Mixed Visions of the Future in Post-Fidel Cuba

Mixed Visions of the Future in Post-Fidel Cuba

The nation's capital is part modern metropolis, part time warp. Which of
these two versions will prevail after Castro?
By Reed Johnson, Times Staff Writer
August 20, 2006

HAVANA — In the once-crumbling Plaza Vieja in Old Havana, a European
men's clothing store has opened its expensively refurbished doors a few
yards from a fancy new Austrian microbrewery. The store's plush,
wood-lined interior is stocked with upscale sporting and casual wear
reminiscent of Brooks Brothers or L.L. Bean, while the microbrewery,
with its sparkling counters, moody lighting and mixed clientele of
tourists and laid-back locals, seems more Caribbean party hot spot than
one-party socialist state.

A few miles to the west, next to swanky beachfront hotels, Cuba's elite
live in modern glass-fronted condominiums and park power boats in the
adjoining canals. Along the Malecon, the city's famous seafront
promenade, a construction site advertises its future occupant: a sleek
new tapas bar.

Three weeks ago, when President Fidel Castro checked into a hospital
with reported internal bleeding after making an unprecedented power
transfer to his brother Raul, speculation swept the globe regarding his
island's economic and political fate. But on the streets of Havana,
glimpses of a possible post-Fidel future already may be seen.

These mental snapshots leave contradictory impressions. In many ways,
Cuba remains frozen in the late 1950s. The vast majority of Old Havana's
elegant colonial-era residences are flaking into oblivion. Their
impoverished residents slump in doorways, fanning themselves to stave
off the tropical heat. Vintage American cars still cruise the streets,
though many have been converted to tourist taxis.

The official Communist Party newspaper, Granma, is still a dreary
propaganda sheet with a Cold War-era graphic sensibility. Socialist
slogans and iconic images of Che Guevara still hang from public
buildings, along with posters declaring, "Long live Fidel — 80 More Years."

But those same slogans and images also are being sold on berets,
T-shirts, posters and other kitschy paraphernalia. Plastered across a
pale, middle-aged tourist's body, they look about as revolutionary as
the Nike swoosh or the Coca-Cola logo.

Despite decades of think-tank predictions that Castro's eventual decline
or replacement would provoke crisis in the government and chaos in the
streets, the old warrior's convalescence seems to have engendered calm
rather than panic.

Around Havana, there is evidence of the effect of foreign investment and
economic joint ventures with the Cuban government that Castro began
encouraging after the island lost its longtime Soviet sponsorship in the
early 1990s.

The meticulously refurbished baroque buildings that house the men's
store and the microbrewery are part of a project to bring back what the
government refers to as the nation's architectural "patrimony," a
resident said. Pedestrians pausing to admire the handsome facades may
hear snatches of traditional Cuban music drifting from half a dozen
trendy bars and restaurants surrounding the plaza.

At one restaurant packed with tourists on a recent weeknight, a musician
chatted casually with a table of visitors about his band's upcoming
foreign tour, and offered his name and e-mail address.

The scene was similar a few blocks away, in the Plaza de la Catedral,
where tourists sipped mojitos at cafe tables while listening to street
bands and watching cigar-chomping women who came of age during the
Eisenhower era.

(Be prepared to pay a tip if you snap their picture. Like many Cubans
attuned to the country's active tourist trade, they've learned to keep
their palms open.)

Just off the plaza, in the Callejon del Chorro, browsers comb through
the technically stunning graphic prints and posters at the
government-sponsored Taller Experimental de Grafica, where offerings
include seaside landscapes along with depictions of the purported evils
of neo-liberal capitalism.

But capitalism isn't always a dirty word in modern Cuba. Along the
Parque Central and Obispo avenue in the city's historic center, tourists
and Cubans make their way past a modest but apparently growing number of
hotels and small shops selling cosmetics, sportswear and other goods.

At the Plaza de Armas, men labor under the hot sun to set down paving
stones that will give the historic area a more authentic look.

A male trio sings an a cappella version of "Guantanamera," hoping for
spare change from the tourists, while a collection of Jose Martí poems
rubs shoulders with Ernest Hemingway's favorite cocktail recipes at the
open-air encampment of used-book stalls.

Cuba may be culturally off-limits to the United States, but it is
clearly in touch with other parts of the world, especially Europe,
Canada and Latin America. The contemporary artworks in the National
Museum of Fine Arts reflect a detailed knowledge of modern global art
currents. Tourists may flock to hear the old-school sounds popularized
by the Buena Vista Social Club, but youths on the street and cabdrivers
gravitate to hip-hop and R&B.

A painter who displays his large abstract canvases in a storefront and
has placed his work in shows in Europe and the U.S. acknowledged that
his paintings travel the world more than he can. But he expressed
appreciation for being included in a recent group show sponsored by the
Cuban government.

"After 40 years" under Castro's rule, "the people are afraid of what's
going to come next," said the man, who like the other people quoted in
this article could not be identified for security reasons. But the
unease, he believes, is more a general anxiety about the unknown rather
than a specific fear about what the next government might or might not do.

Though Cubans typically are hesitant to approach tourists or start a
conversation with them, they don't appear to shrink from such
encounters. Sometimes these exchanges end in offers of cheap Cohiba
cigars, cheap home-cooked meals or cheap sex. But just as often, they
may lead to a discussion of the city's historical landmarks, Papa's pub
crawls or the state of U.S. politics.

Cuba's capitalistic tendencies may conflict with the official party
line, but they are nothing new. The resort area of Varadero, east of
Havana, is the largest in the Caribbean and has been attracting hundreds
of thousands of foreign tourists to its white-sand beaches and azure
waters since the 1970s. The Cuban economy actually can be seen as two
economies, one for tourists and the privileged, the other for everyone else.

Two images of the city stand out. One is of a packed downtown movie
theater on a humid Sunday afternoon, at a screening of the new feature
film "El Benny" about the great Cuban singer Benny More.

The nearly all-Cuban audience hooted and cheered at every risque joke
and flashy 1950s nightclub number, a kind of group affirmation of the
national culture and identity.

The other is of an old, barefoot man in filthy clothes lying on the curb
of Aguacate street, directly across from the Museum of the Revolution.

Which is Cuba's future, and which is its past?

Reed Johnson was recently in Havana.

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