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ISSUE 120 - AUGUST 2020 - COPIES
Cuban civil society: survival, struggle, defiance and compliance
Guest article by Lennier López, Sociologist,
Florida International University and Armando Chaguaceda, Political
Scientist, Universidad de Guanajuato
Introduction: an obstructed civil society
In Cuba, the development and growth of civil society remains
obstructed by existing law. Since 1997 the Ministry of Justice has
blocked the establishment of new civil society organisations (CSOs) with
very few exceptions while regulating those that already exist.
Moreover, for each existing CSO, the government establishes a “linking
organism,” a state entity that monitors its operations to protect “state
interests.” At the same time, the traditional mass organisations, which
are the basis of Leninist civil society, monopolise the way that entire
segments of society are represented. This pattern makes it difficult
for new organisations to emerge that could represent social groups such
as women, lawyers, peasants, or others in a different way. On topics
such as human rights and government accountability, the activity of
officially recognised civil society is limited, mainly takes place at
the local level and is closely supervised by the state.
The works of the sociologists Marie Laure Geoffrey (2012), Marlene
Azor (2016) and Velia Cecilia Bobes (2007 and 2015) are among the most
recent and complete analyses of Cuban civil society. The first two
authors have developed rigorous studies of emerging social actors that
oppose the government, outlining their resistance to the government’s
attempts to control and co-opt them. At the same time, Geoffrey and Azor
think that these social actors struggle to expand and connect their
agendas with the expectations of a population that sometimes seems
tired, demobilised and more focused on daily survival. Bobes, on the
other hand, has carried out an exhaustive evaluation of Cuban civil
society, linking it to the characteristics of the current participatory
model, which we think is important to review here.
Bobes identifies a permanent model of militant citizenship in Cuba,
loyal to the official project and dependent on the state, which is
articulated around social rights and which subordinates and links civil
and political rights to the construction of a socialist society. This
model of citizenship relies on a homogenous and equalitarian society
that today is changing due to an increase in economic inequality,
poverty, territorial differentiation, identity diversification and
different ways of living. Moreover, migration and massive corruption at
all levels have altered over time the type of society on which this
model of citizenship is based. While this model remains hegemonic in
Cuba, during the last 50 years there has also been a process of
discursive assimilation by the official sector - which has implied that
the socialist-oriented traditional mass organisations and some
non-governmental organisations are recognised as part of civil society
in Cuba - and an emergence of social actors that openly present
themselves as opponents of the government or alternatives to both
officialdom and its traditional dissidents.
‘Official’ civil society
The official discourse in Cuba has presented, since the 1990s, a
socialist civil society composed of mass organisations such as the
Federation of Cuban Women (FMC), the Workers’ Central Union of Cuba
(CTC) and the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR). In all
cases, these organisations represent the Leninist model of
participation, which is vertical and limits tremendously these groups’
autonomy. This model frames and labels entire segments of the population
and promotes both morally questionable political agendas - entailing
the mobilisation and control of citizens - and positive communitarian
activities such as donating blood, collecting materials for recycling
and cleaning common areas in neighbourhoods. However, participation in
these organisations has decreased. Attendance at activities managed by
these organisations has become routinised, and thus people’s motivation
has diminished. Nevertheless, this has not inspired action for change
due to the lack of a legal framework to allow alternative groups to work
without fear of persecution, very effective mechanisms of control and a
well-established ‘survival mindset’ which makes civil society groups
spend much energy and resources in solely keeping themselves functioning
within Cuban society today.
In the CDRs, the broadest form of mass organisation, the leaders, for
example, have held their posts for 10 to 20 years; young people do not
seek positions of responsibility. This weakens the ability of the CDRs
to exercise the kind of social control that previously allowed the
authorities to prevent or solve common crimes and to reduce political
criticism in public spaces (Salas 1979). CDRs rarely meet these days.
The main function of the CDRs was to schedule and execute rounds of
night vigilance to defend the “revolutionary process”; these night
watches are not implemented today as they were in previous decades
(Salas 1979). Even the anniversary of the founding of the organisation,
on 28 September, is not celebrated in many neighbourhoods today.
The government uses the CTC as a channel to transmit the official
line of action and as an instrument of control to keep workers
politically neutralised. However, the function of the CTC as a
socialiser of revolutionary values (Rosendahl 1997) no longer exists.
Key points worth mentioning from the documents of the CTC 20th Congress,
held in 2014, are an emphasis on efficiency and productivity, the
distribution of workers’ participation into local assemblies -
fragmenting what should be a national movement - and the manipulation of
the organisation’s history. There is no autonomous labour movement in
Cuba, and thus there is no organisation that genuinely represents the
interests of the Cuban working class. The role given to the CTC,
however, is almost obligatory in each state-ruled enterprise and
institution; employees are forced to affiliate with the mass
organisation, which is supposed to represent them at large as a
homogenous group with shared interests and problems. Very low wages - of
a monthly average of 750 CUP (around US$30) in the state-owned
enterprise sector - have come to diminish members’ interest in the
functioning of the CTC, and this was reflected in changes that were made
regarding the date of the 20th Congress and the directors of the event.
More diverse and autonomous spaces of Cuban civil society
Since the late 1980s, some organisations have emerged that are
opposed to the government. Some of them are associations that defend
human rights, such as the Cuban Committee for Human Rights, and others
arise from proto-political parties with different political
orientations, from conservative to left-wing, while another segment of
these organisations focuses on generating alternative channels of
information that critique the Cuban reality (Dilia 2014).
The opposition was small and socially marginalised for a long period,
due in part to government repression and in part to fragmentation among
the groups that composed it. After 2001, the Varela Project,
led by Oswaldo Paya from the Liberal-Christian Movement, made the
opposition movements more visible, inside and outside Cuba. The
initiative was strongly repressed and criminalised, and as a result 75
dissidents were incarcerated in 2003 during what was called the ‘Black Spring’.
This event had three key consequences: first, it informed many inside
Cuba about the movement, since official television had no choice but to
cover the events, albeit with its own version of the story. Second, it
triggered a negative reaction in Western foreign diplomatic bodies.
Third, it led the mothers and wives of the imprisoned - known as the
‘Ladies in White’ - to mobilise and organise themselves to ask for the
liberation of their relatives. The courage of these women, who resisted
physical and verbal aggression in the streets and on national
television, gained them the support of international organisations
including the Catholic Church, many CSOs, and groups from Europe, the
United States and Latin America. Even in Cuba, despite the aggressive
official propaganda, they gained some respect and were supported by
emerging bloggers, artists and intellectuals.
In 2010 and 2011 the political prisoners were liberated thanks to the
lobbying efforts of the Catholic Church in Cuba. This seemed to mark a
new political era of openness and tolerance, but the repression merely
changed its form. Since prosecuting political activists is costly for
the Cuban government, given the adverse international reaction
generated, it prefers instead to threaten, in different ways, those who
attempt to exercise any sort of activism to transform their realities.
In 2013, while dissident activism increased, with communication
campaigns, public demonstrations and meetings in private homes, the
repression also rocketed, with concentrated efforts to repudiate the
political opposition, arbitrary detentions, house searches and forced
evictions carried out by public authorities in the case of eastern Cuba.
The Ladies in White and members of the Patriotic Union of Cuba
(UNPACU), civil rights advocates, were victims of these actions and thus
gained the role of being protagonists in international media. Amnesty
International, referencing data from the Cuban Commission for Human
Rights and National Reconciliation (CCDHRN), a human rights CSO,
documented an average of 862 arbitrary detentions each month between
January and November 2016. Another CSO, the Cuban Observatory of Human
Rights. meanwhile identified more than 4,500 arbitrary detentions during
2017. Further, during the first half of 2018, the CCDHRN denounced
1,576 detentions; to this we may add dozens of activists who have been
targeted, persecuted, incarcerated, or temporarily banned from
travelling to prevent, in most cases, their attendance at international
events where they could have been able to share an alternative and
well-structured picture of the Cuban reality.
Artists and scientists have also experienced persecution. The
authorities usually justify these arbitrary detentions on the pretext of
prosecuting activists for committing a “common crime” rather than on the basis of their activism. Luis Manuel Otero, Tania Bruguera and the biologist Ariel Urquiola,
among many others, have recently faced different forms of repression,
including incarceration and threats. Mr Urquiola’s is probably the most
well-known recent case of rights violations by the Cuban government,
having been sentenced to jail in May 2018 for “disrespecting” state
officials. However, due to a widespread international reaction and
demands for justice on social media after he went on hunger strike to
protest his “unfair sentence,” he was granted permission to serve his
sentence out of prison.
New social actors, alternative to the establishment, emerged in the
1990s and initially did not have to deal with state control. This may
suggest the appearance of an alternative civil society. New CSOs and
communitarian movements, religious associations - of Catholic,
Protestant, Hebrew, Orthodox and Afro-Cuban belongings - and independent
cultural projects all expressed a major diversification of Cuban civil
society, with new actors and agendas, even though this did not always
translate into more popular empowerment. This was because the
development of these new social actors was shaped by their relationships
with - and the extent to which they were able to negotiate autonomy
from - the state.
In this segment of civil society there are groups that continue to
support a socialist model but propose significant, and many times also
deep, reforms to the current structure. Hence, they try to work within
the present socio-political framework but aim to restructure it.
Projects such as Cuba Posible (Possible Cuba) and Red Observatorio Crítico
(Critical Observatory Network) are part of this sphere, which is
critical of the status quo without seeking to entirely break with it.
Within this same spectrum there are also some open spaces in the
Catholic Church in the form of centres for secular groups and the
public, as well as websites, digital bulletins and magazines that
embrace diverse ideas and debates - commonly held among socialist
intellectuals, Catholics and social activists - regarding the future of
Cuba. This relative freedom of the Catholic Church is connected to its
determination to place itself between the government and dissidents,
without wanting to decisively move closer to the Cuban political
scenario (Farber 2012). This allows the Catholic Church, even though it
does not have strong popular support - contrary to what happened in
communist Poland, for example - to gain legitimacy and achieve public
relevance in today’s and, most likely, tomorrow’s Cuba.
Final reflections and recommendations
Although increasing diversity is present in Cuban civil society,
domestic politics continue to be overwhelmingly dominated by the
party/state elite that rules the country. Hence, the political
participation enabled by new spaces within civil society remains
strongly shaped by the official framework. In Cuba, as has been pointed
out by Bobes (2016), there is deep social erosion, in terms of
citizenship, due to many factors: the obstruction of collective action, a
lack of interest in politics, the corrosion of public policies and
social rights, and the non-existence of any substantial progress on
political rights. Moreover, without autonomous spaces that may
articulate challenges to the state, the population is increasingly
vulnerable to state power (institutions and bureaucrats, for example) at
both the individual and social levels. Within this framework, as long
as the relationship between the government and the governed remains
unstable and unsecure, the opportunities for people to join in making
public demands tend to be infrequent or non-existent (Tilly and Wood
2010: 267). Focusing particularly on Cuba, Tilly and Wood suggest that
in one-party regimes the tendency to restrict civil society - including
CSOs and social movements - is stronger than under other forms of
authoritarianism.
Today, there is not yet a political atmosphere in which the state and
civil society can create multidirectional flows of ideas and fertile
spaces for dialogue. It seems that the government of the Cuban Communist
Party is intensifying, as it has done before, the ideological battle
and its determination to control all public spaces - including
cyberspace - in order to exert its hegemony over discourse and dispute
any narrative that may contradict the official project of the country’s
future. We will see whether the still weak organisation and mobilisation
capacities of the emerging actors of civil society make it possible, in
the short term, to unlock and transform the current political scenario
and its impacts on the daily lives of Cubans.
Cuban civil society is weak for two main reasons: the first is the
lack of a legal framework that allows freedom of association and
expression; the second involves a very shaky environment of
collaboration and solidarity among different civil society groups. The
only way to approach the first problem is by changing, substantially,
the constitution and, subsequently, a great part of the current laws,
and this will not likely be the case in the near future. Indeed, the
present process of constitutional reform will retain the main articles
that restrict any significant progress on political and civil rights.
This situation has forced civil society groups to live under a lot of
pressure and constantly watch out for their own survival. However, the
only way to approach such a precarious reality is by forming alliances
and developing cooperation by exchanging all sort of resources and
ideas. We are not referring here to a form of unity that frequently
leads to homogenisation, but to a simple way to channel collaboration
and support among groups with similar goals. This environment could be
constructed by creating networks of people through the organisation of
events during which different groups can get to know about each other’s
work. Today, social media can be of great help to accomplish that.
Apart from collaboration, we think it is important to build a more
fraternal and democratic environment within the broad and diverse
spectrum of civil society in Cuba. It would not be enough simply to have
a professional relationship with those groups that are closer to our
principles and have common strategies and objectives with us; it would
also be required to lend a hand to activists and CSOs that might differ
from our mission and principles, but which to some extent struggle for
survival and face forms of human right violations and abuses of power.
We think therefore that both professional collaboration and solidarity are the keys to strengthening civil society in Cuba.
References
Azor, Marlene (2016), Discursos de la resistencia. Los proyectos políticos emergentes en Cuba (Madrid: Editorial Hypermedia).
Bobes, Velia C. (2016), “Reformas en Cuba: ¿Actualización del socialismo o reconfiguración social?” Cuban Studies (Vol. 44, No. 1).
Bobes, Velia C. (2015), “Del hombre nuevo a una socialidad
gentrificada. Impacto social de la reforma,” in Bobes, Velia Cecilia
(ed.), Cuba ¿Ajuste o transición? Impacto de la reforma en el contexto del restablecimiento de las relaciones con Estados Unidos (Mexico: FLACSO).
Bobes, Velia C. (2007), La nación inconclusa. (Re) constituciones de la ciudadanía y la identidad nacional en Cuba (Mexico: FLACSO).
Dilla, Haroldo (2014), “Cuba: los nuevos campos de la oposición política,” Real Instituto Elcano, June 23rd.
Farber, Samuel (2012), “La iglesia y la izquierda crítica en Cuba,” Nueva Sociedad (Vol. 242), 123-138.
Geoffray, Marie Laure (2012), Contester à Cuba (Paris: Dalloz).
Rosendahl, Mona (1997), Inside the Revolution, Everyday Life in Socialist Cuba (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press).
Salas, Luis (1979), Social Control and Deviance in Cuba (New York: Praeger).
Tilly, C. and L. Wood (2010), Los movimientos sociales 1768-2008. Desde sus orígenes a Facebook (Barcelona: Crítica).
May 6, 2020
Cuba: Statement against the application of Decree Law 370
A total of 47 human rights
organizations and independent press media denounce the violation of
fundamental human rights caused by the application in Cuba of Decree Law
370.
The undersigned civil society organizations express our profound
concern and condemnation of the persecution against independent
journalists and civil society actors in Cuba. This persecution has
increased since the beginning of the year, particularly during the
health crisis resulting from the coronavirus pandemic.
Although repression of freedom of expression and freedom of press has
been long-standing and systematic, the current wave of repression has
been intensified by the application of Legal Decree 370 “ON THE
COMPUTERIZATION OF CUBAN SOCIETY,” in force since July 4, 2019. At least
30 people have been subjected to interrogation, threats, and seizure of
work equipment (especially that of journalists) for broadcasting their
opinions on social media, 20 have been victims of 3,000-peso fines (120
US dollars), an amount triple the average monthly salary. Failure to pay
these fines constitutes a crime punishable by six months in prison, a
systematic approach that has enabled the Cuban State to sentence 7 civil
society actors who are currently in prison.
We are particularly troubled by the arbitrary citations and
detentions occurring during this pandemic, as they also contradict the
recommendations of the World Health Organization to promote social
distancing.
These facts demonstrate that the rights enshrined in the Cuban
Constitution, but which have not been ratified with supplementary
legislation, are merely empty words. Regarding freedom of expression,
Article 54 of the Constitution states: “The State recognizes, upholds,
and guarantees individuals’ freedom of thought, belief and expression,”
and Article 55 asserts that “freedom of press” is a right that “is
exercised in accordance with the law and to the good of society.”
