The Struggle for Food, a Story Like Thousands in Cuba

By Laura Gomez

HAVANA TIMES – Ileana de Jesus lives with her diabetic mother. The years of the pandemic and monetary reforms have diminished her purchasing power. Like all Cubans who work in the public sector, her salary evaporates in the first week after payday, and she has to perform miracles to put food on the table.

What is your job?

Ileana de Jesus: I am the principal economic specialist at an education center, earning 4,410 pesos (US $14) a month. I graduated as a specialist in accounting and have been practicing my profession with good results for 18 years. Good results professionally, because what I earn is not enough to eat decently. A couple of years ago, while leading my company’s union section, I dedicated myself to managing food packages for all the workers; I’ve stopped doing that now, and, of course, I eat worse.

Are people still interested in the union?

Well, it’s something that works on its own, like a machine. You know that when you start at a workplace, you also start in the workers’ union of that place. It’s never clear who believes in the union or who doesn’t, because that’s something no one talks about. Then, when there’s an administrative problem, people turn to the union, but since it’s closely tied to the management of the center, it generally doesn’t solve much. Supposedly, they are there to defend the workers, but also the revolution. So, it’s hard to separate.

For example, I was very well-liked, even though at that time I headed the human resources department, and they always chose me to be the union secretary; judge and jury. Besides, no one wanted to lead anything, so they chose me because I dedicated myself to managing those food packages.

Of course, I experienced something similar. If there’s someone who gets things done, no one wants them to stop, especially when it’s something as necessary as food. I imagine your work was a great help to everyone.

Yes, I wish it had continued to this day. Back then, the workers were very motivated. There’s nothing more gratifying than being able to bring home provisions without spending so much time on it and paying for them with our salaries, something that is impossible now. The management itself was exhausting. I had to walk a lot, talk with store managers, make deals. Living far from the workplace made transporting things very difficult.

In the end, I ensured food and hygiene products once a month: a box of chicken quarters, between four and six packages of ground meat, oil, cans of tomato puree, some gelatin, cookies, soap, detergent, and sometimes shampoo. All of this was sold to us without having to stand in endless lines; we could buy it all at once and transport it to the workplace. Then, at the end of the workday, we distributed it to the workers. It was a struggle to arrange transportation, count all the money, and then clean the place thoroughly. On those days, those of us in the union who participated in this would arrive home exhausted.

And why did it end?

It wasn’t the exhaustion or lack of need. It was the disillusionment; people started seeing it as an obligation, demanding a lot and complaining about everything. Prices were rising too much, and for most people, it wasn’t as advantageous to pay for everything at once anymore; plus, there was a negative experience I had, which was the final straw.

The center hired the services of a security agency. The pay was very low, and many of the agents resigned. For this reason, sometimes personnel without references were hired, without verification. To work as a security guard, many requirements are demanded; the protection of the institution’s assets is at stake. One day, after the sale, I couldn’t arrange transportation to take all the products home, so I had no choice but to store the package in the pantry refrigerator until I could move it.

Was anything lost?

At the end of my workday, I used to pass by the pantry to check. One day, the box had disappeared. I couldn’t believe it. Tormented, I went to see the guard on duty. Surprised, he told me he had started his shift at 7 a.m. and hadn’t checked the refrigerator; he assumed everything was in order, as always. Then I called the new guard who had been on duty during the previous shift, but he said he knew nothing about it. I had no choice but to speak with all the workers, the managers, and even the head of the security agency.

Did you have the support of the workers?

They, like me, were very affected. Not only because our sense of security was shattered, but also because it was my sustenance for the month, and because it could happen to anyone. One of the directors told me not to keep investigating, that the box wasn’t going to appear. Later I understood that he feared his responsibility in the matter, for having outdated internal security documents under his watch. Even so, I didn’t give up.

The new guard acted sympathetic as if he wanted to help. Those were days of great uncertainty. My mother noticed something was wrong with me, and I preferred not to tell her. She wouldn’t have understood why I was so upset over a box of chicken, no matter how much we needed it. Of course, that wasn’t the reason anymore; I wanted to know who had done it. It wasn’t fair that everyone was under suspicion.

So, how did you find out the truth?

In front of my workplace, there are ATMs with security cameras above them. I inquired with the bank workers about how I could access the recordings, and I had to get authorization from several bank branch managers. When I finally had authorization, I sat down with the camera specialist, and we started watching the videos. That day at 5:40, we saw the new guard leaving with a box under his arm. It was evident that, in his hurry, he didn’t notice those cameras. At that very moment, I recorded the video as evidence.

I imagine the frustration when you saw it. Were you able to speak with him?

I confronted him, and he assured me of his innocence. Only when I told him I had seen the security camera footage did he confess. The management wanted to report him to the police, but I disagreed. I had learned that he had recently arrived in Havana with his wife and two small children, and they were renting a room, struggling a lot. Finally, he was given the opportunity to transfer to another institution.

What reflection do you take from that story?

Many, and above all, questions I still ask myself. What economic and family situation must that young man have been in to commit such an act? He must have thought about it a lot. I can’t say he had other options, but clearly, desperation made him take the risk. The saddest thing is that he didn’t care that the other workers were under suspicion. I imagine he hadn’t had time to develop a sense of belonging or empathize with his colleagues. Now I realize we were never close. Such an act is deplorable, showing a total lack of values. Maybe if he had asked me for help, I would have shared the contents of the box with him.

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