge and are maintained independently of the state.” (Lopez, 2002: 30) However, liberal
democracies, as Dilla and Oxhorn point out, emphasize the individual over
the collective, which can be problematic when trying to apply this definition
of civil society to Cuba. Gray provides an interesting nuance in terms of how
Cuban civil society might perceive itself in the form of the relationship
between Cuban and European Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs)
during the Special Period. He draws the distinction between solidarity and
cooperation. He argues that, because Cuban socialism is based on working
towards the same common goals, Cuban NGOs see their relationships with
European NGOs as one of solidarity whereas European NGOs see their relationship as one of cooperation (Gray, 2005). This is an important distinction
in that it does not assume a plurality of positions assumed in a liberal democ4. See Craig Calhoun, “The Idea of Civil Society,” Social Forces 73, no. 3 (1995): 1118;
and Michael Chanan, “Cuba and Civil Society, or Why Cuban Intellectuals Are Taking
About Gramsci,” Nepantla: Views from the South 2.2 (Duke University Press, 2001). Alexis
D’Toqueville partially ascribed the predominance of equality among the American people
to the effects of civil society. Adam Smith also wrote about how the growth of capitalism
and private wealth, “introduced order and good governance” (See Chapter IV in Wealth of
Nations, New York: Bantam Dell, 2003).
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racy and the civil society that develops it and is more rooted in associative
rather than individualistic principles.
Can civil society exist separate from the state in a Cuban context? Janos
Kornai argues that the relationship is blurred, at best. In a classical communist system, power is centralized in the state through the party. He elaborates
on the concept of “democratic centralism” in which party participation is
(nominally) voluntary, and highly centralized through branches, regional
structures, up to the Central Committee, Poliburo and general secretary, or
President in Cuba’s case. Because there is no competition in a classical communist society, mass organizations sanctioned by the state have a monopoly
of access over certain groups of people. This is why mass organizations in
this type of system are “transmission belt” organizations because they transmit Party ideology to groups of people, which in Cuba’s case would be the
Federation of Cuban Women or the Union of Young Communists, for example. (Kornai, 1992: 40) As a result, the state’s influence extends to “every
sphere of life….Under other systems there..are ‘private’ spheres in which the
state cannot or will not intervene. This distinction between the state and ‘civil
society,’ … becomes entirely blurred.” (Kornai, 1992: 46)
In all these instances, civil society is regarded as either separate from the
state and an agent of change or an extension of the state. As a result, the view
of how civil society does and could function in Cuba is somewhat limited. I
posit that civil society in the Cuban context is not only separate from the state
but part of it and that they are not just “territorially-bound” but occupy international as well as national space. Consequently, each sector’s component
members act as agents of influence over a sphere of influence which includes
the Cuban people, the Cuban government, and international players. I turn to
Chanan’s interpretation of Gramsci to provide clarity to explain this concept.
There are at least two Gramscian notions of civil society. The first, and often
the one most referenced, is that civil society and the state are the same; specifically he represents this mathematically as “State=political society+civil
society.” (Gramsci, 1971: 263) Here, civil society is an extension of the State
in exercising “hegemony under the armor of coercion.” (Gramsci, 1971) This
interpretation allows for no space or separation between civil society and the
state. However, Chanan points out the second conception of civil society as a
“realm…in which power, authority, and the social elite (not only) seek to
organize consent and hegemony, but also where consent and hegemony may
be contested by the sectors they dominate. In this sense, civil society may
indeed be counterposed to the political order.” (Chanan, 2001: 392; emphasis
added) In this sense, although the state maintains the monopoly of violence
and does use civil society to maintain hegemony, the space in which coercion
occurs under the state can also be space in which this coercion is contested.
Examining Cuban Civil Society
237
Chanan views the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution, not just as
extensions of state security, but also to campaign for vaccinations and shop
for sick neighbors. Although I do not argue that these groups can produce a
level of revolutionary change, they may be able to implement it, as they did
after 1959, and should therefore be considered when examining Cuban civil
society in its totality for both short-term and long-term change. Furthermore,
the concept of civil society and civic participation is ingrained because of
mass organizations. So, although their role as agents of influence is limited
from the perspective of a post-Communist transition as the domestic sphere
for social action is still largely state-controlled, their access to the community
of Cubans and reification of civic participation is worthy of consideration in
the broader context of Cuban civil society.
International Sector of Cuban Civil Society
In Activists Beyond Borders, Keck and Sikkink examine how transnational
advocacy networks provide pressure among more powerful actors to bring
about social change. The power these networks have is in information
exchange. By retrieving information from activists about conditions in a particular country, Keck and Sikkink posit that transnational organizations can
initiate a “boomerang effect” in which the repressive state is pressured from
the outside as a result of the activist’s work within the transnational advocacy
network. The tactics used by these networks include information politics,
symbolic politics, leverage politics, mobilization of shame, accountability
politics, issue framing and testimonials. I will focus on how three international organizations have worked to disseminate human rights standards and
report on the status of human rights in Cuba.
Agents of influence in this sector are standard setting international organizations which monitor developments on human rights and political freedoms.
They are non-governmental organizations which put pressure on governments by applying and tracking an international standard by which human
rights and political freedoms are judged. Although their effects may not be
directly felt, their work gives voice to human rights violations on an international stage which would otherwise go unheard and are acknowledged to be
essential to the work of promoting a more open society in places such as
Cuba.5
Human Rights Watch (HRW), arguably one of the most influential nongovernmental organizations to lobby for human rights on an international
stage, publishes annual reports on the status of human rights throughout the
5. Cuban Democratic Directorate and Center for the Study of a National Option, “Steps
to Freedom 200: A Comparative Analysis of Civic Resistance Actions in Cuba from February 2003 to January 2004,” Steps-31, 2003: 29 international organizations acknowledged.
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world. The 2006 report highlights the deficiencies in the Cuban Criminal
Code which permit the detainment and imprisonment of individuals who
have committed no illegal act but are penalized for “dangerousness” by being
given an “official warning” which can and does include detainment, intimidation, and incarceration into prisons with deplorable conditions.6
Because the Cuban government does not recognize the existence and
activities of human rights organizations in Cuba, HRW plays the role of publishing and disseminating on an international stage the activities these organizations and the status of human rights in Cuba. For example, HRW 2006
report highlights the work of a local Cuban human rights group, the Cuban
Commission on Human Rights and National Reconciliation, which published
a list of 306 political prisoners in July 2005. Of the 75 dissidents arrested in
the March 2003 crackdown, 61 remain in prison. HRW also reported on a
mass protest of 200 individuals on May 20, 2005.7
Amnesty International, another prominent international human rights
organization, also provides public reports of human rights abuses throughout
the world. Amnesty, based in London, focuses on promoting the United
Nations Declaration of Human Rights (UNDHR) and has not taken a political
position on Cuba. Both Amnesty International and HRW are not officially
permitted to visit Cuba. In a 2005 report, Amnesty focused on the March
2003 crackdown on dissidents, by providing profiles of each and how the
Cuban government is violating UN principles on detainment of prisoners.
These organizations maintain a focus on human rights development in
Cuba and alert the international community regarding some of their most
egregious violations. Amnesty’s report, for example, includes profiles of
imprisoned dissidents. However, because these organizations analyze world
trends, reports are contextualized and, as a result, are subject to shame tactics
referenced by Keck and Sikkink. For example, HRW reported recently that
an amendment to create a new UN Human Rights Council was opposed by
both Cuba and the United States. (Moss, 2005) As agents of influence, these
6. Human Rights Watch, World Report 2006: Events of 2005 (New York and Washington,
D.C.: Human Rights Watch and Seven Stories Press, 2006): 187. Amnesty International’s
3/18/2005 report provides a more detailed background on Article 91 of the Penal Code and
Law 88, both of which were used in sentencing the dissidents to excessive prison sentences
up to 28 years in length for political protest activities (1). See “Cuba: Prisoners of conscience: 71 longing for freedom,” Amnesty International, accessed 3/14/06 at http://
web.amnesty.org/library/Index/ENGAMR250022005?open&of=ENG-CUB.
7. The protest, which was reportedly one of the largest in recent memory, sparked debate
among prominent dissidents. The Varela Project’s Oswaldo Paya was quoted as calling the
meeting “a fraud” and another peaceful protest group, “Ladies in White”, also did not participate for fear of being “provocative.” A CNN report indicated Polish EU observers were
denied entrance into the country and Czech senator and German deputy who were in-country were directed to leave the country. Lucia Newman, “Cuban Dissidents Rally in
Havana,” CNN, accessed 3/14: http://www.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/americas/05/20/
cuba.rally/
Examining Cuban Civil Society
239
organizations rely on pressure tactics; however, alone they cannot change circumstances.Lastly, Freedom House is another example of an international
monitor that provides research which raises human rights abuses to the international stage. Freedom House has been tracking political rights and civil liberties developments for over 30 years through its seven-point system, in
which it annually assesses and scores over 190 countries. Its ranking standards are also based on the UNDHR and their scores are used in selecting and
funding the U.S. government’s new development organization, the Millennium Challenge Corporation. In its 2005 Country Report, Freedom House not
only highlights the March 2003 crackdown but also contextualizes these
events within a scoring scheme that compares country records throughout the
world. Since 1972, Cuba has scored a seven (7), putting it at the most repressive end of the range for both political rights and civil liberties.
National Sector of Cuban Civil Society
Mass Organizations
Today’s Cuban civil society broadly defined has its roots in pre-revolutionary
forces. The Partido Socialista, which included Castro’s’ Movimiento 26 Julio
and an anti-Batista student group, Directoria Revolucionario were consolidated in 1965 into the PCC. The PCC’s youth wing, the Union de Jovenes
Comunistas (UJC) has special constitutional status. The two together constitute one in six of the Cuban population aged between 15 and 65 years. The
Party is linked to economic well-being in that recommendations for party
membership typically occur through the work place and opposition activists
are typically punished by being denied employment or advancement. Additional state organizations include:
• Central de Trabajadroes de Cuba (CTC) which represents 13 official labor unions
with a combined total of 3.3 million and 80,000 workplace branches. The CTC was
founded in 1939 and is one of the oldest unions in the Americas.
• Comites de Defensa de la Revolucion (CDRs) constitute the largest Cuban mass organization with cells in every neighborhood. Although CDRs are a critical component of
state security and surveillance, they have increasingly become more active in providing social services, such as street cleaning and vaccinations. Of all the organizations,
membership here is the greatest at 85 percent of the population over 14.
• Asociacion Nacional de Agricultures Pequenos (ANAP) has a membership of about
150,000 small farmers who own 50 acres or less. Since the mid-1990s, they constitute
a market of producers which sell produce at local farmer’s markets.
• Federacion de Mujeres Cubanas (FMC) has a membership of 80 percent of women
over 14 years of age.
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• Federacion de Estudiantes Universitarios (FEU), whose founding in 1923 pre-dated
the Cuban revolution, maintains a membership of 200,000.
• Federacion de Estudiantes de Ensenanza Media (FEEM) and Pioneros have a combined membership of 1.5 million primary and secondary school students.
These organizations were established to increase mobilization and, at the
inception of the Cuban revolution, represented an emergent civil society.
(Dilla and Oxhorn, 2002: 16) Although these organizations are not independent from the state, and are agents of influence in perpetuating the current
Party ideology, their extensive social infrastructure requires that they be considered in any post-Communist transition. Furthermore, the existence of this
infrastructure among a highly educated public perpetuates solidarity and
associational values that are critical components of civil society.
Cuban NGOs:
Unlike the mass organizations, Cuban NGOs, although briefly state sanctioned, crept into the space created in the Special Period, because of their
ability to attract foreign aid.8 The Cuban government required that Cuban
NGOs register, have a sponsoring state institution, and subject themselves to
dissolution by the Ministry of Justice at any point. (Gunn, 1995) By 1995, the
Ministry of Justice had registered 2,154 civil associations.9 (Dilla and
Oxhorn, 2002: 17) Castro himself first used the term “civil society” in a 1994
Ibero-American Summit. This spurred a discussion around what this term
means as it had been regarded as a neoliberal extension of the United States.
According to one government official, civil society outside of the government was problematic in that “Cuba already has a civil-society-a revolutionary civil society made up of organizations such as the Committees to Defend
the Revolution (CDRs).” (Gunn, 1995: 8) This perspective reflects the concept of a Cuban socialist civil society, which is most connected to the first
definition of Gramscian civil society in that it civil society is an extension of
the state. However, the Cuban government needed these organizations even
though they were encroaching on the state’s territory in the provision of
social services. For example, Oxfam America supported a small housing
project through the National Association of Small Producers (ANAP), a mass
organization. By 1993, an international donor conference took place in Cuba
to showcase Cuban NGOs. In the three year period of 1993-1996, NGOs
8. Jorge Luis Acanda Gonzalez discusses this period in his article, “Cuban Civil Society:
I. Reinterpreting the Debate,” NACLA Report on the Americas 39, no. 4 (2006): 32-36. Specifically he addresses the space the state vacated in terms of its ability to provide social
services, a central tenet and responsibility of Cuban Communism. As a result, the Cuban
government, “was compelled to open up significant space for foreign investment” which
included allowing “other actors to take on certain functions heretofore under its exclusive
purview” (36).
9. Since 1997, civil society registry been frozen.
Examining Cuban Civil Society
241
raised $42 million and numbered from 20 to 50 organizations. There were
even six priority areas designated for NGO grants: aternative energy, community development, environment, popular education, promotion of women and
institution building. However, a 1996 contraction of this space by the state
froze NGO registration.
Clearly, both mass organizations and Cuban NGOs operate in the space
carved out by the state. Mass organizations are constitutionally part of the
Cuban government and as a result, have a specific function and space.
Although they have access to the Cuban population and foster civic participation making them agents of influence, their ability to affect a transformation
in the short-term is minimal. Cuban NGOs were provided some latitude by
the government and its interaction with foreign donors gave it a degree of
independence in which to operate for a brief period of time. Both types of
national organizations have and can play a limited role in implementing transition but are unlikely to initiate change.
Hybrid Sector of Cuban Civil Society:
Dissident and Opposition Groups:
Organized opposition to the Cuban government is estimated at 100 small
human-rights groups and opposition parties. Political prisoners range anywhere between 100 to 1,000 individuals. (Economic Intelligence Unit, 2005:
10) These groups work within Cuba and their members are primarily Cubans,
although they operate with the support and assistance of internationallybased organizations.Groups include independent journalists, like the Society
of Journalists Manuel Marquez Sterling; civic protest groups, like the Ladies
in White modeled after Argentina’s Madres de Plaza de Mayo; and the Cuban
Democratic Directorate. As agents of influence, their primary audience is not
only the Cuban government but also the Cuban people and an international
audience in seeking leverage for change. Because they operate within Cuba
and with international assistance, they exert a “boomerang effect” in the way
international NGOs do in influencing the international community to pressure the Cuban government. There is a debate around organizations linked to
Cuban émigrés typically residing in the U.S. and/or funded through USAID
between those that consider the organizations as infiltrated by U.S. foreign
interests and those that see the agencies as legitimate and credible by virtue
of this funding.10
10. Juan. L. Lopez addresses this debate in Democracy Delayed: The Case of Castro’s
Cuba in Chapter 3; specifically, he cites the responses from a Center for the Study of a
National Option, which interviewed nine civil society groups in Cuba and 1,023 exiles. The
Castro government openly uses the threat of a US invasion to elicit the Cuban people’s support.
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Opposition and dissident groups pay a price in terms of their access to the
Cuban public and ability to influence the Cuban government. The March
2003 crackdown in which 75 people were arrested, quickly tried, and imprisoned was attributed to U.S. aid to dissidents. Although recent reports indicate
that civil resistance activities have increased from 44 civic actions in 1997 to
1,805 actions in 2004, the Castro government continues to block opposition
movements by arresting, detaining, and imprisoning prominent activists.11
The Society of Journalists Manuel Marquez Sterling is an example of a
society of independent journalists supported through Paris-based Reporteros
Sin Fronteras. They support the publication of Revista De Cuba, a collection
of over 250 articles originally published in 2002. Articles report on the activities of Project Varela, racism and poverty in Cuba, in addition to the March
2003 crackdown. In fact, Alfonso, the director of the society, was arrested
and continued to report from jail.
The Hialeah, Florida-based Cuban Democratic Directorate, has been publishing reports since 1997 on resistance and repression activities in Cuba in
an effort to track the development of an independent civil society. They are
supported by the International Republican Institute, funded by USAID, and
National Endowment for Democracy.12 They rely on their communications
with local opposition groups in order to track and report island-wide activities. Until 2003, at least one-quarter of the civic protest activity was based in
Havana. The 2004 report indicates that Havana resistance activities shrunk to
18.5 percent of the overall total, meaning that, although overall civil resistance activities increased in 2004, proportionally more activities were occurring outside the capital province in places like Pinar del Rio, Matanzas and
Villa Clara than in previous years.
The Leonor Perez Committee Mothers which began in 2002 as a prayer
group of the wives of political prisoners and the wives of the 75 activists who
were arrested in March 2003 came together as the Ladies in White. They
have met in churches throughout Havana and proceed, dressed in white,
down to the Quinta Avenida. They have appealed to the government for the
release their husbands and an end to punishment meted out as a result of individual expression.
All three groups are examples of agents of influence working within
Cuba, as well as outside, whose goal is to affect change. They are not sanctioned by the Cuban government and, as a result, as subject to retaliation.
Because they are effectively not permitted access to the Cuban population by
being restricted in their activities, their influence is limited. However,
11. See Steps to Freedom, 2003, 13; and Steps to Freedom, 2004, 10
12. http://www.iri.org/countries.asp?id=8539017010
Examining Cuban Civil Society
243
through support from foreign groups, they are able to continue to vie for societal space currently occupied by the Cuban government.
Cuban Catholic Church:
The Cuban Catholic Church’s role has also largely been subject to the Cuban
government. Since the Fourth Communist Party Congress held in 1991
adopted a more flexible position on religion in general, the Catholic Church
has been able to participate more actively in Cuban society. During the Special Period, Church charities, like Caritas, received humanitarian assistance
from abroad. The 1998 visit of Pope John Paul II was also favorably
received, in part because of his condemnation of the US embargo. However,
the Catholic Church’s position on free market democracy which fosters individual rights still clashes frequently with the policies and practices of the
Cuban government. Catholic schools and constructions of new churches are
prohibited. Only five of the 120 churches taken by the government have been
returned to the church.
Conclusion
The purpose of this paper was to proffer a model of Cuban civil society
which provided examples of organizations as agents of influence in potentially producing change. The hybrid and international sectors hold the most
promise for short-term change in Cuba because their sphere of influence is
not fully controlled by the Cuban government. These organizations can pry
open the space needed for short-term change by leveraging outside resources
through modes of communication and pressure. However, long-term implementation of change could rely on the social infrastructure laid by the mass
organization. A good deal of this type of change relies on the type of transition which could occur in Cuba, whether to a liberal democratic or social
democratic model, which is outside the scope of this paper.
Juan L. Lopez argues that resources for mass communication are necessary on the island in order to make people aware of opposition movements
and foster a feeling of solidarity to undertake the type of mass protests which
overthrew oppressive governments in Eastern Europe. Access to the population is still largely controlled by the Cuban government through the national
sector. Perhaps the continued pressure applied by both hybrid and international sectors can produce enough of a tipping point as to convert the national
sector from an agent of influence to an agent of change.
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Challenges.” In NACLA Report on the Americas, 39(4): 37-42.
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Amnesty International. 2002. Cuba: Questions and Answers on the work of
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Amnesty International. 2005. Cuba: Prisoners of conscience: 71 longing for
freedom, AI Index: AMR, Feb. 25, 2005: 1-29
Center for the Study of a National Option (CEON). “Inside Civil Society in
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and Prospects for Democratization.” ASCE 2001 Meeting: Cuba in
Transition.
Accessed:
http://lanic.utexas.edu/project/asce/pdfs/
volume11/ceon.pdf.
Chanan, Michael. 2001. “Cuban and Civil Society, or Why Cuban Intellectuals Are Talking About Gramsci?” Nepantla: Views from the South 2.2.
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Dilla, Haroldo and Philip Oxhorn. 2002. “The Virtues and Misfortunes of
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Economist Intelligence Unit. 2005. “Cuba Country Profile 2005.” New York:
Economist Intelligence Unit: 3-48. Accessed at www.eiu.com.
Gasperini, Lavinia. 2000. “The Cuban Education System: Lessons and
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Gonzalez, Jorge Luis Acanda. 2006. “Cuban Civil Society: Reinterpreting
the Debate.” In NACLA Report on the Americas, 39(4): 32-36.
Gramsci, Antonio. 1971. Selections from the Prison Notebooks of Antonio
Gramsci. Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell Smith, eds. New York:
International Publishers.
Gray, Alexander I. 2005. “Cuban-European NGO collaboration: international
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cubanas y europeos, prioridades tradicionales y nuevos enfoques.” In
Latinoamerica y Europa: La Educacion superior ante los retos de la
cooperación internacional, Ines Gomez and Julia Gonzalez, eds. EDIW,
Brussels, Belgium. Accessed March 17, 2006, at http://www.monitor.upeace.org/archive.cfm?id_article=328
Gunn, Gillian. 1995. “Cuba’s NGOs: Government Puppets or Seeds of Civil
Society?” In Cuba Briefing Paper Series Number 7, Georgetown University Caribbean Project, February, 1995: 1-21.
Keck, Margaret and Kathryn Sikkink. 1998. Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press.
Kornai, Janos. 1992. The Socialist System: The Political Economy of Communism. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
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Moss, Lawrence C. “New Council Opposed by Unusual Duo: U.S. and
Cuba.” Miami Herald, March 13, 2005. Accessed at: http://
www.miami.com/mld/miamiherald/news/opinion/14084977.htm
Lopez, Juan J. 2002. Democracy Delayed: The Case of Castro’s Cuba. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Otero, Gerardo and Janice Bryan. 2002. “Cuba in Transition? The Civil
Sphere’s Challenge to the Castro Regime.” Latin American Politics and
Society, 44(4): 29-57.
Payne, Douglas. 1998. “Cuba: Repression of Dissent.” In Perspective Series
PS/CUB/99.001. INS Resource Information Center, December, 1998.
