A Black Student's Journal: Trip to Communist Cuba

A light touch shook me from sleep. I looked up and a smiling Cuban host handed me a snack tray. We were all served cold cut sandwiches, beer and a strong fruit juice. After eating, I walked down the aisle and talked with the rest of the students. Some were joking, trying to fight off their weariness. I looked at the dozens of boxers who slept, ate, joked, played guitars or watched us. Cuba was hosting the first World Amateur Boxing Tournament. From all over the world, boxers were coming to Cuba to fight.

About 4:45 a.m. we touched Cuban soil. As the plane's wheels scraped the dark empty runway, someone began to sing, "Cuba, Que Linda Es Cuba."

Friday

We took a bus back from the Federation of University Students at the University of Havana. As we travelled through residential sections and along the streets of Havana, we saw Cuban people walking on the sidewalks, sitting on porches, laughing and talking with friends. At several corners, I could see small groups waiting for buses. The people seemed very friendly. I noticed no tension or argument in their conversations.

Apparently, different nationalities lived in the same neighborhoods and walked together. As for their color, I had never seen a people of such varying shades of skin color and hair texture. The darker Cubans did not seem to suffer from racial discriminatory acts as they intermigled with their mulatto and lighter-skinned countrymen. We waved at them through the bus windows as some waved back. When we had been in Mexico City, motorists honked their horns impatiently, swore, cursed at pedestrians, and even called us names.

Later that night, several of us left our hotel and walked the streets of Havana. It was about four in the morning. We noticed a Cuban couple strolling calmly down a dimly lit sidewalk. We passed them to their right--they smiled and waved. As we walked further into the housing area, we called out to two people who were leaning out a window enjoying the early morning air. They smiled at us and pointed across the street. On the wide sidewalk, there were three round tables and several wooden chairs. A group of Cubans sat together listening to a friend singing in a rich baritone.

Saturday

Santamaria Beach in Havana Province was a beautiful swimming area. The water was warm and very clear. As the waves came in from the horizon, I could see different shades of blue. Big leafy trees lined the shore. Clear white sand and a light but humid breeze surrounded us. In bright-colored swim suits, Cubans crowded the shore. Some had radios, cameras and cassette players. Others rode the surf on beach balls and inner tubes. The many shades of Cubans swimming together or relaxing in the sand made an impressive sight. No segregation. No arguments. When we hit the surf, people watched us with curiosity. Again we observed the mixed hair textures and skin colors. Some dark brown Cubans had natural yellow brown hair. A few very dark people had reddish hair. We saw some swimmers who looked Asian but spoke Spanish and were Cubans. Cubans are a mixture of races and cultures--a hybrid of people.

A couple of us waded in the shallow part of the water. Two dark Cubans came over and began a conversation in very broken English. Both were university students interested in the sciences. One fellow was studying physics, geology, English, Spanish literature, Chemistry and Marxism-Leninism. The other was preparing to become a doctor. Lifting weights was their favorite sport. We asked whether or not they listened to radio stations from the United States. They smiled and the taller one, with difficulty, explained that the U.S. government was constantly broadcasting in Cuba, urging the people to resist "the evils of Communism" and to "come over to Miami." He then asked if we liked these musicians: The Jackson Five, Aretha Franklin, The Temptations, Santana and War. When he named War, he began to sing "Cisco Kid, si?" and we all laughed and replied, "si, si."

We said "adios" to the two Cubanos and joined the rest of our delegation, sprawled about on the warm white sand. As we left the water, a black American approached us and said "What's happening." We were all pleased to talk to a black from the States. The fellow went on to explain that he used to be a college student but now had joined the Black Liberation Army. As a member of the Army, he said he had hijacked a plane and was seeking sanctuary in Cuba. So far he had been a little disappointed in his stay because there were no "black groups." We asked him what he meant. In Cuba, he replied, everyone--black, mulatto and white--intermingled, regardless of color. Furthermore, he continued, the Cubans wanted him to do physical labor and work like everyone else in a socialist society. One of our delegates commented that his disappointment with a Communist country came from his trying to perceive this new society from the values of the United States--a capitalist country.

Sunday

I rose at 7:30 a.m., showered, and headed downstairs to breakfast in our hotel's dining area. At meals, there were always exciting discussions. This part of the day was often an educational session. I joined several other black student delegates who were seated with Ilda, a member of the Federation of University Students. They had been joking with her about the language that blacks spoke in North America. Sometimes she would not understand a conversation because she could not comprehend the "Black English" we spoke. Ilda explained how she had learned English from textbooks bought before 1959. These books were based on English spoken in Britain. We laughed at her confession and immediately understood some of the difficulties in our communication.

One of our delegates asked Ilda to explain Cuba's concept of work-study. Before she began, she asked if work-study existed in the States. The delegate said yes. In the United States, he continued, the poor and working-class students have to work in order to get an education, whereas the wealthy students leave their bills to their parents. Ilda smiled and began to explain work-study in Cuba. "All of our students work. From primary to the college level, students spend part of their time in school studying and part of their school time doing work. Socialism in Cuba aims to integrate theory and practice." As she stopped to sip her fruit juice, I asked her the rationale behind Cuba's work-study program. Ilda hesitated with a half smile and curious facial expression as if she thought the reasoning was obvious. "Work-study puts more producers in the economy. Under socialism," she emphasized, "everybody works. Second of all, this type of program helps negate the intellectual tendency of separating thought from practice and negates the intellectual's aversion to physical work."

