1984年10月28日台灣棒球隊教練吳祥木在哈瓦那與Fidel Castro合照

楊佳寧至台南吳祥木教練家,翻拍1984年吳教練與卡斯楚握手照片。

陳綺貞:古巴治安不錯,沒有豔遇。

她說很久以前就跟自己約定一定要去造訪哈瓦那,她回憶踏進這國度所看到的畫面,有很多感觸:哈瓦那街上沒有手機、沒有便利商店、沒有Facebook。

高雄議員吳益政送月曆,嚮往古巴樂觀、維護環境、悠然生活。

2013年「吳益政特色月曆」循例要送給大家100份,主題是「2013 Free Cuba自由古巴」。為何選擇古巴?吳益政承繼10年前最原始的初衷,將考察的成果,和民眾分享;為何選擇古巴?因為去了古巴!十載的歲月,十載的歷練,十載的感知,都在此份「2013 Free Cuba自由古巴」。

哈瓦那:霓虹燈之城半世紀後重煥昔日光彩

在半個世紀後的今天,有一位古巴藝術家將城市古早的霓虹燈管重新安裝了回去,點亮了哈瓦那街景,並以此來慶祝這座城市的第500個生日。過去3年裏,藝術家洛佩茲(Kadir López)苦心孤詣,一一尋求城市復古招牌的拯救方式和修復的門道。這是他的藝術項目「哈瓦那霓虹燈光+燈牌」的一部分內容。截至目前,洛佩茲的團隊已經修復了50餘塊霓虹燈招牌,讓它們重現了舊日的風采。4月,洛佩茲還重新開放了40多年前的哈瓦著名的雷克斯電影院(Rex Cinema),並將之重新起名為雷克斯霓虹中心(REX Neon Center)。

日本記者吉田沙由里移居古巴,窗口賣可麗餅賣到開餐廳

出生於東京的吉田沙由里(Yoshida Sayuri),過去曾是一名記者。她笑稱,自己不喜歡烹飪,過去忙於工作,也鮮少下廚。搬來古巴、買了一間小房子後,她想利用這間房子開始自己的小生意;看著隨處可見的牛奶和蛋,決定來做可麗餅。當時沒有提供座位,只透過廚房的窗戶販售,以女兒的名字「Sayu」做為店名。

總網頁瀏覽量

2009年1月13日 星期二

古巴通訊(145)1.古巴—發展農業的典範(及問題) 2.後援會阿偉朋友來函,好消息

「台灣古巴後援會籌備中」,第145期通訊,2009年1月13日。

 
請見附檔,謝謝。
2009 1 古巴農業(2007 9).doc

另轉後援會阿偉朋友來函,好消息:

Dear all<
我一週到十天內,與小朋友想把 Why Cuba Still Matters 譯成中文。一方面,心有所感。另方面,為了高雄的古巴電影節。譯出來後,與諸位分享。  

運動 常常久久

  新春好   阿偉

古巴通訊(145B)1.古巴—發展農業的典範(及問題) 2.後援會阿偉朋友來函,好消息

「台灣古巴後援會籌備中」,第145期通訊,2009年1月13日。
 

請見附檔,謝謝。


古巴——發展農業的典範[1]

麗貝卡‧克勞森 Rebecca Clauson

王維平 戚桂鋒 譯 《國外理論動態》2007年第9

 

提要:美刊《每月評論》(Monthly Review20075號刊登了麗貝卡‧克勞森題為《治癒裂痕:古巴農業中的代謝恢復》(Healing the Rift: Metabolic Restoration in Cuban Agriculture)的文章認為,在全球農業和自然生態危機日益嚴重的今天,古巴農業取得了成功的經驗:社會主義建立的新的勞動關係、新的參與式決策機制和新的土地和糧食分配體系保證了古巴農業在產量和可持續發展上取得了極大成功,成為世界可持續發展農業的典範。

 

正如約翰‧貝拉米‧福斯特在《生態破壞》(The Ecology of Destruction, 《每月評論》20072月號)一文中所述,馬克思揭示了資本主義社會的生態矛盾,這一矛盾也於19世紀在代謝斷裂及代謝恢復兩個概念的幫助下已得到了一些揭示。代謝斷裂描述的是積累邏輯如何破壞自然再生產的基本過程並導致生態可持續性的退化。此外,馬克思在《資本論》中闡述道,通過破壞代謝的外部環境,資本主義生產強制自然的系統恢復從社會再生產的調節法則。因此,自然生態系統的恢復只有在資本主義生產關係之外才能充分實現。古巴農業生態學的近期發展提供了斷裂是可以治癒的具體實例,它不是簡單地使用不同的技術,而是依靠食品生產的社會代謝關係的轉變。

 

「土地是寶藏,勞動是鑰匙」

馬克思的新陳代謝概念植根於他所理解的勞動過程中。勞動是人類調節、管理、控制人類和大自然之間的物質交換的過程。土地和勞動力構成了所有財富的兩個來源。去年年底與一組農業研究人員去古巴的時候,我看到一匹馬車運載著一些有機農產品從一個位居高處的市區菜園駛向附近的社區。我留意到一個倉庫的牆上留有這樣的標語——「土地是財富,勞動是關鍵」。合作農場種植並為社區提供有機農產品,這就是馬克思的新陳代謝概念的生動表現。提供必需原料的土地,被看作「寶藏」。人類不能為短期利益過度開發利用它,而需要理性地有計劃地運用生態學原理豐富它。勞動,作為「鑰匙」的外在體現,可以取得土地的豐富資源,提供健康的食物並平等地將其分配給當地居民。

 

馬克思的新陳代謝概念有兩層含義。一層含義是指調節複雜的人與自然的交換,特別是養分循環。第二層含義具有廣泛的社會意義,它指管理分工和財富分配的制度性準則。對代謝斷裂的分析兼有這兩層含義。從生態意義上講,馬克思認為資本主義農業不再是「自我持續的,因為它不能再在自身中找到生產的自然條件」。養分的獲得必須依靠遠程貿易和農業領域外的產業。這造成了土壤肥力和廢物堆積的自然循環的斷裂。

 

從新陳代謝廣泛的社會意義來講,人類和自然界之間產生的裂痕是由於僱傭勞動和資本之間的關係導致的。自然資源的私有、腦力勞動和體力勞動的分工以及城鄉對立都導致了社會層面上的代謝斷裂。在資本主義社會,這種斷裂體現在很多方面,例如公司對房地產的炒作,小農戶對「專業」技師的依賴,人口從農村向城市遷移。

 

「這是美麗的工作」

在古巴我有幸跟許多在有機農業種植園工作的農民談話。我很沮喪我的西班牙語學得太差,不能做流利的交流,但我還是能夠問出一些簡單的問題。「你喜歡這個工作?」 我問一個已經領我參觀過市裡小塊菜園的農民。那個農民毫不猶豫地回答道:「這是美麗的工作。」通過對古巴的另外四個省的進一步實地考察,我得知了糧食生產方式的轉變如何在古巴產生了實際作用:在不使用石化產品的情況下它可以提供豐富的食品,而石化產品是全球多數商業化農業糧食生產中的一個關鍵因素。

 

古巴農業模式與養料的自然循環再次接軌。社會代謝關係的改造,使得生物多樣性成為有利於糧食生產的一種資源。例如為益蟲提供棲息地,而不是視之為一種挑戰;新的所有權和分配體制使得種植、收割和消費各環節可以採取參與式決策制;引進新的勞動關係:當地農民和有訓練的農藝師的互動使農作物盡可能適應當地的自然環境、氣候和地理環境。與質疑這種模式「只能發生在卡斯特羅的古巴」的懷疑論者觀點相反,農民向我描述了向拉丁美洲和加勒比其他國家推廣這種新型的糧食生產方式的經驗。

