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Urban housing, surveillance, and party politics in Cuba
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Urban housing, surveillance, and party politics in Cuba
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Content
URBAN HOUSING, SURVEILLANCE, AND PARTY POLITICS IN CUBA
by
Erica Michelle Angert
A Thesis Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF ARTS
(VISUAL ANTHROPOLOGY)
May 2007
Copyright 2007 Erica Michelle Angert
ii
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I'd like to thank the residents of Solar Madrid and in particular the members
of the Baro family and their network of friends, religious practitioners, and
acquaintances. They tolerated my continuous presence in their home, endless
questions, and video taping for over a year and a half and continue to welcome me to
Havana. In order to protect their identities, their names and the name of the solar
have been changed in this thesis. I'd also like to thank the Fundación Fernando Ortiz
for their logistical support and research guidance during my stay in Cuba and in
particular, the foundation's president, Miguel Barnet Lanza, vice presidents Trinidad
Pérez Valdés and María Teresa Linares Savio, and one of it's lead researchers, Jesús
Guanche Pérez. This thesis, however, does not necessarily reflect the goals or
projects of the Foundation. Thanks to my thesis committee at the University of
Southern California for their wisdom and emotional encouragement. Without the
support, editorial expertise, and historical perspective of Adrián López Denis, this
project would not be complete. Thanks to Cecilia and Oliver for dealing with my
frustrations and chaos.
iii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgments ii
List of Figures iv
Abstract ix
Chapter 1: Introduction 1
Chapter 2: Researching Poverty and Inequality in a Socialist State 13
Chapter 3: Space, Family, and Household Economy in the Solar 55
Chapter 4: Rumba Networks, Social Scrutiny, and National Culture in the Solar 122
Chapter 5: Conclusion 244
Glossary 251
References 256
iv
LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 1: Cuba and the Greater Caribbean Region (Map Courtesy of about.com) 3
Figure 2: Cuba and Havana 4
(Photograph courtesy of NASA, modified by the author)
Figure 3: Centro Habana and surrounding municipalities 5
(Photograph courtesy of NASA, modified by the author)
Figure 4: Municipality of Centro Habana and its five popular Councils 7
(Modified from previous image)
Figure 5: Entrance to the Solar 59
Figure 6: Layout of Solar Madrid and its 16 Apartments 60
Figure 7: Central Courtyard of the Solar 61
Figure 8: Water Tanks 61
Figure 9: Barbacoa, 2
nd
Floor of Apartment 61
Figure 10: A Solar in Havana in 1914 (photo reproduced from 66
Enrique Núñez' Vivienda de Pobres en la Habana)
Figure 11: A Solar on San Lázaro Avenue in Cayo Hueso in 1914 68
(photo reproduced from Enrique Núñez' Vivienda
de Pobres en la Habana)
Figure 12: Imelda 85
Figure 13: Imelda Baro's Family Genogram 88
Figure 14: The Baro Family Genogram and Layout of Solar Madrid 89
Figure 15: Imelda's Home, Apartment #15 91
Figure 16: Zaira's Home, Apartment #4 92
Figure 17: Danya's Home, Apartment #5 93
Figure 18: Manuel's Home, Apartment #16 94
v
Figure 19: Imelda sells peanuts at a weekly outdoor concert a few 96
blocks from the solar
Figure 20: Imelda, surrounded by grandchildren, neighbors, 97
and her plants
Figure 21: Zaira cooks dinner in her apartment 100
Figure 22: Apartment #1 in 1999 106
Figure 23: Apartment #1 in 2006 106
Figure 24: A short wall divides the bathroom and the kitchen area 107
near the front entrance. Imelda cooks while La Prieta dances.
Figure 25: Close-up of new bathroom added to Imelda's apartment in 2001 108
Figure 26: Mercedes explains the significance of rumba music and 127
traditional popular culture in Cayo Hueso to a television crew.
Figure 27: Calixto Callava (Music Composer) 128
Figure 28: Zaira (wearing a light tank top) talks to Mercedes while Clave 128
y Guaguancó members dance and play a Columbia rhythm, one of
three types of rumba beats
Figure 29: Interviewer for the TV film crew (far left) dances and 134
claps behind the camera while the musical group Clave y
Guaguancó plays a song dedicated to Calixto Callava
Figure 30: While watching Clave y Guaguancó musicians, film producer 135
(far right) chats with member of the Baro family
Figure 31: Clave y Guaguancó musicians, dressed in brand name attire 138
Figure 32: Clave y Guaguancó dancers and musicians performing 139
a guaguancó rhythm for the TV crew
Figure 33: Mercedes addresses the crowd and film crew, establishing 140
the rules of the columbia style rumba dance
vi
Figure 34: The rumba continues inside Zaira's apartment. Local 144
musician Santiago (far right) plays with some of the musicians
from Clave y Guaguancó and others from the neighborhood.
Figure 35: After spouting rum over the crowd, Zaira (and La Prieta 144
behind her) dance
Figure 36: Singer Fariñas and four drummers with cajones, or 146
improvised box drums, begin a rumba song.
Figure 37: After one song, a small crowd gathers around the musicians 147
and one drummer (center right) shifts out and is replaced by another.
Figure 38: Zaira, Imelda, La Prieta, and Valeria (left to right) gather 147
around the musicians and sing the chorus. Imelda collects
plastic cups.
Figure 39: Imelda's daughter Catarina and grandaughter Ynez sing the 148
chorus (right to left)
Figure 40: La Prieta pours rum for the guests 148
Figure 41: Altar prepared for spiritist ceremony 159
Figure 42: Yoruba Andabo playing at the Hotel Nacional 163
Figure 43: Las Vegas Nightclub 165
Figure 44: Yoruba Andabo on stage inside Las Vegas nightclub 166
Figure 45: Chan 166
Figure 46: Giovanni 166
Figure 47: Chappottín 167
Figure 48: Marino 167
Figure 49: Zaira throws a coin outside the window of the boat taxi and 168
prays to Yemaya for a safe journey across the harbor.
Figure 50: Disembarking from the boat taxi upon arrival in Regla 168
Figure 51: Zaira prays to Yemaya in front of the statue of Our Lady of Regla 169
vii
Figure 52: Left to right: Chan, Zaira, granddaughter of Chan and Carmen, 171
Carmen. Zaira plans the cajon for Callava with Chan and Carmen.
Figure 53: Zaira buys white lilies in front of the Catholic Church of 173
"Nuestra Señora del Carmen"
Figure 54: Zaira offers white flowers to Oshun/La Caridad del Cobre 173
(Our Lady of Charity)
Figure 55: Zaira arranges an altar for the misa espiritual for Calixto Callava, 175
which took place two days before the cajon
Figure 56: Close-up of the altar for the misa for Callava 175
Figure 57: Photo of Calixto Callava given to Zaira by Chan and Carmen 176
Figure 58: Film crew captures Zaira, La Prieta, and Chano buying meat 178
at the market
Figure 59: Zaira buys taro root for the caldosa (soup) 179
Figure 60: Altar for Callava on the day of the cajon 181
Figure 61: The Obbá arranges the altar for Calixto Callava 183
Figure 62: Chan, the Obbá, and the spiritist wash the rooster 183
before its sacrifice
Figure 63: The Obbá sprinkles the rooster's blood and feathers 184
on the altar to Callava
Figure 64: Zaira sits next to the spirit altar while the band plays 185
several songs for Callava
Figure 65: Guests peering through Zaira's metal grated window into 186
her living room to watch Yoruba Andabo sing to the spirit altar
Figure 66: Yoruba Andabo plays rumba music in the patio of 188
Solar Madrid
Figure 67: Zaira dances with Fariñas, a prominent rumba vocalist, 191
in the center of the solar 'stage'
viii
Figure 68: Juan de Dios, a dancer from the National Folkloric Company, 191
dances with a young professional dancer from Yoruba Andabo
Figure 69: Eloy Machado, creator of Sabado de la Rumba 192
(Rumba Saturday), a weekly rumba performance at a
cultural center in Havana, dances solo
Figure 70: Pancho Quinto, wearing a tour shirt that features himself, 192
sings and dances with Yoruba Andabo
Figure 71: Yoruba Andabo plays a final song in front of altar to Callava 195
Figure 72: One of Imelda's children, Benicia, distributes boxes 196
of food to the guests
Figure 73: "El Trono": The throne or altar to the orisha Chango for 204
Mateo's first cumpleaños de santo
Figure 74: A Ministry of Culture van brings the band's equipment to the Solar 205
Figure 75: Zaira helps bring the band's equipment into the solar 206
Figure 76: The band Michel Maza y Su Tentación sing in the patio of 207
Solar Madrid for Mateo's first cumpleaños de santo
Figure 77: Nearly 200 guests crowded inside the patio of Solar 208
Madrid to hear Michel Maza y Su Tentación
Figure 78: Michel Maza invites La Prieta to the microphone 208
Figure 79: Mateo, in front of his altar to the orisha Chango, 210
celebrating his cumpleaños de santo, one year after his
hacer santo ceremony
Figure 80: Imelda Baro's grandchildren are networked enough to 221
draw nearly 200 nicely dressed guests to Mateo's
cumpleaños de santo
Figure 81: Michel Maza (center of photo with microphone) 225
sings about los barrios marginales in Solar Madrid
Figure 82: Zaira in her room arranging flowers for her spirit altar, 237
which is in the top right corner of the photo (7 glasses of water,
one with a crucifix, and flower offerings)
ix
ABSTRACT
In this thesis I argue that the profound crisis known as the "Special Period"
faced by the Cuban socialist state upon the disintegration of the Soviet Union created
a series of unexpected opportunities for upward mobility among traditionally
marginalized sectors of its urban population. Making a very efficient use of space,
traditional practices and survival networks, members of these popular sectors were
able to use a combination of strategies such as cooptation, translation, appropriation,
and ultimate transformation of official policies, surveillance techniques, and
discourses to achieve what could be considered the most radical social change in
Cuba since the Revolution of 1959.
Fieldwork for this study was carried out among residents of a low-income
tenement known as a solar in Havana. The individual chapters examine extended
forms of kinship, the architectural logic of a solar, and Santeria religious
celebrations designed to improve connections between living and deceased
individuals.
1
CHAPTER 1: INTRODUCTION
This is a study about the spaces, daily practices, and survival strategies of the
urban poor in contemporary Havana, Cuba. I begin by exploring attempts at
analyzing housing problems and solutions during the early years of the revolution. I
then examine the theoretical and methodological implications of several models
social scientists have used to understand housing, the 'built environment', and the
value of the family. After mapping this conceptual territory, I discuss some
strategies of social networking through the religious party circuit and some
surveillance techniques used by residents of a particular low-income housing
complex. Before getting to the heart of the problem, however, it is important to
understand where the extended family at the center of my study falls within the
larger picture of Cuban society in general and Havana in particular.
The Republic of Cuba is an archipelago consisting of the island of Cuba, the
Isle of Youth, and several other small islands or keys. The largest insular territory in
the Caribbean (110,860 km
2
), Cuba is also the most populated with 11,369,670
inhabitants (July 2005 estimate). One of the lowest birth rates in the region (12.03
births per 1,000 inhabitants) combined with one of the highest life expectancies
(77.23 years), results in a population that is aging fast but growing slowly. Less than
20% of the people are 14 years old or younger, and the median age (35.36 years) is
among the highest in Latin America. Its infant mortality (6.33 deaths per 1,000 life
births) is the lowest in the region, while its literacy rate (97%) ranks among the
2
highest. Other basic health and education indicators, as reported by the government,
are equivalent to those of most developed countries.
1
In purely economic terms,
however, the nation is not doing as well. Although inconsistencies in the local use of
international standards make all comparisons very difficult, it is safe to assume that
the island is one of the five countries with the lowest level of gross domestic product
(GDP) per capita in Latin America. Other economic indicators, like trade balances,
external debt per capita, or real salaries place Cuba squarely among the poorest
nations in the region.
2
Given the apparent lack of correlation between social and
economic indicators, the best way to understand the relative position of the nation is
perhaps to use the Human Development Index compiled by the United Nations.
According to this index, Cuba ranked seventh among 32 Latin American and
Caribbean countries in 2005.
3
3
Cuba
Figure 1: Cuba and the Greater Caribbean Region (Map Courtesy of about.com)
Ciudad de La Habana, the capital of Cuba, is also the smallest and most
populated of the nation’s fourteen provinces. Encompassing the city of Havana
proper and its vast suburbs, the metropolis has an area of 721.01 km
2
and it is the
permanent home of 2,196,472 people, for a population density of 3,046.4 inhabitants
per km
2
(July 2004 estimates). With a median age of 37.4 years, Havana is aging
faster than the rest of Cuba. The city has the lowest birth rate (9.5 births per 1,000
inhabitants) and the lowest life expectancy (75.9 years) on the island. For decades,
Havana used to receive many immigrants from the Cuban countryside, but severe
government restrictions have curbed this influx, while emigration out of city (mainly
4
to other countries) has soared in recent years. As a net result of these migratory
exchanges, Havana is losing an average of 10,000 people every year (approximately
4.5 per 1,000 inhabitants). Because of its low birth rates, the city is unable to fully
compensate for this migratory drain, so its general population is shrinking by an
average of 5,000 people every year.
4
Figure 2: Cuba and Havana
(Photograph courtesy of NASA, modified by the author)
5
The province of Ciudad de La Habana is divided into fifteen municipalities.
Sandwiched between the administrative core of the city (Plaza de la Revolución),
and its historic center (Havana Vieja), the municipality of Centro Habana (Figure 3)
is the smallest (3.39 km
2
) and most densely populated (47,137 inhabitants per km
2
)
of the metropolitan area. Centro Habana is a conglomerate of working class
neighborhoods full of old and dilapidated buildings but lacking the touristy aura
conferred to Old Havana by its monumental examples of colonial public
architecture. As a result, the municipality has been mostly excluded from recent
waves of massive investment devoted to the restoration of the historic center of the
city.
Diez de
Octubre
Guanabacoa
San Miguel
Habana
del Este
Regla
Centro
Habana
Habana
Vieja
Plaza de la
Revolución
Cerro
Figure 3: Centro Habana and surrounding municipalities
(Photograph courtesy of NASA, modified by the author)
6
Centro Habana is divided into five administrative units known as Consejos
Populares (Popular Councils). These subdivisions can be roughly identified with
traditional barrios and their names can be traced back to popular denominations in
use for at least a century (Figure 4). Among them, Cayo Hueso is the most
populated and one of the largest (Table 1).
5
At the beginning of the twentieth
century, Cuban cigar workers returning from their exile in Tampa and Key West
conferred a distinctive identity to this neighborhood. Among those workers, Key
West was referred to as Cayo Hueso, after the original Spanish name of the island.
Their barrio in Havana inherited the name and its early history was marked by the
solidarity prevalent among Cuban cigar rollers. Today, Cayo Hueso is well-known
as a major powerhouse of popular urban culture in Havana.
Population
Density
Popular Council
Area km2
Inhabitants Families 1000
inhabitants
per km
2
1000
families
per km
2
Cayo Hueso 0.81 34,410 7,480 43.0 9.4
Dragones 0.50 33,139 8,330 66.3 16.7
Colón 0.51 26,000 5,440 51.0 10.7
Pueblo Nuevo 0.90 30,360 7,140 33.7 7.9
Los Sitios 0.68 31,452 7,990 46.3 11.8
Total 3.39155,3613638045.8 10.7
Table 1: Popular Councils in Centro Habana, circa 2000
(Compiled by the author)
7
Cayo Hueso
Dragones
Colón
Pueblo
Nuevo
Los Sitios
Figure 4: Centro Habana municipality and its five popular Councils
(Modified from previous image)
I lived in Cayo Hueso for a year (May, 1999 - June, 2000) and carried out my
fieldwork among the residents of a particular kind of low-income tenement known as
ciudadela or solar. Developed since the nineteenth century as a solution to chronic
housing shortages, these tenements usually consist of 10-60 units surrounding a
central courtyard, with one passageway leading to the street. In Cuba, solares have
an ambiguous reputation. On the one hand, they have been associated with
8
stereotypes of architectural improvisation, physical chaos, and urban anarchy while
the behavior of its tenants has been linked to equally stereotypical traits like mental
disorders, domestic violence, and sexual promiscuity (Chailloux 1945). At the same
time, solares have enjoyed a solid reputation as cradles of cultural creativity and
reservoirs of sociopolitical energy.
6
This thesis explores some of the myths and realities surrounding the Cuban
solar through a close reading of the relevant literature, framed by my own personal
experiences in the field. At the core of this research is the notion that the ambiguous
role of the solar in Cuban cultural and political imaginaries provides a window into
larger social issues, while the daily practices of its inhabitants illuminates the
creative potential of informal hybrid networks operating from within formally
marginalized communities.
During my fieldwork in Havana I documented the efforts of an extended
Afro-Cuban family of thirty-five individuals to survive, develop, and grow at the
turn of the twentieth century. Seventeen members of this family live in a solar in the
Cayo Hueso neighborhood and operate mostly on the informal side of the
socioeconomic spectrum. Their overall welfare depends on careful usage of the solar
space, close relations with their neighbors in the solar, and larger networks of
relatives, friends, and associates working within formal as well as informal spheres,
in Cuba and abroad. Consistent monitoring or the solar space and consistent efforts
to extend and reinforce networks through daily life interactions are the most
important forms of social and economic investment among the urban poor of
9
Havana. Ultimately, the success of every household depends on the ability of its
members to deploy elaborated forms of social capital across economic, cultural, and
political boundaries. Poor people in Havana survive, develop, and grow by casting
symbolic and literal nets around increasingly scarce resources. These deployments
involve a complex articulation of individual and collective forms of social agency
grounded in highly codified practices and strategically informed by shifting
circumstances. Common strategies include the cooptation, translation, appropriation,
and ultimate transformation of official policies, surveillance techniques, and
discourses into “homemade” tools for personal and communal development. The
immediate result of this process is the reinforcement of all the networks involved and
the assurance of a secure living space. Another obvious consequence is the re-
hybridization of all social actors operating along those networks. An increase in
social order, at all levels, constitutes a less apparent but utterly important outcome of
this synergy between hybridization and networking.
This study about the daily life of the urban poor in contemporary Havana is
an attempt to chart a complex pattern of highly articulated hybrid networks in order
to understand the mechanisms involved in their social production, surveillance
deployment and political significance. Chapter Two looks at other analyses of urban
poverty and housing in Havana in the early years of the revolution, focusing on the
works of the North American anthropologist Oscar Lewis and Cuban filmmaker Sara
Gómez. Chapter Three deals with the connections between extended forms of
kinship and the architectural logic of a solar in Cayo Hueso. I introduce the main
10
characters of my story while describing how their use of both communal and
intimate space embodies much larger concerns about the relationships between
public and private realms. Chapter Four analyzes a series of religious ceremonies/
cum block parties organized by members of the family under study. It highlights the
development of some anti-surveillance techniques that occur within the solar and
discusses some of the mechanisms through which individuals and groups operating
under extreme forms of social scrutiny manage to diffuse, confound, sabotage, or
otherwise subvert the normative gaze imposed on them. Through stills from video
footage and clips from interviews, three religious parties which I filmed in Solar
Madrid are examined. A film which accompanies this thesis closely follows the
parties discussed in this chapter. These celebrations, explicitly designed to improve
the connections between living and deceased members of extended networks, also
provide further evidence of the ontological value and political significance of
hybridized networks. The final Chapter Five offers some concluding remarks about
the significance of hybridization, social networks, and anti-surveillance techniques in
Havana.
11
CHAPTER 1 ENDNOTES
1
Some basic information about Cuba was taken from an entry in the CIA World Fact Book,
available online at http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/cu.html (accessed
March 29, 2006). Other data come from a demographic yearbook published on the island by
the Oficina Nacional de Estadísticas, or ONE (ONE 2005b, online at
http://www.cubagob.cu/otras_info/sitioone/anuariodemog/anuariodemografico2004.pdf,
accessed March 29, 2006). Discrepancies between sources published in Cuba and in the
United States are very common and very difficult to sort out. For example, the CIA claims
that the Cuban population is divided into four “ethnic groups” and their proportions are
“mulatto 51%, white 37%, black 11%, Chinese 1%”. The Cuban government prefers to use
the term “skin color” (color de la piel). According to the latest official census, taken in
2002, 65% of the population was “white” (blanca), 24.9% was “mulatto” (mestiza), and
10.1% was black (negra). See ONE (2005a: 164 online at
http://out.uclv.edu.cu/gru/informe_nacional.pdf, accessed March 29, 2006). Quantitative
information on controversial categories like “race” remains elusive because these rigid labels
are unable to capture the fluid nature of ethnic multiplicity on the island. However, the
political implications of these figures as base indicators to evaluate the extent of Cuban
“racial” inequalities has fueled the production of wildly disparate guesstimates on both sides
of the Florida Strait. For two complementary analyses of the history of racial demography in
revolutionary Cuba see Moore (1988: 357-365) and de la Fuente (2001: 307-309).
2
Cuban socioeconomic statistics are hard to compare with those of other countries because
many series have been compiled using a different set of key assumptions. Evaluating the
Gross Domestic Product (GDP) is particularly hard. From 1962 to 1989, Cuba compiled an
indicator known as Global Social Product, a Soviet aggregate measure that remains
impossible to compare with or reduce to regular GDP figures. Complicating the issue even
further is the fact that even those standards were modified several times during the period, or
otherwise loosely applied (Pérez-López 1991). Estimates for the 1990s are particularly
problematic because the government switched to international standards in the middle of that
decade (Mesa-Lago 1998: 858-860). GDP figures beginning in 2004 are calculated using
yet another set of formulas designed to incorporate the value of free social services provided
by the government. In a similar way, unemployment indexes are now calculated by
including among the employed those individuals who receive a fraction of their previous
salaries while staying at home or going back to school (Mesa-Lago, 2005: 2-5). A balanced
overview of recent developments in the study of Cuban economy can be obtained from two
collections of topical essays compiled by Ritter (2004) and Dominguez, Pérez Villanueva,
and Barbería (2004).
3
The HDI is a comparative measure of wellbeing resulting from a weighted average of
indexes describing life expectancy, literacy rate, school enrollment ratios, and GDP per
capita. Recent tables are available online at
http://hdr.undp.org/docs/statistics/indices/index_tables.pdf (accessed March 29, 2006). For a
critique of the methodology used to compile the Cuban figures (and a useful overview of the
island’s rankings through the 1990s) see Mesa-Lago (2002). The most obvious problem
with this Index is its dependence on very unreliable GDP figures.
12
4
All statistics on Havana and its municipalities were taken from ONE (Oficina Nacional de
Estadísticas) (2005a: 189 and 2005b). For an excellent overview of urban developments in
the city as a whole see Segre, Coyula, and Scarpaci (2002). On the cultural dimensions of
this historical process see Kapcia (2005).
5
The information on population and housing included in Table 1 was compiled from
unpublished reports generously provided by researchers at Taller de Transformación
Integral del Barrio de Cayo Hueso in Havana. I would like to thank the members of the
Taller staff for their enthusiastic support. On the history of the neighborhood see Colectivo
de Autores, 1990.
6
On the historical evolution of the solar during the nineteenth century see Arriaga Mesa and
Delgado Valdés (1995). An excellent photographic inventory of notorious solares at the
beginning of the twentieth century can be found in Nuñez (1914). Housing policies
contributing to the proliferation of the solares are discussed in Bay y Sevilla (1924). For a
classic account of moral depravation and criminality centered around these tenements see
Chailloux Cardona (1945). A sympathetic account of the vibrant cultural life in the
contemporary solares can be found in Cárdenas Jiménez (2002).
13
CHAPTER 2: RESEARCHING POVERTY AND INEQUALITY IN A
SOCIALIST STATE
Attempts at analyzing poverty and urban housing in Havana are very
limited. Two notable efforts, which will be discussed at length in this chapter,
are by Oscar Lewis, a North American anthropologist, and Sara Gómez, a Cuban
filmmaker. Both of these scholars evaluate housing problems and solutions in
the l960's and 1970's when eliminating poverty and inequalities was a top priority
for the new socialist state. There was a proliferation of social science research on
the island in the 1980's some of which focused on various groups of individuals
marginalized by the socialist system. My own research in the late 1990s also
attempted to understand marginality in Havana and like Lewis's and Gomez's
studies was based in an analysis of housing.
In Havana, informal solutions for chronic housing shortages have evolved
along two complementary paths. Like in many other cities of developing
nations, squatters have occupied empty lands in peripheral areas and created
highly visible slums. Poor tenants, on the other hand, have entered into semi-
legal arrangements with the owners of underutilized buildings, resulting in the
creation of tenements known as solares. As in many other regions of the world,
the continued existence of slums in Havana has depended on a precarious
balance between the collective agency of slum-dwellers, the pressures exerted by
the formal communities that surround them, and the political will of the higher
authorities. After a slum has acquired critical mass, its physical eradication
14
through legitimate means requires large amounts of political capital. Up to a
degree, the survival of slums has depended on their public visibility. Although
considered a source of illegal behavior and social deviance, Cuban slums have
been tolerated because their inhabitants could be partially contained within their
borders. Razing a slum would create a larger logistical problem for the
authorities than accepting its existence.
1
Solares, on the other hand, proliferated in the early 1900s precisely
because they were a rather discreet solution to housing shortages. For the
tenants, the partial invisibility of the solar produced a certain degree of security
through obscurity. The society at large, on the other hand, benefited from the
existence of the solares because low-paid workers in the service and
manufacturing industries could afford to live close to their workplaces in a city
with a rather poor system of public transportation. As a result, a combination of
economic forces, urban traditions, and social pressures gave solares a strategic
advantage over slums during the first half of the twentieth century. Today, they
constitute an established feature in the urban landscape of the city where,
according to official estimates, there are more than 7,000 of these tenements
(Hautrive).
In the 1960s, the Cuban revolutionary government tried to eradicate some
of the most notorious slums of Havana. In the first section of this chapter I look
at the North American anthropologist Oscar Lewis's analysis of some of the most
prominent social and cultural issues raised by these attempts. Solares, on the
15
other hand, represented a less obvious source of alternative socialization and
remained under the radar until the 1970s, when the government tried to eliminate
some of them in the Cayo Hueso neighborhood. The second section of this
chapter reflects the perspective of Cuban filmmaker Sara Gómez of these events.
Both sections offer impressions of different intellectuals on marginality during
the early years of the revolution. The third section looks at efforts to study
marginal groups by both Cuban and non-Cuban social scientists in the 1980's and
1990's. The fourth and final section of this chapter introduces my own research
in a solar in Cayo Hueso at the turn of the 21
st
century.
16
PART I: LIVING THE REVOLUTION
Oscar Lewis received a 2-year Ford Foundation grant to research poverty in
Cuba in 1969's. This was his last chance to bring some fresh evidence back into the
old debate on the culture of poverty. One of the corollaries of his thesis was the
notion that socialism was incompatible with the culture of poverty: “On the basis of
my limited experience in one socialist country – Cuba – and on the basis of my
reading, I am inclined to believe that the culture of poverty does not exist in the
socialist countries” (Lewis 1966: xlix). He was eager to demonstrate that radical
social change could transform the culture of the poor, even before fully eliminating
historical inequalities:
By creating basic structural changes in society, by redistributing wealth, by
organizing the poor and giving them a sense of belonging, of power and of
leadership, revolutions frequently succeed in abolishing some of the basic
characteristics of the culture of poverty even when they do not succeed in
abolishing poverty itself (Lewis 1966:lii)
As a direct result of informal negotiations with Fidel Castro, Lewis and his
family arrived in Cuba in February 1969 with 750 pounds of luggage and all of the
required permits issued by officials in Washington and Havana. The Cuban
government leased three houses to the research team and provided transportation
services, food, and some office supplies. Cuban drivers, typists and household
workers were hired to cover basic logistical needs. Ten local students were assigned
to the project as field assistants, joining a group of eight others that came with the
Lewises from Mexico and the United States. A few months of training in basic
anthropological techniques were necessary before the Cuban members of the team
17
became familiar with the project’s philosophy. They were all very young, had no
previous background in the social sciences, and their commitment to the
revolutionary enterprise made it very difficult for them to conduct interviews on
sensitive topics without passing judgment on the political and moral integrity of their
informants (Lewis, Lewis and Rigdon 1977-78, I:xi). However, a strong rapport
ensued between American researchers, Cuban staff, and local families once these
initial problems were sorted out. The most ambitious attempt to evaluate the cultural
and ideological consequences of a socialist revolution was finally on its way.
Oscar Lewis’s interest in Cuba dated back to the summer of 1946, when he
was invited to teach an anthropology course in the School of Social Work at the
University of Havana. The young professor took his students into the field for a
survey of life conditions in Melena del Sur, a sugar-mill community outside Havana,
and they also visited Las Yaguas, a shantytown located at the outskirts of the capital.
During a short trip to the island in August of 1961 as a correspondent for Harper’s
Magazine, Lewis managed to go back to both locations and reestablish contact with
a handful of old informants. The transformations initiated by the revolutionary
government were already visible in Las Yaguas. State-sponsored organizations were
being established in the neighborhood, a few communal facilities had been
constructed, and a national campaign for the reduction of illiteracy was on its way,
with dozens of volunteers already teaching there. Lewis considered the place to be
an excellent laboratory for testing his ideas about the relationships between poverty,
culture and social change. Eight years later, when he returned to Cuba with the
18
research team, Las Yaguas had already disappeared. As part of a nation-wide
program to “eradicate” the most notorious slums, families living in the area were
relocated to seven different housing developments of 100 to 126 units each. All able
members of the community participated in the construction of the new apartments,
using materials provided by the government, and with the support of voluntary
workers from the Ministry of Industry. By the end of 1963, the shantytown was
empty. As part of the relocation agreement, the neighbors were asked to demolish
their own shacks before leaving, in a move that had obvious symbolic as well as
practical purposes.
In 1969, Oscar Lewis centered his initial work on a thorough study of the
relocation of slums dwellers to Buena Ventura, a pseudonym used by his team to
identify one of the new housing complexes. If he was interested in evaluating the
impact of a decade-old revolution on the life of the poor, this radical transformation
of the landscape was an excellent place to start. The project included a comparison
of Buena Ventura with another community of relocated settlers that the team called
Bolívar. According to initial findings, in terms of cultural and political change
Buena Ventura was considered to be an example of “poorly-integrated settlement”,
while Bolívar was regarded as a success story. Douglas Butterworth, a professor of
anthropology at the University of Illinois that joined the team in February of 1970,
took over the supervision of the Cuban students interviewing most of the families
living in Buena Ventura. A parallel study involved five unrelated families living in
an apartment building located in Miramar, a fancy suburb of Havana, in an effort to
19
include residents from other sectors of Cuban society. The rural part of the research,
dealing with the revolutionary transformations in Melena del Sur, was scheduled to
start during the second half of the three-year project.
On June 26, 1970, the Lewises were supposed to travel back to the United
States for a summer break. The day before, Oscar was requested to appear at the
office of the Cuban Foreign Minister, Dr. Raúl Roa. He was informed that the
government had decided to suspend the research project. The reasons given
included accepting support from the Ford Foundation, hiring “nonintegrated” local
typists, using the Israeli diplomatic pouch for sending documents to the United
States, and interviewing subjects that were situated outside the scope of the original
agreement. These ranged from members of the Army and the Communist Party to
middle-class families and counterrevolutionaries. According to Ruth Lewis,
someone she identified as Mr. X had approached the team a few months before,
offering to share the experiences of his family. They interviewed Mr. X, who voiced
a strong opposition to the revolution, and also met with his wife. Apparently, a high-
ranking government official who was related to family X felt threatened by the
possibility that some of his own sexual indiscretions would be revealed during an
interview. This official happened to be a close friend of Manuel Piñeiro Losada,
head of Cuban State Security, who had opposed the project since its inception by
expressing serious doubts about the nature of Oscar Lewis’ connections with the
Ford Foundation. A combination of ideological prejudices from the Cuban side and
20
political naiveté on the part of the American anthropologists had created a very
delicate situation for the team.
Lewis protested all charges and requested a personal meeting with Castro to
clear out any misunderstandings. After leaving Roa’s office, Oscar Lewis went back
to the team headquarters, accompanied by a group of State Security agents. They
confiscated all tapes, manuscripts, photographs and charts stored in the main office,
in the Lewises’s residence, and in the staff house. The equivalent of 35,000 pages of
raw data was lost. Copies of some of this material had already been taken to the
United States by the researchers on previous trips, and a token fraction of the
confiscated papers was eventually returned to them. Nonetheless, the project
suffered a substantial net loss, and had been halted at its mid-point. Oscar Lewis
was formally accused of spying for the CIA, and all foreign members of the team
were politely asked to leave the country.
Unable to communicate directly with Castro, Lewis was visited instead by
Piñeiro, who explained the charges in detail. Piñeiro told him that Fidel was very
upset with the harsh criticisms contained in two recent books about Cuba written by
European intellectuals invited to the island because of their liberal credentials
(Dumont 1970, Karol 1970). In the context created by these “betrayals”, Oscar
Lewis’s insistence on gathering “sensitive information” about the Party and the
Army was highly suspicious. In a second visit, Piñeiro praised Lewis for the
“thoroughness and patience” demonstrated in his interviews with “this
counterrevolutionary worm, Señor X.” Coming from a professional “interrogator”,
21
the comment was quite ironic. After listening to the confiscated tapes, Piñeiro was
convinced that Oscar Lewis was not a CIA agent. The Lewises felt obliged to
remind him of the previous agreement with Castro, regarding the confidentiality and
safety of all informants involved in the project. Piñeiro assured them that his men at
the State Security Department were known for their professionalism, and the
protection of all subjects was guarantied. “We are not fascists here!” he said.
A week after the Lewises left Cuba they found out that Mr. X had been
arrested for “suspicious behavior”. He was sentenced to seven years in prison, but
served two years and nine months, most of it in labor camps. While incarcerated, he
suffered from illness, beatings by other inmates, and numerous personal
humiliations. Once released, his employment opportunities were drastically reduced
and he lived under continuous surveillance until the end of the decade.
2
Oscar Lewis
was also severely affected by his Cuban experiences. Intellectual and political
frustrations, compounded with the physical stress of intensive fieldwork, had been
taxing his health for several years. He suffered from a heart condition, which was
kept under control by large doses of medication. Apparently, when Raúl Roa
presented him with charges of being a CIA agent, Lewis had a minor heart attack
right there at the Foreign Minister’s office (Rigdon 1988: 105). Back in the United
States, his condition worsened. On September 17, 1970, he was hospitalized in
Illinois and diagnosed with an acute myocardial infection. Oscar Lewis died in New
York on December 16, 1970, six months after his return from Havana and just nine
days short of his 56
th
birthday.
22
The Cuban government never changed its official position regarding Lewis’
involvement with the CIA. His trip had coincided with a very difficult economic
and political time on the island. Since 1968, all national resources had been geared
toward the production of ten million tons of sugar in the 1970’s harvest. This
campaign involved mass mobilizations of “volunteers” recruited as cane cutters,
creating a critical shortage of labor in other areas of the economy. On July 26, 1970,
Castro gave a detailed and discouraging report of the national situation. The harvest
had fallen painfully short of the ten million tons, and almost none of the other
productive goals set for that year had been met. A general shortage of goods and
services, combined with long hours of hard labor, fueled waves of popular
discontent. In this context, even friendly criticisms were considered a threat to
national security. Lewis’s work was perceived as espionage because it could reveal
the frustrations of the Cuban working class to the outside world. According to his
wife, the end of their research project was in part “the result of a general crackdown
on foreign intellectuals that summer of 1970” (Lewis, Lewis and Rigdon 1977-78, I:
xxiii). However, she also mentioned that some other scholars from European and
American universities were conducting research in Cuba, on topics like economics,
education, housing policies and institutional life. These researchers were allowed to
finish their work without any visible form of governmental interference. Ruth Lewis
concluded: “I believe it is fair to say that the sensitive nature of our research played a
large part in the sudden end of the project”.
23
In 1972, Castro's brother Raúl made a clear reference to Oscar Lewis in
another speech:
A certain part of the visitors from the capitalist countries – sociologists,
professors, newspapermen, sailors, and tourists – must be secret agents or
collaborators with the enemy information agencies. One North American
sociologist, now dead, connected to the Ford Foundation, established ties
with counterrevolutionary elements before arriving in Cuba. Once here, he
carried out sociological studies departing from the proposals he had made to
the Cuban authorities. He dealt with 327 informants, among whom were
militants of the Party and of the Youth [Union of Young Communists],
administrative functionaries, and members of mass organizations, who
unconsciously volunteered interesting data. There were also anti-socialists
and elements who are enemies of the Revolution who offered it consciously.
He availed himself of taped interviews, inquiries, conversations, written
reports, pamphlets, and materials he solicited about political organizations,
mass organizations, the educational system, and biographical data of our
leaders. And he even tried subtly to obtain facts about FAR [Revolutionary
Armed Forces] and MININT [Ministry of the Interior] (quoted in Lewis,
Lewis and Rigdon 1977-78, I: xxiv).
From the perspective of the Cuban government, Lewis’ unlimited appetite for
information was a crime in itself. His ambitious project had the potential to become
another dangerous exposé. In this context, expelling the team and confiscating some
of the crucial data collected in Havana was a bold move. Writing as a “critical
friend” of the revolution, Oscar Lewis was more “dangerous” than as an open
“enemy”. If his angered heirs decided to publish the results of the Cuban research in
the form of a systematic denunciation of the regime, this could be used by Havana as
extra proof that he was in fact working for the CIA from the beginning.
Given the enormous amount of raw material to be processed, methodological
as well as ideological and political factors should be taken into account in order to
explain why the final publication of these results took more than a decade to be
24
completed. The bulk of the data appeared as a three-volume series, under the
general title Living the Revolution: an Oral History of Contemporary Cuba (Lewis,
Lewis and Rigdon 1977-78). A Foreword at the beginning of the first volume
served as a general preface for the series. Each installment included an Introduction
summarizing the life history of the informants and providing some context for the
“autobiographies” that constituted the main part of the series. Ruth Lewis and Susan
Rigdon edited these “autobiographies” piecing together long fragments from audio
taped interviews conducted by different members of the team. A Glossary and a
Selected Bibliography were also included at the end of each volume. The trilogy
showcased a total of fifteen long life histories and thirteen short or partial ones.
Occasional footnotes contributed to the clarification of factual details by providing
additional sources and cross-referencing the opinions of different informants. Some
timid conclusive remarks for the whole series were provided in an Afterword written
by Rigdon and placed at the end of the third volume.
Four Men, the first installment in the trilogy, was based on more than a
hundred interviews with four adult males and some of their immediate relatives.
Three of the main protagonists were former residents of Las Yaguas, living in
Bolívar and Buena Ventura at the time the interviews were conducted. Each life
history was chronologically organized and narrated in the first person, with
comments by family members providing an interesting counterpoint to the main
story. Questions and remarks by the interviewers were removed and some degree of
rhetorical uniformity was achieved through the stylistic manipulation of the
25
translations. The second volume, titled Four Women, followed a very similar
pattern. In the Introduction, the authors confessed that the informants were not
interviewed for a study on gender but “it seems logical now, in the light of the great
wave of consciousness-raising on women’s rights that has been developing in Cuba
and in the United States, to group their stories together in one volume” (Lewis,
Lewis and Rigdon 1977-78, II: ix). Perhaps this editorial decision reflected the fact
that Ruth Lewis and Susan Rigdon were committed to a more explicit exploration of
the connections between gender issues and social change. Despite the obvious
symmetries between Four Men and Four Women, the life histories presented in the
latter were not centered on Las Yaguas. These four informants had different
socioeconomic backgrounds, but none of them came from the slums. The stories
collected in Neighbors, the third volume of the series, were even further removed
from the original focus on slum culture that characterized most of Oscar Lewis’
previous work. By charting the life of five families occupying the same apartment
building, the book offered a rich anecdotal perspective on how the revolution
affected complex social interactions at a micro level. In the early 1960’s, after the
original owners left Cuba, all housing units in this fancy building were assigned to
working class couples, most of them from the countryside. Their stories,
complemented with detailed observations of their daily routines and inventories of
their belongings, reflected the contradictions inherent in any form of upward
mobility in a socialist context.
26
The final publication was a monograph titled The People of Buena Ventura
(Butterworth 1980). Based on partial surveys and interviews conducted among
relocated slum dwellers, this book returned to the original questions posed by the
project. However, in terms of length, scope, and organization, the monograph
offered a clear contrast to the life stories collected in Living the Revolution.
Butterworth used aggregated data and quantitative analysis in his discussion of the
social consequences of spatial relocation. References to personal stories or
particular events in the life of the informants were used as examples in the context of
wider evaluations, with the emphasis on collective rather than individual
experiences. The material was arranged along general topics like marriage,
education, and community relations. Butterworth used numerous references from
secondary sources to support his interpretations or to offer a critical contrast to his
conclusions. In a sense, The People of Buena Ventura provided the entire project
with some analytical closure that was carefully avoided in the open-ended
“autobiographies” assembled in Living the Revolution. In his Concluding Remarks,
the author boldly summarized the result of his methodical evaluation:
Ten years after the triumph of the Revolution, and despite major efforts by
the Castro government to reeducate and indoctrinate the people of Buena
Ventura, most of the former Las Yaguas families had not lived up to the
ideals of the Revolution (Butterworth 1980: 140).
