Blackout for “The Little Prince” Show for Kids in Matanzas
Light for Cuban Communist Party officials
Some neighborhoods barely suffer any outages, while others live among candles and silent refrigerators.
By Pablo Padilla Cruz (14ymedio)
HAVANA TIMES – “The essential is invisible to the eyes,” says the famous quote from The Little Prince. But when Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote it, he was not referring to the blackouts. In Matanzas, the children find it difficult to see the adaptation prepared by the group Teatro de las Estaciones. The city has become a dark pit, in whose abyss the light is distributed with diffuse and often arbitrary criteria. In that abyss, only some – the chosen few, the closest to power – receive the grace of constant electricity. As is often the case on this island, for some to win, others must lose.
“We know what is going on in the country. We know and understand that hospital circuits must have priority. What we don’t understand is how a circuit where there are only houses of Party officials and militants has ten hours more electricity than any other,” says a theater worker who prefers anonymity. While he brings a cup of coffee to his lips, he smiles with irony and adds: “The provincial headquarters of the PCC [Cuban Communist Party] is just there,” and he points to some lights a few meters away.
The comment is not isolated. Parents, artists, technicians and theater managers share the same frustration. It is not just the impossibility of rehearsing or presenting performances, but an implicit message: culture, childhood and art are not priorities.
The children who came to the theater with the hope of seeing a puppet show, accompanied by parents who strive during the week to offer them moments of healthy recreation, found the doors closed, lights out, curtains down. “Then we and the kids put our heads in our hands. Places where children can grow up with sensitivity are not valued,” continues the same worker.
The Teatro de las Estaciones is not just any institution. Founded by maestros Ruben Darío Salazar and Zenen Calero, it has been for decades a source of creativity and sensitivity for generations of Cubans. Its members have taken the puppetry technique to unexpected levels, combining tradition and avant-garde, raising the genre to a level of respect and recognition. “I don’t say it only because I work here,” insists a woman from Mantanzas. “I say it because we have built it with a lot of effort, with every rehearsal, with every performance under the sun and under the blackouts.”
The work, entitled A Trail in the Stars (Invisible poems to say at twilight), started from the verses of Asteroid B612 by writer Jose Manuel Espino – a book that pays homage to Saint-Exupéry’s immortal classic. The company has had to suspend performances, adjust rehearsals and reinvent the calendar because of power cuts. But more than a technical contingency, what is perceived is a deep fracture: the lack of equity in the distribution of energy.
The authorities have implemented a rotation system that, according to the official discourse, seeks “equity” in the distribution of electricity. In practice, however, the perception is different. Some neighborhoods barely suffer cuts, while others live among candles, exhausted batteries and silent refrigerators.
Art, like the flower of the Little Prince, needs care. It does not survive without light, without attention, without a space to flourish. And although the rulers proclaim from the grandstands the importance of culture and healthy recreation, administrative decisions contradict that discourse. “They talk about culture as a shield, like a sword, but here we feel forgotten,” says another member of the artistic collective.
And this is not just a cultural anecdote. It is a reflection of how the blackouts – that word so present in Cuban daily life – affect not only domestic life, but also the social fabric, the mood, the soul of the nation. Because when the theaters go out, it’s not just the light bulbs.
Artists don’t ask for privileges. They ask for minimum conditions to do their work, one that often fills educational, emotional and spiritual gaps. In a country where childhood is surrounded by scarcity and uncertainty, theater is something more than a respite.
“We are not a priority. That is clear. But at least don’t keep telling us that we are,” one of the actors concludes with resignation. While in some neighborhoods the air conditioning does not stop buzzing, in others, as in this theater, the heart of Matanzas, the only thing you hear is the silence of a performance that was not. A flower that could not be watered, a child who did not know the fox, an asteroid without light.
Translated by Regina Anavy for Translating Cuba.