Sinclair, Minor. 2000. “NGOs in Cuba: Principles for Cooperation.” Oxfam
America, March 18, 2000. Accessed 3/17/06, http://oxfamamerica.org.newsandpublications/publications/ideas_at_oxfam/art5069.html
Sociedad de Periodistas Manuel Marquez Sterling. 2003. “Mujeres cubanas
protestant contra la oleada Represiva.” In Revista de Cuba, 3: 56.
Sociedad de Periodistas Manuel Marquez Sterling. 2003. “Contrapunto.” In
Revista de Cuba, 2: 19-21.
Sociedad de Periodistas Manuel Marquez Sterling. 2002. “Textos y Contextos.” In Revista de Cuba, 1: 16-17.
CHAPTER 16
Ideology in Cuban
Journalism
Juan Orlando Pérez González
“I wonder what’s going on my mind when I decided to study journalism in
Cuba,” L. said. “It was absurd.” Every year, some 2,000 young men and
women have the same strange idea and apply for a place in the Faculty of
Communication of the University of Havana. Around 50 of them succeed.
Most finish their degree and get a job as reporters in national or regional
media. But how long they will remain in the job is another matter.
I conducted in-depth interviews with 47 young Cuban journalists who
graduated from the University of Havana between 1991 and 2000. Some 25
of them still work for Cuban national media in Havana, and eight work in the
city of Santa Clara, 300 kilometers east of the capital. The rest I found working in media in Spain, the Dominican Republic and the United States.
I wanted to describe the professional ideology of those young journalists,
to register their values, ideals, models and prejudices. But it was difficult to
find them. This generation of Cuban journalists is widely dispersed across the
world. By my count, less than half of the graduates of the Faculty of Communication of the University of Havana in the 1990s stay in Cuba and many of
them have quit journalism. It is a terrible waste of talent. They had, of course,
great expectations of their careers as journalists that now have turned into a
feeling of unfulfilled potential.
“Do you mean which qualities they let me show,” asked M. when I
inquired about best qualities of a journalist. “There are excellent professional
journalists here,” R. said. “You would see how excellent they are if they were
allowed to work.” All my interviewees seemed to believe that they deserve
better, according to their talent and efforts. Those who remain in Cuban
media have seen some of their classmates prosper in public relations or
advertising, or abroad, while they endure all the difficulties of living in Cuba
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Juan Orlando Pérez González
and working for the State media. They admitted that the most likely reason to
abandon journalism was material needs.
“The economy is a problem; you cannot do anything against the economy…And if you have to go, you have to go,” said M. But surely there are
many other reasons, including a great deal of dissatisfaction with their professional performance. Since I conducted my research, two of my interviewees have left Cuba, and another two moved out of the profession.
Graduates of more recent years have already begun to leave. The exodus is
unstoppable.
Still, the commitment my interviewees declared to journalism is remarkable. In some, at least, that might be a defensive attitude: otherwise, remaining in Cuban journalism so many years after graduation might be judged as a
personal and professional failure. Some insisted that they had had “opportunities,” “offers,” that could be real, or plain fiction. Others have achieved, I
think, quite a lot, and it is natural that they want to remain in journalism: they
live reasonably well, by Cuban standards, and have gained some public recognition, which is the highest reward for a journalist in the island. In my
interviews, they overemphasised the importance of the public recognition
and appreciation of their work. I noticed how some talked about mythical
readers who send them “millions” of letters or call the newspaper “everyday.” Many told me anecdotes of common people identifying and greeting
them. These are in sharp contrast with the sad experience, confessed by
some, of being called “liars.” The young journalists working in Cuban media
need to believe that the public recognises them, appreciates their work and
differentiates them from the general “mediocrity” (their words) of the
island’s journalists. Those who have gained some recognition are less likely
to leave their job than those who remained practically unknown.
Of course, leaving the job or the country depends also on personal circumstances, like having fathered or mothered a family. Only 12 out of my 47
interviewees have children, though most of them are older than 30 years. This
is a likely sign of personal and professional instability. Those who remain
single and childless have a greater professional mobility and are most likely
to shift jobs. Those who have created their own families depend more on the
relative advantages of the job: the remote possibility of being allocated a
house, the occasional trip abroad, a good salary (once again, by Cuban standards). But above all I want to remark that most of my interviewees still consider journalism a good job, for the same reasons they chose it in the first
place. “I enjoy journalism”, said M. Yet others said that they did not know
anything else to do.
The way these journalists relate to the public of the countries in which
they are working now seems to be different of the way journalists working in
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
249
the island relate to the Cuban public. Some of the journalists working abroad
sounded nostalgic. “After knowing the Dominican public, I appreciate Cuba
more,” said L. The journalists working in Cuba showed mixed feelings. They
disagreed on the Cuban public’s capacity to understand intellectually complex subjects and to accept diversity of opinions. But references to “the people” were constant throughout the interviews. “The people” is a fundamental
notion of this journalists’ professional ideology, as it is of the ideology of the
Cuban Revolution. But “the people,” who the people are, who are part of “the
people” and who are not, and what “the people want,” is very much a disputed discursive territory. The legitimacy of the Revolution itself depends on
the answers to those questions. During the trial for the attacks to the Moncada
Barracks, in 1953, Fidel Castro decisively defined “the people” as the
exploited, the underpaid and the unemployed. Later, he made an ideological
operation to equate the Revolution “of the poor, and for the poor” with the
Fatherland, and ultimately, with Socialism.
“The Revolution includes the interests of the people, the Revolution
means the interests of the whole Nation,” said Castro (Castro, 1961: 11-12)
For my interviewees, these concepts are hardly synonymous. Socialism
emerged when I asked about the advantages and disadvantages of working
either in Cuba or in capitalist countries. But socialism is no longer a word
designating a community of nations. Because China, Vietnam and Korea are
such remote references, by socialism my interviewees meant Cuba. Socialism
is still an unfinished, imprecise concept in political theory, not to mention for
my interviewees. P., for instance, talked about the many blanks in the theory
of socialism, like the role of the press. The exhaustion of the propaganda
about the superiority of socialism was visible when so many interviewees
said that journalism was very much the same everywhere regardless the political system.
The “Revolution,” is another slippery concept. In 1961 Castro said that
the interests of the Revolution were above the newspapers,’ (Castro, 1961b:
6) and only a few weeks later he infamously proclaimed, “Inside the Revolution, everything; against the Revolution, nothing.” (Castro, 1961a: 11-12)
But what the Revolution was, and what its legitimate interests were, remains
obscure. I suspect that “the people” is overemphasised in the imagination and
the discourse of my interviewees, precisely as a reaction against the conceptual dispersion, or emptiness, of words like Fatherland, Revolution and
Socialism. “The people” seems to be real, the blood-and-flesh men and
women my interviewees said they know well, those characters I called the
Uneducated but Smart Typical Member of the Audience and the Man in the
Street Who Appreciates the Journalist’s Work. “The newsman believes that
he knows what the public desires and thinks,” Schlesinger says. (Schlesinger,
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1992: 109-110) But “the people” or “the public” are mythical constructions, a
projection of the journalists’ ideals and experiences, a rather arbitrary and
reductive symbolic representation, not a material object. My interviewees
elaborated a narrative in which “the people” or “the public” played a fundamental part opposite to “them,” that vague third person of the plural that
emerged once and again throughout the conversation. Some interviewees
made clear this opposition. “Media are supposed to belong to the people, but
that is not true, because I do not work for the people, but for the Party,” said
D.
“A politician will never understand the real problems of the people, of
everyday life,” M. said, caustically. “I have never seen a politician having a
beer in a bar with the people, and I am sure I am not going to see one…Politicians do drink a lot of beers, but at their homes, alone.” “They” (the politicians, the leaders, the Party) are often seen as antagonists of “the people.” In
M.’s words is visible the physical and political distance between those two
poles, at least in these journalists’ imagination.
My interviewees, without exception, took the side of “the people.” That
was not a surprise. The novelty here was that by standing with “the people,”
most of my interviewees took distance from the Party of which they are, supposedly, “ideological soldiers.” This was never clearer than when F., asked
what he would do to make Cuban journalism better, replied that he would cut
the telephone line between his newspaper and the Central Committee of the
Party, as if the line were an umbilical cord between the power and the civil
society. “Aligning with the public is a stance that journalists invoke strategically to deal with certain occupational hazards that arise when confronting
prestigious public figures in the glare of media spotlight,” Clayman says.
“At such moments, it can be extremely useful to present oneself as a tribune
of the people.” (Clayman, 2002: 213) “The people” might not exist, but they
were repeatedly invoked by my interviewees to support their demand of
authority over their work: they, the journalists, not the politicians, know what
the people are, and what they want.
My interviewees often emphasized their modest origin or living conditions. They remarked that they live among the people: “I can see the people,
what is happening in the street, because I ride a bicycle, I do not drive a car, I
am not distant from people,” D. explained to me. Because of both their social
origin and professional disposition to the public service, they identify themselves with an entity that they do not really know, as the controversy on the
public’s qualities showed. However, that controversy showed the decomposition of the revolutionary myth of “the people.” My interviewees might be on
the side of “the people” against the politicians, but they were sceptical, sometimes derisive, of the people’s merits. They were educated in an atmosphere
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
251
of exaltation of the common man, bravery, intelligence and generosity. But
they are not common men, but part of the intelligentsia, and often expressed
high-brow disdain. “They do not think a lot. And I say they do not think,
because they do not do take any action”, said A. In their everyday work, my
interviewees adopt one of two attitudes described by Clayman (Clayman,
2002: 212): “the populist,” when the journalist uses “the language of the people’s wants, desires and concerns far more than their needs, requirements, or
obligations as citizens;” or “the professional,” never better defined than when
D. talked about his Utopian reader, “someone who is searching for his very
own truths, someone who is expecting me to give him views of reality that
could complement, enrich or negate his.” D. added: “I am interested in a
reader who can understand that reality can be transformed.” He was obviously talking about himself.
These young journalists are colonising a symbolic space between the public and the state (the Party, the revolutionary leadership), in a hypothetical
public sphere that does not exist in Cuba but in the imagination. This is a fundamental ideological change that leaves them close to the ideology of liberal
journalism. But because such a public sphere does not exist, and they are
employees of state media, my interviewees are visibly confused about the
role they must play in this situation. “If I am loyal to the Revolution, I cannot
be loyal to my profession, and if I am loyal to my profession, I cannot be
loyal to the Revolution. I do not know how to make the two of them compatible,” said M. They all agreed that bringing accurate information to the public
is the primordial duty of all journalists. That is exactly what the Code of Ethics of the Union of Cuban Journalists reads: “The journalist has the duty to
inform and express his opinions with accuracy, agility and precision” and
“the journalist has the right to obtain any information of public interest and to
do any action necessary for that aim.” (Union of Cuban Journalists, 1999: 4)
Journalists of 14 countries included in David Weaver’s The Global Journalist
said the same. (Weaver, 1998: 466) But my interviewees said that only after I
rephrased my original question about the roles and responsibilities of journalists. First, many were hesitant and incoherent. They often talked about the
“truth,” as in, “People want the journalists to tell the truth”, said Y., which is,
of course, a central notion of the liberal philosophy. They believe journalists
are responsible for “the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth,”
as John Stuart Mill put it. (Mill, 1989: 20) But truth is nowhere as elusive as
in Cuba. “We have the truth, life has demonstrated that we have the truth; our
Party has the truth, our people has the truth, our work has the truth,” said Carlos Aldana, chief ideologue of the Party, only months before being sacked for
corruption. (Aldana, 1992: 5)
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My interviewees belong to a generation that has seen the trust broken and
the truth compromised. Truth has been overstretched, manipulated, negated
and hidden by both sides in the Cuban political wars. Both sides are widely
discredited now. “Truth does not exist, there is not truth, nobody has the
truth,” said D. A., who lives in Miami, said that the worst defect of Cuban
media was “to hide the truth, to bury opinion,” while Miami’s was “the
demonization of Cuba and the idealisation of the exile.” Propaganda has substitute truth (or indeed, information) in the absence of alternative, really independent sources. Truth can only be revealed en el momento adecuado, at the
right time, when the journalists receive la orientación, the command, to do
so. El momento adecuado y la orientación are rhetorical tricks of the Party
bureaucracy to justify the rigid administration of information and prevent
spontaneous, non-controlled, potentially damaging, even subversive discourses. There are vast zones of the social reality in which the hegemonic
discourse have collapsed, its authority and prestige practically annulled by
widespread disbelief. “There is a public that…because of the way they
live…we do not have anything to tell them,” said F. “We do not have anything to say to that people because they live in other world and have other
ways to get information.”
The space left by the retreating discourses of the politicians or the media
is colonised by unverified, unverifiable information: leaks, gossip, rumours,
prejudices and myths. The Cuban government has successfully prevented the
emergence of internal independent media, but not the relative influence of the
radio stations of South Florida, and other foreign media. But these media are
not the norm of objectivity, either. T. told me of his father in law, who listened to both Radio Martí and the Cuban Television, and found both of them
“lying.” Objectivity, in a symbolic universe of thick opaqueness, seems an
attractive ideal to most of my interviewees. But it is an ideal my interviewees
know is impossible to achieve. In 1974, Armando Hart, then member of the
Politburo, called on the Cuban press to be “objective as the so-called ‘objective’ press of the imperialism has never been.” (Hart, 1974: 34) “Objectivity
in journalism is a fiction,” said N. thirty years later. My interviewees are not
innocent or ingenuous with regard to journalistic objectivity. They recognised the distance between ideal and reality. A journalist must “inform without
lying and without omitting anything, as far as you can,” said M., in Spain. “In
an as objective and transparent way as possible,” said N. “As honestly as possible,” said A. “As objectively as possible and from the various sides of the
news,” said I. The hegemonic discourse no longer functions as the norm of
objectivity, but my interviewees seem to be looking for a new norm, which
many of them allegedly find in their direct experience of social reality, in
Radio Bemba, as D. put it, in the voice of the street, not in Granma. Y said
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
253
that a journalist “must be a very humble person to listen to different points of
view, a very receptive person…and although not impartial, he must try to be
objective…as objective as possible…”
Many of my interviewees said that the people’s appreciation was the
greatest reward of the job. “The main reward in Cuba was to know that the
public listened to you, and recognised your voice, and sometimes you hit target with your work,” said K, who is now in Madrid. “Hit target” means basically finding that new norm of objectivity which has moved away from the
discourse of the politicians. Objectivity, or the appearance of it, works as a
symbolic circle separating the journalist from a culture polluted by propaganda. “What saves me is that I tried to do my things with the greatest possible dignity…,” said P. “And I do not do everything, I have established
limits.” “It appears the word ‘objectivity’ is used defensively as a strategic
ritual,” wrote Gaye Tuchman. (Tuchman, 1972: 678) My interviewees provided evidence of their little feats of insubordination against the tyranny of
media bosses and Party officials. They were probably exaggerated, but they
made for the frequent occasions in which these journalists have had to take
the most undignified assignments. I remember P. telling me, “You should not
jump before the train everyday because someday the train will crush you and
afterwards no one will remember you. ‘Oh, yes, him, he was such a nice fellow!’ That’s crap, the train already crushed you.” “People need to eat, and
they know what a bad political record means,” said D. They all need to
believe that they are not part of the mechanism of propaganda, but rather serious journalists who take every opportunity to do their job in the most dignified way. But the answers to my question about ethics revealed in many a
guilty conscience. Their ethical ambivalence was never better expressed than
by A. “My work is not 100 percent ethical…,” he started, and then stopped.
“Well, you are either ethical or not, there is not such thing as half ethical…My work is not ethical. It is not ethical because I cannot satisfy my
reader’s demands. It is not ethical because I cannot give my reader what I
would like to give him, or what he demands from me. It is not ethical because
I have to hide information from him. It is not ethical because many times I
have to keep silence. It is not ethical because it is not full. Because my work
is not full, it cannot be ethical.”
“That is demoralising,” added F.
When I asked my interviewees to compare media in socialist Cuba with
media in capitalism, the former always lost. They strove to find advantages in
Cuban media, but most of them only returned with hypotheses. The Cuban
media “do not try to make money, they try to educate people, and give them a
voice…,” said S. “But I tell you, there is a contradiction, because that is a
purpose, not an achievement.” D. said that “looking down on the problem
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from very high, from the stratosphere, I think that there can be freedom of the
press in socialism, and even that the freedom of the press could be more
effective in socialism than in capitalism.” I have proved the huge gap
between my interviewees’ professional ideology and the practices in Cuban
media. Previously, Segura, Barreda and Nápoles (1991) and Estrada (1994)
had shown the difference between the Cuban journalists’ preferred subjects
and those the island’s media favor. But I can show that between the young
Cuban journalists’ professional ideologies and the island’s media practices
there is more than disadjustment: rather a vast and already insurmountable
opposition. This proves how autonomous and dynamic professional ideologies are, and how they can move away from work practices and advance the
possibility of a change in these latter long before any transformation actually
happens. In the socialist states of Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, the
ideological change anticipated the structural transformation of the media system. “There was more conformism than deep-seated conviction…in journalists’ attitudes and definitions of their occupational role,” comments
Jakubowicz (Jukubowicz, 1992: 67) My interviewees did not attempt to
defend whatsoever the model of public communication running in Cuba. The
lists of defects in Cuban journalism, in my interviewees’ words, seemed endless: intellectual mediocrity, cowardice, self-censorship, laziness, indifference and opportunism. Media, particularly the national newspapers, Radio
Rebelde, the Cuban Television and the agency Prensa Latina, are apparently
plagued with conflicts between journalists competing for privileges (either a
trip abroad or complete control over a story). Those media were often compared with the jungle: “many predators and very few harmless animals.” My
interviewees often remarked their detachment from their colleagues. Once
again, the ideological separation had a physical expression. T. told me that
she spent no more than 15 minutes a night in the newsroom, and talked only
to the cameraman and the image editor. Another T. said that he had some kind
of odor that kept away his colleagues. My interviewees said their colleagues
lacked many of the best qualities of a journalist that they had listed in
answering my earlier question. According to the descriptions of my interviewees, Cuban journalists (and my interviewees themselves) might very
well be classified in the four categories described by Lauk among Estonian
journalists: “cynical conformists” who do not oppose the official ideology
but make fun of it; the “cultural responsible” journalists who use metaphorical language, allusions and allegories to challenge the constraints of the
media discourses; those who just do their work without problematising it;
and the directors and senior editors. (Lauk, 1996: 97)
“Journalism in our socialist countries,” Castro said, “countries that have
more discipline, has a content and a responsibility. The journalist has to work
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
255
seriously; he does not work as a mercenary…Journalism in socialism has
serious, important responsibilities.” (Castro, 1972: 448) “Rather than journalists, we are spokespersons of the official policies,” replied M. in Santa Clara.
However, my interviewees were not ingenuous with regard to capitalist
media. They listed defects of liberal journalism: commercialisation, banality,
the concentration of media in the hands of a few mega corporations. They
have been clearly influenced by their Marxist education and by Castro’s
denunciation of the liberal concept of freedom of the press. “The bourgeois
freedom of the press…is the freedom of the rich to be the owners of most of
the means of thinking, which they use to defend their interests as a class
against the exploited” (Castro 1966: 50). Castro was paraphrasing Lenin,
who had said that the freedom of the press was “the freedom of the rich to
everyday deceive, corrupt and fool, in a systematic and continuous way, with
millions of newspaper copies, the exploited and oppressed masses of the people, the poor.” (Lenin, 1979: 239) A. said exactly the opposite: “The main
difference between media here and abroad, which explains any other difference we could see…is the freedom of information, which is not complete, of
course…the freedom of movement and the freedom of expression journalism
has outside Cuba…”
But freedom of expression and freedom of the press were concepts my
interviewees seldom used. I can only guess that those concepts have been
worn off by propaganda, their meaning dried out by continuous controversy
in both the political and academic fields. “I ask why we should use an alien
concept like that for a reality that is essentially different,” said P. In general,
they were very cynical about the role of journalists in both capitalism and
socialism. “All journalists have the same disadvantage…they have to adjust
their work to the interests of the owner,” said T. “You know, here and everywhere else, the one who pays, is the one who commands. Everywhere in the
world. Here as well, the one who pays, commands. OK?” A. told me. “Censorship,” M. told me, “there is censorship everywhere, because censorship is
nothing else but the control someone has over the news, according to his
interests.” “Big media are always organised in the same way, aligned with
power,” said T.
Disappointed by Cuban media, but suspicious of media in capitalism (of
which some have first hand knowledge) my interviewees seemed desperately
confused, sometimes incoherent. According to their answers, they seemed to
be closer to the principles of the liberal journalism. M. told me that in capitalist media “there was more plurality, more possibilities…they are less totalitarian because there is more diversity, and you have greater possibility to
choose.” The possibility of alternative media captured their imagination. “It
is very likely that those media are tied to special interests…maybe most of
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them are tied to the same interest…” T. said. “But beyond that, in capitalism I
would still have the possibility to create a little magazine read only by my
mother, my father and me, saying what I think of the world…and nobody
would get mad because of it.”
I noticed how many of the young Cuban journalists I found in foreign
media were very critical of their new professional environment. Most of them
complained of the commercialism of the media they now work for, though
none remotely insinuated that Cuban media were better. They still possess a
solid critical thinking, like my interviewees living in the island. “You could
think that because there are so many newspapers in a capitalist country, with
so many different owners and political orientation, it is possible to find in one
what you do not find in the other,” said J. “But we are in a period in which
most newspapers are concentrating; the owner of a newspaper is not the
owner of just one newspaper, but of 10. They are increasingly uniform; the
space to find something different is increasingly reduced. Each time there is
greater manipulation of the public, and media represent the interest of fewer
people.” “The worst [in capitalist media] is that major economic groups have
increasing control of media and they force all the multiple sides of truth to
merge in a single version,” said K. in Spain. Those calls of the Union of
Cuban Journalists for its members to study the experience of their socialist
colleagues in the Soviet Union or Eastern Europe have long ago vanished in
the wind of history, but Lenin’s criticism of the liberal journalism, repeated
by Castro and his propagandists, and the lecturers of the Faculty of Journalism/Communication of the University of Havana, still have great resonance.
