Marching in Havana, gaining insight to the Cuban mentality

On a clear, hot morning in Havana in June, I climbed onto my friend's shoulders to get a better view of the sea of heads that stretched as far as I could see both ahead and behind me. Bodies packed the Malecon, the wide, curving boulevard that hugs the bay, and I felt a surge of nervous excitement to be participating in the largest mass rally in Cuba's history.

A few days earlier, my professor at the University of Havana, where my fellow American students and I were studying for the month of June, announced that our regular classes would be canceled that coming Wednesday because Fidel Castro had called a national holiday. In response to the Varela Project, a petition signed by 11,000 Cubans asking for more civil rights and the freedom to engage in private enterprise, Castro organized a counter-petition and declared that in a few days, the Cuban people would march in support of socialism. The Granma, a national newspaper, reported on June 19 that 98.97 percent of the population signed the counter-petition, but more impressively, nine million citizens out of a country of eleven million marched that Wednesday.

When the director of our study abroad program first presented us with the option of witnessing a Cuban political rally firsthand, he urged us to consider our reasons for marching very carefully. We discussed how, with a demonstration of such scale and singular purpose, we could not ignore the echoes of Nazi Germany's mass rallies. He also pointed out that although the country has held anti-Bush demonstrations every week since the Elian Gonzalez controversy, this demonstration would be the largest to date. Out of our group of forty students, about ten of us chose to march. We assembled at 4:30 a.m. outside of our academic residence, not really knowing what to expect.

Cuba has perfected the art of organizing political demonstrations, and it showed. Separate marches were occurring in every province throughout the day. The one million participants in Havana alone were instructed to assemble according to neighborhood and to join the march at a specified time. By 7:15 a.m., our barrio, Old Havana, had become absorbed by the orderly crowd that was inching down the Malecon. The atmosphere was festive, with teenagers linking arms and singing nationalist songs, fathers carrying children on their shoulders, and small children darting in and out of their flag-waving, chanting countrymen. Every few minutes, the sound of a helicopters equipped with video cameras filled the sky, and wave after wave of red and blue flags rippled down the crowd, to be replayed for days on the three government-owned television channels.

It could have been a Fourth of July parade, except that the revelers were virtually required to be there, (rumor on the street was that the government had relocated the prisoners in jails near Havana to make space for those who didn't march), and they were shouting slogans such as, "Down with capitalism!" "Down with Mr. Bush!" "Socialism or Death!" and "We will prevail!"

In spite of these unsettling chants, I found myself beginning to enjoy the steady, almost hypnotic motion of the crowd. To my surprise, several Cubans who recognized us as Americans expressed their appreciation for our presence at the march. "We're gratified that you're showing your support for the Cuban people," they said. "We are friends, even if our governments are not." But then, someone would yell, "Viva Fidel!" or, "You imperialists! We aren't scared of you at all!" and I would be jolted back to the reality of the fact that these people were protesting a strict trade blockade that has crippled Cuba's economic development for four decades. It has been said that the sanctions have prevented the Malecon's development into a Cuban Miami Beach, complete with high-rise hotels and expensive American restaurants. Instead, huge vintage cars lumber past crumbling buildings that give the impression of a Latin American Brigadoon, a city frozen in time and slowly deteriorating since the clock stopped with the Revolution of 1959.

Marching beside the other American students, I vacillated between awe at the Cubans' obvious love of Cuba and frustration at their relentless repetition of the same litany of slogans that had been imprinted on my brain after only a few weeks in the country. Did they not see that their military dictatorship was not truly socialism? And how could they be so patriotic in the face of boarded-up businesses, empty gas stations, and depressingly meager food rations?

By mid-morning, we had seen enough and were ready to reflect on the march and our participation. So, we escaped up a narrow side street and watched the seemingly endless parade from a hill overlooking the bay. To my amazement, not twenty minutes after the last of the participants passed, hordes of well-organized clean-up crews descended on the trash — and flag-littered boulevard. An hour later, the pavement was clean. I was reminded of stagehands who strike the stage after a performance and then retreat to the wings until the next time the curtain rises.

The rally had, in my opinion, a dual purpose: to publicly reaffirm support within Cuba for Castro and his regime, and to demonstrate to international leaders that despite the blockade, Cubans are committed to their cause and to their leader. The irony was that while Castro praised the country for demonstrating to the world its unified dedication to socialism, the march did not garner the expected international attention. However, the government, which carefully monitors all news that filters into the island, assured its citizens that the rally had been a huge success and a forceful reminder to imperialist nations of Castro's immutable power over Cuba.

The Cuban people, then, had no choice but to believe their government, wave their flags, wrangle for the elusive dollar, and be nourished by the passionate slogans that, if repeated often enough, might convince them that better days lie ahead. So, I waved my flag too, hoping to blend in. Laura Johnson '04 is a history of science major from Cary, NC. She can be reached at lrjohnso@princeton.edu.