By Nicholas Heisig
The first is an engraving
of Che, burned into wood, flanked by four hand painted Cuban flags. It was given to me on one of the first days
we were in the country by one of my friends I had already made at Ediciones
Vigía. To me, this bracelet represents
the most powerful, lasting impression of Cuba and what I took away first and
foremost: the people with whom we interacted on an individual level. Before touching ground, I had no idea how
powerful it would be to simply see the other side of the blockade – to meet the
people who lived their everyday lives in a world just miles from the US Coast,
yet separated so fundamentally on so many levels. Getting to see their lives, punctuated by the
exhaust firings of the omnipresent yank-tanks, with a soundtrack courtesy of
PSY’s Gangnam style as it slowly diffused across the limited internet access of
the country, was an indelible experience that defies description. All that I can say is that finally visiting
the country I had read about for years, that I had studied from both the
perspective of my Spanish and my History degree, allowed me to relate on a
human level that made all of those differences, all of those disparities, all
of that disconnect irrelevant to the relationship between fellow human
beings.
The second bracelet, a
bright blue beaded one etched with simple designs, was given to our entire
class by our hosts at Vigía. Whereas the
first one reminds me of the deep personal connections formed in Cuba, this
second one, to me, evokes the greater actions and significance for our group and
our Cuban hosts. On one hand, we were
able to serve as ambassadors for the United States and to show that despite
being from the US, we could transcend a five decade blockade to some small
degree and represent ourselves, our University and our country in a positive
manner. Having since returned to the
country, I feel that our role as ambassadors has only flipped a little, as we
can now serve as glimpses into a country so ostracized and often forgotten by
many Americans. I relish the opportunity
to attempt to explain our experiences and all that we saw, both the beautiful
and the uncomfortable.
The final bracelet I wear is
centered with an artificial, polished red stone that is engraved with a palm
tree and “Cuba.” I purchased this one in Havana, and it reminds me of one of
the first things that come to mind when people ask what I recall from the
country. Beyond the deep personal
connections we forged and the friendships we found, the word “duality” continues
to leap out at me. I purchased this bracelet
in a tourist stand, where it had not been forged with care and concern, where
it had not been gifted with affection, but rather sold to just another tourist
passing through Havana, wielding the foreign exchange currency or CUC, rather
than the national pesos. This wasn’t the first time that I had been abroad, but
it was my first trip to a country that was clearly, avowedly Socialist. No capitalist billboards leered along the
roadways, hawking sales, and one was not bombarded with advertisements on benches,
on drinking cups and on the television as in the United States. However, socialist propaganda still dotted
the urban landscape and posters loudly proclaimed that the revolution was “of
the poor, by the poor, for the poor.” Yet
for all of this socialist rhetoric, there were some pretty glaring contrasts
evident in the country. To begin, Havana
was so starkly different than Matanzas, just an hour to the East. Whereas Havana was full of foreign tourists,
hopping along from landmark to landmark, Matanzas certainly illustrated a more
general state of affairs, with a crumbling building or dilapidated structure on
almost every other block. Even beyond
this though, I kept wondering how a country purporting to offer such equal
opportunities could still have two currencies, one of which the common people
could afford and use and the other which precluded all but an elite connected
with foreigners from using. That duality might be understandable in a variety
of countries but to have it in the 60 year safeguard of Latin American socialism
was pretty eye-opening. I guess even in
this country could a man impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit approach me in
Havana, offering a restaurant that surely charged in CUC, and turn away as I
decline him, still assured of other tips and a stable income from visiting
Germans or Canadians, while mere miles away, two little boys could spend their
day bobbing trash up and down in an overflowing puddle, set amongst a crumbling
neighborhood with tin roofs and canvas doors, seldom frequented by tourists,
only to celebrate with ecstasy beyond imagination, running blocks and blocks
because they had just been presented with a candy bar...in this, the purported,
egalitarian bulwark of socialism.
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