I asked my interviewees which changes they would make in Cuban media
if they had the power to do so. According to their answers I divided them into
three categories: moderates, reformists and radicals. Moderates were those
who most wanted to get rid of mediocre journalists “who obstruct their colleagues’ work,” as M. said. The reformists pointed towards a change in the
Party’s policies of media and information. They demanded greater freedom,
an “opening to the world…a true opening, without fear,” as another M. put it.
A typical radical was yet a third M., who said: “The first thing you have to
change to make the Cuban press work well is the system, brother.” The radicals were those that suspected that an opening would not be enough and a
major structural change in the political system was needed. These three Ms
are, I think, representative of roughly as many positions in today’s Cuban
politics: those who support continuity, those who demand a reform within
socialism, and everyone who wants a fundamental change of the political
system. This depends on where each individual locates the main source of
problems: in the character or competence of the persons running the system,
in their policies, or in the political and economic structures. The radicals do
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
257
not necessarily advocate a capitalist restoration, but imagine that policy
changes that are not accompanied by a vast reorganisation of the political and
economic system would, at the end, being easily reversed, as the failure of
the moderate opening of the late 1980s proved. In 1990, Julio García Luis,
then Chairman of the Union of Cuban Journalists, declared: “In a country like
ours the press does not change but as a part of a transformation of the society.” (Borges Triana, 1990: 8) Two years later, Carlos Aldana, the Party’s
chief ideologue, declared that “the improvement of the socialist democracy
will always remain incomplete and will lack a fundamental support if it does
not include the improvement of the press.” (Aldana, 1992: 5) And in 1994,
shortly before leaving the country, Wilfredo Cancio, lecturer in Journalism at
the Faculty of Communication of the University of Havana, wrote: “It is
unthinkable a change of the communicative model without transformations in
the Cuban politics and society.” (Cancio, 2003) After the political backlash of
1991-1992, a radical socialist stance probably lost any viability, but remains a
theoretical possibility, certainly in the imagination of some of my interviewees. I do not know how many Cubans could be labelled moderates,
reformists or radicals, but among my interviewees, none of these groups significantly outnumbered the others.
Somewhat surprisingly, even among the young journalists working
abroad, I found moderates and reformists. But I found none that in the first
instance justified the restrictions to public information in Cuba with the US
hostility. And that is one of the biggest results of my work, because it seems
to demolish the main argument of the Cuban leadership to limit journalists
and media’s autonomy and directly control their work. Forty years before the
triumph of the Cuban revolution, Lenin replied to those Bolsheviks who
wanted to restore freedom of the press in Russia: “If we march towards the
social revolution, we cannot ad to the bombs of Kaledin bombs of lies.”
(Lenin, 1979: 246) Cuban leaders would repeat ad nauseam Lenin’s words:
“Freedom of the press in the RSFSR, surrounded by bourgeois enemies of the
whole world, is freedom of political organization of the bourgeoisie and its
loyal servants…” (Hopkins 1970: 72). In 1961, Castro emphatically declared:
“The counterrevolutionaries, the enemies of the Revolution, do not have
rights against the Revolution, because the Revolution has a right, the right to
exist, the right to develop and the right to win.” (Castro, 1961: 11-12) Cuba
has faced the stubborn enmity of 10 US Administrations. None of my interviewees would say that is not true. “This country works in circumstances no
other country does, nobody can deny it,” said A. However, I have every reason to suspect that the conflict between the two countries has lost some visibility and urgency for the common citizen. American efforts to force a
change in Cuba are nowadays mostly concentrated in the economic, political,
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diplomatic and propagandistic fields. The younger generation, born years
after the Bay of Pigs invasion and the Missile Crisis, feel and understand the
relationship with Cuba’s “historical enemy” in a very different way of their
seniors. My interviewees’ attention is not focused in Washington, but in
Havana. They rarely mentioned the US embargo (or bloqueo, blockade, a
word that was not used in all 47 in-depth interviews), which is often used by
the Cuban leaders to explain the economic difficulties of the country. Only
three vaguely alluded to the American hostility. There has been a very significant political shift: my interviewees mostly blamed the incompetence and/or
authoritarianism of the Cuban leaders (Fidel Castro, Party officials, media
bosses) for the problems of the island’s journalists. “I do not want Granma to
be the best newspaper in the world,” Castro allegedly said to Gabriel García
Márquez, when the Nobel Prize winner asked el Comandante to give him the
reigns of that newspaper for a week. The story might be not true, but F.
delighted in its symbolism. Whether in the people, in the policies, or in the
system, journalists located the source of problems and the possibility for
change in Cuba.
Tragically, this movement does not mean that my interviewees see change
any closer. In fact, it seems to make positive change even more unlikely. A
passive, cynical attitude was very common. “Waiting, waiting, waiting.
Everybody is waiting,” F. said. “Well, I am one of those who think that this is
never going to change. Too many things are needed for this to change.” My
interviewees often showed disdain for power, which appeared in their
answers as both corruptive and conservative. They do not see themselves as
the agents of a change. Their early experiences, often traumatic, have made
them cautious. “There is resignation, Orlando. It’s like accepting our destiny,
like ‘This is our fate, there is no choice but doing this.’” T. told me. Many of
my interviewees have opted for keeping a strict separation between their personal lives and their work. Moral duplicity is apparently a typical pathology
in Cuban newsrooms. My interviewees often criticised their colleagues for
being hypocritical and opportunist. “They do not even deceive themselves,
because they do not believe what they are doing. They know that they are not
deceiving the people, because the people do not believe them,” said M. In
that atmosphere, my interviewees appear increasingly isolated and apathetic.
M. told me that she never say anything at the staff meetings. “I do not get
involved…I would like to think this is a dignified attitude, but I know this is
not, this is not dignified…but what else can I do?” Political disaffiliation is
common. Only a few of my interviewees are members of the Party, though
that does not necessarily mean conformity or acceptance.
The political beliefs of my interviewees are, anyway, an intricate emotional territory. In their answers I noticed residues of certain revolutionary
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
259
idealism, and also the early signs of middle-class conservatism. J. and M., for
instance, work in the same newspaper in Havana and have the best relations.
J. declared that a journalist has an “inexcusable duty” to the Revolution,
which was “to educate the people.” M., meanwhile, said that newspapers
must “entertain” their readers. He harshly criticised his colleagues for ignoring the writers of modern classics like Aldous Huxley. “I do not have those
problems. I was always concerned with increasing my knowledge. I was
interested in literature, art, languages…mostly English and French,” he said.
J. said that it was necessary for his newspaper to negotiate with the Party a
coherent editorial policy. He emphatically told me that Cuban media should
show “all the beautiful things this Revolution has brought, but also the problems.” M., a typical radical, said that “the first thing you have to change to
make the Cuban press work well is the system.” He added: “The Cuban press
will never work with this system. There could be whatever kind of opening,
that will never be enough…” J., who does not have a home in Havana and
lives in a Party dormitory, seems happy searching the Internet late at night,
when the newsroom is empty. M. owns a laptop and has applied for an Internet service, but told me that he was last in the queue, because he was not
member of the Party. He showed disdain for the Cuban public. “They do not
think with their brains, but with their hearts, they are too passionate to understand certain things, and they are intolerant,” he said. J. criticised those journalists “who write certain things only they can understand.” He sighed: “The
public is not fool, but we should not drive them crazy with complicated
words they would not understand.” J. also criticised the concentration of capitalist media in a few mega corporations. M. declared: “I do not know how
media were in the USSR or the GDR, but the Cuban media are lost, because
they are not oriented towards the market.” But neither of these two very different young men were as ingenuous as they may sound. J. said that it was
difficult for him to find any advantage of working in Cuban media. At last, he
found one: “A journalist here does not work for money,” he said, but immediately added: “At the same time, that is a disadvantage, because journalists
lack motivation.” M. said: “All media misinform. Why? Because media are
always subordinated to someone’s interests.” He said that he couldn’t stand
either Radio Rebelde or Radio Martí. “They both lie.” Without hesitation, J.
said that death would be the only reason why he would leave journalism. M.,
who apparently does not believe he has any “inexcusable duty” with the Revolution, confessed that he has been examining the possibility of moving
abroad. “I know for sure that I can go wherever in the world and I can write
professionally and do it well. Wherever, I can tell.”
Not even these two, one the antipode of the other, are ideologically pure.
Very often they are in opposite sides of the argument, but they work out their
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differences in an atmosphere of mutual respect and tolerance that their
seniors never knew. There is a feeling of togetherness, of a new community
that is far wider and inclusive of that of the “revolutionaries” of the 1960s.
National, generational or professional identities are becoming more relevant
than political ideology. The proof is that my interviewees have managed to
remain friends with classmates of different beliefs, and that leaving the country no longer necessarily means breaking up with colleagues and friends living in Cuba. In this I find the embryo of a new public sphere, which will
acquire institutional forms once a political transition begins in the island.
That attitude was probably cultivated in the Faculty of Journalism/Communication of the University of Havana, a place my interviewees praised for its
openness to debate and political plurality. “You could talk with entire freedom,” remembered D. “There was a famous occasion, when we form two
sides, one in favour of the government, the other against…And the side
against the government won the debate.”
I had suspected, during my preliminary research, that the transformation
of the Faculty’s curriculum in 1990 had had a greater influence in the professional ideology of young Cuban journalists. But now I think that the technical
and theoretical education provided by the Faculty was at the end less influential than the atmosphere of relative freedom, political tolerance and ideological diversity of the University of Havana in the early 1990s. There is
evidence (Kovats, 1998; Gross, 1996; Lauk, 1996; and Splichal, 2003) that
the schools of journalism in the socialist countries of Eastern Europe were
nests of dissent and unrest. The Faculty of Havana was hardly a refuge for
dissenters, but it was certainly more liberal and free-spirited than Granma.
None of my interviewee is a “counterrevolutionary.” Not even those who
work in Miami would confess being against the “Revolution.” The Revolution is, for these young men and women, like a mythical animal described in
very different manners by everyone who claims to have seen it. They have a
conflictive, ambivalent attitude towards the Revolution, its ideals and its legacy. A. said that he “still” is a “revolutionary, a supporter of this social
project,” but in his native Santa Clara he was considered hypercritical. “I was
a Bolshevik and they made me a Menshevik.” He talked about the “essence
of the Revolution.” “I always say that I work for the essence of the Revolution, not for any leader.” Not many of my interviewees talked about the Revolution, with capitals, which they probably thought might have sounded
pompous and ridiculous. The word “revolution,” with or without capitals,
appeared only 34 times in 47 interviews. In approximately 70 hours of conversation with 34 journalists in Cuba, the word “revolution” was registered
only 29 times. Only three interviewees used it more than twice: A. used it
seven times; M., five. The vast majority of interviewees—39—did not use it
Ideology in Cuban Journalism
261
at all. I can conclude that “the Revolution” is a concept that has greatly lost
its denotative quality. It used to mean everything: the guerrilla war in Sierra
Maestra, the people, the government, the ideals, the projects, the changes, the
infinite possibilities, Fidel Castro. Now, as far as I can see, means almost
nothing.
Those journalists who have left their job in Cuba mostly fit the description of Nicholson’s first category and the first subgroup of the fourth. Those
who remain in Cuban media, have either adapted to the circumstances, or
continue fighting a solitary war, as M., in Santa Clara, said he was. I do not
know how each of these 47 stories will end. I do not know even what is going
to happen in Cuba next week. Bantz anticipated three outcomes for cultural
conflicts in media organisations: first, “workers leave the workplace, seeking
work in organizations that seem to have developed norms more consistent
with their training;”second, “workers may alter their meanings and expectations to become more consistent with the workplace they currently are in;”
third, “workers may make the conflict between professional norms and existent organisational norms…itself an expected occurrence,” meaning that conflict becomes a norm. (Bantz, 1999: 134) These are three typical solutions of
which I could find numerous examples among my interviewees. Most of the
graduates of the Faculty of Journalism/Communication of 1991-2000 do not
work in journalism, and a very significant part of them do not live in Cuba.
Nicholson identifies four categories of career change:
“First are the young…whose change is exploration among fitness landscapes to
choose where to invest their Motivation. Second are the lifelong explorers—
individuals whose personality is restless, entrepreneurial, and driven by high
openness…Third are people whose fitness landscapes change abruptly, as the
forces of Selection expel them from settled employment…The fourth and largest group are those in more gradually changing environments, where many perceive a potential progressive degrading of the fitness landscape.” (Nicholson,
2000)
Two subgroups are identifiable: those who perceive a climate of instability and threat and jump ship before they are pushed, and those who enact a
strategy of moving regularly between employers to stay ahead of change
waves and to avoid the risks of dependence on a single long-term employer.
(Nicholson, 2000)
I can imagine that some of those young Cuban journalists working in the
island’s media will quit journalism and/or leave the country in the near
future, if a political change in the country does not find them still in their current positions. Those whom the transition will find still in Cuban media, will
very likely play a leading role in the transformation of the system of public
communication. A sudden liberalisation of the press market will be upset by
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Juan Orlando Pérez González
the shortage of professional journalists in the country. I suspect that most of
my interviewees would easily adapt to the change and will take important
positions in the new media industry. They might not be entirely prepared in
terms of skills, but they are certainly close to complete the ideological transition towards the liberal journalism. They are young enough to re-invent
themselves in a completely different political and professional environment,
as the experience of the young Cuban journalists working abroad definitively
proves. With regard to the country, there is not much I can say, but I do not
foresee any possibility of adopting any form of democratic journalism, certainly not Lenin’s, or Raymond Williams’, or James Curran’s. Capitalist radicals will likely defeat socialist radicals, reformists and moderates. A
capitalist restoration and the aggressive liberalisation of media are at arm’s
length, in historical terms. But when, exactly, and how that will happen, is the
most carefully hidden secret in Cuba. Not even Fidel Castro knows it. In the
days I was conducting my research, Fidel, now 79, spoke for hours from a
wheelchair to a congress of the Young Communist League. He said the word
“Revolution” (always with capitals 20 times. The word “truth” 10 times. The
word “ideas” 47 times. The word “future” only three times. “Our Revolution
is born everyday,” he said. One thousand five hundred delegates applauded.
But nobody was actually listening.
Bibliography
Castro, Fidel. 1961a. Palabras a los intelectuales. Havana: Ediciones del
Consejo Nacional de Cultura.
Castro, Fidel. 1961b. “Homenaje al periódico Revolución,” Obra Revolucionaria, March 25th, 1961. 6(11).
Schlesinger, Philip. 1992. Putting reality together. London: Routledge.
Clayman, Steven E. 2002. “Tribune of the people: maintaining the legitimacy
of aggressive journalism.” Media, Culture and Society, 24.
Union of Cuban Journalists. 1999. Código de Ética. Havana.
Weaver, David H. 1998. The Global Journalist. Creskill, N.J.: Hampton
Press.
Mill, John Stuart. 1989. On Liberty with The Subjection of Women and Chapters on Socialism. Cambridge: University Press.
Aldana, Carlos. 1992. “Síntesis de las palabras de Carlos Aldana en el acto
por el Centenario de Patria e instauración del Día de la Prensa Cubana.”
Granma, March 17, 1992: 4-5.
Bantz, Charles R. 1999. “News Organizations: Conflict as a Crafted Cultural
Norm.” In News: A Reader, Howard Tumber, ed. Oxford: University
Press.
Borges Triana, Joaquín. 1990. “Por una cuerda fina y tensa (Entrevista a
Julio García Luis).” Juventud Rebelde, October 21, 1990: 8.
Cancio, Wilfredo. 2003. “El periodismo en Cuba.” Sala de Prensa. Available
from http://www.saladeprensa.org.
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Castro, Fidel. 1972. Cuba-Chile. Havana: Ediciones Políticas, Comisión de
Orientación Revolucionaria del Comité Central del Partido Comunista de
Cuba.
Castro, Fidel. 1966. “Respuesta a Frei.” Documentos Políticos, 1(260).
Havana: Editora Política.
Curran, James. 2000. Media and Power. London, Routledge.
Estrada, Isabel. 1994. Retóricas, astucias, convenciones. Ideologías
profesionales de los periodistas cubanos. Havana: Editorial de Ciencias
Sociales.
Gross, Peter. 1996. Mass Media in Revolution and National Development:
The Romanian Laboratory. Ames, Iowa: Iowa State University Press.
Hart, Armando. 1974. “Hacia una prensa a la altura de la Revolución.” Diez
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Hopkins, Mark W. 1970. Mass Media in the Soviet Union. New York, N.Y.:
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Jakubowicz, Karol. 1992. “From Party Propaganda to Corporate Speech?
Polish Journalism in Search of a New Identity.” Journal of Communication 42(3): 64.
Kovats, Ildiko. 1998. “Hungarian Journalists.” In The Global Journalist:
News People Around the World, David Weaver, ed. Cresskill, New Jersey: Hampton Press.
Lauk, Epp. 1996. “Estonian Journalists in search of new professional identity.” Javnost, 3(4).
Lenin, Vladimir I. 1979. Acerca de la prensa. Moscow: Progress.
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social control.” Media, Culture and Society, 24.
Tuchman, Gaye. 1972. Making News: A Study in the Construction of Reality.
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Williams, Raymond. 1966. Communications. London: Chatto and Windus.
CHAPTER 17
Internet Policy and
Users’ Practices
Iris Cepero
Nine years after the first connection to the Internet, the Cuban government
has reiterated its policy and commitment to the expansion of information and
communication technologies (ICT) in the country. Baptised as the “informatization of the society,” Cuban policy on the Internet follows a pattern
described as “alternative.” This concept stimulates the social use of ICT in
the scientific, technical education, public health, communication and cultural
fields as well as the development of the most important sectors of the
national economy. This model is based in a collective use of ICT and gives
no preference to individual access to the Internet. (The Round Table, 2004;
Rosabal and Sanz, 2005)
When summarising the improvements and achievements of recent years,
Cuban Minister of Informatics and Communication Ignacio González, reiterated that through promotion of mass use of ICT, Cuba’s aims to harmonically
develop and introduce “those technologies in all the social, economic and
political sectors of the society.” (Rosabal and Sanz, 2005) Such a policy is on
line with the 1997 UNESCO proposal that Internet policy “focus on community programs and the strengthening of development sectors like education,
prior to wiring each individual home.” (Venegas, 2003)
By year-end 2005, the Cuban government had registered around 300,000
computers, or 2.7 computers per 100 Cuban citizens. At the same time there
were 1,209 sites under .cu, the Cuban national domain; more than 1,500
Cuban Internet sites (136 of them related to the Cuban media), more than
790,000 email users and more than 150,000 Internet users as well. (Rosabal
and Sanz, 2005) Six national Internet service providers operate on the island,
as well as a public net for data transmission with 51 data transmission points
throughout the country. (Heredia, 2005) Likewise, the Cuban software indus-
265
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Iris Cepero
try aims to be among the most the country’s important export products in the
near future.
However, all advances in Internet access and ICT use in the country has
followed the “planned and harmonic” policy mentioned above. Acts, decrees,
political declarations and specific rules are among the methods applied by
Cuban authorities regarding ICT allocation and use of the Internet, and each,
in many ways, is an example of the traditional vertical Cuban policy model
regarding information and communication.
Since 1997, official Cuban policy has promoted use of ICT as a means of
developing of the national information technology industry, the establishment of comprehensive services for citizens, the “informatization” of governmental, administrative and economic sectors as well as territorial
informatization. (WSIS, 2003) However, within Cuba’s borders, the political
discourse also describes development following a vertical pattern of
resources allocation. As in official international declarations, national proclamations promote the expansion of the national networks and e-mail usage,
but not the public access to the Internet.
Various structural reforms in the government, including the creation of a
new ministry and numerous agencies and technical enterprises related to the
information and telecommunications issues, have taken place, as well as
some additional changes in the educational agenda, investment in telephone
service, the importation and domestic production of computers, the establishment of criteria for the allocation of information and communication
resources and the development of electronic commerce.
Technical considerations
When this comprehensive policy was launched, Cuba’s technological situation of was woefully lacking. In 1995, at the time Cuban Telecommunications Company (ETECSA) was created, there were only approximately
350,000 telecommunications landlines installed in the country. Telephone
density was 3.2 phones per 100 inhabitants, and the majority of users were
government offices. Some private users were still using lines installed in the
pre-revolutionary period. From the 1960s on, the connection of new lines was
hampered by a lack of technical capability, as well as a selective criteria
approach that gave priority to people with important responsibilities in the
economic, political or social sectors. Lines were also installed as rewards for
important contributions those sectors. Indeed many families that had asked
for lines in the 1960s are still waiting. (IPS, 2003) Even today, connection of
the country to international networks is made by satellite (The Round Table,
2004; WSIS, 2003), which even the director of the National Office of Informatization acknowledges is more expensive and lower in quality than fiber
Internet Policy and Users’ Practices
267
optics. However, Cuba cannot gain access to the international fiber optic network due to ongoing economic embargo applied by the American government. Cuban authorities regularly call attention to this issue in international
forums noting the severe repercussions to Cuban economic and social development. (WSIS, 2003)
Likewise, Cuba has revealed that due to the embargo the Cuban communication sector has lost several millions dollars in commercial transactions.
Specifically, the U.S. government has blocked the import of digital signature
technology that is essential to electronic commerce. As a consequence, Cuba
has limited its participation in the International Communication Union program. In April, 2003 the U.S. Department of Commerce denied permission
for the export of 423 computers that an American NGO wished to donate to
Cuban hospitals. (WSIS, 2003)
Equally, it was only in July 1994 that the Treasury Department authorised
the transference of data or information to Cuba from U.S.-based servers, even
though financial transactions were still restricted. This occurred in spite of
the fact that the 1992 Torricelli Act called for improving communication with
Cuba in order to foster change in the country. (Venegas, 2003)
The Meaning of Social and Planned Use of ICT
Under the particular conditions of Cuban social and economic system and
framed by the historical confrontation with the American government, Cuban
Internet policy has been based on political criterion for resources allocation
and operation. The government decides when, where and under what conditions technology is deployed. It also controls allocation of Internet connections. The existence of the technology in specific places does not signify the
subsequent permission to the net access.
The Cuban economic system is still highly centralized and the allocation
of resources by the state is still one its main characteristics. In fact, the allocation of ICT resources is typically a political decision. Decisions regarding
allocation of computers and other ICT are basically limited to those entities
without market functions, and in many cases consideration is not based on
economic viability. In the majority of the cases—such as schools, media
organizations, government offices and hospitals—equipment is provided for
free, and users seldom are aware of the real costs of either equipment or connection.