Additionally, this article establishes that “The principal means of
social communication, in any of its forms and on any of its mediums, are
the socialist property of the people or the political, social and
grassroots organizations; and they are not subject to any other type of
ownership. The State establishes the principles of organization and
operation for all social media.”
We understand that these constitutional principles are highly
contradictory. Initially, they recognize the freedoms of expression and
press, and immediately thereafter, they restrict their exercise. In
accordance with the Constitution, Legal Decree 370, specifically Article
68, Subsection i), vaguely establishes as a violation the act of
“spreading information contrary to the common good, morals, decency, and
integrity through public data transmission networks.” This clause
contravenes the standards of freedom of expression and restricts this
right based on objectives that are illegitimate according to the
International Declaration of Human Rights.
The new Cuban Constitution, Legal Decree 370, and the actions of the
Cuban State deeply contradict Article 19 of the International
Declaration of Human Rights and Article 19 of the International Covenant
on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), signed by Cuba on February 28,
2008 but not since ratified. This framework, under which the Cuban State
can sanction the use of information and communication technologies,
inhibits the exercise of freedom of expression using such tools and
platforms. Furthermore, it represents a real and ongoing threat of
punishment for practically any opinion expressed that could be
classified, at the State’s discretion, as a legal violation and lead to
imprisonment. Additionally, this lack of predictability has a
prohibitive and intimidating effect on the collective dimension of
freedom of expression and assembly.
We want to emphasize that Reporters Without Borders has listed Cuba
as the country with the least press freedom in the Americas, placing it
in 171st place and among the bottom ten in the global ranking in its
last annual report. According to Freedom House, Cuba is the country with
the least freedom on the net in the Americas and the fourth worst in
the world, among the 65 countries monitored. According to the CIVICUS
Monitor, which tracks the freedoms of association, expression and
peaceful assembly, its civic space is rated as "closed".
In 2019, the UN Special Rapporteur on the promotion and protection of
the right to freedom of opinion and expression expressed his concern
about the diverse mechanisms of repression in Cuba. In his 2019 report,
the Inter-American Rapporteur for Freedom of Expression outlined the
systematic persecution of independent journalists who publish
information and opinions on topics of public interest and in his
statement on April 18, 2020, he expressed his concern with restrictions
on freedom of expression and access to information in the State’s
response to COVID-19, highlighting the cases of journalists fined under
Legal Decree 370.
We call on the international community, governments, civil society
and international human rights organizations to press the Cuban
government to cease this persecution and harassment of independent Cuban
journalists and their families immediately, to return their confiscated
belongings, and to allow them the full and free exercise of their
freedoms, thereby granting the Cuban citizenry free access to
information.
To the European External Action Service (EEAS), we urge you to follow
the stances and explicit mandate of your Parliament regarding the
Agreement of Political Dialogue and Cooperation with Cuba, requesting
that legal reforms be made to guarantee the freedoms of press,
association and demonstration. We also incite you to actively support
the civil society groups and individuals defending human rights in Cuba.
To the United Nations Human Rights Council and the Office of the High
Commissioner, we petition you to make a public declaration recommending
that the Cuban State revise its legislation and abolish any norms that
restrict freedom of opinion and expression.
We appeal to the General Assembly of the Organization of American
States (OAS), to take a stand and apply the same standards as required
for all of the countries in the region, based on the reports of the
IACHR on the human rights situation in Cuba. Cuba is a member state of
the OAS and has not denounced the Charter. It assumed an obligation when
it signed the Inter-American system’s instruments on human rights, and
its current suspension does not release it from complying with this
obligation.
We reiterate our full solidarity with the independent journalists and
civil society actors persecuted for exercising their freedom of
expression.
Signatories :
DNA Cuba
Tense Wings
Regional Alliance for Free Expression and Information
Inverted Tree: Cuba, culture and freedoms
ARTICLE 19 Office for Mexico and Central America
Pro-Press Freedom Association
Center for the Opening and Development of Latin America
Civil Rights Defenders
CIVICUS
Martian current
Cubalex
Cubanet
Democratic Culture
Demo Amlat
Cuba newspaper
The sneeze
Freedom House
Citizenship and Development Foundation
Demongeles Group
Cuba time
Human Rights Foundation
Hypermedia
IFEX-LAC Alliance of Latin America and the Caribbean
Cuban Institute for Freedom of Expression and Press
International Institute on Race, Equality and Human Rights
International Society Foy Human Rights
Inventory
Cuban Youth Dialogue Table
San Isidro Movement
Cuban Observatory of Human Rights
PEN America
People In Need
Prisoners Defenders International Network
Cuba Program of the Sergio Arboleda University
Venezuelan Education Program - Action on Human Rights
Bridge in Sight
Latin American and Caribbean Network for Democracy
The
undersigned civil society organizations express our profound concern
and condemnation of the persecution against independent journalists and
civil society actors in Cuba. This persecution has increased since the
beginning of the year, particularly during the health crisis resulting
from the coronavirus pandemic.
Although
repression of freedom of expression and freedom of press has been
long-standing and systematic, the current wave of repression has been
intensified by the application of Legal Decree 370 “ON THE
COMPUTERIZATION OF CUBAN SOCIETY,” in force since July 4, 2019. At least
30 people have been subjected to interrogation, threats, and seizure of
work equipment (especially that of journalists) for broadcasting their
opinions on social media, 20 have been victims of 3,000-peso fines (120
US dollars), an amount triple the average monthly salary. Failure to
pay these fines constitutes a crime punishable by six months in prison, a
systematic approach that has enabled the Cuban State to sentence 7
civil society actors who are currently in prison.
We are particularly troubled by the arbitrary citations and
detentions occurring during this pandemic, as they also contradict the
recommendations of the World Health Organization to promote social
distancing.
These facts demonstrate that the rights enshrined in the Cuban
Constitution, but which have not been ratified with supplementary
legislation, are merely empty words. Regarding freedom of expression,
Article 54 of the Constitution states: “The State recognizes, upholds, and guarantees individuals’ freedom of thought, belief and expression,” and Article 55 asserts that “freedom of press” is a right that “is exercised in accordance with the law and to the good of society.” Additionally, this article establishes that “The
principal means of social communication, in any of its forms and on any
of its mediums, are the socialist property of the people or the
political, social and grassroots organizations; and they are not subject
to any other type of ownership. The State establishes the principles of
organization and operation for all social media.”
We understand that these constitutional principles are highly
contradictory. Initially, they recognize the freedoms of expression and
press, and immediately thereafter, they restrict their exercise. In
accordance with the Constitution, Legal Decree 370, specifically Article
68, Subsection i), vaguely establishes as a violation the act of “spreading information contrary to the common good, morals, decency, and integrity through public data transmission networks.” This
clause contravenes the standards of freedom of expression and restricts
this right based on objectives that are illegitimate according to the
International Declaration of Human Rights.
The new Cuban Constitution, Legal Decree 370, and the actions of the
Cuban State deeply contradict Article 19 of the International
Declaration of Human Rights and Article 19 of the International Covenant
on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), signed by Cuba on February 28,
2008 but not since ratified. This framework, under which the Cuban State
can sanction the use of information and communication technologies,
inhibits the exercise of freedom of expression using such tools and
platforms. Furthermore, it represents a real and ongoing threat of
punishment for practically any opinion expressed that could be
classified, at the State’s discretion, as a legal violation and lead to
imprisonment. Additionally, this lack of predictability has a
prohibitive and intimidating effect on the collective dimension of
freedom of expression and assembly.
We want to emphasize that Reporters Without Borders has listed Cuba
as the country with the least press freedom in the Americas, placing it
in 171st place and among the bottom ten in the global ranking in its
last annual report. According to Freedom House, Cuba is the country with
the least freedom on the net in the Americas and the fourth worst in
the world, among the 65 countries monitored [1]. According to the
CIVICUS Monitor, which tracks the freedoms of association, expression
and peaceful assembly, its civic space is rated as "closed".
In 2019, the UN Special Rapporteur on the promotion and protection of
the right to freedom of opinion and expression expressed his concern
about the diverse mechanisms of repression in Cuba [2]. In his 2019
report, the Inter-American Rapporteur for Freedom of Expression outlined
the systematic persecution of independent journalists who publish
information and opinions on topics of public interest and in his
statement on April 18, 2020, he expressed his concern with restrictions
on freedom of expression and access to information in the State’s
response to COVID-19, highlighting the cases of journalists fined under
Legal Decree 370.
We call on the international community, governments, civil society
and international human rights organizations to press the Cuban
government to cease this persecution and harassment of independent Cuban
journalists and their families immediately, to return their confiscated
belongings, and to allow them the full and free exercise of their
freedoms, thereby granting the Cuban citizenry free access to
information.
To the European External Action Service (EEAS), we urge you to follow
the stances and explicit mandate [3] of your Parliament regarding the
Agreement of Political Dialogue and Cooperation with Cuba, requesting
that legal reforms be made to guarantee the freedoms of press,
association and demonstration. We also incite you to actively support
the civil society groups and individuals defending human rights in Cuba.
To the United Nations Human Rights Council and the Office of the High
Commissioner, we petition you to make a public declaration recommending
that the Cuban State revise its legislation and abolish any norms that
restrict freedom of opinion and expression.
We appeal to the General Assembly of the Organization of American
States (OAS), to take a stand and apply the same standards as required
for all of the countries in the region, based on the reports of the
IACHR on the human rights situation in Cuba. Cuba is a member state of
the OAS and has not denounced the Charter. It assumed an obligation when
it signed the Inter-American system’s instruments on human rights, and
its current suspension does not release it from complying this
obligation.
https://rsf.org
After farce trial and denied appeal, Castro court orders Cuban human rights activist to report to prison
After a farce trial on bogus charges and her appeal denied, Cuban
dissident Keilylli de la Mora Valle has been ordered to report to
authorities to serve a one and a half year prison sentence. This is
socialism in Cuba. This is socialism in action.Via CubaNet (my translation):
Activist Keilylli De La Mora Valle will be sent to prison on Thursday
The Cienfuegos court ruled the appeal filed by her attorney Jorge Sarria Stuart to be “groundless”
Opposition
member Keilylli de la Mora Valle is ordered to turn herself in to the
Provincial Popular Court in Cienfuegos this Thursday so she can be
transferred to prison where she will serve a sentence of one year and
six months.
The Patriotic Union of Cuba (UNPACU) activist and
promoter for the Cuba Decide citizen initiative was awaiting the
decision on the appeal to the conviction her attorney, Jorge Sarria
Stuart, had filed. Nevertheless, the court ruled the appeal to be
“groundless.”
The attorney filed the appeal after Keilylli was
tried on May 7 for the alleged crimes of propagating an epidemic,
assault, resistance, and disobedience.
The sentencing order was signed by judges Isaura Lenzano Anderez, Taily Osborne Torriente, and Jorge Perez Gomez.
The
sentencing document claims the charge of propagating an epidemic is
based on de la Mora Valle was not wearing a mask at the time of her
arrest and that is considered a “failure to comply with the sanitary
measures in place to prevent and control epidemics.”
In regards
to the other charges, the activists explained they were unfounded and
rejected the claims made by the National Revolutionary Police officials
who arrested her.
https://babalublog.com
Cuba against coronavirus: politics, communication and civil society
Response to long-standing demands in the Cuban government’s strategy in the face of the pandemic crisis.
Virgilio
Piñera would have been surprised to know that that verse of his “the
damn circumstance of water everywhere” was going to be the most cited
and hackneyed of all his tremendous literary work—even among those who
don’t know it. Assuming that, in addition to literary merit, that verse
contained a key about Cuba, its people and the complex logic of its
history, it would be worth putting it to the test at this time.
Many
continental countries surrounded by permeable borders would today envy
that natural barrier that the sea represents in Caribbean islands. In
the case of Cuba, if its 3,735 km coastline were a land border with
other countries, it would be longer than that of Mexico with the United
States, that of Colombia or Brazil with Venezuela, and almost four times
greater than that of Guatemala with Mexico.
Can you imagine
controlling that border with territories where the panic pandemic would
have make tens of thousands of unprotected people seek refuge in a
neighboring country, whose health services would have a reputation for
facing epidemics of rare diseases in Africa and other regions? If anyone
could walk across that border at one of its most intricate points? If
entire families without any protection, were, for example, standing at
our door, begging for their lives?
It’s not about thinking of
national salvation as opposed to the misfortune that is ravaging the
world, of course. It would be foolish to think of ourselves as a
separate mass, especially on an open, pending and exterior-dependent
island for 500 years; and that it continues sending doctors to almost 60
countries. I limit myself to pointing out that, if in the strategic
context of a global security crisis it is essential to take a distance,
an obvious comparative advantage consists precisely in having no land
borders with anyone.
I will try to give a reading here on the
epidemic, as a human security problem for civil society and politics,
compared to other threats (such as natural disasters), and in
particular, based on mobilization and communication.
As is known,
the human security approach emphasizes that “hurricanes, earthquakes,
epidemics, droughts, floods, as well as hunger and environmental
pollution, cut short more lives than wars, repressions” and other
conflicts in the world (Temas # 64, Oct-Dec, 2010). Unlike
national security, which privileges the preservation of the State,
sovereignty, military force, armed conflict and internal order, human
security places at the center threats to life and its basic conditions
of reproduction.
If
we compare the experiences of two human security challenges, such as
the tornado that devastated areas of Havana on January 27, 2019, and the
current global epidemic, some interesting, useful aspects could be
considered, within their great differences in scale, to think about the
society and politics of this new era.
The tornado, confined to a
well-defined area of urban space, provoked an instantaneous response
from civil society, beyond that territory, and even the country.
Generated from very different points, these actions converged to support
the survival of the group of affected persons, to alleviate their
helplessness, provide immediate means of sustenance and protection,
contribute to recovery. After a first moment of readjustment in the
operating rules of the civil defense system, and its flexibility under
the pressure of the emergency, access to the area to provide relief and
also to participate directly in aid remained open, so that the
articulation between the initiative of the mobilized and the
institutional resources could flow fully.
In the tornado
experience, the availability of the Internet, mobile data, WhatsApp,
networks, facilitated mobilization and self-management. In fact, the
scale and degree of autonomy, organization, and fundraising of those
mobilized in the tornado surpassed regular volunteering in disaster
situations; not only in quantity and technologies, but in its quality.
The mobilization was characterized by not waiting for guidance,
deploying effectively and promptly, and seeking coordination with local
institutions from the beginning. They had an opportunity to learn to
channel the initiative from below, and to proceed with the autonomy of a
real local power, which, in crisis situations, should not limit itself
to following instructions from above.
Likewise, it offered the
central power the opportunity to react quickly, to remove the
bureaucratic obstacles, and to make the established machinery work at
full speed, and absorb the contribution from below. This contribution
was not only in kind, but also generated its own mobilization,
autonomously, to become a channel for direct participation, which
exceeded the significance of donations from near and far.
In a
society accustomed to the great mobilization oriented from above, those
who contributed, received, divided and worked in the recovery at the
base, had a particular civic experience, which also allowed them to
experience deep society, and to understand it better, as well as
experience the battle for welfare and social justice distributed to all
as a concrete practice, and not just at a discursive or symbolic level.
The
fact that a fairer society is not just growth, but human security; that
the necessary control measures should not undermine the capacity of
that society to heal itself; that without decentralization, autonomy,
and trust in people, unity is an empty whole; and that no compendium of
norms, nor law, could replace the concrete practices of a civil policy
from below, was precisely at the center of that tornado experience.
In
contrast to the tornado, the initiative and the fight to control the
epidemic have been on the side of the institutions of the State and the
government. This not only responds to the anticipation and planning
capacity of epidemiological contingency plans, the technical and
professional content of public health, the specialized nature of the
detection and treatment of the disease, but the complexity of a threat.
It affects the functioning of the whole life of society, including the
economy, and substantially modifies that of state and social
institutions, from schools to churches, and basic services, from
transportation to public order.
In contrast to the tornado and its
effects, and unlike foreseeable disasters, such as hurricanes, it is
not a threat located in a given space, but rather deployed in a rather
invisible way, and whose progress is difficult to calculate a priori.