 

 

重建養分循環的空間關係

古巴農業一直因其運用合理科學而實現有機農業得到稱讚。例如國際組織因為古巴「發展有機耕作方法」投票授予其「有機農業的另類諾貝爾獎」。其成功的原因部分在於發現新的方法,還在於為立足當地的生產的優越性傳遞了新的信息。例如,古巴通過生產可攻擊害蟲的有機物而控制害蟲的計劃有其合理性。國家贊助研發天然殺蟲劑和生物肥料,是創造一種常規農業的替代方案的關鍵;不過,這還不是代謝得以恢復的關鍵。為了瞭解與生態過程有關係的代謝裂口如何癒合,我們必須瞭解養分循環的空間再組織。

 

農作物和農場產出的農產品被運到遠離人口集中區並產生廢物堆積,以及人們與土地的分離(農村向城市的遷移)造成自然與社會之間的代謝斷裂。為了豐富貧瘠土壤的生物結構,資本主義社會的農學家必須通過使用人造工業產品如氮肥不斷為農田供應養料。這個食物生產體系割裂了養分循環的自然歷史過程,並帶來了遠程運輸食品和化肥的能源需求和養料在城市的下水道堆積等生態矛盾。與之類似,農場的動物與供給其養料的農場相分離,農作物肥料和家畜飼料之間的物質交換被打破,同樣造成了一個代謝裂口。正如福斯特和馬格多夫所言:「動物和供給其養料的土地之間的物理連接的破裂使得生產農作物的土壤中的養料和有機質的削減進一步惡化。」由此造成的後果是增加農作物的施肥強度。人、農作物、牲畜相分離,打破了養料向土地的回流。

 

古巴農業在過去的13年裡一直致力於重建養分循環和物質交換之間的空間關係。古巴農業生態學的一條關鍵原則是「通過植物與動物的結合,優化當地資源利用和提升農業內部配合」。通過改進人、動物和植物之間的空間關係可以減少遠距離運輸養料的需要,並通過利用就近的養料資源豐富土壤肥力。

 

蠕蟲、奶牛和甘蔗

想種植出好的農作物的農民所需的基本要素是營養豐富的土壤。在特殊時期以前,古巴依賴於進口復合肥料以維持當時的農作物生產率。今天,將人力、動物和農作物副產品和自然分解聯合起來的系統為糧食生產的可持續提供了重要的養分來源。使得土地養料得以補充的方法並不需要遠距離運輸或者密集的能源投入,而主要在於生物多樣性和高效生態系統的功能。

 

在訪問哈瓦那東部的一家合作農場時,我們看到有長長的矩陣土堆,它是用來飼養美國加州紅蟲的。這種蠕蟲可以從有機材料中生產出腐殖質。

 

農民解釋了利用動物廢料比植物廢料能使蠕蟲更快地產出腐殖質,所以他一般從附近農場收集牛糞。因為奶牛飼料是當地農作物的副產品,所以牛糞本身其實就是當地養料循環的產物。雖然古巴科研中心幾十年前就已經認識到,草料、豆類、農作物殘餘就可以很好地用來飼養牛,但是在東歐巨變以前,由於當時的政治氣候和物價的便宜,肉類和穀物都是從前蘇聯進口。後來當地人才開始認真研究當地資源的利用。古巴研究人員發現甘蔗地裡的副產品可以為牛提供生長的必需物,並且開始把這種「廢物」作為牛飼料的最主要的添加物。甘蔗副產品包括蔗糖渣以及新鮮甘蔗殘渣例如甘蔗梢。

 

當地農民使用這樣一個養料傳送的路徑:養料從甘蔗田到牛槽,從牛糞到蠕蟲箱,再到有機農作物基地,養料通過動物與植物的代謝活動而在這個區域內被連接起來。

 

另一類牧場是可能的

在特殊時期以前,古巴依賴集約模式養牛。蘇東劇變後的困難激發人們尋找用當地資源飼養家畜的方式和手段。這使得小農業生產者傳統的土地使用的方法被提取出來。草原草地研究協會的古巴研究人員認識到:「農作物生產和牲畜飼養相分離是對能源和養料的浪費。」這種整合也是修復糧食生產體系中的斷裂的另一個正確範例。

 

因地奧‧哈吐伊農場在一個種植有合歡樹的地裡牧牛,奶牛喜歡吃這種矮矮的枝杈多的樹的葉子和枝幹,工作人員對這種樹進行修剪以使得奶牛可以吃到枝葉。奶牛也喜歡啃這種樹下的草。這種樹有固氮作用,可使土地肥沃。

 

此外,牛糞有利於增強土壤肥力,這對樹木和牧草有好處。古巴研究人員已經發現:「在農場面積較小,整合程度較高的地方,這種技術使用起來會很簡單,其實這些技術也是保證養料循環和這個系統的功能所必需的。」

 

合歡樹可以為奶牛提供陰涼,這樣就會增加產量。為了使草進行足夠的光合作用,樹木按東西方向成排種植,以使得照射到地面上的陽光盡可能得到利用。合歡樹的樹根可以防止水土流失,維持土層結構完整,不會被侵蝕,並且人們很重視奶牛和樹的比例以防止土壤板結。該農場的研究人員發現,使用這種放牧體制使得每年每公頃草原可產30005000公升牛奶,牛奶的脂肪和蛋白質含量也都有提高。此外,這種混合放牧的方法可以減少牛奶產量在雨季和旱季之間出現波動,還可以提高奶牛繁殖率。

 

混合放牧的方法不僅適用於養牛和生產奶製品,人們也正在針對綿羊、山羊、豬和兔子研究這種綜合養殖方式。該農場正在著手研究在桔園裡養馬。馬可以吃掉桔園地上的野草,這樣就減少除草劑的使用,並能提供有機肥料保持土地肥沃。

 

這種農業方式的轉變具有超越科技生產領域的意義。這個轉變通過增強當地人使用當地資源養活自己的能力,直接或者間接地對小農場農民的經濟、社會、文化狀況產生影響。給我解釋當地養料循環過程的古巴農民和研究人員使我明白,正是勞動人民共同努力才使這個過程可推行下去。新的勞動關係,新的決策結構,新的土地和糧食分配模式不僅使得古巴人民可以用可持續生態方式維持自己的生活,這些結構性的改變從根本上改變了社會的代謝方式。

 

重建糧食生產體系中的勞資關係

社會代謝的需求和關係被統治著勞動分工和財富分配的規則所制約,涉及的不是養料互換的物理規律,而是勞資關係和財產所有權的轉變。

 

古巴傳統農業依靠化石燃料和機械化,這在佔有國家63%的耕地面積的國有農場普遍實行。在20世紀 80年代末以前,國有糖料種植園的覆蓋面積是糧食作物種植面積的三倍多,所以古巴60%的糧食必須從蘇聯集團進口。由於蘇聯解體以及美國經濟封鎖,嚴重的糧食短缺給古巴人民造成了嚴重危機,每個古巴人平均瘦了20,營養不良的人從原來的不到5%上升到20%多。因而農村土地使用權和分配製度的改革是渡過糧食危機的關鍵。

 

19939月,古巴政府將國有農場調整為合作農場。這個新的計劃把41.2%的國有農場改為2007個新的合作社,共有 12.2萬名工作人員。合作社擁有農產品,勞動人員靠其勞動付出而不是工資合同得到報酬。土地使用權的轉變不僅有利於更好地使用有機耕種方式,它同時把勞動者和土地重新聯繫起來。古巴農業體系的設計還考慮到了穩定農村人口和扭轉農村向城市移民的潮流的需要。