At the same time, the Cuban government has made clear its intention of
creating a national community of technicians and teachers capable of fostering expansion of ICT. The quality of the Cuban educational system makes
this goal highly achievable.
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Iris Cepero
The process of allocating computers to schools began in the 1980s but
soon was restricted to a few privileged places, mainly in the capital city and
typically scientific research centers. Expansion, both in terms of equipment
and education, began again in the 1990s, and by 2004, 46,290 computers
were installed in primary schools classrooms where students began receiving
computer instruction in their earliest school years. In the secondary, technical
and high schools there are now 2,290 computers; Cuba’s 423 schools for disabled people have 1,500 computers. During this span, Cuba has produced 78
educational software packages, all designed to support computer education.
(The Round Table, 2004; Rosabal and Sanz, 2005)
Similarly, many technical schools have modified their general curricula to
include specialised information education. Today, 38,000 students are
enrolled in information technology schools, including 6,000 at the University
of Information Sciences—which was built in 1992 on the location of a former
Soviet military base. Already, the University has produced 3,000 graduates.
In addition, in the early 1990s a program was implemented with the purpose
of graduating teachers to provide primary school instruction in an Emerging
Course of Basic Computing. Over the course of 1 ½ years 1,200 students
took the modules. (IPS, 2003) In 2004, Cuban universities housed 15,800
computers, 52 percent in computer education classrooms—an average of one
computer per 12 students—and 84 percent of them connected to the national
network with 37 percent having full Internet access. (The Round Table, 2004)
All told, Cuban scientific and research centers and the country’s public
health system have been privileged in terms of the distribution of ICT and
access to the Internet. (The Round Table, 2004) Cuban universities and
research centers are connected to a national “cluster” where accessible information is stored. Cuban officials have deemed that “this is better that having
everybody accessing in a disorganised way to the information.” (The Round
Table, 2004) One of the most celebrated of these national networks is
INFOMED, which serves clinics, hospitals and medical personnel across the
country with a specialised digital library database of medical information
from national and international sources. Some 300,000 Cuban professionals
have access to INFOMED.
The cultural field has also benefited from the introduction of ICT as well
as access to email and the Internet. In 2004, 591 national and regional cultural organisations had national email and access to the national cultural network, Cubarte. In addition, more than 1,000 artists and intellectuals also
enjoyed the privileges of surfing the national net and using national and international email. Still, as of that year only 47 national institutions, with 500
individual accounts, had been given full access to the Internet, mainly
Internet Policy and Users’ Practices
269
through two or three cybercafés built on the premises of select cultural institutions. (The Round Table, 2004)
Certain sources argue that technological inadequacies are the reason for
the limited number of cultural institutions with computers, equipment and
network access. Nonetheless, many of those working in Cuban organizations
note that even if they had the necessary resources and access to the national
cultural net, they would still not be given access to the Internet. Similarly,
they explain than in many places only one computer is connected to the net
while others operate essentially as word processors. Usually, the computer
connected to the national net is operated only by one person who receives,
sends and distributes most information, typically e-mails. Decisions regarding who can use the connected computers are left to the heads of organizations. The most frequent explanation for restricted access inside the
organization is the need to protect equipment and avoid technical disruptions
due to lack of user expertise.
Outside of the formal educational system, in 1987 the Youth Communist
League gave birth to the Joven Club project, whose goal was the creation of a
classroom for teaching computing and electronics in every municipality of
the country. Today, there are 400 Joven Club rooms in the 169 municipalities.
Since 1987, half a million people have studied the basic computing under this
project, including housewives, elderly people and the general public. In the
year 2004, 143,395 persons were registered, 2,167 disabled persons among
them. (Rosabal and Sanz, 2005)
Considered to be one of the priorities of Cuban policy on ICT, the national
software industry was reorganised in 2002 toward promoting exports of its
products. (IPS, 2003) Simultaneously, universities and other information
technology organizations have produced educational software for use on the
island. Some of them are designed to solve basic problems in specialized
areas, but others are considered marketable products that can be exported to
developing countries. Despite a laudatory vision within the Cuban press,
however, development of an export-oriented software industry has been disappointing.
The informatization of administrative activities, aimed at providing better
services to citizens, is also in its earliest stages. In general, this so-called
informatization amounts to a computer with access to limited data. Many
organisations receive second- or third-hand computers from privileged organizations in the same ministry. In many instances these are older 386 or 486
models that function as word processors only. Other times equipment is a mix
of quality resources with old-fashioned, nearly useless equipment that has
been repaired several times, Such machines have been dubbed “Frankensteins.” However, among the services beginning to be computerised is the
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post office system. Computers already perform such basic services as money
sending or message transmission within the national territory. Differing levels of resources between the regions, however, often makes transmission
even worse than before. Likewise, the so-called Government Online—which
contrary to its name is not intended to promote democratic participation but
to connect the local government with the central government—is still in an
early stage of development. (Rosabal and Sanz, 2005)
The Legal Framework: Selective Criteria,
Technological Monopoly and Reliability
In June 1996, the Ministry of Science, Technology and Environment issued
decree 58-96, detailing the norms for the connection, access, use and diffusion of Internet services. By the end of 1996, it had also issued decree 204
concerning the Protection and Technical Security of Information Systems.
These laws apply to all institutions and organisations within the Cuban state,
all the state’s enterprises, joint ventures and international economic associations. The rules are compulsory although they include specific sections for
the foreign organisations and enterprises. Among the obligations of the network managers are technical and Home Ministry-mandated requirements
relating to the safeguarding of information. Each organisation is required to
create mechanisms for tracing and registering the actions of ICT users. Web
managers must be Cuban citizens, and demonstrate not only technical expertise but also demonstrated reliability. Part of their job is to elaborate and distribute internal rules regarding use of the net, and propose measures against
the people who violate them.
It is evident that the laws regarding the use of ICT and accessibility to
information not only establish the technical measures but also establish a centralised mechanism to determine and apply a selective criterion for accessibility. Simultaneously, such legislation implements mechanisms of control
and punishment for the misuse of services. The combination of technical
measures with other mechanisms of control—reliability, for example—is one
of the main characteristics of the Cuban policy on the Internet. In January
2000, the Ministry of Communications was renamed the Ministry of Information and Communications. The former minister of Heavy Industry and
Electronics became the new Minister of Information and Communications.
He is still in the post. His main function is regulating, running, supervising
and controlling the policy of the state and the government in regard to ICT
activities.
Until the year 2000 the resolutions, agreements and other lawful pacts
regulating the ICT use and access did not refer to criteria other than technical
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expertise. However, the lack of political or ideological reference in these of
documents could suggest that the reliability principle, for instance, would be
addressed by other means, such as political speeches or specific practices.
Only in November 2001, with decree 188 issued by the Ministry of Information and Communications, did the state explicitly regulate by law the conditions and procedures that a Cuban organization must follow to obtain the
permission to access to the Internet. One of those procedures was authorization from the minister of the organization to which it belongs. The permission
includes the technical dictate related to security conditions. Each organisation must register and control authorized persons within its premises. It establishes that the web master must fulfill a reliability criterion and be Cuban
national, residing in the country on a permanent basis. (Economic Press Service, 2002a) This document, however, makes no declarations about Cuban
citizens and the Internet. As a result, Cubans, as individual citizens, are neither given nor denied access to the Internet. Under this legal framework,
organizations themselves, once authorized, become the bodies to permit
access. There are no laws regarding those who do not belong to an authorized
organisation.
Such decrees, agreements, laws coincide in creating a vertical structure of
permission for accessing ICT and especially the Internet. Thus, it follows a
pattern, common to the Cuban tradition of organizational centralization, of a
series of mechanisms, or “filters,” that create levels of accessibility to the
resources and information. Known as “the chain scheme,” this insures that
the government alone decides where to situate ICT. No organization without
special permission has the right to introduce ICT, or to use the Internet. No
individual citizen is authorised to access to the Internet. Within privileged
organizations, only certain privileged people are allowed to make use of such
resources.
Beyond the law
During the first days of 2004, a rumor made the rounds in Havana that on
New Years Eve the Ministry of Information and Communications had passed
a decree declaring that connection to the Internet would be possible only
through telephones paid in dollars. While a large number of Internet users in
Cuba are foreign companies or Cuban organizations with dollar accounts, in
many other organizations Internet access is subsidized, symbolically paid in
the national currency, and citizens are not allowed to have a telephone line
paid in dollars.
Behind the rumor was word that the Ministry had data that 40,000 people
were accessing the Internet through a “pirate connection.” At that time—as it
still is today—it was possible to find black-market computers and passwords.
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People with permission were selling their passwords for 30 dollars a month,
advising the buyer to use the line only between midnight and dawn, times
when their respective offices were not connected. (IPS, 2004) By early February there were new rumors that the supposed measures, if applied, would
be ignored or selectively acted upon. In a press conference, the minister—in
an ambiguous speech that did not make clear if he was talking about the
expansion of services or the new criteria for payment—offered assurances
that there had been no change in Cuban policy on the Internet. After several
weeks the rumor and the panic had virtually disappeared. The decree is
remains, but it has never been imposed. (IPS, 2004)
Still, it is not known if official data about the number of users reveals the
total number of people within a privileged organization or includes those who
bypass the restrictions to access to the net on regular or sporadic basis.
In December 2004, the Minister of Information and Communications
issued decree 85, which directed that the Internet and e-mail services would
fall under the jurisdiction of the Agency of Control and Supervision. The
decree states that if an organization violates regulations regarding permitted
services, the punishment would be the definitive or temporal cancellation of
the permit and the confiscation of the equipment, in addition to other administrative and punitive measures. It added that any office or space with Internet
access could be inspected by the agency without notice. The punishment stipulated under this law, combines economic (confiscation of equipment), technical (suspension of the license) and political (permanent cancellation of the
permit) criteria together with administrative (again there is space for political
or ideological verdict) and legal instruments.
Likewise, the Cuban citizens who travel to other countries are not allowed
to import computers freely. In fact, Cuban customs does not mention computers among the forbidden or limited articles to import. Once again the law prohibits, but simultaneously guarantees flexibility and privileges. The Finance
Ministry has passed a decree to permit Cuban travellers to import personal
computers after obtaining a special permit from the Ministry to which the
traveller belongs. Without such a permit, customs confiscates the computer
(Economic Press Service, 2002b). The number of computers legally imported
from abroad by Cuban travellers is not known. The number of computers
received as gifts from foreigners is also unknown. However, it is well known
that on the island, mainly in the capital, technicians assemble computers from
accessories and components taken from their respective organizations. Some
parts are new. Others are used and reported as useless but are in perfect working condition. The prices of computers vary from a few hundred to around
US$1,000, depending on its condition and the number of people involved in
and the complexity of the process of illegally acquiring it. For this reason, no
Internet Policy and Users’ Practices
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one really knows the true number of computers in Cuba. Nonetheless, few
Cubans can afford or are brave enough to buy one through the black market.
Consequently, the true number of computers in the country probably is not
too different from that found in official data. The December 2004 decree
made clear that use of ICT and the Internet is intended for economic purposes
and that Internet policy is in tune with the national development strategy. It
states that the restrictions are only related to speed connection and timetable
for the exploitation within the privileged organizations. (Rosabal, 2004) To
this day, in Cuba no citizen can buy a computer on the official market.
Indeed, not a single shop sells computers to Cuban citizens. In some stores it
is possible to buy accessories and components such as a mouse, pad, microphones or wires, but even buying all the accessories it is impossible to assemble a computer. This market for computers accessories operates only in
dollars and prices are very high. Only enterprises, organisations and other
entities can buy computers or components and accessories in the specialized
shops, and then only after going through an authorization process and with
foreign currency. (IPS, 2003)
The Cuban press online
Due the low penetration of ICT in Cuba, Cuban online media are directed at a
foreign audience, and when navigating through the Cuban press online and
Cuban web sites in general, it is easy to find a clear and evident coincidence
with official state points of view. This is evident not only the themes, but also
the approaches, with a remarkable trend toward propaganda of the achievements and political efficacy of the government. One of the pillars of the
Cuban policy on the Internet has been has been the desire to spread news or
Cuban achievements around the world while denouncing policies of the U.S.
government and right-wing Cuban exile groups. “In Cuba, it becomes difficult to separate the emphasis on national security from censorship, when official government discourse highlight these dangers and the extreme rightwing exile community (aided by the US government) continues to flood
Cuban networks with counterrevolutionary emails.” (Venegas, 2003) In
recent years, the Cuban press has begun to use the Internet to counteract the
effects of this ideological war. By 2001, all of Cuba’s print media had
launched online versions, and six radio stations and the national television
had established an Internet presence as well. Today, the 136 web sites of the
Cuban press include 9 national radio stations, one international radio station,
17 regional radio stations, 13 regional TV stations, one international TV station, 19 regional newspapers, 52 national newspapers or magazines (nine of
them exclusively online), and six sites from the Union of Cuban Journalists.
(Rosabal and Sanz, 2005) Searching the Cuban press online, one can find that
the contents and approach do not differ from those of the rest of the media
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within the country. In fact, one can say that the contents are even more coincident with the political speech, avoiding the small range of criticism found
in Cuba’s print and broadcasting media. During the past few years, Cuba’s
online media also have become a pillars of the island’s international political
campaigns, as exemplified by the case of the Elián Gonzalez, the campaign
for the freedom of the “Cuban Five,” and, most recently, requests for the U.S.
for the extradition of Luis Posada Carriles so he could stand trial on charges
of terrorism.
The users and the use
Even though access is restricted and pages are blocked, there are a variety of
practices, mechanisms and tricks users employ to use ICT in ways not sanctioned by the authorities. It is well known, for instance, that members of the
scientific community surf the net searching for international scholarships and
sponsorship for international events that are not of interest to their organisations. Cubans also appeal to foreign friends to bring components or computer
equipment into the country. Moreover, Cubans regularly use e-mail services
to communicate with their friends or relatives abroad and, in spite of regulations banning such practices, provide the same services to relatives, friends
and neighbours. It is also alleged that technicians in charge of monitoring the
Internet impose filters on the general public while, confident of their bosses’
IT illiteracy, maintaining full access for themselves and their friends.
Under this scenario no one can confidently assert the influence of the
Internet in the people’s routine and mentality. It has been suggested, however,
that to some extent the types of practices described above could serve to
undermine the central authority of the Communist government.
Conclusions
Information and communication technology (ICT) and Internet policy in
Cuba are centralized, politically-oriented and lack market perspective. Both
have been implemented following a planned principle of collective use that
focuses on selective criterion for privileged access. Research centers, universities, government agencies, scientists, lecturers, doctors and journalists are
among the privileged users. ICT and Internet access allocation are in tune
with Communist Party priorities and leave no room for personal or individual
connection to the Internet. Similarly, the government maintains a monopoly
of ownership and management over ICT, centralizing the allotment of
resources, forbidding any attempt to promote open access to the technology
and strictly regulating the import of communications and information equipment into the country.
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Meanwhile, the automation of government and economic sectors and the
automation of services have followed a slow, irrelevant, almost insignificant
course. The political discourse about the informatization of society and its
achievements is euphoric, overconfident, and excessively optimistic. It
makes reference to statistics about resources that takes no consideration of its
quality. Likewise, the political discourse cynically avoids discussion of
restriction on consumption, not to mention the production, of information in
the country.
Cuban ICT governance also faces the challenge of the technological illiteracy of political cadres. Those who traditionally generate and implement the
communication policy are Party officials, following certain political and
ideological orientations. Generally speaking, they lack the technological
understanding to do so efficiently. Internet operators are called upon to act as
information gatekeepers—virtual censors—following the government’s
rules. The ideas, feelings and opinions of the professional community in
charge of the technical functioning and control of ICT and the net are
unknown.
In Cuba, the Internet has not altered the traditional concept of media ownership and management. Instead, the policy has been designed and implemented taking advantages of the centralized and politically oriented
mechanism of allocation of resources and information. Therefore, it has not
generated democratic participation and has not help make information available to the public. In contrast, the characteristics of the Internet facilitate the
government interest in applying a selective and privileged criterion of access
to the information.
National security, nationhood, sovereignty, and historical confrontation
with the United States are some of the key issues of the Cuban political discourse within the national frontiers and in the international arena. Such a discourse has not change in decades and to some extend has been emphatic
during the last years. The very existence of the confrontation with the United
States and American government support of Cuban opposition groups’ activities, together with the American program for a transition in the island, limit
any possibility for more individual, democratic access to the net.
As in the United States during the first years of Internet development,
governance of the Internet in Cuba is subject to the absolute ownership and
management of the government. However, a new phase in which the governance of the net would be transferred to industry is unthinkable in Cuba. The
characteristics of the Cuban political and economic system eliminate any
possibility for a market-oriented governance of the Internet or other communications industry. Organizations can, however, develop internal mechanisms
of management within the limited space provided by the centralized.
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Although the Cuban government’s stated policy is to spread the benefits
of ICT and the Internet services, the current economic situation on the island
discredit the best attempts to carry it out. Poverty is such that even lessexpensive technologies cannot function in a pervasive way or on a regular
basis. Besides, the basic telecommunication infrastructure in the country is
still very precarious, and unstable, making the availability and the accessibility to any potential Internet services quite difficult.
Ultimately, official Cuban policy on ICT and the Internet privilege access,
limit the technical and financial possibilities of the technology, and hamper
the professional development of a huge mass of educated, highly skilled people. In many ways the policy is, if not isolating, at least, retarding the possibilities of the Cuban professionals to take part in a high level scientific
international community. Likewise, the Cuban policy on information and
communication technology has reinforced mechanisms that limit access to
the information and restrain democratic participation. Nonetheless, it is very
likely that even with such policies the Cuban government will be unable to
hold off the information revolution forever. Time will be the witness.
Bibliography:
Economic Press Service (IPS) 2002a. “Comunicaciones. Impulso Intensivo.”
2: 2
Economic Press Service (IPS), 2002b. “ El antes y el ahora.” 14.
Heredia C., 2005. “Desarrolla Cuba condiciones para soporte digital avanzado.” Granma, 16 June, p. 3.
International Press Service (IPS), 2003. Enfoques. “Informatización de la
sociedad.”
International Press Service (IPS), 2004. “Internet. Mayor control puede quedar en amenaza” 2: 27
Rosabal H. 2004. “La digitalización y el acceso a Internet seguirán creciendo.” Punto cu. 1: 4-5
Rosabal H. and Sanz, 2005. “Insatisfacciones, logros y proyectos.” Punto cu.
1: 4-5
Venegas, Cristina, 2003. “Will the Internet Spoil Fidel Castro’s Cuba?” In
Democracy and the New Media, Henkins and Thorburn, eds. London and
Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press.
The Round Table, 2004. “The Internet: Myths and Realities. Cuba on the
Net.” Transcript of. Cuban TV program aired January 22, 2004.
World Summit of the Information Society (WSIS), 2003. Official Speech of
the Cuban delegation.
Ministry of Information and Communications, 2004. Decree 85. Regulations
to the Internet navigation services. http://www.cubagob.cu/des_eco/mic/
defacult.html.
CHAPTER 18
Improvements in the
Cuban Legal System
James H. Manahan
Cuba inherited its legal system from the Spanish conquerors, as did most
countries in Central and South America. However, Communist theory from
Russia, East Germany, and China has had a great influence on Cuban practices since 1959.
Cuban lawmakers perceive law and the lawmaking process as educational. All proposed laws are discussed at neighborhood meetings, in an
attempt to inform citizens and obtain consensus, and it usually takes several
years before new statutes are adopted.
For example, a new criminal code was drafted between 1969 and 1973,
but it was not enacted until 1979. This meant that the Code reflected the conditions in Cuba in the ‘60s, when there was still fighting with the United
States (the Bay of Pigs is only one example) and the CIA was trying to kill
Fidel Castro. A new Code went into effect in 1989, a more modern approach
which uses incarceration as a last resort and encourages alternative sanctions.
The repressive criminal justice system was transformed into a system that
relies more heavily on education and re-socialization than on incarceration.
The court system was restructured in 1973 and 1977. At that time the private practice of law was eliminated, and all lawyers were integrated into law
collectives (bufetes colectivos). Further procedural reforms were made in
1990.
All courts have a mixture of lawyer judges and lay judges. Municipal and
provincial courts now have two lay judges and one professionally trained
judge, and the Supreme Court has two lay judges and three professional
judges. The purpose of lay judges, like our juries, is to bring a non-legalistic,
popular sense of justice into the proceedings, and to educate citizens about
legal proceedings. Most lay judges belong to the Cuban Communist Party (82
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James Manahan
percent in the Supreme Court, 57 percent in provincial courts, 77 percent in
municipal courts).
As in the rest of Spanish-speaking America, there is a movement toward a
more fully oral and adversarial system such as we have in common-law countries. I saw an oral criminal trial last year in which two men were accused of
breaking and entering a home. The only witnesses called to testify at the trial
were the victim, the defendants, and the wife of one defendant; no police
officer testified, and the trial took less than two hours. The lawyers and
judges wore black robes. Witnesses stood before the judges, and a typist
(using a loud typewriter) summarized the testimony. The presiding judge frequently interrupted the lawyers and witnesses. I did not see any lawyer crossexamine a witness, but the lawyers did give long and powerful closing arguments. However, I believe Cuban lawyers would benefit from training in
direct and cross-examination skills and the techniques of persuasion in oral
trials.
Trials (such as the one I saw) which carry penalties of less than eight
years in prison have one professional judge and two lay judges; more serious
crimes have three professional judges and two lay judges. Lay judges are
nominated by fellow workers and elected by the municipal or provincial
assemblies. They serve one month per year for five years, and work at their
regular jobs the rest of the time.
Last July I spent 10 days in Cuba interviewing a number of people about
the functioning of their legal system. In general, law professors and older
lawyers seem satisfied with the present procedures, whereas younger lawyers
are more interested in reform.
Cuba was actually the first country in Latin America to start using oral,
adversarial trials in criminal cases. This reform occurred in 1889 when Cuba
was still a Spanish colony. Prior to that they used the Inquisition system of
written, secret trials, and only in the past 10 years have the other countries of
Latin America begun changing their system to an adversarial model.