One of our hosts announced that our bus had arrived. We left the table and said good bye to our two waiters. They were very friendly and never tired of discussing politics with us. Outside, the sun stood in an ocean-blue background as fluffy white clouds floated by. It was a beautiful day for a field trip. We were on our way to the mountains--the Sierra Maestra mountains where Fidel Castro, Che Guevara and other Cuban revolutionaries began a war which culminated in the liberation of Cuba on Jan. 1, 1959.

The ride up the mountain was relaxing. The green hills and low misty clouds brushing the mountain tops produced a calm effect. Small square houses lay set back from the edge of the street. A few had thatched roofs. They were all bright and clean. We waved at the children who played in the spacious yards. Though simply dressed in tee-shirts and shorts, the kids were all very neat. With bright smiles, some returned our greetings, while others gave us curious glances. The droning sound of our bus contrasted with the intermittent chatter of our questions as we flooded our Cuban hosts with inquiries on the status of Cuban women, students' roles in a communist society, whether Fidel played basketball with the "masses," what was the "dictatorship of the proletariat."

After a two-hour drive, we arrived at the Second Front. This was the part of the Sierra Maestra which Raul Castro commanded during the period of armed struggle. Now the front was a museum. A member of the Communist Party greeted us and began the tour. He explained that all the land stretching out from the area where we stood once belonged to a member of the Cuban national bourgeoisie. Along with other revolutionaries, Raul had seized this area, set up schools and gardens for the peasantry and maintained his headquarters. We walked into a small and rustic room which had served as Raul's military office. The museum still housed the original furniture which Raul had used. Several unfinished letters covered his desk. His battle jacket hung on his chair. Because the museum had been kept up, I felt as if we were back in the 1958 war period.

Our guide took us to the large section of the museum. Here we saw ammunition and artillery used by Fidel, Raul and Che during the war. Some arms had been made in the United States. Our guide explained that he had fought with Raul in the Second Front. Someone asked whether the United States had played any part against the revolutionaries in the struggle for liberation. The old guide began, "Sure, the Yankee imperialists played a major part in aiding the counter-revolutionary Cubans against us. The U.S. supplied arms and the C.I.A. also did its share of subversion." The guide showed us a photo display of a hollow shell stamped with a U.S. insignia.

"This is the remains of a bombshell used by U.S. planes in January of 1959 when U.S. planes flew from Miami and bombed Havana. We revolutionaries would show these remains to our people and concretely show them what U.S. imperialism meant," he said.

The old guide walked briskly in front of us. He carried an air of pride in the triumph of the revolution and a warm patriotism toward communist Cuba. We saw letters which Che and Fidel had written to one another. Black and white pictures showed the revolutionaries in battle. Other photos depicted Fidel and Che leading a political education class by fire-light deep in the Sierra. The guide entertained an hour's worth of questions and we departed for our hotel.

Monday

Today we met with officials from the Communist Party, Federation of University Students, Union of Young Communists and Federation of Cuban Women. The conference room contained a 29-seat table and a small table where our interpreters operated microphone equipment for simultaneous translation. By the door, a portable table carried ginger ales and fruit juice drinks. Three of our delegates snapped pictures of the meeting. Several of the Cubans smoked cigars. I could see that some of us had picked up the habit of smoking Cuban cigars. They had a very mild taste--sometimes almost sweet. One of the officials began. "Comrades and friends, we welcome your delegation. Today we will exchange discussion on the history of Cuba from the beginning of U.S. imperialism in the 1890s to the triumph of the revolution..."

The Party-member described the defeat of the Spanish in the Spanish-Cuban-American War and how the United States "won" Cuba as a prize to the victor. The conference continued for three hours. We broke for lunch and milled about the room asking questions of the officials and of our hosts about concrete manifestations of "Yankee Imperialism." Their accounts explained how the United States maintained the economic blockade against Cuba, but how the revolutionaries had captured "gusanos"--Cuban counter-revolutionaries were called worms--who were backed by the C.I.A.

The meeting continued after lunch and lasted for another hour of questions and answers. The Cubans were interested in inflation in the United States, the manifestations of racism, North Americans' dissatisfaction with unemployment, and the U.S. working class's opinion of Cuba. After the last 15 minutes of the session, a waiter brought in more refreshments. Cigarette packages were passed around and two new boxes of cigars were opened. To complete the protocol, representatives from the Cuban officials and from our delegation stood up to exchange thanks and compliment one another...

Dwight N. Hopkins '76 spent two weeks this summer in Cuba with a special delegation of 19 black students invited by the Cuban government and orgainized by several American black student groups.

'We said good bye to out waiters. They were very friendly and never tired of discussing politics with us.'