 

除了合作農場,古巴政府將大約 17萬公頃的土地移交給了個體農民。這反映了馬克思《資本論》(第三卷)的觀點——理性的農業要麼是農民自給自足,要麼是控制所有的相關生產者。農民免費使用士地並有政府補助,但是政府保留土地的所有權。很多古巴家庭現在都將農場耕作視作一個機會而離開城市變為農民。小生產者全國協會宣佈說,其成員從 1997年到2000年增加了35000名。新增加的成員多是有著年輕子女的成年人(很多受過本科教育),早期退休人員,或者是有過從事農業生產經歷的工人。

 

古巴還在城市廢棄的地方引進糧食生產。使用這種辦法,曾經是垃圾場、停車場、堆放廢棄建築物的地方現在可以為周圍居民提供有機農產品。現在,城市菜園可以滿足古巴60%的蔬菜消費需求。

 

古巴政府認識到城市農業的潛力,因此成立了城市農業部。國家承認城市居民可以擁有13公頃空地,只要他遵守有機耕作方法。

 

古巴農業模式認識到人為的腦力勞動和體力勞動的分離限制了糧食體系的很多機會。農業決策中的參與式民主目標已被融入到新的耕作模式中。例如,較小的合作農場可以得到古巴人民理事會提供的幫助,古巴的15個省都建立了人民理事會。人民理事會由當地的糧食生產者和技術人員組成,糧食生產者和技術人員共同合作,為當地的農民提出關於最適合本地狀況的生產方式的建議。受過培訓的農藝家與當地的農民共同決定什麼是對本地生產最合適的技術。

 

農民的知識也被吸收進了農業會議和學術報告中。古巴農業和林業技術員協會(ACTAF 主任費爾南多‧馬卡亞曾談到 200611月他參加的關於城市農業的一個省級會議的情況。會議提交了105份研究報告,53份由糧食生產者提交,34份由科研技術人員提交,12份由理論專家提交,其中女士有61名。年輕一代參加學校的農業俱樂部,老師們開設生態學課程。ACTAF資助的項目把木偶戲帶到小學,示範如何種植和使用不同的草藥。新的勞資關係使填平腦力勞動和體力勞動之間的人為鴻溝成為可能。

 

這裡還有一個與社會農業代謝相關的特殊問題——收穫的「財富」如何分配。為解決人們可以持續性地分到糧食,每個人都有一張配給卡以保證每個古巴人可以得到最低限度的糧食。孩子、孕婦和老人的日供餐量受到密切關注,學校和工地的膳食價錢有意降低,醫院三餐則是免費的。

 

鄰里小菜市場從附近有機農業種植園購進產品,以遠低於較大的社區菜市場的價錢為負擔不起高價的人們提供新鮮蔬菜。在2000年初,古巴城市有505個菜市場,其蔬菜價錢要比農戶自由菜市場蔬菜的價錢低50-70%。為了增加產量和使生產多樣化,古巴在1994年開放了個體農場菜市場。一旦人們的基本生活需求得以滿足,個體農場主菜市場就會為生產者提供另一種分配食品的方式。儘管私營菜市場按照市場供需原則運轉,但政府還要進行管制以防止價格欺詐和勾結。

 

低收入群體被確認出來,政府建立了社會救助方案以解決他們的糧食保障。

 

拉丁美洲的主權農業?

資本主義條件下的糧食生產的社會代謝裂痕由於土地私有、腦力體力勞動的嚴格分工。勞動成果的不公平分配而惡化。古巴的農業模式系統地超越了這些異化狀況,它通過合作生產、參與式決策和多樣化的分配使農民與土地再次結合起來。這種生態上可持續的和社會公平的景象能否延伸到古巴島以外的地方?

 

古巴農民前往拉丁美洲和加勒比國家,幫助當地農民建立與之類似的糧食生產體系。事實上,古巴出口的快速增長是最近才有的。古巴招待了很多從美國和其他地方前來參觀的農民和農業技術人員。古巴的農技師在教授海地農民有機耕作方法,同時也幫助委內瑞拉推進新型的城市農業運動。

 

不單是古巴農民在傳播這些理念,整個拉丁美洲的農民運動都在回歸傳統的耕作習慣,並要求重新分配土地以便於保障生存的食品的生產。拉丁美洲農業生態學院於 20058月在巴西帕拉那建立,它是由兩個農民運動組織(無地農民運動和農民之路)合作創辦的,該校的宗旨是把農業生態學的規律運用普及到拉丁美洲的所有農村社區。根據無地農民運動的工作人員羅伯特講,這所學校要在農業生態學的基礎上建造一個新的範式。他解釋說,這個新的範式要和小規模生產和國內市場相結合,尊重環境,為主權農業的建立作出貢獻。

 

在《資本論》第三卷中馬克思寫道,這個領域(指農業領域。——編者注)的自由只有這樣才存在,社會化的人,聯合起來的生產者,用理性的方式管理人類和自然的代謝關係,人們的集體力量可以控制它而不是把它看作一種盲目的力量受它控制;在最有價值的和最適合人類本性的環境中花費最少的精力達到目的。

 

某種心理障礙往往把這種設想看作不可能的,這種心理障礙是由一種短見形成的——就好像當前商業化農業所認為的:牛不能在樹林裡養殖,莊稼不能依靠蟲生長;農民不懂得科學,隨著日益追求利潤最大化,生態和社會體系中的代謝裂痕越來越大。古巴的農業發展向我們展示了代謝裂痕癒合的可能性是存在的,而且它現在就可以做到。這些經驗向拉丁美洲其他地區的推廣將有望帶來更深遠的變革。



[1]後援會按:英國古巴後援會Cuba Solidarity Campaign發行的CubaSi季刊,2008 Autumn曾刊登Glasgow大學名譽資深研究員Pollitt, Brian的文章 The Cuban economy: from commodity exports to services, pp.28-30,提及古巴都市/有機農業確實成功,但比例佔總農業成分很小,卻因其成功而使得古巴的食品農產需求的難題顯得不突出,但:2001-03古巴的農畜食品進口是7.8pesos,而2004-06則達12億。出口的蔗糖與煙草等農產品則從7.35減至5.36億。這就是2008.7古巴政府最多開放出租33公頃耕地給一人(無土地農民)耕作的背景。1989古巴蔗糖等農作輸出佔出口額70%,勞務10%,至2006則蔗糖佔10%,勞務則70%
 

另轉後援會阿偉朋友來函,好消息:

 

Dear all<

我一週到十天內,與小朋友想把 Why Cuba Still Matters 譯成中文。一方面,心有所感。另方面,為了高雄的古巴電影節。譯出來後,與諸位分享。  

 

運動 常常久久

 

  新春好   阿偉

2009年1月12日 星期一

古巴通訊(144)三則:. 古巴何以重要如昔。古巴第一部種族問題紀錄片。邁阿密的古巴人

「台灣古巴後援會籌備中」,第144期通訊,2009年1月12日。


一、古巴何以重要如昔。(2009.1,每月評論)  
        2009 1-Why Cuba Still Matters.doc

二、It's Time to Address Racism in Cuba 以上兩則沒有中文,sorry

三、邁阿密的古巴人23放在一個檔案
        第一部討論種族問題的紀錄古巴片__邁阿密的古巴人.doc

古巴通訊(144B)三則:. 古巴何以重要如昔。古巴第一部種族問題紀錄片。邁阿密的古巴人

「台灣古巴後援會籌備中」,第144期通訊,2009年1月12日。

 

一、古巴何以重要如昔。(2009.1,每月評論)


Why Cuba Still Matters

Diana Raby

Monthly Review-January 2009

 

 

Diana Raby is senior fellow at the Research Institute of Latin American Studies, University of Liverpool (UK) and is also professor emeritus of history at the University of Toronto. She has written extensively on Latin America and is also active in solidarity movements such as the Cuba Solidarity Campaign and the Venezuela Information Centre (UK). Her latest book, Democracy and Revolution: Latin America and Socialism Today (London: Pluto Press, 2006), argues for the crucial importance of Venezuela, along with Cuba and the ALBA countries, in the renewal of the international left in this century.

