Human Rights Reporting
Spring 2001 Student Work
© 2001 by Evan Serpick
Artistic expression in Cuba on tortuous path: from ally of the revolution, to censored dissent, to uneasy current cohabitation
By Evan Serpick
The Oscar-nominated 2000 film Before Night Falls depicted the struggles of Cuban writer Hebert Padilla and brought an international audience to hear of the struggles of Cuban artists. In 1967, Padilla published Fuera del Juego (Out of the Game), a collection of poems that openly criticized the revolution. Eight years after Fidel Castro led the revolution that ousted president Fulgencio Batista, the new Communist leaders had not yet reined in Cuba’s strong artistic tradition, and Padilla’s book was allowed to be published in Cuba and won the Union Nacional de Escritores y Artistas de Cuba prize. But following the lead of their Soviet allies, Cuban authorities quickly cracked down on “counter-revolutionary” expression. Padilla was imprisoned, tortured, and never allowed to publish in Cuba again.
Contrarily, in 1994, a Cuban filmmaker released Strawberry and Chocolate, the story of a gay artist and a naive Castro supporter in 1979 Havana. It includes dialogue like “Art makes you feel and think. Art does not transmit. A government radio does that.” The film was released by the Cuban Institute of Cinematographers, apparently, with the government’s consent. Many artists in Cuba report that freedom of expression has vastly expanded over the past decade to allow release of critical work like Strawberry and Chocolate. They say there is more freedom from censorship, freedom to travel, and freedom to publish and distribute abroad.
“Our narratives have plots that weren't possible to publish in Cuba 10-15 years ago,” says Cuban Writers Association president Francisco López Sacha. Are these changes real? Or are they merely the result of a smartly-fought propaganda war by the Cuban government?
Clearly, there are still artists whose freedom is threatened by the Cuban government. The Cuban-American community wages a constant propaganda war of its own to remind us of these abuses. When the Cuban government refused to allow some musicians to go to the Latin Grammy Awards in Los Angeles, Yocel Alonso, a Cuban-American, wrote an editorial for the Houston Chronicle, citing a laundry list of artists oppressed by the Cuban government and comparing Castro to Hitler: “The tactical use of the arts as a cultural weapon was not invented by Castro. He learned it from his boyhood hero, Adolf Hitler.”
Somewhere between the government’s party line of a totally free artistic community and the exiles’ tales of Cuba’s Gestapo tactics lies the reality. In order to understand the present day situation, we need to look at Cuba’s post-revolution history.
Herbert Padilla, the persecuted poet, lived through two important periods for the arts in post-revolution Cuba. First, the post-revolution “grace period,” from 1959 until 1970, when the revolution largely let the arts continue to flourish as they had in Cuba before the revolution. Several factors accounted for this relatively free rein for Cuban artists. Primarily, the revolutionary government was too young, too disorganized, and too pre-occupied with matters like housing and employment to be concerned with the dalliances of the country’s artists.
And they had little reason to be concerned. For several years after the revolution in 1959, a large majority of the population still supported the revolutionary government: Padilla himself was an early supporter of the revolution. As such, the government had few reasons to grumble about artists largely pro-revolution or non-political work.
Also, in the early days of Communist Cuba, the idealism of the revolutionaries extended to freedom of expression. Che Guevara and Castro were leftists railing against the corruption and inequity of capitalism. When they came to power, they said Cuba would become a beacon of liberation. In fact, the Cuban constitution provides for the granting of asylum to individuals persecuted “for their progressive political, scientific, artistic, and literary activities.”
But as artists – along with Cuba’s population – became disillusioned with the revolution, artists began to create works critical of the government, the revolution, the leadership, and Soviet influence. Although resentment was already building, the 1970 failure of the 10-million-ton sugar harvest – and the resulting economic downturn – led people to question Castro leadership abilities and the government’s stability more deeply. And artists fueled the public’s budding discontent with works that expressed it.
Quickly, many writers, musicians, and painters found their works being censored or banned, their travel restricted, and, in some cases, themselves in jail. On the other hand, artists with a non-political or pro-government bent were championed and permitted to travel. From about 1970 until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1989, Cuban artists essentially had three options: exile, creating government-sanctioned art, or persecution.
Padilla, after years of persecution, chose exile and covertly moved to New York in 1980. As such, his story does not include the most interesting, still-evolving era of Cuban arts. With Soviet support, Castro’s regime could effectively contain subversive art – as well as the revenue and acclaim that accompany a thriving artistic community. But since the collapse of the Soviet Union, everything has changed in Cuba and the country is adrift in various directions.
Without Soviet subsidies, the Cuban government has had to grit its teeth and move toward a more democratic, capitalist society. Most importantly, the country has undertaken massive efforts to attract tourists – now Cuba’s major source of income. Subtly, Castro’s regime has undertaken a public relations effort to improve the world’s perception of Cuba.
To lure visitors, the government has allowed private investment, allowed dollars to become a dominant currency on the island (pesos are still used for government rations, but because anyone associated with the tourist industry deals in dollars, they have become the preferable currency), granted greater religious freedom, and granted greater freedom for artistic expression.
Things like last year’s baseball game between the Cuban national team and the Baltimore Orioles are planned for international consumption. Also for public consumption is the increased popularity and availability of Cuban artists in the international arena. This led the New York Times’ “Styles” section to recently claim that, with regard to trendiness, “Cuba is hot!”
Most notably, an album of music from the Grammy-winning ensemble of musicians called The Buena Vista Social Club, recorded in Cuba, has sold millions of albums worldwide. An accompanying film, shot in Cuba, has played in movie houses around the world for the last two years. Many of the individual artists of the ensemble have released independent albums that have also sold well. Other Cuban musicians have also made deals with American record labels and released albums, either with the Cuban governments’ blessing or its intentional ignorance.
In the world of fine arts, people like the Cuban painter Antonio Eligio Fernandez, also known as Tonel, and architect Carlos Garacoa have gained international acclaim and had shows in New York in recent years. Two Cuban-Americans have set up the Cuban Artists Fund to help give financial support to Cuba’s artists, without hindrance from the government.
In large part, the Cuban government is winning its PR war. In addition to the popular success of Cuban artists, their newfound prominence has helped turn public opinion around on Cuba. In America, a growing consensus urges the government to life its trade embargo, although the passionate exile community continues to vehemently object. The U.S. has eased travel restrictions, allowing journalists and people with business interests to fly directly to Cuba.
Still exiles point to inconsistencies. The Buena Vista ensemble and popular Cuban artists like Los Van Van – who played at New York City’s Jazz Fest last summer – are allowed to travel because, for the most part, their art does not challenge the party line. The more outspoken critics, like folk singers Bobby Jimenez and Pedro Luis Ferrer, remain censored and trapped in Cuba with travel restrictions, they argue.
Of course, when passionate parties wage incessant propaganda wars, it is difficult to ferret out fact from fictions. A few things are clear, though. The plight of artists in Cuba is improving and is likely to improve so long as Cuba continues to drift toward democracy. Further, with Castro’s ultimate passing, the revolutionary government will lose its inspirational founder and likely be more easily lured by the prospects of a significantly more robust economy into a vastly more open society.
Finally, the exile community will continue to find fault with Castro and the Cuban government for the foreseeable future, despite any progress made for the regime’s once-despicable human rights record. Hopefully, cooler heads will nurture that progress and work toward a more free and open Cuba.