27
PART II: "THE NEW MAN" AND DE CIERTA MANERA (IN A CERTAIN WAY)
Understanding the ideological and intellectual fascination of Oscar Lewis
with the social agenda of the Cuban revolutionary leadership is relatively easy. The
interest of the local bureaucrats in the culture of poverty thesis, however, deserves a
more careful analysis. In the late 1960s the revolution was entering a mature phase
of its development and the revolutionary elites had embarked on a serious
reevaluation of their basic assumptions about the nature of poverty, social exclusion,
and marginality. In the early years, these problems were described as a direct
consequence of capitalism, and its total eradication under new socialist conditions
was considered only a matter of time. When a decade of radical change failed to
produce its expected results, the government implemented two parallel lines of
response: a campaign of international propaganda efforts to cover up the magnitude
and nature of this failure, complemented by a domestic program of popular
reeducation to transform the culture of the marginalized sectors. From a political
point of view, Lewis’s project was closely monitored because it could either provide
extra ammunition for the official campaign or become a rather dangerous exposé. In
bureaucratic terms, however, his study was considered valuable as a third party
assessment of a massive campaign of social engineering. Another “War on Poverty”
was in full swing on the island when Lewis arrived in Havana, and he was caught in
its crossfire once again.
28
Cuban bureaucrats were interested in practical information that could be used
to evaluate the central eugenic program of the revolution, designed to create an entire
generation of “New Men”, freed from the heritages of their past (Guevara 1968). As
a socialist version of old Western stereotypes of human perfection, the New Man
became an embodiment of all revolutionary ideals. “He” was envisioned as the
civilized, healthy, and socially conscious premium blend of a working class hero and
a Victorian gentleman. Always willing to serve the community and ready to
sacrifice everything for the cause of socialism, the New Man was promoted as a
positive role model for Cuban youth (Kapcia 2005). On the opposite side of the
political spectrum, the Gusano or worm, embodied all negative values and traits
associated with the capitalist past. Originally coined to identify the bourgeois
enemies of the revolutionary government, this derogatory term was eventually
applied to anyone who resisted or opposed its programs. After initial waves of exile
took most members of the old elites to Miami or elsewhere, the remaining Gusanos
were in fact members of traditionally marginalized sectors. Paradoxically, the
conservative ideal of an obedient good citizen was recycled into the socialist New
Man model, while bourgeois stereotypes regarding the deviant nature of marginal
individuals were incorporated into the Gusano label (Fernandes 2003). The Cuban
revolutionary government made marginality a political crime, an ideological stigma,
and a national offense. After all, if the revolution had eliminated capitalist
exploitation and this was the ultimate cause of marginality, any remaining forms of
deviant behavior could only be explained as a result of individual choices.
29
Clear cut distinctions between Gusanos and New Men were very prominent
as a rhetorical and pedagogical artifact in the discourse of the Cuban leadership
during the 1960s and 1970s. Up to a degree, razing Las Yaguas and relocating its
inhabitants was an experiment in social reeducation, framed within a highly dualistic
model. The team lead by Oscar Lewis was trying to understand the wider
implications of this experiment. These scholars were interested in the transformation
of Las Yaguas as a case study that could contribute to clarifying issues regarding the
nature of social change in general. Cuban intellectuals, on the other hand, were
interested in the eradication of Las Yaguas because the neighborhood had been the
stereotypical setting for all marginal behaviors embedded in the notion of the
Gusano. Razing Las Yaguas had been officially presented as an attempt to transform
the urban landscape of Havana while changing the inner life of their marginal
inhabitants (Butterworth 1980). If it was in fact possible to turn Gusanos into New
Men, relocating the people of Las Yaguas could provide the perfect opportunity to
evaluate the effectiveness of wider strategies for social engineering. At a deeper
level, the events could even contribute some answers to pressing questions regarding
the direction and extent of other programs and policies. In the revolutionary Cuba of
the early 1970s, poverty was considered to be either residual or self-inflicted.
Otherwise, at least according to the government, it was nonexistent. The same
official position was commonly extended to other forms of social deviance. As a
result, discussing the problem of socioeconomic marginality provided an oblique
way of addressing other forms of ideological exclusion.
30
De Cierta Manera was the first feature film directed by an Afro-Cuban
woman. Trained as a classical pianist, Sara Gómez Yera became interested in the
production of documentaries after participating in a workshop for young
ethnographers taught in Havana in the early 1960s. She started her professional
career working as an assistant at the state-run Cuban Institute of Cinematographic
Arts and Industries (ICAIC). Between 1964 and 1974, Sara Gómez directed ten
short documentaries on various topics and earned a reputation as a talented, albeit
controversial artist. Afro-Cuban themes and subjects were central to the narrative of
many of these pieces, some of which dealt with difficult issues or approached
conventional problems from an unconventional angle. One of her documentaries, for
example, deals with the daily life of young prisoners in a labor camp. The shock
value associated with her work was also a result of tensions between the content of
the films and the context of their release. She produced two graphic instructional
shorts on prenatal care, delivery, and breastfeeding addressed exclusively to first-
time mothers but purposely distributed in the theaters for a general audience. Sara
was particularly fond of exposing regular moviegoers to the daily-life experiences of
common people that were otherwise ignored in Cuban mainstream cinema. Her
feature film De Cierta Manera, was her last project. Sara Gómez died of an asthma
attack in 1974, during the final editing stages of the movie. She was only 31 years
old.
De Cierta Manera combines documentary and fictional narrative styles,
“performed” by an explosive mix of professional actors and common people from
31
the poor neighborhoods of Havana. The fictional side of the plot is centered around
the difficult relationship between Yolanda, a white middle-class schoolteacher and
Mario, an Afro-Cuban worker born in Las Yaguas and relocated to the Miraflores
neighborhood. Both characters are struggling with conflicts at their workplace,
which in turn highlight their personal differences, bringing into focus the most
intimate dimensions of a larger social change. As a teacher in the local school,
Yolanda is caught between her pedagogical ideals and the crude realities of daily life
in Miraflores. More experienced colleagues try to lecture her on the virtues of the
official approach to revolutionary education and the ultimate effectiveness of
institutional interventions. Yolanda chooses, however, to get involved with the
troubled students and their single mothers in a series of dramatic encounters that
denounce the negative impact of paternal absence while highlighting the
extraordinary contributions of humble women to the wellbeing of their families and
to society at large. These exchanges between actress Yolanda Cuéllar and the poor
women of Miraflores playing themselves are among the strongest and most complex
passages in the film. On the one hand, the adamant resistance of the young teacher
to follow the example of her mainstream peers mirrors the filmmaker’s own defense
of her uncompromising aesthetic and political positions. As an Afro-cuban mother
of two and a divorcee trying to juggle her professional and familial responsibilities
within a highly phallocentric culture, Sara Gómez seems to align herself with the
poor women of Miraflores rather than with the inexperienced middleclass
schoolteacher.
32
At yet another level, however, Sara and Yolanda share a certain distance
from the marginal population, an “otherness” based on socioeconomic background
rather than race. Early in the film, Yolanda is “interviewed” in front of her school
for one of the documentary-like sections. Answering an obvious question she says:
“How do I feel? Well, not very well. I graduated from different schools. Then I
came here, and all this was a different world, one I thought no longer existed”
(quoted in Chanan 2004: 286). Through Yolanda, Sara Gómez is chronicling her
own personal journey into the universe of urban marginality. Like the schoolteacher,
the filmmaker seems to be sympathetic but uncomfortable, critical but tolerant,
surprised but enlightened. Her boyfriend Mario takes Yolanda (sometimes literally
by the hand) into a world that he is trying to abandon while she is struggling to
understand. This, again, could be interpreted as an autobiographic reference to
Sara’s own personal relationship with soundman Germinal Hernández. Familiar
with Afrocuban religious traditions as a practitioner and personally connected with
the Cayo Hueso marginal underworld, Germinal was instrumental in introducing
Sara to a universe that she had approached mostly as an academic curiosity before.
3
Reading De Cierta Manera as the chronicle of a love affair between a male marginal
figure and a female middleclass intellectual becomes even more complicated by the
fact that Germinal did all the sound work for the actual film, under Sara’s
supervision. Ultimately, ambiguity of purpose, voice, message, and style are the
trademarks of this amazing film. As Chanan (2004: 285) said, De Cierta Manera is
“a prime example of the process of syncretism”.
4
33
While Yolanda struggles with her inner demons at school, Mario is also
caught between competing loyalties at his workplace. Humberto, a coworker and
good friend, creates a moral dilemma for him by breaking the rigid disciplinary code
of the factory, lying about it to everyone, and making Mario his only confidant.
Humberto had spent a week on vacation with his girlfriend and told his boss that he
was caring for his sick mother. At the beginning of the film, in a highly charged
scene, Humberto is trying to provide excuses for his absence at a public meeting with
all of the factory workers. In an outburst of violent honesty, Mario tells everyone
that his friend is actually lying. As a result, Humberto is sentenced to a few months
of forced labor and Mario descends into a spiral of doubts and guilt.
When Yolanda tries to justify his decision arguing that it was in fact moral to
put the collective needs of society before the individual loyalty among friends, Mario
feels even more misunderstood. He has been forced to choose between the
revolutionary (masculine) ideals he professes and the traditional codes of horizontal
solidarity that regulate what is considered appropriate (masculine) behavior among
members of a marginal community. Trying to explain his dilemma to another male
friend, Mario claims that snitching on Humberto was a feminine thing to do. The
friend responds by saying that it was in fact a revolutionary thing to do. Mario,
frustrated, replies that he is a hard working revolutionary man and that the
revolution, after all, was made by men. Chanan (2004: 291) claims that the location
for this exchange was selected to emphasize the historical dimensions of the conflict.
Mario is talking in front of a well-known equestrian statue of General Antonio
34
Maceo in Malecón, Havana’s most popular promenade. The ultimate symbol of
Afrocuban masculinity and revolutionary prowess, Maceo is shown riding a horse
with enormous bronze balls. The statue is, at the same time, one of the most visible
landmarks in the Cayo Hueso neighborhood and the subject of sexually charged
jokes among Cubans.
While the eradication of Las Yaguas and the creation of Miraflores provide a
sociological and historical background to the main story of the film, the ongoing
transformation of Cayo Hueso constitutes the most important source of visual
symbolism in De Cierta Manera. An enormous wrecking ball hitting the crumbling
walls of old colonial buildings still standing at the core of the neighborhood is a
recurrent image throughout the film, and its powerful blasts are an essential
ingredient in the soundtrack. In the opening scenes, dramatic shots of the wrecking
ball alternate with images of busy construction workers building an apartment tower
in a simple but effective reference to the dialectic nature of creative destruction as a
tool of social change. Rather than just glorifying the process, however, the film
seems to emphasize its ambiguous nature. A female voiceover accompanying these
images states, as a matter of fact: “In Havana, right now, a wide zone of solares and
tenements is being transformed. The old neighborhood of Cayo Hueso is being
destroyed and remodeled”.
5
Then, the camera pans along the houses in Miraflores,
while a male narrator establishes the confrontational tone of the film in more explicit
terms:
“But all throughout these years the revolution has not relinquished its fight
against all remnants of marginal culture. Five new housing complexes were
35
built in 1961 to provide shelter for the neighbors of the razed shantytown of
Las Yaguas. (…) This transformation in housing policy is just a part of a
studied strategy of integration. Along with education, increasingly linked to
productive work, these efforts are our principal weapon.”
6
The two main characters in the story are directly involved in this national war
against marginality, and throughout the movie their workplaces are depicted as battle
zones. The front lines, nonetheless, seem to run through and between the main
protagonists. The relationship between Yolanda and Mario represents the
articulation of education and productive work enshrined within the official rhetoric
of revolutionary change. With a plot centered on their conflicts as a couple,
however, De Cierta Manera provides a critical counterpoint to this optimistic
rhetoric. In the same opening scene, the narrators explain how a marginal sector has
emerged within capitalist societies as a result of structural limitations implicit in their
mode of production. Then, a text in bold black letters asserts that “After the triumph
of the revolution there is no marginal sector in Cuba whatsoever.”
7
A few seconds
later, the film shows images of Afro-cuban people idling around Miraflores while
police officers patrol the streets and goats graze in the front lawns. Then, the male
narrator intervenes: “But culture, lying in the deepest layers of consciousness in the
form of habits, customs, beliefs, norms, and values, can offer a tenacious resistance
to social change”.
8
More people sitting around and more goats are pictured while the
female narrator introduces one of the central theses of the film: “That is why, even
after the conditions that produced marginality have been radically transformed, we
can still study, in this very same neighborhood, the culture of the marginal sector”.
9
As the sequence progresses, racial references become more obvious. A series of
36
close-ups alternating between smiling Afro-Cuban faces and shoulders covered with
prison tattoos is shown as the voiceover continues: “Being displaced from the
productive process, their low educational level and their dependency on oral
traditions turned marginal people into the most active preservers of traditional
culture”.
10
Then, the film takes us into a factory where Afro-Cuban workers are
busy assembling buses, while the male narrator says:
Lacking concrete experiences as permanent workers and a practical
involvement with unions or political organizations, members of the old
marginal sectors of Cuban society attained new levels of employment after
the revolution without an equivalent development of their consciousness that
would allow them to situate their motivations and vital interest within a labor
framework.
11
The camera follows one particular worker walking across a maze of steel
beams. We recognize the face of Humberto, and then we see that he is approaching
Mario, who is working on the roof of a half assembled bus. The music is gradually
replaced by factory noises while the female narrator takes over, “Against the current
political and social background we could sometimes detect some inertia and apathy
in the man of marginal origins, and that explains the persistence of some antisocial
attitudes within the revolution”.
12
Immediately, we hear Humberto yelling at Mario,
who is deafened by the loud noise of machinery. Using a combination of body
language and slang, the two friends make plans for a Sunday afternoon of domino
playing and rum drinking.
As a film, De Cierta Manera is organized around a complex dialogue
between the formal tone of bureaucratic reason inherent in all pedagogical
voiceovers and the vibrant nature of popular lingo. While the official discourse
37
deplores the fact that marginal people have become “the most active preservers of
traditional culture”, loosely scripted exchanges among the actors and the neighbors
of Miraflores celebrate the richness of that very same culture. Echoing the jargon of
Marxist textbooks, the authoritative voiceover defines “culture” as a mysterious
force: “lying in the deepest layers of consciousness in the form of habits, customs,
beliefs, norms, and values”. Because this hidden arsenal of established principles
“can offer a tenacious resistance to social change”, the reasoning goes, it is necessary
to fight against “all remnants of marginal culture” using formal education and
productive labor as weapons.
This film is an excellent analysis of the lives of marginal and middle class
individuals struggling with the new revolutionary ideals and systems presented to
them. As a middle class, Afro-Cuban woman working in Havana at the moment of
greatest changes within the organizational structure of the government and society,
Sara Gómez was in an ideal position to carefully critique the socialist agenda. The
film, however, offers no definitive answer as to the relative success of the revolution
and instead portrays a patchwork of mixed messages and contradictory images that
seem to show 'transculturation' in the making. The complexity of the main
characters, her use of a hand-held 16mm camera and black and white film along with
the complex mixture of documentary and fictional styles all contribute to the creation
of a strong sense of cultural hybridity.
Sara Gómez' ability to characterize the complex influences on people's lives
(from Afro-Cuban religions to Labor Codes) is even more astounding considering
38
the political pressures she was facing at the time. According to at least one author,
Sara Gómez was reprimanded and imprisoned by authorities twice for her
involvement with other Afro-Cuban intellectuals (Moore 1988). In 1968, a few days
before the World Cultural Congress in Havana, Gómez, along with 20 other well-
known black intellectuals, was called into a meeting with the Minister of Education,
José Llanusa Gobels. It was rumored that the group was going to present a paper on
race and culture at the Congress. At the meeting, the minister asked them to openly
voice their complaints and they each, in turn, expressed their concerns, happy that
"finally, the revolutionary government had taken an interest in the thoughts coming
from Blacks" (Moore 1988:309). After speaking their minds, the Minister told them
that they were all seditious and counterrevolutionary for even thinking of drafting
what he called a "Black Manifesto", and they were all banned from the Congress and
forced to recant their statements. Some were arrested or placed in labor camps and
others ended up in mental hospitals. It is ironic that this event occurred just one
month before Oscar Lewis was given the green light from Fidel to do ethnographic
research in Cuba. In spite of this silencing, Sara Gomez continued to make films and
risk being involved with other black intellectuals. In 1969, she was supposedly a
part of the "Movimiento Black Power", a group of 100 black intellectuals that
"defied the authorities by wearing their hair in Afros and getting together to read and
comment on Frantz Fannon's works" (Moore 1988:312). In 1971, the group was
discovered by the secret police and all of the leaders were arrested. After recanting
in jail, many of these intellectuals went into exile. But after confronting censorship
39
and repression for the second time, Sara Gómez went on to work on her most
controversial film, De Cierta Manera, before her sudden death in 1974.
De Cierta Manera is a self-reflective film that chronicles Gómez' encounter
with life on the margins in Havana. Her own inner conflicts understanding the lower
class world of her second husband, Germinal Hernandez, are played out in her film
in the fictional story of Yolanda and Mario. But the viewer cannot just enjoy
watching this love affair unfold because documentary segments with jarring
narrations interrupt the plot. These clips remind the viewer that Sara Gómez is there,
carefully piecing together her complex theories about marginality in Cuba. In the
ethnographic sections of the film where she has poor residents from the slums 'act' as
themselves, Gómez's brilliance shines. With a hand-held camera and a small film
crew, she was able to capture incredibly natural and heart-wrenching interactions
between poor families and the educational system. Yolanda, the teacher played by a
first time actress, is conflicted with these encounters. Being a marginalized
individual herself (a black woman), no doubt helped Gómez blend into this
community, but the film reveals the artificiality of this attempt. This conscious and
exposed self-reflexivity depicts Gómez's process of learning and theorizing about
life.
De Cierta Manera is the closest example of the development of a theory of
marginalization coming from within the community. Looking in particular at Mario
(Germinal), the Afro-Cuban factory worker, the film shows how marginalized
communities envision their own predicament. Through Mario's encounters at work
40
and at home, with other factory workers and his middle-class teacher/girlfriend, to
his interactions in the streets, with authorities, musicians, and Afro-Cuban religious
priests, a highly networked community is depicted, one where marginalized
individuals reflect on their actions and develop ways to explain their society.
Whereas intellectuals can convene and debate topics at a University, and the
Communist Party can deliberate over social life and programs at their congresses,
those at the margins of society are constantly theorizing about their world in their
daily interactions through repetition and continual revision of stories about
conflicting life events. It is through these exchanges within enmeshed networks that
forms of collective intelligence emerge and the marginalized communities show that
they have agency and are aware of it.
41
PART III: SOCIAL SCIENCE IN CUBA, 1980 – 2000
Oscar Lewis and Sara Gómez were both victims of contradictory national and
foreign government policies during the 1970's, known as the "African Decade", a
decade that began with a government call to control and repress the Abakua
brotherhood and ended with the Mariel exodus of 1980, where many Afro-Cubans
left the country in boats.
13
It is oddly coincidental that both intellectuals died rather
suddenly before completing their controversial projects, which focused on the impact
of the revolution on marginal individuals in Cuba. Certainly the topic and the
difficulties they had pursuing it had weighed heavy on their well-being.
From the 1980's onward, the Cuban government followed a less repressive
strategy in dealing with intellectuals who wanted to explore cultural life at the
margins of society. A new Ministry of Culture was developed with a mandate to
"manage, guide, control and implement the state's and government's cultural policy"
as well as to "defend, preserve and enrich the Cuban nation's cultural heritage"
(IFACCA 2006). The Ministry officially supported amateur and professional artists
and cultural workers and the publishing of texts about Cuba's "folk and traditional"
culture. This marked the beginning of the re-emergence of the social sciences in
Cuba. In the 1970's in Cuba (as well as in the U.S. and elsewhere) anthropologists
were considered "agents of imperialism" whose scientific knowledge only
contributed to the domination of the West over the rest. By belonging to a dominant
class, anthropologists could not understand revolutionary change (Grigulevich 1976).
42
The repressive apparatus of the Cuban government was able to shut out virtually all
social science endeavors during this decade. By the 1980's, however, the
government began to espouse a Soviet style "ethnography." They felt that a study of
different ethnic traditions would enrich and integrate the community (Bromlei 1978).
Fernando Ortiz' books were republished and Afro-Cuban culture was "rescued". In
the mid- 1980's the project of compiling a Cuban Ethnographic Atlas began. The
government essentially espoused Ortiz' agenda of selecting elements of the culture of
the disenfranchised and incorporating them into the creation of a new national
identity.
14
In spite of this renewed interest in Cuba's cultural "heritage", research
addressing the controversial effects of the revolution on various marginalized groups
and studies of ongoing social problems would not occur until the 1990's.
Anthropology as a discipline re-emerged in Cuba in the 1990's with on-going
attempts to locate a Cuban national identity (Martin 1995, de la Torre 1995, Guanche
1996a, 1996b). The Cuban researchers charged with this task were based at a few
academic institutions that were created during this decade. The Fernando Ortiz
Foundation, which opened in 1995 and is located near but independent from the
University of Havana, has an official goal of studying the life and work of Fernando
Ortiz and investigating Cuban cultural identity (Fundación Fernando Ortiz 2003).
Miguel Barnet, the creator and president of the Foundation, oversees all of the
foundation's research projects, publications, seminars, and cultural events. The Juan
Marinello Center for Research and Development of Cuban Culture opened in 1996
and also offers courses and workshops on Cuban culture and directs social research
43
projects. The Anthropology Center focuses on a study of archaeology and ethnology
and also opened around the same time.
These cultural centers, although focused on nationalist goals, often did not
have appropriate financial backing from the Cuban state. Throughout the decade,
and up until today, they have become hosts to foreign researchers who provide
monetary support in return for visas and guidance. (My own dissertation research
would not have been possible without the support of the Fernando Ortiz Foundation.)
These foreign scholars brought with them the theoretical concerns of postmodernism,
post-colonialism, feminism, etc. and were overall skeptical of the dichotomous pro-
socialist or pro-capitalist agendas of previous scholars. As indicated by Hernandez-
Reguant in a recent compilation of articles about Cuba by foreign scholars in the
Journal of Latin American Anthropology, this new wave of researchers
directed their attention to issues of representation and ideology, subjectivity
and citizenship, social difference and cultural circulation within the
framework of the new economic reforms. Their work disrupted revolutionary
silences concerning racial and sexual inequality as well as U.S. claims of
capitalist teleology, painting a nuanced picture of life on the island and
offering alternative readings of polarized historiographies (2005:300).
During the decade of the 1990's publications flourished concerning the status
of various traditionally marginalized groups of people and how they had fared as a
result of the revolutionary attempts to achieve social equality. Assessments of the
Cuban Women's Federation fight for sexual equality (Molyneux 1996) and concerns
about gender and social change emerged (Stoner and Serrano Pérez 2000, Smith and
Padula 1996 and Jennissen and Lundy 2001). Sexuality (Padula 1996, Strout 1996,
Bell 1990), prostitution (Schwartz 1997, Fusco 1998, Facio 1998, Fernández 1999),
44
and homosexuality (Leiner 1994, Lumsden 1996) during the "Special Period" were
debated. Scholars examined race and black power movements in revolutionary Cuba
(McGarrity 1992, Moore 1995, Daniel 2000, de la Fuente 2001).
Classic works on Afro-Cuban religions by Fernando Ortiz (1995 [1947]) and
Rómulo Lachatañeré (1995 [1942]) continued to be republished and some of their
unpublished manuscripts were published (Ortiz 2000). New texts on religious
traditions flourished throughout the decade (Bolivar Aróstegui 1990, Moore 1997,
Bolivar Aróstegui and González Díaz de Villegas 1998, Arce Burguera and Ferrer
Castro 1999). Many of these texts were written by or in collaboration with initiated
Afro-Cuban practitioners such as paleros, santeros, and babalawos (Millet 1993,
Güerere 1993, Fernández Robaina 1994, and Espinosa and Piñero 1997) and some
authors even signed their texts with the African names given to them during
initiation (Pedroso/Ogun Tola 1995). Whereas before the 1990s, scholars denied
their involvement in Afro-Cuban religions, after the 1990s many proudly announced
their initiation credentials and priesthood status. In spite of this influx of scholarship
on Afro-Cuban religions and specific marginalized groups in Cuba, there was a
noticeable lack of writings about the lives of the urban poor and housing problems.
Cuban researchers have even argued that "poverty" does not exist in Cuba and that
there are just "at risk" or "vulnerable" segments of the population (Ferriol Muruaga
et al. 1998).
45
PART IV: THE SOLAR: A HOME BASE FOR MY RESEARCH
I arrived in Havana in May 1999 with a desire to better understand how the
urban poor have managed to survive the economic crisis of the 1990's. Aware of
improvements in housing, education and health brought about by revolutionary
programs, in the countryside in particular, I wanted to assess the urban situation. I
knew that networks of extended families and fictive religious kin factored greatly
into survival strategies, but not how or to what extent they spread into State
institutions and private firms, nationally and internationally. A study of networks
would be the best way to understand the poor.
In order to find a base for operations, I looked at housing strategies for the
poor, which primarily fell into two categories: slums (shantytowns and squatter
settlements), which are located on the outskirts of the city and tenements (popularly
known as solares), which are physically integrated into the city. As slums are more
homogenous (concentrated poverty) and segregated from the city proper, I felt that
solares would be a better location from which to study social networking. Also,
9.4% of Havana's population lives in solares whereas only 3.3% live in slums
(Coyula and Hamberg 2003:13).
Although the city of Havana was founded in 1519 and still contains many
colonial buildings, most structures are under 100 years old. Unlike most Latin
American cities that have a few wealthy families standing out amongst a sea of poor,
Havana has always had a large lower–middle class population. As the city grew, the
46
very wealthy moved further West to the posh, beach front areas of Vedado and
Mirimar and left their mansions in the city's center which were subdivided into
tenements. With the revolution, many of the city's middle class and wealthy families
went into exile and their homes were also divided and given to low-income residents
or migrants to Havana. With the enactment of the Urban Reform Law of 1960,
anyone residing in an apartment or home automatically became the owner of the
property. Thus, many people squatted in vacant lots and became permanent
inhabitants. Today, when new apartments are built in Havana, they are given to a
mix of residents, ranging from state employees (white and blue collar) to residents of
slums and temporary shelters. As a consequence of this geographic heterogeneity of
Havana, the poor are relatively invisible. They live is solares masked by classical
facades and are embedded in, not segregated from, the social fabric of urban life.
This solar housing structure, which constitutes a very particular kind of
cultural and architectural ghetto, was established in Havana by the middle of the 19th
century. There are three types of solares in Havana known by the terms ciudadela,
cuartería, and casa de vecinidad. Ciudadelas are a single or double row of rooms
built around a narrow courtyard. They were originally used as housing for men from
rural areas who worked in Havana during the week. Cuarterías are large mansions,
hotels, or boarding houses that have been subdivided into rooms for approximately
60 families. Casa de vecinidad is a small, subdivided house with around 10 to 15
rooms. Generally not considered a solar, but rather an apartment complex, pasajes
are similar to ciudadelas in that they are a double row of dwellings, but they open to
47
the street at both ends and each unit is usually more than one room with separate
dining, bedroom, and bathrooms. The three types of solares generally consist of
single room units with shared bathrooms, showers, and courtyard and one
passageway leading to the street. Although solares usually do not have running
water and have minimal sanitary installations, they are continuously being improved
and expanded. Solares are considered improvised units, and when residents find
building materials, they add divisions in the main room, or a barbacoa which is a
loft-like structure built a few feet below the ceiling to create a short second floor.
These wood platforms are often very unsafe and hot, but they usually hold beds and
increase the privacy of residents.
In Havana, there are approximately 7,000 solares with a total of 60, 754
units. They represent three-fourths of all of the solares in Cuba. The average
household size in Havana in 1995 was 3.43 (Benítez Pérez 1999). Central Havana is
one of five municipalities with the worst housing conditions in the province of
Havana, with 40-47% of its units considered to be in poor condition (Coyula and
Hamberg 2003). The barrio of Cayo Hueso, in particular, is the most populated but
also more economically heterogeneous and the recipient of much international aid. It
is home to very upscale resources and contains the luxurious Habana Libre Hotel,
numerous tourist restaurants and nightclubs, and the well-equipped hospital
Hermanos Amejeida. The first "Neighborhood Transformation Workshops" was
piloted in Cayo Hueso in 1988. With money from international NGO's such as
OXFAM-Canada and UNICEF, the entire neighborhood was targeted for
48
rehabilitation. After a thorough inventory of the area, residents could buy
inexpensive building materials to repair their own homes and government agencies
were responsible for improvement of neighborhood infrastructure. 10,000 units were
repaired and schools, health facilities, streets and sidewalks were upgraded (Coyula
and Hamberg 2003:28). By targeting the entire neighborhood, the project hoped to
increase self-esteem and a sense of local identity. A study conducted after the
renovations indicated that, in comparison with other barrios, Cayo Hueso had less
severely damaged housing and improved health among the elderly (Spiegel et. al.
2003). According to Yassi, one of the researchers involved in the evaluation,
The area has one pivotal strength: the community itself. It’s so strong, the
social capital that exists in that community. I found myself saying at one
point: ‘I wish I brought my kids up here’. And this is an inner-city
community that’s the most crowded community in all Cuba (quoted in
Campbell 2001).
The heterogeneous nature of Cayo Hueso's population and the residents' high
degree of social capital made it an opportune place to study social networking. The
unique layout of the solar also made it a perfect place in which to analyze
surveillance and anti-surveillance techniques. I was fortunate in that during my
second week in Cuba I found a solar in Cayo Hueso, which would serve as a home
base for my research. An investigator at the Fernando Ortiz Foundation had
suggested that I interview Mercedes, an Afro-Cuban dance professor who was
working on a project to revive rumba, an Afro-Cuban musical genre, in Cayo Hueso.
I had read about rumba and it's power to bring poor people together and even
49
promote social change within the community (Daniel 1995). I had also read that
rumba was played primarily in solares:
Solares, the large houses that were divided into crowded living quarters and
where poor Cubans were forced to live, served also as meeting places to
relax, play, and dream in song, dance, and poetry. (…) From the solares,
Afro-Cubans expressed their personal successes or failures in love relations,
satirized government practices, and gradually fashioned the dance/music
complex called rumba. Poor Cubans, both dark- and light-skinned, created a
music and dance of their own… (Daniel 1995:19).
Thus, I was very excited when Mercedes suggested that we meet at Solar Madrid to
observe the filming of a rumba for a culture series on Cuban television.
15
In this
haphazard manner, I stumbled into a world of music, dance, religion, and dense
networks emanating from a poor tenement.
I attended the rumba at Solar Madrid on June 26, 1999. After the television
crew filmed the rumba performance, Mercedes introduced me to the Baro family
who had served as a host for the event. The family was very welcoming and insisted
that I return to hang out with them. Over the next few weeks I met all of the Baro
family members and explained my research agenda to them and the concept of
fieldwork. They all had prior experience working with foreigners who were
interested in investigating Afro-Cuban cultural traditions and readily accepted me
into their home. I was not able to live with them as their homes were already
overcrowded, but I resided five blocks away and visited them nearly every day for
the next year.
Solar Madrid is a typical small solar, which would fall under the category of
solares known as ciudadelas. As there has never been a poll of the three types of
50
solares described above, it is not possible to determine how typical it is of all solar
types. None of the current residents knew exactly when the solar had been
constructed. One resident said that it was a publicly owned horse stable in 1890.
Another resident denied this. It is likely, however, that the individual units were
constructed in 1915-1920 when there was an influx of migration from the
countryside to Havana. Solar Madrid had 16 one-room units housing a total of 57
people at the start of my fieldwork, although the number fluctuated weekly. There
was an average of 3.8 individuals per housing unit in the solar in comparison with an
average in Havana as a whole of 3.43.
16
There were 27 male (47.4%) and 30 female
(52.6%) residents, ranging from 1 to 83 years old. These figures are very similar to
those of the 2002 census that indicated that 48% of Havana residents were male and
52% were female (ONE 2005a). The ages of the residents broke down into the
following categories: 12 (21%) were age 0-19, 13 (23%) were age 20-29, 22 (39%)
were age 30-49, and 10 (18%) were over age 50. This roughly coincides with the
population of Cuba as a whole, which has a median age of 35 years (ONE 2005b).
Although these categories are very subjective, based on my own assessment, 51
(89%) residents were black or mestizo and 6 (11%) were white.
17
This breakdown is
quite different from figures for Cuba as a whole based on two contradictory sources.
The CIA claims that 62% of Cuba is black and "mulatto", 37% is white, and 1%
Chinese (2005). According to the latest Cuban census taken in 2002, 35% of the
population was identified as black ("negra") or mulatto ("mestiza") and 65% of the
population was identified as white (ONE 2005a).
51
Residents in Solar Madrid held occupations in a wide variety of sectors.
Twelve (21%) of the residents were infants/toddlers or school-age. Eight (14%) of
the residents were retired. The remaining thirty-seven (65%) individuals were able
workers. Of these 37 working age residents, twelve (32%) were unemployed and 25
(68%) held a wide variety of jobs. Six residents (16%) were state employees (bus
driver, police officer, electrician). One resident (3%) worked at a state-approved
cooperative (agriculture merchant). One resident (3%) worked at a private mixed
enterprise (manicurist for a hotel). Nine residents (24%) worked at private legal or
semi-legal enterprises (manicurist, raising pigs, bicycle taxi, santera). Fourteen
residents (38%) held illegal jobs (black market exchange of stolen goods,
prostitution, drug dealing). Many of the residents held jobs in several of these
sectors at once and were therefore counted twice in the figures above. The Cuban
census does not list unemployed individuals or those involved in illegal or semi-legal
activities so it is very difficult to determine if Solar Madrid is representative of the
population.
Having visited several solares in Cayo Hueso, I would say that the age,
gender, and occupations of the inhabitants of Solar Madrid are similar to those in
other solares. Most other solares in the area are larger, double layered structures
with more units and more occupants. Solar Madrid had a medium sized courtyard,
in comparison to some solares where residents have added extensions to their homes,
which protruded into the central public space. As many of the other solares in the
area were larger, their courtyards were also more spacious. Nonetheless, due to
52
these considerable generalizations, I would suggest that the residents of Solar
Madrid and their daily social interactions are similar in nature to that of other solares
in Havana.
I thus embarked on a study of social networking, survival strategies, and
surveillance techniques using Solar Madrid as my home base and central point. My
visits with the Baro family members living in the Solar Madrid and travels with
them around the neighborhood allowed me to map out their net of interactions and
spatial terrain (Chapter 3). A close examination of religious celebrations highlighted
the ultimate value of hybrid networks and surveillance strategies (Chapter 4). Using
the solar as a base for my research provided a vantage point from which to better
understand the complex syncretic world of the poor.
53
CHAPTER 2 ENDNOTES
1
For a thorough discussion of substandard housing (tenements, slums, improvised units,
shantytowns, etc.) in Havana see Coyula and Hamberg, 2003. This report for the UN
Development Planning Unit (DPU) provides a detailed description and history of
substandard housing units and their occupants, and housing programs and policies, focusing
on the decade of the 1990's.
2
Mr. X and his family left Havana in 1980, as a result of the 1977 agreement between Castro
and President Carter regarding the release and subsequent exodus of many Cuban political
prisoners. Ruth M. Lewis had sent several letters on his behalf to the United States
government, and she visited the X family once they arrive in Florida (Rigdon 1988: 167-
172).
3
Information about Sara Gómez's personal life is taken from an interview with her son,
Alfredo R. Hernandez Goméz, on 04/24/2004 and from the documentary film, ¿Donde Esta
Sara Gomez? by Alessandro Müller.
4
I would suggest that the best way to read this film is, as Chanan has, as an excellent
example of syncretism (2004). Many critics see this piece as a film about gender
(McGillivray 1998, Reid 1991) or race (Ebrahim 1998). I believe that it is a syncretic
depiction of life on the margins, that cannot be reduced to any essential category, but rather
shows the complexity of life in a certain way.
5
“En la Habana, en estos momentos, una amplia zona de solares y cuarterías se transforma.
Se destruye y se remodela el viejo barrio de Cayo Hueso.”
6
“Pero durante estos años la revolución no ha dejado de actuar contra todo resto de cultura
marginal. En 1961 se construyeron cinco repartos nuevos para alojar a los vecinos del
desaparecido barrio insalubre de Las Yaguas. (…) todo es parte del cambio habitacional
dentro de una estudiada estrategia de integración. Paralelamente a la educación, cada día más
íntimamente ligada al trabajo, constituye nuestra arma principal."
7
“Después del triunfo de la revolución no existe en Cuba sector marginal alguno”
8
“Pero la cultura que vive en los planos más profundos de la conciencia en forma de hábitos,
costumbres, creencias, normas, valores, puede mantener una tenaz resistencia a los cambios
sociales.”
9
“Por eso, aún después de haber sido radicalmente transformadas las condiciones que dieron
lugar al marginalismo, nosotros, en estos mismos repartos podemos todavía estudiar la
cultura del sector que en ellas se formó”
10
“Desplazados del proceso de producción, su bajo nivel educacional y su dependencia de
las tradiciones orales, hicieron que los marginales fueran los más activos conservadores de la
cultura tradicional”.
54
11
“La falta de una experiencia concreta de trabajo habitual y de una práctica sindical y
política, hizo que el antiguo sector marginal de la sociedad cubana arribase a las
posibilidades laborales dentro de la revolución sin un desarrollo de la conciencia como para
que sus intereses vitales y motivaciones estuvieran situados dentro del marco del trabajo”
12
“Frente a los intereses sociales y políticos de la época, a veces podemos percibir cierta
inercia y desinterés en el hombre de antigua procedencia marginal, lo que explica la
permanencia de algunas actitudes antisociales dentro de la revolución”.
13
See "Black Cuba in the "African Decade", Chapter 19 of Carlos Moore's Castro, The
Black, and Africa (1988) for a detailed outline of government policies during the 1970's
within Cuba as well as the country's interventions in Africa which shaped the way race was
understood or ignored in Cuba. This controversial book outlines the harsh consequences of
the revolutionary government's policies of systematically denying that racism exists in Cuba.
Moore describes how all Afro-Cuban religions were repressed by the government in the
1960's, causing them to go further underground. As this tactic made it harder to control the
practices, the government changed their policies and in the 1970's chose to only openly
repress the Abakua sect, which was considered a focus of "criminality and juvenile
delinquency" (Moore 1988: 102 and 304). The "Mariel Boatlift" or "Mariel Exodus" is
named as such because in a period of 7 months in 1980, 125,000 Cubans left the country in
boats from the Mariel harbor. Although leaving Cuba as political refugees, Fidel Castro
reported that they were "delinquents, criminals, homosexuals, the mentally ill, and social
undesirables" (Hufker and Cavender, 1990). As a group, the Mariel immigrants had lower
incomes and were "darker" than the Cuban immigrants who arrived in the 1960's. For more
on race and adaptation of these immigrants in Florida see Skop (2001) and Portes, Stepick
and Truelove (1986).
14
As an unintended consequence of the new availability of these texts, religious priests
incorporated Fernando Ortiz into their religious practices and theories.
15
For a detailed description of this event see Chapter 4.
16
In estimating these figures, I did not count the one unit in the middle of the solar, which is
the size of a closet and only recently became the home for one resident.
17
As indicated in footnote 1 of Chapter 1, race is a very elusive category.
55
CHAPTER 3: SPACE, FAMILY, AND HOUSEHOLD ECONOMY IN THE
SOLAR
For more than a century, urban marginality in Cuba has been associated with
the solar. Solar residents are predominantly Afro-Cuban women and their children
who survive literally at the margins of the socialist sphere, through an intricate web
of religious, “criminal,” and ethnic solidarity, in flagrant contradiction with the so
called “principles of the Revolution”. At various moments in Cuba’s history, the
government has tried to eradicate the solar and “better incorporate” its occupants
into mainstream society. This stemmed partly from a belief that the inhabitants’
behaviors and mere presence would contradict the “pure” goals of the nation.
In this stressful atmosphere, the family plays a central role as a productive
and reproductive unit. Collective survival strategies are strongly linked to family
commitment and kinship solidarity. Basic needs are fulfilled through the mutual
exploitation of filial networks, and the idea of (individual) economic independence is
overwhelmingly absent. Personal success depends upon the extension and depth of
kin-like connections. The logic of daily life is intertwined in a web of mutual
commitments. Asymmetries in the distribution of “personal” wealth are reduced
through a complicated system of small services and “gift” exchanges. Currents of
positive and negative feelings heavily influence economic relations among members
of the same kin. Relatives receive preferential treatment as clients of all small
“family businesses”. As a consequence of the high unemployment and
underemployment rates, only a few lucky ones make enough money to survive, and
56
are usually drained of any “extra” resources by sharing them with other family
members. Sometimes an entire household economy depends upon the stable income
of one individual. Since many of these “wealthy” people are usually involved in
illicit activities, their own survival and success also depends upon familial and
communal complicity. The cohesion of the group is not only a matter of moral
value, but economic value as well. For these reasons, trading services and sharing
things constitute the main elements that keep the family together in the solar.