Consequently, it tends to be underestimated by the majority, until the
evidence of its scope and danger is revealed. Thus, the main line of
defense, that of prevention, lies in winning people’s minds, even before
the ravages of the disease are shown in all their magnitude.
The
confrontation of the epidemic, therefore, implies a main communication
resource, without which the social response is disaggregated. In a
citizen culture accustomed to mobilization, it may be easier to channel
or facilitate it than to immobilize people in their homes. Accustomed to
living out of doors, Cubans have a particularly hard time staying
indoors.
In contrast to the tornado, or hurricanes, in the case of
the epidemic, the greatest damage can be avoided. In natural disasters,
the size of the danger does not have to be demonstrated, since everyone
shares the experience of its destructive power, so that anticipating
its intensity or verifying the extent of the damage caused is
convincing. The effects of the epidemic, however, remain to be seen, and
are virtual, until the number of victims is revealed.
In the
field of information, the initiative is also on the side of state and
government institutions. Naturally, without transparency, there is no
credibility; and without convincing, there is no way to influence
citizen behavior and induce them to submit to an emergency order. In a
country where smartphones have long ceased to be an exception, and where
information monopoly is technically unlikely, control of information
becomes a subtler issue. However, offering it has side effects. When it
is reported that almost all registered infections are associated with
contacts with foreigners or travelers, the certainty that borders must
be closed, even before the epidemiological contingency plan foresees it,
becomes part of common sense and an unavoidable consensus.
Regarding
information, and its use, the pandemic is not, by definition, a local
event. So the way to deal with it everywhere is available online every
day. This global synchronization is accompanied by the so-called Dunning-Kruger effect,
characterized by the abundance of “people with little knowledge of a
subject who perceive themselves to be experts after superficial
information,” that is, self-employed epidemiologists who swarm the
networks and electronic publications, including our country.
So,
right away, the effectiveness of the use of the facemask, the
applicability of the “South Korean model,” the ingestion of hot, or
acidic, or basic, or alcoholic beverages; the need to advance stages;
rapid or molecular tests, a whole avalanche of opinions, often
contradictory, fill the public sphere.
In the case of the tornado,
the self-mobilized pioneers had to persuade local authorities; in the
pandemic, the authorities have to persuade citizens, and use all
resources to create citizen responsibility.
That means not only
offering up-to-date and truthful information, but eventually applying
more stringent regulations while advancing, including imposing strict
zonal isolations. Because despite the control habits established in a
country like Cuba, not everyone responds in a disciplined way to the
demands of an emergency situation like this. (As I finish this article, I
just found out that, as of Friday, April 3 at 8:00 p.m., the People’s Council where I live, in Plaza municipality, has been declared in total quarantine.)
As
for the dynamics of social networks, and pending an investigation to
support it, it would seem that, as happened in the tornado situation,
the ideological struggle and politicking have been giving way in the
siege of the issue. The information provided by institutions and public
media ostensibly prevails over anti-government media. According to
recent statistics from the Ministry of Communications, visits to places
like Cubadebate have tripled. Surely it would not be an exaggeration to
estimate that Cuban television news programs are more followed than
ever.
Finally, the epidemic comprises an unprecedented context of
political communication between institutions/leaders and
community/citizens. What impact will it have on reinforcing the
legitimacy and credibility of a president and a government with just two
years in office? Although it is too early to answer this question, it
would be difficult to imagine a more complex circumstance, and that
would place more stress on his ability to deal with a crisis situation
in peacetime, than this pandemic.
Although the appearance of
ministers on television and in meetings throughout the country has
characterized the new style of government since it took office in April
2018, this event has exposed them more as persons, ways of reasoning,
speeches, defects and qualities than of any other cabinet of which the
vast majority of Cubans can remember. Although a government team is not a
empathy contest, as a whole and each separately, for the first time
they are going through a singular public scrutiny: projecting themselves
as political leaders, instead of officials who only speak to their
subordinates or their bosses.
Beyond revealing this human
condition, including that of an unexpected Prime Minister, there are
responses to long-standing demands in the Cuban government’s strategy in
the face of the pandemic crisis. Although only until now these are
measures that the national emergency has made viable, these range from
greater flexibility in the face of taxes on the private sector,
telephone rates, facilities for tortuous administrative procedures, to
the access of churches to television to celebrate Easter, in addition to
recognizing as valid many critical approaches and proposals of the
population, instead of dismissing them as “playing with the enemy.”
At
the end of the day, after having learned from the Prime Minister, in
one of these appearances, that almost half a million Cubans have
permanent residence abroad and on the island, I hope no one will again
mention to me the evilness of living in a land surrounded by water
everywhere.
Cuba General Health Risks: West Nile Virus
COUNTRY RISK
Risk of West Nile Virus is present in Cuba.
Description
The West Nile Virus (WNV) belongs to the
Flaviviridae family. It is transmitted to humans and animals through the bite of infected Culex
mosquitoes which are active from dusk to dawn. The mosquitoes acquire
the virus from feeding on infected birds. Human to human transmission
does not occur.
Risk
West Nile Virus is commonly found in North America, Europe, Africa, the
Middle East, and west Asia. Long-term travellers visiting endemic areas
are at risk. Older persons and those with a weakened immune system or
pre-existing health conditions are at increased risk of getting ill.
Peak transmission occurs during summer months.
Symptoms
The majority of cases are asymptomatic – persons do not exhibit
symptoms. Approximately 1 in 5 people have symptoms which include a
fever, headaches, nausea, vomiting, muscle aches, including a rash
(typically on the torso) and swollen glands. Symptoms usually last a few
days to several weeks. More severe symptoms of the illness include high
fever, disorientation, tremors, convulsions, paralysis, and coma that
can cause neurological damage. In rare cases the illness can be fatal.
Treatment includes supportive care of symptoms and prevention of
secondary infections.
Prevention
Travellers going to areas with outbreaks of West Nile Virus should take
measures to prevent mosquito bites. There is no preventive medication
or vaccine against West Nile Virus for humans.
Use a repellent containing 20%-30% DEET or 20% Picaridin on exposed skin. Re-apply according to manufacturer's directions.
When Brazilian health officials discovered four years ago that the
mosquito-borne Zika virus could cause severe birth defects and other
serious health problems, it prompted a major effort across the Americas
to curb the infection by controlling mosquitoes and issuing travel
advisories. By mid-2017, the hard work seemed to have paid off, and
reports of new Zika infections had nearly stopped.
But it turns out Zika may be tougher to control than once thought.
New research shows that a large, previously hidden outbreak of Zika
virus disease occurred in Cuba, just when it looked like the worst of
the epidemic was over. The finding suggests that the Zika virus can
linger over long periods, and that mosquito control efforts alone may
slow, but not necessarily stop, the march of this potentially
devastating infectious disease.
When combating global epidemics, it’s critical to track the spread of
dangerous viruses from one place to the next. But some viruses can be
tougher to monitor than others, and that certainly has been the case
with Zika in the Americas. Though the virus can harm unborn children,
many people infected with Zika never feel lousy enough to go to the
doctor. Those who do often have symptoms that overlap with other
prevalent tropical diseases, such as dengue and chikungunya fever,
making it hard to recognize Zika.
That’s why in Brazil, where Zika arrived in the Americas by early
2014, this unexpected viral intruder went undetected for well over a
year. By then, it had spread unnoticed to Honduras, circulating rapidly to other Central American nations and Mexico—likely by late 2014 and into 2015.
In the United States, even with close monitoring, a small local
outbreak of Zika virus in Florida also went undetected for about three
months in 2016 [1]. Then, in 2017, Florida officials began noticing
something strange: new cases of Zika infection in people who had
traveled to Cuba.
This came as a real surprise because Cuba, unlike most other
Caribbean islands, was thought to have avoided an outbreak. What’s more,
by then the Zika epidemic in the Americas had slowed to a trickle,
prompting the World Health Organization to delist it as a global public
health emergency of international concern.
Given the Cuban observation, some wondered whether the Zika epidemic
in the Americas was really over. Among them was an NIH-supported
research team, including Nathan Grubaugh, Yale School of Public Health,
New Haven, CT; Sharon Isern and Scott Michael, Florida Gulf Coast
University, Fort Myers; and Kristian Andersen, The Scripps Research
Institute, La Jolla, CA, who worked closely with the Florida Department
of Health, including Andrea Morrison.
As published in Cell, the team was able to document a
previously unreported outbreak in Cuba after the epidemic had seemingly
ended [2]. Interestingly, another research group in Spain also recently
made a similar observation about Zika in Cuba [3].
In the Cell paper, the researchers show that between June
2017 and October 2018, all but two of 155 cases—a whopping 98 percent of
travel-associated Zika infections—traced back to Cuba. Further analysis
suggests that the outbreak in Cuba was likely of similar magnitude to
outbreaks that occurred in other Caribbean nations.
Their estimates suggest there were likely many thousands of Zika
cases in Cuba, and more than 5,000 likely should have been diagnosed and
reported in 2017. The only difference was the timing. The Cuban
outbreak of Zika virus occurred about a year after infections subsided
elsewhere in the Caribbean.
To fill in more of the blanks, the researchers relied on Zika virus
genomes from nine infected Florida travelers who returned from Cuba in
2017 and 2018. The sequencing data support multiple introductions of
Zika virus to Cuba from other Caribbean islands in the summer of 2016.
The outbreak peaked about a year after the virus made its way to
Cuba, similar to what happened in other places. But the Cuban outbreak
was likely delayed by a year thanks to an effective mosquito control
campaign by local authorities, following detection of the Brazilian
outbreak. While information is lacking, including whether Zika
infections had caused birth defects, it’s likely those efforts were
relaxed once the emergency appeared to be over elsewhere in the
Caribbean, and the virus took hold.
The findings serve as yet another reminder that the Zika virus—first
identified in the Zika Forest in Uganda in 1947 and for many years
considered a mostly inconsequential virus [4]—has by no means been eliminated.
Indeed, such unrecognized and delayed outbreaks of Zika raise the risk
of travelers innocently spreading the virus to other parts of the world.
The encouraging news is that, with travel surveillance data and
genomic tools —enabled by open science—it is now possible to detect such
outbreaks. By combining resources and data, it will be possible to
develop even more effective and responsive surveillance frameworks to
pick up on emerging health threats in the future.
In the meantime, work continues to develop a vaccine for the Zika
virus, with more than a dozen clinical trials underway that pursue a
variety of vaccination strategies. With the Zika pandemic resolved in
the Americas, these studies can be harder to conduct, since proof of
efficacy is not possible without active infections. But, as this paper
shows, we must remain ready for future outbreaks of this unique and
formidable virus. References:
[1] Genomic epidemiology reveals multiple introductions of Zika virus into the United States. Grubaugh et al. Nature. 2017 Jun 15;546(7658):401-405.
[2] Travel surveillance and genomics uncover a hidden Zika outbreak during the waning epidemic.
Grubaugh ND, Saraf S, Gangavarapu K, Watts A, Tan AL, Oidtman RJ,
Magnani DM, Watkins DI, Palacios G, Hamer DH; GeoSentinel Surveillance
Network, Gardner LM, Perkins TA, Baele G, Khan K, Morrison A, Isern S,
Michael SF, Andersen .KG, et. al. Cell. 2019 Aug
22;178(5):1057-1071.e11.
[3] Mirroring the Zika epidemics in Cuba: The view from a European imported diseases clinic.
Almuedo-Riera A, Rodriguez-Valero N, Camprubí D, Losada Galván I,
Zamora-Martinez C, Pousibet-Puerto J, Subirà C, Martinez MJ, Pinazo MJ,
Muñoz J. Travel Med Infect Dis. 2019 Jul – Aug;30:125-127.
[4] Pandemic Zika: A Formidable Challenge to Medicine and Public Health. Morens DM, Fauci AS. J Infect Dis. 2017 Dec 16;216(suppl_10):S857-S859. Links:
Video: Uncovering Hidden Zika Outbreaks (Florida Gulf Coast University, Fort Myers) Zika Virus (National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases/NIH) Zika Virus Vaccines (NIAID) Zika Free Florida (Florida Department of Health, Tallahassee) Grubaugh Lab (Yale School of Public Health, New Haven, CT) Andersen Lab (The Scripps Research Institute, La Jolla, CA) NIH Support: National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases; National Center for Advancing Translational Sciences
https://directorsblog.nih.gov
Government fumigators, in 2018, spraying homes in Havana to kill mosquitoes
As Zika virus raced through the Americas and the Caribbean in
2015 and 2016, it infected an estimated 800,000 people and left nearly
4000 newborns with serious brain damage. But by mid-2017, the virus had all but disappeared
from the region—or so it seemed. A new analysis of Zika-infected
travelers who returned to the United States or Europe in 2017 or 2018
has found that 98% had visited Cuba, which did not report any cases to
world health officials at the time the country’s outbreak apparently
peaked.“It was startling,” says Kristian Andersen, a genomic epidemiologist
at Scripps Research in San Diego, California, who led the work conducted
by 38 researchers from five countries. The group estimates that Cuba had 5707 unreported Zika cases,
with most occurring in 2017. Those numbers are similar to counts in
other Caribbean islands with comparable populations 1 year earlier.
In February 2016, the Zika outbreak was so severe in South America
and the Caribbean that the World Health Organization (WHO) took the rare
step of declaring it a Public Health Emergency of International
Concern. But by November 2016, cases in the region had fallen steeply
and WHO lifted the emergency.
To better understand the outbreaks that continued to linger, Andersen
and colleagues looked at cases of Zika in travelers recorded by the
Florida Department of Health and the European Centre for Disease
Prevention and Control. Between June 2017 and October 2018, there were
155 cases—confirmed by antibody or viral tests—and all but one person
had traveled to Cuba.
To further probe the timing and origin of the Cuban outbreak, the
researchers sequenced Zika virus from nine infected people who returned
to Florida and compared their viruses to ones from other countries in
the region. Because viral mutations occur at predictable rates, the
group could construct a molecular clock which revealed that the virus
emerged in Cuba about 1 year later than elsewhere in the Caribbean. In
their study in Cell today, the researchers also concluded that Zika had come to Cuba several times from several different Caribbean islands.
Jennifer Gardy, a genomic epidemiologist in the global health program
at the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation in Seattle, Washington, says
analyzing viral sequences from travelers can help clarify the contours
of epidemics that might otherwise have remained under the surveillance
radar. “Surveillance is one of our best defenses again infectious
disease, but the systems are rarely perfect—cases can be missed for many
reasons,” Gardy says.
Andersen suggests a combination of factors likely explains why Cuba’s
outbreak was “hidden” from the rest of world. Following the emergence
of Zika in Brazil in May 2015, Cuba launched an aggressive
pesticide-spraying program to control the Aedes aegypti mosquito that transmits the virus. (In lockstep with that program, cases of dengue, another disease spread by A. aegypti, plummeted in early 2016.)
Zika cases also dropped steadily throughout Latin America and the
Caribbean that year, presumably because the virus quickly infects large
portions of populations, creating widespread immunity. When WHO lifted
its emergency declaration, it relaxed requirements for member countries to report Zika cases. By the end of 2016, Cuba had confirmed only 187 cases of Zika, and it stopped reporting numbers altogether in 2017. It reported no cases of Zika-related brain damage to babies.
Contributing to the difficulty in reporting, the virus is
“exceptionally difficult” to diagnose in infected people, Andersen
notes. Antibodies to Zika and dengue viruses are similar, and tests can
confuse the two. Zika-infected patients rarely have symptoms, and levels
of the virus in their blood quickly drop, further complicating
infection confirmation.
Andersen hopes his team’s approach will be applied to a wide array of
diseases in returning travelers. “This [work] sets up a framework for
investigating infectious diseases more closely,” he says. “It’s a really
important new tool to monitor infectious diseases around the world.”
Michael Worobey, an evolutionary biologist who has analyzed viral
histories in his lab at the University of Arizona in Tucson, says the
new study reminds him of when he worked as a forest fighter. People
posted on towers throughout the forest tracked lightning strikes. The
next day, they would fly over the spots in the forest where lightning
had hit. “If you saw smoke, you’d send crews out there before there was a
conflagration,” Worobey says. “This new work is a demonstration of
something we missed. If we improve our surveillance next time, we’ll
catch it earlier, and certainly knowing there’s an outbreak of something
like Zika spreading around could impact controlling it.”
