The only way to settle a debate on life in Cuba is
Then I started to notice the police. I hadn’t at first, probably because there were so few compared to Central America. I kept looking for sub-machine guns. I didn’t see any and at first I thought the street cops didn’t even carry any. Then I looked closer and saw the small automatics, which seemed to be enough; there was apparently plenty of “respect” for the uniform (sufficient at least to account for the miniscule armament).
The very first time I saw a cop he literally had me flabbergasted. He wasn’t more than 5 feet 6, and he was walking toward two black men who were, to put it mildly, giants! They also looked like they would murder someone for a centavo if they had half a chance. He got their attention when he was 15 feet away and motioned slightly with his finger. He pointed to a dark space, between 2 buildings and they moved deferentially toward the indicated zone. I “knew” the cop was dead! I’ve been to a few places and never had seen a tiny policeman disappear into the darkness with that kind of “bulk” arrayed against them… and return! But he, and they, did, after a few minutes and he completed his “lecture” by pointing down the street, where they dutifully began to stroll, nodding their heads to the officer and seemingly apologized for something or other. Apparently the law had more respect here than one would suppose.
I learned from my chats with friends that there were serious reasons for this respect, not the least of which was fear; I hadn’t thought about it before but was regularly informed about it thenceforth. In fact, there were more cops than I’d thought… by a long shot. Commandocops cruising in trucks, detective-cops rolling along in new sedans, and secret police-cops were pointed out to me on a regular basis… now that I’d asked!
So I’d started to notice things which had been passing me by before: I watched as various cops, some in uniform, would stop people on the street, apparently to ask for their I.D.’s, but I wasn’t sure. I wondered if they’d been walking too slow; or fast. If they fit some kind of “profile” that would provoke the authorities. I thought and thought about it but couldn’t come to any conclusion; I certainly couldn’t ask the uniforms themselves! My friends and acquaintances seemed reluctant to talk about ANY people in power themselves. They, almost all people I encountered, DID complain bitterly about what was happening to them. The poverty and regular hunger because of shortages bothered hell out of them, but, somehow, didn’t approach the level of rage one might expect from an immanent revolution, or even serious protest, yet…
I’d decided that this had been an apple/orange comparison project again; these people hardly resembled those in Central America. There, two-thirds of the population were indigenous, “Indian” peoples, having had lived under near-total repression for several centuries. They’d ALWAYS been hungry. Always they’d stood without hope of improvement in their lives. And, perhaps most importantly, they’d never had much, if any, education.
Obviously the situation here on the island was closer to the opposite: Nearly everyone was HIGHLY educated and had had in the past many varying opportunities, cultures, and comfort-levels. This probably was a significant contribution to their becoming what they are: one of the most articulate, bright, and passionate peoples THIS observer had ever had the pleasure to encounter.
If they’d been of weaker character one might have imagined them to be severely depressed and/or in misery. Not so this; they exhibited daily their tremendous joy in living. Without the comforts which most of the world enjoys (TV, computers, magazines, presidential sex-scandal-entertainments, etc) they resort to music and dance, poetry and art, dialogue and personal interactions… life as we used to know it.
I never decided if Carlos or myself was more “right”, but I knew I didn’t feel “sorry” for these incredible people. This tale is nearly over, since I didn’t stay on much longer, and I really had no chance for knowing someone well enough to present their character with sufficient color. I do know that after being there a few days I began to feel that most things and events observed WERE NOT AS THEY SEEMED…
Read all six parts of Iowa Yankee in King Castro’s Court
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six