The implications of theories developed around the idea of the built
environment as a social construction are discussed in the first section of this chapter.
In the solar, the home is not only a privileged place in which family values are
reproduced and household decisions are made, but it is also the basic unit of spatial
organization at the community level. Many interfamily relations can be explored
through an analysis of the symbolic role of dwelling in the construction of the
physical borders between private and public realms. This analysis includes
historical, political and social dimensions related to the development of building
techniques, architectonic principles and informal strategies of the usage of space.
Continuous negotiation is the key to efficiency in the collective exploitation of the
central shared space in the solar. Here, the “economic value of the family” plays an
important role. In the second section of this chapter, I will try to explain how some
theoretical insights into the relationships between domestic economy and household
organization can be used to understand the meaning of the family as a productive
unit. Some scholars have portrayed informal market strategies based upon family
57
commitment as a cultural source of economic inefficiency, where as others have
considered filial solidarity a key element in explaining the financial and social
success of certain family business formulas. In the solar, where surviving is of
ultimate importance, the positive value of kinship networks is unquestionable.
Working together, these networks constitute an alternative web of social, economic
and micro-political pathways, whose analysis forms the nucleus of my dissertation.
The third section of this chapter looks in depth at the complex network of the
members of the Baro family and the spaces they occupy.
58
PART 1: THE PLACE OF THE FAMILY IN THE SOLAR:
UNDERSTANDING THE BUILT ENVIRONMENT
Buildings, indeed, the entire built environment, are essentially social and
cultural products. Buildings result from social needs and accommodate a
variety of functions – economic, social, political, religious and cultural. Their
size, appearance, location and form are governed not simply by physical
factors (climate materials or topography) but by a society’s ideas, its forms of
economic and social organization, its distribution of resources and authority,
its activities and the beliefs and values which prevail at any one period of
time.
Anthony D. King (1980:193)
Solar Madrid, which is located in the Cayo Hueso neighborhood, a few blocks from
the famous Habana Libre Hotel, could be considered an emblematic example the
solar housing design known as ciudadela. The entrance looks like a door to a house,
providing a facade of normalcy (Figure 5). Once inside, the 16 units are organized
in a rectangle, facing a central courtyard (Figure 6). The shared area in the middle
has places to wash and hang clothes, several drains used to dump dirty water and a
small outhouse with two public toilets (Figure 7). Each apartment has a few tanks of
water, in the front or on the roof, which are filled twice a week from a pipe truck
provided by the government (Photo 8). The door to every unit generally remains
open to circulate air. An average of 4 people live in each apartment and all but one
of the families are of Afro-Cuban descent. Most of the apartments consist of one
medium sized room divided by a barbacoa or second floor balcony, which is built
into the first floor (Figure 9). The balcony generally has beds and the first floor
room consists of a kitchen, dining area, television, and at least one bed. Many of the
59
apartments now have a bathroom, but some of the tenants have a bucket for a toilet
to avoid using the public bathrooms in the middle of the solar. Because of the heat
and cramped living conditions, residents spend much of their day outside. Visitors
arrive at all hours: friends, tourists, manicure clients, or door-to-door salespeople,
mostly offering black market items.
Figure 5: Entrance to the Solar
60
Drain
Separate
Apartment
Separate Apartment
16
1
6
15
14
13
2
3
4
5
7 8
9
10
11
12
Main
Street
Figure 6: Layout of Solar Madrid and its 16 Apartments
61
Figure 7: Central Courtyard of the Solar
Figure 8: Water Tanks Figure 9: Barbacoa, 2
nd
Floor of Apartment
62
The process of social and cultural production of the solar as a built
environment should be the first dimension of any analysis of family-space dynamics
in this context. There is an abundant literature associated with the anthropology of
domestic spatial forms, regarding their relation to household composition, power
distribution, or family values. Carol Stack's ground-breaking ethnography, All Our
Kin, discusses survival strategies of African-American families in the south (1974).
She looked at "domestic networks" that extended throughout several households,
which had a constant fluctuation of residents. Family members moved around to
different households but still maintained their networks. In particular, child-rearing
responsibilities were shared and children were often raised in households other than
their own nuclear family, questioning its assumption as a traditional family form.
Extended families devised resilient responses to chronic poverty and unemployment,
which centered around exchanges between different households. These households
would join forces for food preparation and consumption, caring for children, the sick
and the elderly, and for the exchange of scarce household objects.
In a similar manner, the Baro family also had elastic household boundaries
and the 35 members and resources constantly shifted amongst 14 households. For
example, one washing machine was carted six blocks from its owner to two other
households every week. The purchase of food, especially the State-subsidized food,
and meal preparation always involved more than one household. In comparison to
the Flats of Jackson Harbor described by Stack, however, the solar space allows
several families to live in separate units yet sharing a courtyard. This close
63
proximity to extended kin facilitated exchanges and reduced transportation costs,
which were quite high for the residents of the Flats. The solar layout also facilitates
exchanges with non-kin families and the Baros had daily interactions with nearly all
of the 12 unrelated families living in the solar. Baro family members lived in 4
solares within a 6-block area. Frequent visits to all of these solares insured that the
family personally knew nearly 100 non-kin related family households. Although not
close friends with all of these families, knowledge of the residents' age, occupations,
and overall interests was an asset when considering economic or religious
exchanges.
Many architects have also contributed to studies of domestic space by
exploring non-Western forms of housing in their pursuit of alternative sources of
inspiration.
1
The analysis of housing design as a symbolic representation of deep-set
cultural structures has developed into an entire sub-field of anthropology. From
comparative architectural studies to discussions on symbolic power and domestic
organization, the role of the house as a nucleus for familial and communal life has
been a central element in any major theory of micro-socialization since the 1970s.
2
The gender dimensions of housing have also been explored from the perspective of
female sexual development (Hirschon 1981) and general life cycle progression
(Tobert 1989). Cross-cultural studies of sexual segregation as reflected in the
physical structure of the house, reviewed by Pellow (1988), constitute an entire sub-
field of its own. Trying to go beyond the limits of traditional structuralism, Moore
(1986) presented an alternative approach to the logic of space design, by considering
64
the built environment a “socially written text”. However, the multiplicity of
functions inherent in structural elements of a house, as compared to the “purely
expressive” role of linguistic signs, constitutes a serious obstacle to the application of
the model of human language in any analysis of the built form.
In trying to understand the symbolic role of the dwelling form, other scholars
approached the problem from the perspective of ritual theory. Strongly influenced by
the paradigms of phenomenology, the works of Richardson (1980, 1982) provide an
alternative explanation to the symbolic role of the built environment as a stage for
social representations in which reality is performed and constructed at the same
time.
3
In general, by insisting on an analysis of domestic and public buildings as
cultural symbols or social metaphors, anthropologists since Levi-Strauss have
opened a wide path toward a more dynamic understanding of human space.
Since the late 1960s, many well-known scholars have been discussing issues
related to the political economy of space as an expression of macro-ideological
trends in the history of the modern world. These concepts are now of central
importance in the social sciences. The influential books of Michel Foucault (1970
and 1975) on the evolution of discipline technologies, linked bodies and power by
means of the spatial logic of particular buildings designed to maximize social
surveillance. Anthony Giddens (1976 and 1979) explained the social reproduction
of collective values through everyday actions based on individual agency and solidly
grounded in spatial relations. He was interested in how macro changes, such as the
French Revolution or Industrial Revolution, affected simple daily practices. His
65
approach provided useful connections between the micro-analytical dimensions of
human behavior and larger trends of social “structuration” (Giddens 1984). Pierre
Bourdieu (1977) also discussed the influence of individual agency in space
reconfiguration through daily practices. He even applied some of these ideas to the
specific study of dwelling forms (Bourdieu 1971), clarifying many theoretical issues
and inspiring a very welcome renovation in the field.
By assuming that the built environment is a dynamic result of social
construction processes, anthropologists are now able to provide a more
comprehensive framework to ongoing discussions of the meaning of domestic space.
First and foremost, this idea opens a window to the past, encouraging the use of
social history tools to better understand the evolution of dwelling through time as an
expression of the changes in the value system of society. Several studies conducted
by Paul Rabinow (1982, 1989a, and 1989b) on the politics of French colonial urban
planning are among the most intelligent (and critical) applications of Foucaultian
paradigms to a non-European environment.
4
Most of the studies reviewed above are directly relevant to an analysis of the
data I gathered in Havana. From an historic point of view, two distinctive processes
of social construction can be isolated in a study of the evolution of the Cuban solar
as a built environment beginning in the colonial period. Originally this form of
housing was a result of successive divisions of a main building, or casa solariega
(Figure 10). Turning an old family house into several independent rooms for renting
purposes has been part of the solution for urban growth in Havana since the
66
seventeenth century. The pressures generated by huge seasonal fluctuations of the
urban population, due to the annual presence of the Spanish Treasure Fleet (Flota)
in the harbor, created a demand for semi-permanent housing solutions in a city
lacking any real hospitality infrastructure. As a result of a chronic housing shortage,
rent has always been relatively high in Havana, stimulating spatial improvisations
among homeowners and informal subletting formulas among the tenants.
Throughout the nineteenth century, the population growth of Havana outpaced that
of the available housing units (Arriaga Mesa and Delgado Valdés 1995). Up to a
certain degree, the evolution of the solar can be understood as a result of market
forces. Its particular architectural and social logic, however, was shaped by several
other factors and should not be considered a mere result of economic or
demographic pressures.
Figure 10: A Solar in Havana in 1914 (photo reproduced from Enrique Núñez'
Vivienda de Pobres en la Habana)
67
The influence of plantation slavery on the political and social culture of
colonial Cuba has been explored extensively in the last three decades. As an
important ingredient in the plantation formula, Cuban slave owners designed a very
unique housing structure, a prison-like kind of building called a barracon where the
slaves were locked during the night (Pérez 1975). As described in many original
reports (Fraginals 1978), the physical layout of the barracon after the 1830s was
very similar to a stylized blueprint of the 20
th
century solar (Figure 11). There are
obvious connections between the barracon design and several other panoptic
arrangements developed in modern Europe at that time. Through his classic
discussion of the ideological genealogy of architectonic devices of social control,
Foucault (1975) has shown how similarities in the layout of hospitals, workshops,
prisons and schools echo a deep concern with discipline of the body and social
regulation of public space. It would be relatively easy to trace the connections
between Cuban barracon owners and European hospital-prison designers in the 19
th
century. But a much greater research effort is required in order to establish a clear
link between the barracon and the solar as similar “order utopias” in the evolution
of the multiethnic Cuban society. Ex-slaves turned the solar into an ambiguous
combination of prison and fortress with their ability to re-appropriate space and
recycle power. An important sector of the urban Afro-Cuban community has been
historically confined to the solar as a result of discriminatory policies, but at the
same time, this community has found a particular source of “protection” in the
secluded space. Today, for example, it is very hard to define the symbolic role of
68
the external walls of the solar. Are these walls there to contain the “dangerous
bodies” of its poor inhabitants, or to limit the entry of repressive forces? In order to
answer these questions, a more comprehensive discussion of the social meaning of
public and private space will to be carried out.
Figure 11: A Solar on San Lázaro Avenue in Cayo Hueso in 1914 (photo reproduced
from Enrique Núñez' Vivienda de Pobres en la Habana)
A combination of symbolic approaches is useful to clarify some of the most
intriguing aspects of daily life in a Cuban solar. For example, in many of the
apartments that I visited, the distribution of internal space could be considered
“female oriented”. The main door opens right into the kitchen area, providing not
only sunlight and ventilation, but also an opportunity to see and be seen. Cooking is
one of the most important daily routines among the women-headed families living in
Solar Madrid, and the prominent position of the kitchen provides a public assertion
of domestic efficiency and economic solvency, through which women can confirm
69
their role as food (life) providers. While peeling garlic or potatoes by the kitchen
(main) door, they also have privileged access to whatever is going on in the central
yard. Women perform these little acts of domestic power practically in front of each
other, under a constant flow of mutual evaluation that somehow “certifies” the
normalcy of their lives. This particular distribution of space could be related to
“collective surveillance” practices, but also to symbolic ways of legitimizing the
hierarchical position of women as heads of their families, as providers of security
and protection, and as carriers of a very particular kind of “outdoor” knowledge. To
better understand this symbolic role of dwelling organization and design, the built
forms should be considered simultaneously socially meaningful and socially
produced.
70
PART II: THE VALUE OF THE FAMILY: HOUSEHOLD STRATEGIES AND
DOMESTIC ECONOMY
Diverse economic experiences in different cultural contexts lead to
divergent family forms, different family relations, and varied family
commitments, both between societies and within them, as well as over
time. These commitments can influence human actions in ways that
impact broad political and economic developments.
Gerald W. Creed (2000:330)
Recent theoretical developments in the growing sub-field of kinship and
household economic studies open a very promising path toward an analysis of family
dynamics in the Cuban solar. The role of the “ideal family” (white, middle-class,
biparental and stable) as nuclear source for the reproduction of mainstream values
has been seriously questioned not only from ethnographic or historic perspectives
that provide evidence of equally valid alternative models among exotic or ancient
cultures, but also from the study of non-conventional forms of familial structure
“back home” and in the present. Since the eighties, there has been an increasing
interest in the discussion of alternative family organization in the context of the
Western world that has been triggered by political, social and technological changes
that have affected biological reproduction, interpersonal communication and the
legal environment. Issues like gay and lesbian parenting-marriage arrangements
(Weston 1991, Lewin 1993 and Stiers 1999), adoption of children (Modell 1994),
and the proliferation of alternative reproduction procedures through “artificial”
fertilization involving egg or sperm donations (Hayden 1995), are provoking a
dramatic epistemic turn in the study of kinship and family. Less spectacular but
71
more widespread social trends associated with the liberation of women, the
increasing divorce rate, the redefinition of gender roles and the transformation of
household economy, also contributed to a serious reformulation of basic paradigms
in anthropology and sociology that could be traced back to the sixties (Bender 1967,
Yanagisako 1979).
The relationships between household economy, family structure and the
development of capitalism have been extensively explored from two divergent
perspectives. On one side, some scholars have insisted that the existence of strong
cooperative values based upon solidarity and filial commitment constituted an
obstacle to economic growth by limiting individual competition and efficiency “in
the name of the family” (Wolf and Hanley 1985). This deterministic approach has
been criticized for oversimplifying the dynamics of daily familial interactions and
for providing a Manichean representation of the household economy in accord with
so called “modernization theory”. On the other hand, Laslett (1972) insisted on the
unlimited flexibility of the family, whose organization and values are radically
shaped by socioeconomic contingencies. From his point of view, family values are
merely expressions of the economic and social context, and the interactions between
household members do not have economic value per se. Many anthropologists and
sociologists trained in Marxist theory have received this materialistic approach with
enthusiasm, and have conducted studies of domestic adaptation to major economic
trends (Smith, Wallerstein and Evers 1984, Maclachlan 1987, Casey 1989).
However, economic determinism is similar to cultural determinism in that both
72
provide insufficient pictures of the complex interaction between family values and
domestic economy (Goody 1996). Any deterministic approach results in radical
oversimplifications, limiting the analytical potential of the model by predefining
which of the two variables has a dominant role.
This artificial opposition of “economic” and “cultural” forces echoed old
discussions on the Marxist relation between “base and superstructure” or even older
debates on the role of moral versus political economies. Only by explaining the
mutual influence of family values and domestic economy through a more flexible
model could it be possible to provide a dialectic solution to these conflicts. Many
scholars since the eighties have been working in that direction. As outlined by Creed
(2000), these efforts included serious theoretical discussions and large amounts of
ethnographic and socio-historical research in the field. In order to move from the
previous dichotomist models into a more comprehensive and dynamic framework,
some scholars involved in the study of the “culture of domestic economies” started
paying attention to family dynamics as a process, instead of focusing on “family
values” as a result. This methodological reorientation evolved into an authentic
epistemic turn. By rediscovering family history and reinventing economic
efficiency, a handful of social scientists opened a promising avenue to future
developments in the field of household studies.
Family values are related to economic development in intricate ways that
cannot be considered deterministic in any sense. Evidence provided by social
historians reinforce the idea that family objectives and strategies, rather than
73
individual goals, contribute to shape the supply and demand forces in early stages of
capitalist development in Europe (Davidoff and Hall 1987, Seccombe 1993). At the
same time, international contingencies, natural disasters and technological changes
altered the market balance, and families adjusted their strategies or redefined their
goals to fit into new economic circumstances (Creighton 1996). For example, as a
result of technological transformations and market pressures, women were
incorporated into the wage earning working force in nineteenth-century factories in
England. This development produced a conceptual revolution in terms of family
values and household economic strategies. For many working-class families, this
was considered a period of crisis not only because of the threat that this new
mobility of women posed to the male order of things, but also because of the
potential effect of any supply excess in the Malthusian labor markets at the time. As
a result of these conflicts, not only was the balance of power inside the household
reshaped, but the strategic design of domestic economies and the whole logic of the
labor market were also transformed (Humphries 1990). Many social historians
studied these mutual interactions of cultural and economic trends in other European
contexts (Sabean 1990, Pedersen 1995) and in North America (Ryan 1981, McMurry
1995). The evidence collected suggests that it is probably impossible to produce a
single explanatory model that includes all of the variables involved in these
interactions, but at least it is clear that the complex nature of household dynamics
calls for a serious reassessment of any simplistic cause-effect link between family
values and domestic economy.
74
Following a more direct approach, some historians tried to reconstruct the
process through which economic changes are “translated” into a certain kind of
family-values discourse. Burgiere et al (1996) compiled a collection of essays on
family history oriented in this general direction. In his ambitious study of family
dynamics since the middle ages, Gillis (1996) connected economic and household
cycles using a transnational perspective that provided a useful framework for further
discussions on the construction of values. The results of such broad academic
exercises are undoubtedly biased by the magnitude of their temporal and spatial
scope. However, by relating changes in the logic of the family world with certain
macroeconomic oscillations that affected the Atlantic circuits of production and
distribution of slaves and other “goods”, Gillis opened a whole new area of
discussion on the formulation of household strategies. It will be possible now to
move ahead in this direction through concrete case studies, trying to link
transformations in family discourse with the short-term rhetoric of “economic
progress”. This micro-historical approach could be particularly useful in elucidating
the evolution of matrifocality in the Cuban solar since the nineteenth century. It
would probably not be possible to understand the complex interplay of these
variables by relying solely on contemporary data.
As Creed (2000) has pointed out, it could be productive to redirect the
ongoing analysis of the relation between domestic economy and family values
toward a systematic evaluation of the “economic value of the family”. Far more
than a mere word game, this idea enlightens the theoretical developments to come.
75
Assuming that family commitment and kin solidarity are based on a process of
flexible cultural selection among alternative arrangements (Harris 1981) instead of
being a result of “irrational feelings” or immobile traditions, social scientists would
be in a better position to build a model of the relation between familial strategies and
market economy based on dynamic mutual adjustments. This model would go far
beyond cultural or economic determinism, by presenting family values as plastic and
the result of historically limited arrangements that generate a wide spectrum of
possible household strategies.
The adaptation of domestic economies to general market pressures is only
one side of the problem. The process of household decision-making affects both the
supply and the demand ends of the market balance. Such a model is basically a
result of considering the household and not the individual as the basic unit of
economic agency. The immediate consequences of placing household strategies at
the core of economic decision-making processes are directly relevant to cultural
studies of kinship. The productive role of the family is definitely influenced by the
predominant beliefs about what types of interactions among household members are
possible (and preferable) in every concrete set of circumstances. If the possible
decisions seem to be historically limited as a result of budgetary or legal constraints,
the preferences are also restricted from a cultural-moral point of view. Between the
limits imposed by the written laws and the unwritten rules of “good” social behavior,
household strategies constitute a very particular realm, subject to restrictions but
open to evolution and change.
76
In the traditional microeconomic literature, the household constitutes a unit
for analysis of consumption decisions. Since the fifties, it has been obvious that
many consumers organize their priorities around budgetary discussions at the family
level. Only recently, some scholars started paying attention to the role of the family
on the supply side of the market (Netting 1993). The growing importance of the
small family business as a component of formal and informal economies justifies the
renewed interest of sociologists and economists in this particular area. Barlett (1993)
studied the “family farm” in the U.S. as a canonical example of organization based
upon kin ties that become more efficient and resilient by using “obsolete” managerial
styles and hiring strategies, in apparent contradiction with external market pressures.
This approach receives social and political support precisely because of the
perceived “value” of the kind of relations involved. Even after considering that the
use of kin labor sometimes implied the exploitation of women and children (O’Hara
1998), a nostalgic perception of the “traditional American type of family”
magisterially deconstructed by Coontz (1992) fueled the political legitimacy and
economic success of the family farm. At least in this case, the “value of the family”
constituted a marketable commodity.
In other contexts, the “family farm” formula has also been successful. The
small coffee producers in Costa Rica work under a similar type of kin based
organization. As studied by Sick (1999), this model becomes successful through a
creative use of income diversification strategies based on migration and educational
development of the youngest generations. Family commitment is apparently the
77
only link that keeps this fragile system from falling apart. Traditionalism is here a
“value” that contributes to sustain a modern version of the family farm. The analysis
of domestic rural economy in developing countries has also been carried out from an
ecological perspective. Netting (1993) associated the “value” of the small household
as a production unit with the cultural and environmental sustainability of intensive
agriculture formulas based upon traditional kin relationships. A combination of
ecological paradigms, ethnographic techniques and microeconomic reasoning has
proven to be particularly useful to understand household strategies and resource
management in poor rural communities of Colombia (Gudeman and Rivera 1990),
Belize (Wilk 1991), and Kenya (Hakansson 1994).
The value of kinship relations as a source of managerial innovation in
contemporary Japan has been commonplace in economic literature since the
aggressive presence of this nation in world trade made it obvious. By organizing the
firm as a family and encouraging workers commitment to collective outcome and
quality, Japanese business strategists not only reproduced ancestral traditions, but
also created a new management style that was exported as a novelty to other
developed countries. Of course, the export value of such exotic alternatives of
productive organization based on real or fictive kin ties is still measured in the
simplistic terms of economic success. From the anthropological point of view the
picture is more complicated, and a multidimensional evaluation of the long-term
consequences of marketing kinship is still unclear. For example, Kondo’s (1990)
study of the Japanese workplace is structured around the roles of gender and power
78
relations in the development of business management ideals through specific forms
of kin rhetoric. Her concern with inequality in a context of hierarchical familial
arrangements introduced a completely new perspective to the discussion of the
productive and reproductive function of kinship and family.
The impact of kinship culture on macroeconomic development has been
seriously reassessed in the nineties. Rothstein and Blim (1992) provided a useful
compilation of essays dealing with the anthropological dimensions of contemporary
industrialization processes. The contributions of Bruun (1993) and Farquhar (1994)
to the study of family centered entrepreneurial activity in socialist China after the
market-oriented reforms showed the impact of kinship prestige on the creation of
clientele networks. Old and well-respected families proved to be especially
successful in the new market context, and families, instead of individuals, seemed to
be the “engine” of the spectacular Chinese economic growth of recent years. Oxfeld
(1993) complemented these results through an analysis of family business among
Chinese immigrants in Calcutta.
The links between social structure, kinship and family have been explored in
the Caribbean region from anthropological and sociological perspectives. At this
point, the imprecise limits of both disciplines impede an authentic methodological
demarcation of the subjects. The complexity of the problems discussed and the
immense volume of literature accumulated, create an epistemological maze, which is
very difficult to surmount. Several bibliographies, anthologies, and systematic
reviews have been compiled (R. Price 1970, Rawlins 1987, Stuart 1985). It is
79
precisely the “unusual” role of the woman as “head of the family” in the Caribbean
that converts this theme into an authentic challenge, for traditional anthropology, as
well as for radical feminism or cultural studies.
Edith Clarke, an anthropologist trained in Great Britain, began an analytic
tradition of questioning the dichotomy between private woman and public man after
several years of social work experience in Jamaica. Her contributions to the study of
gender roles and family organization were based in a solid historical background,
and intimately tied to discussions of land tenure, marriage, sexuality and
reproduction, household typology and kinship structure (Clarke 1957). Her
combination of certain paradigms, coming from British structural-functionalism, and
some principles from the cultural ecology approach, from the Columbia school of
area studies, resulted in an intelligent piece of scholarship. The relevance of this
analysis was immediately recognized and it became a methodological model for
forthcoming efforts.
Practically at the same time, Raymond T. Smith published an influential book
on kinship and family in Guyana (1956). His training years in Cambridge under
Meyer Fortes, a specialist on the dynamics of the African family, determined the
original focus of Smith’s research on household cycles. But successive course work
at the University of the West Indies (Jamaica) allowed him to get involved in the
renovated wave of socio-historical revisionism coming from the “colonial”
peripheries in the 1950’s. Both Fortes (1949) and R. T. Smith’s (1956) studies on
kinship organization have been criticized for mechanically connecting individual life
80
cycles with changes in the household organization, and for their lack of historical
background. However, Smith’s influence among his colleagues was definitely
strong. He coined the term “matrifocal family” to emphasize the role of women in
the Caribbean region (R. T. Smith 1973). His efforts to go beyond schemes about
the “pathological condition” of the Afro American family, without falling to the
temptation of explaining every single aspect of the kinship structure based on
African influences, should be considered one of the best attempts at overcoming the
Frazier-Herskovits debate.
5
In a recent revision of his previous ideas, R. T. Smith
(1996) made a heroic attempt to synthesize the debates on pluralism, matrifocality
and race relations, by emphasizing the impact of class and race on the male role.
Under the influence of R.T. Smith, Nancie L. González wrote a series of
articles and books as a result of extensive fieldwork carried out among the Garifuna
of Belize. Her ideas on the role of the consanguineal household (González 1960,
1969), and her redefinitions of matrifocality (1970, 1984), together with original
research on sex preference patterns (1979) and the social meaning of family wealth
in Central America (1983), gave González an indisputable leadership in the field.
Peter Wilson (1969, 1973) moved in another direction, with an original proposal
based on the relationship between gender roles and social prestige that stimulated
further studies on the politics of machismo. It is not easy to sum up the lines of
investigation that opened after these pioneering studies. James Allman reviewed
some of the methodological implications of these studies in his introduction to an
interesting discussion on conjugal unions in Haiti (1985).
81
More recently, issues related with power, kinship, and social hierarchies have
been analyzed from historical to more contemporary perspectives. An article by Jack
Alexander (1984), another one of R. T. Smith’s students, deals with the influence of
power disparity and renegotiation of racial boundaries on sexual relations between
masters and slaves. In this sub-field, a monograph by Verena Martínez-Alier (1974)
set the standard for any future discussions. Her treatment of social inequality as an
important element in the social construction of sexual values, and her insights on the
relation between a colonial legal environment and gender issues, initiated an entire
line of research. Studies by Barrow (1986ab), on the role of the female as portrayed
in male representations, and by Lazarus-Black (1991), on the relation between
kinship ideology and law, are examples of a renovated interest in studies of social
hierarchy and gender in the Caribbean. Coming from a strong agenda of militant
feminism and postcolonial studies, M. Jacqui Alexander (1991) discusses how sexual
behavior is normalized through hegemonic discourse on “morality” in contemporary
Trinidad and Tobago.
Hilary Beckles, a social historian from Barbados, has reconstructed the
gender discourses in Caribbean slave societies as a result of twenty years of serious
research. Educated in Great Britain and engaged at the same time in social research
and political activism, Beckles published several articles on the articulation between
gender, race and class in the market world of the slave mode of production. In a
recent monograph, he condensed the results of those studies, reviewing the
contributions of other scholars in the area (Beckles 1999). From the initial efforts of
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Martínez-Alier to the programmatic ideas of Bariteau (1992), militant gender issues
have been central in the feminist history of slavery. After Beckles, the myth of the
“black-poor-rebel-woman” as a hero of the active resistance against male-white-
capitalist oppression should be questioned, in order to include other key dimensions
of daily life, and other strategies of class mobility during the slavery period.
Debates about the causes and consequences of matrifocality in the Caribbean
have questioned whether or not this mother-centered household structure crossed
class and race divisions. In a recent analysis of matrifocality in Cuba, Safa claims
that mother-centered households grew in Cuba after the Revolution, in spite of
attempts by the State to encourage marriage and the nuclear family model (2005).
Although legal marriage has always been a sign of 'whitening' in Cuba, attempts by
the State to create class and race equality, along with an increase of working women,
has resulted in an increase of consensual unions. Safa finds that an increase in
women in the labor force leads to changes in the family structure via marital conflict
and an increased reliance on consanguineal kinship ties among women (1995). She
strives to remove the negative connotations of matrifocality and focus on financial
and emotional support that women receive from links to multiple kin as opposed to
relying on one spouse.
The possibility of using the “value of the family” framework in a socialist
context is particularly relevant for my own research. The Cuban solar, albeit
marginal, is still part of a self-proclaimed socialist array of legal and economic
variables. From my point of view, any analysis based on household economy is
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particularly important among the poor Afro-Cuban women-headed families living in
the solar. For them, kin related connections, extended family arrangements and
fictive kinship liaisons, are the major components of daily survival networks. Living
in the solar is, up to a certain point, surviving through connections based on family
centered commitments.
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PART III: FAMILIES IN THE SOLAR: THE BARO FAMILY
The economic strategies of poor female-headed families in Havana today are
a result of long-term transformations of values and continuous changes in the
economic context. Glancing at the life history of one great grandmother, Imelda
Baro, will help to understand the complex interplay of these variables.
Paradoxically, the overpowering presence of the state and the budgetary constraints
faced by the poor household members are fueling family oriented economic
behaviors that allow these people not only to survive, but in some ways provide a
source of reaffirmation and pride. Through daily survival practices, in a context of
continuous renegotiation of the borders between public and private realms, the Baro
family is building its own autonomous space. I will introduce the solar space and its
residents, and analyze the dynamics of family life that occurs within its walls. In
order to evaluate the impact of spatial arrangements on the reproduction of
marginalizing labels and subaltern identities, it is necessary to look at daily life
interactions in the “solar system”. From the rooms to the courtyard, to the streets
and back, a description of the circulation of people is useful for understanding how
power networks operate in the solar. The roles of windows and doors, the
redistribution of privileged spaces, and the regulations over the use of communal
areas and services, will be discussed as indicators of hierarchical patterns of
organization. The gradual disappearance of collective areas in the solar will offer an
historical dimension to these hierarchical patterns. The status of some complex
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idealizations, like “privacy” or “property” will be assessed in an attempt to better
understand the meaning of microscopic boundaries within the “system” and the
function of this “system” as a whole.
A. In the Rooms: Imelda Baro and her Family
Figure 12: Imelda
Five generations of the Baro family have lived in Solar Madrid over more
than half a century. In October of 1934, just two hours after she was born, Imelda
Baro arrived at Solar Madrid, covered in a towel and oil cloth. Due to a heavy
cyclone, her mother feared that the wooden Calixto Garcia Hospital would fall
down, and preferred to die at home. Imelda said to me that she was born with the
features of all of the Baros who descended from the town of Alquizar: a nicely
shaped nose, almost white skin, and large boned. Her light complexion came from a
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white great grandfather from England, and she was very proud of her coloring,
which has been stereotypically linked to sexual desire, physical beauty, and a
national ideal, representing the optimistic outcome of the merger between slave and
colonialist (Fernandez 2001). Imelda spent most of her life in Solar Madrid, moving
occasionally with her family when she was younger. At age 5, her parents rented the
apartment in Solar Madrid for 18 pesos a month and they moved to the town of
Caimanera because her father was recruited to work as a carpenter at the
Guantanamo base. Unfortunately, he got typhus shortly after their arrival and died at
the early age of 33. Her mother was pregnant with twins at the time and decided to
have an abortion, which was performed by an Afro-Cuban healer. Imelda moved
back to Havana with her mother, who found residence at the home of a politician for
whom she cooked. The family liked Imelda’s mother and gave Imelda a scholarship
to go to a boarding school, Colegio de la Inmaculada Concepcion, until she was 7
years old. Imelda remembered hearing the bells ring in the middle of the night
indicating that an orphaned infant was being dropped off next door at the Casa de
Beneficiencia. Imelda’s mother married a second husband who was a contractor,
and the family spent most of their time in a large house in the countryside town of
San Francisco de Paula, close to the home of Ernest Hemingway. They eventually
sold this plot of land, which was bigger than the entire solar, and moved permanently
to Havana in the early 1940s.
Imelda began to work in 1964 when her mother fell ill and died two years
later of heart failure. She worked for more than 30 years cleaning the hospital where
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she was born, until her retirement just a few years ago. Endowed with a strong
character and an energetic personality, Imelda constitutes the symbolic center of the
Baro family. She has raised five daughters and two sons from four different fathers,
each of whom successively disappeared from the picture (Figure 13). In the solar,
Imelda is widely respected for her roles as head of a family, arbiter of domestic
disputes, and occasional first aid nurse. Her youngest son Manuel, two oldest
daughters, Danya and Zaira, and five grandchildren also live in the solar. Members
of the Baro family “own” four out of the sixteen apartments in the solar (Figure 14).
The government officially owns all property in Cuba, but individuals do have a
certain amount of control over the property in which they live. Women in the solar,
therefore, exert an enormous influence on the local dynamics of daily life, whether it
involves the functioning of the family, the allocation of space, the practice of Afro-
Cuban religions, or fiesta organization.
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Figure 13: Imelda Baro's Family Genogram
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1
6
16
15
14
13
2
3
4
5
7 8
9
10
11
12
Figure 14: The Baro
Family Genogram
and Layout of
Solar Madrid
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Imelda has focused an enormous amount of energy toward ensuring that all
of her seven children have a place to live that they can claim as their own, an
extremely difficult task in Havana today. Not only does this free space in her own
crowded apartment, but it also transfers the responsibility and burden of feeding her
nine grand children and three great grandchildren to others. Her two grand
daughters, La Prieta and Jazmin, who could not live with their own mothers due to
lack of space, live in her apartment (Figure 15). But the apartment itself is to be
passed down to her youngest daughter Odelia who lived with her husband and two
children in Eastern Havana in 1999. In a rare arrangement, Odelia's husband actually
owns their apartment and if they were to separate, she would not be able to keep it.
Her husband had inherited the apartment from his parents, who had been relocated
from a slum dwelling to a high-rise building on the outskirts of the city in one of the
government's many attempts to eradicate poverty. Her husband also had the fortune
of gaining good employment with the state as bartender at a small bar frequented by
tourists along the Malecon. He earned money and respect from this job, which came
with perks, such as a weeklong camping trip with his family every year. In addition,
a sister in Spain sent money frequently, enabling him to furnish his high-rise
apartment with all of the latest electronics and amenities. He was able to become a
Santero (hacer santo), son of Obatalla. Many in the Baro family were jealous of
Odelia because she lived in such a modern apartment, the only family member who
did not have to go to the bathroom in a bucket. However, she preferred to be in the
solar, and lost her attraction for the luxurious apartment and her stable and relatively
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‘wealthy’ husband. Two years after I left Cuba she moved back into Imelda’s
apartment in Solar Madrid with her two daughters. Living a one-hour bus ride away
from the rest of her extended family in Cayo Hueso meant that she was essentially
out of the loop of her family network and daily interactions.
Figure 15: Imelda's Home, Apartment #15
Zaira and Danya live across the patio from Imelda in neighboring apartments
#4 and #5 (Figure 6, 16 and 17). On the first floor of Zaira's apartment there is an
old refrigerator, a kitchen area, a metal couch, and a bed where Zaira sleeps with
either a boyfriend or her son, Marcos, when he is home from boarding school on the
weekends. Zaira's daughter, La Prieta, sleeps and eats in Imelda's apartment due to
lack of space and personal conflicts. Zaira's apartment also has a built-in second
floor, but through a prior arrangement, this is occupied by Octavio, the father of two
of Imelda's children, Benicia and Odelia. Octavio is rarely home as he works all day
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long in a nearby agromercado. A small door, which is often locked, connects Zaira's
living room with Danya's apartment. Danya's apartment has two beds on the second
floor separated by a curtain where Danya and her (short-term) boyfriend Silvano
sleep as well as Danya's daughter Ynez and her (short-term) boyfriend Tabo.
Alonzo, Danya's son, sleeps on a couch on the first floor, when he is home from
boarding school on the weekends.
Figure 16: Zaira's Home, Apartment #4
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Figure 17: Danya's Home, Apartment #5
Imelda's youngest son, Manuel, lives in a tiny closet-sized room in the
building in the middle of the courtyard of Solar Madrid (See Apartment 16 in Figure
6 and Figure 18). Inside his little space there is a single bed and a television. He
eats meals cooked for him by his mother Imelda in Apartment 15. He lives in a
building that was formerly public space in the solar. Now only a toilet and drain
where showers are taken remain as 'public' space in the back part of his building,
although only a few residents use them. As all of the apartments have cement floors,
most residents close their front door and shower in their kitchen or the area closest to
the front door. When they are finished bathing, they sweep the dirty water into one
of the drains in the middle of the courtyard. Many residents now have toilets, and
those who do not usually defecate into a bucket inside the house and dump it down
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the public toilet in the central courtyard. This was the system used by the Baro
family in 1999-2000.
Figure 18: Manuel's Home, Apartment #16
Imelda has two more daughters, Benicia and Catarina, who live in
neighboring solares, one and three blocks away. Catarina lives with her two sons
who are in their 20's and occasionally a lover. She lives in a typical one-room
apartment with a built-in short second floor where there are two beds. On the first
floor, there is a tiny kitchen area separated by a wall from the living room where
there is a couch, TV, card table, and a pile of bricks and building products. A bucket
behind the front door is used for urination and the same area is used for showering.
Benicia lives in a tiny room of a neighboring solar with her boyfriend Ricardo and
his elderly mother. The first floor has a kitchen counter, a bed for the older woman,
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and a rocking chair. The second floor, which is about 4 feet tall, has a mattress
where Benicia and her boyfriend sleep. Since there is no room for Benicia' daughter
Jazmin to sleep, she stays in Imelda's apartment in Solar Madrid.
Imelda's oldest son, Maximo, took a boat to the United States in 1993. When
I left Cuba in 2000, Imelda asked me to try to contact him because she had not heard
from him in over two years. After much searching, I did locate him in Mobile,
Alabama. He had recently spent time in prison and had several health problems as
well, from years of working double shifts in a factory. He did contact Imelda and
even sent her money and gifts, which she appreciated.
As a venerable retired person, Imelda makes a living through selling peanuts,
fried pasta, or popsicles in the main entrance of the solar. She is afraid of walking
through the streets to offer her product, because as an unlicensed food handler, if
caught by official inspectors she could be forced to pay a relatively large fine. For
this reason, her travels are limited to the immediate neighborhood, and she only
ventures to “dangerous” sites to buy food at a nearby market or to attend a weekly
rumba event, frequented by religious practitioners and rumba dancers (Figure 19). In
this sense, the somewhat secluded area provided by the layout of the solar offers her
a protected environment in which she can freely sell her peanuts and also supplies
her with a handful of regular clients. Relatives, friends, and neighbors are Imelda’s
primary customers. In fact, she actually runs a family-centered business. Her
granddaughters buy the peanuts for her at a distant, less-expensive market if she is
too tired to travel. She has a connection at a paper factory and buys a ream at
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reduced cost. Her daughters glue together the paper cones that hold the peanuts and
the youngest children bring their friends in to buy them. With family support, a
great-grandmother can still actively participate in society in a very productive
manner.
Figure 19: Imelda sells peanuts at a weekly outdoor concert a few blocks from the
solar
During the last month of my fieldwork period, Imelda began cleaning a
nearby discotheque, Las Vegas, for tourists. In spite of her position as the oldest
member of her family, she was one of a few who held a state-employed position.
She earns 100 pesos for every 15 days that she works, approximately $4.00. The
money she had been earning from selling peanuts was no longer sufficient. But
Imelda was also proud of her job in a tourist establishment, a position often held by
‘white’ Cubans and one that offers the possibility of earning tourist dollars and perks
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for friends and family. On her first day at the job, she auspiciously found a 10 peso
note on the floor. Imelda also finds that she is needed in her family with her daily
“teachings” regarding herbal medicine and Santeria ritual preparations. She
maintains several potted plants filled with herbs, aloe, and spices in a small outdoor
area in front of her house which was not claimed by other residents (Figure 20).
Figure 22: Imelda, surrounded by grandchildren and neighbors, and her plants
B. In the Courtyard
Reminiscing about the good old days, Imelda told me about the
transformation of the solar space from community oriented to individually focused.
For most of her life, Imelda has been in the same little apartment in Solar Madrid
and has been living there longer than any other tenant currently alive. She
remembers the hurricane of 1944, which destroyed much of the solar infrastructure,
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including the two pipe faucets that used to deliver running water. The wells in the
ground became contaminated and were closed, and from then on water was delivered
to the solar by a wagon or truck. The floor of the solar used to be stone and a large
tree provided shade for the women to rest after washing their clothes on the two
washboards or for the men who would periodically cook a communal meal in the
central patio. The bathrooms in the building in the middle of the patio were used by
everyone and were kept very clean since they were serviced by the ‘encargado’ who
also serviced the faucets and sinks. All of the tenants cleaned inside and in front of
their house on Saturday. The ‘encargado’ turned on the five lights every night at
6pm and had everyone take their clothes off of the lines. At 11pm the front door to
the solar was closed. All of the neighbors showed great respect toward each other.