6 cases of chikungunya virus reported among travelers in Cuba
Cuban
health authorities on Wednesday said they detected six cases of
chikungunya fever, a debilitating, mosquito-borne virus that is
suspected of afflicting tens of thousands across the Caribbean since its
arrival in the region last year.
In
a statement published by Communist Party newspaper Granma and other
official media, the Health Ministry said the cases were found in people
who had recently traveled to Haiti and the Dominican Republic, where
there have been thousands of locally transmitted cases of the virus.
Their condition was "evolving favorably."
Some
Cubans make regular trips to those and other countries to import
clothing and other goods for resale. Havana has also sent large
contingents of medical workers to treat the poor in Haiti and elsewhere,
though the Ministry said they undergo quarantine before returning.
Chikungunya, which has long been present in Africa and Asia, was first detected in the Caribbean in December.
Deriving
its name from an African word that loosely translates as "contorted
with pain," chikungunya is rarely fatal, but those who have contracted
the virus call it a miserable experience.
Its symptoms have been
described as a combination of a terrible flu and a sudden case of
arthritis, with searing headaches, a high fever and intense muscle and
joint pain.
Cuba is in the early part of its summer monsoon season, when mosquito-borne diseases typically spike.
As
in other years, in recent weeks Cuban authorities have ramped up a
campaign to send brigades of workers door-to-door fumigating houses,
offices and government buildings nationwide.
"The Health System
ratifies the need to intensify the vector-control fight that is being
carried out in the country, for which it is essential that in every home
and workplace the necessary actions are guaranteed to eliminate
possible (mosquito) breeding grounds," the Ministry said in its
statement.
It advised islanders traveling to other parts of the
Caribbean to see a doctor upon their return and to seek immediate
medical care if they experience symptoms typical of the virus.
According
to a report by the Pan American Health Organization, there have been
about 166,000 suspected and 4,600 confirmed cases of Chikungunya in the
Caribbean as of mid-June.
https://www.foxnews.com
As Cubans let guard down, coronavirus rebounds slightly
Posted on By Sarah Marsh
Coronavirus disease (COVID-19) outbreak in Havana
HAVANA
(Reuters) – Just 10 days ago, Cuba registered zero new coronavirus
cases for the first time since the start of its outbreak, burnishing its
reputation for a textbook handling of disasters like hurricanes and now
the fearsome pandemic.
On Thursday though, top epidemiologist Francisco Duran berated
Cubans in his daily briefing for letting their guard down too quickly,
resulting in several new focal points of local transmission.
“People are holding different types of gatherings without taking into
account distancing and often without even using a face mask,” the
usually mild-mannered Duran said, visibly irritated.
He reported nine new cases over the last day, after the daily count jumped as high as 37 over the past week.
Cuba is one of a handful of Latin American countries that have
managed to contain the new coronavirus, which continues to devastate
regional powers like Brazil and Mexico.
The country’s free community-based health system has been credited,
along with measures such as strict isolation of the sick and their
contacts, with allowing it to keep the number of cases under 2,600 with
87 deaths – and no new deaths in the last 18 days.
Over the past six weeks, authorities have loosened lockdown
restrictions, allowing restaurants, bars, hotels, and beaches and pools
to reopen and public transport to restart, albeit at reduced capacity
and with strict hygiene measures.
But Duran suggested many Cubans had become lax with social distancing
rules and other recommendations, lulled into a false sense of safety by
the idea the Communist-island was virtually coronavirus-free.
One recent outbreak occurred at a gathering of followers of the
Afro-Cuban Santeria religion in the town of Bauta, southwest of Havana,
according to authorities.
“Each small peak underscores a lack of discipline … prompting stricter measures,” Duran said.
Authorities have placed Bauta under a stricter quarantine than the
original nationwide lockdown, closing most stores and only allowing one
person per household out to shop or sending limited food parcels to
residents’ homes.
Some new cases also come from abroad, underscoring the dilemma Cuba
and other tourism-reliant nations face in deciding whether to fully open
up.
Some Caribbean island nations like Jamaica and the Bahamas have had
to backtrack on reopenings slightly after a new spike in cases, and have
introduced stricter entry requirements.
(Reporting by Sarah Marsh; Additional Reporting by Nelson Acosta; Editing by Tom Brown)
As Cuba battles coronavirus, activists see an opening to protest police brutality
Cuba stands out as a success story as it battles COVID-19. At the
same time, it has seen renewed public attention around police brutality.
Despite top-down efforts to silence dissent, activists say they are
making some headway.
Latin America now leads the world in coronavirus cases.But
the island nation of Cuba stands out as one of the hemisphere’s leading
success stories in battling COVID-19 — at least so far. Cuban officials
have not reported any new COVID-19 deaths for two weeks. Since the
pandemic began, Cuba, home to some 11.2 million people, has recorded only 87 fatalities and about 2,500 total cases.
Although
some on the island find the news too good to be true, even Cuba’s
fiercest critics say it has made big strides in combating the
coronavirus. The country credits its free, neighborhood-based health
system with helping contain the spread.
At the same time, Cuba
has seen renewed public attention around police brutality — parallel to
protests taking place around the world. And despite top-down government
efforts to silence dissent — often against the backdrop of coronavirus
restrictions — activists say they are making some headway.
Related: In Latin America, coronavirus slams an economy already in dire straits
The
government’s orders to fight COVID-19 call on residents to welcome
health care workers who show up at their homes. Tens of thousands of
medical students, doctors and nurses have been going door-to-door to
take temperatures and try to spot the coronavirus cases before they
spread.
Every person who tests positive for COVID-19 in Cuba is hospitalized, even if they are asymptomatic.
Medical students check door-to-door for people with symptoms amid
concerns about the spread of the coronavirus disease (COVID-19), in
downtown Havana, Cuba, May 11, 2020.
Credit:
Alexandre Meneghini/Reuters
In Cuba, these house calls aren’t unusual. It’s how the island
has tackled other viral outbreaks, such as dengue fever. The country has
an ample supply of doctors. It boasts more than eight physicians
for every 1,000 people, one of the highest ratios in the world,
according to World Bank data. The US, by comparison, has less than three
physicians for every 1,000 people.
Collin Laverty, who studies
US-Cuba relations from his base in Havana, says no one in Cuba is
second-guessing its coronavirus strategy. A medical student shows up at
his door every week.
“Things that have become debates in other
places in the world, like whether you should wear masks, what that means
for your freedom, whether people should be tested, or they should
remain at home or be treated, none of those things were debatable,” said
Laverty, who also runs an educational travel agency.
Not wearing a mask in public can mean a fine in Cuba. In some instances, after multiple offenses, it can lead to jail time. One televised
case featured a young man who’d been stopped by police twice for not
wearing a mask. The judge sentenced him to a year in prison, citing
federal laws enacted to prevent the spread of contagious diseases like
COVID-19.
Tanya Bruguera, a well-known activist and artist in
Cuba, says laws created to contain diseases like the coronavirus are
also being used to target critics of the government.
“There have
been cases where members of the opposition have the mask, but maybe they
take off the mask for a second to smoke or something,” Bruguera
said. “It almost feels like [Cuban authorities] are waiting for them to
do that because immediately they come and they put them in prison
because they have wrongly [worn] the mask.”
Bruguera says
activists like her have faced increased harassment since the pandemic
began. But she says critics of the government have still managed to pry
open new space for protest using social media.
“Social media has become the most feared space for the government because they cannot completely control it.”
“Social media has become the most feared space for the government because they cannot completely control it,” she said.
The
explosive power of social media in Cuba was evident in June, when Cuban
police shot a young Black man, Hernández Galiano, in the back.
Authorities say he was running away from a robbery; others say police
were trying to stop Galiano for not wearing a mask.
Some are
calling the case Cuba’s “George Floyd moment.” Hernandez’s aunt posted a
photo of her nephew in a coffin on Facebook and demanded justice.
Related: Black Lives Matter protests renew parallel debates in Brazil, Colombia
Activists like Bruguera were stunned by the response of ordinary Cubans on social media.
“This
small post, put by somebody nobody knew, became so viral that the
government could not ignore it anymore and had to talk about it on the
news,” she said. “The whole [population of] Cuba knew that there was
police abuse.”
And Cubans are increasingly using their phones to film that abuse. A Facebook post
from June shows a crowd shouting down a policeman who had grabbed a man
by the neck in downtown Havana. Activists say the man was criticizing
the government when he was apprehended.
Bruguera herself was
detained by police just a few weeks ago on her way to a protest. She’s
unfazed: It’s happened to her many times before. And now, she says,
there are many more protests happening in Cuba — on the streets and
online.
“We are living a very special time where activists are
actually winning over and in a way imposing or forcing the government to
become democratic,” Bruguera said.
https://www.pri.org
Cuban Civil Society: II. Future Directions and Challenges
If
we define actors (social, political, economic) as groups having a
distinctive public profile and defined interests vis-à-vis the system
they seek to preserve, replace, or simply change, then it is extremely
difficult to speak of actors in Cuba. Because of the way in which Cuban
society has evolved over the past several decades and the unique
characteristics of its political system, the emergent actors referred to
here (those that have appeared in the past decade as a result of a
changing society) are all larval, with little or no organization, and
scripts so surreptitious as to be incomprehensible to the uninitiated.
As larval actors, these groups cannot be expected to maintain their
integrity under different circumstances. Their affinity is always
greater when critiquing than when articulating proposals, and the
latter, with the exception of strictly trade union affairs, has yet to
become the focal point of the public profile of such groups.
The current political system in Cuba is the end result of successive
institutional crystallizations of the basic social alliance that brought
about the Revolution. It has, from the outset, been a markedly
asymmetrical alliance between the masses and the political class that
emerged from the insurrection. This alliance functioned with remarkable
effectiveness for decades, consolidating a stable, unique relationship
in which the political class ensured national independence and the
social mobility of the masses in exchange for absolute loyalty to the
programmatic foundations of the revolutionary process and to each and
every policy. It was an alliance, however, that was called upon to
function under three very specific conditions: a largely unskilled
population base, a relative abundance of economic resources and a
unified political class. These conditions began to change in the
mid-1980s. The social mobility fostered by the Revolution had created a
more educated population—including a professional and intellectual
class—while new generations of Cubans entered public life. In the early
1990s, external support evaporated, taking with it substantial Soviet
economic subsidies and military assistance, along with the teleological
paradigms of an irreversible, expansionist socialism that had informed
ideological production for decades. Ultimately, the political class was
exposed to extraordinarily harsh external conditions at a moment when
internal conditions were unusually adverse.
Despite the call for a “rectification process” (1986-1990) united
around the ambitious aim of finding the “correct path” and the
liberalizing breeze that swept through Cuba from 1990 to 1995, there was
no indication that the government planned to open up its political
system to accommodate the diverse opinions incubating in society or to
offer everyday Cubans the opportunity to participate in decision-making
processes affecting the future of their national community. What
occurred was simply a relaxing of controls, which I call “tolerance by
omission,” that paved the way for certain legal-political and economic
reforms and for the emergence of diverse actors who enjoyed a five-year
window in which to act in a brief but attractive context of political
opportunity.1
Bemused by this new state of affairs, the political class had no
choice but to retreat, opening up less restricted spaces that were
occupied by other actors; in some cases this was done as part of
existing policies, and in others simply by omission. Internal fractures
were visible: unusual instability in the composition of the political
elite, uncharacteristically public disagreements over the best course of
action and the removal of prominent members of the party and state
apparatus. But the political elite instinctively did not retreat past
the boundaries of its blueprint for power, thereby reserving the
possibility, at least mathematically speaking, of re-conquering lost
terrain.
The point of no return was 1996 when, spurred by scant economic
recovery and the internal adjustments emanating from the Fifth Party
Congress of 1997, the political class launched an offensive against the
political opening of the preceding five years. For our purposes, this
translated into the dissolution of influential opinion-making groups in
society, the suspension of registrations of new nongovernmental
organizations (NGOs) and the imposition of additional controls on
existing ones, public condemnation of external funding sources, and the
presumptuous creation, by decree, of a “socialist civil society”
strictly aligned with the political status quo.
Fortunately for Cuban society and the legacy of its spirited
Revolution, it was impossible for the situation to regress to the dismal
levels of the 1980s. Vigorous intellectual groups inside the country
introduced courageous and incisive ideas and critiques into the
panorama. Some NGOs have managed to survive; they have paid the price of
invisibility, but they exist. The organized communities of the 1990s
produced leaders and activists who represent a valuable resource for the
country’s future and for the defense of grassroots interests. But the
emergent actors in Cuban civil society are fragmented and have limited
ability to create public opinion.
Social and Grassroots Organizations
Social and grassroots organizations largely comprise what the Cuban
government refers to as “socialist civil society,” constituting an
indistinct threshold between civil society and the state—not because of
their common political objectives but rather due to the little autonomy
they have demonstrated in their public profiles. To their credit, these
organizations occasionally have adopted autonomous positions on specific
problems affecting their spheres of action. And while they regularly
blend into the government or party decision-making bodies where they
have representation, they also exhibit a certain degree of dynamic
autonomy particularly at the grassroots level where their capacity for
leadership and collective action has matured.
This autonomous trend was accentuated during the first half of the
1990s, as evidenced by the activities of trade unions and certain
professional associations, particularly the National Union of Cuban
Writers and Artists (UNEAC). It is likely that official adjustment
policies and economic reforms will affect the constituencies of these
organizations in the future. Therefore, the extent to which they are
able to effectively represent the interests of grassroots sectors under
these new circumstances—even when it entails substantial differences
with specific policies—may turn into a test-case scenario they will have
to confront in the future.
Intellectual Sectors
During the first half of the 1990s, intellectuals played a crucial role
in attempts to generate autonomous political communication and develop
proposals for change. Particularly interesting are the developments in
the artistic sector, which has produced the most sustained and
influential criticism, as well as early attempts at autonomous
organization. But although these sectors clearly have more latitude to
criticize than other intellectual groups, they have had to respect the
strict organizational limits of the para-state UNEAC and confine their
messages to the traditional function of art, once defined by Carpentier
as the technique of showing without revealing. Conversely, intellectuals
and artists associated with UNEAC have found it to be sensitive to
their demands and a progressive force in terms of cultural policy and
opportunities for professional and economic fulfillment.
Apart from the art world, the Cuban professional and intellectual
sphere is organized into various associations, which cannot be compared
to UNEAC in terms of scope, autonomy or privileges. In the social
sciences in particular—the other area from which one might expect a
critical posture—the situation has been less promising. This is largely
because the fields in this area are subject to harsh scrutiny by the
ideological apparatus, which is inextricably linked to the fact that,
unlike artists, social scientists have the professional obligation to
demonstrate, as well as the temptation to solve.
If it were possible to single out particular actors in this field,
one would have to look for research and academic institutions that have
played a significant role in the production of ideas, usually thanks to
their connections with some political sector. This is the case, for
example, with the Superior School of the Party, which has consistently
served as an academic sounding board for the most conservative sectors
of the party and state apparatus. It also played a prominent role in
laying the foundations for the 1996 bureaucratic offensive against the
emerging civil society. Another example is the ousted Center for
American Studies, the chief advocate of taking advantage of the
political opportunities in the first half of the 1990s and net producer
of proposals for socialist renewal.
Nongovernmental Organizations
From 1989 to 1995, non-state entities proliferated in the country at
unprecedented levels, numbering over 2,000 by 1993. Most were small,
individual associations with no public profile whatsoever, while others
were fronts for government agencies seeking international funding. Still
others—and these are the ones I wish to discuss more in depth—were
public action NGOs that efficiently took advantage of the political
opportunities presented by “tolerance by omission.”
Cuban NGOs had their moment of glory from 1992 to 1996. Inspired (and
well funded) by their hemispheric and European counterparts, these
organizations tried to build a civil society based on a new relationship
between the state and society, but with a strong dose of elitism due to
legal limitations on their relationships with emergent community
movements as well as to the social backgrounds and ideological beliefs
of their protagonists.
