shaped like almonds. The taxi was driven by a kind man about 10 years my junior. It was a late 1940s, almond-shaped Ford sedan that had been repainted with black paint and a roller. The front bucket seats certainly were not original. My guess is that they came from the same 1990 Kia as the steering wheel and column. Other touches of Asia were the Panasonic car stereo creatively carved into the metal dash and the low chugging sound of the idling Hyundai four-cylinder diesel motor under the steel hood. Sitting in the front passenger seat, I was reminded of how little of a car is needed to still be considered a car. There were no door panels, headliner or carpet, heat or air conditioning, windshield wipers or turn signals. The indicator lights were out, gauges didn’ t work and disconnected wires dangled from under the dashboard. There were also no seat belts, but please don’ t tell my mother.
As we cruised along the coastal seawall of Havana with the dim street lights overhead, the car shuddered with the occasional pothole, which heavily vibrated that Kia steering wheel with the disconnected but still intact airbag just two feet from the driver’ s face. I couldn’ t help but think of the journey the old Ford had been on for the last 70 or so years. The hands that built her in the Michigan factory were probably all gone, and the train cars and ship that brought her to Cuba were probably gone. The original owner who first drove her when she was brand new was also probably gone, and Castro, the man who sadly made it necessary to keep the old Ford going, is certainly gone.
When Cuba is eventually able to catch up to the modern world, there are many who believe the old cars should be scrapped because they are symbols of oppression. Whether they realize it or not, they are suggesting works of historical art be destroyed. Art is often born from struggle, conflict, oppression and suffering. Art is everywhere
in Cuba— the music; graffiti on the walls; colorful, old buildings in vast need of repair; and, without a doubt, the cars. The love and creativity born from the necessity to keep them going is humbling to see, and they are symbols of human resilience.
There are those who think going to Cuba and photographing the cars and the people is a kind of voyeurism. These are valid feelings, but the people of Cuba are a strong and beautiful people. Their old cars are symbolic of their struggle against the government oppression they suffer under. They should be documented so the world better understands, and every tourist dollar or euro put into the hand of a Cuban is hidden away and saved to help them eventually escape to the land of opportunity. To close, I offer the words from my beautiful Cuban friend.“ I came to America looking for a future for my family, which had become impossible in Cuba,” she says.“ I will always love Cuba, but there was no way to continue to live there. I am doing my best to contribute to this new society since I could not contribute to mine anymore.” •
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