On July 21 I spoke at an International Criminal Law Seminar which was
held at the Summer School of the University of Havana Law School, and was
given an award for being a “Founding Professor” of the Summer School. My
topic was “The Role of Advocacy in the Procedural Reforms of Latin America,” and I criticized the fact that vestiges of the Inquisition system still persist in the Cuban courts (as in the courts of many other Latin American
countries that have reformed their procedures).
In the Inquisition system, the judge’s role is to investigate the case and
determine the “truth” about what happened, while the lawyers simply file
written arguments and motions. In an oral, adversarial system, the judge
should have a very different role, that of referee, and the job of the lawyers is
Improvements in the Cuban Legal System
279
to produce evidence and prove their contentions through accreditation and
contradiction of witnesses. The judge should be passive, limiting his or her
role to guarantying the rights of the parties and deciding the issues. The
judge is simply an arbiter.
There are three vestiges of the old system that still persist in Cuba and
elsewhere:
(1) When witnesses are called to testify, they first give a spontaneous statement telling what they know about the matter, rather than answering questions of the lawyer who called them. This may seem like a quick and easy
way to get their stories told, but more often than not there is a lot of irrelevant
and incomplete testimony. Even worse, this practice does not allow the lawyer to develop the testimony in a coherent manner which is consistent with
the lawyer’s theory of the case. The adversary system is supposed to be contradictory and dialectic, and the lawyers should be in charge of the presentation of the evidence.
(2) After the lawyers have questioned the witnesses, the judges can (and do)
question them further. This also may seem to be a good way to make sure that
the witnesses tell everything they may know, but the judge’s role should be
passive, simply listening to the evidence and not trying to “produce” it. However impartial the judge’s questions may be, it might have the effect of
destroying what one of the parties has accomplished during direct or cross
examination. The judge thus loses his neutrality and appears to be just another
cross-examiner. If the judges have doubts after hearing the testimony, they are
supposed to resolve those doubts in favor of the accused.
(3) Finally, the court rules prohibit the use of leading questions, even during
cross-examination. The theory is that leading questions may put words in the
witness’ mouth, thereby preventing the witness from giving his or her own
testimony. Since the witness is normally affiliated with the lawyer who called
the witness to testify, this rule makes sense on direct examination. However,
the witness will be hostile to the other lawyer, whose job is to show that the
witness is mistaken or is lying.
In common-law countries, lawyers try to show that by using leading questions on cross-examination. John Henry Wigmore, the great legal scholar in
the United States, said that “without doubt, cross-examination is the best
machine invented by man for the discovery of the truth.” Another expert,
Charles McCormick, said “For two centuries, common law judges and lawyers have considered the opportunity to cross-examine as an essential safeguard of truth…and have insisted that the opportunity be more than a
privilege, that it be a right.” The Supreme Court of Canada ruled that crossexamination “is essential in determining if a witness is credible.”
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An Italian scholar, Francesco Carnelutti, said that “Everyone knows that
testimonial proof is the most false of all proofs.” For that very reason, court
rules ought to permit the most effective methods to demonstrate that the witness may be mistaken or even lying.
In El Salvador, the law on oral adversarial trials was changed in 1998 to
permit leading questions on cross-examination, and to prohibit judges from
questioning witnesses except to clarify their testimony. The same is now true
in Chile, which adopted the oral, adversarial system in criminal cases for the
entire country just this past summer.
Despite this fact, several members of my audience spoke out rather
strongly against my views. They asked how I could come to Cuba for a few
weeks and think that I understood their system. They pointed out that in the
United States only about 10 percent of criminal cases actually go to trial and
the rest are resolved by plea bargains, whereas in Cuba every single case goes
to trial. Defendants cannot plead guilty even if they want to do so! Because of
this, they said, the courts do not have time for long cross examinations and
lengthy procedures, usually having to hold several trials every day. My
response to this was that a lawyer’s job is to advocate strenuously for the client, and to use every technique legally available to persuade the judges that
the client’s version is true; if this takes time, then time must be taken to do the
job right. That’s what we mean by the adversarial system, and Cuba cannot
expect to achieve justice in its criminal cases by continuing to keep vestiges
of the old Inquisition system.
Dissent
Many people to whom I spoke felt completely free to tell me how dissatisfied
they are with the Cuban legal system. A young lawyer, Fidel Rivero Villasol,
told me at length that the court system does not deliver justice in Cuba. The
police control the prosecution, suspects don’t (in practice) have a right to a
lawyer (though they do have that right on paper), officials are corrupt and
accept money under the table, and political cases are decided even before
trial.
Comments of this type, whether true or not, reveal a perception among
many Cubans that the legal system needs to be reformed. In my opinion, a
stronger commitment to the adversarial system and more training in trial
skills and effective oral trial techniques would go a long way to improve the
Cuban system of justice.
The University of Havana
The University of Havana has 15 schools with 29 separate career paths, as
well as several Centers of Study. It has some 20,000 undergraduate students,
19,000 post-graduate students, and 4,000 master’s candidates. Some 600
Improvements in the Cuban Legal System
281
workers take night courses, and there are 20,000 “distant learners” who study
at home and take tests at the University. Thirty-two percent of the professors
have their Ph.D. The University has 19 branches in Havana. Higher education is free.
The law school is a five-year course, starting at age 18, and 80 percent of
the students are women. Forty-three percent of the graduates pass the
national bar exam on their first try. Students must do three years of public
service to repay their free education. Graduates work for three years as assistant prosecutors, in a law collective, in tourism, or prepare to become law
professors. Under the descalifón system, a job is offered to every student who
passes the bar exam, with the top student getting first choice, down to the last
student.
The students and young lawyers with whom I spoke are very interested in
learning more about the common law system used in the United States,
England, Australia, and Canada, and specifically about our system of oral,
adversarial trials. Once the United States embargo is repealed, law professors, lawyers, and judges should make a concerted effort to go to Cuba to talk
and teach about our trial system and to assist in the effort to improve the
Cuban legal system. We can also learn a lot from studying the Cuban system,
including the use of lay judges, which we might be able to incorporate into
our court system in the United States.
Part IV
Making Material Culture
CHAPTER 19
Art in a Changing
Cuba
Natania Remba
Despite the lack of a national art market in Cuba, artistic talent is flourishing.
This paper addresses questions that will be explored in a forthcoming exhibition on contemporary Cuban art at the Boston University Art Gallery. The
exhibition and accompanying catalogue will include viewpoints gleaned
from 2005 interviews with several renowned Cuban artists, art historians
from Havana University, art administrators from Casa de Las Américas, and
writers from two major art journals, Artecubano and Revolución y Cultura.
Although the exhibition will include a broad view on Cuban art, this article
focuses primarily on current issues relating to Cuban art production and the
art market.
The first topic of discussion touches upon the applicability of a transition
paradigm to the Cuban art world. The concept—as applied to the economy,
society, and culture of Cuba—has been widely debated and has even been
rejected by some in the artistic community. For many Cubans, the very notion
of the contemporary art scene being “transitional” is an outsider’s construct.
Foreigners often discuss “the transition” as if it is eminent, but because of the
dynamic nature of Cuba’s art and culture, the applicability of a static transition paradigm is questionable and ultimately unproductive. Clearly, periods
of artistic change in Cuba are not clear cut, but rather, are complex processes
of ongoing opposition between preservation and transformation of culture
and identity. It would be more suitable to forecast the future of the art world,
not as fixed, but in flux, or as a complex process of dialectical dichotomies
that embody the inherent social contradictions of continuity and change. Artist José Angel Toirac put it quite brilliantly when he said: “The word ‘transition’ has a very specific connotation in the argot of the tensions between
Cuba and the United States. The phrase ‘future transition’ expresses an
appallingly simplistic and erroneous idea of the culture. Cultural identity is
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not a moving towards a specific point or an arriving at a specific point, even
if we do find that point in the future. It is a vivid process of constant change
and transformation. It is about a permanent transition that lives in the past,
populates the present, and continues into the future and beyond.” (Toirac,
2005)
Change, as in “transition,” is used by Cubans as a kind of malleable construct. The following comment of Toirac illustrates this amorphous notion:
“When I was born, Fidel was already the most important living political figure in Cuba. I cannot conceive of a Cuba without Fidel. It is absurd to do so,
because that would be like pretending he is eternal. I know a change will happen, but I am not prepared for such a situation. What I am sure of is that
Cuba—not Fidel—had a history before and will have a history after.” Toirac
later added:
Every society changes every day and even more so a society like Cuba, which is
a revolutionary society. For instance, unemployed women, who had become
prostitutes to earn a living, were quite amazingly working in a bank the very
next day managing the money of the wealthy! That was the revolution. That is
what makes Cuba a dynamic society. The logic of Cuban thought is change, so it
is logical for us to expect even more change.” (Toirac, 2005)
While some in the Cuban art community hope for a political reform translated into an open market economy, others take comfort in believing that the
political elite has a calculated plan aimed at the continuance of a socialist
regime. Several angrily resist even the concept of a transition and deny the
role of the United States as the solution. However, the majority seem puzzled
by this question of transition and voice wonder about its direction, its beginning, and its end. Because of the wide array of opinions given by interviewees, a monolithic forecast of “a transition paradigm” in the Cuban art
world is not applicable.
Actually, Cuba has undergone a myriad of transitions since the 1959 revolution, advancing towards a socialistic future while restructuring its strategy
towards economic stabilization. Within a 10-year period—from about 1993
to 2004—its economy also evolved, from the legalization of the dollar and
the creation of a partial dollar economy to full sanctions against the dollar
and the introduction of the peso convertible cubano. Comparable transformations have occurred in the art world as well. The new Cuban art of the latter
half of the twentieth century evolved from numerous restrictions in the “gray
years” during the seventies; to more openness during the “Cuban Renaissance” of the 1980s; and finally, to the exile of former established artists and
the emergence of younger artists during the 1990s. Perhaps the question we
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287
should pose is: what can we forecast for the next series of dialectical processes in the Cuban art world and its market?
The Cuban art economy is moving closer to North American and European models, with the export of Cuban art to wealthy collectors and institutions that can afford such work. It is interesting to contemplate how a
socialist country, with a rich artistic tradition, could develop such a dynamic
international art market, but not a viable national one. Since the middle of the
twentieth century, the cultural model of Cuba has been based on mass democratization and the ideals of the revolution. All sectors of society had the
opportunity to produce and appreciate art, but, for many years, the state
demonized a capitalistic buyer mentality and praised culture as the antidote
for consumerism. The art market was used primarily as a tool to promote
national culture, rather than to advance private interests.
Despite such ideology, however, individual collectors were able to
acquire artwork through long-term credit arrangements with Havana Gallery
and through participation in art auctions organized by the National Museum
of Fine Arts and Bonfil Gallery. But, during the socio-economic crisis in the
early nineties, the state closed art institutions, eliminated outreach programs
and vastly reduced the circulation of artworks. Simultaneously, the export of
the Cuban artistic patrimony, not covered by the embargo, was legalized.
Legal export of art, therefore, resulted in the opening of the art market to foreign buyers, which in turn inflated the prices of Cuban art. These newly
inflated prices for art—based on international standards—were not affordable by either the Cuban general public or by local collectors. At the same
time, visits from foreign gallery owners and museum curators increased and
provided artists with international exposure and the adoption of Western
models for art sales. Because of this new consumer-based economy and the
import of international standards of review and criticism, Cuban artists
became strategically poised to move away from collective projects and
socialist subjects and towards the embracing of individual styles with personal themes. For many, financial survival depended upon creating works of
art for both the cultivated foreigner as well as the ordinary tourist.
While the government established a new centralized gallery system called
Génesis, ostensibly to eliminate competition among artists, the galleries actually catered to outside markets and resembled those in capitalistic economies.
Some galleries were more prestigious than others, depending on a variety of
factors: the prominence of the artists being exhibited, the size and location of
the galleries, and whether or not they sold to a domestic or foreign market. In
order to ensure sales and profitability, the government accepted or rejected—
in accordance with their own standards—the applications of artists looking
for an exhibition venue. Cuban artists, who were accepted into the national
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gallery system, were allowed to keep 50 to 60 percent of the profits made
upon the sale of any work. While this was beneficial for the most recognized
artists, those rejected artists looked for alternative marketing formats and
usually found them in tourist venues, such as state-sponsored art fairs and
street stands.
The Cuban government today is faced with a dilemma: domestic sales of
Cuban art may have the unanticipated consequence of actually devaluing
those works of art. For instance, a foreign collector might buy a Cuban work
of art for US$500 in the United States, but that same piece might sell for less
than US$50 in Cuba. Naturally, both the Cuban government and the artist
would prefer to establish a higher price point for sales. Consequently, the
government appears to focus its marketing efforts on the foreign rather than
the domestic collector. As a result, Cuban artists are becoming less dependent
on a state salary as they rely increasingly on their own resources to sell in
dollar equivalency. Many artists earn an above average annual income, compared to similar wage earners in other professions. That is why the Cuban art
community is enthusiastically embracing the North American and European
markets and concentrating less on its own national art market.
These market trends have caused concern in the Ministry of Culture.
What is it doing to combat the forces of the international art market, in order
to regain influence with the local artists? How can it get artists to once again
focus on national institutions, even when these institutions do not pay? The
Ministry, at its core, is dedicated to the promotion of the visual arts and has
served as an intermediary between local needs and international competition.
Since many artists seem to have shifted from the traditional role of the “cultural worker” to become earners of hard currency, (Camnitezer, 2003: 333)
they have learned to negotiate with national art institutions from a stronger
position, and they have the weight and wealth of the international art market
behind them. For this reason, the Ministry is attempting to strengthen its own
art institutions and to promote a culture of collectors, while still upholding its
socialist principles. In an effort to stimulate art sales, for instance, the Ministry encouraged the development of galleries in towns outside of Havana and
commissioned artists to produce works for Cuban hotels and government
buildings. It has also proposed that state organizations allocate part of their
investment budget to buy art. State institutions—such as banks, stores, and
government offices—have already invested in art for their buildings, thereby
expanding the national artistic patrimony, and at the same time, serving as an
educational opportunity for the public who visit such buildings.
The Ministry has another project under consideration: the creation of a
national gallery of contemporary Cuban art. In 2002, Rafael Acosta de
Arriba—former president of the National Council of Visual Arts—said,
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“Today’s collector culture becomes the museums of tomorrow.” (De la Hoz,
2002: 29). Acosta de Arriba’s statement may sound intellectually reasonable,
but a collector culture in Cuba today is virtually non-existent. Although a few
members of the artistic community purchase art inexpensively and artists
may exchange artwork among themselves, they do not consider themselves
collectors. The Ministry has attempted to promote a collectors’ culture
among average Cuban citizens by selling reproductions of original artwork
on posters, postcards, art books, and fine art prints, or on plates, cups and
mugs. It has also looked into opening stores that sell arts and crafts, and it has
even offered interior design services, hoping that these efforts will enhance
art appreciation by the general public, who would buy and collect art as they
would any collectible, such as books or stamps.
The Ministry has also worked diligently to generate the growth of
national collectors through the in-house and online art auction business Subastahabana (Havanaauction), and through the establishment of state-sponsored indoor and outdoor art fairs in Havana and other towns. The main art
fair—the Biennale of Havana—has attempted to highlight the cultural value
of the artwork, regardless of art market considerations, while focusing on
educational activities and the exhibition of smaller shows off-site. Unfortunately, public access has sometimes been limited, due to high ticket prices,
and the attempts to stress cultural value have been somewhat unsuccessful.
(Camnitezer, 2003: 333)
In addition to these projects, the Ministry has encouraged a greater public
appreciation of visual art though journals—such as Artecubano—monthly
newsletters, art books, television programs dedicated to Cuban artists, and
electronic bulletins and state-run Web sites. Moreover, the Ministry has provided better copyright protection for individual artists, and established benefit programs dealing with disability, maternity leave, pensions and death.
Artists may be entitled to retain 12 percent of their salary as a benefit, pegged
at 200 to 500 pesos taken per month, depending on the value of their sales.
(La Seguridad Social de los Creadores Plásticos, 2001: 91).
With all of these new programs in place, the Ministry has demonstrated its
commitment to supporting artists and to strengthening the role played by the
commercial entities that function as their patrons. Nonetheless, the international market continues to have a strong presence in Cuban artistic circles and
is not only shaping—but may continue to regulate—artistic production in
Cuba. Knowing this, can we predict what forms artistic production will take
in a changing Cuba?
Cuban iconography today thrives on diversity, originality, and individuality, and cannot be placed into one overarching category. It may more accurately be classified as “pluralistic.” Even when it has a strong connection
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with the international avant-garde and its model is primarily imported from
North America and Europe, it is usually contextualized within Cuban culture.
Artistic practices very often balance a sense of “Cuban-ess,” that is Cubanismo, with foreign demands. Nevertheless, new artistic products appear
closer in sensibility to the Western mainstream than to what one would typically associate with a socialist country. Artist Sandra Ramos interpreted
Cubanismo not as homogeneous in nature, but, rather, as quite wide-ranging
and complex. She said, “In today’s world, it is difficult to establish what
defines national art. The national interest is increasingly more diffused and
extremely varied.” (Ramos, 2005). Elvia Rosa, an editor of Artecubano,
shared her thoughts regarding the current transformation of the arts in Cuba.
“There is not one particular trend that dominates. Today, there is a global
equilibrium.” (Rosa, 2005).
One of the consequences of global reintegration is the regulation of artistic production. Toirac expanded on the effects of this outcome. “At the end of
the eighties, the art game between artist and institution was clear—the state
regulated artists. Today, the rules of the game have changed. The game is a
tacit accord, in which both artist and institution struggle for the same goal,
that is, to find a way to convert art into gold.” (Toirac, 2005) Since market
pressures are bound to influence art production in today’s Cuba, many artists
claim to intentionally avoid making commercial art, but they are clearly playing with market rules, if only to sell ideas. According to Acosta de Arriba,
“The market—willingly or not—establishes bullet-proof vests, and that
which is not commercial passes immediately to a second (third,
fourth…15th) plane.” (De la Hoz, 2002: 23) For Acosta de Arriba, all of
these market barriers are new and there is no point of reference—no history
from which to learn. He elaborated: “The status quo continues to be the Revolution, but the transformations are profound and, in [the art] sector, radical.”
(De la Hoz, 2002: 23).
Where we may begin to witness the affects of outside influences upon
Cuban artists is in their creative practices. Works of art may be smaller in
size, to ensure easier transport abroad. Artist Abel Barroso created a piece
that was specifically designed to travel in a wooden box and be assembled
later by the consumer. Some artists also employ a visual language that lampoons the challenges facing Cubans today—a desire to attain economic stability, while still being trapped in the hard economic realities of the present.
Barroso, for instance, carved a woodcut portraying Cuba as the embodiment
of a sensual woman born of the Revolution, but now in her new role of
attracting business and investors.
During the 1980s, visual arts played a critical societal role, and many artists produced works that made strong political statements about pressing
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291
issues in Cuban society. But today, although many of these same issues
remain, the political emphasis is being diluted. Artists are distancing themselves from the stereotype that all Cuban art must have a political subtext. In
one instance, foreigners interpreted a painting by Toirac, which depicted Castro, as being politically charged. Toirac explained his position by saying:
“You shouldn’t have a black and white attitude towards my art. It explores
the whole gamut between the yes and the no, and the pros and the cons of
socialism. When we see a representation of a pharaoh, a portrait of Napoleon,
or the images of the kings by Goya, we are capable of analyzing them as art
detached from political passion. It is my hope that people will dispassionately
analyze my work separate from partisan politics.” (Toirac, 2005)
Many Cuban artists are considering how they present their artwork in first
voice rather than by fulfilling pre-imposed agendas. Ramos explained this by
stating that “sometimes, it is not a good thing to be recognized by government officials, because it may actually compromise an individual’s artistic
integrity. The state may request that you work collectively with other artists
on a pre-selected theme—for instance, to decorate a hotel with a mural—but,
the work might be interpreted as propaganda.” (Ramos, 2005) As more
Cuban artists move away from collective projects towards more independent
works, they realize the need to distinguish themselves to remain competitive.
They work to appeal to foreigners, not only for economic purposes, but also
to maintain their international reputations. Many are already returning to
work on traditional national themes, as it has become more trendy and such
work sells well. Others seek recognition by the international artistic community by strategically integrating gender and race issues into their work or by
marketing themselves as feminists or multi-ethnic. However, some sense a
danger in such strategies. When artists produce works based on outsider constructs, they may dilute the authenticity of Cuban art, or Cubanismo. Toirac
expanded on this concept. “The market regulates stereotypes of what is Latino, Black, or Asian art. It is challenging to be promoted by the market, when
one falls outside market-established stereotypes.” (Toirac, 2005)
In conclusion, although art in its purist construct should not have a monetary payout as its goal, the prosperous global art market is having a significant influence on art practices in Cuba today. The future of the contemporary
Cuban art world may look like this: members of the Cuban artistic community will either submit to or resist market pressures. Either way, they will be
compelled to enter into a process of ongoing negotiation between the collective and the individual, the cosmopolitan and the local, the Western and the
indigenous, the state and the market. Young collectors will attempt to cultivate a nascent national art economy, while the older generation will work to
maintain the principles of the revolution. Foreign dealers will focus on the
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development of an international art market, while Cuban critics will concentrate on maintaining the purity of a socially committed art practice. Local artists will work to maintain national identity, while artists in exile will mix
their heritage with that of their adopted host country. Nevertheless, despite
Cuba’s attempts to reintegrate into a global economy and to enter into the
international discourse, artists in Cuba will probably remain as outsiders for
many years, as their country exhibits an exceptionally idiosyncratic dichotomy—a socialist and restrictive art economy, with an open and enlightened
artistic community.
Bibliography
Alberdi, Virginia (author, Artecubano), Interview with the author. Cuba, January 2005.
Ariet García, Maria del Carmen. 2003. El Pensamiento Político de Ernesto
Che Guevara. Melbourne, Australia: Ocean Press.
Barroso, Abel (artist), Interview with the author. Cuba, January 2005.
Benigni Rodríguez, Lourdes (director of fine arts, Casa de las Américas),
Interview with the author. Cuba, January 2005.
Block, Holly. 2001. Art Cuba: The New Generation. New York: Harry N.