Although NGOs report the existence of around 50 such organizations,
the actual number is probably no more than 20. From 1990 to 1992, these
organizations received and channeled about $7 million; this figure rose
to $42 million for the subsequent three-year period. In 1994, 108
development projects were registered based on agreements with 66 foreign
NGOs. Approximately half of these projects were administered by Cuban
NGOs, only three of which administered most of the projects and funding.
These projects were implemented in six priority areas: alternative
energy, community development, environment, popular education, promotion
of women and institution building.
Cuban NGOs displayed an uncharacteristic belligerence in response to
the bureaucratic red tape and political controls imposed by the Cuban
government that hampered their activities. They explicitly criticized
the restrictions placed on the creation of new NGOs and excessive state
supervision of their actions, and they advocated for greater autonomy in
project administration and coordination. The Cuban NGOs also expressed
the need for improved coordination with foreign NGOs and additional
training. At the same time, they unanimously declared their opposition
to the imposition of any foreign projects that would buttress U.S.
policy against Cuba.
Neither the latter position nor their adherence to socialism saved
the Cuban NGOs from the 1996 bureaucratic offensive. Most of them were
reduced to very discreet, virtually expendable roles, while others were
shut down with the justification that their functions would be taken
over directly by the state. NGO registrations were frozen and several
that were in the formation process were informed that they were not
relevant.
Community-Based Organizations
The community-based organizations that emerged during the five-year
window deserve special mention. These groups are unique in that they
grew out of community programs implemented by technical entities
(extended neighborhood transformation workshops in the capital); local
professionals or officials developing more comprehensive leadership
roles (community doctors, agricultural technicians, cultural activists);
or sub-municipal government entities moving toward more participatory
processes outside of their official purviews (circunscripciones, popular
councils).
From such origins, these organizations succeeded in broadening their
leadership base and agendas to have a considerable impact at the
neighborhood and community levels. Around 1996, an empirical survey
(conducted by the author and limited to the central and western
provinces) indicated the existence of 74 community projects, 25 of which
had matured into formal organizations. Beginning in 1997, the
government tendency was to assimilate such projects into official
municipal and sub-municipal structures. Thus, while many of these
projects still exist and have an impact, they have become bogged down in
the bureaucratic structure of control, further limiting their
initiatives.
Market-Based Actors
Economic reforms have led to the emergence of new actors operating
primarily in the marketplace, even though they may have government
affiliations. The most prominent of these is the new
technocratic-business sector, particularly the foreign business sector
(considered internal because of their involvement in actions that affect
national society) and their national partners, which have entrenched
themselves in the many hundreds of firms established throughout the
country. Because of their unique position in the social spectrum, actors
in this sector maintain very fluid communication among themselves and
with their government interlocutors and this is transforming them into
incipient actors of civil society.
The technocratic-business sector’s relevance in society lies in
several of its unique qualities, foremost of which is that it is the
only actor capable of ideological production with no political
authorization other than that permitting its existence. It need do
nothing more than carry out, before the eyes of an impoverished
population, a satisfactory daily life in relation to the market. At the
same time, it is the only emergent actor with a certain guarantee of
longevity, since it is essential for economic growth.
This sector’s main weaknesses lie in the political fragmentation of
markets, which acts as an effective barrier between its components.
Although there are individuals and institutions in the political arena
that favor increased market liberalization, the emerging business sector
does not have direct political representation. Its growth as a sector,
therefore, depends on the political class’ willingness to collaborate.
The Organized Opposition
Another distinct actor is the group of organizations espousing diverse
creeds, issues, and positions that comprises the opposition to the Cuban
political regime and, in contrast to the antiestablishment groups of
the 1960s, is characterized by its nonviolent positions. This actor is
also extremely fragmented, heavily infiltrated by the Cuban state
security apparatus and has an international profile that far surpasses
its political influence inside the country.
The organized opposition has achieved indisputable successes
including the formation of coalitions and public support in the form of
25,000 signatures for the Varela Project, a petition calling for legal
reforms. Nonetheless, it has been incapable of channeling the growing
discontent among Cubans.
Foreign and expatriate analysts insist that the opposition remains in
a larval state because it is harshly repressed and reviled by the Cuban
government, and there is no doubt that repression hampers the public
influence of this actor. Yet, at the same time, it could be argued that
if the Cuban government is able to successfully repress opposition
groups it is because the cost of doing so is lower than the cost of
tolerance, even when factoring international repercussions into the
cost-benefit analysis.
The Cuban government, for its part, asserts that these groups lack
legitimacy because of their international links with countries and
organizations hostile not only to the Cuban government, but to the
historic process of revolutionary change. And while that argument could
be reasonably applied to some of these groups, it hardly explains the
repression of other groups and individuals who do not have such ties and
whose proposals are more socialist than those of the government itself.
If these groups exist and are able to survive in a repressive
environment, it is because thousands of people, for whatever reason,
believe that systemic change is necessary. This is evident in (or at
least suggested by) the findings of the few reliable surveys conducted
in Cuba and the outcome of the general elections.
GO TO PAGE # 18
Intellectuals, Civil Society, and Political Power in Cuba
Rafael Hernández (bio)
Translated by Jackie Cannon
how has cuba's civil society changed over the past quarter-century
within the new social, cultural, and ideological context, combined with
the effects of economic and political factors? How has the public
sphere changed? What role do intellectuals play? Do they have a place in
shaping the public political agenda or the critical debate on the
country's political problems, including international relations? To what
extent have politicians' attitudes changed toward thought and culture?
What role do economic and political "updating" policies play? What is
the relationship between intellectual debate in the Cuban public sphere
and the problems of civil society, inside and outside Cuba? How would
the current intellectual and political avant-garde be defined?
HOW DID WE GET HERE? REVISITING THE ITINERARY
Most
intellectuals and artists embraced the national impulse underlying the
Revolution (1961). The majority of Cuban intellectuals and artists
identified with the intellectual projection of revolutionary leadership,
especially Fidel Castro and Che Guevara, on issues such as unrestricted
access to education and culture for all; the recovery of Cuban cultural
heritage and identity through a new historiography; the use of artistic
media, including film, in the debate of ideas; the value of knowledge
and theory for social engagement; the contribution of intellectuals to a
new political culture; the design and role of cultural and educational
institutions; the content of art, literature, [End Page 407] and creative projects in general; and the sense of the Revolution itself as a cultural phenomenon. Fidel Castro in Palabras a los Intelectuales [Words to the Intellectuals] (Castro 1961) and Che Guevara in Socialism and Man in Cuba
(1965) put forward their theses on freedom of expression and
creativity, which were in direct opposition to the socialist realism
doctrine that prevailed in the USSR and Eastern Europe, and in line with
the ideals inherited from the Cuban intellectual tradition and civic
culture.
Although intellectuals were in the minority in the
political leadership of the 1959 Revolution (compared, for example, with
the 1917 Russian Revolution or the Cuban Revolution of 1933), their
participation in the ideological debate was legitimized within the new
revolutionary cultural order since 1959. Intense controversies over
conceptions of cultural policy and interpretations of Marxism appeared
in the pages of La Gaceta de Cuba (a periodical published by the Union of Cuban Artists and Writers), the Hoy newspaper, and the Lunes de Revolución literary supplement; debates surrounding the theoretical notions of the socialist economy were published in magazines like Nuestra Industria (Our Industry), Cuba Socialista,
and others, reflecting the vital mood of that period (Pogolotti 2007).
The idea that intellectuals should devote themselves to art and
literature, and not engage in polemics about revolutionary ideology and
political theory, was not the established canon. Many intellectuals and
artists from other countries—Latin American and African, Western and
Eastern—considered themselves participants in the atmosphere of
creativity and debate of ideas that the Cuban Revolution represented.
Since
most Cuban intellectuals acknowledged the ideological and moral
authority of the revolutionary leadership, its role in regulating the
debate of ideas became decisive, particularly in the second half of the
1960s. Against the backdrop of Cuba's growing international isolation,
and marked by US aggression against Vietnam and defeats of the armed
struggle in Latin America, the interpretation and adoption of original
ideas forming cultural policy became polarized and more restrictive,
especially after 1968. [End Page 408]
Fidel Castro's phrase in Words to the Intellectuals,
"within the Revolution, everything; against the Revolution, nothing,"
validated in 1961 all avant-garde art produced in Cuba, even if it was
not political or did not defend socialism. He only objected to art
expressly directed against the Revolution (Castro 1961). Since 1968, as
the sense of national vulnerability worsened, the ideological context
rapidly became polarized, such that the parameters for critical art
"within the Revolution" were narrowed, as were those that were "neither
for nor against." In these political circumstances of survival and
increasing polarity, the mere idea of "apolitical" became suspect—a
global phenomenon that had a particular implication on the island. Hence
the original idea ended up distorting...
https://muse.jhu.edu
FROM PAGE # 15 The Expatriate Community
The Cuban diaspora comprises nearly two million people and has acquired a
prominent profile in its host societies. The remittances sent back to
Cuba, which economists estimate at between $500 million and $1 billion
annually, is a cornerstone of governance in Cuba and the primary
extra-governmental palliative to the impoverishment of the population.
This fact, and the attendant strengthening of ties between the two
communities, situates the Cuban expatriate community as a discernable
actor on the contemporary national scene. Its role will likely increase
if Cuban migration policies are liberalized, if there is continued
relaxation of the blockade, and if opportunities for investment in small
and medium-sized enterprises are provided. At the same time, it is
important to recall that this community is overwhelmingly
antiestablishment and will use its power of economic and cultural
cooptation for political change on the island, although maybe not in the
same way that the traditional right-wing sectors and speculators in
exile dreamed.
Up to now, we have been describing, implicitly or explicitly, a
transition process whose final destination should be discussed with a
view toward a better understanding the role these actors are likely to
play in the medium term. Some have described this transition as a
passage from the imperfect socialism that flourished in the 1970s and
the first half of the 1980s toward a superior version. This is a frankly
attractive interpretation, albeit one that is difficult to confirm
empirically. Others emphasize a transition model securely anchored in
the Eastern European experiences with a democratic endpoint, which is no
easier to verify than the first theory. These hypotheses probably
reflect two ideological positions rather than two different perceptions
of reality.
In my view, Cuba is moving from a statist, centralized, bureaucratic
socialist system toward a peripheral capitalist system. Describing this
transition as a move toward democracy is simply naïve. The transition to
capitalism will undoubtedly involve the emergence of a liberal
political structure, but one that is subject to demands for accumulation
of wealth that are hardly in keeping with a democratic system in which
everyday people make, rather than simply consume, policy. To believe
that this outcome can be altered to obtain a “superior socialism” is no
more realistic. The possibility of a socialist alternative is severely
curtailed both by an international climate that seems to remind us of
the Marxist premise that socialism cannot exist in just one country, and
by Cuban government policies that, although they are formulated in the
name of socialism, have obliterated any alternative in that direction.
The potential for this future system to be more democratic and
equitable despite the logic of peripheral capitalism, or even the
possibility that new socialist alternatives will be proposed in the
political arena, will depend in large part on the maturity and vocation
of the actors currently emerging (or transforming themselves) in Cuban
society. But several systemic challenges remain.
The first challenge is found in the economic sphere. Without
significant economic growth, the cumulative deficit in consumption could
become explosive, making it very difficult to maintain current social
spending levels. While the adverse international context—marked by the
U.S. blockade—is an aggravating factor in this regard, in strictly
technical terms the Cuban government has at its disposal a considerable
stock of domestic actions to shore up the economy that would have a
positive effect on production, services and employment. These actions
include further decentralization of large government enterprises based
on expansion of the business “streamlining” program designed by the
government, legalizing small and medium-sized businesses and granting
genuine autonomy to the rural cooperative system.
Nonetheless, the Cuban government has exhibited a stubborn reticence
to implement this type of action. It has argued for ideological
considerations (their pro-capitalist implications) while overlooking the
fact that any of these measures could be accompanied by other
approaches (such as co-management and worker-participation models,
cooperatives and so on) that would strengthen socialist spaces and the
participating actors in ways that would ultimately be more socialist
than their state-centered counterparts. The Cuban government’s
hesitation to move in this direction does not stem from anti-capitalist
sentiment, but rather from its corporate survival instinct, to the
extent that any step forward would generate an autonomous social dynamic
and a unification of currently fragmented markets, the latter being
essential for monitoring the emergent technocratic-business sector.
Consequently, the Cuban leadership finds itself at a complex crossroads
in which the only path toward increased economic growth implies the
weakening of its own power.
A second challenge is found in the international arena. U.S.
aggression toward Cuba follows a Monroe-style approach and reflects its
interest in bringing down an internal political protagonist. The United
States wants surrender, not negotiation. But it is equally clear that
the Cuban government has known how to use this variable to consolidate
internal support. In fact, after four decades of practice in the art of
confrontation, it is hard to imagine Cuban policy without it, or
consensus on the island absent the perception (real or contrived) of a
foreign threat. Yet even though the White House is currently under the
control of an irrationally unilateralist and ultra-right sector, the
U.S. blockade is continuing its march toward extinction. The key issue
here is the extent to which a normalization of relations with the United
States, or at least a substantial reduction in tensions, would weaken a
political discourse based largely on nationalistic considerations. Is
it possible, in a more relaxed scenario, to maintain bureaucratic
controls over the expression of the various actors, and particularly
over the political opposition? This represents yet another advance that
is plainly contradictory for the Cuban leadership.
The third area of contradiction centers on the political leadership
itself. The crisis has accentuated markedly the personalized approach to
politics revolving around the figure of Fidel Castro. The Cuban
President has been a pillar in maintaining the essential stream of
active support and preserving the unity of the political class. With his
accustomed dexterity, Castro has succeeded in repressing or taming
dissent within the post-revolutionary elite, overseeing the recruitment
of new members and simultaneously persuading much of the population that
the critical present is better than the panoply of potential futures
available in the political market.
It is easy to see that this extreme centralism will become an
unsolvable dilemma when the Cuban President disappears completely or
partially from the political scene, particularly since the system lacks
internal reconciliation and negotiation mechanisms. This could lead to
schisms between active Fidelistas—people whose political motivations are
intimately linked to the figure of the Cuban president—or within a
political class whose alleged unanimity is contingent upon the vigilant
care of a person of retirement age.
If the assertion regarding an inevitable liberalization of the Cuban
political system is not to remain wholly pessimistic, then one would
have to believe that new opportunities will open up to these actors and
that they will fill the Cuban political system with the many hues
required by a liberal political market. Evidence ex post facto of the
ideological and cultural strength of the Cuban Revolution will lie
precisely in the extent to which socialist values and goals can survive
as genuine alternatives rather than just as bitter references by
converts or the wistful outpourings of the nostalgic.
About the Author
Haroldo Dilla Alfonso is research coordinator at FLACSO, Dominican
Republic. He is editor of Los Recursos de la Gobernabilidad en la Cuenca
del Caribe (Nueva Sociedad, 2002), and author of numerous other books
and articles on decentralization, civil society, and social movements
in Cuba and the Caribbean.
Notes
A more extensive version of this article first appeared under the title
“Larval Actors, Uncertain Scenarios, and Cryptic Scripts: Where is Cuban
Society Headed?” in Changes in Cuban Society since the Nineties, Joseph
S. Tulchin et al, eds. Woodrow Wilson Center Reports on the Americas
#15 (Washington: Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars,
2005).
1. Haroldo Dilla, “Cuba: los escenarios cambiantes de la
gobernabilidad,” in Los recursos de la gobernabilidad en la Cuenca del
Caribe, ed. H. Dilla. (Caracas: Nueva Sociedad, 2002).
The African Union’s decision to nominate Sudan for
the United Nations Human Rights Council (HRC) elicited justifiable
outrage. Pressure from human rights groups and governments led Kenya to
announce its own election bid, causing Sudan to withdraw. This was a
welcome development; the notion of the genocidal government sitting on
the most visible U.N. human rights body was outrageous. However,
notorious human rights violators like Cuba, China, and Russia currently
sit on the Council; and even after Sudan’s withdrawal, other African
countries with dismal human rights records remain virtually assured of
election.