When someone in the solar died, music was not heard for two weeks. Over the
decades, this high level of communal organization diminished. The tree in the
central patio was torn down, the stone floor replaced by cement; the communal
bathrooms are only used by a few families and are rarely cleaned. Everyone has
their own clothesline and buckets for washing and used water is dumped down three
communal drains, which are often overflowing with soiled water. There are no
lights, faucets, or sinks in the central area and no one in charge of maintaining the
shared space in the solar. Imelda complained, “when someone dies now, the music
continues blasting”. Neighbors are self-absorbed and even contemptuous to each
other behind closed doors. The backstabbing gossip overflowed between cracked
doors and windows. La Prieta was accused of sleeping with the man in apartment
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#14, deflecting the blame from him and his mistress to his neighbor. La Prieta was
also blamed for disrupting the marriage between her cousin Ynez and Tabo in
Apartment #5, because she accompanied her to the house of his lover one night
when Ynez wanted to confront him. The family in apartment #9 disliked the new
arrivals in apartment #6 from the "Oriente", a popular but derogatory term for the
Eastern part of Cuba. With these ongoing fissions and collapse in lines of
communication, the central patio was often very tense. But with the severe
humidity, heat and overcrowding inside apartments, overflow into the courtyard was
necessary, even if it exacerbated clashes due to competing interests.
Imelda's daughters Danya and Zaira had two children each, from different
fathers who abandoned them. The absence of the paternal figure is a very common
phenomenon in the solar, and the Baro family has been essentially matrifocal for
three generations. Women “own” the apartments, run the domestic economy and are
responsible for procuring the daily subsistence for the family through the black
market network (Figure 21). Any minor repair jobs or even major housing
reconstructions are undertaken by women, who hire and pay for external help if
needed. Their occasional lovers, who eventually become fathers of their children,
have no responsibility for household improvements and only minimum legal
accountability in the raising of the children. The idea that men come and go but
women stay at home is collectively assumed as a “fact” not only at the level of daily
routines, but also from the broader perspective of the life cycle.
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Figure 21: Zaira cooks dinner in her apartment
Three of the four units in the solar occupied by the Baro family were headed
by women with somewhat long term male visitors. These men were significant
contributors to the household economy and yet they also benefited from the living
arrangement. As long as the relationship proved mutually beneficial for all parties,
the extended family members included, their presence was embraced.
Zaira earns a living buying and selling gasoline on the black market. She
stores a gallon or two in her apartment when they were available, sending men to the
street outside the solar or to the abandoned gas station and repair shop on the corner,
to wait for cars to drive by looking for inexpensive gasoline. She could earn a few
dollars off of each gallon of gasoline that she sold. The men she worked with were
usually her boyfriends and they would stay with her for several months at a time.
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In 1999, Zaira had reunited with Jacinto, the father of her son Marcos, for
approximately nine months. They had been separated for 12 years while he served a
prison sentence. After his release, he began work in construction and met a new
girlfriend, but a recent back injury had prohibited any lifting. He had also recently
fathered a child who had health issues. Due to a myriad of difficulties with his
current girlfriend, Jacinto had returned to Zaira's apartment. As a result, their son
Marcos son had to find another place to sleep on the weekend, when he was home
from boarding school. He slept in Imelda's apartment, which was already quite
crowded because she also housed her granddaughter Jazmin on the weekend.
Jacinto helped Zaira obtain customers for her gasoline sales operation and spent his
days sitting at the abandoned gas station on the corner. Partly due to the
inconvenience caused to the extended family by Jacinto's presence and his paltry
contributions, he did not last long in the solar.
Zaira's next boyfriend was Manuel Andrés, a successful salesman. He had
actually worked at the gas station on the corner when it was open and knew all of its
customers. Because of the trust he had gained with these drivers, he was easily able
to sell gasoline to them at reduced black market prices. Zaira experienced a brief
period where her refrigerator was fully stocked and her son Marcos ate well at
boarding school and was clothed with new attire. However, Manuel Andrés had
worked out of the solar before and many residents did not like him. It was said that
he was very open and talked too much, not a good quality when working in an illegal
business. Zaira had partnered with him before and told me that he traveled from one
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gas station to the next, taking customers from other residents. This time she broke
her ties with him because she found out that he was not giving her an equal share in
the profits. Zaira had considered the meals and clothes that he supplied to the family
as gifts to a lover and had expected him to give her half the cash he had earned.
Despite his claims of innocence, the entire family booted him out after just a few
months.
During a subsequent trip I made to Cuba in the spring of 2004, Zaira was
dating a man who worked in a rum factory. He was very popular in the family, as he
kept Zaira and others happily intoxicated. Zaira frequently complained to me about
her inability to maintain a boyfriend, and she blamed the spirit of her late husband,
Calixto Callava. Many religious cleansings and ceremonies occurred in her
apartment to rid it of this bothersome spirit (See chapter 4) who not only prevented
her from having a lasting relationship but also contributed to her declining health.
Although a devout believer of Santeria and the power of the dead, her daughter La
Prieta felt that much of her mother's problems stemmed from her excessive drinking.
Imelda's daughter Danya who lived in apartment #5 (Figure 17) worked as a
cook in a small family-owned (un-official) restaurant in Old Havana. After several
years she stopped this job, and on a recent trip I made to Cuba in 2006 I found that
she was now painting designer nails. She has a Styrofoam board displaying over
200 nails featuring popular figures like Che Guevara and Charlie Chaplin,
commercial logos for Cristal beer, and popular orishas in Santeria such as Elegua
and Yemaya. Clients could choose a design from her display board and she would
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paint their nails. A lawyer had seen her work on a friend's hand and contacted her,
requesting that she participate in a Cuban Culture Festival that occurs periodically in
Old Havana. The festival is sponsored by a German foundation and caters to tourist
groups that travel to Havana. She said that she can make a lot of money at these
events as she works directly with foreign clients. She also paints nails in the solar
but as competition is heavy from other manicurists and she charges more than
standard nail painting, her local business is slow.
Danya periodically had a boyfriend living with her, depending on the
household circumstances. In 1999, she had a boyfriend named Silvano who had
reportedly escaped a jail sentence in Santiago, a large town in Southeastern Cuba.
She told me that he was the only one caught in a fight with seven men and was
sentenced to four years in jail for peligrosidad, or potential dangerousness. A rock
had hit him in the forehead and he received several stitches in the hospital, after
which he fled to Havana. Silvano took shelter in the solar where he also participated
in illicit businesses and contributed to Danya's income. For a brief period he sold 22
karat gold pendant-like shapes that he would glue to a front tooth with a special
Japanese adhesive. The popular Nike swoosh sold for $8. He also assisted Danya's
brother Manuel in finding foreign clients at the beach who wanted to buy marijuana.
He stayed for over a year and a half. His daughter from a previous marriage would
even stay in the solar periodically when her mother had a foreign guest in town. The
profits from these unions trickled down to Danya as well. In 2006 when I visited,
Danya did not have a boyfriend, but her daughter had a one-month-old baby, and
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with the additional crib and mother-in-law visiting, the second floor barbacoa was
crowded.
Solar Madrid was marked by a constant fluctuation of other residents as well.
Solares around Havana are notorious for housing new immigrants from Santiago and
other parts of Cuba. Many people rented their solar apartment for $30 a month and
moved in with relatives. Immigrants from the countryside occupied three apartments
inside Solar Madrid, which often had fluctuating occupants, as family members
would move in temporarily until they found employment and residence. One young
couple in their mid twenties, Orlando and Marisol moved to Apartment #6 in Solar
Madrid from the Oriente and Holguin, respectively. Recent immigrants to Havana
often occupied unpopular forms of employment. Marisol's 22 year old brother was a
police officer and would stay in the solar every weekend. Orlando's brothers and
parents would also visit for extended periods of time. The residents in Apartment #9
who shared a drain, clothes line space, and a bathroom with Orlando and Marisol did
not like the increase in residents from the Oriente. Contributing to the dispute,
Orlando and Marisol earned a living by raising a pig in the patio of the solar. The
pig would often get loose and run wildly in the courtyard until caught by its owners.
The young couple also recycled bottles from a nearby hospital and filled them with
dish detergent, which they sold on the black market. Orlando drove a bicycle taxi
for a short period. Marisol also painted nails for 3 pesos per person. The family's
resourcefulness likely caused some resentment among residents in the solar. Three
months after I left the field an unfortunate fire killed six of the family members,
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including Orlando and Marisol. One of Orlando's brother's survived and he rebuilt
and remained in the apartment. When I returned in 2006, however, an older couple
occupied the apartment.
Residents left the solar under more pleasant circumstances as well. Zaira's
best friend Milena lived with her 83 year old mother Zita, her boyfriend, and her 20
year old son António. Shortly after I left Havana, Zita passed away, António was
released from prison, and Milena and her boyfriend moved to Italy where her
daughter lived with an Italian husband and two children. The apartment was left to
António who remained in Cuba with his girlfriend and his son. By 2006 however,
surprising everyone, Milena had returned to Solar Madrid and her son had returned
to prison. La Prieta said that Milena was a bit crazy and could not handle the
upscale lifestyle in Italy. It is likely that she was not able to survive without her
dense network of family, friends and neighbors.
In addition to the fluctuation in residents, apartment walls were frequently
extended and interiors rebuilt, when materials were available and appropriate
negotiations with the neighbors occurred. When the elderly tenant in Apartment #1
passed away, Federico and Dolores of Apartment #2 cleaned it out and rebuilt the
inside. Imelda had co-opted the outdoor space in front of this apartment with a large
table, which held her numerous potted plants and bucket for washing clothes (Figure
20). Federico and Dolores asked her to move her plants so that they could extend
the apartment outward into the courtyard. She complied but later complained that
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her plants were not doing well inside her apartment. This was a significant loss of
outdoor space for Imelda and her family (Figure 22 and Figure 23).
Figure 22: Apartment #1 in 1999
Figure 23: Apartment #1 in 2006
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The largest renovation for the Baro family occurred in 2001, when both Zaira
and Imelda added a kitchen sink and bathroom to their apartments (Figure 21 and
Figure 24). Each bathroom had a toilet that would flush if a bucket of water was
dumped down it, and a drain on the floor so that they could take a shower in front of
the toilet (Figure 25). Brick walls were built to enclose the bathroom. Neither Zaira
nor Imelda have tanks of water on their rooftops so all water has to be brought inside
the house from large barrels of water in the courtyard. Nonetheless, this was a major
improvement for both households, as the family was one of the last in the solar to
build a bathroom inside their apartment, contributing to the decline in usage of the
public spaces in the solar.
Figure 24: A short wall divides the bathroom and the kitchen area near the front
entrance. Imelda cooks while La Prieta dances.
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Figure 25: Close-up of new bathroom added to Imelda's apartment in 2001
In spite of the various tensions between the families living in the crowded
solar, the central courtyard was generally a bustling social environment where the
residents looked out for each other, guarded against unwanted visitors, and alerted
friends when hot items arrived. Police rarely entered the solar, but they often lurked
in the street waiting to catch a crime in action. When they were in the vicinity, solar
residents would be notified and would curb any illegal activities.
Manuel, along with a handful of men in the solar, would sell marijuana to
Cubans or tourists out of his room in the middle of the patio. He would often walk
along the streets looking for tourists to whom he could sell, and bring back to his
apartment to smoke. Usually, however, he would send younger boys out to the
hotels to do this more dangerous work of finding clients.
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More often than not, people would come through the solar with clothes, rugs,
or knickknacks for the home, bought on the black market. Miranda and Ileana both
traveled from one solar to another trying to sell items bought from dollar stores, but
in reduced Cuban peso prices, and then sold for a small profit. They would wake up
very early in the morning and stand in line outside of the dollar stores and wait for
the store vendors to 'sell' off certain items in their back storage that wouldn't be
missed. Solar residents tended to enjoy looking at these items, but rarely had money
to buy them. Sometimes they would refer the salesperson to a friend who they knew
was looking for a similar item. With this system, Cubans who only circulated in the
Cuban peso economy would be able to look at and even purchase higher quality
items from dollar stores. And although Miranda and Ileana rarely sold items to solar
residents, their frequent visits reinforced relationships between residents of three
solares in Cayo Hueso.
Although not seen in Solar Madrid, many families had small businesses
selling pizza, boxed meals of beans, rice, and meat, sweet pastries, or coffee. The
ingredients for these items, such as flour and sugar, would generally be bought at
reduced prices from the government run bread shops, where bakers knew that a
pound of baking materials wouldn't be missed by the state. Other entrepreneurs
would walk through the solar selling newspapers, brooms or bread and butter. The
Granma daily newspaper could be bought from government stands early in the
morning for 10 pesetas and then sold for 1 peso.
110
Although the solar was a very social place, residents often went to the main
street to catch the breeze. Even Imelda would sit on a neighbor's front step every so
often to cool off. And some of the younger residents (age 15 to 30) would generally
spend a large portion of the day outside of the solar, working the streets, or visiting
friends and markets both far and near.
C. In the Street: La Prieta
Representing the next generation of solar residents, La Prieta, age 21,
circulates primarily “in the streets”. There is a complex network of gift exchange
among the residents of the solares in Cayo Hueso. La Prieta often ambles through
the neighborhood to different solares trying to loan her shoes or clothes for money.
She might loan a nice shirt to her friend who will in turn loan her five dollars. If La
Prieta does not return the money with interest to her friend in an allotted period of
time, her friend is allowed to keep the shirt. At times when she does have money,
she might offer it to a friend who will give her a piece of clothing of equal value in
return. By doing these exchanges, La Prieta reinforces her networks with her friends
and residents of other solares and scarce resources are shared within the community.
La Prieta and her friends also frequent Cuban discothèques where they can
pay in Cuban pesos and dress in their finest, forgetting their home life for a while. If
they have money or foreign dates, they go to the fancier tourist nightclubs.
6
La
Prieta often travels to the distant towns of Regla or Luyano to visit her madrina or
padrino, religious godparents in Santeria. Periodically she will travel to La Lisa to
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visit her father with whom she has a close relationship. As she is not responsible for
cooking and only periodically cares for younger children, she travels the farthest
from home and covers the broadest area of all other family members. Although her
travels require extensive amounts of time (waiting for buses) and some money, they
are well worth the effort as the visits reinforce connections with friends and family
members.
Young men in the solar, including La Prieta's younger cousin and brother,
also spent their time in the streets. They would primarily look for foreigners who
wanted to buy cigars or marijuana, which could be purchased in the solar from other
family members. They would also offer foreigners tours of the city or excursions to
caves in the countryside near Pinar del Rio. In their hotels, foreigners are offered
expensive packaged tours to the beaches and areas outside of Havana, but the more
adventurous ones often prefer to use a Cuban guide who knows how to find cheap
transportation to lesser-frequented areas. The job of working the streets and catering
to tourists is extremely risky and is generally done by those in their late teens, 20's
and early 30's. Imelda and Zaira rarely traveled more than a few blocks from the
solar. Before leaving for the streets, young solar residents would tell me, "Voy al
fuego" or "I am going into the fire". The reasons for referring to the street as a
danger zone will be explored further in Chapter 5.
There is an extensive amount of literature and rhetoric in Cuba praising
family values and encouraging healthy marriages. The manner in which household
chores and child care should be carried out is described and enforced through a
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“Family Code” passed in 1977 (Hassanbegovic 2000). Weddings in Cuba are even
subsidized by the government, which provides newly married couples a gift package
that includes a 3-night stay in a hotel for their honeymoon, kitchenware, and other
essential home items. La Prieta, and others of her generation, are expected to find a
partner, possibly have a child, and move out of the solar. As housing is a big
problem in Cuba, all young couples take up residence in the home of either of their
parents, chosen based on the amount of space available. Since Imelda's apartment
was quite tight, La Prieta was expected to find another home. Over the years that I
knew her, she frequently shifted residence.
In Cuba, there is a disguised fear that strong family bonds could potentially
detract from the productive goals of the nation. One way to prevent these bonds
from forming is through an educational system in which children are required to
attend boarding schools in the countryside, far from home. During the early years of
the Castro regime, there was a strong focus on molding children into ideal
revolutionary citizens, with unique nationalistic morals very different from the value
system that their parents had acquired during their youth. The brightest children
spent six formative years away from home, from age eleven or twelve to eighteen,
returning only twice a month to visit their families. Although this arrangement did
divide different generations within the family, it also had the benefit or creating extra
space in the crowded home and additional food on the table.
The Baro family (along with all of the other families in the solar) has devised
a complex household strategy for survival through its divisions of labor "in the
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rooms", "in the courtyard", and "in the streets", and with children in the countryside
building human capital. In each of these sections, I have focused on a particular
generation within the family. However, this has been done mostly for descriptive
purposes, as age distribution is not so clearly marked in the spatial terrain. What is
most phenomenal is the ability of the family to pool its resources and strengths and
manage to co-exist with a powerful State that frequently attempts to repress and
punish their daily life activities and even their choice of dwelling in a solar in
Havana.
The Cuban revolutionary government has always sought to "eliminate areas
with social problems: squatter settlements, tenements and others" (Oliveras and
Núñez 2001:7). As discussed in Chapter Two, in 1961, the large squatter settlement
known as Las Yaguas was demolished and tenants were relocated to new apartments
in the city of Camilo Cienfuegos. Many high-rise buildings replaced slum dwellings
in the early years of the revolution. Odelia's husband benefited from one of these
moves, although with mixed results, as she herself did not enjoy living in such a
housing design. During the last decade, there have been some futile efforts to
eradicate solares and tenements without sanitation in Central Havana, with much
resistance from tenants (Rosa Garcia 2000). Apart from the physical destruction of
marginally designated buildings, the government has also criminalized or
admonished most of the daily activities of marginal people, such as those living in
Solar Madrid.
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Fidel Castro has often spoken about the street as a place where counter-
revolutionary activities occur. In a 1967 speech, he explicitly condemned street
vendors:
What good does it do for thousands of people to migrate to the cities every
year? If the investments are being made in the rural areas, what are those
people going to do in the city? Make brooms and lollipops, set up stands to
sell fritters; that is, live like a parasite in the city?
(Castro 1967:23)
And a year later he stated in a speech, "Are we going to construct socialism, or are
we going to construct vending stands?" (Castro 1968:268-269). Migration to the city
was condemned, as well as the easier work of sales, whereas construction or sugar
cane cutting in rural areas was the developmental focus of the government. In the
first two years of the revolution over 20,000 homes or apartments were build in rural
areas, whereas only 18,000 were built in all urban areas where the majority of the
population lived (García Vazquez 1965). After this initial period of housing
development, construction in Havana declined drastically. In 1970, only 300
dwellings were built in Havana in comparison to 4,000 throughout the country
(Capello). The government always praised the difficult manual labor of rural
farming and prioritized rural development in housing, education, and health care.
On the contrary, over the past four and a half decades, private businesses, such as
selling peanuts or candy in the city, have been periodically and randomly legalized
or criminalized, leading to much apprehension among people such as Imelda.
Nearly all forms of street commerce and activity have been considered counter-
revolutionary (Capello), and numerous attempts have been made to control it.
7
115
Large cities, and Havana in particular, have been problematic for the
government in its attempts to create equality and eliminate poverty and the marginal
sectors. Before the revolution, the standard of living, rate of industrial production,
and development was far greater in Havana than in rural areas. This discrepancy in
wealth between urban and rural areas, in part, instigated the guerilla movement and
fostered an alliance between the guerillas and the peasants in the Sierra Maestra
Mountains in the late 1950's. Thus, after winning in 1959, the revolutionary
government had a political basis for supporting the countryside and halting
economic development in the city. The support from peasants also influenced Fidel
Castro's discourse condemning the city and its streets. Although efforts to rebuild
Havana and restore historic buildings increased in the 1980's and 1990's, numerous
regulations were also implemented to discourage migration to Havana, and
especially to the populated municipalities of Old Havana, Central Havana, Cerro,
and Diez de Octubre.
In 1997, Decree 217 was passed to regulate migration to Havana. Upon
arrival in Havana, the migrant must report to the president of the Municipal
Administration Board of the area they intend to reside. The Board will determine if
they can legally reside in Havana based on certain conditions. If the apartment is in
a tourist zone, approval is needed from the hotel owners. The Municipal Board of
Architecture and City Planning must determine if the apartment is healthy and
habitable with adequate living conditions. The apartment must have 10 square
meters per person. Once all approvals have been granted, the migrant must file a
116
change of address with the office of the Identity Card, and will then be allowed to
receive rationed food and products from the state. If these procedures have not been
followed, the migrant will be fined up to 1000 pesos and sent back to his or her
original home. As all laws in Cuba, this one is very vague and has the hidden
agenda of preventing the movement of poor rural migrants to the city. Police
officers may freely stop anyone on the street and demand to see their identity card.
If their card does not list an address in Havana, they can be fined and sent on a bus
or train back to the countryside. It is not incidental that the municipalities identified
in the law are heavily populated by Afro-Cubans, contain numerous solares and
make-shift tenements, and also have a lot of tourist establishments and Cubans
catering to their needs through informal networks.
All residents of solar Madrid are affected by this law, as they are subject to
heightened scrutiny by the police and are frequently asked to show their
identification cards. Orlando and his family from the eastern part of Cuba were
especially affected, and even at their deaths, the press indicated that the extended
family had recently arrived from the Oriente, the eastern part of the island. In spite
of state efforts at controlling migration of primarily poor Afro-Cubans to Havana,
and efforts to curb street activities, residents of Solar Madrid, and the Baro family in
particular, have devised ways to maneuver within and outside of the system by
building and maintaining networks and resources within the family, amongst friends
in neighboring solares, and within their religious 'families'.
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PART IV: CONCLUSION
An analysis of informal solutions to the problem of housing in Havana is
central to an understanding of social and familial interactions in a Cuban solar. It is
possible to discuss the “architectural logic” of this particular form of tenement as a
renegotiation of the borders between the private and public spheres. Because of the
physical layout of the solar, most of the spaces, both inside and outside, are public.
The circular and communal structure allows for more illicit networks to be made
which result in better food and a substantial increase in the income of its residents.
On the downside, the tenants’ private lives are extremely restricted. The major
housing shortage and economic crisis, combined with the overpowering presence of
the state, has limited people’s autonomy. But in the central patio of the
contemporary solar, fragile notions of “property” are produced and reproduced
through a continuous redesign of the collective space available, suggesting the
existence of a very complex model of intra- and interfamily connections.
The Baro family could be considered “marginal,” in political and economic
terms, but only if politics is defined from the narrow perspective of the “public
transcript”. They do not participate in any “active” form of political resistance.
They survive “at the margins” of a highly centralized state, in a sort of social and
economic limbo that (technically) does not exist. Many aspects of their daily lives
involve illegal practices, from minor operations in the black market to drug dealing,
118
prostitution or even assaults and other violent crimes. After two centuries of
capitalist exploitation and forty years of socialist repression, the mere existence of
people like the members of the Baro family is an open challenge to the Cuban
establishment. For this group, surviving does not only mean “being there” against
all odds. They rule their own world, imposing their particular existential logic on the
rest of their neighbors. As people who have developed a highly specialized mode of
survival within this system, the marginal members of the Afro-Cuban community
have been relatively less affected by the economic commotion of the Special Period
at the beginning of the nineteen nineties, which was associated with the end of the
USSR's subsidies to Cuba. They were only peripheral beneficiaries of the previous
order of things, and now they are suffering only a lateral impact from the ongoing
crisis.
For the Baro family, eating food that they cannot legally afford, using
services to which they are not formally entitled, and participating in an extended
network of potentially dangerous liaisons are forms of resistance. Their defiant
behaviors seem to be oriented against formal bylaws and abstract authority figures
like “the police”, but not against Castro. They do not fight “the system” or “the rule
of the party”, but eventually bypass all systems and cheat any rule they can. Their
hidden transcripts are articulated around a tremendously complex Afro-Cuban
mythology, and, as we will see in Chapter 4, the leadership of santeros and
babalawos constitutes an important source of moral legitimacy among them.
119
This study of social networks and surveillance strategies in the Cuban solar
is organized around the economic, social and political role of religious parties, as
well as on the “built environment” of the solar, as alternative sources of security and
support for their members. Addressing poverty or marginality from this point of
view allows me to go beyond the limits imposed by stigmatizing labels or crude
ideological prejudices. The matrifocal family, considered by many scholars to be
deficient or dysfunctional, has proven to be particularly efficient in the solar context,
at least in terms of the economics of the household. The absence of the father figure
is compensated by the existence of extended kinship structures founded upon
religious, ethnic and gender solidarity. This form of family structure is particularly
useful during family emergency situations. From my point of view, the impact of
these social interactions goes beyond the limits of mere survival strategies, and
becomes an expression of resistance and a source of hope. It appears that the future
of the “marginal” people in the Cuban solar will depend on how these solidarity
networks evolve in the years to come.
This chapter has attempted to show how marginal groups of people, in
particular, families living in solares in Cayo Hueso, have devised networking
strategies which have enabled the co-optation of space, sharing of scarce resources,
and a small degree of certainty in highly fragile world. The solar space has proven
to be instrumental in supporting complex exchanges between diverse parties, along a
continuum of legality and familiarity. Within the Baro family network, scarce
resources such as clothes, beds, food and money have shifted frequently among
120
apartments in several different solares. Family members have also moved around to
different homes in order to accommodate changing circumstances. Through a
description of household activities and occupations of the Baro family and some of
the solar residents a popular economic system can be charted. Family members,
working at home, in the courtyard, in the streets, and at school pool their labor
capabilities together to support the extended family unit. Daily activities of family
members take them into state institutions and private firms generating income in the
Cuban peso and US dollar economies. This financial capital has allowed
improvement and expansion of several of the Baro family apartments. But without a
consistent flow of money, each day is improvised to fit the needs of different family
members. This flexibility within the family provides a degree of assurance that
everyone will have a space to sleep and food eat each day. The dense network of
Baro family members throughout several solares in Cayo Hueso have allowed the
family not just to survive, but thrive, continuously improving their circumstances.
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CHAPTER 3 ENDNOTES
1
See for example, the works of Moholy-Nagy (1957), Rudofsky (1964), and Van Eyck
(1969). In a more analytical direction, Alexander (1964) applied the perspectives of
structural-functionalism to a cross-cultural discussion of the “universal principles of good
design”.
2
The connections between family organization, household management and housing
development have been studied from ethno-historical (Laslett 1972) and cross-cultural
(Hammel and Laslett 1974, Lawrence 1981) perspectives. Using sophisticated techniques of
ethno-archaeology outlined by Schiffer (1978), many scholars extended the studies of
dwelling forms to include expressions of ancient political economy (Whiting and Ayres
1968), kinship structure (Ember 1973), or social behavior (Kent, 1984).
3
Inspired by Victor Turner’s work, Doxtater (1984) developed a set of categories to explain
how some architectural forms of expression provide content and context to complex ritual
processes. The fact that in many cultures a building should be inaugurated through liturgical
ceremonies before becoming a temple, a marketplace, or a real home is considered
analogous to the rites of passage that any individual suffers to become a full member of the
social community (Saile 1985, Pavlides and Hesser 1989).
4
The role of power asymmetries and popular resistance in the configuration of built space
has occupied many other scholars, mainly dealing with the analysis of self-help housing
strategies in the Third World (Dwyer 1975, Ward 1982, Robbins 1989, Potter and Conway
1997, and Mathéy 1992).
5
From Frazier’s point of view, the continual presence of African traditions in the New
World was limited to the realm of folklore, and social institutions like the “Negro Family”
were functioning without visible connections to the structure of their African “equivalents”.
Even the religious and linguistic influences from Africa were disappearing under the
pressure of a new “Brazilian nationhood”. For Frazier, the “dysfunctional condition” of the
Afro American household was a result of the “weakness of institutional control” that
stimulated the creation of “natural families” with high levels of “promiscuity”, “in response
to economic and social conditions in Brazil” (Frazier 1943:403-404). On the other side,
Herskovits insisted on the idea that it was possible to trace the impact of persistent African
remnants not only at linguistic or cosmological levels, but also as formal constituents of
familial and social institutions (1941). Where Frazier found a very common socioeconomic
tragedy, Herskovits discovered an unwilling pattern of African behavior.
6
See chapter 5 for a thorough discussion of dating foreign men and prostitution.
7
See chapter 5 for a discussion of laws prohibiting prostitution, pimping, and loafing and
other efforts to curb street commerce such as the use neighborhood vigilance. See Chapter 4
and Chapter 5 for a discussion of vigilance through occupations, such as the young family
doctor and the social worker.
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CHAPTER 4: RUMBA NETWORKS, SOCIAL SCRUTINY, AND NATIONAL
CULTURE IN THE SOLAR
Solares evolved mainly as a solution to chronic housing shortages, the
singular distribution of public and private spaces within these tenements makes them
a perfect example of anti-panoptical architecture. In a sense, a solar is designed to
reverse the surveillance functions common to all prisons settings. The building has
only one main entrance. People arriving from the street find themselves in the
middle of a very well lit central courtyard surrounded by dark single-room
apartments with no back windows. Tenants keep their doors open to fight the
tropical heat, and kitchens are usually placed right at the entrance of each room.
While preparing their food, women can keep an eye on the courtyard, where kids
play safely away from street traffic. Once they step into the yard, visitors from
outside immediately notice that seeing what is going inside the rooms is as hard as
avoiding the attentive gaze of the tenants. Within the solar, a traditional culture of
visual control, operating from the center to the periphery, seems to have been
reversed, or more literally, turned inside out.
Solar inhabitants are mostly poor, and many identify themselves as Afro-
Cuban. Matrifocal families are common. Most survival strategies prevalent among
the tenants involve activities that have been outlawed by the socialist authorities.
Black market traders thrive in the solar, street hustlers use them as home bases, and
sometimes prostitutes take their customers there. As key nodes in the vibrant
network of the Cuban underground economy, these spaces are constantly operating
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under a great deal of social scrutiny, combined with at least some degree of actual
police surveillance.
People living outside the “solar system” have a very ambiguous relationship
with these tenements. Solares are criminalized through a combination of racial
prejudice and political mistrust. At the same time, however, they are considered the
ultimate source of popular urban culture. Historically, solares have been associated
with the development of rumba, a highly influential complex of traditional Afro-
Cuban rhythms and dances, both religious and profane. As “the cradle of rumba”,
solares are an essential component of the city’s cultural landscape. Local officials,
interested in the promotion of tourism, have tried to bring rumba performances to
hotel gardens and other public spaces. After getting a taste of Afrocuban music in
those settings, however, more adventurous tourists would attempt to experience “the
real thing” in a solar setting. In a matter of hours, any one of these tenements can be
easily transformed into an outdoor theater. A band can play in one end of the yard, a
central space can be cleared for the dancers, people can sell food and alcohol right
out of their kitchens and someone standing at the main door can control the influx of
visitors, sometimes even charging a small amount of money to curious foreigners.
When a solar becomes well-known in the rumba party circuit, keeping the place safe
and the police away is in everyone’s best interest.
And yet simultaneously, solar residents who form these impromptu rumba
parties are performing a service for the State that wants to keep traditional culture
alive and visible so that foreigners return and continue to invest in the country.
124
Thus, the solar is frequently a place where collaborative activities take place
involving local (informal), state (official), and foreign entities. Because of this
explosive mix of individuals found in the solar at any time during the day, residents
have devised some mechanisms to diffuse, confound or subvert the normative gaze
imposed on them. This chapter explores some of these anti-surveillance techniques
used by individuals who reside under extreme forms of social scrutiny.
This chapter looks at three collaborative events that occurred in Solar Madrid
and involved members of the Baro family. Each event was also a party with live
music and varying degrees of religious activity. Organized chronologically, the first
event, which took place in June 1999, involved a rumba band called Clave y
Guaguancó. The second event, which took place in March 2000, involved the rumba
band Yoruba Andabo. And the third event in April 2004 involved a popular
timba/salsa group called Michel Maza y Su Tentación. The semi-private, semi-
public layout of the solar allowed such collaborations to take place, but their success,
viewed differently by each party, depends on a variety of factors. A good mediator
or interpreter among disparate parties can make or break an event. The ability of
each party to co-opt the space of the other parties and expand their social networks
and economic and political power also affects the outcome.
125
PART I: JUNE 1999: RUMBA WITH BAND CLAVE Y GUAGUANCÓ IN SOLAR
MADRID
The moment I first encountered 'transculturation' in the field was when I met
Mercedes, a few weeks after arriving in Cuba in the summer of 1999. Ethnologists
at the Fernando Ortiz Foundation told me that she was a professor of Afro-Cuban
dance and culture, a graduate of the University of Havana, a practicing Santera, and
that she worked for the Ministry of Culture as well as for UNESCO on a project to
revive rumba music and dance in Cayo Hueso. Her bio alone was a patchwork quilt
and the encounter surpassed all of my expectations. We met at Solar Madrid where
she was organizing a staged rumba event to be filmed for a Cuban culture series on
TV.
As employee of the Ministry of Culture, Mercedes was essentially in charge
of producing a scene that would depict "traditional" Afro-Cuban music and dance as
an ongoing popular phenomenon. The TV episode was likely part of the
government's continuous "ideological campaign to strengthen the revolutionary
spirit", by fostering a national culture and pride in the nation's heritage (Mesa-Lago
2004:38). In the early 1960's, the Ministry of Culture brought rumba (along with
other popular traditions) to the theatre in an attempt to "protect cultural expressions"
(Daniel 1995:58). Rumba musicians and dancers became salaried government
employers and were paid to "preserve the dance treasures of Cuba; their
responsibility was to share diverse national traditions with fellow Cubans, as well as
with foreigners" (Daniel 1995:59). By professionalizing rumba in the early 1960's,
126
Daniel finds that the Ministry of Culture was also able to organize and control what
used to be a spontaneous get together of musicians and a large crowd of people who
were usually drinking and potentially a menace to social order (1959:61). Over time,
rumba became a national dance seen almost exclusively in public venues sponsored
by the Ministry of Culture. Now that rumba is no longer a threat to social order, it
seems that people like Mercedes have been charged with returning the tradition to
"its original locus, street corners, where it often shared attention with parallel
activities of traffic, business, and socializing" (Daniel 1995:59). What was once a
marginal tradition, thus moved to the mainstream and back to the marginal.
1
Mercedes, as cultural promoter for the barrio of Cayo Hueso, was a perfect
spokesperson for embracing traditional arts. Wired with a microphone and sitting in
front of a large video camera in the middle of the solar, she described her work
during an interview (Figure 26):
We find ourselves in the barrio of Cayo Hueso, a barrio of pure intertwined
roots, laborers and mestizo, where rumba has very deep roots. Rumba is a
kind of music that can be sung and danced. It was used by the humble black
person in the solar, in the tenements, to express a patriotic sentiment, an
amorous frustration, or a social accusation. Whatever matter affected the
humble black person remained molded inside his rumba drums. For this
reason, we say that rumba has deep roots in a barrio like Cayo Hueso. Since
the 80's we have been given the job of reviving rumba in these solares and
tenements. Solares like Solar Nueve and Solar Africa, and recently in Solar
Madrid. UNESCO's world-wide interchange network approved the project,
"I Am Rumba" in 1995, that is to say, rescue and revitalization of rumba in
Cayo Hueso. The rumba project in Cayo Hueso is the first project in Cuba
involving cultural-community work.
2
127
Figure 26: Mercedes explains the significance of rumba music and traditional
popular culture in Cayo Hueso to a television crew
Mercedes chose to locate this film shoot in Solar Madrid because it was
home to many famous musicians, in particular, the deceased composer Calixto
Callava (Figure 27). She proposed the event to Callava's widow Zaira, suggesting
that it would be a celebration of Callava's spirit. The local favorite, a rumba band
called Clave y Guaguancó, would pay homage to Callava in the courtyard of the
solar (Figure 28). Zaira agreed to participate and serve as a 'host' family, providing
some food and drinks for the musicians that the Ministry of Culture would pay for.
Using her producing skills and knowledge of the residents of Cayo Hueso, Mercedes
had, in a sense, turned a mandated TV shoot into a personalized ritual for the
deceased. After the event, she explained to me its significance,
Callava was one of the biggest rumberos of Cuba, one of the biggest
composers of rumba, and there, where he lived, where he reunited with his
128
friends, with his family, and with his people, we did an evocation to the
eggun (Yoruba term for dead ancestors), to this loss of rumba, in order to
share with him, because rumba doesn't die, and when a rumbero dies, rumba
stays, and the eggun is present when we play rumba.
3
Figure 27: Calixto Callava (Music Composer)
Figure 28: Zaira (wearing a light tank top) talks to Mercedes while Clave y
Guaguancó members dance and play a Columbia rhythm, one of three types of
rumba beats
129
Although a television production, the event was really about reconnecting an eggun
with his people through rumba music. By playing rumba music amongst his friends
and family, Callava's spirit returned to the solar.
By sponsoring rumbas in these solares, or 'hot beds of Afro-Cuban culture',
Mercedes, as a state official and 'cultural representative' of Cayo Hueso , could also
be seen as complicit with government efforts to spotlight Afro-Cuban culture in
order to boost the tourist industry and revolutionary spirit. In this case, rumba style
music and dance needed to be saved and revived, literally show-cased as a museum
piece, yet within its 'native stage', the solar. The state already sponsors professional
rumba musicians who play in hotels, nightclubs, and outdoor cultural arenas such as
Callejon de Hamel, a block in Cayo Hueso that is closed to traffic where Cuban
artwork and scultures are displayed. But this is not enough. The residents of Cayo
Hueso also need a transfusion, a dose of "traditional" music and dance, so they can
better play the role of 'native'. This could be viewed as a state effort to re-
marginalize the poor or create more distance from the center by emphasizing the
'otherness' of the solar space. Mercedes is in a sense complicit with this agenda. For
the film shoot she wears a very traditional dress, acting out the native role. In an
interview with me, she emphasizes the uniqueness of rumba in the solar:
Rumba in the solares maintains its characteristics, its purity, why?, because
one of the fundamental things about rumba is its spontaneity, which is lost in
the theatre, which is lost in the plaza, but inside the solar, this primary
characteristic is maintained. Children hear the sound of the drums from when
they are little, the beats of rumba. They dance rumba in their crib, when they
learn how to stand, because in the solar you can feel it, every moment, every
afternoon, the sound of rumba. Music, in a general sense, for this barrio,
forms a part of their idiosyncrasy. Music is present in every family house,
130
they are teaching music… in other places, sometimes they don't like music…
here it is necessary, it forms a part of the life of the people from this barrio.
One of the things I like most is the unity, the integration, the familiarity that
is established, the fraternity, that is what I like the most and rumba propitiates
it. Rumba allows people to feel good. When you arrive there [at the solar],
whoever arrives there, no one feels like a visitor, you feel like a family, and
that is what I like, that with rumba, you can achieve that, you can find a
family. Because ourselves included… we don't only want people of whatever
background to come to our barrio, to our country. We want them to return.
In order to want to return, they have to feel the compassionate warmth, the
spontaneity, the fraternity, and this unity is achieved through rumba, with this
work.
4
Described as a place where rumba music maintains its 'purity' and spontanaity,
Mercedes essentializes the solar space as one where the traditional arts are passed on
from generation to generation and the community is unified through music. But
Mercedes maneuvers through multiple worlds and state agendas that can benefit the
solar residents as well. Within her description of rumba, one also reads that solar
residents are not backward or stuck in the past. On the contrary, solar residents are
very political, social, and future oriented. They use the improvisational nature of
rumba to convey problems that affect their daily lives, bringing the issues to the table
to be debated. According to Mercedes, through an orderly structured artistic format,
rumberos take turns singing improvised lyrics, "to express a patriotic sentiment, an
amorous frustration, or a social accusation". Although Mercedes's job is to "rescue"
this genre of music that is losing popularity, her attempts have succeeded in that
through her efforts, rumba events have been organized in solares and tenants have
used the opportunity to voice their concerns. The rumba in Solar Madrid was
emblematic, in that it was very contrived for a TV crew, and yet the musicians
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created a partially improvised song that was dedicated to Calixto Callava, a man who
had composed songs for their band, a man whom they wanted to honor. Zaira also
used the staged rumba to reconnect with her deceased husband and with the
musicians and friends she used to associate with when he was alive. She dressed in
her best and brightest clothes for the rumba, and assisted Mercedes in her complex
coordination of the event, designed to appeal to solar residents and a TV film crew.
For Zaira, it was easy for her to agree to have a TV crew film a celebration in honor
of her deceased husband Callava in the solar. She could only benefit from the
attention, music, rum, and food that such a celebration would bring to her courtyard.
This was an extravagance she had not been privy to since Callava passed away ten
years prior. And yet she was not just a passive recipient of food and drink. She had
the power to control the final outcome, a film clip featuring her solar and her family
members 'acting' the role of traditional music lovers.
Solar residents have also excelled at developing human and social capital.
