Ecology and Beauty in Cuba, Military Style
No, I won’t be talking about economic megaconglomerates, fashion, or genetically modified crops.
By Angry GenXer
HAVANA TIMES – A friend of mine once wanted to be initiated into the Abakuá fraternity.
“To be initiated” means to become a member. Abakuá is an ancient association of African origin, composed of heterosexual men (today, it doesn’t matter whether they’re Afro-descendant or not), that upholds traditional values of manhood and solidarity. Every candidate must prove to the authorities of the lodge (the local cell) that he embodies these values; only then can he be initiated.
Abakuá exists only in a few cities in western Cuba, including Havana, and it has a somewhat controversial reputation (some associate Abakuá with machismo, violence, and criminal behavior—if we’re talking about certain interpretations of masculinity and loyalty—and many young men from working-class neighborhoods take that narrative seriously). It involves secret and esoteric rituals based on ancient legends, and it’s known for its mutual loyalty, music, dances, and public festivities.
For many who know history, like my friend (he has a master’s degree in the subject), Abakuá is inextricably linked to the struggles of Cuba’s popular sectors for freedom and social rights, as well as to the country’s cultural creation.
My friend appeared before the Mokongo (the civil authority of the lodge), who summoned him to a specific time and place at the lodge’s headquarters.
At the appointed time, my friend went to the location, and the Mokongo pointed to a small plot of land enclosed by fences, handed him a machete, and told him to clear the grass.
The grass was covered in Cuban wild weeds, growing at their normal height—not quite up to the knees, maybe reaching the ankles. My historian friend never told me whether the Mokongo wanted it cut down to three centimeters or shaved down to bare earth, revealing the reddish ferrallitic soil under the Cuban sun. I never knew, then, what was considered a beautiful and “well-maintained” lawn by that Mokongo’s standards. I only know that my friend respectfully declined to complete the task and has never again expressed a desire to be initiated into Abakuá, even though he still shows great respect for the organization and its history.
And, as the reader has probably already figured out, I don’t intend to dive here into yet another critique of “actually existing Abakuá.”
It’s not that my friend didn’t “pass the test” (he’s no slacker, and he could’ve done the weeding just fine). Rather, he was disillusioned by how that particular Abakuá lodge mimicked the military: discipline and top-down orders without deliberation, and above all, meaningless actions. The point was simply to test obedience and loyalty, but the result left its mark on the ground as just that: a kitsch and tacky environmental aesthetic, ignoring ecology, that speaks only to the fact that there is “order” because orders are obeyed.
And my friend knows military discipline firsthand: he did his military service as a paratrooper. In military units, it’s typical to leave grass standing at a specific height, to surround it with trenches several inches wide stripped of vegetation, and to paint the curbs with white lime. That helps keep troops busy with these aesthetic tasks when there’s nothing else to do. Apparently, it’s not just like that in Cuba: according to Rodolfo Rensoli, a Soviet advisor once said that some Red Army officers, when there was too much idle time, would have their soldiers “improve” the grass color around barracks by painting it green.
Those concrete and asphalt edges with wide white or yellow bands, little rocks painted with lime on bare ground evoke the military, or something resembling it, to anyone who’s spent any time in such an environment.
I think it’s horrible to believe that ground stripped of grass is somehow more beautiful. The wind kicks up the dirt and turns it into swirling dust—dirt that nature takes centuries to form. Bugs lose their natural homes, and in my Cuban town you hardly see fireflies or butterflies anymore. Bees are disappearing, and with them, the pollination of flowers…
The aesthetic of discipline is an aesthetic of barrenness—without vitality, without opportunity for life. People should learn that, sooner rather than later.
I’ve read that insect disappearance is now a global fact, and that in the United States, people are being encouraged to give up the classic suburban lawn in favor of local wild flora.
Even worse is when this “anti-ecology” is practiced voluntarily, the result of some learned stupidity in obedience—and the desertified ornamental aesthetic then leaves its mark, spreading across fields, towns, and cities.
It has been “normal” in Cuba for people of my generation to receive, without any chance for criticism or discussion, absurd tasks related to work or discipline during our school and university years.
Some people, with the best intentions in the world and a genuine love for beauty, have internalized this militarized aesthetic, and so Cuba’s neighborhoods and blocks swing between two extremes: the habitual neglect that turns them into garbage dumps, waste pits, and public toilets on one end, and the sterile dullness of white lime and razed vegetation in the name of “order” on the other.
These “well-maintained” little corners, cared for by well-meaning activists (whom I suspect are often retirees from the armed forces), can be found in some CDRs (the government-run neighborhood committees) and private homes. Sometimes they even feature signs with slogans, either the usual “revolutionary” ones, or custom-made.
In a place east of Havana whose name I prefer not to remember, I saw a lawn trimmed to about three centimeters, with 50 cm-wide strips of exposed dirt, little rocks covered in white lime surrounding several shrubs, and a neatly painted slogan—in white—on a rusty gate that read:
“IGNORANCE KILLS. WE MUST KILL THE IGNORANT.”
An older man, now gray-haired, was using a hoe to remove the “excess” vegetation.