The lack of membership standards is a key reason behind the
Council’s poor record and, sadly, there is little chance for
establishing such standards. The Administration’s current strategy of
focusing limited diplomatic capital on annually blocking a particularly
egregious country while other, only slightly less objectionable states
win election is a losing game. Instead of lending credibility to this
flawed institution, the U.S. should seek to eliminate it and work to
establish a more effective human rights body with rigorous membership
standards.
Sudanese Candidacy: Emblematic of Fundamental Flaws
Sudan has a repressive government accused of massive human rights
violations, including genocide in Darfur and brutally repressing ethnic
and religious minorities in other parts of the country. Sudan deserves
intense scrutiny by the Council; it should not be passing judgment on
other state’s records as a HRC member.
Nonetheless, until Kenya announced its decision to run, Sudan was
nearly certain to win a seat on the Council. This was due to the
absence of meaningful membership standards provided by the General
Assembly when it established the HRC:[1]
Council members must be U.N. member states.
The 47 Council seats would be allocated by regional group: 13
for Africa; 13 for Asia; 6 for Eastern Europe; 8 for Latin America and
the Caribbean; and 7 for Western Europe and other states (WEOG).
Countries would be elected by secret ballot and must receive
an absolute majority in the General Assembly (97 out of 193 countries).
Conversely, it takes a two-thirds vote (129 votes) to “suspend the
rights of membership in the Council [for] gross and systematic
violations of human rights.”
Countries would be elected for three-year terms, with a third
of the seats being elected annually. Countries may serve a maximum of
two consecutive terms (six years), after which they “shall not be
eligible for immediate re-election,” and have to wait at least one year
before seeking another term.
Countries were urged to “take into account the contribution of
candidates to the promotion and protection of human rights and their
voluntary pledges and commitments made thereto.” However, this is not
mandatory.
“Clean Slate” Candidacy
Because there are no meaningful human rights standards, any
country—even those with deplorable records like Sudan—are eligible.
Regional groups frequently game the system to facilitate their
candidacies by offering the same number of candidates as there are open
seats. This practice, referred to as offering a “clean slate,” maximizes
the chances for each candidate to receive the 97 vote majority
necessary to win a seat.
This was the situation before Kenya was convinced to run by human rights groups and governments opposed to Sudan’s candidacy.[2] The Africa Group offered five candidates for the five open African seats on the Council.[3]
With only five candidates for five seats, Sudan was a virtual lock to
win. When Kenya entered, the African slate became competitive.[4] Sudan decided to withdraw shortly after, likely to avoid the embarrassment of losing.
Sudan’s withdrawal is obviously positive. However, none of the
2013 African candidates have good human rights records. Freedom House
ranks Cote d’Ivoire, Gabon, and Ethiopia as “not free,” and Sierra Leone
and Kenya as merely “partly free.”[5]
Thus, even though Sudan has withdrawn, when combined with previously
elected countries the African group will be represented on the Council
in 2013 by seven “not free” countries (more than in any previous year),
four “partly free” countries, and only 2 “free” countries.
Deficiencies in membership are one of the key reasons behind the
Council’s fundamental shortcomings: bias against Israel, willful
inattention to serious human rights situations, and a weak and
politicized Universal Periodic Review (UPR).[6]
The lack of meaningful membership standards are likely permanent after
nearly all of the substantive reform proposals—including U.S. proposals
establishing stronger criteria for candidates and requiring regions to
offer competitive slates—were rejected during the 2011 review.[7]
Bereft of institutional filters, those opposed to human rights
violators being elected to the HRC are forced to mount annual campaigns
hoping to block their election. But not every unworthy candidate can be
the focus of such an effort, thus only the most egregious are targeted
each year while the slightly less awful candidates win election. The
2013 candidates likely to win election with poor to terrible human
rights records are: Cote d’Ivoire, Ethiopia, Gabon, Kazakhstan, Kenya,
Pakistan, Sierra Leone, United Arab Emirates, and Venezuela.[8]
2013: A Brief Window of Opportunity
Africa is not the only region to offer a clean slate to ensure
that countries with poor human rights records have greater chances of
winning a seat on the Council. Every region except WEOG has offered the
same number of candidates as vacancies in 2013. This situation, along
with the fact that Freedom House ranks all five WEOG candidates (for
three vacancies) as “free,” makes projecting the human rights
composition of the Council for 2013 simple: the number of “free”
countries should increase from 20 to 23 and the number of “not free”
countries should decrease from 12 to 10.
This improvement is not due to more prudent selection, but from
the requirement for countries that served two consecutive terms to cycle
off the Council for at least one year. This means that “not free”
countries like Cameroon, China, Cuba, Russia, and Saudi Arabia—whose
terms end in 2012—cannot run for re-election this year.
China, Cuba, and Russia have been instrumental in undermining the
work of the Council and their 2013 absence could open a brief window
for a more effective Council before they are almost certainly re-elected
next year. However, this temporary opportunity should not be confused
with fundamental improvement. Council membership is likely to reach new
lows in 2014, when those countries are eligible to return.
The brevity of the potential window speaks volumes. Moreover,
considering the number of countries with deplorable human rights records
cycling off the Council, it is disappointing that the membership is set
to improve so little in 2013.
Time for a New Approach
The U.S. should reject this institutionalized bias, mediocrity, and ineffectiveness. Instead, the U.S. should:
Not seek re-election and eschew the Council unless direct U.S interests are involved;
Propose eliminating the Council and shifting its
responsibilities—such as receiving the reports of the special
procedures—to the 3rd Committee; and
Establish a more effective alternative body outside the U.N. to examine and promote human rights practices.
The Obama Administration has sought to positively influence
the Council, but these efforts have rarely been successful and, when so,
modest. Most notably, the 2011 review failed to institute meaningful
reforms, particularly membership standards. As a result, the HRC will
continue to be dysfunctional, differing only in degrees from
disappointing to shameful, and fall far short of the standard that the
premier U.N. human rights body should meet.
—Brett D. Schaefer is Jay Kingham Fellow in
International Regulatory Affairs in the Margaret Thatcher Center for
Freedom, a division of the Kathryn and Shelby Cullom Davis Institute for
International Studies, at The Heritage Foundation and editor of ConUNdrum: The Limits of the United Nations and the Search for Alternatives (Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2009).
https://www.heritage.org
Civil Society In Cuba: The Logic of Emergence in Comparative Perspective
Juan Carlos EspinosaThe
resurgence of civil society was credited with playing a critical role
in the transitions of the socalled Third Wave of democracy (1974-1987).
Social movements, human right organizations, churches, and other forms
of organized “people power” mobilized repressed populations against
authoritarian governments throughout the world and helped bring about
regime change from Portugal to the Philippines. The unexpected fourth
wave which came in the wake of the collapse of European communist
regimes and the disappearance of the Soviet Union was also declared a
triumph of civil society against the state by many observers. Vladimir
Tismaneanu (1992) was representative when he asserted that the main
cause of the East European revolutions was “the rise and ripening of
civil societies in countries long dominated by totalitarian Leninist
parties” (p. xiii). However, not all communist party-states succumbed
during the critical years 1989-1991. Contrary to early optimistic
reports, civil societies did not “rise” in all communist polities, even
in those where transitions away from communism took place. Ironically,
three of the five communist “survivors”—China, Cuba, and Vietnam—had
more prominent dissident movements and a greater level of independent
social activity in the late 1980s than some of the victims of the
Leninist extinction.1 The enduring party-states were not immune to the
world crisis of communism, however their regime elites were able to
survive the conjunctural crisis and maintain political control through
the deft combination of repression and reform. The persistence of these
party-state regimes requires a closer look at the dynamic of emergence
and its relation to regime change.This paper describes the emergence of civil society in Cuba in the
context of systemic crisis and regime response, broader changes in
state-society relations and of its “nontransition” (López 1999). The
Cuban case is compared with developments in other communist party-states
including the handful of regimes that resisted the democratizing fourth
wave. The “logic of emergence,” a four-step process describing the
advent of civil societies in communist states delineated by Marcia
Weigle and Jim Butterfield (1992), will be used as a starting point to
examine the Cuban case. The paper concludes with speculations about the
future of state-society relations in Cuba.
The emergence of civil society organizations that seek autonomy from
the state by definition signifies an essential change in the nature of a
communist-party regime and a challenge to its very coherence and
legitimacy. This is a collective phenomenon much broader than the
presence of isolated intellectual dissidence and more vital than the
activities of coopted pre-revolutionary organizations or the
cloistered churches.2 It also implies that public space has been ceded,
lost, or abandoned by the state and that social actors have pressed from
below (and sometimes from within the regime) to occupy these spaces.
Although the party-state remains dominant in almost every aspect of
Cuba’s public life, the changes described in this paper evidence that
the logic of emergence is at work on the island.
CIVIL SOCIETY DEFINED
The term civil society has a double life: first as an analytical
category for scholars, and second, as a rallying cry for political
activists. As such, it has been subject to considerable conceptual
stretching and wishful thinking. In this paper, it is an ideal-type used
as a conceptual model to aid in the understanding of the social
realities and dynamics of the Cuban polity. Civil society is defined as
the realm of public groups and associations created for the purpose of
articulating or representing individual or group interests. It plays an
intermediary role between individual/family interests and the state,
other actors, and forces such as the market. One of the defining
qualities of a polity is the level of autonomy that civil society enjoys
vis-à-vis the state. As such, it cannot be understood in isolation from
other elements of the polity.3 The presence or absence of a civil
society is dependent to a great extent on the level of development and
the nature of the political regime. Civil societies arise from the
increasing complexity of social and economic life and the proliferation
of interests, identities, and causes, thus, a particular civil society
is the result of unique combinations of structures, cultures and values,
and of notions of public versus private spheres.
PRECONDITIONS FOR EMERGENCE
Weigle and Butterfield (1992) concluded that the “seeds” of civil
society sprouted in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union as a result of a
systemic crisis brought about by “the failure of the regimes to
adequately perform self-defined functions of value formation and
interest representation” and by “the failure of regimes to respond to
needs of a complex society and modern economy” (p. 5, 18). They describe
four stages in the development of civil society:
• defensive–private individuals and independent groups actively or passively defend their autonomy from the party-state;
• emergent–independent social groups or movements seek
limited goals in a widened public sphere which is sanctioned or conceded
by the reforming party-state;
• mobilizational–independent groups or movements
undermine the legitimacy of the partystate offering alternative forms of
governance to a politicized society; and
• institutional–in which publicly supported leaders
enact laws guaranteeing autonomy of social action, leading to a
contractual relationship between the state and society regulated
eventually by free elections.
The first two stages were shaped, to a great extent, by the shared
characteristics of communist party regimes, while the latter two depend
largely on historical precedent, political culture, nationalism, and the
level of institutional development (pp. 1-2). The stages themselves
contain complex characteristics and events. In order to understand how
the process is initiated, one must examine the nature of the regime, the
severity of the systemic crisis, the capabilities of the state, the
status of societal initiative, political culture, and historical
trajectory.
Where and how does civil society emerge in polities that by
definition have eliminated it? The most important (and obvious)
preconditions for the emergence of civil society are the survival of
independent thought and of some vestige of pre-revolutionary patterns of
social organization. Foundational communist systems eliminated
opposition to the new order and dissolved independent sources of power
that might rival the Communist Party such as other political parties,
trade unions, professional associations, religious organizations, as
well as any vestiges of the ancien régime. Pre-existing non-communist
organizations were banned, coopted, or merged into new entities created
by the state, while the majority of the population was inducted into
mass organizations that would serve as “transmission belts” for the
party. Alternative visions that differed from the communist regime
hibernated or dissimulated acquiescence in order to survive.
The costs of individual or collective action were very high
especially in the mobilizational periods when opposition was weeded
out—the consequences of opposition were exile, death or lengthy
imprisonment in the gulags (see Courtois, Werth, et. al. 1998).4 In
Stalinist Europe, with the exception of pockets of anti-communist
guerrilla activity that lasted into the early 1950s, collective
resistance was passive, taking non-political guises such as cultural,
ethnic or religious activity, or was spontaneous and violent, such as
the riots of 1953 in East Germany and Poland.
The emergence or re-emergence of civil society cannot occur unless
the onerous conditions of foundational regimes are alleviated. The
“reformation” of classical communist regimes took place in the wake of
the death of the founding leaders (e.g., Josef Stalin, Mao Zedong, Ho
Chi Minh).5 The main characteristics of these reforms were: the
decentralization of political power away from the maximum leader towards
the party apparatus in a more collegial process that reemphasized
Lenin’s concept of democratic centralism; the end of the widespread use
of state terror which was replaced by more subtle, “hegemonic” forms of
social domination; and a renegotiation of the coercive compact between
the patronal state and the society.6 This is the environment in which
the defensive stage of emergence occurs.
The defensive stage is actually a period of complex interactions that
result in conditions which permit the public articulation of divergent
views. We can identify three characteristic modes of the defensive
stage: decompression, liberalization, and retrenchment. The first signs
of “life” are triggered by social decompression, i.e., the elimination
of mass terror and the reinforcement of the private domain by
individuals. The party-state relieves pressure without making
substantial reforms—it is mostly a question of less energetic
enforcement of repressive laws, a toning down of ideological rhetoric,
and a cautious tolerance toward traditional cultural expression. The
“seeds” of civil society that have survived the violence of the
communist takeover and the terror of the mobilizational phase of the
regime begin to sprout during this period, particularly among
intellectuals and religious groups.
A closer look shows that the catalyst for emergence is a change in
the political regime that allows the lowering of the costs of individual
and collective self-organization and the “opening” of public space. The
change may be due to a conscious effort at reform, the diminution or
erosion of state capabilities, an unintentional result of conjunctural
conditions, or a combination of any of the three. This is the signal for
divergences or “dissents” from Communism to publicly appear from
“above” and from “below” (see Figure 1).
Divergences “from above” in Communist polities emerged from within
party elites during the transition from Stalinism to
post-totalitarianism, first in the form of revisionism, and later of
dissidence.7 These forms of opposition emerge in the political realm.
Revisionism is a critique of the party from within the party in order to
“perfect” it, usually appealing to communist utopic ideals to criticize
bureaucratism and other “deformations” of socialism (e.g., Lev Trotsky,
Rudolf Bähro). Dissent is essentially defined as “a difference of
opinion or feeling.” Although dissidence is isolated and confined at
first to urban intellectuals (predominantly former party members,
revisionists or dissidents), it serves as an example to potential
activists and the community-at-large.8
Divergence “from below” emerges as dissent or social resistance in
the social realm and is motivated by political, economic, social,
religious, ethnic, or national differences with the authorities (Ionescu
1967, p. 179).9 Dissent from below emerges among the lower status
intelligentsia and students motivated by political or ideological
reasons and tends to aggregate in educational and cultural entities.
Ironically, many of the institutions that are the locus of dissent were
created by the state and many of the new dissidents are youthful
“products” of the new order. Social resistance is prompted by economic,
social, religious, and other types of grievances against the
party-state. The form taken depends to some extent on the type of
grievance, (i.e., a work-related complaint might spawn a strike). Social
resistance also organizes using traditional networks and remaining
pre-revolutionary institutions such as churches and fraternal
organizations. 10
Liberalization can follow periods of decompression. Liberalization
involves actual political reforms that permit a pluralization of social
life and some economic reforms that address the systemic crises that
beset the inflexible structures of communist party-states.11 Thomas F.
Remington (1993) states that a theory of transition from communism
should be based on the knowledge of how the regime and the society
“influence and penetrate each other, and how that relationship changes
during the transition itself.”12 This moment permits the articulation of
revisionism and dissent in more active or public ways, often with the
tacit assent of reformist party elites and sometimes with the open
adoption of revisionist agendas (e.g. Prague Spring). Divergent views
usually appear first in the realm of culture (e.g. literature, theater).