Abrams, Inc.
Camnitzer, Luis. 2003. New Art of Cuba. Austin, Texas: University of Texas
Press.
Campuzano, Luisa (director, Revolución y Cultura and faculty, Havana University), Interview with the author. January 2005.
De Juan, Adelaida (faculty, Havana University), Personal communication.
Cuba, January 2005.
De la Hoz, Pedro. 2002. “La Plástica Cubana de Hoy: Mutactión, Mercado y
Diversidad.” Revolución y Cultura, 3: 22-30.
García, Aimée (artist), Interview with the author. Cuba, January 2005.
La Seguridad Social de los Creadores Plásticos. 2001. Artecubano, 2: 91.
Miranda Ramos, Ibrahim (artist), Interview with the author. Cuba, January
2005.
Montes de Oca, Carlos (artist), Interview with the author. Cuba, January
2005.
Ramos, Sandra (artist), Interview with the author. Cuba, January 2005.
Rosa, Elvia (editor and author, Artecubano), Interview with the author. Cuba,
January 2005.
Toirac, José Angel (artist), Interview with the author. Cuba, January 2005.
Veigas, José; Cristina Vives; Adolfo V. Nodal; Valia Garzón; and Dannys
Montes de Oca, eds. 2002. Memoria: Cuban Art of the Twentieth Century. Los Angeles: California/International Arts Foundation.
CHAPTER 20
Material Culture
Across Revolutions
Raúl Rubio
Conversations on transition in contemporary Cuba typically contemplate postulations on the end of Castro’s regime; some admittedly hypothesize on the
timing of Castro’s death and its aftermath. Theories abound on the metamorphosis of Cuban socialism; many envision the gains of a free market economy, while others postulate on the consequences of an ultra-capitalistic
nation and United States intervention. In this essay I argue that a detrimental
part of Cuba’s ongoing (and future) “national” renewal, long-term re-development and global re-integration agenda should be an evaluation of the
evolving cultural imaginary established as “Cuban” nationality or national
identity. As such, I propose that by engaging in the study of “Cuban”-oriented cultural production—especially popular cultural materials—new arguments broaching the definitions of Cuban national identity can be postulated.
I argue that by tracing the particularities pertaining to nationally-oriented cultural materials and by analyzing their aesthetic qualities (both artistic and
ideological) and relevant commodifications (the economies they are part of)
an accurate assessment of Cuba’s current and future nation-state and citizenship, both territorial and diasporic, can be formulated.
First and foremost I part with the premise of the existence of diverse definition(s) of Cuban nationalism which take into account the multiple and
diverse meanings of “Cuban” identities, a topic which has been central to the
discussion of Cuba in a transnational context since the 1990s. In line with
historian Louis A. Pérez’s arguments in his seminal text On Becoming
Cuban: Identity, Nationality, and Culture (1999), where he posits: “the proposition of national identity not a fixed and immutable construct but rather as
cultural artifact, as contested—and contesting—representations often filled
with contradictions and incoherences, almost always in flux” (Pérez, 1999:
8), I propose that considerations of “Cuban” be non-cohesive, non-collective,
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a shifting narrative of sorts that is more proximate to the idea of a composite
of sparse “national memories.” Until now “Cuban” nationality has been profiled in the light of fluid, multi-national, and I would argue “exilic” formats.
In the anthology Cuba, the Elusive Nation: Interpretations of National Identity (2000), edited by Damián Fernández and Madeline Cámara, theoretical
undertakings point to the same idea of a fluidity and dispersity of Cuban
nationalism. However, I align myself more with Antoni Kapcia’s (2000,
2005) amplification of “Cuban” as myth. He approaches “Cuban” culture
metaphorically and correlates his metaphor of Cuba’s traditional national
myths to those of the historic and current imaginaries of “Cuban” culture.
Most of these are continuously composed of the elements pertaining to the
national foundational allegories tied to the imaginaries of Cuban nationality
and identity that rise out of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. They
relate to or combine aspects pertaining to “Cuban” racial, ethnic, ideology,
and class composition; the urban versus rural binary; colonial, Republicanera, and Revolutionary-era historical allusions; and many exoticized images
of stereotypes attached to Cuba. In this essay I analyze the aesthetics of
visual popular cultural items as vehicles, and holders, of these national imaginaries, while at the same time building upon their material commodification.
I specifically approach items of graphic art, photography, and objects of nostalgia. I hypothesize on their production and consumption, while observing
how socio-political discourses found within them partake in modeling or remodeling the myths of “Cuba.”
My general research proposal beyond this essay is to embrace many areas
of Cuban-themed consumption in a global perspective, specifically those
transactions pertinent to cultural materials and places: literary, photographic
and print production; visual and media production; and those objects or sites
typically labeled “popular culture.” Along these lines I specifically consider
contemporary, culturally-oriented commodities created either within territorial Cuba, or in international sites, some connected to Cuban diasporic localities. As mentioned, many of these materials are commodified to include
allusions to the traditionally-established Cuban national identities, yet more
current are those tied to themes surrounding the ongoing Revolutionary process that began in 1959. My discussion parts with the consideration that
transformations within the territorial confines of the island evolve in connection with the transnational and global locations and actions of Cuban citizens,
at times postulating on the roles these citizens hold for the future of Cuba.
My focus not only relies on the exchanges that occur within the island but
also those concerning transnational movements either originating or concluding in Cuba or even those not territorially bound to Cuba yet Cuban-identified. They range from early-Revolution-era and Cold-War-era socialist
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paraphernalia to those based on the Cuban heyday of the 1950s. Many Cuban
citizens of the diaspora and hyphenated Cuban-Americans in the U.S. participate in a global market of Cuban-oriented goods that are manufactured in a
multitude of sites outside Cuba. These materials are produced by both
Cubans and non-Cubans alike, who intend on portraying an idealized Cuba of
the past, pertaining to one or more of the socio-historic ambiances of Cuba.
Since the 1990s, however, the demand for Cuban-themed products has
increasingly been in connection to a wide variety of non-Cubans, manufacturers of clothing, rum, cigars, and antique replicas. The label “Cuban” has
thrived on everything from ethnic food to popular cocktails; objects and subjects that might not have any territorial connection to the island or its culture,
but that are built within a composite of traits or characteristics aligned with
an expectation of what “Cuban” is or could be.
I place this type of analysis within the scope of Cuban material cultural
studies which I denominated as such in a previously printed journal article,
“Materializing Havana and Revolution: Cuban Material Culture” (Rubio,
2005) which appeared in Studies in Latin American Popular Culture. I
defined “Cuban material culture” as the market of products that are Cubanidentified; a sizable mass that takes into account trade material goods, cultural artifacts and locations of consumer transactions based on the assumed
compositions of “Cuban” nationality. In that piece I argued that within the
aesthetic discourses found in these items there is a fixation on exemplifying
the diverse notions pertaining to the urban symbolic of Havana and the historical processes of the Revolutions of Cuba. These focuses on Havana and
Revolution(s), I argued, have become thematic centerpieces of cultural production that is “Cuban” identified. In this piece, similar arguments are discussed yet, the focus lies in pointing to the utilization of diverse elements of
assumed “Cuban” identities or myths as selling-points for these materials.
Their demands are aligned in many cases with a desire to visually, in the situations broached here, play upon the stereotypes and exoticized nature of the
labels of “Cuban.” Most salient are “exported” or “globally constructed”
goods which transcend the territorial borders of Cuba and function in the globalized circuit of Cuban cultural products.
My proposal departs with the idea that sadly, and unfortunately, consumption on the island consists of limited government rationing, a weak Cuban
currency that has been dependant on the influx of foreign currencies, mainly
dollars, that are later converted into pesos, and an underground black market
of mercantile material needs (food, medicine, clothes, etc.) and material
wants (video movies, internet access, brand name clothes, toys, etc.). Meanwhile, a strong marketplace outside the island thrives on manufacturing
Cuban-identified materials in a transnational context—Cuban-style guayab-
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eras, designed in Cuban Miami and manufactured in Taiwan, for instance; or
Cuban coffee or rum produced in diverse Latin American countries and sold
as “Cuban” in Miami and New Jersey (or the “International” or “Ethnic” aisle
of your local supermarket). I demonstrate here that these objects, beyond
being representative of the established national and mythical “Cuban” labels,
are nevertheless tangible to real historic, social, ideological and political
characteristics and therefore innately connected rubric of the nation and its
umbrella economy. I propose that in many cases the aforementioned identity
notions, as well as the ones pertaining to Havana and revolutionary fixations,
are represented, appropriated and materialized with the intent of marketing
upon the popularity of these notions for economic gain.
In the United States, the taste for things Cuban, specifically those tastes
that encompass the notions of Havana and Revolution(s), pertain to a multitude of reasons including the most salient, ideological demarcation, observable in contrasting subjects (or objects) and notions, such as Che Guevara
paraphernalia and concept memorabilia such as the ones framed by the logo
“Havana, B.C.,” meaning “Before Castro.” Purchasing practices most clearly
participate in the representation of images pertaining to two distant poles; one
evokes Cold-War and post-Cold War eras which establish Havana as the last
stronghold of Marxist and socialist ideals in Latin America, while the other
establishes Havana as a nostalgic site, claiming the Old-world Cuba motif,
particularly Cuba’s heyday prior to 1959.
In my research I have proposed the formulation of a new concept,
“Cubana,” which encompasses the objects and sites that pertain to that established as material culture. The concept of Cubana is defined as a label created in sequence of the established Americana and Africana area studies that
relate national identity to the consumption of popular culture. A definition of
Cubana builds off of the research done on the concept of Americana, a loose
term consisting of meanings of national rigueur derived from a grouping of
texts that are symbolic of the culture of the United States. Since Americana
includes media and is focused on the concepts labeled as material culture, I
fashion Cubana as a field including print, visual, and material culture.
The lack of empirical data on the production and consumption of these
cultural economies does not allow a comprehensive sociologically-based
project offering specific trends and taxonomies. For that reason this essay
does not intend to create this type of survey but rather an examination of a
partial selection of texts within the parameters of “Cuban” cultural capital.
Given the vast number of Cuban-identified texts of a variety of genres there
is no doubt that Cuba has created a niche market within material cultural
studies. The present work approaches just a few photographic and graphic art
texts as well as some objects of nostalgia within this large-scale dialectic.
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Rising out of this analysis, I propose that the most visible signs of socialpolitical and economic turnaround for Cuba will be in the forms of the next
revolution, one possibly stemming from shifts in cultural production and consumption, the effects of consumerism on politics, and a future of free-market
enterprise. As such, I envision the study of Cuban material culture across revolutions as a detrimental part of this research frame. By juxtaposing the
images and visual cultures that span the “golden” heyday of the Havana of
the 1940s-1950s, the triumph of the Revolution and the prolific socialist
expansion of the late 1960s and 1970s, and the more recent pictorials of the
“Special Period,”one can deduce that the evolving situations of Cuba have
been ingrained on the utilization of image. Mostly for export, but also utilized for internal social impact in terms of motivation mechanisms, these
images have been globalized as trademarks of the meanings of Cuba, venturing to offer insight on how Cubans have conceptualized and re-conceptualized themselves and how others have in effect appropriated and contributed
to these conceptualizations in the era of post-national citizenship.
The Nation in Graphic Arts, Photography and
Memorabilia
Two sets of graphic art books explicitly counterpoint the material culture of
the two main historical periods relevant to this study, the Republican era
(1902-1959) and the Revolution era (1959-present). In the first set, Cuba
Style: Graphics from the Golden Age of Design (2002) by Vicki Gold Levi
includes a nostalgic visual journey through posters and touristic memorabilia
of “Havana’s Heyday,” circa the 1940s-1950s. Most interesting are the collection of luggage labels from Cuban airlines, mementos from Havana hotels,
and menus from restaurants such as the Sans Souci and La Florida. These
items have a patina texture of age which in turn has been transferred onto the
replication of the book. The graphic book, a coffee-table style pictorial, is in
turn a present-day commodified piece that extenuates the imaginary of a lost
Old World indicative of a certain specificity of distinctive tastes and privileged culture. An explanation of this can be observed in the text that accompanies the graphics of the book. The author lays out her coordinates for
envisioning “Cuban” culture or what she calls “Cubanness” by demonstrating
how the texture of these materials were tied to the dominant bourgeois class.
She states, “The proliferation of Cuban bourgeois culture was encouraged in
the pages of a handful of cosmopolitan magazines published in Havana during the first half of the twentieth century. The Havana-based Social, Bohemia, and Carteles propagated a true sense of Cubanness.” (Levi, 2002: 126)
Levi points to the formulation of the label of “Cuban” of the times as that
pertinent to this upper-crust world and juxtaposes the dissemination of the
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marketed exotic romance of Cuba with the marketed and privileged world of
bourgeois tastes. This internationalist and elitist representation, one of the
common realities and stylistics of the time, is explained in Levi’s text as
intent by the government and the business sector which promoted Cuba’s
(and Havana’s) prosperity as packaged tourism or packaged culture. Rosalie
Schwartz, in her book Pleasure Island: Tourism and Temptation in Cuba
(1997) also refers to this packaging by Cuban civic organizations and business venture capitalists, most inline with promoting Cuba to U.S. consumers
during the 1940s and 1950s. Levi’s book allows for an interpretation of how
and why Havana’s mystic and urban symbolic materialized a demand for
Cuba and Cuban things throughout the Western Hemisphere. Levi claims that
“advertising had two missions: to sell as many goods as possible to a large
Cuban bourgeoisie and to sell Cuba to North American tourists and investors;” (Levi, 2002: 8) a reasonable explanation supportive of the theory that
visual graphics and materials marketed upon that mystique. Havana, in the
1940s and 1950s, was a touristic center which offered the entertainment venues that the tourists and investors were looking for and a metropolis that
regional elite Latin Americans and countryside Cubans (that could afford to
travel there) yearned to be a part of. Havana offered the best of both worlds; a
city and beach area all compacted within the Havana radius.
Of particular interest to me is the tourism discourse that is observed in the
Levi book’s aesthetic from the onset. The poster used for the front cover, for
example, is an image of a man sitting inside an aircraft looking out of a large
window that overlooks Havana Bay. The view features the Morro Castle and
Old Havana framed in a top/down perspective as the man holds in hand an
apparent travel guidebook, which for the book cover serves as the location
for the names of the editor and art director. The narrative blends a historical
perspective that mentions the exuberance of the times and details the work of
the Cuban grafistas who in their particular style—which “combined elements
of art nouveau, art deco, European modernism, and Vegas-style kitsch” (Levi,
2002) with a Cuban sensibility—perpetuated the marketed appeal desired by
entrepreneurs and city promoters. In Levi’s introduction, the usage of a particular word combination struck me as interesting; she describes these materials, posters and objects as “ephemeral artifacts.” In the same light she
accurately points to Cuba’s post-colonial relation with Spain after 1898 and
the newfound intimate relations with the United States, which very much
affected the vacation-oriented content, a civilized and cosmopolitan-like
urban appeal, and brand advertisement that went into many of these posters
and ads. The aura maintained was that of a modern, at times tropicalized
exotic destination, yet as Levi points to, “no truly independent ideological or
philosophical foundation emerged” (Levi, 2002: 11) within the aesthetic of
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these graphics. The spirit though, I would argue, a consumerist one, was to
appropriate the myth that was created by the travel industry. In many graphics tropically-dressed women invite, welcome, or provoke the tourist, while
in others scenic views of Havana or the beaches purvey viewers with expectations. Most interesting to me are the graphics of souvenirs, postcards, and
locales such as restaurants and cabarets, Sloppy Joe’s, El Floridita Bar and
Restaurant and Tropicana. Other graphics memorialize Cuban products such
as cigar labels, movie posters, song sheets and record albums.
On the other hand, the graphic book, Street Graphics Cuba (2001), by
Barry Dawson presents a visual journey of objects within Cuban material culture pertaining to the Revolution-era. Based mostly on the culture of the Revolution, it presents graphic material pertinent to Che memorabilia and street
propaganda that serves as public art. The graphic style presents a different
utopia than the previous period text, creating another type of glossed and
patinized appearance. This one is based on the aesthetic of socialism and the
particularities of Cold-War fetish. Objects include national motivation billboards along Havana streets and on buildings as well as souvenirs with Marxist rhetoric. Others contain propaganda slogans that support Revolution civic
movements such as that supporting the national sugar crop during the 1970’s.
I found the most symbolic to be a postage stamp section which featured commemorative stamps of Soviet accomplishments like the space program and a
one remembering the twentieth anniversary of the Granma fleet in 1976. In
another section a more recent occurrence is graphically represented. A billboard and a poster demand the return of Elian González during the binational political battle that altered many sensitivities and created significant
tension between the two countries. On the billboard there is a photo of Elian
leaning against a barbed wire fence, looking onto the other side. The implied
message is that he is imprisoned, while the statement on the billboard says
“Devuelvan nuestro niño” (“Return our child”). (Dawson, 2001: 33) Of most
peculiarity is the purchase location where I located the book. Although I keep
myself attuned to new publications nationally and internationally I seem to
run into some new publications by chance in the strangest locations. This
one, for example, I found sifting through the national clothing store Urban
Outfitters. This may be indicative of the store’s market segment which targets
college students as well as 20 and 30 year olds.
In her essay “Picturing Havana: History, Vision, and the Scramble for
Cuba,” Ana María Dopico argues that the “photographic image has triumphed in exporting Cuba during the Special Period” (Dopico, 1997: 452).
She goes on to prove how the images of Havana circulate as “currency and
tableaux” an interesting combination since the meaning of tableaux specifically denotes “a depiction of a scene on a stage by silent and motionless cos-
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tumed participants.” The combination of the meanings of the two words used
by Dopico exemplify the cultural commodity of the photography genre pertinent to Cuba of late (e.g. the Special Period) but also demonstrates that there
is a conscious consideration of how the scene or site is “staged,” an ingredient of the photo symbolic and the performance of Cuban identity. The idea of
staging narrowly becomes the means of combining the aesthetic of the text,
the ideological context, if any (although it may be inherent and not purposeful), and the economies it strives to encounter, meaning the consumer market
it capitalizes on. Similar to the analysis of popular culture, the photographic
and graphic art genre combines the use of metaphor, allegory, stereotype, and
the nuances associated with ideology. Inclusive are highbrow and lowbrow
tastes as well as elite and popular registers which withhold substantial correlations to symbolic meanings of lo cubano, cubanidad, and cubanía. In the
same light, the book ¡Revolución!: Cuban Poster Art, edited by Lincoln
Cushing (2003), relates the historical transformation of the mid-1960s
through the 1980s, figuring the prolific appearance of poster art pertaining to
the social experimentation of the period. As a medium to generate the messages of the Revolution, they were distributed both in and out of Cuba. The
content varied from film marketing to promotional advertisements announcing resources for citizens. These encouraged participation in civil brigades
and advocated voluntary work for the sugar harvest, health brigades and
armed forces. The theme of iconography was common, including subjects
such as Che Guevara and Sandino, as well as abstractions pertaining to military resistance against imperialism. In contrast to the previously studied
graphics, whose purpose was to expand the economies of tourism, these were
produced in order to build solidarity within the newfound socialist state.
Albeit, many of the film posters of the ICAIC, [Cuban Institute of Cinematic
Art and Industry], as Cushing confirms, have been replicated in order to
“meet the demand for sales,” in many instances via the internet. Most interesting to me is the point Cushing raises in summarizing the importance of
this poster art for Cuban history vis-à-vis other graphic arts of Cuba. He
states, “Posters are a vital, expressive visual art form that has historically
been a medium of choice for presenting oppositional voices.” (Cushing,
2001:19) Although it seems this was not the case for these posters during this
specific timeframe of Cuban history, there is straight forward allusion to the
effort of national pride that these provided for the country. Since then, one
could argue, they have been memorialized and commodified as remembrances of those “lost” times, ideological incursions onto the journey that the
country embarked upon during that first revolutionary epoch. In contrast, as I
will now expand upon, the Revolution’s “Special Period” has been an
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extremely photographic site; visual images of Cuba have been prefaced in
numerous pictorial books and documentaries.
In the same format, the June 1999 edition of the National Geographic
Magazine featured Cuba with a photo essay by David Alan Harvey accompanying a text by John J. Putnam. The title of the article, “Evolution in the Revolution: Cuba,” is indicative of the changes within the then 40-year-old
regime. It can be implemented first, as symbolic of the evolution of services
within the socialist state (given the aftermath of the post-Cold War era); and
second, as an example of the changes of the realities of the socialism of the
Revolution which originally had a tight grip of its anti-capitalist rhetoric,
meaning an evolution toward an economic recovery in the shape of the touristic.
The most conclusive ingredient the article pointed to, possibly much more
importantly than its written content, was the incredible popularity and attraction the images of Cuba had obtained within the North American public.
Scholars such as Dopico credit this new image fetish to the tourist campaign
that began with 1995 foreign investment promotion of the island. The cover
of the magazine featured a young boy hanging out from the side of a car, his
skin tone darker than white, with a piercing look directly at the camera. Yet
what the images portrayed was the young face of the Revolution, a young
boy’s smiling profile and body with a red towel on his shoulder, a frame unarguably affected by a socialist tone. The photo may also be taken as a play on
the pioneer handkerchief that students wear when they take the oath of
becoming a “Pioneer for the Revolution.” Although possibly a far-fetched
consideration, the substitute towel may be symbolic of the irony of the
island’s turn to tourism for survival. The towel may be representative of tourism (capitalism) which has substituted the pioneer handkerchief (ideology) of
the Revolution as its newly adopted morale.
The photograph which opens the interior layout of the photo spread
within the magazine has a similar content. On the Malecón (or seaside promenade) a girl of similar dark skin tone looks into the camera while wearing
clothes that serve as a play on the Cuban flag. She wears a short blue miniskirt and a white t-shirt that has an abstract post-modern red heart in the middle of it. This heart can be considered as a parallel to the perennial Revolutionary image of Che that has been globally commercialized; the heart
significant of love takes the place of the ideological rhetoric symbol of Guevara’s face. This parallelism may translate as a move from “we sell ideology”
to “we sell love” as the new slogan for tourism. This portrayal would be
taken as play on the jineterismo or hustling economy that became prevalent
since the island’s economy began focusing on tourism. Many of these hustlers offer a multitude of services from tour guide to prostitute while others
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hope romance or marriage will help them leave the island. By contrast the
National Geographic Magazine used a simple and straightforward explanation for the picture of the girl. It claimed a typical romanticized interpretation
which stated: “The austere times affecting her island haven’t made a Havana
teenager lose heart.”