Local musicians and professionals have become world famous for their artistic
talents. And resident networks extend internationally, with community members
working abroad while others cater to tourists back at home. Mercedes explained to
me the rich history of popular cultural in Cayo Hueso and listed its most famous
residents, as she had for the TV film crew:
In Cayo Hueso Chano Pozo learned percussion, anthropologist Fernando
Ortiz lived and worked, and folklorist Rogelio Martinez Furé lived for 39
years. The barrio is home to city historian Eusebio Leal, Afro-Cuban singer
Merceditas Valdés, professor of Brazilian dance Dandy Crawdford, and one
of the greatest musicologists who recently died, Charangón de Elio Revé.
The musical genre known as "feeling" was founded in the 1940's by Ángel
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Díaz in the house of his father Tirso Diaz and by Omara Portuondo who was
always in this barrio, going to the solares, for example "La Cristina", to
dance rumba. The comparsa group "Los Componedores de Bateas" began in
Cayo Hueso in 1937. It is a popular and traditional comparsa and it is from
this barrio. The barrio houses the Plaza of Cigar Makers, a sociocultural
center where playwright Paco Alfonso taught and performed his works.
5
She said that she could name even more bands and musicians who lived in the area.
I took this long list as a sign, not only that she was proud of the talent emerging from
the barrio, but she wanted me to know, that from where I was standing in Solar
Madrid, there were sinuous branches extending throughout the nation and to
international destinations, connecting artists and intellectuals of numerous
disciplines. As fortunes may hold, most of these famous residents have passed on
and the music they espoused is no longer fashionable. The rumba and feeling genres
are losing popularity to a younger generation interested in timba and rap music. But
Mercedes in particular, has been charged with salvaging rumba music. The
sponsorship of rumba by UNESCO and the Cuban TV station was also embraced by
current solar residents who use the solar's stereotypical traits of musical and dance
prowess and fraternal living to bring tourists back to their door steps, supporting the
state tourist industry while increasing their own standards of living. When 'going
native' is profitable, why not play the role? Solar residents are quite adept at catering
to tourists desires for Cuban music, dance, and religion. The rumba provided all
solar residents with the potential to develop their social capital, to build and maintain
networks with foreigners as well as other community members.
In order to better articulate how official and informal practices converge, it is
necessary to describe in more detail the rumba that took place on June 26th, 1999.
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At 10am, the TV film crew and Mercedes arrived at Solar Madrid. One member of
the team put make-up on Mercedes and positioned her on a chair in the middle of the
solar patio (Figure 26). Camera and lights were set up and an interviewer asked
Mercedes four questions about rumba, music, and popular culture in Cayo Hueso.
Mercedes's responses were delivered in a very formulaic manner and appeared to be
memorized. The interviewer repeated the questions several times, asking Mercedes
to pretend that they were having a conversation while drinking a bottle of rum.
Mercedes seemed awkwardly positioned between her multiple roles, as professor and
"native". Whereas the film crew wanted to portray informal popular culture,
Mercedes sought to professionalize herself and the traditional culture she promoted.
The brief interview ended with the film crew slightly discontented with the results.
The musicians from the rumba group Clave y Guaguancó set up their
instruments toward the back of the patio, in front of the public bathrooms and
Manuel's apartment. The TV crew taped the song "Guaguancó a Calixto Callava"
twice, from different angles. Although the song uses a guaguancó rhythm in which
couples frequently dance, this was sung in a reverant manner without dancers. As
soon as the music began, the film crew seemed to relax a bit and mingle with the
tenants. The interviewer clapped and danced behind the camera (Figure 29). This
was significant in that it showed that some members of the TV crew identified with
the 'traditional' practices they were taping and even knew how to dance the intricate
moves.
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Figure 29: Interviewer for the TV film crew (far left) dances and claps behind the
camera while the musical group Clave y Guaguancó plays a song dedicated to
Calixto Callava
The producer and make-up artist for the TV film crew, a blond haired woman,
chatted with members of the Baro family and complained that she only made 220
pesos per month (approximately $11) and that she did not have any foreigners
renting from her, hence no informal income in U.S. dollars (Figure 30). She asked
La Prieta if she could potentially help her to gain foreign tenants. As a state worker,
she clearly needed to work extra-legally outside her official job and build
connections with people who worked in the informal sector in order to survive. In
spite of class and race differences, in this TV shoot, the more formal world of state
workers clearly overlapped with the less formal world of solar residents in their
semi-private space.
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Figure 30: While watching Clave y Guaguancó musicians, film producer (far right)
chats with member of the Baro family
The first song paid homage to Calixto Callava and the lyrics reflected the
bands intimate connection to the great composer, even 10 years after he passed away.
The lyrics go as follows:
Guaguancó a Calixto Callava
(Solo)
Impious death returned
To carry away another rumbero
A melody broke
Causing a great commotion
This time it took away
Calixto Callava
And has left in rumba
And in the rumberos
A great sadness
Calixto Callava you left
Soul, heart and life
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(Chorus)
Calixto Callava, in memory of you
We sing to you and play a great rumba
(Solo)
Because you are our friend
And with us, you rumba'd
(Chorus)
We will never forget you, Calixto Callava
(Solo)
With us you played in Solar Madrid
(Chorus)
We will never forget you, Calixto Callava
(Solo)
In Callejon de Hamel you danced with us
(Chorus)
We will never forget you, Calixto Callava
(Solo)
For me you were, Calixto
A man of great value
For that I insist in repeating
Your melody will not die
(Chorus)
Callava did not die
6
Although this particular song may not have had much meaning to the film crew, it
was carefully selected by the band and Mercedes. The Clave y Guaguancó singers
modified the original version of the song by adding references to personal
interactions they had with Callava in particular places, namely Solar Madrid and
Callejon de Hamel, a small outdoor concert venue a few blocks from the solar in
Cayo Hueso. By taking advantage of the improvisational nature of rumba music, the
137
singers were able to strengthen ties to the bands historical roots, to the spirit of
Callava, and to his friends and family who still live in Solar Madrid. Since Callava's
death ten years earlier, the Clave y Guaguancó band has become quite famous and
has toured around the world. They no longer play music informally in Solar Madrid
nor do they associate with solar residents on a regular basis. But as state-sponsored
professional musicians, they do play at Callejon de Hamel every Sunday. As the
most popular rumba band in Havana, they are usually the last of three groups who
play. Their elevated social status and wealth is clearly apparent in the brand name
apparel they wear, clothes that most solar residents cannot afford or do not have
access to (Figure 31). And yet the band used this staged rumba to reconnect with
their fans from Cayo Hueso, the barrio where they play music, and with solar
residents, many of whom they knew through their work with Callava. Fostering and
maintaining a certain image in crucial to the band's national and international
success. This is accomplished in part, by playing 'in the hood', in the poor solares of
Havana where popular culture thrives. The band depends on support from these
residents.
138
Figure 31: Clave y Guaguancó musicians, dressed in brand name attire
Following the homage to Callava, the musicians played another rumba song
with the guaguancó rhythm while two of their dancers performed for the camera
(Figure 32). Mercedes explained the dance to me during an interview:
Guaguancó is another of the rumba styles. It is a partner dance, of urban
character, from here from the solares, from the tenements, but it is a dance
where the skill of the dancer is demonstrated, in the man, trying to vaccinate
[penetrate] her, and in the woman, in not allowing him to vaccinate
[penetrate]. It is an erotically charged movement, a pelvic shock.
7
Upon asking Mercedes if this sensual dance helped the residents of the barrio in any
way improve their knowledge about sexual life, she responded,
Rumba, in Cayo Hueso, for the likes of this barrio for this genre, has an
educational function, a social function, a cultural function, and a preventative
function… from early ages, because when we have these adolescents formed
by the rumba cultural modules, these youth are not thinking about… about
other things, about committing crimes.
8
139
Rumba is therefore, not just any song and dance, but one with multiple functions in
the barrio, including the control of delinquency. This second song was likely chosen
for the TV shoot because of its photogenic nature, the roots of the particular
guaguancó rumba style in the solar, and because it shows the professionalism and
complex ability of the dancers.
Figure 32: Clave y Guaguancó dancers and musicians performing a guaguancó
rhythm for the TV crew
The TV crew began to pack up their equipment after the taping of the
guaguancó dance, but Mercedes stopped them and insisted that they film a song with
the columbia rhythm. She then addressed the crowd that had gathered, "Keep in
mind, that in the part of the columbia after the musical prelude, any man who feels
140
truly up to the level of this recording can enter the center stage and show off!"
(Figure 33)
9
Figure 33: Mercedes addresses the crowd and film crew, establishing the rules of the
columbia style rumba dance
People started chanting the name of a professional dancer from Clave y Guaguancó
who would most likely accept the challenge (Figure 28). In many ways, it is
interesting that Mercedes insisted that the TV crew tape the rumba rhythm called
columbia. During these songs, a man will dance alone, visibly on display in the
middle of the dance floor, and will then be challenged by another man who will
replace the first one on the dance floor and will try to perform with greater skill and
more unique moves. I later asked Mercedes why she had insisted that the columbia
song be filmed and she responded,
141
It is because, among the styles of rumba, the one where the dancer can show
the greatest technical virtuosity is precisely in columbia, where he can show
if he is a stylist or not. Because the improvization is infinite. He can
abandon himself completely, and that is where the dancer has liberty and can
improvise and create.
10
Mercedes wanted to document the expertise of the dancer as well as the complex
rules of the dance structure. Her comments to the crowd established a set of
guidelines for the improvisational dance "competition," rules that almost everyone in
the crowd knew except possibly some members of the film crew. In that regard, she
wanted to establish herself as teacher and authority figure. She also wanted to
highlight an additional formal aspect of this particular columbia dance, namely that it
would be preserved on film. Amongst the disciplined structure of the dance rules
concerning when and who can dance, lies a very unique artistic expression.
After the filming of the columbia song, the TV crew packed up their
equipment and Imelda and her family distributed caldosa, a Cuban-style soup, to
everyone present. The TV crew left and the musicians moved their instruments into
Zaira's living room. Shortly after the soup was distributed, the rumba began again.
Some of the Clave y Guaguancó musicians along with musicians from the
neighborhood began to play inside Zaira's living room (Figure 34). The small space
quickly became packed with people singing and dancing. Zaira stood on top of a
metal bench, took a swig of rum from a bottle, and sprayed it over the crowd. This
signaled the start of a more private rumba in honor of Callava (Figure 35). Santiago,
one of the local musicians who had played inside Zaira's apartment, described the
meaning of this rumba for him:
142
It was an homage to the deceased Calixto Callava, who had lived in that
solar, and it was in that solar where he fell ill and died of a very serious
sickness, malign, malign, malign, he died of cancer… A person who
everyone loved, because of his way of being… he was a very courteous
person, a pleasant and social person, a person I respected a lot. They played
three or four rumba songs that mentioned Callava, it was an homage to him,
to all of his musical talents, because he was a good musician, an arranger, a
great composer.
11
Santiago is a well-known musician and santero who lives in an apartment near Solar
Madrid. At an early age, he traveled around the world with an artist named
Mendive, playing drums for a performance act. In spite of, and because of, his fame
he has maintained contacts with friends in places like Solar Madrid and is actively
involved in Santeria. Santiago described how this second rumba formed inside
Zaira's apartment:
The second rumba that you heard there, that had the theme of… that was a
little more traditional, more typical, was because really, at the closing of
these gatherings… at the conclusion of the programmed show… that brought
Clave y Guaguancó… that was a really good group, rumba was already
inserted into the blood, the people didn't leave, the people wanted more
rumba and more rumba and the moment arrived… come here, you are a good
musician, the rumba began again, the drums were put inside the room and
there was a great rumba, and everyone danced and the people who were with
the professional group who wanted to play a little more, left their instruments
there. The people rumba'd, 'you go dance, another goes to dance, whoever is
singing sings, and people ask permission to the person singing so that they
can sing next, the one who is drumming takes a turn on the quinto drum.'
This is the really traditional part of rumba, the black part, the black part of
rumba that I like, this is the rumba that I like.
12
Santiago describes a passion for rumba music among the crowd that had gathered
that day in Solar Madrid along with the traditional "black" manner in which a rumba
band is put together on the fly, with drummers, vocalists, and dancers enlisted one by
one, taking turns throughout a song. Santiago emphasized the improvisational nature
143
of rumba inside Zaira's apartment, what Mercedes had called 'spontaneity', whereas
the performance for the TV crew was highly organized, with each musician playing
an established role and specific pre-selected songs. The solar residents and
neighbors had in a sense created their own rumba by taking some pieces of the
professional rumba performance for the TV film crew and adding their own flair.
The instruments and some of the musicians and dancers from the band moved inside,
but the manner in which the rumba was carried out was completely different. One
dancer from the Clave y Guaguancó played the drums, a singer from a different band
became the soloist, and then began to dance. The roles of the main players
frequently switched in an apparently chaotic yet coherent way. Daniel (1995:104)
defines this phenomenon as a "prepared spontaneous rumba" or "rumba extendida".
She explains that often after a professional rumba performance (with musicians and
dancers paid by the Cuban Ministry of Culture playing prearranged and rehearsed
songs), the participants are so involved and excited that the rumba is extended
spontaneously, usually in a separate location. This rumba, organized by a Ministry
of Culture professional, Mercedes, using Ministry of Culture-sponsored musicians,
would certainly fall under this category. Santiago described how the participants
didn't want to leave and the rumba continued in a different location, inside Zaira's
apartment. After singing several songs inside, the Clave y Guaguancó musicians had
to leave for an evening event and took their instruments. It appeared that the rumba
would come to a close, but this was not the case, as many participants remained and
wanted more music.
144
Figure 34: The rumba continues inside Zaira's apartment. Local musician Santiago
(far right) plays with some of the musicians from Clave y Guaguancó and others
from the neighborhood.
Figure 35: After spouting rum over the crowd, Zaira (and La Prieta behind her)
dance
145
The rumba continued in the central patio of Solar Madrid, even though the
Clave y Guaguancó musicians and instruments departed. Much of the crowd
dispersed momentarily, but an equal number of guests returned when some of the
local musicians brought out the more traditional cajones, or box drums. These wood
boxes are held between the knees and are hit with either the hands or a pair of
spoons. Four drummers and a soloist gathered around in a circle and another song
began (Figure 36-37). Zaira, Imelda, La Prieta and other members of the Baro
family actively participated in the chorus, as by this time, most of the cooking and
clean-up duties were completed and only rum needed to be distributed (Figure 38-
40). Santiago described how this outdoor rumba resembled a traditional rumba:
This spectacle that you saw there is a very traditional thing, it is truly the very
very very fundamental part of rumba. All born in a solar, the musical part of
rumba was born in a solar, all born in a solar… In olden times, the ancestors
of us black people did not have the standard of living of the white part, of the
white part of the system of life that lived in that time. They didn't have
instruments, they didn't have anything, they rumba'd, the rumba was with
boxes, they grabbed a tank, the bottom of a bucket… the neighbor who lived
in the other room, the other neighbor in the other room called him, they took
out a bottle of rum, had two or three drinks, when the mouth was hot, they
took out the buckets, spoons, and began the rumba there…
13
Daniel (1995:101) also defines this type of rumba as "rumba tradicional, rumba de
cajón, or spontaneous rumba". Daniel (1995:102) describes how
Neighbors hear the activity and add chairs in front of their doors, which also
open into the shared patio. Gradually people use the sides of walls, table
tops, drawers, a couple of spoons, and the slightly muffled resonance of
cajones announces that the rumba has begun.
146
By this time, the professional musicians and most of the initial guests had left, but
the Baro family members remained as active participants. And soon after the music
started, solar residents and different neighbors gathered around and the party
continued. More rum was purchased and the crowd stayed long after the sun had set.
Figure 36: Singer Fariñas and four drummers with cajones, or improvised box
drums, begin a rumba song.
147
Figure 37: After one song, a small crowd gathers around the musicians and one
drummer (center right) shifts out and is replaced by another.
Figure 38: Zaira, Imelda, La Prieta, and Valeria (left to right) gather around the
musicians and sing the chorus. Imelda collects plastic cups.
148
Figure 39: Imelda's daughter Catarina and grandaughter Ynez sing the chorus (right
to left)
Figure 40: La Prieta pours rum for the guests
149
I asked Mercedes to describe what I had considered three very different
rumbas, the first rumba in the patio for the TV film crew, the more personalized
rumba inside Zaira's apartment, and the final rumba also in the patio of the solar but
with box drums and local lesser known musicians and greater participation by the
Baro family. Mercedes responded:
It wasn't three different rumbas. You saw a rumba, let's say… a rumba of
invocation, that was done to an eggun (Yoruba word for dead ancestors), a
dead rumbero who was Calixto Callava, who lived in that solar. You saw a
solemn form of invoking this eggun. And after, the group played as usual,
with their style, because there is one rumba, but each group has their own
style, like each dancer has their own style, like each singer has their own
style. And last, there was a rumba, but a rumba of 'drumming for the dead',
which is one of the forms of invoking the dead with rumba. Because rumba,
outside the religious circuit, rumba is played as a means of amusement, but
religious rites are notoriously absent. That is the Cuban man, the myths are
at the base of folklore as echoes of the survival of past traditions, and because
of that those egguns…, the rumba of 'drumming for the dead' has been
revived, that is to say, a rumba where one invokes in a spontaneous way
these dead ancestors, and already that is inside a ceremony, also spontaneous,
but with a funerary character, with a ritualistic character. Even though the
rumba didn't spring forth with a religious purpose, but it's the culture in a
wider sense, humankind and everything that surrounds him, everything that
affects humankind, it is present and all of those things are left molded to the
rhythm of guaguancó and rumba. And for that reason, it was a rumba of
'drumming for the eggun', the dead ancestors. And the ancestor received it
contentedly, with approval, because that eggun was a rumbero.
14
In Mercedes' overview of the rumba, it is clear that each of the three rumbas were
equally as religious and meaningful. I had considered the songs by the band Clave y
Guaguancó to be highly structured and secular in part because they were filmed for
the TV crew. But according to Mercedes, it was a "solemn form of invoking this
eggun." The filming and staging of the event had not detracted from its main
content, a song dedicated to a deceased rumbero, Calixto Callava. The two other
150
songs that Clave y Guaguancó sang had no relevance to Callava and were chosen by
Mercedes to show off the dexterity of the dancers and the complexly structured yet
improvised nature of rumba. It was not that Mercedes had ulterior motives for
organizing this event. There were not any contradictions in pleasing multiple parties:
the state, the community, the band members, Mercedes, the eggun, and Zaira and her
family. In fact, the goals and desires of each party overlapped and isolating certain
aspects of the rumba as benefiting certain people was in a sense meaningless.
Several months later I asked Zaira and La Prieta about the event and why it
had taken place. Zaira responded,
It turned out that Mercedes was the coordinator of… because this was with
some foreigners too. And they wanted to learn about a famous solar where
rumba was born… in this solar and Mercedes came to see me. And they
coordinated and did the… and then it was for Calixto Callava, they wanted to
play for him. Clave y Guaguancó played for Calixto Callava.
15
According to Zaira, this was an event for Callava, which was coordinated by
Mercedes and Clave y Guaguancó. Zaira became involved because she lives in the
famous Solar Madrid. La Prieta also emphasized the fame of the solar,
That day there was an homage to him, he achieved years of rumba, of
something, and she [Mercedes] came with a group called Clave y Guaguancó
who gave this [homage] to him. You know… you arrived.. and after we, here
in the house, continued the party [laughing]. I don't know what she wanted to
do, I don't know her project with the group, up until there we don't know.
Clave y Guaguancó came here to play because it is a famous place, many
musicians have been here in this solar. And [Clave y Guaguancó] came with
Mercedes, a very good representative. And yes, it was here and the report
came out very nice.
16
The event was significant to La Prieta because it was a good party, which also
happened to serve as a television report and benefited Clave y Guaguancó who
151
wanted to pay homage to Callava. It was not an event that her family had initiated,
but they all enjoyed it. The event also helped to maintain the solar's reputation as an
enclave of musical prowess. Publicity and fame for the solar also served to expand
the networks of the residents. The extended day long party with a constant flux of
guests certainly allowed for networking. Mercedes spoke highly of the involvement
of the Baro family and her success at transforming the staged televised event into a
local rumba with all of its traditional characteristics:
You could observe how the residents of the solar joined together to prepare a
caldosa (soup), to toast to him [Callava], to participate… Because after all, it
is an activity that I secured, but participation was given to everyone who was
there from the solar. Everyone participated, but participated actively, not
like spectators watching a band… And wanting everyone to integrate with
each other, with all of the social characteristics… That spontaneous thing,
that characteristic, that idiosyncrasy that Cubans have to want to offer what
they have. Even in moments like this, when we are in a special period of
scarcity, we want to offer what is there, a soup, and they prepared it
themselves.
17
Mercedes emphasized how everyone participated and mingled together. She was in
a sense, the architect of a social scene that linked actors of different class and race
backgrounds, such as the white middle class film crew, solar residents, and well-
traveled musicians like Santiago and the Clave y Guaguancó band members. But
rumba, caldosa (soup), and rum brought everyone together smoothly, along with
everyone's learned ability to deal with situations of power difference. Although
Mercedes does not mention it, rum is an integral part of the rumba scene. La Prieta
laughingly emphasized that it was a good party and was not completely sure of
Mercedes's agenda. Parties are significant opportunities for the Baro family to
network with others whom they would not ordinarily see, and consume food and
152
rum. In this case, they also gained some prestige by being the de facto hosts, even
though they did not have to organize or pay for the event. It was in the best interest
of the Baro family and the solar residents to have a successful party so that guests
and musicians would be more likely to return for whatever type of social or financial
transaction.
I asked Imelda what the rumba scene was like in the solar when she was
little. She recalled,
Well, here rumba occurred principally in that room on the side and the one
next to it where two rumberos lived, father and mother, husband and wife,
who favored everything that was rumba. They took a bucket with some
bones to the fire to make a soup, two bottles of rum and began to play with a
box drum, and the other came with two spoons, and the other came with a can
and a stick, and like that, they began and it was twelve at night and still the
rumba was going. Many people who no longer exist because of the laws of
life, were the ones who propitiated rumba. Here, always, always, always,
when I was a little girl, there was rumba. In everything, from here to there,
principally in this block.
18
Solar Madrid clearly had a history of rumba playing, using improvised instruments,
like those used in the third rumba described above. I asked Imelda if rumba music in
the solar had changed since the days of her youth and she responded,
There is practically no rumba here. Like it was when I was a child, there is
no rumba here. Because the rumberos no longer exist. They no longer exist.
Yes, now I can grab a stick, a box and a can and start beating. But it isn't the
same as what they used to do on the weekends here. There was always
rumba on the weekends here. But now, none of them [rumberos] are here…
someone has to come here… and begin to play and then yes, a little rumba is
formed, but not like before. Not like before.
19
According to Imelda, the nostalgic rumbas of the past will never be brought back to
the solar. Imelda remembers the improvised rumbas in the solar before the
153
revolution professionalized the popular tradition. If Mercedes had not organized this
event and brought Clave y Guaguancó to Solar Madrid, there would not have been a
rumba. Only time will tell if Mercedes's officially sponsored attempts at reviving
rumba in Cayo Hueso will succeed at sustaining community level involvement.
However, Mercedes's efforts have already been successful in that she has helped
expand the dense network of acquaintances in the Baro family.
Mercedes is an emblematic 'hybrid subject' in that she has successfully
crossed several borders and has bridged popular, private, household level systems
and public state institutions. She is one of a small group of black Cubans who
graduated from the University of Havana. Raised in a highly populated, poor, barrio
of Havana, she attended the School for Art Instructors that was created at the start of
the revolution and then received a BA in Philology. Her educational achievements
and family background in traditional Afro-Cuban culture make her a very capable
interpreter and mediator between the more informal language and cultural practices
of solar residents and the formal state apparatus (professional TV film crew). As a
teacher and investigator, she told me that she is responsible for "developing popular
traditional culture in a massive form".
20
Her formal occupation focuses on
expanding the popular sectors into other realms, one being the state, thus bringing
informal practices into a more public and formal realm. In the event discussed
above, television was a medium for achieving this growth. She also frequently
works with tourists, dancers, and anthropologists such as myself to further spread the
popular traditions, while also earning some extra dollars in exchange for her
154
expertise. Her work also supports state agendas, such as the publicity and
commercialization of Afro-Cuban 'folklore' for tourism and for building a national
identity, and the use of Afro-Cuban traditions in fostering the creation of the "new
man". She states,
Dance plays an important role in the development of the new man that we
aspire to for the 21
st
century, principally because when we dance, a healthy
mind and body develop, when we dance an interrelation and
intercommunication is established amongst humankind, from a social point of
view.
21
Thus, the state goal of making all citizens into "new men" overlaps with the popular
practice of rumba, which involves social networking. This all coincides with the
goals of the internationally sponsored UNESCO project, "I Am Rumba" to 'rescue
and revitalize' rumba in Cayo Hueso. As cultural promoter and representative of this
project, Mercedes embraces the UNESCO vision. She says,
Each one of us, as UNESCO says, from our communities, have to put our
small grains of sand, to interchange our diversity of cultures. We have to
develop pluralism in the culture; we can't homogenize culture, nor
monopolize culture.
22
Uniquely qualified for this job, Mercedes embodies and promotes Ortiz' notion of
transculturation (1947/1995). Herself a practicing santera, she frequently crosses
lines between her private religious life, promoting semi-religious and semi-private
rumbas in the solares of Cayo Hueso, teaching religious dances to foreigners, and
publicly performing religious ceremonies for mass consumption, such as the
drumming for the dead ancestor (Calixto Callava) for the Cuban TV culture series.
Yet none of these practices or goals is necessarily contradictory and thus everyone
wins in the end. Collaborative activities, such as the filming of the religious event in
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Solar Madrid, show the changing nature of popular traditional practices. Some
might see this event as a sell-out, revealing private religious ceremonies for
entertainment value (Moore 1988), whereas I prefer to see the skillful abilities of
Mercedes to mediate multiple worlds, assert her own agenda and values in the
collaboration, and co-opt the state agenda.
23
And most importantly, Mercedes
instigated a shift in the visibility and agency of Zaira, who could be considered an
end node in a chain of networks that was activated in order to carry out this
collaborative event.
In a very small way, Zaira was able to co-opt a state-sponsored project and
assert her own goals in return for a show of political allegiance. The TV crew had
wanted to film a real, traditional rumba and Zaira was a key player in this enactment.
Her consent was needed to publicly televise an homage to her deceased husband,
Calixto Callava, and facilitate the staging of a rumba in her solar so that it would
appear to be a natural, everyday, cultural event. Her compliance could also be
viewed as a sell-out, as the government has in a sense shown their power over her
and gained her support. On the other hand, co-optation is always a two-way
phenomenon. Zaira also takes advantage of the state recognition of her importance
and uses this to increase her standing in the barrio. She was able to use the event to
extend her networks that penetrate the bureaucratic apparatus, often viewed as the
most significant ties, as they can be difficult to attain for someone living on the
fringes of the state system. Her immediate family networks were reinforced as her
mother, all five of her siblings, and their families participated and assisted in the
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event. Her connections with more distant acquaintances, well-known rumberos and
former friends of Callava, were also re-established. She also gained the more
material, yet nonetheless important food, rum, and entertainment. Parties are
significant ways to distribute the wealth and forget about problems in the poor
solares of Cayo Hueso. Zaira, via Mercedes and the state apparatus, was able to
provide a gift to her friends and family. She did not have a large amount of control
over it as the money for the food and the participation of the professional musicians
was limited. However, "Zaira's party" was broadcast on TV and Solar Madrid
experienced a brief period of fame. For Zaira, consenting to the filming and showing
her allegiance to the state agenda (non valuable efforts) was easily traded for the
above gains.
Such a juxtaposition of goals and agendas ultimately resulted in a
complex exchange of visual monitoring roles that occurred throughout the party.
Zaira’s mother, in charge of distributing the food and drinks, had made sure that
access to her kitchen was limited to a handful of selected family members. In turn,
these improvised waiters circulated around, refilling plates and cups with calculated
precision. A complicated exchange between musicians and filmmakers had been
required to get the concert started. A brief religious ceremony, performed away from
the cameras in the back of Zaira’s room, served to dedicate the party to the spirit of
Callava. This gesture had opened the entire event to yet another level of scrutiny.
The Orishas, or Santeria deities, were now watching, and all Santeria practitioners
among the crowd were required to pay some respect to their sacred presence.
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According to Mercedes, to the members of the band, and to the filmmakers,
this party was a total success. Zaira and her family, however, felt that the presence
of the camera crew was too disruptive. From their point of view, the religious side
of the experience had been insufficient, and the party lacked the grandiosity expected
from authentic sacrificial ceremonies. More importantly, sacred music was played
for the cameras rather than for the Orishas. Instead of appeasing the spirit of
Callava, such a visual travesty of “real” rumba could potentially infuriate him. After
getting some advice from her personal religious counselors, Zaira decided that
throwing another party was in order. This time around, she kept Mercedes out of the
loop. A different band was also required, one with a more intimate connection with
the deceased. At the peak of his fame, Callava had played with “Yoruba Andabo”, a
band organized among local dockworkers. Most members were still in touch with
Zaira and sometimes visited the solar. In March of 2000, after a week of intense
negotiations, the manager of “Yoruba Andabo” agreed to play in the solar. Finally,
Zaira had another opportunity to make amends with the spirit of Callava.
158
PART II: MARCH 2000: RUMBA (CAJON FOR CALLAVA) WITH BAND
YORUBA ANDABO IN SOLAR MADRID
The next large collaborative event that occurred in Solar Madrid was
instigated and coordinated by Zaira. The rumba organized by Mercedes in June a
year earlier gave Zaira enough agency and support that she had the confidence to
arrange her own rumba in a manner that better catered to her own likes and desires.
Zaira began discussing the possibility of having another rumba in the solar in
November 1999, following a spiritual mass that took place in her apartment.
Zaira had been very sick with stomach problems and had been throwing up
blood in the mornings. Her daughter, La Prieta, suggested that she ask two local
spiritists to hold a mass in her apartment. Although always a little hesitant to spend
money on religious ceremonies, Zaira complied for fear her health would worsen.
La Prieta also wanted to hear the advice of the spirits, and they both set out to buy
the necessary items for the altar (Figure 41). The spiritists arrived shortly after the
altar was prepared and preceded to chant their way into a trance, a state where they
could serve as a medium channeling the desires of the dead to the living. The
spiritists told Zaira that the spirit of a young musician, who was hijo de Chango, or
son of Chango (the orisha of thunder and passion), was following her around and
bothering her. Zaira immediately identified this man as her late husband, Calixto
Callava, who had in fact performed the hacer santo ceremony, receiving the orisha
of Chango and becoming initiated into Santeria priesthood. The spirits said that she
needed to keep a sunflower in her house for Oshun (the orisha of love) and gladiolus
159
flowers for Babalú Ayé (the orisha of illness). She also had to put a piece of bread
and butter with the crusts cut off above her door. They said that she had stomach
problems and had to take care of her health or she would die young. Zaira confirmed
by nodding and saying luz y progresso, literally meaning "light and progress,"
acknowledging that the spirits had correctly understood her predicament. The spirits
told Zaira that she was not very religious and that she should believe more, instead of
just going along with the ceremonies happening around her. Zaira was instructed to
kill a chicken and cleanse herself with it.
Figure 41: Altar prepared for spiritist ceremony
160
This mass and advice of the spirits brought to the forefront three related
problems that Zaira was having. Since several family members were present, along
with myself, her issues were made public and their resolution would become a joint
effort. First, the spirits said that her deceased husband continued to bother her.
Zaira later told me that Calixto Callava's spirit was hanging around her and would
not allow her to re-marry or have any relationships with men. She had in fact been
in several short relationships with men that all ended badly, with loud verbal
disagreements in the central patio. La Prieta described the problem:
The dead, Eggun, as they say, was bothering her, didn't want her to have a
man here in her house, didn't want her to have a husband in her life, and
bothered and disturbed her and she told him that he was already dead, that he
should leave her to live her life, that as a spirit, she was going to attend to
him with flowers, candles, and all of the things that he had wanted or had
previously. Zaira needed the cajon for her health, and he was her wife, and a
spirit that was very popular.
24
Second, the spirits told Zaira that she needed to take care of her health problems. It
was insinuated that these problems stemmed from a lack of offerings to Babalú Ayé
or her ex-husband Callava. Blame was never placed on Zaira and her high alcohol
consumption, and was instead transferred to higher beings, spirits and ancestors.
And third, the spirits told Zaira that she was not religious enough. Although not
verbalized, it was clear that instead of spending money on religious offerings, Zaira
was buying rum, drinking excessively, and becoming a nuisance in the family and
the solar. Her mother Imelda would not talk to her and her daughter La Prieta stayed
far away, as Zaira had hit her several times when intoxicated. As in most Afro-
Cuban rituals, the solution to these problems involved offerings of herbs and flowers
161
and animal sacrifice. For Zaira, this would involve retreat from some of her anti-
social habits and greater participation in the Santeria community. In a sense, her
Santeria networks had lapsed and she needed to reinforce these connections or risk
isolation from her family and community, and problems with the dead, a very
vulnerable position.
25
In January 2000, two months after this mass, Zaira began to plan a cajon, or
spiritual drumming, for Callava. She told me that the rumba in June with the
musical group Clave y Guaguancó had not been very effective and that his spirit was
still bothering her. Instead, she felt that the rumba band Yoruba Andabo would sing
to Callava with more feeling and passion. They would be able to bring his spirit
back to the solar so that Zaira could honor him properly. Callava had been one of
the co-founders of Yoruba Andabo that began in 1961 under the name, Guaguancó
Marítimo Portuario, or Marine Port Guaguancó, named as such because the band
members all worked at the pier together.
26
The group disbanded for a period, and
reunited in 1986. Callava had originally been a singer in the band and later served as
director and composer for the group. In his position as director, he had arranged for
Yoruba Andabo to tour the United States. He unfortunately passed away just two
months before the group was to depart, in the early 1990's. Callava was more
involved with the group Yoruba Andabo than with Clave y Guaguancó and thus
Zaira felt that the former would be better able to invoke his spirit.
Planning and preparing for the cajon involved a long series of events where
various musicians and healers were contacted, ceremonies were arranged, and food
162
and ritual items were purchased. In each activity, it could be argued that Zaira
served as a hub of a wheel, re-connecting with and bringing together diverse actors,
as any party planner would be expected to do. In Zaira's case, this involved a
rebuilding of a previous social network that had existed when she was married to the
renowned rumbero Callava. Much like Mercedes's rumba in the solar, this event
was also a collaboration involving parties of different socioeconomic status.
Although coming from similar backgrounds in the solares of Havana, the Yoruba
Andabo band members were professional musicians who had traveled to numerous
countries around the world, recorded CD's, and were financially better off than Zaira
and her family. Like Clave y Guaguanco, the Yoruba Andabo band members are
paid a salary by the state to perform weekly and practice daily. The band plays for
tourists every Sunday at the Hotel Nacional and every Saturday evening at the
nightclub Las Vegas, a place frequented by Cubans and tourists (Figure 42-44). The
band plays in these highly visible locations because they have become well-known
both in Cuba and abroad. In 2001, they won a Grammy for their album La Rumba
Soy Yo. In spite of their fame and success, Yoruba Andabo continues to play in
private homes and solares for Afro-Cuban religious ceremonies. According to US
standards, they would be considered a garage band. Most members still live in
solares or small apartments and none of them own cars. Although it may not be
financially beneficial for the band to play privately at events such as the cajon for
Callava, they need this exposure to build and maintain their social capital. They are
just as dependent on networks as the solar residents. For the cajon for Callava, Zaira
163
and the band formed a partnership, trading food, rum, music, and friends. Although
barely off-setting the costs, everyone managed to benefit by participating in this
rumba. An outline of these events will reveal the full extent of networking and
bridging involved in a successful collaboration.
Figure 42: Yoruba Andabo playing at the Hotel Nacional
In early February, during a lengthy trip to a prison outside of Havana to visit
some relatives, Zaira spoke to me about the possibilities of having a cajon for
Callava in the solar. She told me that Yoruba Andabo had a gig every week at Las
Vegas, a small nightclub a few blocks away from the solar. She wanted to go talk to
the band members the following week and ask them to play in the solar. She thought
that the band would charge $20 along with some expected food and rum. She
stressed to me that she really needed the band to bring Callava's spirit back to her.
Knowing that this was her way of asking for money, I negotiated a deal with her. I
asked if she would mind if I filmed the cajon in return for paying for the band's fees,
164
and explained to her the visual component of my anthropology program. Zaira
readily agreed and thus re-enforced one network that had lapsed, with myself, as I
had been spending more time with her daughter La Prieta.
A week later Zaira and I went to the Las Vegas nightclub on a Saturday
evening to hear Yoruba Andabo play. The nightclub, less than 1 mile from Solar
Madrid, draws a crowd of both tourists and Cubans as the former are charged a $5
entry fee and the latter pay 5 pesos or 25¢ (Figure 43-44). We arrived early and
Zaira spoke with Chan, Chappottín, Marino and Giovani, four of the band members
and her former friends, about the possibility of hiring the group for a cajon for
Callava (Figure 45-48). She explained to them that Callava had given her a lot of
support in life but that now she was having a problem with his eggun, the spirit of
Callava, who would not allow Zaira to remarry. She said, “I am in my 30’s and
Callava is close to his 70’s and it is time for him to understand that I need another
man.”
27
She explained to them that Clave y Guaguancó sang to Callava in the solar
unsuccessfully; Callava's spirit was still bothering her. Chan agreed that Callava
would feel better with Yoruba Andabo singing and also said that the filming of the
event would be a good promotion for the band. Giovanni, the director of the band,
set the price at $40 and scheduled the cajon for March 23
rd
. Zaira later told me that
she thought the price was higher than usual for such an event, and that it was likely
increased because I was there. Throughout the evening, Zaira drank a lot of rum and
spoke to everyone in the band about the importance to her of having this cajon for
Callava, reinforcing her connection with the dead and the band members. Marino, a
165
musician in the band who had lived in Solar Madrid, suggested that Zaira contact the
santera Carmen and ask her to perform the mass before the cajon during which
Callava's spirit would dictate instructions on how the ceremony should proceed.
Figure 43: Las Vegas Nightclub
166
Figure 44: Yoruba Andabo on stage inside Las Vegas nightclub
Figure 45: Juan Campos "Chan" Figure 46: Giovanni del Pino Rodríguez
167
Figure 47: Miguel Chapottín Beltrán Figure 48: Justo "Marino" García Arango
The following week, Zaira and I took the boat taxi across the harbor to the
town of Regla to discuss the religious ceremonies with Carmen and reconfirm the
date of the cajon with Chan, Carmen's husband. Zaira told me that she was so drunk
the week before at the nightclub, she wanted to make sure Yoruba Andabo would be
coming to the solar to play. After we boarded the boat taxi, Zaira immediately went
to the window and threw a coin into the ocean for Yemaya, and prayed to the
maternal orisha of smooth or raging seas (Figure 49-50). Zaira told me that she
respected the ocean and was afraid of it because she cannot swim. After the boat
docked, we disembarked and walked across the street to the church of Regla, the
Catholic saint which corresponds to the orisha Yemaya. Inside, Zaira prayed in front
of the altar to Regla and she told me that after the cajon for Callava I should return to
the church with flowers for Yemaya (Figure 51). Thus far, our journey to the house
168
of Carmen and Chan had been a clear demonstration of Zaira's devotion to the
orishas, a higher power she acknowledged as such.
Figure 49: Zaira throws a coin outside the window of the boat taxi and prays to
Yemaya for a safe journey across the harbor.
Figure 50: Disembarking from the boat taxi upon arrival in Regla
169
Figure 51: Zaira prays to Yemaya in front of the statue of Our Lady of Regla
Zaira and I walked from the church to Carmen and Chan's house and had a
productive visit planning for the cajon for Callava (Figure 52). We ran into Chan
outside and he confirmed that Yoruba Andabo would play in the solar on the 23
rd
.
He was very excited about the cajon and said that Callava was like a brother to him
and discovered that he could sing. He gave Zaira a photo of Callava that she could
use for the altar for the mass and he sold two tapes to me of Yorba Andabo music for
$7 each that he said I could use for the film. We then spoke to the well-known
santera Carmen who told Zaira everything she needed to buy for the mass and the
cajon. For the spiritual mass the day before the cajon, Zaira would need to buy
170
candles, alcohol, fresh herbs, chalk, white flowers, red roses, and white lilies. On the
morning of the cajon, a rooster would need to be sacrificed in front of an altar which
needed to display honey, coffee with milk, flowers, chalk, coconut, alcohol,
chocolate, and cigarettes. During the cajon, Zaira needed to serve the guests rum,
caldosa (soup), juice, and sweets. Zaira carefully wrote down all of the items and
told Carmen that she wanted to do everything right and did not want people to laugh
at her. Carmen told Zaira that she would not be able to officiate the mass because
she knew Callava when he was alive. She said that it was better to hire a spiritist
who did not know him and asked Zaira if she had anyone in mind. Zaira said that
her daughter La Prieta had recommended using her Catholic godfather who was a
spiritist who also happened to be gay. Carmen and Chan both rejected the idea and
said that Callava had nothing to do with gay men and his spirit would never mount a
gay man's head. Zaira said she would find someone before the cajon, which was
only a week away. After discussing the logistics of the cajon, we all went to the
corner bar to drink beer. Zaira, Chan, and Carmen swapped stories about Callava,
Zaira's relationship to him, and his painful death to cancer.