 

 

In the early 1990s there was near unanimity in the media, in Western political circles, and even among academics that the collapse of the Cuban revolution was imminent. Even today, many observers regard it as only a matter of time for Cuba to undergo a transition to democracy (understood as a narrowly defined polyarchy) and a "market economy."

 

But the fact that Cuban socialism has survived the extraordinary rigors of the "Special Period" and is still functioning nearly twenty years after the fall of the Berlin Wall should give pause for thought. Even the prolonged incapacity of Fidel Castro and his subsequent resignation as president has not led to chaos or upheaval, as many predicted. Why then has Cuba survived, and what does it mean for socialist and progressive politics today?

 

The simple answer is that, for all its problems and deficiencies, the revolutionary order is still viable. Many Cubans still believe in socialist principles; they naturally grumble about shortages and restrictions, but have few illusions about the alternative on offer across the Florida Straits.

 

But why is this so? What makes Cuba different from the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe? To understand this it is necessary to go back to the origins of the revolution and the remarkable transformation that occurred from 1959 to 1963. Before the revolution, Cuba was a U.S. protectorate, a vast sugar plantation where venal "democratic" governments alternated with brutal dictatorships. The idea of a socialist revolution here—or anywhere else in the U.S. "backyard" of the Caribbean and Central America—was unthinkable. So on January 1, 1959, when the dictator Batista fled and the bearded guerrillas entered Havana and Santiago, almost no one anticipated the scope and depth of the changes that were to follow.

 

The Cuban transition to socialism was one of the most rapid and thorough anywhere in the world: the first and second Agrarian Reform Laws, the nationalization of virtually all large industries and services, the extraordinary literacy campaign and the establishment of free public education at all levels, free universal health care, and the organization of a popular militia and disciplined mass organizations from neighborhood level upwards, all in the space of four years or so.

 

Yet in the first six months of 1959 all the rhetoric was about democracy and humanism; socialism was scarcely even mentioned until mid-1960, and was not officially adopted as the goal until April 1961, two years and four months after the initial victory (during the Bay of Pigs invasion). The 26th of July Movement (M-26-7) which had led the armed struggle and seized power was a broad and heterogeneous movement that had serious differences with what was then Cuba's Communist party, the Partido Socialista Popular (PSP). The revolution was immensely popular, but many observers expected (or feared) that it would eventually suffer the same fate as Guatemala five years earlier, where the popular Arbenz government was overthrown by a CIA-sponsored coup.

 

The tremendous euphoria generated by the revolution in Cuba and elsewhere in Latin America, and its initial ideological flexibility, are fundamental for understanding its significance. Taking place in a region and at a time when U.S. hegemony was undisputed, where the great Mexican revolution had been neutralized and progressive movements like those of Sandino in Nicaragua, Grau San Martín in Cuba in 1933, Gaitán in Colombia, and Arbenz in Guatemala had been crushed by overt or covert U.S. intervention, the Cuban triumph had an immediate symbolic impact. On his first trip abroad after victory, to Venezuela in late January 1959, Fidel Castro was received by delirious crowds. In February the then Chilean Senator Salvador Allende declared that "The Cuban revolution does not belong only to you...we are dealing with the most significant movement ever to have occurred in the Americas,"1 and shortly afterwards Gloria Gaitán, daughter of the assassinated Colombian popular leader, proclaimed that the Cuban experience was "the beginning of the great liberation of Nuestra América [Our America]."2 Former president of Mexico, Lázaro Cárdenas, author of the 1938 oil nationalization in that country, also gave enthusiastic support to Cuba.

 

The most obvious distinctive feature of the Cuban revolution—and the essential reason for its ability to avoid the fate of Guatemala, defeating the counter-revolutionary Bay of Pigs invasion in April 1961—was the unprecedented military victory of the guerrillas of the Rebel Army over the forces of the dictator Batista. It was also this which would make it possible for Marxists subsequently to present the process as a textbook case of the Leninist thesis of armed workers' revolution. But the force that seized power was not a Communist or Marxist party, it was a broad democratic movement with an eclectic ideology derived from Cuban and Latin American popular revolutionary traditions and vague notions of social justice and national liberation. The old Communists of the PSP, which did have some roots in the labor movement and among intellectuals but had been compromised by its earlier support for Batista, had initially condemned Fidel Castro and the guerrillas as "petty-bourgeois adventurers" and only started supporting the movement on the eve of victory, late in 1958.

 

This made it all the more surprising to many observers when the revolutionary leadership, represented above all by Fidel Castro, pushed ahead regardless of all obstacles in the initial three years from early 1959 to 1962, sweeping aside the wealthy Cuban elite and landlord class and defying Washington to expropriate sugar estates and ranches, nationalize industries, purge the state apparatus of Batista supporters, sign trade agreements with the Soviet bloc, and then declare themselves socialist. Was this premeditated sleight-of-hand by a covert Communist leadership, as alleged by many right-wing commentators in the United States? Or was it the indignant reaction of popular nationalists when faced with clumsy and uncomprehending U.S. hostility, as claimed by liberals?

 

The truth is more complex and more interesting. Having failed to achieve independence in the early nineteenth century along with most of Spain's American colonies, Cuba later developed a powerful liberation movement with a pronounced popular and radical character. The mambíses, as the popular guerrillas in the thirty-year insurgency against Spanish rule (1868–98) were known, stressed social and racial equality and acquired a precocious anti-imperialist as well as anticolonial consciousness. This was succinctly expressed by the great man of letters and liberation fighter José Martí when he declared in his last letter in 1895: "Everything I have done unto now and all that I shall do hereafter has as its objective to prevent, through the independence of Cuba, the United States of America from falling with added weight on Our America."3

 

This anti-imperialist spirit was expressed again in the struggle against the dictator Gerardo Machado (1925–33) and the abortive 1933 revolution, which was in many ways a precursor of 1959. Brutal repression combined with a desperate economic situation caused by the world depression led to a popular upheaval in which workers seized sugar mills and raised the red flag, students occupied the presidential palace, and the lower ranks of the army mutinied and overthrew the officer corps. A provisional government under a popular medical professor, Dr. Ramón Grau San Martín, decreed many progressive measures including an agrarian reform, intervention (government control) of the U.S.-owned Cuban Electric Company, a minimum wage, the eight-hour day, and female suffrage. But this revolutionary government had no organized political backing, and it soon became clear that the leader of the rebellious troops, Sergeant Fulgencio Batista, was an opportunist who was willing to work with the U.S. Embassy.

 

Under the new administration of Franklin D. Roosevelt, Washington had just proclaimed the Good Neighbor Policy and was reluctant to send in the marines. But with U.S. warships just off the coast, pressure was exerted on Havana and it came as little surprise when in January 1934 Grau San Martín was overthrown by Batista who now became the power behind the throne. The next twenty-five years would see a merry-go-round of weak puppet presidents, corrupt elected governments, and open dictatorship by Batista, with growing frustration and dis-enchantment among the majority of Cubans, whether workers, peasants, or middle-class. It was in particular the failure of Grau and his associates in the Partido Auténtico (the Authentic Party of the Cuban Revolution) which paved the way for Batista's 1952–58 dictatorship and the real revolution which followed.