The pictures of the photo essay feature the distinct images of Cuba and
partake in what Dopico labeled “a visual and virtual historical theme park.”
(Dopico, 1997: 452). They create a variable combination portraying a colonial Caribbean island, an innocent countryside and a third-world city. Yet
beyond this romanticized connotation, the pictures are loaded with meanings
and contradictions of a place held in time. A Havana street scene features a
man wearing a New Orleans jazz t-shirt and a woman porting a Marina style
purse from the U.S., as well as two younger women wearing fashionable
clothing that is very American. These examples demonstrate the influence of
the United States in spite of the existing embargo. The mutual attraction of
the two cultures is primarily visualized through commercial means. The
photo essay in the June issue was a preview to the National Geographic book
that would be published a few months later with the simple title Cuba, also
featuring the photography of David Alan Harvey but excluding a textual narrative leaving the photo interpretation up to the viewer. Yet the publication of
the book performs or stages the exterior gaze of foreigners to a place previously left out of the visual limelight for almost 30 years. In fact this can be
supported by the one book that did a similar task a decade before; Six Days in
Havana (1986), by James Michener, which provided a the discursive representation that was expected at that time. Its platform was a project that documented for the “American public” what was not visibly or tactically
permissible given the embargo.
Therefore, photography formulates the latest global presentation of the
historical scramble of understanding and documenting Cuban affairs. What
Dopico leaves out is an expanded consideration of the markets of these products. Even though she points to the markets of Miami and New Jersey, she
only alludes to the specific North American commodification of the pictorial
texts she minutely examines. She does point to the interesting conundrum of
the market appetite of the U.S. desiring Cuban images. William M.
LeoGrande in his chapter, “The United States and Cuba: Strange Engagement,” which appeared in the book Cuba, the United States, and the PostCold War World (2005), points to the fact that commerce seems to be winning over anti-communism, as farmers from the Midwest continue to push
for open economic relations as Cuban exiles, who are still interested in a
“strong” embargo, seem to be pushed aside by trade interests. Dopico finely
textures the exportation of the images of the Special Period as a triumph of
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Cuban foreign economy and excels in pointing to the potential re-colonization that the photographs seem to announce. The number of Cuba-oriented
photography publications based on Havana, Cuba, and the Revolution has
grown significantly. A quick internet search provides more than 37 titles published between 1999 and 2006, indicating a huge consumer market.
Perhaps one of the greatest observations Dopico brings to the table of
photography as material culture is that of observing the agency of the portrayed and that of the viewer. She considers the enlightenment of the consumer as a historic one and alludes to the multiple fetishes that contrive
Cuba. These vary from the touristic route of ruins in Havana, the Caribbean
paradise frozen in time, and a third-world Latin American country still
entrenched in the Cold-War aftermath. She also inquires about the silenced
voices of those within the pieces, images of those that look out of the frame
beyond their quotidian everyday life. She labels this “a real nation functioning as a historical theme park,” (Dopico, 1997: 452) and contrasts the visual
world of photography with its counterpart, the print lettered city, and correlates both genres to the reality of the city’s daily life, arguing that Habaneros
become illegible. (Dopico, 1997: 462) Dopico goes on to study numerous
texts throughout her essay; amongst them: Cuba y Cuba (1998) by René
Burri; Ay Cuba!: A Socio-Erotic Journey (2001) by Andrei Codrescu; and
Cuba: Going Back (1999) by Tony Mendoza. All of these employ a style
similar to the documentary approach used by James Michener 10 years
before.
One text that Dopico does not reflect on given its recent publication is the
photo book Cuba on the Verge: An Island in Transition. Published in 2003 by
Time Warner and edited by Terry McCoy, it is a fine example of the most
recent production, combining photo essay with brief commentaries on the
state of Cuba by both Cubans and non-Cubans living inside and outside the
island. It carries an introduction by writer William Kennedy and an epilogue
by dramatist Arthur Miller. It also features cameo appearances by writers and
photographers such as Russell Banks, Susan Orlean, and Cubans Abilio
Estévez, Mayra Montero, Cristina García, Nancy Morejón and many others.
The text combines poetic literary pieces with photography; many of them
corresponding in themes but others diverging. Yet the photographs here correlate the abstract images to Cuba within realities of everyday life. They
approximate the established allegorical mélange that is typically part of the
photo and coffee-table book on Cuba yet strive to add a balanced perspective
on the Cuban trajectory by offering a variety of points of view.
The introduction by William Kennedy, “Going to Cuba?”, is illustrated by
a black and white photograph of a bellman waiting for the recently arrived; a
simple welcoming smile and an arm drawn behind his side portray an air of
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polite service. In his essay, Kennedy explains the attraction of Americans
going to Cuba; he ponders the attraction of one of the major social experiments of the twentieth century or even the idea of wanting to see what has
been taboo for over 40 years (Kennedy, 2003:8). The first section, titled
“Time” is narrated by Cuba’s Antonio José Ponte, who makes a claim to why
he stays in Cuba. His idea of time is connected to the layered texture of the
vivid and vibrant disaster of living under the Revolution in Cuba, a place and
time he could probably not live without. The images that accompany the text
are by Manuel Piña and feature close-up weathered frames of walls and ironwork decoration.
These texts then establish a commodified texture to the popular cultural
practice of photography and graphic arts. They create diverse discursive representations based on ideological, political, personal, and collective experiences pertaining to Cuba. These representations are sites filled with authorial
intent, ideological weight and economic gain, which therefore creates mechanisms by which Cuban culture becomes a marketed factor. Not only are the
producers of these objects subject to analysis but also the consumers become
important factors in establishing the shape of this marketplace.
Consuming Nostalgia: Producing and Consuming
Lost Havana(s)
The market for Cuban memorabilia and nostalgia products has become a popular economy in recent years. A yearly heritage festival called “CubaNostalgia” held in Miami now for seven consecutive years, offers booths featuring
Bacardi samples, memento stores and antiquarian kiosks, amongst Cuban art
work, food and marketing booths that market national brands to Cuban
Americans such as Chevrolet and Goya Products. Journalist and author Ana
Menéndez wrote an opinion piece titled “Nostalgia is now for sale, and it’s
costly,” in The Miami Herald (May 24, 2006) in which she postulated about
some of the issues discussed here. She writes that “CubaNostalgia” was a
place “where history is a marketing concept and memory is always priced for
a quick sale.” (Menéndez, 2006) Along the same lines, José Quiroga has textured these ideas in his book Cuban Palimpsests (2005), in which he states:
“Time itself, and history, have been codified by the memory of exile, frozen
by the memory of empire, and placed on a permanent soft focus with nostalgias of meaning lost.” (Quiroga, 2005: viii) The existence and abundance of a
multitude of Cuban memorabilia stores in Miami, Florida, and in particular in
the Little Havana neighborhood, have materialized these ideas. Stores like
Sentir Cubano (http://www.sentircubano.com) or Little Havana-to-Go (http://
www.littlehavanatogo.com) specifically target consumers of Cuban material
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culture or “cubana” and offer a variety of products from memorabilia to domino games to food products, including Conchita, Bustelo, Badía, and Goya
brands. There are also female dolls available in three styles, all stylized after
the traditionally-marketed women stereotypes: a cubana santera, a cubana
rumbera, and a cubana cabaretera (cabaret dancer). A selection of T-shirts
replicates vintage styles that bring to memory sporting clubs from the 1940s
and 1950s such as The Havana Yacht Club and the Marianao baseball team.
In these instances products are produced memorializing diverse markers of
national identity. In the case of the dolls, characterizations of women which
were prevalent in the graphic and poster art of the Republican-era (19021959) return as symbolic of “cubanía” while the t-shirts market upon significant athletic groups that can re-gather in exile and partake in remembering
times past or lost times sharing their sport in their homeland.
One non-memorabilia product not for sale in Miami but symbolic of
Cuban-themed consumption is the coffee, Havana Cappuccino. It has been
launched in the U.S. market recently and found in convenient stores in the
Northeast and South. Havana Cappuccino bottles materialize images and
allegories connected to the racial identity of women by personifying the
Havana coffee drink as a woman on the bottle design. Havana Cappuccino is
produced by the North American Beverage Company based in Ocean City,
New Jersey (www.havanacappuccino.com) which sells the brand in a diverse
set of drink flavors, five all together. All of the coffees can be prepared to be
hot or iced and are 99-percent fat free as per the label. The variety of flavors
includes the Original, Classic Dark Roast, Mocha, Vanilla, and Caffeine Free;
each bottle’s design varies accordingly. Havana, or the woman that lends face
to the label on the bottles, is profiled with a frontal caricature where the drink
name appears. Surrounding her facial profile are the decorative strips that
flow onto the rest of the bottle assuming the shape of strands of her hair,
amongst which are scattered coffee beans. The woman’s features are the
same on all the bottle flavors, yet the shades of her skin tone vary accordingly
to the flavor of the drink. The original has a moderately shaded woman indicative of the mestiza color of Cubans; the classic dark roast Havana is a shade
darker; yet the darkest color is given to the mocha Havana which is made
with Dutch Cocoa. The Vanilla Havana is a white woman and the caffeinefree Havana is an even paler European white woman. These products, albeit
not memorializing a specific time frame, ideology, or political process, are
building upon an established tropicalization based on “Cuban” identity which
grew out of the Republican-era. Women have, historically, appeared in a
symbolic manner on Cuban products; specifically the Cuban cigar marquillas, still a popular collector’s item.
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In conclusion, the photographic and graphic text, as well as objects of
nostalgia, amongst other objects and subjects of Cuban material culture, are
becoming visible signs of the global popularity of things Cuban. Could this
be an indicator of transition in territorial Cuba or throughout the transnational
Cuban nation-state? Although predictions about transition concerning Cuba
abound, some things can be claimed but nothing is certain. Although not publicly admitted, the current Revolutionary platform is basing its survival on its
marketable political and ideological underpinnings. Given this, the real Cuba
is now, possibly more than ever, a true player in its own culturally-oriented
marketability.
One can argue though that by participating in the global game of capitalizing on their “national” marketability Cubans in Cuba and world-wide have
capitalized on the historical situation that resulted from the revolutionary processes of the twentieth century. In Cuba, strict adherence to the ideological
platform of socialism has evolved in order to survive monetarily, while
Cubans abroad have memorialized their nation and nationality through the recreation of sights and objects that exemplify the fixtures established as
Cuban. Non-Cubans have also partaken in the global production and consumption of Cuban material cultures, often creating and re-appropriating that
established as “Cuban” for their own purposes. These evolving “Cuba
crazes” will persist. The shapes they will take and the contributions or detractions they will offer the future of Cuba and Cuban nationality will only be
seen in time.
Bibliography
Brenner, Phillip and Marguerite Jimenez. 2006. “U.S. Policy on Cuba
Beyond the Last Gasp.” NACLA, Report on the Americas, 39(4): 15-22.
Burri, René. 1998. Cuba y Cuba. Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Books.
Cantor, Judy. 1997. “Bring in the Cubans!” Miami New Times Magazine.
June 19, 1997.
Codrescu, Andrei. 2001. Ay! Cuba: A Socio-Erotic Journey. New York: Picador.
Corbett, Ben. 2002. This is Cuba: An Outlaw Culture Survives. Cambridge:
Westview.
Cushing, Lincoln. 2003. ¡Revolución!: Cuban Poster Art. San Francisco:
Chronicle Books.
Dawson, Barry. 2001. Street Graphics Cuba. London: Thames and Hudson.
Dopico, Ana María. 2002. “Picturing Havana: History, Vision, and the
Scramble for Cuba.” Nepantla: View from South. Durham: Duke University Press.
Fernández, Damián. 2000. Cuba and the Politics of Passion. Austin: Unversity of Texas Press.
García Canclini, Nestor. 1995. Consumidores y ciudadanos: Conflictos multiculturales de la globalización. México D.F.: Grijalbo.
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Gold Levi, Vicki. 2002. Cuba Style: Graphics from the Golden Age of
Design. New York: Princeton Architecture Press
Graves Brown, P.M. 2000. Matter, Materiality, and Modern Culture. New
York: Routledge.
Kapcia, Antoni. 2005. Havana: the Making of Cuban Culture. Oxford: Berg.
Kapcia, Antoni. 2000. Cuba: Island of Dreams. Oxford: Berg.
Kennedy, William. 2003. “Going to Cuba?” In Cuba on the Verge: An Island
in Transition. Terry McCoy, editor. New York: Time Warner.
LeoGrande, William M. 2005. “The United States and Cuba: Strained
Engagement.” In Cuba, the United States, and the Post-Cold War World.
Gainesville: University Press of Florida.
McCoy, Terry. 2003. Cuba on the Verge: An Island in Transition. New York:
Time Warner.
Mendoza, Tony. 1999. Cuba, Going Back. Austin: University of Texas Press.
Menéndez, Ana. 2006. “Nostalgia is now for sale, and it’s costly.” The Miami
Herald, May 24, 2006.
Michener, James. 1986. Six Days in Havana. Austin: University of Texas
Press.
Ortíz, Ricardo. 1997. “Café, Culpa and Capital: Nostalgic Addictions of
Cuban Exile.” Yale Journal of Criticism: Interpretation in the Humanities. Vol. 10, Spring.
Palumbo-Liu, David. 1997. Streams of Cultural Capital: Transnational Cultural Studies. Stanford: Stanford University Press.
Paternostro, Silvana. 1999. “The Revolution will be in Stereo.” The New York
Times Magazine, January, 1999.
Quiroga, José. 2005. Cuban Palimpsests. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Pérez, Louis A. 1999. On Becoming Cuban: Identity, Nationality, and Culture. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.
Robinson, Eugene. 2004. Last Dance in Havana: The Final Days of Fidel
and the Start of the New Cuban Revolution. New York: Free Press.
Rubio, Raúl. 2005. “Materializing Havana and Revolution: Cuban Material
Culture.” Studies In Latin American Popular Culture, Vol. 24: 161-177.
Schwartz, Rosalie. 1997. Pleasure Island: Tourism and Temptation in Cuba.
Lincoln: University Press of Nebraska.
CHAPTER 21
Jesús Díaz Rewrites
Cuban Exile
Antonio Daniel Gómez
No exile process exhibits as many radical turns as Cuban exile after 1959.
Involving undoubtedly the most successful exiled community in history,
Cuban exile has gone through so many stages and includes such complex
processes that it resists, to this very day, its historization. There is, in fact, no
history of Cuban exile that could be described as even ‘satisfactory’—perhaps because, among other reasons, it is still an ongoing process. The last of
these radical turns—both clearly visible and ‘unofficial’—was the ‘legal’
exile of scholars and intellectuals from the onset of the Special Period, which
coincided with the Rafters Crisis in the summer of 1994.
Jesús Díaz’s case is inscribed against this background. In the wake of the
Cuban revolution, Díaz built his political and intellectual persona in terms of
revolutionary values and premises, and would eventually become one of the
most prominent figures of Cuban culture associated with the post 1959 era.
Unpredictably—surprise is a frequent reaction when recalling the case—
Jesús Díaz went into exile in Europe in 1992, where he stayed until his early
death in 2002. Behind his decision was a public discussion with Fidel Castro
around politics in the Special Period, which took form in the text “Los anillos
de la serpiente” (“The coils of the Serpent”). I do not intend here to make a
historiographial intervention into Cuban exile, a topic I have just depicted as
extremely complex, but to reflect on the effect of Díaz´s displacement in the
configuration of the Cuban intellectual field, always (and not only after 1959)
the result of the interactions between the island and its outside. Neither will I
focus, though I will briefly refer to it, on the most prominent feature of
Díaz´s intellectual project: the launch, from Madrid, of the journal Encuentro
de la Cultura Cubana; instead I will focus on his resolute concentration on
the writing of narrative, especially his first novel from exile: La piel y la mascara, published in 1996.
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I want to particularly focus on the way this novel metaphorizes the
author’s own transformation (and thus also the transformation of the collectivity which he has joined: that of Cuban exiles) from the actual condition of
dislocation. Symbolically, this process is dominated by the figure of duplication, since La piel y la máscara is partially the novelization of the 1985 film
Díaz had directed in Cuba: Lejanía, a work in which he reflected on Cuba’s
geographical, ideological, and political split. Thus, the writing of the novel is,
strictly speaking, a rewriting, which suggests, on the one hand, what I will
refer to as Díaz’s “rewriting of Jesús Díaz” (following the characterization
that best fits, in my understanding, his ideological turn: the figure of the
“convert”);1 and, on the other hand, the rewriting of the relationship between
Cuban exile as a historical phenomenon and the island itself.
This is certainly a privileged instance through which to closely study the
material traces of exile displacement on textual configuration. Díaz contemplated both Lejanía and La piel y la máscara as very personal projects, and
they both responded intimately to their particular circumstance of enunciation: respectively, Havana before the dismantling of the USSR, and Berlin
after the fall of the wall. I want to argue that the result of contrasting the
novel and the film is the textual materialization of a geographical and political dislocation.
I will focus on the three most obvious elements that derive from this contrast, each of them the result of the confluence between a series of circumstances that includes technical determinations, expressive possibilities, and a
clear resolve to point up the interactions between the arts, official politics,
and cultural industries. These three elements are: the “formal” metamorphosis of the text, not necessarily limited to the obvious passage from film to
novel, but also entailing deep transformations in terms of poetics and rhetoric; the modifications in the level of the narrated story; and the widening in
the novel of the field of narrativization to include the process of making the
movie; the backstage of filming, so to speak.
The passage of the narrative format, from cinematographic to literary, is
indeed the most evident transformation, and maybe the most productive in
terms of its conceptual implications. It is in fact the inflection of a crucial
move: the passage from the sphere of the state to the sphere of the market.
Since Cuban cinema should be defined as national cinema, and since the
Cuban state takes part in its production not only in the area of publicity or
through the setting up of cultural policies and general guidelines for realization, but also through attitudes to supervision and the regulation of circulation, a film like Lejanía is a statement both by the man directly responsible
for it and by the state itself –maybe even more by the latter than the former.
1.
I owe this suggestion to Víctor Fowler.
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311
To a great extent, the novelization of the film is nothing other than an attempt
to recuperate the personal content in Lejanía, watered down in the larger
undertaking, less critical and decidedly more institutional. By imposing a
level of denunciation that is almost redundant, La piel y la máscara points to
the evidence that the film became a personal project co-opted by the state. In
showing how the movie would (and should) have been, the novel utters—
elliptically, only through difference—the “state’s statement,” in a game that
also has a decisive impact on the relationship between the context of enunciation (predominantly the spatial context but also the temporal one) and political analysis. Thus, the objects rendered for comparison multiply: the film,
the novel, and the film figured in the novel; and the change in format turns
into, above all else, a political statement: on individuality and on the decision
to exit the sphere of the state.
If the conversion of the visual into the linguistic stands out as the most
eloquent statement, the differences between the script of Lejanía and its novelization, at the level of the plot, give way to specific analyses of the results
of the neutralization of the official voice. I want to address three issues here,
all of them in close relation with the key components of both narrative structures, i.e. the figure of the author, and the symbolic protagonist couple:
mother/son. These three elements are: the incorporation into the novel of a
fictional first person, absent in the film; the “moral” turn of the character of
the son; and the resignification of the role of exile in the character of the
mother.
Regarding the first point, it was certainly worthwhile to modify, in the
novel, the script of the film by way of incorporating a new central character,
cipher of both the author and the director. It is, moreover, an addition that
manifestly shows its fictional mode by unifying in one narrative space the
director of the film, the actor of one of the key roles, and the central character
in the story that is being filmed. The fictionalization of Jesús Díaz the director by Jesús Díaz the writer is also the reevaluation of Jesús Díaz the revolutionary intellectual by Jesús Díaz the exile, and should be read as the result of
an alienation/distancing (à la Brecht) that presupposes the will to reassess his
own political performance and his own aesthetic practice. In this sense, La
piel y la mascara works to become a disclaimer of Lejanía’s failure in the
artistic field.
The second point serves as the most pointed attack on the morals of the
revolution: the son goes from the film’s rigid representation of him as a conflicted but still prototypical revolutionary who prevails over his disputes with
his own personal past by retreating to the public duty imposed, once more, by
the ethics emanating from the state, to its more human dimension in the
novel, with his manifestly unexemplary behavior. It is clearly meant to exem-
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plify the effects of censorship: the most prominent modification in the plot is
the son’s extra-marital sexual intercourse with his cousin from Miami, who
has come to Havana with her aunt; while it appears as a successfully resisted
temptation in the film, it turns into actual consummation in the film within
the novel.
The third point is already within the scope of what I will analyze next: the
incorporation of the process of film-making; and it openly stages the mechanics that dominate the relationship between Cuba and exile: the mother returns
to the island for a short time, but the actress who plays the mother has plans
to go into exile herself. Díaz uses the conflicts between an actress and her
character—already alluded to by the title of the novel—to offer an explanation of the dynamics of desire and rejection that dominate, according to him,
the severing of the Cuban national body into island and exile.
The film becomes a novel, its director becomes a character, piou militants
turn into fleshly men, and national actresses into volunteers for exile. Díaz
frames this radical transformation through the fictionalization of the creative
process: a device for the representation of the dynamics of representation,
and another level of reference for the title. This mise en abyme allows him to
demonstrate the interaction between the individual and the official agencies
of representation. If the film provides the scene for the resolution of private
conflicts (achieved differently in the actual film than in the film within the
novel), its “backstage” sets the scene for Díaz to rehearse the clash between
individual will and state power which appears both in the national representativeness of Lejanía and the personal representativeness of the novel. This
process of inclusions, on the other hand, allows him to show the dynamics by
which the private is used by the public and vice versa, in order to make evident, for example, models for the ideological understanding of events like
exile. By revealing official interference in the realization of the film, La piel y
la máscara works to redeem Lejanía of its dogmatic content, and to separate
it from its complicity with the present. Díaz confronts an ethical conflict
which derives from being himself in a situation (exile) for which his own cultural production is in to some extent responsible. Such a paradox compels
him to “rewrite himself,” especially in political terms, from exile, understood
both in terms of space and time. His rewriting starts by rewriting his own
text. Thus, unwriting Lejanía and restating its models of historical interpretation are for Díaz not only an ethical imperative, but also a vital necessity.