171
Figure 52: Left to right: Chan, Zaira, granddaughter of Chan and Carmen, Carmen.
Zaira plans the cajon for Callava with Chan and Carmen.
During this outing to the town of Regla, Zaira began to rebuild her social and
religious networks. Countering the accusation of her lack of faith in Santeria during
the spiritual mass in November, Zaira expressed her will to follow Carmen's ritual
guidelines and her desire to please the deceased. Chan also strengthened his
connection with the dead as he wanted to honor Callava, a fictive brother who had
discovered his singing talent, which made him a celebrity. From a purely monetary
standpoint, Chan also benefited from the encounter as he sold me two audiocassettes
for $14. Although a professional musician, like everyone else in Cuba, Chan needs
to earn hard currency (U.S. dollars) in order to survive and does so by playing music
privately in people's homes for religious ceremonies or through his contact with
tourists at his weekly performances.
172
The cajon for Callava turned into an intense four-day event. Nearly all of the
Baro family members assisted in the party preparations and even Jazmin and Marcos
were kept home from boarding school for the entire week. The four days were
occupied respectively by a Catholic mass (Day 1), a spiritual misa (mass officiated
by spiritists) (Day 2), shopping for food, animals, and offerings (Day 3), and finally
the cajon for Callava (Day 4). On the first day of the festivities, I arrived at the solar
at 7am to accompany Zaira to the church of "Nuestra Señora del Carmen". We left
immediately as she was eager to arrive on time. As instructed by local spiritists, she
bought white lilies from a merchant in front of the church and then proceeded inside
the sanctuary where she prayed and placed the flowers on the altar of La Caridad del
Cobre (Our Lady of Charity), which corresponds with the Yoruban deity Oshun in
Cuba (Figure 53-54). The sermon had not yet started so she found the priest and
paid a few pesos to rogar la misa, or request that the priest dedicate the mass to
Calixto Callava. We sat in the middle row and stayed for the entire mass. Callava's
name was announced in the beginning of the service along with a dozen other
names.
28
173
Figure 53: Zaira buys white lilies in front of the Catholic Church of "Nuestra Señora
del Carmen"
Figure 54: Zaira offers white flowers to Oshun/La Caridad del Cobre (Our Lady of
Charity)
The spiritual misa (mass) took place in Zaira's apartment on the second day
of ritual preparations. Zaira found two local spiritists, an older one Magdalena, and a
younger woman, Serafina, to perform this misa espiritual, a séance "at which
174
invocations to the dead are made, [along with] ritual cleansings" (Ayorinde
2004:21).
29
I arrived at the solar at 8am and left with Zaira soon after to buy flowers
for the altar. Upon returning to the solar, Zaira carefully arranged the altar in her
living room while I filmed her (Figure 55-57). She placed the photo of Callava in
various places on the table, but eventually removed it completely as she was told by
a santero that Callava would not mount the spiritist if his photo were visible. The
misa began at 2pm and was attended by Zaira, La Prieta, Marcos, Jazmin, Chan,
Carmen, the two spiritists, and myself. For the first twenty minutes, Magdalena read
from a Kardecan spiritist book. Then, she led a two-hour discussion concerning
Callava and his relationship with Zaira, Chan, and Carmen. Gradually, some of the
internal conflicts of the Yoruba Andabo band were revealed. Chan was frustrated
because the band was not advancing. They wanted to travel but had not been abroad
in a long time. Giovanni and his wife, who are both santeros, were in charge of
performing the necessary ceremonies and offerings in order for the band to secure a
gig abroad. Chan felt that these had not been done adequately and preferred that his
wife Carmen were in charge of the "brujeria" (witchcraft), as he called it. Callava
had arranged the group's last big trip to the U.S. and Chan felt that by honoring him
in this cajon, their chances to travel would improve. Chan and Carmen then spoke
about how dedicated Zaira was to Callava during the last ten years of his life and
how she had taken such good care of him when he became sick. They regretted that
Zaira had never officially married Callava, because if she had, she would have
inherited some money and avoided many of her current problems.
175
Figure 55: Zaira arranges an altar for the misa espiritual for Calixto Callava, which
took place two days before the cajon
Figure 56: Close-up of the altar for the misa for Callava
176
Figure 57: Photo of Calixto Callava given to Zaira by Chan and Carmen
Following the discussion, both of the spiritists, in turn, became possessed and
cleansed everyone in the room by brushing the green branches over each person from
head to toe while spinning them, spraying perfume, and blowing cigar smoke. Each
person was instructed to make an offering to the orishas. Zaira had to offer nine
eggplants and a rooster to Callava before the cajon. The spirit of Callava had not
descended on the spiritists, but different spirits had, one who informed Zaira that
Callava wanted her to hold a big party. La Prieta later explained the misa to me:
During the misa, the spiritist lowers the spirit, of them, the spirit that
accompanies each person. Francisca accompanies me. The spiritist that did
the misa is accompanied by the minstrel, each person has a spirit that mounts
them. During the misa the spirits say whether or not you can have a party,
following the likes of the eggun (deceased ancestor) who is going to be
honored, who is going to be given the party. If he wants a party, he gets a
party. If he wants food: chicken, hen, rooster, then he gets food. It is
whatever the eggun wants. After the misa we offered the rooster and after
that we offered the rumba and the cajon.
30
177
Feeling much like a therapy session, the misa came to a close. Callava's continued
influence on the living had been acknowledged. Zaira's prominent role in the life of
this prosperous composer had been recognized. The reasons behind Chan and
Carmen's desire to participate in the cajon also became clear. And most importantly,
Callava gave the approval for Zaira to hold a cajon, a large ritual and party where all
of his friends would attend. Everyone agreed that Callava always loved parties when
he was alive, so in order to honor him properly, a big party was necessary.
The third day of ritual preparations was consumed by shopping for food and
ritual items. Zaira, La Prieta, and Chano went to a large agricultural market,
accompanied by myself and a small film crew. Up until this point I had been able to
film alone. But for the trip to the market and the cajon I needed some assistance
(Figure 58). The crew consisted of three Cubans – one historian and two technicians
(producer, videographer, sound assistant), a Norwegian musicologist (sound
assistant), and an anthropologist from the United States (still photographer). These
additional people, coming from outside of the immediate network of Zaira, La Prieta,
and the solar residents, had a significant effect on everyone around them. In the
market, the merchants were happy to be filmed because more customers came to
their stands wanting to be "seen on TV". While my "actors" patiently bought items
several times so I could capture different angles, people would gather around and
observe (Figure 59). Even the interest of the police and my successful negotiation
efforts was a popular story told by Zaira. At the cajon, the semi-professional crew
conferred a greater degree of importance and authority on those involved in
178
organizing it, Zaira, Callava, and the Yoruba Andabo band members who
appreciated the publicity. After purchasing meat and vegetables for the caldosa
(soup) at the market, we took a taxi back to the solar and dropped off all of the food
at Imelda's apartment, since she was responsible for making the large pot of soup and
individual box lunches for the band members and other important people who would
attend.
Figure 58: Film crew captures Zaira, La Prieta, and Chano buying meat at the market
179
Figure 59: Zaira buys taro root for the caldosa (soup)
Leaving the rest of the film crew behind, I went with Zaira and La Prieta to
buy rum, flowers, a cake and other pastries from vendors near the solar. We then
went to 'El Rapido', a fast food restaurant/convenient store that charges in U.S.
dollars. Zaira wanted to buy powdered juice and plastic cups for the party. As we
were crossing the street, a delivery truck pulled up in front of the restaurant and the
driver took a box of cups and plates out of the truck. La Prieta approached him and
asked if he would kindly help her to resolver una cosa (resolve a problem). She
proceeded to explain how she really needed some cups for a religious function, how
grateful she would be if he could give her some, and how ironic it was that he pulled
up just as she was leaving her house to try to find cups. Much to my surprise, the
man complied and gave her approximately 50 red plastic cups. La Prieta had
somehow determined that this man was religious and that he would understand her
180
predicament. The situation emphasized the strong nature of religious networks and
on the contrary, the weaker loyalties to state and private enterprise.
With all of the necessary ritual preparations and party purchases complete,
the day of the cajon finally arrived. It would be marked by a series of events along a
continuum from religious and private ritual offerings to more public and secular
rumba singing and dancing followed by a final religious gesture. The number of
participants also increased and reduced as the events moved to different parts of the
solar patio and inside Zaira's apartment. The cajon was considered a great success
and was the topic of conversation in the solar for weeks following the rumba. The
success could be attributed to the party hosts, Zaira and her family, the band, and the
local and distinguished guests. Even more important however, the unique spatial
layout of the solar allowed for such a grand event to take place.
I arrived at the solar at 8am to witness the chaos of last minute preparations.
Imelda told me that she had only three hours of sleep because she was preparing the
food. She was very upset because the pigs head for the altar had been left out of the
refrigerator over night and had fallen apart. She had sent La Prieta to the market at
7am with hopes that she would arrive early enough to buy another pigs head before
they sold out. Zaira was preparing the altar for Callava. In a small corner of the
solar patio, alongside her apartment wall, she carefully arranged glasses of coffee,
milk, chocolate milk, flowers, wine, rum, distilled alcohol, cigars, coconut pieces,
chalk, and more (Figure 60). The area chosen for the altar was critical as it was in a
small semi-private corner of the solar patio. It was placed where Zaira usually kept
181
a table for washing clothes, a public outdoor area which she had co-opted as it was
directly in front of her house. Significantly, the altar was also in a little corner that
could not be seen upon entering the patio and would require some effort to find.
Although Santeria practitioners have not been officially persecuted during the
revolution, they cannot become members of the communist party and practicing has
been discouraged in many ways.
31
For this reason, some people prefer to practice
privately, behind closed doors. However, within the Afro-Cuban community, one
can gain status and respect from public displays of religiosity. These ceremonies
also legitimize the more secular parties that usually follow them. Zaira's cajon for
Callava had both private and public elements and the solar space allowed for these
transitions.
Figure 60: Altar for Callava on the day of the cajon
The ritual ceremonies began at 11am after a new pig's head had been
purchased, the altar had been arranged, and Chan, Carmen and the spiritist had
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arrived. An Obbá (a sacrificial priest) had been hired to perform the animal
sacrifices and had begun to prepare an hour earlier (Figure 61). A small group of
relatives and the individuals named above gathered around the altar. Everyone had
their heads covered so that the spirits would not mount them. The Obbá recited
some prayers while tapping his stick on the ground and those gathered around
chanted a response. The rooster was washed by the Obbá, Chan, and the spiritist
(Figure 62). Then, the Obbá slit its neck with a knife, poured the blood on top of the
offerings in the altar, and tore some of its feathers off while laying it carefully on the
ground (Figure 63). Inside the house, two baby chicks were sacrificed for Elegua.
After these quick and quiet ceremonies, Zaira paid the Obbá $5 and he left. The
sacrifices were private rituals attended only by those involved with Callava and
invested in his spiritual well-being, along with the religious practitioners who
conducted or facilitated contact with the spirits and orishas. In looking at figure 61-
63, it is interesting to note how the status of religious practitioners is marked not
only by the wearing of beads and their ritual knowledge but also by their gold rings,
watches, and designer clothes. The black and red bracelet worn by the Obbá is
called an iddé, a prominent sign that he is a babalawo who has completed the Ifá
initiation rituals. This weeklong ceremony, which is often equated with the 'birth of
a king', costs approximately $1,200.
32
Spending such an enormous amount of money
(roughly five years of salary) in one week for Orula is not only a sign of devotion,
but also that one is well connected and has access to key resources.
33
To a lesser
extent, the cajon for Callava was also a demonstration of Zaira's wealth and
183
eagerness to spend money on spirits and saints. The amount of money she spent on
the party could have been used to buy and install a toilet in her apartment. However,
as will be seen below, the value of the party was much greater than a toilet.
Figure 61: The Obbá arranges the altar for Calixto Callava
Figure 62: Chan, the Obbá, and the spiritist wash the rooster before its sacrifice
184
Figure 63: The Obbá sprinkles the rooster's blood and feathers on the altar to Callava
The Yoruba Andabo band arrived at 12:30 and set up their equipment inside
Zaira's living room in front of the spirit altar. This altar was set up on a table
covered with a white tablecloth and looked identical to the altar prepared for the
misa two days earlier (Figure 56). Zaira stood by the door to her apartment and only
allowed the band members, family, and a few religious practitioners to enter
34
.
Then, she sat in a chair next to the altar so that the band faced her and the altar
(Figure 64). After Marino spit rum in each corner of the room, the band played a
song dedicated to Callava. This semi private affair displayed the importance of
Zaira's intimate relationship with Callava. More people were involved than during
the late morning sacrifice of the rooster, yet Zaira controlled the entry. With Zaira's
placement right next to the altar, the band was singing to and honoring her as much
as Callava. Zaira was empowered by this public acknowledgement of her close
relationship with Callava. But ultimately it is the dead who are shown to have even
more power than the living. The spirit of Callava was so strong that he could unite
185
his friends and loved ones. He pestered Zaira enough so that she needed to have a
cajon to honor him.
35
And yet Zaira's connection to this dead man gave her a
legitimate reason to throw a party and sanction her excessive drinking habit, at least
for a day. The more secular singing and dancing that followed the band's songs in
front of the spirit altar became not just any party, but one endorsed by religious
authorities, where those who attended were required to drink, socialize, and have
fun, as that is what Callava had requested. Even though most guests were not invited
into Zaira's living room for the band's homage, they could still listen from outside,
and peek through a large metal grated window (Figure 65). The structure of Zaira's
living room, with thin walls and door-sized windows allowed for the public to
witness a semi-private ritual, an intimate part of Zaira's life, and thus conferred a
greater significance to the event and more reason to be involved.
Figure 64: Zaira sits next to the spirit altar while the band plays several songs for
Callava
186
Figure 65: Guests peering through Zaira's metal grated window into her living room
to watch Yoruba Andabo sing to the spirit altar
During the second song, Serafina, the young spiritist who had performed the
misa two days earlier, became possessed. After flailing around, she was ushered into
Zaira's bedroom. Everyone said that a bad spirit had possessed her and did not want
to go near her for fear they might also become possessed. This was the only
possession that occurred throughout the day.
36
For Serafina, the misa and the cajon
for Callava were an opportunity for her to connect with new people in the religious
community. She was able to meet Carmen, a well-known santera, and all of the
members of the Yoruba Andabo band who are always involved in religious rituals.
She assisted the Obbá in the rooster sacrifice, a man she could potentially work with
at a later occasion (Figure 62). Serafina's services were not needed at the cajon and
she was not paid to attend, yet she stayed the entire day and assisted here and there
with small tasks, helping both the Baro family with the party organization, and the
religious priests. As a young and less experienced spiritist, it is important for
187
Serafina to be visible and make herself and her services widely known in the
community. The cajon, in a sense, offered her some publicity.
After the band played a few songs dedicated to Callava inside Zaira's
apartment, they moved their instruments outside to the solar patio and began to play
more secular dance music (Figure 66). Rum began to flow and the crowd grew
rapidly. The patio of Solar Madrid forms a natural outdoor stage. The band set up
their instruments in front of Apartment #16, toward the back center of the courtyard
where there is a slightly raised step (Figure 6). The crowd formed a semi-circle
around a small open area where people could dance. Zaira would never be able to
obtain a similar performance space outside the solar as it would be too difficult to
get permits for the band to play in a public park and too expensive to play at an
indoor arena. But the theatre like construction of the courtyard allowed Zaira to host
such an event. And with one door leading to the main street, even the guests could
be monitored. The band played for several hours with guests coming and going but
an active crowd always remained.
188
Figure 66: Yoruba Andabo plays rumba music in the patio of Solar Madrid
The rumba was a success partly because numerous distinguished artists
participated. Fariñas, a prominent rumba vocalist, took the lead in singing several
songs and even danced with Zaira, bringing her into the center of the stage, publicly
acknowledging her significance in the event (Figure 67). Juan de Dios, a dancer
from the National Folkloric Company (Conjunto Folklórico Nacional) danced
several songs with a young professional dancer from Yoruba Andabo (Figure 68).
Eloy Machado, creator of Rumba Saturday (Sabado de la Rumba), a weekly rumba
performance at a cultural center in Havana, also participated actively (Figure 69).
Pancho Quinto, a famous drummer, sang with Yoruba Andabo and danced (Figure
70). All of these distinguished guests were originally members of poor,
marginalized communities who attempted to transform popular culture into a
national culture. In their own ways, they attempted to co-opt state spaces and bring
popular traditions into the public arena, thereby cleaning the image of the
189
marginalized individual vis a vis the state. For instance, Eloy Machado, a poet better
known as El Ambia, acted as himself in Sara Gómez's film De Cierta Manera
discussed in Chapter 2. With encouragement from Sara Gómez, he created Sabado
de la Rumba at UNEAC, the National Union of Writers and Artists (Union Nacional
de Escritores y Artistas).
37
The weekly performance at this prominent cultural center
attracted many tourists and was partly responsible for turning rumba, a street dance
from the poor barrios, into a national dance.
38
As mentioned earlier in this chapter,
the Cuban state, which has sponsored all of the artists above, has their own
motivations for bringing rumba and popular traditions to the stage. These include
efforts to control people who participate in popular traditions at the margins of
society and efforts to publicize their cultural practices to bolster the tourist industry.
Those artists, such as rumberos, who work for the state, participated in
commodifying folklore and reproducing it for tourists. However, they were not
viewed as sell-outs within their community but as leaders chosen to publicly
professionalize street music that was already viewed as a complex musical genre
from within the community. Rumberos were also paid well and the money trickled
down into the community. Although they earn more money playing for the state at
hotels, recording albums for tourists, and touring abroad, professional musicians
enjoy and oftentimes prefer to perform in the poor communities from which they
came. Miguel Chappottin Beltran, vocalist for Yoruba Andabo, described the
difference between playing rumba in a hotel vs. a solar (Figure 47). He said, "It
catches more force in the solar… because the people who go are more emotional…
190
they themselves begin to sing and dance, and all that and then, it gives more
emotionality to the rumba."
39
Chan prefers the spontaneity of rumba in the solar as
opposed to the structured theatrical performances in the hotels,
The solar is rumba as it is. You go out and dance, she begins to sing, another
goes out and wait, wait, let me in, wait, give me a turn, hey buddy let me take
the drums, let me play the spoons. That is the perfect rumba. Those who go
are familiar with it. But in the theatre, in the cabaret, it is very distinct. It has
to be a different format. It is the same rumba but with other characteristics.
There are lights, audio… there is organization. But, the heart of rumba is in
the solar.
40
The solar crowd is not only preferred by rumba musicians, but needed.
Knowledgable tourists have become dissatisfied with static theatrical performances
and prefer to see the more vibrant rumba found on the streets.
41
The state, originally
responsible for removing rumba from the poor barrios, now sees the need to "revive"
it is these areas. The musicians need a local following in order to maintain their
prominent position in society, and abroad. The cajon for Callava thus became a
complex collaboration between state sponsored musicians and tenants from a
marginalized solar.
191
Figure 67: Zaira dances with Fariñas, a prominent rumba vocalist, in the center of the
solar 'stage'
Figure 68: Juan de Dios, a dancer from the National Folkloric Company, dances with
a young professional dancer from Yoruba Andabo
192
Figure 69: Eloy Machado, creator of Sabado de la Rumba (Rumba Saturday), a
weekly rumba performance at a cultural center in Havana, dances solo
Figure 70: Pancho Quinto, wearing a tour shirt that features himself, sings and
dances with Yoruba Andabo
After several hours of music in the solar patio, the bottles of rum emptied and
Yoruba Andabo played one last song. They situated their equipment in a semi circle
around the altar for Calixto Callava and played a final homage to him (Figure 71).
After hours of drinking, dancing, and singing the cajon returned to a focus on the
193
spirits, reminding everyone that the party had a purpose, to honor and appease a
great artist who had died in Solar Madrid. Miguel Chapottín Beltrán (Figure 47),
vocalist for Yoruba Andabo, described how the cajon reached Callava's spirit:
Basically, this process works because when we sing to the deceased, he feels
good. That is our style. We sang to him, for example, if he composed three
or four rumba songs, we sang those to him that day, in order to raise his
spirit. That is how we do these things. We always sing songs that represent
the essence of his style. We sing songs that celebrate his spirit. That is the
way we do things, us as well as other rumba players. That is how it is always
done. We sing to the spirit. We stimulate the spirit of the dead. That is how
it is done.
42
Giovanni del Pino Rodríguez (Figure 46) describes why the cajon was needed, over
ten years after Callava passed away:
We used to to give a rumba to a rumbero as a profane offer. For example,
when Callava died, since he was a rumbero, in the funeral home we played
rumba. This is done a lot in Cuba. And after that, time passes and we
assume that the spirit is resting, the spirit of the rumbero. Then, in order to
do something for this spirit, this eggun, something that he would have liked
in his life, we play rumba for the spirit. We say, 'let's go play a rumba for
Callava's eggun'. And we play a rumba to the eggun of Callava. And then
comes the spiritual mass… first you give food to the spirit, you make
preparations, as if it was a spiritual mass, and in the mass you play a rumba.
To an eggun that was a rumbero you play the music that he liked.
43
Several songs that Callava had composed had been sung that day and songs written
after his death, in honor of him, had also been sung. His spirit had certainly been
present among his crowd of friends who were singing, dancing, and enjoying
themselves as if he had been there. La Prieta relates the significance of the cajon to
Callava and to the living:
Yoruba Andabo came to play an homage to a very famous composer who
was Calixto Callava, his homage was very good and that signified an
offering, a ray of light that even though he is in another world, the music of
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the cajon is very good and reached him… that reached him and that helps us
on earth, health, prosperity and everything is well…
44
A year and a half after the cajon for Callava, I returned to Solar Madrid and asked
Zaira and La Prieta if the cajon had had any affect on their lives. As Zaira is not
very vocal, La Prieta did most of the talking:
La Prieta: The changes… [Zaira] has a stable husband, she has had a change
in her health and well-being, to progress and development, she has a husband.
Things have moved ahead, from where they were before. She has changed a
lot.
Zaira: Yes. Up to now, thanks to him, things are going well, truely.
La Prieta: She rearranged her house with her husband. He helped her a lot
and bought her everything. She put a bathroom and a kitchen in her house,
she made all of these improvements in her house. She didn't have a
television, now she has a television.
Zaira: He exists as a spirit.
La Prieta: The cajon worked. My house was fixed up, cheerful and nice. My
bathroom, my kichen, my furniture was all rearranged nicely.
Zaira: He has given me a lot of tests. He has helped me a lot. He has helped
me a lot. I just speak to him, I say "listen, I don't have money for anything"
and I go out in the street…, [and find some]. For real!. And, up to now, I
only have a toothache [I have no major problems].
La Prieta: It is true that the spirits exist.
45
After the cajon, Zaira remarried and her health and financial problems subsided. In
the place where the altar to Callava had been arranged during the cajon, now lay her
kitchen. A sink and a counter top had been built and the area had been walled off,
extending Zaira's apartment at least 10 feet into the solar patio (Figure 21). A
bathroom with a large shower area and toilet had also been installed next to the
kitchen, so that for the first time in her life, at age 40, she would not have to go to the
195
bathroom in a bucket or shower in the living room and sweep the dirty water out of
the door. Imelda and La Prieta's apartment had also been improved with a toilet and
shower area (Figure 24). Zaira's home improvements had been paid for by her new
lover, but Imelda's had been paid for by Monolo, her son in the United States. After
several years with no contact, Monolo had reconnected with his mother and had been
sending her money. Although one could never trace these home improvements
directly to the cajon for Callava, it is likely that the networks that were rebuilt during
that party helped Zaira and Imelda establish enough support to refurbish their
apartments.
Figure 71: Yoruba Andabo plays a final song in front of altar to Callava
To complete the cajon and Callava's requests related through the spiritist at
the misa, caldosa (soup) and boxes of food were served after the musicians sang
their final song (Figure 72). For the cajon to be successful, the guests needed to be
196
satisfied with sufficient food, rum, and music. Imelda had made a large pot of
caldosa and served cups of soup to every guest who attended. She also made several
boxed meals for the band members, priests and distinguished guests. Food
distribution is a signficant element of party politics. A small yet important portion of
the transactions that occur in Imelda's family's daily activities circulate in a gift
economy. Not only is oil, bread, and rice exchanged within the family, but at the end
of every religious ceremony, food is distributed. Nearly every day of the week a
religious ceremony occurs in the community that Imelda's family could attend and
eat for free. However, the focus of these parties is not on economic exchange but
rather political gains. The purpose of throwing a big party is to produce and
reproduce strategic alliances.
Figure 72: One of Imelda's children, Benicia, distributes boxes of food to the guests
In this process of developing her social capital, Zaira improved her worth and
status in the community, as she became a more visible and significant member, able
197
to entertain her extended family and friends with a grand ritual celebration. By
honoring Callava, her deceased husband, with such a majestic party with famous
artists, the cajon emphasized to Zaira's guests not only that she is well-connected, but
that she is loyal to her friends even after they die. Food, rum, and music were not the
only things exchanged during the cajon. More importantly, several of Zaira's
networks were reinforced. Her ties to the Santeria community were re-established as
several local priests and healers attended. By hiring Yoruba Andabo, she
reconnected with approximately 20 well-known artists who work for the
government, extending her reach into state spaces and co-opting state resources.
And, not least of all, she reconnected with her entire extended family as all six of
Imelda's children in Cuba pooled their resources and assisted in preparing for and
hosting the event. And Yoruba Andabo, collaborators of this cajon, reconnected
with their roots and improved their stagnant condition. With the large crowd that
had gathered in the solar, they gained popularity among both local and foreign fans,
proving to be a good investment in social capital. As co-hosts, they also invited
artists and musicians who work for the state and are even more renowned than they
are, thereby increasing the perceived success of the party. And, in 2001, just one
year after the cajon, Yoruba Andabo won a Grammy at the Latin American award
ceremony for one of their albums and traveled to a music festival in Mexico. Zaira
and Yoruba Andabo had paid their dues to the dead. With Callava's continued social
contract with the living, his spirit fostered alliances that extended internationally and
improved local conditions.
198
This second celebration had been carefully planned to satisfy the social needs
of the family, the requests of the deceased, and the desires of the Orishas. Extra
attention had been given to the religious requirements needed for a complex
ceremony to appease the dead. This time around, Zaira and her family were very
pleased with the results of the party. They claimed that the spirit of Callava had
given clear signs of his own satisfaction. According to them, every member of the
Santeria community present at the celebration had commented on the superb quality
of the arrangements. Even more significant, from their point of view, was the fact
that despite the high levels of alcohol consumption, no violent incidents had taken
place during the party. This was considered yet another indication of both the
approval of the Orishas and the organizational efficiency of the family. Producing
such a large semipublic celebration away from the surveillance of the local
authorities had an obvious appeal for everybody in the solar. At the same time,
however, it represented a huge challenge in terms of logistics.
After all, keeping a large crowd under control in an enclosed space was as
difficult for the residents of the solar as for the local police. In order to do so,
members of the family recycled two conventional surveillance strategies: selective
screening of visitors and video monitoring of the crowd. During the party, access to
La Madrid was controlled by Zaira’s younger brother. Friends of the family were
welcome, and tourists were literally dragged in. Strangers, however, were subject to
intense scrutiny in an attempt to keep notorious troublemakers and police informants
away from the solar. The idea was to avoid conflicts that could either infuriate the
199
Orishas or tarnish the reputation of Solar Madrid. At the time, this solar was
considered a good place to do business. Well-known among local hustlers, it had
managed nonetheless to stay out of the police radar. Attaining such a balance
between popularity and discretion required constant supervision.
The appropriation of video monitoring techniques during the party is even
more revealing. Tourists present at the event were encouraged to keep their cameras
rolling, a friend of the family was there to document the event with a camcorder, and
all sorts of visual privileges were granted to my own “filming crew”. As a result, my
friends and I were able to record almost every aspect of the event. Apparently, the
Orishas had approved of our presence, despite the fact that this time the celebration
included animal sacrifices and other sacred ceremonies. Why was our interference
considered less damaging to the spirit of Callava than that of a Cuban TV crew?
At least four possible answers come to mind. Perhaps as outsiders, our
ability to understand and report the subtle transgressions of the socialist law taking
place in front of our cameras was considered too minor to be a problem. Maybe our
promise to provide the family with copies of all the tapes was tempting enough for
them to allow us to film their party as a way of obtaining a cheap memento of the
events. Or perhaps, the fact that we were planning to show our footage outside the
island contributed to the kind of discrete but efficient promotion that the solar really
needed. A fourth explanation, however, seems even more plausible. I think that we
were there not only to record a rumba party but also to add another layer of security
to the solar anti-panoptical architecture. Our particular branch of video surveillance
200
provided some degree of reassurance to everyone involved. No police would come
charging through the door of the solar just to be caught on tape by a team of
American ethnographers.
The TV cameras had represented an intrusion coming from the state and
controlled by bureaucrats. After all, Mercedes and her friends from the ministry of
culture had come to stage an event, imposing their own rhythm over the rumba beats.
Our presence as ethnographic filmmakers, on the other hand, had been understood in
radically different terms. By documenting the party from inside the building, for an
audience living outside the country, we had contributed to the protection of the solar
space. After experiencing many forms of repressive intrusion over the years, Zaira
and her family had found another way to recycle the visual technologies of state
surveillance.
201
PART III: APRIL 2004: BIRTHDAY PARTY FOR CHANGO (CUMPLEAÑOS DE
SANTO) WITH TIMBA/SALSA GROUP MICHEL MAZA Y SU TENTACIÓN IN
SOLAR MADRID
The final party that I witnessed in Solar Madrid was the cumpleaños de santo
of Mateo, son of Catarina, grandson of Imelda, and cousin to La Prieta, which
occurred on April 21
st
, 2004. A cumpleaños de santo, literally translated as 'birthday
in saint', is an annual celebration to honor the orisha that rules over the devotee. It
takes place on the day of the year that one completed the hacer santo rituals and
became initiated into the Santeria priesthood, earning the title of a santera or
santero. Mateo was celebrating his first cumpleaños de santo to honor the orisha
Chango. The first birthday is the most important, as it signaled the completion of his
year as a iyabo, or novice initiate into Santeria. Unlike most cumpleaños de santo
rituals, Mateo decided to have an enormous party and invited nearly two hundred
people to Solar Madrid, paid $500 to hire the most popular salsa band of the year,
Michel Maza Su Tentación, and spent approximately $2,000 on the whole affair.
The magnitude of the event required participation from every member of the Baro
family. La Prieta coordinated all of the religious rituals; Zaira supervised the crowd;
Imelda coordinated the cooking and food distribution; and the Baro grandchildren
and great grandchildren brought all of their friends to dance and sing along. Like the
two previous parties described, this one brought together people of different
economic and social status in Havana in a way that everyone who attended benefited.
This event, however, marked a movement to the root of the grass roots, as real local
leaders from the informal, popular sector surfaced. It could also be said that this
202
party was representative of a larger societal transition, from a hierarchical system
focused on the production of goods and services, to a more densely enmeshed
horizontal system focusing on a service economy.
A brief description of the event is necessary in order to fully appreciate the
magnitude of the production and the aptitude of the Baro team. I had arrived in Cuba
for a brief three week visit just a few days before the party, so I was unable to
participate in the preparation for the fiesta, but La Prieta described it to me:
Before the 21st we made all the arrangements. Because I got my santo three
years ago, I was in charge of this operation. We ordered the sweets and that
beautiful cake you can see there. We bought the fruit at the market. We
bought the sugar and put the sweets for each santo in their proper place: the
rice pudding, the coconut fudge, everything. We ordered the custom-made
altar and organized the party. Then we contacted Michel Maza, and he
agreed to play, so we hired him. There is a long tradition of big parties in this
solar…
46
On the morning of the 21
st
, the immense altar to Chango, referred to as a throne, was
set up in Imelda's living room (Figure 73). From floor to ceiling, a space of
approximately 10 square feet was covered with flowers, colorful fabrics, food, and
sweets. The elaborate cake, which cost $100, had a fountain of wine within it,
circulating by a pump.
47
Catarina and La Prieta, the two Santeras in the Baro family,
carefully arranged all of the items. As La Prieta had gone through a similar
ceremony three years before and had been studying Santeria rituals under her
godparents for over five years, she took charge of organizing the religious aspects of
this party. La Prieta described Mateo's throne to me:
All of his saints were in the throne. Eleggua who opens and closes the paths
was there. Oggun who is the owner of iron, who rules over all things made
of iron, was there. Ochosi, the ruler of the prison was there. Obbatala who is
203
the ruler of peace and tranquility was there. There was Yemaya, who rules
over the ocean because the four sides of this country are surrounded by water.
Oshun who rules over sweetness, lovers, and gold was there. Aggayu who is
the master of volcanos was there. Shango who is the ruler of thunder,
lightening, and fire was there. They say that at one moment in life, he was
able to spit fire. He defeated rocks with fire. When he was upset, he would
talk and fire would come out of his mouth. The twins that defeated the devil
were also there in the altar, and the fruit market that you could see there
represented Oyá. This is the market where the Iyabó goes after the seven days
[initiation ceremony]. It is there where you have to go to do your first Eccbó,
to throw away all the bad stuff you have carried until then. Afterwards you go
to the church of Las Mercedes, which is the church of Obbatalá. The altar
represents his house, where he props up the santos, to make then pretty for
the day of the big party.
48
I was impressed with La Prieta's wealth of knowledge and the certainty with which
she spoke about each saint and their powers. In order to properly honor the orishas,
it is customary that every guest who attends the party shakes a rattle in front of the
altar while praying and places some money in a bowl. As guests wandered into the
solar, one of the Baro family members would direct them into Imelda's apartment to
address the orishas. Participation in this ritual ensured that all guests understood the
sanctity of the event. It wasn't just a popular band playing for merriment, but a grand
offering for the Santeria deities.
204
Figure 73: "El Trono": The throne or altar to the orisha Chango for Mateo's first
cumpleaños de santo
At midday the band members and their equipment arrived in a van
owned by the Ministry of Culture (Figure 74). Like the two bands described earlier
in this chapter, the singers and musicians in the group Michel Maza y Su Tentación
are also professional artists paid by the Cuban government. Every week the band
plays at two clubs in Havana, Café Cantante and Casa de la Música. At the time of
this cumpleaños de santo they were also filming a music video. The band's
instruments and sound equipment, which included several large speakers,
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microphones, and a sound mixing board, are also property of the Cuban state. Like
most government enterprises, the band uses the state resources for their own
purposes when they are not working for the state. The cumpleaños de santo was
scheduled at a time when they were not contracted with the state to practice or
perform. Thus, state resources were used to reinforce private religious activities.
Figure 74: A Ministry of Culture van brings the band's equipment to the Solar
Zaira helped bring the instruments inside the solar along with Ricardo, the
band's equipment manager (Figure 75). Ricardo served as the original link between
Michel Maza and the Baro family as he is the husband of Benicia, Imelda's 6
th
child.
Michel Maza described his relationship with Ricardo:
Ricardo works with me. I knew him from the marginal neighborhoods. ‘Hey friend,
what's going on? Let’s go and have a drink. Damn, I like you, come work with
me…!’ That is how we started, and it is still the same.
49
206
Ricardo and Benicia live in a solar two blocks away from Solar Madrid. They both
work for the state earning meager salaries of approximately $15 per month. Benicia
cooks meals for nuns in a convent in Central Havana. In spite of their relative
financial poverty, they have a wealth of social capital, as can be seen in their links to
state resources. Benicia is able to bring food home from work and Ricardo can
initiate the process of bringing a pop band to a poor solar in Cayo Hueso.
Figure 75: Zaira helps bring the band's equipment into the solar
After several hours of arranging speakers, microphones, and instruments in
Solar Madrid, the band was finally ready to play. Michel Maza approached the
microphone and began with an appeal to the densely packed patio of the solar. He
asked that everyone pretend to be white for next four hours so that no one is killed
and they have a safe night. Parties with pop stars often generate fights in Havana.
Michel Maza usually plays in classy nightclubs that charge a $20 entrance fee and
are heavily controlled and guarded by police. The security of this event was left in
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the hands of the Baro family. Fortunately they did an excellent job and no one was
hurt or injured. The band played their first set of 8 songs, which lasted over an hour
and a half (Figure 76-77). After the second song, Michel Maza invited La Prieta, the
"madrina" of the party, up to the microphone and asked her if she had any comments
for the audience. She briefly announced, "Good evening to everybody. I only wish
for tranquility and peace."
50
(Figure 78) Although she did not say much, her
authority over the event was clear. She was running the show.
Figure 76: The band Michel Maza y Su Tentación sing in the patio of Solar Madrid
for Mateo's first cumpleaños de santo
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Figure 77: Nearly 200 guests crowded inside the patio of Solar Madrid to hear
Michel Maza y Su Tentación
Figure 78: Michel Maza invites La Prieta to the microphone
After the first set, the band took a break and boxed meals were distributed to
everyone. This event was clearly more elaborate than the preceding two, as an
expensive meal of rice, beans, meat, and salad was served to everyone, as opposed to
the more inexpensive party food, caldosa (soup). Attesting to the Baro family's
209
physical capital, all of the food staples were acquired from the state bodegas (local
stores that sell food at extremely subsidized prices) and was prepared by Imelda.
Catarina distributed the boxes of food and Jazmin distributed forks individually
wrapped in plastic, likely imported. The Baro family and Michel Maza had gone to
great lengths to ensure that everyone enjoyed themselves. The concert lasted until
almost midnight, with the central courtyard becoming increasingly packed as the
night advanced, with people overflowing into the street and others listening from
neighboring rooftops. It was a night that would not be forgotten and one that would
increase the visibility of the Baro family, Solar Madrid and all of its residents.
In this cumpleaños de santo La Prieta and her cousin Mateo both emerged as
local leaders. This cumpleaños de santo marked the first anniversary since Mateo
became initiated into the Santeria priesthood, symbolizing his birth into a new
religious community. La Prieta described his first year as an initiate or iyabo and the
significance of the first birthday:
He is born. He is like a baby… he is like a baby… and at the end of the year,
like all babies, he celebrates his first birthday. It is like being born into
another life. Like being reborn. We give him the things we would give to an
infant, we dress him with new clothes seven days after they are born, like the
clothes that infants wear when they get out of the hospital, five days after
they are born. It is just like being born. For the first three months they have to
stay in their house everyday after six pm. They cannot get out of their house
until the next morning. For a whole year they have to wear white, even their
pajamas, and their socks have to be white. [These white clothes] represent
purity, peace, and tranquility. And they have, just like babies, a path to follow
in life.
51
The fiesta visibly marked Mateo's entrance into Santeria as a full member. At the
very beginning of the party, he dressed in all white attire, signaling his status as a
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iyabo. He then left the party briefly for some private rituals and returned wearing a
red and white shirt, the colors of Chango (Figure 79). Much like an apprenticeship,
he had spent one full year learning the trade from his religious family under
restricted conditions. The party signaled his release from these constraints although
prohibitions were placed on him. La Prieta told me that for the rest of his life, he can
no longer eat lamb, squash, flour, and okra. If he did eat any of these, the orishas
would be displeased, and he would become sick. Aside from these minor
inconveniences, Mateo could proudly don his black and white beaded bracelet that
signaled his status as a Santero. And most importantly, by throwing such an
expensive party, Mateo told the religious community that he was serious about his
commitment to the religion and to Chango.
Figure 79: Mateo, in front of his altar to the orisha Chango, celebrating his
cumpleaños de santo, one year after his hacer santo ceremony
211
I asked La Prieta why Mateo had gone above and beyond the scale of most
cumpleaños de santo celebrations and she said, "Mateo's fiesta was so big because he
was very successful… he wanted it, he felt compelled to make it so big."
52
I also
asked Mateo about the magnitude of the party. He responded,
"This big fiesta? That was a tremendous sacrifice… so that everything would
turn out well. A huge sacrifice… a lot of battles… As everything is in
dollars. Everything in dollars…And with 10$ each month? [the average
salary in Cuba] One has to do a lot of things… illegal, of course. Thankfully
there are people who care about one another and all. The fiesta was a lot of
work, a lot of preparation, a lot of movement. Michel Maza… the former
singer of Charanga Habanera… very expensive… everything expensive. A
lot a lot a lot of money. No Cuban has done what I did."
53
As Mateo indicated, the party was a huge sacrifice, but he did have some help. At
that time, Mateo had a girlfriend who was from Mexico. She paid for a large portion
of the party and brought many supplies from Mexico that are difficult to find in
Cuba. Mateo had met his girlfriend through his madrina who lives in Solar Madrid.
She had travelled from Mexico to Havana to receive her santo at the apartment of his
madrina, where Mateo was assisting with the preparations and learning the trade,
having recently completed his santo ceremony. Mateo and his girlfriend were thus
religious siblings. It is not uncommon for couples to meet through their religious
families. Both La Prieta and Mateo had met their partners at their religious houses
and their relationships proved to increase their standing, both socially and
economically in the community.