 

Although the young revolutionaries who coalesced around the activist lawyer Fidel Castro Ruz in the early 1950s had some familiarity with socialist ideas, their intellectual and political background was quite varied and eclectic. Fidel himself was a member of the Partido Ortodoxo which had broken away from the Auténticosa few years earlier in protest of their corruption and abandonment of the principles of 1933. The Ortodoxoleader Eduardo Chibás was a wealthy maverick who had been a student leader in 1933 and gained a mass following from 1949 to 1951 with passionate rhetoric against corruption in his weekly radio broadcasts. With his slogan "Vergüenza contra dinero" ("Honor against money"), Chibás revived the moral idealism which had been a keynote of Cuban radicalism ever since Martí. Chibás shot himself during his radio program in August 1951. There were mass demonstrations of mourning at his funeral, and his populist appeal was the inspiration of the ortodoxos, many of whom would join the M-26-7 a few years later.

 

Another key figure in the ideological origins of the new revolutionary movement was Antonio Guiteras, a young man who while still a graduate student at the University of Havana had become minister of the interior in Grau San Martín's short-lived government. It was Guiteras who had been the driving force behind the radical measures decreed in those heady months of 1933, and when Grau was overthrown Guiteras went underground and formed his own insurgent movement, Jóven Cuba(Young Cuba), with an explicitly socialist program. As a popular figure and a socialist activist independent of the Communist Party, Guiteras was clearly a threat and it is not surprising that he was killed in 1935.

 

Guiteras was a representative of the autonomous Latin American Marxist tradition associated with the Peruvian José Carlos Mariátegui, and this would be an important influence on several prominent members of the M-26-7 such as Armando Hart. It was also the main ideological influence on the young Argentine revolutionary Ernesto "Che" Guevara who would meet Fidel Castro and his comrades in Mexico in 1955 and become a central figure in the revolution.

 

But in many ways the fundamental inspiration of the M-26-7 insurgents was the Cuban popular revolutionary tradition of the mambíses, of José Martí and Antonio Maceo, the mulatto general of the liberation forces in the wars against Spanish rule; an ideology of radical egalitarianism, anti-imperialism, and agrarian self-sufficiency. It had much in common with broader Latin American traditions going back to Simón Bolívar with his ideal of continental unity and his distrust of gringo expansionism.

 

This is not to say that the Cuban revolutionaries of the 1950s were anticommunist or unaffected by European and international Marxist and socialist theories. But most of them were independent from the international Communist movement and also from other organized international tendencies such as the Trotskyists. This independence, and the ideological and tactical flexibility which went with it, was crucial to their success.

 

By drawing on national popular traditions combined with the sense of frustration and indignation against corruption, repression, and U.S. domination, the revolutionaries were able to achieve not only military victory but also mass popular support and enthusiasm. In January 1959 there was enormous euphoria combined with a sense that anything was possible, and this was expressed in the declarations of the leadership: "The revolution cannot be made in a day, but rest assured that we will carry out the revolution. Rest assured that for the first time the Republic will be completely free and the people will have what they deserve" (Fidel Castro, January 3);4 "the Revolution is as Cuban as the palm trees" and "many people have not yet realized the scope of the change which has occurred in our country" (Fidel, February 24);5 "On the First of January 1959 we had done no more than conclude the war of independence; the Revolution of Martí begins now" (Raúl Castro, March 13).6

 

In other words, without any reference to Marx, socialism, or class struggle, there was an unequivocal commitment to radical change and to serving the popular interest. Explicit ideological references were to the national revolutionary heritage: defending the agrarian reform in June 1959, Fidel declared that "what we are doing, you gentlemen who defend powerful interests, what we are doing is to fulfill the declarations and the doctrine of our Apostle [Martí], who said that the fatherland belonged to all and was for the good of all";7 and in July 1959 he quoted Antonio Maceo: "The Revolution will continue as long as there remains an injustice which has not been remedied."8

 

That these declarations were not mere rhetoric swiftly became clear as decisive action was taken in all areas of policy, and these actions served to increase the overwhelming popular support for the revolutionary leadership. With such massive support and with a monopoly of armed force, the new authorities in Havana enjoyed unprecedented freedom of action; internal opposition was virtually paralyzed and no political party or organization was able to contest the prestige of Fidel and the M-26-7 which had become in effect the national liberation movement of the Cuban people.

 

In these circumstances an a priori socialist program would only have been a hindrance: the strength of the revolution derived from its consensual and inclusive character. When socialism was declared, it was more a reflection of the new reality, an unexpected state of affairs which had come about as a result of a dialectical process. The strength of the popular demand for self-determination and social justice combined with the monopolistic structure of the Cuban plantation economy and the direct and inevitable confrontation with U.S. imperialism made a socialist solution the only viable way forward from early 1960 onwards if the revolution were not to collapse through division and incoherence. In terms of political economy, a good analysis of this dynamic is to be found in James O'Connor's 1970 study, The Origins of Socialism in Cuba.9

 

The validity of this analysis was confirmed by interviews I conducted in Cuba in the 1990s. Several former members of the M-26-7, when questioned on the evolution of their ideology during the armed struggle and in the first two to three years after the victory of January 1, 1959, declared that their original outlook was democratic, anti-imperialist, and favorable to social justice, but not socialist and certainly not Communist or Marxist-Leninist. It was only at a certain point in the revolutionary transformation, which most of them identify as around mid- to late 1960 or 1961, that they came to the realization that what they were creating in Cuba was a form of socialism; and Fidel's famous declaration to this effect during the Bay of Pigs invasion simply confirmed this in their minds: "Pues sí: ¡somos socialistas!" ("Well yes: we are socialist!")

 

This is to my mind more than just a peculiarity of the Cuban process: it confirms the implications of Gramsci's argument that for proletarian ideology—Marxist theory—to triumph, it must win the battle for hegemony and become "common sense." Or to put it another way, the abstractions of Marxist theory must gel with the popular democratic traditions of a specific country before they can become hegemonic. This is perhaps the crucial error of most Communist (and also Trotskyist) parties: the idea that by preaching abstract Marxist-Leninist doctrine they can build an effective mass revolutionary movement.

 

The revolutionary euphoria of 1959–61 in Cuba had much in common with the broad-based democratic grassroots ideology of the antiglobalization and anticapitalist movements of recent times. The rejection of established parties and dogmas, the belief in direct action, the quest for new and original solutions: these were the characteristics of the creative ferment which swept Cuba in the early years of the revolution. True, from 1962 onwards this originality began to be compromised by the adoption of Soviet models as a result of the alliance necessitated by the Cold War context of the time, but despite this Cuba maintained important aspects of its autonomy and creativity. The "Cuban heresy" of the quest for the "New Man" and the emphasis on moral incentives was an example of this, as was the continued Cuban support for armed revolution in Latin America and Africa (in contradiction to the Soviet aim of "peaceful coexistence").

 

After 1970 the apparent failure of the idealistic development strategy associated with "moral incentives" and the defeat of insurgent movements in many countries obliged Cuba to adopt a more orthodox Soviet-style policy. For some fifteen years this appeared to yield results, with high rates of GDP growth and economic stability. But by the mid-eighties it was clear that Cuba's indebtedness to both the Soviet Union and the capitalist countries was becoming a problem, as was the combination of rigid bureaucratic centralism and material incentives under the Sistema de Dirección y Planificación de la Economía(Economic Management and Planning System).10

 

It was this which led to the launching of the "Rectification Campaign" in 1986 and to Fidel's rejection of the Soviet policies of glasnost and perestroika. Seen by many as "Stalinist" or "conservative," this rejection of Gorbachev's policies was in fact anything but: it reflected the Cuban leader's prescient understanding that this type of top-down liberalization would necessarily lead in a capitalist direction. It also reflected the belief that in Cuba, where—unlike the Soviet Union—grassroots participation and revolutionary idealism had not yet been totally crushed by decades of authoritarianism and sometimes brutal repression, socialism could be reinvigorated by a combination of visionary leadership and popular mobilization.

