The journalists who work for the Cuban media cannot dream of writing something that runs counter to the Party, which is the body that guides our State and our society. So what space is there for citizens who have different ideas to express; those who have a different vision of the reality here?
What is not new information for the readers of this website is indeed news to Cuban university students.
I owe an excuse to the readers of Havana Times. First for the number of times that I’ve written about the issue of public transportation in Cuba, which I imagine is pretty boring to any outsider. Secondly, because every time I’ve written on the subject up until now, it’s been to complain…the ingrate that I am.
We don’t have yellow journalism in Cuba; and we don’t we need it. Every day we hear the sensationalized details concerning some armed robbery or a rape. These days people are talking about a daring bus holdup.
Things happen to Jaime that I’d find highly improbable if I too didn’t live in Cuba. This is not the first time that I’m recounting one of his adventures in Havana Times. What I’m going to share on this occasion is what happened to him on October 14th; in fact, it was the afternoon that tropical depression Paula swept across our capital.
Mercedes Aguirre, my famous model friend, told me about him when she found out that I was “hunting” for interesting characters to interview. She described him as a hairdresser who was missing a leg and who lived in a small room on an upper floor of a building in the Centro Havana neighborhood.
A couple of months ago I met “Marielys”. As I walked with her to the bus stop, she told me something that almost knocked me on my butt. She said, “I quit a job where I earned 475 pesos a month plus a bag of toiletries (with soap, deodorant, detergent, sanitary napkins, razors, etc.) for another job where I earn only 355 pesos and don’t get a toiletry bag”
The situation brought a kind of relief for the rest of us. We even cracked jokes about the circumstances, perhaps because we’ve become used to these after such a long time. In fact, it was during that Special Period —which has spanned a good part of my adolescence and my adult life— that I heard, “You’re not allowed in here,” and I didn’t expect any explanation. I didn’t even think we were owed explanations.
I still don’t know who the “good guys” are – the Catholics, Protestants or the atheists, or the communists or social-democrats. I still don’t know if there is a right side. I only feel more and more fearful of those who are able to come to power – the fanatics and even the leaders.
I was always more and more surprised, because one year this man was a drag queen, the next year a transvestite, the following one a writer (without having finished school), and now he’s even become a visual artist, an actor and I don’t know how many other things. (16 photos)