Mateo's cumpleaños de santo was grand for two other reasons, he owed it to
the saints and he was 'successful'. I first met Mateo in March of 2000 on a Baro
family trip to the countryside, outside of Havana, to the Valle Grande penitentiary
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where Mateo was nearing the end of a two-year sentence. He had committed the
"crime" of peligrosidad, or potential dangerousness. As he had not been working for
the government, he was considered a potential menace to society and even worse, he
was considered a gusano, a traitor to the socialist ideal of a hard worker. The Jefe de
Sector, or police chief of his neighborhood, caught him after he bought a large color
TV that he clearly couldn't pay for with a Cuban state salary. When asked by the
officer, he could not account for the money, so it was assumed that he had done
something illegal. Mateo disliked his time in jail and when asked about it said:
Imagine… A place that is for twenty people and they have double the amount
of people that they should have. People sleeping on the ground, bad hygiene,
bad food, terrible, terrible. They kill for food… they kill for food. It is sad,
very sad. I do not want to think about it.
During our one-hour prison visit, Mateo ate a large meal of chicken and rice that his
family had brought him. And then, much to the chagrin of his wife who was also
there, he spent some time talking to me, the odd foreigner in the pack of seventeen
family members and friends that had come to visit him.
54
Even from within the
prison walls, Mateo was working the tourist. At the visit, Mateo told me that he had
promised to honor Chango, the orisha who rules over prisons, by performing the
hacer santo ceremony upon his release. His entire family agreed that he needed to
become a Santero in order to avoid returning to prison. After his release, he began
saving money and was able to receive his santo in April of 2003. Shortly after
becoming a santero, he met his Mexican girlfriend who insisted on supporting him
because she also wanted to keep him off the streets so that he would not go to prison.
His cumpleaños de santo in April of 2004 was thus a celebration to thank Chango for
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his continued freedom and fortunes. And in 2005, he performed the expensive Ifá
initiation rituals to become a babalawo, the highest level of priesthood in Santeria.
In a relatively short period of time, Mateo was able to perform several expensive
rituals and avoid spending time in prison. For this he had Chango to thank.
Mateo was undoubtedly the most successful member of the Baro family. He
was a player and had many of the qualities of his orisha Chango. He always
charmed his girlfriends who all happened to be light-skinned. He was also a thriving
hustler and was able to earn large quantities of money on the streets through
lucrative deals of varying degrees of legality. Like Chano and others who worked
the streets, he chose to spend his money when he had some on relatively intangible
experiences, as opposed to expensive objects that could highlight his wealth and get
him in trouble, which the TV had done for him, and a motorcycle had done for
Chano. Unlike Chano, however, he chose to spend his money on religious rituals.
By doing so, he did acquire something tangible, an inexpensive beaded bracelet, but
one that signaled his high status in the religion and his ability to acquire massive
amounts of money. Both the hacer santo ceremony and Ifá initiation cost over
$1,000 and Mateo had spent an additional $2,000 on his first cumpleaños de santo
which occurred one year after his hacer santo ceremony. Thus, in a period of just
three years Mateo was able to amass approximately $5,000. Even if this had been a
gift from relatives abroad, which it was not, it would still be noteworthy. Acquiring
such a large sum of money in Havana takes incredible skills, but why spend the
214
money on three religious rituals? Unlike La Prieta, Mateo has no intention of
practicing and earning a living as a religious priest.
Holbraad (2004:644) argues that "religious especulación" among Havana
youth, the "conspicuous consumption of ritual services, provides a way for young
initiates to overcome the problem of vulnerability that the happy-go-lucky hedonism
of especulación ordinarily implies." He defines especulación as "a style of
conspicuous consumption which has become a salient model of and for behavior
among so-called 'marginal' groups in inner-city Havana of the post-Soviet period, a
stereotype of ostentatious spending" (2004:644). Going beyond the idea that
marginal groups in Havana are just "living in the moment", Holbraad proposes that
because Ifá cult worship emphasizes luxury and the deities require initiates to spend
massive amounts of money on them, it provides a perfect arena for especulación.
Oscar Lewis also listed "inability to defer gratification" as one of the traits of the
culture of poverty (1966). In recent years, this trait has been associated with
poverty in a more positive light. In Lilies of the Field: Marginal People who Live for
the Moment, 'living in the moment' was considered a strategy by marginal groups to
contest mainstream ideologies (Day, Papataxiarchis and Stewart 1999). Holbraad
finds that 'religious especuladores' enjoy the brief ritual period of luxury only to
return to the daily struggle for food once the ritual period is over. His argument has
several holes. He fails to emphasize how the initiate gains long term networks in a
religious community. He also focuses on the cult of Ifá, which is restricted to men.
Only men are allowed to complete the Ifá initiation rituals and become babalawos or
215
religious priests. Holbraad also centers on the recently initiated babalawo and his
padrino as the sole beneficiaries of the exorbitant spending. He states, "Ifá initiation
bestows a permanent transformation on those who undergo it. Rather than just
behaving as if they were kings, especuladores who become babalawos are re-borne
as kings, through consecration" (2004:662) (italics his emphasis). Lastly, Holbraad
finds it paradoxical that at the time of his fieldwork in the late nineties
(approximately the same time I was in Cuba), the country still faced a downward
economic trajectory following the loss of Soviet support in the early nineties, yet
there was a dramatic increase in the cost of religious initiations and in the numbers of
Cubans becoming initiated.
Mateo had several reasons to throw a grand cumpleaños de santo celebration.
He was treated well, perhaps royally, and he did want to show off his wealth and
hired an expensive band to do so. His statement to me that, "No Cuban has done
what I did" attested to his desire to stand out in the religious community. He was
able to give to his peers a day of fun, food, drink, and good music, and would be able
to count on them in the future for equally exciting times. It is also true that
"ostentatious spending" had got him in trouble before, and, as the government had
released some of its restrictions on Santeria rituals in the early 90's, publicly
spending money on the orishas was now a viable option. Although throwing a big
party can attract the police, it is a one-day event, and Mateo's visibility in the eyes of
the authorities was short-lived. Perhaps Mateo desired to resist the frugal order of
society. He never stated that to me, but he had been punished once for his capitalist
216
desires (purchasing an expensive TV) and his refusal to work for the socialist state.
Spending money on a religious party, in a country where religion was forbidden for
several decades along with gathering people together for any reason, could be
considered counter-revolutionary. Although not negating the possibility of
resistance, it is clear that being reborn into a new community is a costly endeavor.
Not only is Mateo buying prestige as he becomes permanently transformed into a
priest, but he is also acquiring long-term networks. In a society where public
discourse is so controlled, Santeria networks allow for channels of communication.
They open doors for meeting new business partners and foreigners, and the religion
itself is a complex educational system that contains tools to explain one's social
reality. At its base are stories about the complex world and relationships of the
orishas, deities with ordinary and super powers, strengths and weaknesses, and
individual personality traits. These narratives are designed to explain and manage
disorder in the daily life of the devotee. By gaining status as a full priest, Mateo
acquires access to these stories and a wealth of knowledge he can use to understand
his world. The Santeria belief system contains a mysical, capitalist, and socialist
efficiency that is not found any other place in Cuba. With such assets, it is not
paradoxical that the price of rituals has increased, as well as the numbers of devotees
who are paying for them, during Cuba's Special Period of economic crisis. What the
Santeria community offers is something that everyone needs during the arduous
economic crisis occurring in Cuba today, circulation and distribution of wealth, and
access to an underground economy and valuable black market items. Those at the
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margins of society are able to pay for these ceremonies because many generations of
them have lived in that world and are now, since the nineties, profiting, as the Cuban
socialist state can no longer provide for its people and everyone must use the
underground economy to survive. However, unlike Holbraad's argument, it is not
only men who are thriving in this world. Mateo was not the only king of the fiesta,
as he shared the limelight with La Prieta, especuladora.
La Prieta held an important and visible role in the coordination of Mateo's
cumpleaños de santo and essentially emerged as a local leader and religious advisor.
After her hacer santo ceremony three years earlier, she had an intense internship
under her religious godparents at their popular casa de santo, or religious house. She
had also learned about the religion from two different boyfriends who were both
babalawos, priests of Ifá. Adding to the depth and complexity of her knowledge, she
had assisted her godparents with several rituals in the neighboring province of
Matanzas, and had learned the intricate differences between the religious practices in
each area. Mateo's cumpleaños de santo was an opportunity for her to demonstrate
her ritual expertise to her biological family, religious family, and friends. She
coordinated the event effortlessly and was publicly credited for her expertise by the
pop star Michel Maza at the microphone (Figure 78). Such a display demystified
"religious especulación" as male. Although it was Mateo's cumpleaños de santo, he
was not invited to the microphone by Michel Maza and played a low-key role the
entire day. La Prieta emerged as the religious leader and this was even more
astounding considering that she was not Mateo's madrina, or godmother in Santeria.
218
The density of networks in the Santeria community can be seen by looking at
how La Prieta rose to a prominent position in this cumpleaños de santo ceremony.
Just a few weeks before his cumpleaños de santo, Mateo had a falling out with his
madrina, Lupe Milena. Mateo lives with his brother and mother in a solar about five
blocks away from Solar Madrid. All three of them are Santera/os and performed
their hacer santo ceremony with the same godmother, Lupe Milena, who lives in
Solar Madrid. Lupe Milena's family occupies two of the apartments in Solar Madrid
and they have had several confrontations with members of the Baro family who live
in the solar. La Prieta believed that Lupe Milena was a bruja and that her Santeria
practice focused on performing brujeria. Although literally translated as witchcraft,
in Cuba, brujeria is integrally connected to the Afro-Cuban religious traditions and
has no association with the 15
th
century witch hunts. La Prieta felt that Lupe Milena
performed ritual offerings to the orishas and ancestors in order to punish certain
members of her family. She blamed her for putting her uncle Manuel and Tabo, her
cousin's boyfriend, in prison. La Prieta blamed Lupe Milena for a big scandal in the
solar where she had been accused of sleeping with Lupe Milena's daughter's husband
who lived next door. Among several families in the solar, she was considered a
snitch, an agent of the government responsible for reporting illegal and counter-
revolutionary activities.
55
Shortly before the cumpleaños de santo, it was rumored
that Lupe Milena told Mateo's Mexican girlfriend, who was also her ahijado, or
godchild, that Mateo had cheated on her. Although supposedly not true, this
eventually led to their breakup not long after the ceremony. And because of Lupe
219
Milena's meddling into his relationship, Mateo decided not to include her in his
cumpleaños de santo. Instead of setting up the large altar in her apartment, it was set
up next door, in Imelda's apartment. Instead of using her ritual expertise, Mateo
chose to follow the advice of his cousin, La Prieta, and let her organize all of the
religious aspects of the party. In order to release Lupe Milena as madrina and ritual
advisor for his cumpleaños de santo, Mateo had to pay her $21 and give her two
coconuts and two candles. He followed these rules and Lupe Milena's door remained
closed during the entire party, with no hard feelings.
The complexity of these political-religious rules highlights the self-healing
nature of horizontal Santeria networks. These networks are enmeshed in such a way
that the nodes all fall on the same plain and have equal value. It is not uncommon
for a devotee to become disenchanted with their madrina and switch to an equally
skilled priestess. Prior to her hacer santo ceremony, La Prieta changed madrinas
four times before settling on one who was experienced, did not charge exorbitant
fees, and belonged to an active religious house. As more and more santeros and
santeras appear on the streets of Havana, the religious networks expand and the rules
grow in complexity.
56
Mateo's "payment" to his madrina is one of these new rules
designed to deal with an increasingly common phenomenon. For Lupe Milena, $21
and an offering of a coconut and two candles is a worthy exchange for a ruptured
connection to an ahijado. Although it does damage her practice, with the plethora of
devotees in Havana, Lupe Milena can easily find another person to be her godson.
220
There are ample amounts of redundancy in Santeria networks, which allow for back-
up routes and self-healing connections.
In this cumpleaños de santo Mateo's achievements were celebrated and La
Prieta's expertise was acknowledged, but the real contributors to the success of the
event were the nearly two hundred people who participated enthusiastically. People
attend events like these to see and be seen by others, to meet new people, and to be a
part of a fun event that they can talk about for weeks after. People do not attend
parties just for rum, food, or music. Michel Maza y Su Tentación along with other
pop Cuban bands practice several times a week at studios in Havana and anyone can
stand outside and peer through the open windows and doors to listen. But crowds do
not form at their practices and generally just a few people stand around and listen.
The event must hold the promise of being exclusive and monumental for people to
attend. The active participation of the Baro grandchildren was crucial to the event's
success as they recruited their friends and gathered hundreds of people together
(Figure 80). And their friends showed up nicely dressed, as beauty in Cuba equates
to wealth and enjoyment, and thus contributes to the popularity of the celebration.
That these Baro grandchildren in their teens and twenties with limited resources were
able to throw such a huge party attests to the strength of their networks and
highlights their physical capital.
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Figure 80: Imelda Baro's grandchildren are networked enough to draw nearly 200
nicely dressed guests to Mateo's cumpleaños de santo
Unaware of the futility of such distinctions, I asked La Prieta why Mateo
chose to hire a pop salsa band for a sacred ritual to honor the orishas. For typical
cumpleaños de santo celebrations, a few men play the sacred bata drums in front of
the throne and then play for the guests with the hope that the orishas might mount
and possess someone. La Prieta responded:
Because he hired a group that was popular, and it's a good group, and he had
the opportunity to contract them. They didn't have any big state activities.
And he brought them because he had the conditions and possibilities. And
because he wanted to. He didn't want rumba. He didn't want folklore
because, thankfully, he didn't need that now… to contract [religious]
drummers, nothing like that. At a later time he will do it, he will have a
foundational drumming for Chango… which is almost the same, but with
tambour drums. And he chose Michel Maza because he understood that
Chango deserved a big fiesta and he gave him one.
57
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The orishas are capricious and for this occasion, Chango wanted a secular fiesta. In
a sense, La Prieta was returning to the Latin etymology of the term "religion." One
interpretation uses the Latin roots re (again) + ligare (to connect) and another uses
the roots res (with regard to) + legere (to gather).
58
The cumpleaños de santo was
about gathering a large group of people together to mingle and connect with each
other. The reasons why people came together were actually quite incidental. What
was important was that key areas of networks were re-enforced, mainly those
surrounding La Prieta, Mateo, the Baro family, and all of the residents of Solar
Madrid.
The cumpleaños de santo could be perceived as a large marketing campaign
for Solar Madrid. All of the residents benefited from the opportunity to interact with
other people, many of whom they had not met before. With stories about the party
told for weeks after, the solar increased in visibility, and the number of visitors
amplified. Even Michel Maza returned to the solar several times after the party to
chat with members of the Baro family and purchase black market items that are
difficult to find near his suburban Vedado home. The solar had gained a reputation
as a safe place to conduct activities. During the party, the Baro family had been able
to control a large crowd and create a secure place for the band to play. Zaira had
taken this job seriously. It was the first time I had ever seen the metal grated door to
the entrance of the solar locked. Zaira kept the key and monitored the entranceway,
forbidding guests to enter when the solar courtyard became too crowded. The solar
223
had turned into a space much like the popular nightclubs in Havana, but with a local
flavor that appealed to the guests and most importantly, to Michel Maza.
Michel Maza was just as invested in this cumpleaños de santo as was La
Prieta, Mateo, the solar residents, and all of the guests. For him, the event was much
like a company party. He did not earn much money, but he did maintain his fan base
and work on selling his image as a bad boy from the hood. In an interview, Michel
Maza discussed his fans:
Since I was a kid I enjoyed hanging out in the neighborhood... I always had
friends from the marginal neighborhoods. My success as a Cuban popular
musician depends on this public, the people from the hood. You know, most
of my fans are people from the hood. That is why I said, during the party,
that I would play and would do anything that needed to be done for my
people, the people from the hood. I am an honest person, just like that.
59
It was a rare opportunity for him as he usually spends a large portion of the year
touring abroad and, when he is in Cuba, he plays in large theatres or hotel nightclubs
where he has no control over the predominantly foreign crowd. With a $20 entrance
fee, his real fans cannot hear his music live. Similar to the other two musical events
described above, the solar courtyard offered a natural theatre, accessible to the
public, yet in a semi-private setting. The other events, however, were less
momentous because both bands, Clave y Guaguancó and Yoruba Andabo, play at
venues in Central Havana with little or no entrance fee that are easier for solar
residents to attend. Michel Maza, however, is a grand celebrity that can draw crowds
of thousands of people, both in Cuba and abroad. This was a unique occasion for
solar residents to mingle with a star in a small semi-private setting.
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Michel Maza began his singing career at age 16 with the group Charanga
Habanera, a band that is said to have defined the genre of music known as timba, a
Cuban variation of salsa music.
60
He quickly rose to stardom, as he was the lead
singer of several of their hit songs. After several years of recording albums and
traveling internationally with Charanga Habanera, he broke away and formed his
own band, which is currently called, Michel Maza y Su Tentación. He has recorded
two albums with his band, in 2004 and 2005, and is now considered one of the top
five timba singers. His songs are popular in part because they speak to Cuban youth
and are about life on the streets of Havana (Figure 81). As he puts it,
I like singing about what happens in Centro Habana, what happens in La
Víbora, in the marginal neighborhoods, among the people. That is why I tell
you that my fans, my audience, is the people from the marginal
neighborhoods. I mean, most of my fans are from marginal neighborhoods
because I sing about their reality. For example: "Tell all singers that they
have to put their boxing gloves on, because I am leaving the hospital and
nobody can stop me now." Stuff like that, that people from the hood really
enjoy. It is music for the hood. My salsa, my timba, is music for the people
of the hood.
61
I asked Michel Maza why he chose to perform at Mateo's cumpleaños de santo. He
said that he himself was not a devotee but he respected everyone's beliefs and all of
the saints. He had performed at three other religious parties and considered it a great
opportunity to give to his community. He said:
It is his birthday, they told me, and I decided, "Well, we are going to throw a
big party, we are going to play". And there was no better place than this,
because here I feel better than in a palace. To be honest, I am happier with
my people, they have fun with me and I have fun with them. It is like a big
family, and that is why we decided to throw this party. And we will do it
many more times. I really feel happier doing this for my people than playing
somewhere else. If my people want me to play, they can count on me, no
225
problem. Anywhere, in any corner of any room. My people can count on me
for this kind of work.
62
These private parties are mutually beneficial for Michel Maza and the residents of
residents of Cayo Hueso. Michel Maza has a chance to give to his community, but
he also sells more albums as he knows that the Baro family is networked enough to
draw a large crowd of people. He also learns about the daily struggle of the poor
residents of inner city solares, the raw material for his song lyrics. And the residents
of Solar Madrid and their friends have a chance to party intimately with a pop star
who celebrates their marginal existence.
Figure 81: Michel Maza (center of photo with microphone) sings about los barrios
marginales in Solar Madrid
226
CONCLUSION
By throwing huge parties in Solar Madrid, the Baro family is co-opting the
physical and symbolic resources of Cuba's communist party. In the early 1990's,
after the fall of the Soviet Union and the withdrawal of their support, Cuba entered a
deep economic crisis. With a scarcity of food, oil, and essential resources, the
government could no longer provide the basic necessities for each citizen and feared
collective anger and unrest. The Communist Party made several changes, including
the lifting of some repressive mechanisms and relinquishment of some of its power.
A propaganda campaign also started at this time and signs around the country read
"Somos Felices Aqui," or "We are happy here." In order to appease the masses, the
government would give away food (caldoza) and rum at the CDR headquarters on
each block to celebrate various revolutionary events. They realized that they could
gain support by giving away parties.
One of the biggest parties that the government sponsors is attended by nearly
the entire population on every September 28
th
. It is a national holiday that marks the
anniversary of the creation of the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution
(CDR).
63
At every CDR located on every block in the city of Havana and all areas
of the country, there is a party in the street following a lengthy speech by Fidel
Castro, which is broadcast on both of the country's TV channels. These parties are
subsidized by the government and the members of each CDR are given rum and the
ingredients to make a caldosa. The food and alcohol is then served to every resident
227
on the block who shows up to the party with a bowl, spoon, and cup. Everyone
attends these parties, as absenteeism would suggest a loss of support for the
revolution.
These annual parties achieve a variety of goals for different sectors of
society. By supporting these block parties, the government (perhaps) gains loyalty
from the people and some control and stability over group gatherings and parties that
are occurring anyway. In the 1970's any sort of community gathering was prohibited
because the government feared anti-revolutionary activities. Religious and secular
groups still congregated, but everything was underground. In the 1990's, realizing its
inability to control these get-togethers, the state promoted their own. The people,
however, continued to enjoy their own private parties, but attend the government-
sponsored parties as well, fully aware of the propaganda campaign. For most
residents, a show of support for the Communist Party is inconsequential, and if
anything, it gains them points in the eyes of the local CDR officers who can make
important decisions that affect them. And residents eat free food and alcohol, but
most importantly, they also build and foster their networks. The annual CDR party
and all private parties ultimately reinforce the popular economy and values of
collective consumption. The state thus subsidizes social networking.
Aside from sponsoring parties, the government would also encourage people
to attend political rallies and lengthy speeches by Fidel Castro by having popular
salsa bands play at the completion of each event. In 1997, at the height of these
political campaigns, the Communist Party had Charanga Habanera play at an
228
International Youth Festival in Havana. Live on TV, the band arrived on stage in a
helicopter to the cheers of thousands of people. The broadcast was cut after "Michel
Maza peeled off his shirt and, back to the audience, appeared to be ready to drop his
pants."
64
Among those I spoke to in Solar Madrid it was rumored that he did in fact
unzip his pants and reveal his private parts. After this festival, Charanga Habanera
was suspended for six months. Unfortunately I never asked Michel Maza about this
event during our interview, but nonetheless, what is paradoxical is that both the
Communist Party and Mateo used Michel Maza for promotional purposes. In both
cases, masses of young people came to see Michel Maza, although the main event
was a political speech or a saint's birthday. It is hard to say who used promotional
parties first, the Communist Party, or more marginalized youth like Mateo.
65
What
is true is that parties of all sorts are in vogue and Michel Maza has proven to be a
good, although controversial, mediator between the goals of the state and the people.
This chapter highlighted activities at the most extreme fringes of the social
networks of the Baro family. All three of the religious parties held in Solar Madrid
were complex collaborations between members of the Baro family and state-
sponsored musicians and cultural representatives from the Ministry of Culture. Each
party was successful in that it brought together networks of networks and extended
the reach of each participant. The parties were proof that one can count on even the
most distant relationships. They confirmed that the daily practice of building and
maintaining connections is worthy not just to survive, but also to thrive in society
today. The three parties increased in size, from approximately fifty people to nearly
229
two hundred. The final party spotlighted the efficiency of the Baro family networks.
At the roots of the grassroots, a family was able to formally organize a team of
people to mobilize state resources for a huge private party and effectively control the
crowd. It was proof that informal networks can generate large-scale productions.
Each of these parties highlighted the multiple surveillance strategies being
used by solar residents and state employees. The anti-panoptic architechture of the
solar space allowed for extremely large but safe parties. The Cuban TV film crew
could portray one view of the solar, broadcasting rumba as national and natural
culture. The orishas and deceased could witness rooster sacrifices and receive
offerings of food and candles hidden in a corner of the solar. The Baro could
monitor the crowd and effectively control the event. The residents of the solar could
also observe the massive gathering in their back yard, while being seen and praised
by peers as sponsors of a pop singer.
The spatial layout of the solar facilitated networking in each of the events.
The building itself was not designed with networking as its goal, but it is certainly an
unintended byproduct.
66
The solar space offers daily contact with a vast array of
people, which enmeshes its residents in a dense network that makes possible
everything from basic tasks of living to pop entertainment. The solar patio is
uniquely shaped like a theatre with a natural stage for musicians and a semi private
space for party guests. And with the Baro family occupying four apartments in the
solar, religious activities and meal preparation can be allocated to different places.
230
The three parties are also indicative of larger societal transitions that have
occurred since the early 1990's. The economic crisis of the special period brought
about a reduction in the production of goods (such as sugar, homes, roads) and
greater focus on building a service economy. This service economy was not just for
the dramatic increase in tourists, but also for Cuban citizens. Included among these
services is live entertainment. As all salaries are low in Cuba, it is easy for the
government to 'hire' pop bands to play to appease the masses and build support.
And, with the government's reduced ability to control and monitor everyone, Cuban
citizens are also able to hire the same bands and export a good experience from
places like solares. The government indirectly supports these endeavors as they
provide "happy" citizens and prevent chaos and unrest. People like the Baro family
have in a sense co-opted the State parties, but the Communist Party supports this as
they ultimately gain some access and control over informal links. In a time when
resources are scarce, "bread and circus" is welcome by everyone.
231
CHAPTER 4 ENDNOTES
1
The word rumba is thought to have an African origin that relates to a party or a gathering
together to dance (León 1984a:153). Rumba is said to have developed in Cuba in the mid
19
th
century among free blacks and enslaved Africans (Daniel 1995:17). As can be seen in
the following quote, rumba is particularly connected to poor Cubans, both white and black,
and with residents of solares. "With the end of slavery, poor black workers continued to
lament their meager opportunities and depressing conditions and expressed their frustrations,
as well as their joys, through dance and music. Solares, the large houses that were divided
into crowded living quarters and where poor Cubans were forced to live, served also as
meeting places to relax, play, and dream in song, dance, and poetry. These solares offered
spatial solace as they distanced poor blacks from continuous racial prejudice and the unjust
realities of political impotence. Martinez-Furé says that rumba came from the solares and
was "a vehicle of liberation and protest" (in Chao Carbonero and Lamerán 1982:114). From
the solares, Afro-Cubans expressed their personal successes or failures in love relations,
satirized government practices, and gradually fashioned the dance/music complex called
rumba. Poor Cubans, both dark- and light-skinned, created a music and dance of their own,
neither totally African nor totally Spanish, that utilized singing, drumming, and dancing in
specific configurations and within specific rules." (Daniel 1995:19)
2
Interview with Mercedes in Solar Madrid by TV film crew, 6/26/99. "Nos encontramos en
el barrio de Cayo Hueso, barrio de acendrada raigambre obrera y mestiza, donde la rumba
tiene raices muy profundas. La rumba es un género musical contable-bailable. Le sirvió al
negro humilde dentro de los solares, dentro de las ciudadelas, para exaltar un sentimiento
patriótico, una frustración amorosa, o una denuncia social. Cualquier cosa que afectó al
negro humilde quedó plasmada dentro de su rumba de cajón. Por eso decimos que la rumba
tiene raíces muy profundas en un barrio como este de Cayo Hueso. Desde los años '80 nos
dimos a la tarea de rescatar, dentro de estos solares, dentro de esas ciudadelas, la rumba,
sobre todo la rumba de cajón. Solares como el solar El Nueve, El África, y recientemente en
La Madrid. La red de intercambio mundial de la UNESCO ha aprobado en 1995 el proyecto
"La rumba soy yo", es decir, rescate y revitalización de la rumba en Cayo Hueso. Es el
primer proyecto en Cuba de trabajo cultural-comunitario este proyecto de la rumba en Cayo
Hueso."
3
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "Callava era uno de los grandes rumberos de Cuba,
uno de los grandes compositores de la rumba, y ahí, donde el vivia, donde se reunia con sus
amigos, con sus familiares, y con el pueblo, le hicimos una evocación al eggun, a este
muerto de la rumba. Para compartir con él porque la rumba no muere, y cuando muere un
rumbero, la rumba queda, y el eggun está presente cuando tocamos una rumba."
4
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "La rumba en los solares mantiene sus caracteristicas,
su pureza, ¿por qué?, porque una de las cosas fundamentales en la rumba es la ex-pon-ta-nei-
dad, que en un teatro se pierde, que en una plaza se pierde, pero dentro del solar, esa
característica que debe primar siempre en la rumba se mantiene. Los niños desde pequeñitos
asi, están oyendo sonar los cajones, los tambores con la rumba. Ellos bailan rumba en su
cuna, cuando aprenden a pararse, porque en los solares se siente, a cada momento, a cada
tarde, la rumba sonar. Porque la música en sentido general, para este barrio, forma parte de
232
su i-dio-sin-cra-sia. En cualquier casa de familia está presente la música, esta ensayando una
música, y lejos de estos ensayos… como en otros lugares a veces la música no les gustan…
aquí es necesario, forma parte de la vida de la gente de este barrio. Una de las cosas que más
me gustan es la unidad, es la integración, es la familiaridad que se establece, es la
hermandad, eso es lo que más me gusta, y la rumba lo propicia. Que la gente se sienta bien,
y la rumba lo propicia. Cuando tú llegas allí, cualquier persona que llega allí, nadie se siente
un visitante, se siente una familia, y eso es lo que me gusta, que con la rumba se logra esto,
encontrar una familia. Porque nosotros incluso… Creo que no hay nada más propicio, que la
rumba… Nosotros no nos sentimos solamente que personas de cualquier latitud vengan a
nuestro barrio, a nuestro pais. Queremos que vuelvan, y para que ustedes deseen volver,
tienen que sentir este calor humano, esta espontaneidad, y esta confraternidad, y esta unidad
que se logra a través de la rumba con este trabajo."
5
Interview with Mercedes in Solar Madrid by TV film crew, 6/26/99. "En Cayo Hueso
Chano Pozo aprendió percussion, vivió y trabajo antropologo Don Fernando Ortiz y Rogelio
Martinez Furé ha vivido treinta y nueve años. En este barrio vivió el historiador del ciudad
Eusebio Leal, Merceditas Valdés, cantante afrocubana, el profesor Dandy Crawdford de
bailes de carácter brasileño, y uno de los grandes musicólogos que recientemente murió, el
Charangón de Elio Revé. En este barrio surgió el feeling desde la década del cuarenta con
Ángel Díaz en la casa de su padre, Tirso Díaz, y con Omara Portuondo, siempre ella estaba
en este barrio, iba a los solares, por ejemplo a "La Cristina", a bailar rumba. Este es un
barrio donde existe la comparsa de "Los Componedores de Bateas", que surgió de un hecho
cotidiano, en 1937. Es un comparsa popular, tradicional, y es de este barrio. En este barrio,
por ejemplo, esta el Palacio de los Tabaqueros, que es un centro de promoción sociocultural.
Ahí en este lugar, Paco Alfonso, uno de los grandes dramaturgos, teatrólogos cubanos,
ensayaba y estrenaba sus obras."
6
Lyrics in Spanish of a song titled "Guaguancó a Calixto Callava" and sung by the rumba
musicians, Clave y Guaguancó in Solar Madrid on 6/26/99
(Solo)
Volvió la muerte impia
A llevarse otro rumbero
Rompió la melodía
Que causó gran conmoción
Y esta vez se llevó
A Calixto Callava
Y ha dejado en la rumba
Y en los rumberos
Un gran dolor
(Coro)
Calixto Callava, en memoria a ti
te cantaremos y tocaremos un buen rumbon
(Solo)
Porque tú era nuestro amigo
233
Y con nosotros tu rumbeaba
(Coro)
Nunca te olvidaremos, Calixto Callava
(Solo)
Con nosotros tu tocabas en la solar de la Madrid
(Coro)
Nunca te olvidaremos Calixto Callava
(Solo)
En el Callejon de Hamel con nosotros tu bailabas
(Coro)
Nunca te olvidaremos Calixto Callava
(Solo)
Fuiste para mi, Calixto
Un hombre de gran valía
Por eso insisto en repito
No morirá tu melodía
(Coro)
Callava no se murió
7
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "El guaguanco es otro de los estilos de rumba. Es un
baile de pareja, de carácter urbano, de aquí de los solares, de las ciudadelas, pero es un baile
donde la destreza del bailarín se demuestra, en él, tratando de "vacunarla", y en ella en ella
en no dejarse "vacunar", que es un movimiento de carga erótica, un choque de pelvis".
8
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "La rumba en Cayo Hueso, por el gusto que tiene este
barrio por este género, se utiliza en función educativa, en función social, en función cultural
y en función preventiva… Desde edades muy tempranas..., porque cuando tenemos a estos
adolescentes integrados en módulos culturales de rumba, estos jóvenes no están pensando
en..., en otras cosas, en delinquir."
9
Mercedes makes an announcement to the crowd that had gathered at Solar Madrid on
6/26/99. "Fijanse que en la parte de la Columbia cuando Rene le da el pie, puede entrar de
forma expontanea a la valla algun Columbiano que se siente de verdad aqui a nivel de esta
grabacion."
10
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "Es porque dentro de los estilos de rumba, uno de los
que el bailarín puede mostrar mayor virtuosismo técnico es precisamente en la columbia,
donde puede demostrar si es estilista o no. Porque la improvisación es infinita. Se puede
entregar completamente, y ahí es donde le da la libertad al bailarín de que pueda improvisar
y que pueda crear."
234
11
Interview with Santiago Nani Rodriguez, 7/31/99. "Fue un homenaje al difunto Calixto
Callava, que él vivió en ese solar, y en ese solar fue donde el dió su caida, murió de una
enfermedad bastante grave, maligna, maligna, maligna, murió de cáncer... Una gente que
siempre todo el mundo quiso, porque por su forma de ser..., él era una gente muy bien
tratable, era una gente de buen trato social, una gente de mucho respeto, que para mí... hay
como tres o cuatro rumbas que mencionan a Calixto Callava, era para él todo el homenaje,
un homenaje a él, a todos su talento musical, que era muy buen músico, un arreglista, ahí hay
un compositor muy bueno..."
12
Interview with Santiago Nani Rodriguez, 7/31/99. "La segunda rumba que Ud. oyó ahí,
que hizo el tema de… que fue un poco más tradicional, más típica, fue porque
verdaderamente al pasar esas agrupaciones… al acabarse el espectáculo que estaba
programado… que trae guaguancó… que fue un grupo muy bueno ya se te mete en la sangre
la rumba, la gente no se iba, la gente quería más rumba y más rumba y llega ese momento…
ven pa' cá, fulano bueno, empezó de nuevo la rumba, le metemos los tambores pa' dentro ahí
del cuarto y estaba la rumba buenísima y todo el mundo bailando y ya la gente que estaba
con los aficionados que fueron quienes dejaron los instrumentos ahí, que quisieron un poco
tocar otro rato más. La gente rumbeando: 'sales tú a bailar, sale a bailar el otro, el que está
cantando canta, y le pide permiso al que está cantando para cantar otro, el que está tocando
coge una vuelta en el quinto'. Esa es la parte de la rumba bien tradicional, la parte negra, la
parte negra de la rumba que es la que me gusta... Esa es la rumba que me gusta a mí!"
13
Interview with Santiago Nani Rodriguez, 7/31/99. "Ese espectáculo que usted vió allí es
una cosa muy bien tradicional, que es verdaderamente la parte bien, bien, bien, bien, bien
fundamental de la rumba. Todo nació de un solar, toda la parte musical de la rumba, todo
nació en un solar... Los antiguos, los antecesores de nosotros los negros no tenían el nivel de
vida de la parte blanca, de la parte blanca del sistema de vida que se vivía en aquel tiempo.
No había instrumentos, no había nada... se rumbeaba..., la rumba era con cajones, cojían un
tanque, el fondo de un cubo... El vecino que vive en un cuarto, el otro vecino del otro cuarto
lo llamaba, sale con una botella de ron, tómate dos o tres tragos, cuando está “el pico
caliente”, saca los cubos, las cucharas, y empezaba la rumba ahí."
14
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "No fueron rumbas diferentes. Viste rumba,
digamos… una rumba de invocación, que se le hizo a un eggun, un muerto rumbero que fue
Calixto Callava, que vivió en ese lugar. Usted vio una forma solemne de invocar a ese
eggun. Y después fue el grupo como tal, con su estilo, porque la rumba es una sola, pero
cada grupo va a tener su propio estilo, como cada bailarín va a tener su propio estilo, como
cada cantante va a tener su propio estilo. Y por último ya era una rumba pero rumba de
cajón al muerto, que es una de las formas de invocar a los muertos con la rumba. Porque la
rumba, fuera del ámbito de la religión, la rumba se hizo como un medio de divertimento,
pero los ritos religiosos no brillan por su ausencia. Está en el hombre cubano, los mitos
están en la base del folklore como ecos de supervivencia de tradiciones pasadas, y es por eso
que estos eggun…., se ha rescatado esta rumba de cajón al muerto, quiere decir, una rumba
donde se va a invocar de forma muy espontánea a esos muertos, y ya eso está dentro de un
ceremonial, espontáneo también, pero con carácter funerario, con carácter ritualístico.
Aunque no fue en el surgimiento de la rumba su propósito religioso, pero es la cultura, en
sentido amplio, todo lo que rodea, todo lo que afecta al hombre, está presente y todas
235
aquellas cosas quedan plasmadas, se ponen a tiempo de guaguancó, y se le pone rumba. Y
es por eso que es rumba de cajón al eggun, al muerto. Y el muerto lo recibe contento, con
beneplácito, porque estos eggun fueron rumberos."
15
Interview with Zaira, 12/26/01. "Resulta ser que Mercedes es la coordinadora de…
porque eso fue con unos extranjeros, también. Y ellos querían saber un solar famoso que,
que naciera la rumba en ese… en ese solar y Mercedes vino a verme a mí. Y ellos
coordinaron e hicimos la… vaya… y entonces era para Calixto Callava, ellos querían… y le
tocaron a él. Clave y Guaguancó le tocó a Calixto Callava."
16
Interview with La Prieta, 12/26/01. "Ese día se hace un homenaje a él, cumplía años de
rumba, de algo, que ella vino con un grupo llamado Clave y Guaguancó en el cual se le da
eso a él. Tú sabes… tú llegaste… y después nosotros aquí en la casa seguimos la fiesta. (Se
ríe) No sé lo que quería hacer ella, no sé su proyecto de ella con el grupo, no… hasta allí no
tenemos nosotros conocimiento. Clave y guaguancó vino aquí a tocar porque es un lugar
famosísimo, que hubieron muchos músicos aquí en este solar. Y vino con Mercedes, una
representante muy buena. Y sí, estuvo aquí y muy bueno que quedó el reportaje ese, muy
bueno."
17
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "Pudiste observar como los habitantes de ese solar se
integran a preparar una caldosa, a brindarlo, a participar... Porque ya después, es una
actividad que yo aseguro, pero le he dado participación a todo el mundo que es de allí del
solar. Todo el mundo participa, pero participa ac-ti-va-men-te, no como espectadores viendo
un grupo... Y queriendo todo el mundo integrarse, con todas las características sociales... Esa
cosa espontánea, esa característica, esa idiosincrasia que tiene el cubano de querer brindar lo
que tiene. Aún en momentos como este, que estamos en período especial de escasez,
queremos brindar al que esté ahí una caldosa, y prepararla ellos mismos."
18
Interview with Imelda, 12/29/01. "Bueno, la rumba aquí se daba principalmente en este
cuarto de al lado y el otro que le sigue ahí vivían dos rumberos: padre y madre, marido y
mujer que eran los que propiciaban todo lo que es la rumba. Ponían un cubo con unos huesos
a la candela pa hacer una sopa, dos botellas de ron y empezaban a tocar con un cajoncito, y
el otro vino con dos cucharas, y el otro vino con una latica y un palo, y así empezaban y eran
las doce de la noche y todavía, todavía aquí estaba la rumba andando. Muchas personas que
ya no existen por ley de la vida, que eran los que propiciaban la rumba. Aquí siempre,
siempre, siempre desde que yo era muy niña hubo rumba. En toda… de aquí para allá…
principalmente de esta acera."
19
Interview with Imelda, 12/29/01. "Aquí ya prácticamente no hay rumba. A cómo era
cuando yo era muchacha, ya aquí no hay rumba. Porque los rumberos ya no existen. Ya ellos
no existen. Ahora sí, yo puedo coger un palo, un cajón y una lata y batir. Pero no es lo
mismo a como se hacía el fin de semana aquí. El fin de semana aquí siempre había rumba.
Pero ya al no estar ninguno de ellos… Tiene que ser que venga alguien… y empiecen a tocar
ahí y entonces sí, se forma una rumbita pero no como antes. No era como antes."
20
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "para desarrollar la cultura popular tradicional de
forma masiva."
236
21
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "El baile juega un papel importante en el desarrollo
integral de ese hombre nuevo a que aspiramos para el siglo XXI, principalmente porque
cuando bailamos, se desarrolla una mente y un cuerpo sano, cuando bailamos se establece
una interrelación entre los hombres y una intercomunicación desde el punto de vista social."
22
Interview with Mercedes, 07/17/99. "Cada uno de nosotros, como dice la UNESCO,
desde nuestras comunidades, tenemos que poner nuestro granito de arena, e intercambiar
nuestra diversidad de culturas. Hay que desarrollar el pluralismo en la cultura, no se puede
homogeneizar la cultura, ni monopolizar la cultura."