 

Cuba's success in surviving the extraordinary rigors of the worst years of the "Special Period" in the mid-1990s cannot possibly be explained in any other way than by the continued vitality of the revolution. The scarcity and hardship was such that any other government would have collapsed in a matter of months. No one who visited Cuba in those years could fail to be impressed by the stoicism and commitment of the Cuban people when power supplies only functioned for a few hours a day, food rotted in the fields for lack of transportation to market, workers spent six hours a day getting to and from workplaces on foot only to find that nothing could be done for want of fuel, and the shelves of the stores were literally bare. This took place in a country that was deluged with images of U.S. consumer society and counter-revolutionary propaganda, and where everyone knew that the Berlin Wall had fallen and that the socialist countries of Eastern Europe had collapsed like ninepins. Yet in Cuba there was only one serious protest, in August 1994, and although some took to rafts to cross the Florida Straits in desperation, the majority remained faithful to the revolution.

 

A crucial factor in Cuba's survival was the commitment and example of the leadership, especially Fidel. But another essential point was that the socialist orientation of policy was never abandoned: unlike Sandinista Nicaragua, which under severe pressure in the late eighties adopted IMF recommendations, liberating prices of basic commodities, and marketizing social services, Cuba maintained free universal health care and education and subsidized rates for housing and utilities. It also intensified—rather than abandoning—democratic consultation with the mass of the population regarding the measures to be taken. Just when former Communist leaders were falling over each other to embrace capitalism and Western governments were telling their populations there was no alternative to neoliberalism, the Cuban leaders embarked on an extensive process of consultation involving some 80,000 "workers' parliaments" throughout the country in order to discuss the measures needed to resolve the economic crisis.

 

Despite the conventional notion of Cuba as a dictatorship (albeit, for those on the left, a benevolent one), the Cubans have always maintained that they have their own form of socialist democracy. After what happened in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, skepticism about this is understandable. But one of the great errors of progressive thought in recent decades has been the unquestioning acceptance of liberal polyarchy as the only valid form of democracy; rejection of Stalinist authoritarianism should not mean abandoning the Marxist critique of bourgeois liberalism.

 

Democracy in the true sense—rule by the people—necessarily begins in local communities, with people in neighborhoods and workplaces running their own affairs. In this respect Cuba has a vigorous system of local democracy. The direct nomination of candidates in community meetings and their election as municipal delegates of popular power in multi-candidate, secret-ballot elections, plus their obligation to report back in person every six months in not just one but several local meetings (with a real possibility of recall), guarantees a degree of local participation and control which compares favorably with many countries that have impeccable democratic credentials.11

 

It is true that at a higher level there are limitations, with provincial and national delegates being presented on lists with only one candidate for each post, so that the electorate's only option is to accept or reject each candidate. Policy debates involve extensive popular input through such instruments as workers' parliaments and consultations by commissions of the National Assembly, but such debates clearly operate within centrally designed parameters. Ultimately, it is undeniable that so long as the United States is actively committed to the overthrow of the revolution, the full and free expression of socialist democracy will be impossible in Cuba; but given the way in which bourgeois elites manipulate liberal polyarchy to prevent any serious challenge to the capitalist system, it is arguable that electorates in Western countries have less influence than Cubans on policy decisions in crucial areas such as finance, defense, and foreign policy.

 

But to argue the relevance of Cuba in today's world it is clearly not sufficient just to defend the country's socialist system against its critics. In the twenty-first century, does the island have anything to offer which is not just a holdover from the past?

 

The answer is that there are at least two areas in which Cuba has made vital contributions to the emergence of a new socialist or anticapitalist alternative. One is in environmental issues: initially as a matter of necessity, but now also as a matter of policy, it has undertaken a fundamental switch toward organic agriculture and the adoption of ecologically sustainable practices throughout the economy. For several years now it has pioneered the development of urban agriculture, with small plots on any available land being turned over to organopónicos, projects devoted to the intensive cultivation of a wide variety of fruit and vegetables, mostly by organic methods. As a result of this the city of Havana now produces 60 percent of its fruit and vegetables within city limits,12 and the scheme is now being adopted in Venezuela and other countries. The "Energy Revolution" has decentralized power generation so that electricity is less dependent on big power plants and more on small local generators which are more efficient and less vulnerable in emergencies. Incandescent light bulbs have been replaced throughout the country and there is large-scale investment in solar and wind power.13 Cuban officials now state categorically that both capitalist and traditional socialist models of energy-intensive development are unsustainable.

 

The second vital contribution to the emergence of a new alternative lies in Cuba's support for Venezuela, Bolivia, and other Latin American countries now engaged in the struggle to create a new social and economic model. Commentators frequently focus on Venezuela's aid to Cuba in the form of cheap petroleum, but the importance of Cuban assistance to the Bolivarian revolution should not be underestimated. Without the assistance of thousands of Cubans, Chávez would have found it almost impossible to implement the remarkable Barrio Adentro health mission or the Robinson literacy mission. Similarly, Evo Morales would have been unable to implement such programs in Bolivia, at least in the short run—and given the critical political situation in both countries, the short run was and is crucial.

 

But also in broader political terms, without Cuba, Chávez (and hence, at one remove, Evo Morales in Bolivia, Rafael Correa in Ecuador, and Fernando Lugo in Paraguay) would have had much greater difficulty in gaining credibility for projects of popular political empowerment implemented through the appropriation and transformation of the state. The political disorientation of the global left was such that only a totally unexpected movement like that of Chávez could offer a way forward; and without Cuba's inspiration and support at crucial moments, Chávez might well have failed. Without Cuba, then, no Venezuela; and without Venezuela, no Bolivia, no Ecuador, and no Paraguay, and no revival (however imperfect) of Sandinista Nicaragua.

 

It is not, of course, that nothing would have occurred in these countries; but it is all too likely that without the Venezuelan example and without Cuba's inspiration and practical assistance, the powerful popular movements that exist would have been unable to devise an adequate strategy to attain power and to use it effectively to reverse neoliberal policies. This does not mean that Venezuela or the other countries are simply copying Cuba. They are very clear that they are pursuing independent paths, borrowing from and supporting each other and Cuba, but without making the old mistake of trying to impose a uniform "orthodox" template.

 

Furthermore, the Cubans have been explicit in saying that they do not regard their own socialism as a blueprint to be copied. What Cuba provided was a living example, a demonstration that contrary to the conventional wisdom of the "New World Order," the state is not powerless and that it is possible to build and maintain a noncapitalist alternative. What was not possible was to reproduce the Cuban strategy of armed revolution, and this was the great contribution of Chávez and the Venezuelans: to devise a new strategy which was neither purely military nor purely electoral, but a combination of popular mobilization, elections, and military support.

 

As the new project of "twenty-first century socialism" and the Bolivarian Alternative for the Americas (ALBA) develops, Cuba also ties in with the cultural and ideological inspiration of the Latin American popular anti-imperialist tradition. As we have seen, the original Cuban ideology derived at least as much from Martí and the mambíses as from international socialist theory, and in this respect it gels perfectly with Chávez's "Bolivarianism." It can be argued that, while the Soviet tie was necessary at the time for the revolution's survival in the Cold War context, it did lead to undesirable distortions in Cuban socialism, and that today Cuba, freed from the Soviet straitjacket and assisted by its Latin neighbors, is rediscovering its originality.

