Dear reader writing to me from Havana (a city where I once lived—or perhaps dreamed I lived—in a house with leaks and a nylon hammock): I appreciate your rebuke. You are right. I have neglected the subject of Cuba in my recent installments, perhaps due to a mixture of moral laziness, mental health issues, and the tedious repetition of the unchangeable. I understand your concern because you can’t download pirated books at the same rate as before ETECSA’s rate hike. Today I will take a break from my lofty intellectual pursuits (read: staring at the ceiling and underlining Cioran) to take a dip in that pond of contradictions that the island continues to be.
Here is what a brief search of the media outlets that have been declared “enemies of the people” reveals:
Apparently, university students have discovered that paying European prices for a connection worthy of the Balkans in 1996 is not fair. Bravo! Young Cubans are dreaming again… even if it’s just about megabytes. Some on X (formerly Twitter) believe that this will be the beginning of change. Others, more seasoned, know that in Cuba, rates go up, wages go down, and changes are only allowed if they come from state channels. Perhaps later they will demand an end to state monopolies. Perhaps they will even get a dialogue table in a Wi-Fi zone, as long as their balance doesn’t run out.
Santa Clara is at the forefront of the informal economy: a citizen is offering a thousand-dollar reward for a stolen motorcycle. The most revolutionary thing is to offer a reward in USD, that perfidious and decadent currency, the only one that can still move a muscle in the paralyzed body of local justice. What is striking is not the theft, but that someone has a thousand dollars. That is news. That, and that they have not forced him to invest it in MLC out of revolutionary nostalgia.
“I’m the richest man in those slums,” declares an emigrant in Miami, referring to his economic supremacy over his former neighbors in Los Pocitos, who—I presume—are in no position to argue. An exile from bread and steak, always discreet, always elegant, once again sets himself apart as an ethical and cultural beacon. A perfect example of social advancement through geographical abandonment: he left the neighborhood, but the neighborhood never left him.
I have also glimpsed an international family drama. A Cuban woman living abroad has blocked her sister who lives on the island. The reason: her sister demands designer perfumes instead of rice and peas. The sentimental embargo continues its relentless advance, and WhatsApp diplomacy is unable to open channels. Perhaps at an upcoming family summit, hosted by Zoom, they will reach an agreement.
A well-known reggaeton artist has been arrested again two days after being released from prison. No details have been given as to why, but there is no need. In the new reality of the reparto, you can be arrested for singing, for walking, for existing… and, if you like perreo, for all of the above with rhythm. Some are born with a silver spoon in their mouth, others with a desire to return to where they left it.
And so, dear reader, I conclude this review of national news with the same flavor as always: a cocktail of tragicomedy, despair, and memes. I bid you farewell, but not before reminding you that this column is written from the relative comfort of exile, with hot coffee, constant electricity, and the mild guilt of someone who observes the catastrophe from afar but cannot help but narrate it.