23
Adrian H. Hearn (2003) comes to a similar conclusion in his article "Transformation:
Transcendence or Transculturation? The Many Faces of Cuban Santeria" (Humanities
Research Vol. 10, No. 3). By examining religious commercialization through a transcultural
lens, he emphasizes a "convergence of distinct cultural and economic values in collaborative
activities" (p.57) such that a priest in Old Havana can skillfully orchestrate religious
presentations "to accommodate the diverse needs of foreign film makers, percussion
students, aspiring initiates, and his local religious following" (p.58) showing an
"interpenetration of commercial, community, and personal objectives." He further states that
"The convergence of these objectives in common activities shows transculturation in
motion" (p.58). He concludes saying that the "folkloric performances" of the priest in Old
Havana "cannot be explained simply in terms of religious breakdown or religious continuity.
Instead, they reveal cultural mutations of a new kind that play out according to overlapping
local and global scripts" (p.62).
24
Interview with La Prieta, 04/26/2004. " El muerto como Eggun como se le dice, la estaba
molestando, no quería hombre aquí en su casa, no quería ningún esposo en su vida y la
perturbaba y la molestaba y le dio eso y se le dijo que él ya estaba muerto, que la dejara
aunque sea hacer su vida, que como espíritu ella lo iba a atender a él con sus flores, su velita,
con todas las cosas que él quería o que él hacía en el ayer. Zaira lo necesitaba para su salud
y era su esposo y era un muerto, como se dice, de mucha popularidad."
25
For an in depth examination of illness, diagnosis, and treatment in Santeria, see Santeria
Healing by Johan Wedel (2004).
26
The history of the Yoruba Andabo band was told to me by the director, Giovanni del Pino
Rodriguez, during an interview on 03/20/2000 and by one of their lead singers, Juan
Campos, better known by his nickname "Chan", during an interview on 01/03/2002.
27
Zaira spoke to Chan, Chappottín, Marino and Giovani on 3/11/2000.
28
The relationship between the Catholic Church, Santeria, and Spiritism in Cuba has a long
and complex history. A detailed outline of all African religions and their encounter with the
Roman Catholic Church in Cuba from the colonial times to present can be found in Ayorinde
(2004). She proposes that in revolutionary Cuba, Afro-Cuban religions are an essential part
of Cuban identity and form a national religion. From within the island, the wide variety of
African-based religions (such as La Regla de Ocha-Ifá (Santeria), Palo Monte, Abakuá, La
Regla Arará, and Vodú) are often considered so intermixed and syncretized that they are
237
commonly referred to as "Popular Religiosity" (Cutié Bressler 2001). For a more
government-sponsored view of religious practices in Cuba today see Ramírez Calzadilla
(2000). For Zaira, this was the only time she attended Catholic mass, during my year and a
half of fieldwork in Cuba. She claimed that mass was not very meaningful to her and likely
only attended on this occasion because Callava's name would be ceremoniously announced.
Using all means possible to honor the deceased was better than just using one. Zaira, along
with all of Imelda's children and most of her grandchildren, was baptized as an infant, but
this is frequently done because it is considered a requirement before becoming initiated in
Santeria, performing the 'hacer santo' ceremony, or performing other Afro-Cuban rituals. It
is also commonly thought in Cuba that "the more religions a person has, the more holiness",
contributing to the widespread practice of mixing religious traditions ("mientras más
religiones tenga una persona, más santidad", quote by Andrés Petit in Cabrera (1986:3),
translated in Ayorinde (2004:23).
29
Spiritism, founded by Allan Kardec, likely reached Cuba in the mid 19
th
century. The
practice focuses on communication with the dead, ritual cleansings, and healing. (Ayorinde
2004) In practice, spirits (usually African) appear to or posses spiritists and give advice to
the clients. Spiritists also throw coconut shells and answer questions that clients have.
Spiritists generally charge much less than santero(a)s for readings, and the altars and ritual
objects are also less expensive. Zaira and Imelda, like many believers of Santeria, have an
altar to the spirits in their house. This usually consists of 7 glasses of water, usually placed
on an elevated shelf in the house, with a crucifix in the front glass (See Figure 82 Below).
Offerings of candles or flowers are also placed on the shelf. For a misa espiritual (spiritual
mass), the altar would also contain cigars, perfume, rum or aguardiente (alcohol), coconut,
flower water, and green branches (See Figure 55-56).
Figure 82: Zaira in her room arranging flowers for her spirit altar, which is in the top right
corner of the photo (7 glasses of water, one with a crucifix, and flower offerings)
30
Interview with La Prieta, 12/26/01. "La misa son personas que bajan el espíritu, de ellos,
el muerto que lo acompaña a cada cual. A mí me acompaña Francisca. A Mercedes que fue
la que hizo la misa la acompaña la juglar y bajan cada cual el espíritu de ellos. Durante la
misa te dicen si puedes hacer o no la fiesta. Según como quiera el Eggun al que se le va a dar
el homenaje, al que se la va a dar la fiesta. Si él quiere fiesta, él va a la fiesta, si él quiere
238
comida: pollo, gallina, gallo, se le da gallo. Es lo que quiera el Eggun en general. Después le
dimos el gallo y después le dimos la rumba y el cajón."
31
For a discussion of the effects of the revolution on Santeria practices see Ayorinde
(2004:124-136).
32
Holbraad (2004:661) compares the speculator in Havana with the babalawo: "One might
go as far as to say that among many inner-city dwellers, Ifá initiation has come to acquire a
new kind of street-credibility as the kind of thing one can show off, not unlike a motorbike,
gold accessories, or cool Nike gear."
33
Orula is the saint of the Ifá divination system. All babalawos are considered to be sons of
Orula. Orula communicates to those on earth through the babalawos and their stone or
shell-throwing divination techniques. Orula never possesses the babalawos, unlike the
orishas who possess santero/as.
34
I was also allowed to witness and film this event. I stationed myself and my camera on the
barbacoa, or second floor of Zaira's apartment. Giovanni, the director of the Yoruba
Andabo band, said that I could film the event, as long as I didn't film anyone who was
possessed.
35
In an interview on 04/26/2004, La Prieta described the power of the dead by discussing
how much they "consume". By having a cajon for Callava, his spirit was fed. "Look, the
cajon for the dead, when Yoruba Andabo came to play, is a consecration that is done world-
wide. The dead eat before everyone else. The earth doesn't swallow everything? The
earth… just like that, the spirit consumes, the spirit… everything that you give to it,
everything you give the earth, the earth eats.
La Prieta: "Mira, el cajón para el muerto, cuando vino Yoruba Andabo a tocar, es una
consagración que se hace a nivel mundial. El muerto come ante que todo. ¿La tierra no se lo
traga todo? La tierra… así mismo, como Eggun, a Eggún… todo lo que tú le des, todo lo que
a la tierra tú le das, la tierra se come."
36
Although Callava's spirit never descended, people said that he was appeased.
37
Based on an interview with Alfredo R. Hernandez Goméz, son of Sara Goméz,
04/24/2004. " El Ambia is a friend of my father. Eloy Machado is my father's friend.
Obviously, as a friend of my father he would go to my father's house to drink rum with my
father. And my mother was there. But it was my mother who discovered his talents."
"El Ambia es amigo de mi papá. Eloy Machado es amigo de mi papá. Evidentemente como
es amigo de mi papá iba a casa de mi papá. A tomar ron con mi papá. Y mamá estaba ahí.
Pero es ella la que le descubre su talento"
38
The position of rumba as national vs. marginal dance was described to me by the director
of Yoruba Andabo, Giovanni del Pino Rodriguez, during an interview on 03/20/2000:
"According to history, rumba for many people is a music from the solar, and from black
239
people. However, it is not like that. Really it is not like that. Rumba is an expression of
Cubanity, simply and sincerely. An expression of Cubanity that is, it isn't less true, what the
marginalized people played.
"Por historia, por historia la rumba para mucha gente es una música de solar. Y de negros.
Sin embargo no es así. Realmente no es así. La rumba es una expresión de cubanía. Sencilla
y llanamente. Una expresión de cubanía que sí, no es menos cierto, que lo tocaban los
marginados."
39
Interview with Miguel Chappottin Beltran, 1/7/2002. "Coge más bomba en el solar…
porque el personal que va es más emotivo… ellos mismos empiezan a cantar, se ponen a
bailar y todo eso y entonces… ya se le da más emotividad a la rumba."
40
Interview with Juan Campos, better known as "Chan", on 01/03/2002. "El solar es la
rumba como es. Sales tú y bailas, sale ella y canta, sale el otro y qué sé yo, espérate,
espérate, dame un cachito a mí, espérate, dame una vuelta, oye fulano déjame coger la
tumbadora, déjame con la cuchara. Esa es la perfecta rumba. Vaya que se familiariza. Pero
ya en los teatros y en los cabarets, ya es muy distinto, tiene que ser otro formato. Es la
misma rumba pero con otras características. Ya hay luces, hay audio, hay organización. El
corazón es el solar."
41
During the cajon for Callava at least half a dozen tourists wandered into the solar and
stayed until the very end. Tourists are often told that if they wander through the streets of
Central Havana they will likely find Afro-Cuban music and religious ceremonies that they
can observe for free. Most residents don't mind tourists wandering into their homes,
especially for the birthdays of saints (cumleaños de santo) where visitors are required to
address the altar and donate money. Tourists are treated well, and in return, often buy rum
or beer for the residents.
42
Interview with Miguel Chapottín Beltrán on 01/07/2002. "Ese proceso funciona a base de
cantarle, cantarle al muerto pa que él se sienta bien. Eso es lo que estilamos nosotros. Se le
canta, un suponer, si él tiene tres o cuatro números de rumba se los cantamos ese día, pa
levantarle su espíritu. Así es como nosotros hacemos esas cosas. Se le canta siempre
números que tengan sacado el espíritu de sus números, se los cantamos ese día. Siempre
cantando y todos los números que le cantamos siempre congratulando el espíritu. Ese es el
estilo que se hace. Lo mismo nosotros que otros rumberos. Eso siempre es lo que se le hace.
Se le canta. Eso es estimulando el espíritu del muerto. Eso se estila."
43
Interview with Giovanni del Pino Rodríguez on 01/05/2002. "Bueno, nosotros estilamos,
ya en una forma profana, pues a darle una rumba a un rumbero. Por ejemplo cuando Callava
murió como que era rumbero en la funeraria se le tocó rumba. Eso… se estila bastante en
Cuba. Y después posteriormente a eso pasa el tiempo y como que… se supone que ese
espíritu está descansando… está en su… que ese espíritu es rumbero ¿entiendes? pues
entonces para… pa… para hacerle algo que a ese espíritu le gustaba en vida, pues se le toca
una rumba. Ya está, vamos a tocarle una rumba al eggun de Callava. Y le tocamos una
rumba al eggun de Callava. Y de ahí viene la misa espiritual… se hace una merienda
espiritual primero, se hacen sus preparativos, sus cosas como si fuera una musa, como si
240
fuera una misa espiritual y dentro de esa misa se le toca una rumba. A es eggun que era
rumbero se le toca la música que a él le gustaba."
44
Interview with La Prieta, 04/26/2004. "[Yoruba Andabo] vinieron a tocar en un homenaje
a un compositor muy famoso que fue Calixto Callaba en el cual se le vino a hacer, su
homenaje muy bueno y eso significa un don de gracia, y un rayo de luz que aunque esté en el
otro mundo esa música de cajón es muy buena y lo alcanza… eso lo alcanza y eso nos da a
nosotros en la tierra ayuda, salud, prosperidad y todo nos marcha muy bien…"
45
Interview with Zaira and La Prieta on 12/26/2001.
La Prieta: Los cambios… tiene un esposo estable, tiene otro… es decir otro cambio, de
bienestar, de salud, de progreso y de… de desenvolvimiento, tiene un esposo. Y las cosas no
le han marchado, vamos a poner como antes, vamos a decir así. Ella ha cambiado
muchísimo…
Zaira: Sí. Hasta ahora yo gracias a él me van las cosas… la verdad
La Prieta: La casa la arregló con su esposo. La ayudó mucho y le compró todo para
empezar… En la casa hizo el baño, hizo cocina, hizo todos los arreglos de la casa. Ella no
tenía televisor, tiene televisor, otros cambios más…
Zaira: Él como espíritu existe.
La Prieta: y el cajón sirvió. Mi casa arreglada, alegre y bonita. Y feliz (se ríe) mi baño, mi
cocina, mi plaquita, mis arreglos, mis muebles…
Zaira: Él ayud… me ha dado muchas pruebas de eso. Él me ayuda mucho. Él me ayuda
mucho. Yo hablo con él na más, le digo “oye no tengo dinero para nada” y salgo pa la calle
¡de verdad! Él… y hasta ahora me duele la muela na más.
La Prieta: Que de verdad ellos existen
46
Interview with La Prieta, 04/26/04. "Antes del 21 hicimos todos los preparativos, yo que
tengo… voy a cumplir tres años de santo, fuimos encargamos los dulces, mandamos a hacer
el cake precioso ese que se ve ahí, y… compramos las frutas, que llama La Plaza.
Compramos el azúcar, pusimos todos los dulces de cada santo: arroz con leche, dulce de
coco, todo. Mandamos a hacer el trono y empezamos a hacer la fiesta. Después se contrató a
Michel Maza, dijo que estaba de acuerdo. Aunque aquí siempre en este pasillo, en este solar
siempre se han hecho fiestas muy grandes…"
47
Although $100 may not seem like a lot of money for a cake, at the time of this event, a
large flat cake cost 20 pesos, approximately $1.
48
Interview with La Prieta, 04/26/04. "En el trono estaban todos los santicos de él, estaba
Elegguá que es el abre y cierra y los caminos. Estaba Oggún que es el dueño del hierro, el
dueño de todos los hierros que se puedan hacer. Estaba Ochosi, Ochosi es el dueño de la
241
cárcel. Estaba Obbatalá que es el dueño de la paz y la tranquilidad. Estaba Yemayá que es la
dueña del mar porque las cuartas partes de este país estamos rodeados de agua. Estaba
Oshún que es la dueña de la dulzura, de los amoríos, la dueña del oro… estaba Aggayú que
es el dueño del volcán y estaba Shangó que es el dueño del trueno, del rayo, de la candela,
que dicen que en un momento en la vida, él llegó a soltar candela por la boca. Sus piedras las
vencía con candela. Con la boca, sólo de hablar, enfurecido, soltaba candela. Todos los
jimagüas que fueron los que vencieron al diablo y la plaza de frutas que uno ve allí, es Oyá,
que esa es la plaza… esa es… adonde va el Iabbó cuando uno… termina los siete días. Es
adonde primero uno va a hacer Eccbó. A botar ya todo lo último malo que uno pueda tener y
después va a la iglesia de Las Mercedes que es la iglesia de Obbatalá y… el trono significa
el trono bonito como decir su casa, donde se adornan los santos, donde se ponen bonitos el
día de la fiesta."
49
Interview with Michel Maza, 04/26/2004. "Ricardo trabaja conmigo. Sí, lo conocí así, por
los barrios marginales. “Oye, amigo, ¿qué hay? Vamos a tomarnos un trago” Coño, me caes
bien, vamos conmigo a trabajar… y así empezamos y ahí estamos."
50
La Prieta approached the microphone at Mateo's first birthday party for Chango on April
21
st
, 2004 and announced, "Muy Buenos tardes para todo. Solo quiero tranquilidad y paz".
51
Interview with La Prieta, 04/26/04. "Él nace. Es como un bebito… es como un baby… y
al año a todos los muchachos, a todos los babys se les celebra el… el año. Viene como el
nacimiento de otra vida. Debido a que vuelve a nacer. Se le ponen cosas de niño, se hace
canastilla, se hace ropa de salir, ropa de salir a los siete días, como cuando sales del hospital
a los cinco días. Es casi parecido a cuando uno vuelve a nacer. Tienen que estar tres meses
en su casa, hasta las seis de la tarde. No puedes salir más hasta el otro día, tienen que… hasta
el año a las doce en su casa. Tiene que vestir de blanco durante el año, tiene que ponerse
pijama, tiene que ponerse medias, todo blanco. [Las ropas blancas significan] la pureza,
significan también la paz y la tranquilidad y todo, en fin… Y así… es como un muchacho
chiquito, es como un baby. Tienen… cómo se dice? Tiene un camino a seguir."
52
Interview with La Prieta, 04/26/04. "La fiesta de Mateo era tan grande porque tuvo mucho
desenvolvimiento y… lo quiso, lo sintió hacerla tan grande."
53
Interview with Mateo, 04/26/04. "¿Esa gran fiesta? Eso fue tremendo sacrificio. Para que
todo estuviera bien… Mucho sacrificio… mucha guerra… Como todo es en dólares. Todo
en dólares… ¿Y con 10 dólares al mes? … Hay que hacer muchas cosas… ilegales, por
supuesto. …Por suerte hay personas que lo quieren a uno y eso. Mucho trabajo la fiesta,
muchos preparativos, mucho… mucho movimiento… Michel Maza. El antiguo cantante de
La Charanga Habanera. Bastante caro. Todo carísimo. Mucho, mucho, mucho, mucho
dinero. Ningún cubano haría lo que hice yo."
54
Mateo had one son with his wife who accompanied the Baro family on each of the allowed
prison visits (every 21 days). His wife was over 10 years older than him and had been his
grade school teacher. Shortly after his release, they separated and he began dating a series of
other girls. However, this ex-wife and their son who lives with her, are always at Solar
Madrid visiting the Baro family. They both attended his cumpleaños de santo ceremony.
242
55
According to Colomer (2000), there are at least two "secret informers" on every street
block in Cuba. They must document the characteristics of every person living on the block
and keep a daily log of the activities on the block. They report all illegal, counter-
revolutionary, or black market activities to the police officer in charge of the block. This
information is used for a variety of things, including hiring of new employees, approval to
travel abroad, entrance to the university, and police arrests. The Baro family in solar Madrid
believed that Lupe Milena was a government agent. Her apartment door opened out onto the
central courtyard and she could see all of the semi-private activities occurring there.
56
Holbraad claims that, although there is a lack of reliable data, there was a dramatic
increase in Afro-Cuban practices starting at the mid-1980's and extending to the mid 1990's
(2004:653). It could also be argued that the numbers of devotees have remained constant
over the years, but that due to a relaxation on government restrictions, devotees practice
more openly and thus the practices are more visible.
57
Interview with La Prieta, 04/26/04. "Porque ese es el grupo que está en el momento, y es
un grupo muy bueno y se dio la oportunidad de encontrarlo. Que él no tenía actividades
grandes con el estado. Y lo trajo porque tenía las condiciones y las posibilidades. Y porque
quiso. No quiso rumba. No quiso cosas del folklore porque a lo mejor no lo necesitaba
ahora… contratar tambores, ni nada de esas cosas. Y en otro momento lo hará, le tocará a
Shangó tambor de fundamento. Que es casi lo mismo pero con tambores y… y escogió a
Michel porque entendió que su Shangó se merecía una fiesta muy grande. Y se la merecía y
se la dio."
58
These interpretations of the Latin roots of "religion" were found on Wikipedia at
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Religion on 7/28/06.
59
Interview with Michel Maza, 04/26/2004. "Desde niño siempre me gustó siempre estar en
el mundo de los barrios… siempre tuve amigos de barrios marginales. Y como de
costumbre… bueno de… soy un músico en Cuba muy reconocido que quiero mi carrera
gracias a el público… el pueblo, bueno de aquí de los barrios… ¿Sabes? La mayoría de los
seguidores míos, son de gente de barrio. Por eso el día de la fiesta te dije que tocaba y que
hacía todo lo que había que hacer por la gente mía de barrio. Y soy una persona así: sincera."
60
The history of Michel Maza and his singing career is taken from an interview with him on
04/26/2004.
61
Interview with Michel Maza, 04/26/2004. "Me gusta cantar lo que… lo que pasa… o sea,
lo que pasa en Centro Habana, lo que pasa en La Víbora… en los barrios marginales… con
la gente. Por eso es que te digo que… mi público seguidor siempre son de barrios
marginales. O sea, la mayoría de mi público son de barrios marginales porque canto
canciones reales. Como por ejemplo “Avísenle a los cantantes que ya salí del hospital, que se
vayan poniendo los guantes que ahora sí no hay quien me aguante”. Son cosas así… que le
encantan a la gente de barrio. Es música para gente de barrio. Mi salsa, mi timba es música
para gente de barrio."
243
62
Interview with Michel Maza, 04/26/2004. "Estamos en su cumpleaños y… decidí…
“Bueno, vamos a hacer una gran fiesta y vamos a tocar”… y dónde mejor que aquí…
porque yo me siento realmente mejor aquí que en un palacio. Vaya, si te soy sincero. Soy
más feliz con mi gente gozan conmigo, yo gozo con ellos. Es todo entre familia y por eso
decidimos hacer esa fiesta. Y como esa vendrán más. Verdaderamente, me siento más feliz
haciendo esto por mi pueblo que tocando en otro lado… cuantas veces quiera la gente de mi
pueblo… pueden contar conmigo para eso sin problemas… pueden llamarme… en un
rincón, aquí en el cuarto… sin problemas pueden contar conmigo para hacer ese trabajo."
63
The CDR could be considered a liminal organization, lying somewhere between the
interests of the state and the people. These centers were originally established by Fidel
Castro in 1960 as surveillance headquarters designed to document personal information
about every citizen and their activities so that counter revolutionary actions (loosely defined)
could be sequestered. Today, there are more than 121,000 CDRs spread throughout Cuba
with a membership of over 8 million Cubans, nearly 80% of the population (Garcia-Zarza
2000). Although these organizations had a repressive purpose, they gradually became co-
opted by the people through the creation of hybrid networks. Once thousands of CDR's were
in place across the country, the government could not control them as tightly, and they began
to act more like an NGO. CDR activities advocated a mix of goals of the State and society,
ranging from street clean-up and apartment repairs to documenting unemployed workers and
semi-legal activities on the block.
64
Quote taken from an on line article by Joyce Corbett, " La Charanga Unstrung" at
http://www.thelivemusicreport.com/clubs/lulaLounge/charangaHabanera/charangaHabanera.
html.
65
Afro-Cubans are certainly accustomed to situations in which they are required to show a
façade of support to an enterprise to which they are indifferent. African slaves attended
church and prayed to Catholic Saints even though they believed in the orishas. And, from
the opposite stance, the churches today sell their saints and the priests are quite pleased when
thousands of people go to church on the birthdays of the various saints like Saint Lazarus
and Saint Barbara even though the devotees are really praying to their orishas, Babaluayé
and Chango.
66
Originally, each solar was a large house with a central courtyard filled with trees and
plants that served as natural air conditioning. As the city developed, the owners moved to
the suburbs and sold the homes to developers who divided the house into small apartments
and thus solved a housing crisis. These divided homes which became known as solares
were ideally located in the center of the city and grew in popularity. Today, in spite of
increased incomes, the families that live in solares rarely move out. Manuel Baro is a prime
example. He lives in a tiny room in the back of the solar courtyard. He has the finances to
move out, but chooses to stay, even though self-placed under 'house arrest'. He needs his
solar-based networks to prosper. He needs his mother and half-sisters who cook for him and
his neighbors who protect him and his black market transactions. His sister Odelia is
another example. She moved from the solar to a posh apartment high rise in Alamar, but
after several years, returned. A woman who had lived in Apartment #3 moved to Italy to
live with her daughter, but after one year returned as she could not deal with the isolation.
244
CHAPTER 5: CONCLUSION
This thesis has attempted to explain how people living in Havana at
the margins of society have been able to survive and thrive at the turn of the new
century. Before the economic crisis of the early 1990's, the Cuban government was a
very efficient, centralized, hierarchical system. Each connection in the top-down
system focused on power and surveillance such that the state had tight control over
housing, health, education, and social activities. Informal, horizontal connections
existed during this time, such as black market exchanges of food and underground
religious practices, but they were not viewed positively and were often officially
declared as illegal. In the 1990's, with a dramatic cut in money, food, and supplies
from the Soviet Union, the government could no longer provide food and
employment for each citizen. This inability to support the people brought about a
loss of power. In order to regain control, the government embraced and tried to
formalize informal links. Community participation was encouraged and the state
began to indirectly reinforce horizontal networks. To a great extent, what had been
done during the early years of the revolution among marginal groups semi-legally
and illegally, became legalized and supported by the state. There was a clear
convergence of grass roots and state practices to the extent that today, almost all
activities could be said to belong to both civil society and the state. The lines
between these traditionally distinct entities became blurred as actors on both sides
have co-opted the spaces of the other.
245
This transition occurring in Cuba has been discussed endlessly, both inside
and outside the country. From the right, conservatives who oppose the Cuban
government claim that the Cuban state has become fragile because of the loss of
support from the Soviet Union and the presence of the United States embargo. Thus,
vertical forms of domination have been weakened and the Cuban people have
become empowered and have taken over State spaces. Where previously absent, a
civil society has emerged and thrived and horizontal networks have expanded. The
opinion from the left is that all along the purpose of the Cuban state has been to
reinforce horizontal networks and give power to the people to build and grow.
In this thesis I have tried to propose that the transition that is occurring today,
throughout the 1990's and at the turn of the century, is a hybrid version of the above
two ends of the spectrum. During the Special Period, a social revolution occurred
and horizontal networks strengthened for two reasons. First, Cubans discovered that
they needed horizontal networks to survive because the State could no longer
provide for them. Through their own agency, Cubans redirected their efforts from a
focus on vertical to horizontal networking. Second, the State unintentionally
encouraged horizontal networking by lifting some of its repressive mechanisms, such
as the suppression of religion and ritual gatherings. With acts such as the
legalization of the dollar, a large portion of black market transactions became legal.
The government gained some control over the informal sectors of society, but those
at the margins gained more customers. In sum, the unintended consequences of the
revolution and State policies were far more important than the intended ones. The
246
creation of elaborate networks during the Special Period has enriched the social and
cultural lives of all Cubans, from marginalized to more privileged middle class
sectors.
The lifestyles of people living at the margins of society became in vogue in
the early 1990's. Regular visits to friends, neighbors, and healers for black market
exchanges, bartering, or just chatting, such as the Baro family engaged in, became a
survival strategy for everyone in Cuba. As things like formal education and state
employment became less desirable because they were less available and less
effective, informal family-run enterprises and local activities flourished. The poor,
who were always quite adept at small-scale exchanges, were able to expand their
networks and prosper financially. It was not coincidental that in the year 2001,
during the economic crisis of the Special Period, the Baro family was able to add
bathrooms and showers to two apartments in Solar Madrid. Their connections
allowed them to gather together bricks, toilets, pipes, tools, and food for the
construction team. At a moment when most Cubans were focused on survival, they
were able to save money and thrive. This was due in part to their own connections
and ingenuity and in part to a reduction of government control over physical
resources and human capital.
I have tried to demonstrate the areas involved in the rapid hybridization of
Cuban society during the past fifteen years since the demise of the Soviet Union and
loss of its support. From my observations in the solar there was an intense
intermingling of spheres of influence that included Santeria, parties, and activities
247
formerly seen as illegal which were now legal and the value of the structure -
physical and emotional - of the solar system itself. It seems clear that what had
appeared to be a random set of activities practiced on the margins just to "get by" on
a daily basis, coalesced into a true network that is no longer just for survival. It has
become a potent way of moving around in society and a valuable support to
individuals and families in advancing socially and economically.
The caldosa seems to be an interesting metaphor for the hybridization of
revolutionary Cuba. Similar to the concept of ajiaco, this brothy soup has become
quite popular in the past two decades. Fernando Ortiz used the term ajiaco or Cuban
Creole Stew, as a metaphor to describe the complex mixture of cultures throughout
Cuban history (1940). The dish contained ingredients from different ethnic groups.
It contained corn, potatoes, yucca, and taro root from the native Indians, pumpkin
and turnip from Spain, African yams, Chinese spices, and a variety of dried meat,
flank steak, and ribs. The stew would simmer until the broth thickened, yet each
ingredient kept its distinct flavor. Unlike the 'melting pot' analogy where immigrants
'acculturate' by losing the old culture and gaining a new homogenous one, this stew
contained the history of Cuba, which was one of "intermeshed transculturations"
with "extremely complex transmutations of culture" (Ortiz 1940). The stew was
constantly simmering and thus always in a state of flux as new cultural elements
were added, but each ingredient could still be identified, creating a hybrid dish.
Ajiaco, as defined in cookbooks from the early 1950's, is no longer consumed
in Cuba today. It is nearly impossible to find the variety of meats and vegetables in
248
the market on any given day to make this rich stew. What has replaced it is the
caldosa, a soup with a very thin broth that contains primarily roots and a few pieces
of meat for flavor. Some argue that it is just a watered down version of the ajiaco, a
soup for the poor (Aguila 2005). Others praise it as a socialist version of ajiaco,
something that everyone can afford, evidence of true equality in revolutionary Cuba.
I would argue that the caldosa is a good example of a hybrid project of revolutionary
Cuba. The poor quality of the caldosa is not what is important, what is significant is
its mode of production. Caldosa is made collectively, with various family members
and friends gathering the ingredients together. By its very nature, the act of making
a caldosa requires a high degree of networking. Caldosa is thus a hybrid dish, not
for its ingredients, but because it is the result of an articulation of agents and forces
with varied goals.
Caldosa could be considered a cross between the ajiaco, a family-made dish
and the national Cuban cuisine of the pre-revolutionary period, and a socialist soup
kitchen. In early 1990's, the government began to indirectly support parties and the
production of caldosa much as they started to change their views on what was legal
and illegal in the society. The consumption of caldosa was promoted through the
wide broadcast of the song, "La Caldosa de Kiki and Marina". The lyrics of the song
relate the story of an old man who wants to dance at a party, but can't stand up. After
he drinks a bowl of caldosa, his legs are cured and he dances. With its miraculous
powers and cheap production, caldosa became a national dish during the Special
Period, much like the ajiaco. Caldosa was widely distributed at political
249
celebrations such as the annual anniversary party celebrating the inauguration of the
Committee for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR). Once again, the state had co-
opted what had been a dish for the poor, highlighting a general societal shift from a
reliance on vertical formal systems to horizontal popular networks. But nonetheless,
actors involved in the production of a caldosa, whether it is made for a CDR party or
a religious festival, create and foster networks, turning a mundane cooking chore into
a complex and enriching process. At a time of economic hardship and great
decreases in imports and food production for exports, Cuba manages to produce
large amounts of social capital, created in part, through the production of caldosa.
In this thesis, I have attempted to show that, everything from soup and
housing to parties have become joint ventures between the desires of the Cuban State
and the People to such an extent that it is often difficult to differentiate between State
and People. Members of the Baro family and those living in Solar Madrid who
primarily work in the household and popular economic sector venture into State
institutions and private entrepreneurial systems as well such that most of their
activities have become a hybrid mixture of goals and interests. Although occurring
in other sectors of society and in other countries, hybridized networks have become
prominent in Havana because of the societal reorganization that occurred during the
Special Period.
The solar in Cayo Hueso is a good place to begin a study of hybridized
networks as the place itself is hybrid, a mixture of private and public, apartment and
house, poor residents in the middle of a large city of predominantly middle class
250
citizens and tourists. Solar residents, the Baro family in particular, have become
adept at using the solar space and their extended family networks to earn a living,
solve housing problems, and make home improvements. Moving to the extreme
fringes of the Baro networks, family members party with famous musicians, dead
spirits, and visiting anthropologists, and organize grand celebrations that highlight
their complex surveillance techniques and the value and density of their social
networks. The solar space becomes a hybrid meeting place, a stage for a national
audience and a personal ceremony for the dead, a place where public officials
scrutinize local activities under the critical surveillance of residents. Through this
study based on experiences with the Baro family in Solar Madrid, I have tried to
show the value of hybridized social networks during this Special Period in
contemporary Cuba. Cuba's future, whether the new government claims to be
socialist or capitalist, multicultural or universal, local or global, will no doubt reflect
a complex mixture of these dualities, a society of "intermeshed transculturations," a
hybrid blend of formal (state) and informal (popular) practices that can only be
described as Sara Gómez does, De Cierta Manera, "in a certain way."
251
GLOSSARY
Ahijados Godchildren either in Santeria or Catholicism. In Santeria,
after a santera performs the ‘hacer santo’ ceremony to initiate
someone into the status of ‘santera’ or ‘santero,’ they become
her ‘ahijado’.
Babalawo Priest of Ifá, a divination tradition associated with Santeria.
All babalawos are considered to be sons of Orula. Only men
can become babalawos. These men are in charge of
consulting the oracle of Ifá.
Babalú Ayé The orisha of illness, protector of the infirm. Identified with
the Catholic Saint Lazarus or San Lazaro. Offerings to Babalú
Ayé can help cure all illnesses, in particular skin ailments,
infections, and epidemics.
Barbacoa Second floor balcony built into the first floor of a house.
Usually, the four of five foot tall space contains beds and is
used only for sleeping.
Beca Boarding school for grades 6-12.
Brujeria Literally translated as 'witchcraft', this term is not associated
with the 15
th
century witch hunts. In Cuba, brujeria is
integrally connected to several Afro-Cuban religious
traditions. A bruja can perform ritual offerings to the orishas
and ancestors in order to harm a person or remove them from
the path of the follower.
Cajon A spiritual drumming. A ceremony where musicians play the
cajones (wood box drums) and sing to the ancestors/spirits.
This homage is expected to pacify the dead or bring their
spirits down to earth so the living can amend disagreeable
relations.
Cajones Wood boxes used as drums. Held between the knees and hit
with either the hands or spoons.
Caldosa A Cuban-style soup that usually contains meat from a pigs
head, corn, potatoes, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, plantains, taro
root or other tubers or roots and seasoned with onions, garlic,
peppers, and cumin.
252
Casa de Santo Home of the Orisha, a temple or cabildo association, ile ocha
in the Yoruba language.
Chango The orisha of fire, thunder, lightening, aggression and passion.
He also rules over prisons. Identified with the Catholic Saint
Barbara, or Santa Barbara.
CDR Comité de la Defensa de la Revolucion. Committee for the
defense of the revolution.
Eggun Yoruba term for deceased ancestors
Eleggua The orisha of the crossroads who opens and closes paths,
opportunities, and ways of life for humans. He is also a
messenger and trickster, and is associated with children and
child-like behaviors. He is represented by a cement or stone
statue with a human like face. The statue is usually kept
behind the door of the house and he protects the home and its
owner. Offerings to Eleggua can help cure illnesses due to
misfortune or accidents. Identified with the Catholic Saint
Anthony of Padua, Niño de Atocha, and Ánima Sola
Gusano Literally translated as "worm". Originally coined to identify
the bourgeois enemies of the revolutionary government, those
who left Cuba for Miami during the early years of the
revolution, this derogatory term was eventually applied to
anyone who resisted or opposed its programs. The term is
now also used for Cubans within Cuba who do not show
support for the revolution, are traitors to the socialist ideals,
and do not contribute to the good of society – usually because
they do not work (all official jobs in Cuba are State jobs,
therefore, not working equates with against the state or
counterrevolutionary), do not vote, do not join their local
CDR, etc. Thus, the word became associated with poor
Cubans who work in the black market and live at the margins
of the system.
Hacer Santo Literally, “To make saint”. To perform the weeklong
initiation ceremony to become a santera(o), or religious healer.
Iyabo A novice initiate in Santeria. Initiates in Cuba are clearly
visible due to their obligation to wear white for an entire year.
253
Jinetera Literally translated as "horseback riding" although often
equated with hustling or "street work". Name given to those
who associate with tourists and provide a wide spectrum of
services such as city tours, cigars, apartments for rent, taxi
rides in old cars, home cooked meals, dance expertise, love,
sex, drugs, etc.
Madrina Godmother, name given to an initiate’s patroness or spiritual
counselor in Santeria
Mano de Orula One of the first stages of several initiation rituals in Santeria.
A three day ceremony where one performs a series of rituals
and receives a blessed yellow and green beaded necklace, a
stone or cement statue representing Eleggua, and the
"warriors", statues and representations of three saints which
protect the initiate (See Figure 36). The three warriors
received are: Oggun, Ochosi, and Osun. The ceremony
solidifies a devotees membership in a temple house and
signifies the beginning of acquisition of ritual knowledge.
Mestizo Of mixed descent
Misa Espiritual A spiritual mass following the religious tradition of Spiritism,
founded by Allan Kardec, which likely reached Cuba in the
mid 19
th
century. The mass focuses on communication with
the dead, ritual cleansings, and healing. (Ayorinde 2004)
Obbá A sacrificial priest. A babalawo trained to perform animal
sacrifices. A man who has gone through the initiation
ceremonies to become an Obbá has been given a special knife
that will enable him to sacrifice animals.
Ochosi Orisha of hunting, forests and prisons. One of the "warriors"
received during the mano de orula ceremony, represented by a
small metal bow and arrow. Offerings to ochosi can help
anyone in trouble with the law and can reduce prison
sentences. Identified with the Catholic Saint Norbert and Saint
Isidor.
Oggun The blacksmith, orisha of iron, war, and hard work. One of
the "warriors" received during the mano de orula ceremony,
represented by a small hammer or other tools. Offerings to
oggun can heal limb wounds or injuries involving iron.
Identified with the Catholic Saint Peter and Paul. See also
Figure 32.
254
Orishas The deities, gods/goddesses, or saints in the Yoruba Dahomey
Cuban religion of Santeria
Orula Orula is the saint or ruler of the Ifá divination system. All
babalawos are considered to be sons of Orula. Orula
communicates to those on earth through the babalawos and
their stone or shell-throwing divination techniques. Orula
never possesses the babalawos, unlike the orishas who
possess santero/as.
Oshun The orisha of love, marriage, honey, gold, rivers. Offerings to
Oshun can help solve problems with the womb and genitals.
Identified with the Catholic saint La Virgen de la Caridad del
Cobre. (Our Lady of Charity), considered the "patroness of the
Cuban nation" (Díaz 2000:1) See also Figure 33.
Osun One of the "warriors" received during the mano de orula
ceremony, represented by a statue of a small iron rooster or
bird sitting on top of a tall-stemmed wine-glass shaped cup. It
is debated whether or not Osun is in fact an orisha. Offerings
to Osun balance the life and spirituality of a devotee.
Padrino Godfather, name given to an initiate’s patroness or spiritual
counselor in Santeria. Also used for person sponsoring a
Catholic baptism.
Pattakí Narrative legends and fables concerning the orishas and their
paths with a moral, or which help define the orisha’s attributes
and natural gifts. Believers turn toward these stories in order
to clarify daily events or in order to understand their own
“letters” or destination. (Definition translated from Bolivar
1990: 186). Also called caminos, or paths.
Poder Popular Popular Power. An official body of the government.
Rumba A Cuban folkloric dance and musical genre with three rhythms
known as guaguancó, yambu, and columbia. Often exhibited
as a national cultural icon. (Daniel 1995)
Rumbero A musician or dancer of rumba.
Santera(o) A woman (or man) who has performed the necessary rites to
become a spiritual healer in the Santeria religion.
255
Santería A popular name for the religious tradition in Cuba known as
the "regla de ocha-Ifá". It is derived from the Yoruba orisha
cults of West Africa – Nigeria and neighboring countries and
is also known as the Lucumí religion, the name given to slaves
from Yorubaland (Ayorinde 2004).
Solar A low-income tenement building which consists of a semi-
private patio surrounded by 10-20 one-room apartments. They
often contain semi-public restrooms (out houses), shower
stalls, drains, and access to water. Also known as ciudadela.
Timba A Cuban version of salsa music.
Warriors In Santeria, the Warriors are the following three orishas:
Oggun, Ochosi, and Osun. These warriors are represented in
bowls and statues, which devotees receive after an initial
ceremony (called Mano de Orula) signifying their entrance
into the religion. See Figure 36.
Yemaya The maternal orisha (saint) of smooth or raging seas.
Corresponds to the Catholic saint Our Lady of Regla.
Represented by the colors blue and white. Offered ducks,
turtles, and goats. Yemaya's emblem is a fan or shell.
(Murphy 1988:42)
Yerbero Herbalists who occupy public stands throughout Havana,
selling herbs, coconuts, medicinal plants and roots, etc.
256
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Abstract (if available)
Abstract
In this thesis I argue that the profound crisis known as the "Special Period" faced by the Cuban socialist state upon the disintegration of the Soviet Union created a series of unexpected opportunities for upward mobility among traditionally marginalized sectors of its urban population. Making a very efficient use of space, traditional practices and survival networks, members of these popular sectors were able to use a combination of strategies such as cooptation, translation, appropriation, and ultimate transformation of official policies, surveillance techniques, and discourses to achieve what could be considered the most radical social change in Cuba since the Revolution of 1959.
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Creator
Angert, Erica Michelle (author)
Core Title
Urban housing, surveillance, and party politics in Cuba
School
College of Letters, Arts and Sciences
Degree
Master of Arts
Degree Program
Visual Anthropology
Degree Conferral Date
2007-05
Publication Date
04/05/2007
Defense Date
03/29/2007
Publisher
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Tag
Havana,healing,marginality,national identity,OAI-PMH Harvest,poverty,Santería,solar
Language
English
Advisor
Lutkehaus, Nancy C. (
committee chair
), Lawlor, Mary C. (
committee member
), Mattingly, Cheryl (
committee member
)
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ericaangert@gmail.com
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etd-Angert-20070405 (filename),usctheses-m40 (legacy collection record id),usctheses-c127-403213 (legacy record id),usctheses-m353 (legacy record id)
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Angert, Erica Michelle
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Tags
healing
marginality
national identity
poverty
solar