 

In this context the current Cuban reforms should not be seen as leading in a capitalist direction (at least not necessarily), but as adapting to the more flexible and dynamic project of "twenty-first century socialism" which will eventually find similar (but not identical) expression in Venezuela, Bolivia, and other countries. It will be based on a recognition that socialism can never be perfect, nor completely stable and secure, in an imperialist world, and that its survival and renewal will always depend on popular support and participation.14 The role of the state will still be important but it will allow much greater scope for local and grassroots initiative, and indeed, for what previously might have been condemned as capitalist material incentives. But this is based on a recognition that egalitarianism cannot be imposed by decree, and that the best guarantee against a return to capitalism lies in a vigorous culture of collective participation rather than in bureaucratic controls. Where the central state is and will remain crucial is in providing a coherent overall direction, minimizing the encroachment of global capital, and ensuring diplomatic, political, and military defense against imperialism.

 

Of course, over the years Cuba has made mistakes, and not all of them are attributable to Soviet influence. The initial economic strategy of crash industrialization soon proved impractical and was replaced by the reliance on large-scale sugar exports as a source of accumulation for more gradual diversification. Then in 1970 voluntarism led to near-disaster in the failed goal of the ten million ton sugar harvest. The 1968 "Great Revolutionary Offensive" led to the precipitous nationalization of small business, with grave consequences for the availability of consumer goods and services. There were also serious errors in cultural policy which have been extensively criticized. But what saved Cuban socialism was a degree of popular participation rarely found elsewhere, and the continued responsiveness of the leadership to popular concerns and needs. Despite serious and often justified grievances, the majority of the Cuban people have continued to feel that this is their revolution and not just a paternalist project of a remote party/state apparatus, and the result is that today the country continues to exhibit both objective and subjective aspects of an anticapitalist alternative.

 

The Western media have been eager to interpret recent reforms in agriculture, in wage and incentive scales, and in the availability of consumer electronics as evidence that Cuba is embarking on a capitalist transition.15 But there is no indication that large-scale private employment of labor or a private capital market with a stock exchange and similar capitalist institutions are being contemplated. The government has reiterated its commitment to free universal education and health care and other social services. Cuba has recently signed important new agreements with several countries, notably Brazil and the European Union, which improve its capacity to resist the U.S. blockade without abandoning its socialist priorities.

 

Finally, the extraordinary generosity and commitment of thousands of Cuban internationalists providing medical and other services in conditions few others would accept is living testimony to the reality of the country's socialist project. The veteran British journalist Hugh O'Shaughnessy recently offered a moving account of the Cuban missions in Bolivia. He quoted María de los Ángeles, a Cuban doctor working as Director of the Ophthalmological Hospital in El Alto, Bolivia, at nearly 4,000 metres altitude and in harsh conditions: "I think there is always an element of love involved," she said: "Before I left Cuba for Guatemala and Bolivia, I didn't know what real poverty was like."16 While Cuba continues to practice solidarity like this, its relevance to the global anticapitalist movement can scarcely be questioned. But also, this presence in the ALBA countries is further evidence that Cuba cannot be separated from the inspiring new developments in Venezuela, Bolivia, and elsewhere: Latin America today demonstrates that another world really is possible, and Cuba is central to the creation of that world.

 

Notes

 

1. Revolución (Havana), February 28, 1959. This and all other translations from Cuban periodicals are mine.

2. Revolución, April 24, 1959.

3. José Martí, Inside the Monster, Philip S. Foner, ed. (New York: Monthly Review, 1975), 3.

4. Revolución, January 4, 1959.

5. Revolución, February 25, 1959.

6. Revolución, March 14, 1959.

7. Revolución, June 8, 1959.

8. La Calle (Havana), August 1, 1959.

9. See James O'Connor, The Origins of Socialism in Cuba (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970).

10. One of the best discussions of this is to be found in Ken Cole, Cuba (London: Pinter, 1998), chapter 3.

11. On this issue, see Arnold August, Democracy in Cuba and the 1997–98 Elections (Havana: Editorial José Martí, 1999), and Peter Roman, People's Power (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003).

12. Simon Butler, "Cuba carries out new land reform," Green Left Online, August 16, 2008, www.greenleft.org.au/2008/763/39410

13. "Cuban agriculture" (interview with Roberto Pèrez), Fight Racism! Fight Imperialism! (UK), no. 205 (October/November 2008): 10.

14. See Michael A. Lebowitz, Build It Now (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2006), and D. L. Raby, Democracy and Revolution (London: Pluto Press, 2006), especially chapter 3.

15. See for example "Cuban workers to get bonuses for extra effort," The Guardian (UK), June 13, 2008, and "Cuba's wage changes have nothing to do with a return to capitalism," Helen Yaffe, The Guardian, June 20, 2008.

16. Hugh O'Shaughnessy, Misiones cubanas en Bolivia, 4 de abril de 2008,

二、It's Time to Address Racism in Cuba 以上兩則沒有中文,sorry

三、邁阿密的古巴人23放在一個檔案


一、It’s Time to Address Racism in Cuba

     (在後)

二、邁阿密的古巴人

 

記者來鴻   艾米利奧﹒聖佩特羅
BBC
記者 20090109
古巴人流亡至美國邁阿密
1959年起,就有古巴人開始流亡至美國邁阿密,至今仍在繼續
最近,古巴政府慶祝古巴革命50周年。自從菲德爾﹒卡斯特羅成為古巴統治者以來,有近兩百萬古巴人逃離共產黨統治,幾乎有一半在美國邁阿密地區安家落戶。
BBC記者艾米利奧﹒聖佩特羅回顧過去,發現這個古巴流亡者社區對於他的成長以及邁阿密的發展產生了巨大影響:
所有在美國邁阿密出生的古巴兒童都和我一樣,從小就被教導,我們來到這裡完全是偶然的。
我們是流亡者,不是移民。我們到這裡只是暫時過一段流亡生活。
我們還被告知,在美國的幫助下,古巴最高領導人菲德爾﹒卡斯特羅將會被趕下台,一切都將很快恢復正常,不管這對於古巴動蕩的政治現實意味著什麼。
作為新一代正在成長的古巴流亡者,我們有必要把學習西班牙和維護父輩的文化傳統和習俗作為頭等大事來抓。對於我們來說,美國的熔爐概念是不存在的。
 
我們在美國的中心地帶,但是卻過著一種與世隔絕,整天與古巴人打交道的生活。
所謂的美國人只不過是我們在街上偶爾遇到的人:他們是學校的老師、銀行裡的職員、或者是電視上那些多姿多彩的明星。
 
我還清楚地記得小時候在一個古巴人管理的幼兒園裡,我們每天都要唱古巴國歌,我們談論最多的是古巴獨立運動之父何塞﹒馬蒂,而不是美國國父喬治?華盛頓。我們每年舉行聖誕節聚會時,就連聖誕老人都滿口西班牙語。
 
學會提出問題
菲德爾﹒卡斯特羅
古巴前領導人菲德爾﹒卡斯特羅已于20082月退出所有官方公眾活動
我的整個生活被古巴和我父親的宿敵菲德爾﹒卡斯特羅所統治著。
父親和他的朋友會連續忙上幾天時間,組織抗議以及其他政治活動,要求結束古巴共產黨的統治。
我還記得父親如何為他在家裡編輯出版的政治報紙"國民報"版面做最後修改。我想,你也可以說,他類似於當今網上異見博客作者,只是那個年頭還沒有互聯網。
幾十年過去了,我終於得出結論,我父親與親戚之間就如何促進古巴變革所舉行的激烈緊張辯論以及他們之間存在巨大分歧,為我後來從事新聞記者事業打下了堅實的基礎。
 