Dissent also aggregates around other issue areas: political grievances
concerning civic rights, particularly human rights; national, regional,
or ethnic grievances; social or economic grievances; and religious
practice (Ionescu 1967, p. 179). Remnants of pre-revolutionary social
life, such as the churches, tended to move cautiously given their
institutional interest in survival and their negative experiences with
the communist regimes. They can regain some initiative if the commitment
of a core of practicing believers has survived and if the local church
leadership can navigate the uncharted waters of liberalization.
Retrenchment is a reversal of either decompression or of
liberalization. The continuation or expansion of reform is dependent on a
number of factors, but the perception of regime elites is central.
Their perspective helps determine the willingness of the leadership to
tolerate opposition and their ability to maintain regime elite unity in
the face of self-organizing society. Regime elites will stay the course
if they see that political power and regime legitimacy are enhanced by
the changes in the coercive compact. Early successes might even allow
discreet reformists to deepen the reforms which allow civil society to
move to its next stage, the emergent phase. However, the moment regime
elites sense danger, they clamp down on dissent and on independent
economic and social activity. If elites can maintain unity in the midst
of a systemic crisis, they can reequilibrate through the use or threat
of force, and later renegotiate the coercive compact with the
population. If regime elites split and cannot resolve the impasse, a
regime breakdown is likely to occur, and a transition to democracy may
be possible with the presence of an embryonic civil society.
The emergent stage as described by Weigle and Butterfield (1992),
requires a deepening of liberalization that results in an expanded
public sphere and reforms to the party-state that allow independent
social groups or movements to operate and seek limited goals. The
reforms probably take place in the context of intra-party debate and
social restiveness. Liberalization can proceed to a pluralization phase
when there is a minimum if tacit consensus between regime moderates and
gradualist elements in the leadership of civil society. This period is
inherently unstable due to the potential for divisions in the party
between pro- and anti- reform elements and can result in a reversal of
reform, a crackdown on independent activity, and a purge of reformist
party elements. Another source of tension is the escalating demands of
newlyemboldened individuals who press the state and nonstate
institutions alike in the defense of their personal and group interests.
The radical elements of civil society can move the process towards
the mobilizational stage if they can compel the preponderance of the
civil society leadership into conspicuously political questions about
the nature of the regime. The politicized groups are no longer speaking
of dissent or reform, but as an alternative to the communist party
regime. To do this, they must fashion an opposition coalition, create or
accumulate their own resources, and communicate to the people through
some sort of mass media. If they succeed at mobilizing large numbers of
people against the regime, the communist party-state must respond. This
is a moment of criticality for the posttotalitarian regime as its
legitimacy is being undermined, its authority is eroding, and its
options dwindling. Regime elites must resolve their impasse and move
either to end independent political activity, or continue the process of
pluralization into the next stage, the institutional phase.
REGIME CRISIS, STATE AND SOCIETY IN CUBA
“ . . . the [social] contradictions repressed by legal means will, by
necessity, emerge illegally at the margins. Despite the rigid
totalitarian structure, the emergence of parallel trade unions, human
rights committees, and independent cultural, religious, and ecological
associations, is inevitable. Thus, even under the conditions of this
society, an ‘opposition’ is generated . . .” —Ariel Hidalgo (1994, pp.
46-47).
Ariel Hidalgo’s prophetic words refer to the emergence of dissident,
opposition, and independent social organizations that began to
proliferate in Cuba in the late 1980s-early 1990s in the context of a
systemic crisis of social domination.13 Despite the regime’s unique
origins, Cuba was not immune to the world crisis of communism. Starting
in 1986, it had to take a number of measures to deal with the economic,
social, political, and ideological challenges presented by the
exhaustion of socialist accumulation and the bankruptcy of Marxist
ideology.14 The Cuban regime along with a few other hardline communist
dictatorships (Czechoslovakia, GDR, Romania) responded to the systemic
crisis not with reform, but with resistance to change, a rejection of
glasnost’ and perestroika, and by appealing to ideological orthodoxy
while relying on intensified political controls. Fidel Castro and the
others who resisted reform were proven right. Political reforms led to
increasing autonomy from the state for individuals, groups, and
organizations. János Kornai (1992), in his landmark study of the
political economy of communist systems, wrote:
… reforming tendencies increase the autonomy of individuals, groups,
and organizations in several respects. This applies to independent
political movements, associations in society, private businesses,
selfgoverning local authorities, self-managed firms, stateowned firms
that become more independent in accordance with the ideas of market
socialism, and so on. Various degrees of autonomy and subordination
appear, but within them the weight of autonomy grows as a result of the
reform, and as it increases, so the totalitarian power of the central
leadership decreases. Once some degree of autonomy has taken place, it
becomes a self-generating process … (p. 569).
The demise of the Soviet Union and the socialist bloc left Cuba
bereft of political allies, trading partners, and of the massive Soviet
subsidy estimated at $65 billion between 1960-1990. Cuba, already
flailing with the failures of the rectification, plunged further into a
profound crisis euphemistically called “the Special Period in Time of
Peace” (SP).15
One of the consequences of the SP was the shrinking of the Cuban
state and the deterioration of its ability to control society. These
developments prompted changes in the socio-political opportunity
structure shaped, in part, by societal responses to a decline in state
capabilities, changes in the international environment, and the
unexpected consequences of the limited economic reforms and political
adjustments made in the period 1992-1994.16 Up to that time, the regime
had avoided substantial changes making concessions only when it felt it
could balance the potential risks and benefits with its “control of the
streets.”17 It called upon its usual repertoire of responses to social
discontent and to emergent interests or groups: open cooperation,
cooptation, preemption, mere toleration, and open antagonism
(Butterfield and Weigle 1991, pp. 176-184). In addition, the regime
utilized its “exile option,” the exportation of real or potential
opponents to other countries. This policy, which has been so vital to
the consolidation and survival of the revolution, in essence decapitated
the emergent civil society organizations, delaying the process the
emergence and robbing the Cuba of human resources capable of playing an
important role in the future of the polity. However, as the regime soon
found out, its policies also resulted in the proliferation of new groups
and the rise of a new generation of leaders. It seemed that for every
dissident that went into exile, ten more appeared on the scene.
The impact of the changes were not limited to the emergent
contestatory sector. Indeed, between 1986 and 1993, the regime permitted
decompression in selected sectors of Cuban life while continuing its
policy of repression in others.18 Among the most relevant political
changes that affected state-society relations were: the creation of a
Cuban “non”-governmental organization sector, an increase in the role of
foreign NGOs and international agencies in Cuba, and the decision to
allow religious believers to join the Communist Party. These
developments contributed to the revitalization of the public sphere and
the slow reconstitution of civil society. By the end of 1995, a very
different public sphere had replaced the sterile, monist arrangement of
the Castro-Leninist state (see Figure 2).
Associative life in Cuba (Figure 2), can be divided into three parts:
socialist civil society, alternative civil society, and informal civil
society.19 The term ‘civil society’ is used in all three expressions for
the sake of simplicity and because autonomy is an issue of contestation
even in the officially sanctioned realm. The defining characteristic
for all of the groups is the relationship with the party-state, a
relationship that has been conflict-ridden, even for the government
organized non-governmental organizations (GONGOs). 20 The boundaries
between the three categories are actually permeable—a group may transit
from level to another and there is a substantial unofficial network of
contacts and communications in the shadow of the party-state and
security apparatus. In fact, the kinds of behaviors and practices with
the creation of social capital are found in all three categories,
including in mass organizations.21
The Cuban government defined socialist civil society (SCS) as the
totality of mass organizations and legal NGOs and associations
registered under Law-Decree 54 (Hart 1995; see also Ministerio de
Justicia 1989).22 In 1995, the zenith of the “NGO boom” in Cuba, the
government recognizes over 2,200 organizations as “non-governmental”
(Trueba 1995). Many of the NGOs are “re-labeled” mass organizations such
as the Federation of Cuban Women (FMC), the National Association of
Small Farmers (ANAP), and the Committees for the Defense of the
Revolution (CDR). Some NGOs are new, such as Ideas Bank Z, a promotional
group for young artists that describes itself as an “independent and
non-profit project” that is “free of esthetic [sic] exclusions” (Ideas
Bank Z: 2).23 Other well-known Cuban NGOs include the Cuban Council of
Churches, the Félix Varela Center, and the Martin Luther King, Jr.
Center. Unlike many developing countries where NGOs often represent
non-state interests, sometimes even anti-state groups, NGOs in Cuba must
be in agreement with Cuban state, and are often creations of the state:
“In Cuba, relations between government institutions and civil society
do not have an objective or a subjective basis for the development of
antagonism, but instead for cooperative relationships” (Mensaje de Cuba
1995, p. 8).24
Friction occurred frequently between the state and the new NGO sector
(Gunn-Clissold 1997) as the limits of autonomy were tested throughout
1995.25 Until finally, in 1996 the regime cracked down on a the
activities of Cuban NGOs seen as havens for regime reformers and
“fifth-columnists” by the regime. The most notorious case was the
destruction of the Center for the Study of the Americas (CEA), a former
Communist Party thinktank rechristened as an NGO (see Raúl Castro 1996;
Guiliano 1998 for the CEA).26 The impact was different on the two
targeted sectors. While the oppositionist alternative civil society
reappeared fragmented but vigorous within months and tripled the number
of organizations on the island by 1998, the state-initiated sector never
fully recovered the autonomy it enjoyed from 1993- 1995.
Informal civil society (ICS) is somewhat of a misnomer because the
groups and practices it describes generally do not have institutional
forms and do not purposefully seek a public identity.27 ICS has an
ambiguous relationship to the state and to the other realms of social
life. Its existence allows for the channeling of social needs and
interests into modalities that help diffuse tensions and do not directly
challenge the authorities.28 ICS is also the arena for illicit
practices that can subvert the official policies. ICS is, in effect, a
kind of proto-civil society that never quite solidifies—ephemeral,
instrumental, subterranean, and consciously non-political. It is in part
a range of behaviors, practices, and networks that help identify a
realm of social action often found within the institutional shells of
more solid entities. ICS serves as a support and a threat to the
established interests of the party-state. Some of the more visible
examples of ICS are Abakúa societies, Spiritualist Circles, Gay and
Lesbian social networks, neighborhood groups created to address local
problems, Radio Listening Circles, etc.
This is the realm where the “hidden transcript” is found—the stage
for the “infrapolitics of the powerless” (Scott 1990, p.xiii). It is
also the locus for the creation of social capital that serves as a
mechanism for survival within the system for individuals, as a guarantor
of the survival of the party-state system which requires conduits for
the off-the-record deals and bargaining necessitated by the structural
inefficiencies of centrally-planned economies and labyrinthine
bureaucracies, and as a human and material resource base for the
emerging civil society.
The third type of civil society in Cuba serves as a public
institutional alternative to the state-approved socialist civil society.
This alternative civil society (ACS) consists of the following: (1)
non-political groups not recognized legally by the state; (2)
prerevolutionary institutions which by choice remain outside the
officially circumscribed “socialist civil society” 29; and (3)
organizations involved in dissident, opposition, or independent social
activism. These are not clandestine organizations—they function in the
public realm within the limits imposed by state repression and material
limitations. They have institutional identities, publicly stated
purposes, goals, and programs, as well as established leaders, members,
and supporters. Some even have transnational links with diasporic or
foreign organizations.30 They are voluntary, purposive, public,
spontaneous groups that aspire to greater autonomy from the state in
order to fulfill their objectives. It is this group of organizations
that most directly challenge the societal vision of the communist
party-state.31 The theoretical and strategic importance of the
phenomenon of emergence and of its implications for a regime change or
democratic transition fuel much of the ongoing research and programmatic
activities of prodemocracy organizations in Cuba and in the diaspora
(Espinosa 1999b).
THE EMERGENCE OF CIVIL SOCIETY IN CUBA
The process of emergence in Cuba followed the pattern of other
communist party-states noted by Weigle and Butterfield (1992). Despite
the decades of repression and the exile of the most of prerevolutionary
civil society’s leaders, independent thought and key pre-revolutionary
institutions such as the Roman Catholic Church survived.32 The main
pre-conditions were met thus permitting the slow process of emergence to
commence when conditions allowed. The proclamation of a socialist
republic and the Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961 hastened the dissolution
of the remaining “islands of autonomy” so that by 1970, persons with
alternative visions were imprisoned, dead, exiled or rendered mute by
the state authorities.33 The costs of individual or collective
resistance to the revolutionary government were quite high, especially
in the takeover (1959-1961) and mobilizational periods (1962-1970).34
However, neither the repressive power of the state or the loss of
opposition elites to prison and exile could prevent widespread
individual resistance using what James C. Scott calls “the weapons of
the weak” or sporadic collective action that would serve in later years
as precedents for dissent, opposition, and other forms of independent
social action.
As the revolutionary government attempted to institutionalize its
power in a political organization during the early 1960s, it also ran
into opposition from the left. This was a ‘revisionist’ opposition that
emerged among the Communist elite and intellectuals which appealed to
the utopian values of socialism, and referred to a ‘revolution
betrayed.’35 Their entry into the political prison system of Cuba
signaled the determination of the Castro regime to impose its monocratic
vision even on its own erstwhile supporters. It also marked an
important change in the composition of the political prison population,
which after 1968, would increasingly include Marxists and former
Marxists.36 In fact, a substantial part of the leadership of the human
rights and political dissident movement came out of the left opposition
to the Castro regime including figures such as Ricardo Bofill, Adolfo
Rivero Caro, and Ariel Hidalgo.
Religious practice was the only public form of dissent that was
tolerated, albeit under significant restrictions. Believers and their
children were kept under special scrutiny and were denied access to a
wide category of educational and job opportunities. The regime harshly
persecuted Jehovah’s Witnesses and Seventh-Day Adventists, and sent
dozens of Catholic priests, Protestant ministers, and babalawos to
prison. The government also made an effort to coopt or penetrate
religious denominations. In sum, the regime watched the practice of all
religion in Cuba as if it were a potent source of political opposition.
The realm of culture, which had been one of the last bastions of
non-conformist expression, saw its privileges inexorably shrink
throughout the 1960s culminating in the imposition of socialist realism
in 1971 (Congress on Culture and Education). Writers and artists who
rejected the ideological controls produced work in isolation, sought
departure, or went silent. A few continued to illegally circulate their
work fueling a growing samizdat movement during the early 1970s. In many
ways, the cultural figures of the 1960s and 1970s, were the first Cuban
dissidents. But even individuals without an agenda could run afoul of
the system during this period. “Any independent activity challenged the
central principle, and the dominant feature, of the system of real
socialism, namely ‘the leading role of the party’. No matter how
limited, or how personal, any manifestation of independence was, it was
feared by the authorities as something which defied the ruling ideology
and threatened their exercise of supreme power in every nook and cranny
of life. However non-political it was, such activity at once became
political, and was treated as such by official circles” (Skilling 1989,
pp. 73-74). Thus having long hair, wearing tight pants, listening to
American rock music, growing garlic and selling it to your neighbors,
and other seemingly innocuous activities, could land a Cuban in jail.
The social organizations and activities that constitute emerging
civil society in Cuba existed literally and figuratively outside the
confines of the Communist party-state and its model of socialist
society. They emanate from five major sources: (1) the state itself; (2)
remnants of pre-revolutionary civil society, especially the churches
and fraternal organizations; (3) revisionists and dissidents from the
Cuban Communist Party; (4) dissident and human rights movements; and (5)
informal personal and social networks (Espinosa 1998b).
These groups emerged (or re-emerged) into the public sphere in phases
consistent with the first two stages of the “logic of emergence.” As in
the other communist party-states, consolidation (1970-1986) meant a
slight decompression in some sectors of life, no relief in others (e.g.
the “gray quinquenium” in culture), and to some extent, a
“normalization” of the dictatorship. This period coincided with the
adoption of Soviet models and systems, Cuban integration into the Soviet
bloc, and with a steady outflow of exiles mainly to the United States,
Spain, and Venezuela.
Those who opposed the communist system who had not left or gone
silent, were in jail as political prisoners. Paradoxically, Cuba’s
political prison system functioned as a greenhouse for dissident and
opposition thought throughout the period from 1970 to 1986.37 It would
not be an exaggeration to say that today’s ACS was born in prison. In
fact, many of the early human rights and political opposition movements
were germinated or gestated in the political prisons of Cuba during the
1980s.
