Here’s a terse explanation of why: a doctor, a lawyer, or another similar
profession that is considered to be high-earning everywhere else in the
world will make about twenty to thirty dollars per month in Cuba. Yet
shampoo at the store still costs three dollars. This is because everything
is supposed to be rationed out to you, but the reality is that they’re always
out of most things, and your designated ration is always meager. And if you
live off the land? Well, if you’re a farmer and you’ve raised a cow, and you’re
starving, and your family is also starving, and you decide to kill that cow and
eat it? You’ll be put in jail for life. Because it’s not “your” cow, it’s everyone’s
cow. That’s good ol’ Communism in practice.
Now, knowing this, picture me at any dinner party or Hollywood event or
drugstore or press interview or pretty much any situation where someone
who considers themselves “cultured” finds out I’m Cuban. I prepare myself
for the seemingly unavoidable “Ooh, Cuuuuuba”—as if the country itself
were somehow a sexy woman or delicious food—followed by the inevitable,
“I have to go there before it’s ruined!” I try to be polite, because I am aware
that, oftentimes, people who think they are very thoughtful are the least
thoughtful. So I ask, “What do you mean by ruined?” and they always say,
“You know, it’s so cool looking! It’s stuck in time! They have all the old cars
and stuff… Everything’s gonna change soon!”
Above: “Havana at night.” Photo by Alan Sartirana.
Right: “Elderly women in Havana.” Photo by Sean Mennie.