從很小的時候,我就開始聽不同觀點的辯論,然後提出許多問題。
我父親一直在為結束"共產黨統治"的那一天而努力工作。每一個像我父親這樣的人,身邊就有五、六個人像我母親一樣,整天為養家糊口而不知疲倦地忙碌著。
如果沒有人去打工掙錢,維持一家人的生活,那是沒法去追求崇高理想的。
戰鬥精神
 
母親名叫亞美莉亞。我曾與她談過他們老一代流亡者這種吃苦耐勞的精神。母親對我說,她最初也感到極難適應這樣的生活,因為她過去在古巴的生活還是很舒適的。
她與許多上私校的女孩一樣,學會了縫紉和編制並把這些技巧作為一種嗜好。但是她萬萬沒有想到兒童時代的嗜好竟然成為我們流亡美國第一個10年維持生活的手段。
母親還給我講述了她和父親、哥哥、姐姐在1960年抵達邁阿密時,身上只有三四百美元,隨身只帶了幾個箱子,裡面裝的都是衣服和生活必需品。
幾個月後,形勢明朗了,看來推翻卡斯特羅並不是一個晚上就能做到的。
由於家裡帶過來的錢快用光了,母親不得不到一家服裝廠去打工。她的女工生活就是這樣開始的。
 
今天,母親已經81歲高齡,但是她仍然整天在工作,好像身上有使不完的力氣。
母親逃離祖國,在一個陌生的土地上舉目無親,不得不面對殘酷的現實。這一打擊激發了她的戰鬥精神,而這種精神一直保持到今天。
 
驕傲的社區
 
反菲德爾﹒卡斯特羅示威
邁阿密古巴流亡者社區的反菲德爾﹒卡斯特羅的示威
在美國的古巴流亡者社區政治色彩強烈以及邁阿密居住的古巴人在過去50年一直堅持反對卡斯特羅的強硬路線,引起許多評論,其中大多數是負面的。
 
實際上,流亡者社區中有一些人士採取的行動是很有問題的,其中包括暴力行動
 
這就更加深了人們的印象,感到這些古巴流亡者是一群頑固不化的強硬分子。
 
但是如果從一個特別的、更宏觀的角度來觀察這座複雜的城市,我發現,在這些古巴人引發的強烈政治色彩和國際媒體大字標題的下面,隱藏著一個驕傲移民社區傳奇故事。
 
在過去50年裡,這個社區不但取得了巨大的進步,而且在美國為自己創造了新的生活。
在這個過程中,古巴人也為邁阿密變成一個國際化大都市發揮了積極的作用。

 

 


It’s Time to Address Racism in Cuba


By PATRICIA GROGG

HAVANA TIMES, January 7 (IPS) - The persistence of racism in Cuba is disturbing to some of the island’s thinkers, who are calling for a debate on the problem in this country, where equal rights have not guaranteed equal opportunities for all social groups.

A slice of the racial mix that is Cuba, photo by Caridad

A slice of the racial mix that is Cuba, photo by Caridad

 

The first documentary on racial discrimination in this Caribbean island nation was filmed here in 2008, incorporating opinions from well-known artists and intellectuals that go to the heart of the controversy. “Raza” (Race), by young filmmaker Eric Corvalan, could serve as a starting-point to launch the long-delayed debate.

“So far, racism has only been talked about in academia, among intellectuals. I think there should be an open, public discussion, even in parliament,” the 36-year-old Corvalan told IPS.

“In 50 years (since the revolution), women’s issues and homosexuality have been debated: why hasn’t racism?” asked the filmmaker. “It’s a revolutionary topic that concerns everyone, because there are black women, black homosexuals and black men.”

“I think silence is worse. The longer nothing is said, the more the racism fermenting underground is rotting the entire nation,” singer/songwriter Gerardo Alfonso says in the documentary.

According to Roberto Zurbano, head of the Casa de las Americas publishing house, to carry on “hiding” the issue would lead black people to think that “they belong to another country, and that there are two Cuba’s as there were in the 19th century, a black Cuba and a white one.” Another possible implication is that “the issue could become a political football, outside and inside the country.”

In the debate on race in Cuba, the media have drawn some of the heaviest criticism for allegedly fomenting stereotypes that identify black people and people of mixed ancestry with crime, or with very specific activities like sports and music, while establishing the idea of white “normality.”

“The media must help to create a balanced portrait of black people, which is lacking, so a racist stereotype is constructed by society,” Corvalan said. “Why can’t we make films starring blacks, whether as lawyers, doctors or engineers?”

 

According to Irene Ester, who holds a degree in audiovisual communications, television will never contribute to demythologizing race as long as it only emphasizes the high proportion of black people in prison, working as prostitutes, or unemployed, instead of the “heroism” and special characteristics of black families.

 

There is also an absence of models in the education system, especially in the teaching of national history. The first Africans arrived in Cuba in the early 16th century, brought in as slaves by the Spanish colonialists. Slavery was abolished in 1886.

“In primary education, skin color is not mentioned,” academic Esteban Morales says in the film. “If we are still living in a society where white people have the power, and we don’t mention color in education, we are in practice educating children to be white.

 

“Cuban history as we teach it is a disgrace, because it is predominantly white history, and explaining the role of black people and mulattos in building this society and its culture is not given its due importance,” says Morales, of the University of Havana’s Centre for the Study of the Hemisphere and the United States (CEHSEU).

 

Blacks and people of mixed-race heritage officially make up 34.9 percent of Cuba’s total population of 11.2 million, according to the latest census, carried out in 2002.

However, most Cuban academics estimate that between 60 and 70 percent of the population is black or “mulatto”

 

Article 42 of the Cuban constitution states: “Discrimination because of race, skin color, sex, national origin, religious beliefs and any other form of discrimination harmful to human dignity is forbidden and punishable by law.” In May 1961, the government eliminated racial segregation by nationalizing all clubs and associations.

But equality before the law has not succeeded in closing the socioeconomic gaps between different racial groups.

 

The Cuban cultural journal Temas published studies by the governmental Anthropology Centre in 2006 that showed that on average, the black population has worse housing, receives less money in remittances from abroad and has less access to jobs in emerging economic sectors like tourism, in which blacks represent barely five percent of managers and professionals, than the white population.

 

“Equal rights does not mean social equality,” Morales says. “We do not have the same social standing, or the same opportunities. This is what has generally happened to non-white and black people in Cuba.”

 

“If, 50 years after the revolution, there are still visible signs of racism in society, it means that equality of rights hasn’t been sufficient,” says Alfonso.

 

The issue of racism remains “taboo, a complicated and thorny” question, as Corvalan was told by some institutions where he showed his documentary, made with support from the non-governmental Martin Luther King Memorial Centre (CMMLK), the Higher Institute of Art (ISA) and Delfin, an independent producer.

 

“We made a revolution in this country, which is what sets us apart from other nations,” Zurbano said. “It’s a tremendous opportunity that revolutionaries of any color cannot let slip away, in the sense that we can create a strategy, and it can evolve.”

 

After the documentary’s premiere at the recent Latin American Film Festival in Havana, Corvalan was thanked by black and mixed-race people, some of whom were surprised to see that a white person was interested in racism.

 

“I don’t think of myself as white or black or mixed-race, I’m just Cuban,” said Corvalan, who has French and Chilean ancestry.