For this not to become an episode of schizophrenia, Jesús Díaz must at
one and the same time rewrite his own past and validate his present, i.e. his
absence from the island, as a political statement that does not necessarily
erase his key principles, nor dismantle a life’s aesthetic and theoretical
schemes. Eventually, his efforts would result in an attempt to define and
Jesús Díaz Rewrites Cuban Exile
313
materialize a third position in the Cuban cultural field, identified neither with
the inflexibility of official politics on the island, nor with the sectarian agendas of the Miami exiles. This third position (only partially achieved by Díaz,
since both sides would immediately work towards reestablishing the clear-cut
polarization) was materialized in the project of the journal Encuentro de la
Cultura Cubana, published in Madrid with the explicit aim of regrouping
Cuba’s diasporic intellectuals. Such an open, good-hearted, influential, and
visible project is echoed in Díaz’s narrative production only in La piel y la
máscara. His subsequent novels—surprisingly more frequent after he left
Cuba, probably in reaction to his sudden entry into the logic of a capitalist
cultural market—do not correspond to this program, and become more and
more dangerously caught up in Miami rhetoric. La piel y la máscara epitomizes one of the most brilliant examples of the effort to make some sense of
the confrontation between Cuba and Cuban exiles. Díaz’s failure not only
confirms this irreconcilable opposition, but also signals the end of the usefulness of binary dynamics in articulating Cuba as a nation or as a culture. Without doubt, Díaz’s failure has been not only the final—definitive—failure but
also the starting point for a radical transformation of the models for
approaching Cuban exile; these now disregard previous assumptions about
geographical and ideological relations in tracing the map of Cuban culture.
CHAPTER 22
Dissonance in the
Revolution
Juan Carlos L. Albarrán
…Ven que te quiero cantar de corazón así/La historia de mis raíces/Rumba, son
y guaguanco todo mezclado/Pa' que lo bailes tú/Mira,ay quien no baila en la
habana/Candidato /Pa' rumbiar en la cadencia/Represento a mis ancestros toda
la mezcla /No lo pierdas bro /Latino Americano de la habana te lo mando con
sabor mejor/Aprenderás que en la rumba está la esencia/Que mi guaguanco es
sabroso y tiene buena mezcla /A mi vieja y linda Habana / un sentimento de
manana Habana/todo eso representas/CUBA… (“Represent,” A lo Cubano)
The acclaimed work of the Cuban rap group Orishas, whose lyrics reflect the
intense reality of Cubans in the last decade, represents the roots of the hiphop movement in Cuba. The lyrics I start my paper with show a group that
loves and is proud of the domains of Cuban culture, music, and religion.
However, the success of Orishas was not first accomplished within the territory of Cuba; it took hard work and the eventual migration of the group members to Paris, France where their work was finally acknowledged. I have
chosen Cuban hip-hop music and specifically the work of Orishas, as my
topic because music in Cuba is a reflection of our character, the familiar element that connects us with ourselves and to the outside world; it is through
music that Cuba is best described. Analyzing Cuban music is the best way to
know and measure how the country as a whole feels. In this paper, I will
demonstrate how the group Orishas has broken through the traditional
boundaries of Cuban music and opened the doors for Cuban hip-hop, making
it possible for a new generation to express both national identity and individualism in a manner especially relevant for Cubans of African heritage.
This group came together mainly on the streets of Havana, in some of the
municipalities of Havana with a predominantly black population. Two members of the group, Yotuel and Ruzzo, were previous members of Amenaza
315
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Juan Carlos L. Albarrán
(“threat”), one of the first known hip-hop groups from the streets of Havana
in the beginning of the 1990s. With options for rap performance censored by
the government because of its American influence, they migrated to France
in 1996 and together with two other Cuban musicians (Flaco-pro and Roldán)
already in Europe; created Orishas. (Cantor, 2000)
The Afro-Cuban band Orishas was the first hip-hop group to gain an
international audience. An important characteristic of Orishas is that it has
always built its music around typical Cuban genres like son, rumba, and
guaguancó. Orishas has its headquarters in Paris, France, where the group
launched a record deal with Universal. They have sold millions of copies of
their three compact discs: A lo Cubano (2000), Emigrante (2002), and most
recently, El Kilo (Paoleta, 2005). The song “537 C.U.B.A.” from the CD A lo
Cubano samples the well-known Compay Segundo song “Chan Chan”
released on the Buena Vista Social Club’s 1997 record. Their identifiable
Cuban hip-hop sound was a total success, energizing Cuban rap, and giving
the movement a defined Cuban identity. (Llewellyn, 2003a) The work of
Orishas, always enriched by the use of drums, and the traditional sonero
voice of one of its members, gives them a distinctive sign of a Cubanidad.
Orishas is the name for gods used in Santeria, a Cuban-born religion that
has its roots in the mixing of African Yoruba religion and Catholicism. In the
crisis period of the 1990s it was accepted that the Cuban people turned to
religion as a desperate measure to find a solution through prayers and invocations to the African gods. The Cuban government that always saw religion as
a threat to the ideology of the revolution could not stop the wave of religion
even among the younger generations. To name the group Orishas is an
acknowledgement, respect, and a welcoming to the Afro-Cuban religion Santeria, a significant part of Cuban culture that was not being portrayed as an
active element of Cuban life. As open followers of the Afro-Cuban religion,
the group Orishas took an important role within that religious community,
not only with the name of their group, but they also by portraying in their lyrics their love for the Afro-Cuban religion.
Analyzing the song “Canto Para Eleggua y Changó” on their first CD,
they combine a prayer commonly used in Santería in Cuba to call the gods
with some of their devotions for the religion. This song, the lyrics of which I
present below, is commonly used as a document for many Cubans to learn
and keep alive the influence of African oral traditions in this culture.
Dice ori baba olorum, ori baba Olofin, ori baba Olorde,/ommi tuto, ana tuto,
tuto laroye tuto ile, tuto mo, tuto owo... Ani cumbambao Ochun, Ombao chenita
ache omi babalawo. Ache orunmila, ache ochaleri, ache Elewa, ache chango
kabo kabetsi, baba tomi dice ache ibeyi, ache bombo orisha baba...
Dissonance in the Revolution
317
Hijo de Eleggua , mi santo Eleggua/mi vida Eleggua , Maferefun el rey de los
caminos/la ley de mi destino, rojo y negro como el tinto vino/quien me abre los
caminos con su garabato/jicara d’aguardiente, humo de tabaco, vestido de
sacoquien me deja ver cuando estoy opaco/siguele los pasos, pidele salud/y que
te aleje de los malos ratos/pido yo la bendicion pa’ expresar mis sentimientos/
todo lo que me pidas , dalo por hecho, no profeso/mi filosofia cuando se trata de
Echu/Maferefun Elegua/To ibam echu.
Canto pa' elegua y para Changó/Canto de verdad lo digo yo/Canto pa' elegua y
para Changó/Canto de verdad lo digo yo/lo que digo es lo que pienso/lo que
pienso es lo que siento/Canto pa' elegua y para Changó/canto de verdad.
Yo como un rayo digo loco, lo que siento/mi voz que ruge como el viento/blanco
y rojo represento, changó virtuoso potente com un oso, bien perezoso, jocoso ,
fogoso/Santa Barbara bendita es tu chango/guia por el buen camino a tus hijos
como yo/dale la luz señora de virtud , fuerza, esperanza/en ti confianza , con tu
espada avanza/mi micro es tan fuerte como el machete de Ogun/mi son tan
dulce, como el melao de Oshun, y soy un,/soy un Orisha, si, tu boca cierra/enviado por Olofi para gobernar la tierra (Canto para Eleggua y a Changó, CD A
lo Cubano).
This song is a tribute to two of the most important Orishas of the Yoruba
culture that African slaves brought to Cuba: Eleggua and Changó. It starts
with an African prayer to the Orishas asking them for a blessing. The first
part of the song is adoration to the Orisha Eleggua who is in charge of opening and closing the roads of life to humans. In Cuba, for followers of this religion, it means that to keep a path of happiness and good fortune a person
needs to invocate and celebrate Eleggua. This is followed by a chorus, which
states, “I sing to Eleggua and to Changó, what I say is what I think, and what
I think is what I feel.” The second part is dedicated to the Orisha Changó, a
brave Orisha of war who controls the thunder and the sword. This is a deity
that controls wars, bad temper, and punishes the excesses that human tend to
fall into like alcoholism, fights, unfaithfulness, etc.
…Haya lejos donde el sol calienta más/olvidé mi corazón, un arroyo y un palmar/Dejé mi patria querida hace más de un año ya/ Por más que me lo propongo
mi herida no cerrará…
..Vengo de donde hay un río, tabaco,y caña veral/ donde el sudor del guajiro
hace a la tierra soñar…Me arrancaré el corazón y esperaré mi regreso para sacarlo otra vez y colocarlo en mi pecho…
..Dónde estás tú, mi Rampa/El sol que canta/la Catedral/el Capitolio/se levantan
en el oido/de estas voces/23 y 12/Vedado/Paseo del Prado/tus leones lado a lado/
forman parte de mis tradiciones/mis emociones/eres tu mi Cuba/como tu ninguna/Kábio sile o/soy yoruba que no quede duda/que si lloro es porque la
318
Juan Carlos L. Albarrán
extraño/no ver mi malecón, a mis amigos de mi zona/los que nacieron conmigo/
los que jugaron conmigo… (537 C.U.B.A. A lo Cubano)
These lyrics, extracted from the song “537 C.U.B.A.” from the CD A lo
Cubano, reflect elements of nostalgia in Orishas’ work (Schechter, 1999), a
theme latent in Cuban culture due to the massive migration that Cubans for
diverse reasons have faced for more than 40 years and that has torn families
apart. In this part there is a moment of reflection about the places and people
that were familiar to Orishas and helped to create the identity of Cubanidad.
This group started in a very antiestablishment way in the streets of
Havana with no support from the government because of the movement’s
critical lyrics and defiant attitude toward the system. The work of the group
Orishas made the market for Spanish-language rap expand enormously in
Europe. It also helped the government change its point of view towards
Cuban hip-hop to the point of establishing talks with the rap movement. Even
Fidel Castro met with the group and asked them “Are you the group that is
making such a fuss?” (Llewelyn, 2003a) Orishas has many fans and also
detractors on the island, who claim that they have betrayed the image of
Cuban rap, trying to pursue a more international image. Cuban hip-hop producer Ariel Fernández said that European labels come there to “sniff around”
looking for the next Orishas. But he argued that the Cuban reality and the
nature of daily life make Cuban music more vibrant and raw than what
Orishas has been producing from Paris. (Llewellyn, 2003a)
I disagree with such a statement because it took the fame of Orishas to
recognize the strength of Cuba’s hip-hop movement. But it was outside the
island that the group achieved such status and once a group breaks local barriers and reaches international status, that group does not belong to one place;
their work belongs to the world. Orishas’ international exposure as a group
can be seen when comparing the sampling of traditional music in A lo
cubano, Emigrante, and El Kilo. The last two discs show creativity, authenticity in their work; and their selection of live instruments in their recordings
attracts a wider audience from a globalized world. The second CD, Emigrante, relates to all the emigrants like Orishas who are living far from their
home country and share the life of an immigrant.
Cuban Popular Music in the 1990s
This paper has thus far focused on Orishas because this group is one of the
most visible examples of fresh artistic expression that reflects the Cuban reality of the 90’s. The outstanding quality of Cuban music has made the world
recognize Cuba as one of the beacons of popular music in a global context.
For generations Cuban music and musicians have found a place in the world-
Dissonance in the Revolution
319
wide hall of fame of music. With the new network of global communication,
Cuban music can now be studied in any university in the United States and
also be played in a nightclub in Japan. Most recently, in the 1990s, the success of the Cuban group, Buena Vista Social Club, gained worldwide reception (Farr, 2003).
It took almost all the 1990s for the hip hop movement to become accepted
in Cuba. Some reasons for this delay include the extreme success of the
Buena Vista Social Club, also the development of Timba Cubana in the same
decade, a style of Cuban beat that was a response to the salsa style developed
in the United States in the 1980s. Cuban salsa groups like Los Van Van, Bamboleo, La Charanga Habanera, NG La Banda, or Paulo F.G. had a great success with young Cuban dancers and audiences.
In the middle of the 1990s North American musician Ry Cooder and a
collaborating counterpart, Cuban musician, Juan De Marcos, gathered
together old Cuban musicians. These musicians, forgotten from the mainstream music, recorded a CD and made a documentary movie, both of which
were huge successes. However, the exceptional musical accomplishments of
Buena Vista elicited responses mainly from audiences in the United States
and the rest of the world, audiences nostalgic for a lost connection with the
Cuba of the 1940s and 1950s. To some extent young musicians working in
Cuba resented the fame of Buena Vista Social Club. Cuban drummer Equis
Alfonso, also known as “X,” from the Cuban group Sintesis, stated that “the
fame of Buena Vista Social Club put Cuban music back 40 years, affecting
the development of Cuban musicians, prolonging the myth of old Cuba, the
Cuba of nightclubs and old cars.” (Llewelyn, 2003a)
The music of Buena Vista Social Club does not act in response to the
needs of Cubans who deal with issues such as the long economic embargo
that the United States has imposed on the island, the collapse of the socialist
system and its effects on the island, and the Special Period, so named because
of the loss of Cuba’s main trading partners; with the fall of the Soviet Union
and the Eastern Bloc, the government was forced to resort to austerity measures and rationing, tightening the domestic economy. It was a time of chaos
with deflation of currency, shortage of oil, a period of hardship. The most
important point was the return to religious beliefs as a comfort for those in
despair in a country ruled by a secular communist party. Other issues that
Cubans have had to struggle with are the reemergence of drugs and prostitution, the unofficial black market required for survival, and massive migrations to the United States in rafts or by the lottery. Hip-hop is the only one of
the Cuban music genres that has openly addressed these issues. Cuban hiphop has also challenged the perceived racial democracy that Cuba’s post-revolutionary government has portrayed to the world for the past 40 years.
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Juan Carlos L. Albarrán
Defining Cuban hip-hop
In Cuba, as in any other socialist system, the communist government controls
all means of production; there is no private property, and everything belongs
to the government. The government also controls the ideological work of
intellectuals and artists and their influence on the political atmosphere of the
island. If an artist attacks the image of the revolution in any art type or form,
there can be drastic consequences for the artist. In the case of hip-hop, its
American influence and the negative image that American hip-hop had in the
nineties also helped to create a negative impact with the government slowing
its acceptance in Cuba.
Cuban hip-hop music relates to, yet differs from, American hip-hop. The
influence of American hip-hop has been very strong in the creation of a
Cuban hip-hop movement. Cuban hip-hop started in the 1990s as an underground movement. It exposed important political and economic issues affecting Cubans—especially those born since the revolution—as it did similar
issues earlier in the beginning of the rap movement in the United States.
(Fernandes, 2003)
An important aspect that influenced the lack of publicity for Cuban rap at
home and overseas was the low demand in the market of that time for Spanish speaking rap. In Castro’s government there is no competition among
music agencies or record labels because the government runs them all. Cuban
music agencies are thus not accustomed to taking risks and would not invest
in publicity, marketing campaigns, tours, or shows for rap musicians. Under
these commercial circumstances and the aggressive political atmosphere that
evolved around the hip hop movement in the United States, not a single
Cuban label released in the 1990s was a hip-hop CD. However, despite so
many limitations, when hip-hop awareness arrived in the island and Cuban
hip hop bands started to form, the movement became very strong and with a
solid goal, to express via music the daily concerns of the younger Cubans of
Havana. (Smith, 1998)
However critical of the status quo, Cuban hip-hop movement has never
been a vehicle for radical change in the Cuban political system. The paradox
is that the Cuban hip-hop movement does not support an intervention from
the United States or welcome the Miami radical right-wing exile group that
want to destroy Castro’s regime. In this way it differs from the American hiphop movement that has shifted its ground from political to a more commercial movement. While it started with some groups like Public Enemy, 2 Live
Crew, or N.W.A. who had strong political lyrics, American hip-hop has
largely developed in a different direction. The majority of songs today portray an image of consumerism, lust, thugs, and gangsters. The hip-hop move-
Dissonance in the Revolution
321
ment in Cuba has a defined political agenda, and calls for an improvement in
the relationship between the government and this younger generation.
Other disparities between Cuban hip-hop and American hip-hop can be
found in their lyrics; for the most part, Cuban rappers do not talk about guns,
killings, drugs, thug life, give women bad names, or create an image of capitalistic consumerism of platinum chains or sipping expensive champagne.
Such images do not reflect Cuban life, and would not resonate with the
younger generation. While most of the hip-hop songs reflect the daily life of
Cubans on the streets, Cuban rap is not as aggressive as American rap; there
is no Cuban equivalent to gangsta rap. (Llewellyn, 2003a) Nevertheless,
some of Cuban hip-hop singers and bands do follow an image similar to the
U.S. rappers with large baggy clothes, clothes with American brands like
FUBU, Nike, or Tommy Hilfiger. (Robinson, 2004)
The rapper image is not monolithic in Cuba nor is it in the United States.
In Cuba, some are fond of following the Afro-American image; others are
looking for an identity inside the rap world that defines them as Cuban rappers where they wear alternative clothes like t-shirts with the revolutionary
Che Guevara’s image and green military hats or boinas. Many Cuban rappers, lacking money, cannot afford to buy guayaberas, a traditional Cuban
shirt that is now mostly sold in the souvenir stores for tourists. The use of
Afro American haircuts among black Cubans is not just a particular signature
of Cuban rappers; Cubans favor it in general with some shaved, others with
dreadlocks, etc.
Regarding music equipment, there are more similarities with the rap
movement in the United States. Although the United States is a rich country,
access to equipment is limited for prospective rappers who often do not have
the necessary capital to buy music equipment. In Cuba the hard economic
constraints limit Cubans from buying audio systems and musical instruments.
Although very limited and expensive, the option of using a turntable to rap
and sampling over gives them extra potential. However, one thing that both
movements have in common is their love and pride for what it means to be
black in a racially prejudiced society, their love for their roots, their color,
their features, and life is announced with clear satisfaction in their lyrics.
(Smith, 1998)
We opened the doors for Rap in Cuba
Orishas has challenged the role of the Cuban government towards this new
generation of artists. One of the members of Orishas, Roldán, said in an
interview “Orishas is Cuba for a newer generation.” (García) Eventually
under internal and external pressure, and due to the international popularity
322
Juan Carlos L. Albarrán
of Orishas, the progressive minister of culture, Abel Prieto, funneled
US$32,000 worth of audio equipment through the rap association Hermanos
Saíz. He has helped change the attitude toward the Cuban art movement in
general, and as a result, the government reluctantly started to sponsor annual
rap summer festivals in the town of Alamar (Llewellyn, 2003b), avoiding the
same mistake of repression committed towards rock and roll and reggae
movements in Cuba in the 1970s and 1980s.
In one of the most critical moments of Cuban economic and political transition, the Cuban government accepted the presence of hip-hop and created a
rap agency called Hermanos Sainz that promotes and controls the rap movement in Cuba. Susana García Amorós, director of the newly formed government-sponsored Cuban rap agency, which will release a compilation album
under the Asere Producciones label, stated that rap has invaded all forms of
music and even TV in Cuba and that it is part of Cuban reality (Llewellyn,
2003a. The agency has Pablo Herrera among its managers, one of the
founders of the rap movement in Cuba, and he is helping to put the voice of
Cuban rappers out into the world; however, there is still a lot of struggle with
bureaucracy in Cuba. One of the issues that musicians face is the lack of
feedback: for example national record labels like EGREM do not inform their
musicians of sales figures, or tell them in what countries the records are being
sold. In general, there is no promotion or marketing work. (Llewelyn, 2003a)
Now, every year, the rap festival is celebrated in Alamar. This area on the east
side of Havana has a high concentration of Afro-Cubans. The “Alamar
projects,” as some people call them, are a reproduction of the Soviet building
style where massive ugly apartment blocks buildings were spread all over the
neighborhood for Cuban families to live in. These apartment blocks were not
initially built for blacks to live in, but were intended for the relocation of people whose houses collapsed during hurricane seasons, or when the government displaced them to build tourist hostels, etc. However, fulfilling its
responsibility to promote Cuban culture, the Cuban government has exercised more control recently over the rap festivals, and over who performs,
and thus over what is said. (Robinson, 2004)
Conclusion
Orishas’ music has impacted and has influenced Cuban culture since the
nineties. Its music is an example of how popular culture can serve as an
instrument for social change. This generation of Cubans has never had an
agenda of bringing down Castro’s government. They do not want to change
the revolutionary system of Fidel Castro, even though many of them belong
to a generation that has not enjoyed many of the accomplishments of the revolution. This generation has only seen economic and political hardship. All
Dissonance in the Revolution
323
they want to do is to be an active part of the system, and to be accepted by the
government as a new generation of artists with a new image of music, and a
vision of a more richly integrated society. The hip-hop movement in Cuba
wants to be recognized and accepted within the island, and the great majority
of artists want to create their music at home and for home.
This generation of Cuban rap musicians, mainly blacks, were all born
under the Cuban revolution. They are educated, some are college students,
but most of all they are the sons and daughters of ordinary working class people. The great majority of these musicians do not come from families with a
legacy of intellectuals. They, like every one else on the island, have limited
access to information and limited possibilities for travel around the world,
but they have had the talent to express their frustration and their goals
through this new movement, Cuban rap. Cuban life demanded a new musical
approach, and the value of this musical experience that the group Orishas
achieved can be a tool for change for generations of Cubans to come.
Bibliography
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Llewellyn, Howell. 2003a. “Cuban Agency to Build on Hip-Hop Buzz.” Billboard, 115(5): 34.
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Discography
A lo Cubano. U.S. Universal/Surco Records Ventures, Inc. 2000.
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Juan Carlos L. Albarrán
Emigrante. Miami, Fl. Surco Records J.V /EMI Music Publishing Spain,
S.A. 2002.
El Kilo. U.S. Universal Music Latino. 2005.
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