Could This Be Cuba’s Final Stretch?
HAVANA TIMES – Before the “Special Period” – the economic crisis of the 90s – Cuba was lulled by the dream of prosperity, even if it was at the expense of the then Socialist powers.
The fall of Eastern Europe was a violent awakening, overwhelming. The fuel scarcity, the long blackouts, the use of bicycles for mass public transport, were impressions that lodged in the collective subconscious like a nightmare.
Up until a few years ago, that traumatic cycle was the subject of conversations where each one would talk about how they managed to survive in the beloved country that was crumbling before our eyes.
However, now the commentaries are: “Remember when we believed that the Special Period was the worst thing that could ever happen to us?” Or “The Special Period was a walk in the park compared to this!”
Because the present in Cuba, unclassifiable by any euphemism, is without a doubt the harshest times we’ve gone through on this island.
The nineties swept away the tradition of hospitality when people visit (sharing food, offering a snack, a sweet, a glass of juice or a smoothie). Those years wiped out the practice of birthday presents, now reduced to congratulations or even evasive justifications. They irrevocably altered our cuisine, the fluidity of public transport, the “free” medical attention.
From that time on, getting good attention in a medical consultation depends on the quality of the “present” you bring (or who recommends you). So, how do you feel now when you have to even bring your own medical supplies to the hospital, according to what I’ve been told. I haven’t visited a hospital for some time, and the truth is that even passing by at a distance gives me a stab of anxiety in the stomach.
This “what happened afterwards,” which has no name, could be called “the ferocious stampede,” or “the final stretch” if we’re optimists. It ended the visits to relatives or friends. You only go out for some pressing necessity, since everyday Cubans shrink from the uncertainty of waiting for a bus, or facing the abusive price of a taxi – money that can and should be used for the super-expensive basic foods. Leisurely outings have disappeared, and eating or snacking in the street. Everything is a luxury, even the basic essentials.
I remember how I felt years ago, when I would go into a store that sold in CUC [a Cuban hard currency, no longer in use] to buy an ice cream and see the faces of the children glued to the window, admiring the jams and colored sprinkles, mentally savoring their exquisite flavors. I’d feel guilty going out with my container of the frozen treat, whose price at that time was equivalent to a comfortable ride home in a taxi.
I don’t know how the mothers cope now, with the impossibilities that permeate every aspect of daily life. I don’t know how they “wrestle” the money to fill a plate, calm a stomach for some hours.
I don’t know how the men face up to the enormous challenges of paternity. Or if they confront them at all; or if the numbers of single mothers have simply shot up, like the abandonment of pets, the abandonment of the elderly, or the way the basic rules of hygiene have been broken in the city, with so much garbage strewn across the grass and sidewalks, and overflowing sewer water.
If they imposed the term “special” on that former period – a word instinctively associated with pleasant things – to confuse our overall comprehension of the crisis, leaving us in a double stupor (practical and semantic), then where will this crisis without a name take us?
I want to believe that, by force, it will lead us to a change.
The air feels heavy and sad, but laden with a latent promise, like the life hidden in a seed, like the silver lining in the darkest cloud.
What is full, must overflow, what is fragile, must break, what’s sick either dies, or is cured.
But no crisis can remain permanent.