Cuba, the Pearl of the Caribbean

By Martín Guevara

HAVANA TIMES — The pretty girl, no longer so vigorous, though still quite beautiful, slowly returns to the lap of the beloved and hated prince.

Since the discovery of America, Cuba has been the coveted bride, the treasure sought by the magnates of the time.

Back in the days when, in Tordesillas, the New World was divided into Spanish and Portuguese property, the “Pearl of the Caribbean” already enjoyed privileged treatment. There, palaces, fortresses, mansions and cities that weren’t built in the old continent were constructed. Spanish nobles moved to the island.

The proud ships loaded with the wealth extracted from the new continent passed through Cuba on their way to the metropolis. Of all the lovers the crown had in the course of centuries, Cuba was the best treated.

When it let go of the hand of the aged and impoverished Spanish crown, the Platt Amendment placed it in the firm arms of the fledgling modern magnate, the United States of America.

When this relationship grew cold, because the bride of the rich and famous decided it was going to try its luck at autonomy, when it pretended to become independent, it was once again being courted by a suitor who, though lacking in lineage, had unparalleled power.

Two years after the triumph of the revolution, without mincing its words, Fidel no longer swearing that he was fundamentally opposed to communism, beautiful Cuba became the official bride of the Soviet Union, with whom it already maintained an unofficial relationship (known by everyone in the neighborhood).

Though the land of the soviets was at the time one of the two major world powers and, in this sense, Cuba could boast of its powerful partner, the truth of the matter is that glamour and sophistication were painfully missing in that relationship. The island found itself in the brawny arms of the dictatorship of the proletariat.

For Fidel, it was enough for Moscow to promise to maintain the island, in exchange for delivering its soul at the crossroads.

When Gorbachev came to power, however, the USSR betrayed Cuba. It decided to leave it for more sophisticated and better-dressed girlfriends who had a more modern look to them, even though they were not as tasty. Cuba felt deeply offended and tried to persuade Moscow to stick with her in the times. The relationship was dying, Moscow refused, like an elderly man who wishes to devote the dying throes of its virility to a cougar who’s a thousand years younger and infinitely more vivacious.

The truth is that Fidel Castro did not seek the opinion of any of the millions of skeletal zombies who zigzagged along on their Chinese bicycles, skirting the swarms of thirsty mosquitoes on the island that didn’t find a single drop of blood that was worth their while under those skins, gnawed by cheap rum, bad food and the nightmare of power-cuts.

The Cuba of the Brothers Castromasov said: “Really? Well, I’m going to stand tall. Socialism or death! My people will die of hunger or lice, but they will never surrender!” Then it went out into the world in a crazy fit, as though possessed by a demon it could not keep in check, to look for a new husband. Fidel had derided the Chinese and publicly condemned them back in the day when it looked as though the Soviet Union would last forever and it was convenient to play the role of a staunch anti-Maoist. “No way!” said the Chinese in a very Chinese way.

Nevertheless, the island was already an experienced and mischievous survivor, and it had no choice but to go in search of a simple, vulgar, foul-mouthed boyfriend that could not be introduced to one’s parents. It had no other alternative, it had to find it and it had to be “well off.”

When Cuba Met Venezuela

In the sixties, seventies and eighties, Fidel Castro would have considered someone like Chavez a populist and, in the best of cases, a revisionist, an opportunistic military leader from the ranks of the traditional army that could never have embodied the possibility of serious change – an appealing ruler who was not to be taken seriously, on whom the USSR would have immediately instructed Cuba to turn its back.

The times had changed, however, and comrade Chavez became the standard-bearer of Latin America’s revolution.

All the while, the graceful palms, the sweet-smelling air, the beautiful sand and cities of Cuba cringed when they recalled they were the bride of that abomination.

Cuba had nothing against Venezuela. In fact, it adored it, but not as a girlfriend, perhaps only as an afternoon fling, a friend and confidant it could speak to about trivial matters.

For the first time, the Pearl of the Caribbean knew the crushing feeling of having been something and being nothing, like a tango or a nightmare.

Then came Obama and, little by little, Cuba began winking at him. Raul Castro began to sending coded messages through his diaphanous fan. Barack got the message.

He was in need of a good hit, to use the parlance of baseball, as, lately, his noble goals weren’t exactly working out for him. Perhaps he also thought a gesture that gave some meaning to his Nobel Peace Prize would come in handy, shifting the chronology a few years here and there.

The Pope, hoping to modernize the Church up to a point, also showed a courageous attitude in uniting in holy matrimony the former lovers. Cuba has returned to her former prince and, by the looks of it, it is rekindling past passions, as it is not only beautiful but candid.

All that remains to be worked out are the terms of the pre-marital contract and the type of couple they want to be for this, their new and glamorous union, portrayed on the covers of the flashiest magazines dealing with social events around the world.

But, make no mistake: Cuba will have a proper marriage, lest the neighbors start rumors that, when the princess is in a tough spot financially, she goes out to whore around the world.