Cuba’s Pension Increase Lost in Inflation and Devaluation
“I only have 180 pesos left in my pocket,” says a retiree from Matanzas waiting in line at the bank, but he’ll have to come back because it wasn’t his day to collect.
By Julio Cesar Contreras (14ymedio)
HAVANA TIMES – Like every payday, Artemio arrived early this Friday at the Banco Popular de Ahorro (BPA) on Medio Street in Matanzas. The clock had not yet struck eight, and he was already there—not out of the whims of age but because the years had taught him that at any moment, the most basic things could be missing: cash or electricity. Authorities repeat that there is a modern system of wireless terminals (POS) that work without power, but in practice, Artemio knows the only sure thing is to get there first.
The surprise awaited him at the door: the line was not as long as usual despite the announced pension increase. He asked who was last and immediately understood the reason. “They divided the payments by year of birth,” he explained to 14ymedio. “If I had come yesterday, I wouldn’t have gotten paid because they were only paying those born up to 1949. I was born in ’51. They are always inventing something new to complicate the simplest thing: handing out a bundle of bills that, by the way, aren’t enough for anything.”
The heat starts to press down even as the morning barely begins. Outside, under the blazing sun, retirees wait with patience and sweat. The ATM is empty: the little cash available is reserved for pension checks, leaving other customers looking for money empty-handed. Across from the bank, in the Rueda Dentada park, some sit to rest and wonder aloud how much they will receive now. No one knows the exact figure, though the conclusion is unanimous: whatever comes won’t last the month.
The pension increase had been announced weeks earlier by Prime Minister Manuel Marrero and was made official in the Gaceta de Cuba. The resolution set an increase of 1,528 pesos for those earning up to 2,472 and up to 4,000 pesos for those receiving between 2,473 and 3,999. Widows’ and orphans’ pensions were also adjusted. (1 USD = 405 pesos)
Marrero defended the measure at a meeting of the Communist Party Central Committee. “It is a fair step, even if we can’t cover everyone,” he said, emphasizing that it would benefit 1.3 million people—79% of retirees—the most vulnerable. But in the bank line, the speeches vanish into the suffocating air and lack of enthusiasm.
At 8:30 a.m., an employee opens the door and collects ID cards. “You’ll go in two at a time,” she announces. The new rule raises complaints: “Until last month, it was enough to mark your place in line. Now nobody will know who handed in their card first and who later,” protests a woman leaning on her cane. “When the people who just came to ask questions go in, those of us here since dawn will leave at noon, if we’re lucky.”
Aracelis, a former math teacher, is one of the first to leave with the new amount in her purse: 3,358 pesos ($8.20 USD). Doing some quick math, she figures she can only spend 108 pesos a day. “Not even enough for one of the cheapest individual pizzas. With part of the increase, I can buy half a carton of eggs,” she laments. “Not much difference from before. I’ll have to keep selling plastic bags at my door just to guarantee at least one decent meal a day.”
Reality hits harder than the announcements. With a pound of rice nearing 300 pesos in many markets, the new minimum barely covers a few items. Medicine, transportation, electricity, water, and food are practically out of the equation. Independent economists sum it up in one phrase: it’s not just low income but a currency losing value every day and inflation erasing and increase.
Official figures claim that 90% of pensioners in Matanzas are benefiting. In practice, reactions are far less optimistic. “What are 3,138 pesos for two sick old people?” asks one elderly man who hasn’t been paid yet but already knows how much he’ll get—and will have to share it with his sister, who has no pension. “It’s like giving aspirin to a cancer patient. It doesn’t solve anything.”
As the morning wears on and the few shady spots under the eaves fill with anxious people, a woman waiting since dawn realizes that because of her mother’s birth year, she can only collect starting in two days. “Good thing she left me authorization before going to Spain. She’ll be gone for seven months, and I’ll be saving the money for her.”
The payment schedule extends until September 3, and many will have to return to the branch to adapt to the new payment-by-birth-year system. “I made the trip, and now I have to come back next Thursday. I only have 180 pesos left in my pocket,” says a retiree living on the city’s outskirts. A ride home will cost him the entire amount.
First published in Spanish by 14ymedio and translated and posted in English by Havana Times.