GO TO PAGE # 35
Stay or Go? Cuban Entrepreneurs Divided on Where to Stake Futures
Antonio
and Sandra Camacho Rodríguez, both in the background, named their
bakery in Havana the Burner Brothers, a reference to all the cookies
they scorched on their way to opening the shop.Credit...Mauricio Lima for The New York Times
HAVANA
— As an inside joke about all the cookies they scorched on the road to
establishing a successful bakery, Antonio and Sandra Camacho Rodríguez
named their Havana sweets shop the Burner Brothers.
To
them, it was a metaphor for the relentless trial and error it took for
two inexperienced and untrained chefs — she is a doctor, and her brother
was a salesman — to start a business in a communist country that was
taking its first steps in private enterprise.
As tens of thousands of Cuban millennials give up on Cuba
and head north, the Camachos are part of an expanding class of
entrepreneurs who are opting to remain, betting on Cuba’s future despite
serious challenges.
“There’s an
extremely powerful emerging market right now in Cuba,” said Mr. Camacho,
26, standing in their tiny shop, where cookies are 10 cents each, in
Havana’s Vedado neighborhood. “To me, it’s easier to become part of an
emerging market than to try to make it in some other country, where the
market was created years ago.”
As President Obamamet with President Raúl Castro
of Cuba on Monday, a surprising statistic loomed over the two leaders:
More than twice as many Cubans went to live in the United States last
year than in 1959, when Mr. Castro’s brother Fidel came to power and
unleashed a wave of migration that altered South Florida forever.
While
Mr. Obama attended a conference Monday afternoon with American business
leaders and new entrepreneurs who are breathing life into a dying
economy here, Cuba is bleeding doctors, small-business owners,
construction workers and waitresses. Even with the country’s new
restaurateurs and innkeepers, more beauticians have put down their
clippers and more farmers have left their crops behind.
Youths
alongside the Malecón, a seaside esplanade, roadway and sea wall in
Havana. Even as tens of thousands of Cubans have given up on their
homeland, millions have opted to stay.Credit...Mauricio Lima for The New York Times
“If
you take a census of Cuba now, I’m not sure what would be left,” said
Jenny Heredia Ocaña, 33, a former hospital administrator who recently
closed her beauty salon in Havana and left for the United States.
On
her way she was marooned for months in Costa Rica, shuffling between
migrant shelters where she encountered thousands of fellow Cubans.
Federal
figures show that at least 63,000 Cubans moved to the United States
last year, the bulk of them crossing the southwestern border on foot.
More than 250,000 Cubans have been granted residency during the Obama
administration alone — enough to populate a city almost the size of
Orlando, Fla.
In 2014, 122,000 Cubans
were on the waiting list to join their families, one of the longest
lists for American visas in the world.
“If
the Cuban economy continues to falter, many Cubans will vote with their
feet,” said Richard E. Feinberg, the author of “Open for Business,” a
book about Cuba’s new economy.
Yet even as tens of thousands of Cubans have given up on their homeland, millions have opted to stay.
“Maybe
50,000 or 75,000 people left — that still means 11.2 million are still
there,” said Mr. Feinberg, whose book includes a chapter on millennials
who have chosen to remain in Cuba.
Under
new rules that allow private enterprise, the Cuban government had
issued about 496,000 small business licenses by the end of last year.
Nearly one-third of those business owners are young people.
“When
people started to travel and could do so without being forced to stay
abroad, it changed life here — the way people lived, the way they
dressed,” said Emisleidy Maza Ramos, 27, who holds a number of jobs,
including at her boyfriend’s food delivery business. “There’s a
difference in the air.”
Alvin Pino
Estrada, the owner of D’Abuela (“Grandma’s”), opened his business a
month ago and employs 12 people. He said he struggled to find supplies
like napkins and plastic forks, raw materials like potatoes, and
industrial equipment.
“It has to
work,” said Mr. Pino Estrada, a former musician who returned to Cuba
after living in Spain for three years. “I’m not motivated to leave.”
Charles
Shapiro, a former American ambassador to Venezuela who heads the World
Affairs Council of Atlanta and travels frequently to Cuba, said people
who stayed were increasingly able to live comfortably, particularly in
contrast to neighbors who earn $25 a month in state jobs.
“I
met a tour guide who was recently offered a scholarship to get a
master’s in Washington, who makes $1,000 a week in tips,” Mr. Shapiro
said. “He’s staying.”
The biggest problem in growing entrepreneurship, he added, is the stranglehold on the supply chain.
“The supply of spare parts, for food, for toilet paper, it’s in the hands of the government,” he said.
Igor
Thondike, who worked as a glassmaker in Cuba and recently moved to
Tampa, Fla., said many new business owners back home could not get
materials. Shoemakers, he said, could not find leather and “lost their
investments.”
Ihosvany Oscar Artiles
Ferrer, 44, a veterinarian who worked in Camagüey but recently moved to
Queens, said the lack of wholesalers to buy supplies from made it
difficult to eke out a profit.
“The private business is like a handkerchief the government puts over everything to be able to say to the United Nations that in Cuba people own small businesses,” Mr. Artiles said.
“In
the beginning, almost all of us were revolutionaries,” he added. “But
now, we quit all that because we don’t believe in Fidel, in the
revolution, in socialism or anything.”
The
Obama administration clearly hopes that as the Castro government moves
toward economic reform and Washington permits more commerce and travel,
more Cubans will stay put, slowing the steady stream of exits that has
contributed to a broader migration crisis.
But
Cuba also benefits from those who leave. Many businesses on the island
begin with the remittances émigrés send back from the United States. The
Camachos said that it took about $25,000 to start a business like their
cookie company, and that they were fortunate to count on American
citizens in their immediate family.
Benjamin
J. Rhodes, the White House’s point man on Cuba, said last week that
“greater economic activity in the island is going to be good for the
Cuban people.”
“It’s going to be a
source of empowerment for them,” said Mr. Rhodes, the president’s deputy
national security adviser. “It’s going to improve their livelihoods.”
But
Cuba’s foreign minister, Bruno Rodríguez, scoffed at the empowerment
reference and blamed Washington for the exodus. Many Cubans have said
they have rushed to leave because they fear that after normalizing
relations, Mr. Obama will do away with migratory policies that give
Cubans special status in the United States.
Such
American laws are “selective, politically motivated and encourage
illegal, unsafe and disorderly migration,” Mr. Rodríguez said at a news
conference on Thursday.
Holly
Ackerman, who studies Cuban migration at Duke University, said this
recent wave of migration was still smaller than other episodes, like the
rafter exodus in 1994 and the Mariel boatlift in 1980, which were
directly prompted by the Cuban government.
“This
is a self-initiated surge,” Ms. Ackerman said. “If it were
government-initiated surge, it would be a stampede at this point.”
Carry on spying
It has been billed as
the biggest Cuban espionage trial since the missile crisis of the early
60s. But did Red Ovispa, Havana's Florida intelligence network, actually
uncover any secrets? Julian Borger on the impoverished agents who were too tired to spy
Maggie Becker is still trying to adjust to
the strange turn her life has taken since moving down to Key West.
Fifteen years ago, she left Pennsylvania and came to the Sunshine State
in search of a relaxed way of life and a cosmopolitan community. What
she also found was love with a sweet-natured, idealistic
salsa-instructor from Cuba, who wrote romantic poems and got by on a
series of odd jobs. By 1998, a life was finally beginning to take
shape. Maggie was working as a massage therapist and her boyfriend,
Antonio Guerrero, had clinched a permanent job in charge of waste
disposal at Key West's Boca Chica air force base. She had persuaded him
to move in and they were beginning to learn each other's languages, as
well as dancing salsa and taking singing lessons together.
It was
far too good to last. The sense of peace and contentment only served to
amplify the shock when FBI agents crashed through her door in the early
hours of September 12 and forced Antonio to the floor. Your boyfriend
is a spy, they told her. She should have known, they added. He was a
Cuban, and he had studied in Kiev.
At the same time, elsewhere in
South Florida, nine other Cubans were being similarly roused from their
sleep and arrested for their role in a spy ring reporting to Havana
under the codename Red Avispa - the Wasp Network. Four more members of
the network had managed to slip away, but the federal agents were able
to grab the ringleader, a man going by the name of Manuel Viramontez, a
graphic artist living in North Miami Beach.
Minneapolis, summer 2020From our Bureau of Truly Immense and Shocking SurprisesHey, look at this, Mildred.
Look at what the good folks who love Castronoid Cuba are now facing
in Minneapolis, due to massive resignations from its hated and reviled
police department. These are usually the same folks who love socialism
and want to abolish the police in the U.S.
These leftists geniuses are everywhere, not just in Minneapolis…
Jumpin’ Jehoshophat! Who would have ever thought that abolishing the police would have such consequences!
Social justice, Mildred, social justice! Away with private property!
Your car is my car too, your house is my house too! No justice, no
peace! No police, no property!
On being read his
rights, Viramontez's first reaction was to warn the FBI agents that the
pornography they would find in his flat was purely for his work as an
artist. They also found computer disks and documents filled with
codewords, together with correspondence between him and his controllers
in Havana. Viramontez turned out to be a captain in the Cuban
Revolutionary Armed Forces called Gerardo Hernandez, codenamed Giro, who
acted as a handler for the other agents. On being driven to prison, he
asked an FBI man: "Which one of us fucked up?"
It appears that
they all had. The amount of information they had left on floppy disks or
given away in intercepted radio messages fills 1,400 pages - three fat
folders of prosecution evidence - and that is just the highlights. Five
members of the network pleaded guilty, and agreed to cooperate with the
prosecution. Even Captain Hernandez ignored Havana's instructions that
"under no circumstances" should he ever admit "to being part of, or
linked to, Cuban intelligence or any other Cuban government
organisation". Hernandez, Maggie's boyfriend Guerrero and three others
are being tried for espionage in a federal court in Miami, in what has
been billed as the biggest Cuban spy trial since the cold war, and
arguably since the Cuban missile crisis.
In a small chamber on
the seventh floor of the Miami court building, the five Cubans sit in
two rows, wearing dark suits and headphones to hear the trial in
Spanish. Guerrero, a small man with sleepy eyes and a moustache, sits
quietly in a corner to Judge Lenard's right. Hernandez is near the
centre of the chamber; he has the bald head, goatee and sheer intensity
of a young Lenin.
During the past two months, the prosecution has
laid out the evidence to support a darkly compelling case. Government
lawyers have produced fake identity papers, secret codes, short-wave
radios and voluminous correspondence between the Wasp Network and its
Havana controllers about US air force deployments and the goings-on
within various Cuban exile groups.
Four pilots from one of the
latter infiltrated organisations, Brothers to the Rescue, were killed in
1996 when their small Cessna aircraft were shot down by Cuban air force
jets near Havana. Hernandez, as the chief spy, is facing a murder
conspiracy charge for their deaths. All in all, the prosecution has
insisted, the Cuban spy-ring posed a serious threat to US national
security.
However, leafing through the case files, it is possible
to draw an entirely different conclusion: that the Wasp Network had no
sting. The emails and intercepted radio exchanges make clear that as the
years went by, the spies spent a steadily increasing share of their
time and effort just trying to get by on the meagre stipend sent by
Havana. Less and less time was spent trying to find out American
secrets. In fact, the network never succeeded in obtaining any
classified material at all.
Part of their problem seems to have
been that the Cuban directorate of intelligence appears to have had a
rather outdated view of Florida rents, and several of the agents had to
hold down two jobs at a time just to be able to afford a tiny studio
flat. They also had to deal with difficult relationships, an obnoxious
mother-in-law and at least one bout of haemorrhoids. They were simply
too exhausted to spy. Their ability to fraternise with US air force
pilots and soldiers was also severely constrained by the fact that they
had precious little money for beer and they hardly spoke any English.
Much of the information they sent back was gleaned from the newspapers
and, in one instance, the Miami bus timetable.
The defence case,
which opened yesterday, will in essence plead incompetence. Paul
McKenna, Hernandez's lawyer, will argue that the network's attempts to
penetrate the US military were farcical, and that the infiltration of
the wild-eyed Cuban exile movement was a defensive measure aimed at
pre-empting terrorist acts. Brothers to the Rescue had been warned
several times about their provocative flights over Havana by both the
Cubans and the US aviation authorities, the defence argues. They would
have been shot down even if their organisation had not been infiltrated.
For all its farcical elements, the Wasp Network file is,
nevertheless, one of the more fascinating documents to emerge from the
history of cloak and dagger. It is a postmodern journal of low-budget
espionage, in which the cloak is moth-eaten and the dagger rusty. The
conspirators meet in a McDonald's or a Burger King, where the
ringleader, Hernandez, has to pick up the bill and account to the
tight-fisted directorate of intelligence for every last french fry. He
also has to file expense claims for purchases, such as a $5.28
air-freshener, and the $6.75 cockroach repellent he bought for his $580
per month apartment at the less savoury end of North Miami Beach.
Hernandez
is a complex figure, who in some aspects reflects all the
contradictions of the Cuban revolution. He is both grandiloquent and
foul-mouthed; disciplined and yet hopelessly accident-prone;
contemptuous of theenemy, but a big softy when it came to the struggling
spies in his charge.
Agent Giro's missives are embroidered with
flowery socialist rhetoric about serving the cause, and marking the
progress of "our invincible revolution". Yet he also comes across as
endearingly incompetent, such as when he shamefacedly confesses the loss
of a costly pager, used by the Wasp Network to stay in touch with Cuba.
"What happened was that I got into the apartment building pool
one day and forgot that my beeper was in one of my shorts pockets. And
it drowned," he tells his superior officer at headquarters.
It is
also clear from a disapproving note in 1995 from the "technical
department" - Havana's answer to James Bond's Q - that agent Giro
misplaced a computer loaded with secret codes. All agents consequently
had to load new programs. Later on, Hernandez complains of another
computer mishap, which he thinks might be caused by "some fucking
virus".
As time goes by, the file also shows Hernandez, the party
ideologue, becoming a social worker for his troubled and complaining
operatives. He distributes advice, encouragement and avuncular support
aimed at keeping up morale. He sends Havana a concerned note saying one
of his agents is "debilitated" with "dark circles around his eyes" from
trying to make a living. Another is working so hard "he has less and
less time for operational work".
One of the women in the Wasp
ring, Amarylis Santos, codenamed Julia, fails to do any spying at all
because of a long list of personal problems.
"As for the female
comrade, we let her know of HQ's concerns that she has not begun to
'produce' anything yet, and I gave her my thoughts," agent Giro reports.
"She became a little embarrassed and said . . . 'the thing is that if
it is not one thing, it is another'. First, she had to adapt, then the
job, night school, the pregnancy and now to top it off, she is having
problems with haemorrhoids that are driving her crazy and she might have
to have an operation."
Later on, the troubled agent Julia has to
be counselled on the imminent arrival in Miami of her feared
mother-in-law , who "stuck her nose into everything" the last time they
lived together.
The worst dilemma was the question of
relationships with Americans. On the one hand, they were a desirable
means of melting into the background; on the other, they were fraught
with operational risks. Hernandez decided he could not afford to develop
one. "Going out one night to a club costs you $50 easily, without
eating," he noted. Another agent, Juan Pablo Roque, fooled his wife so
completely that she is now suing the Cuban government for rape, on the
grounds that sexual intercourse was procured by fraud.
Then there
is the story of Antonio and Maggie, the middle-aged Romeo and Juliet of
the Wasp affair, whose romance survived the FBI's unexpected
intervention. "If you saw the reams of letters he sent from prison,
there would be no doubt in anyone's mind," she said in a telephone
interview from Key West.
It has been hard for Becker to read all
the Wasp correspondence, in which their affair was treated like just
another spy operation. On the question of moving in with Maggie and
perhaps even having a child together, Guerrero (codenamed Lorient)
wondered aloud whether such moves might not "come between our
projections, and is positive for the objectives planned for me".
Otherwise, he added, "we must direct our actions to cutting off the
relationship". For his part, Giro added: "Concerning Maggie, we made a
marriage proposal to management and it is pending approval." The orders
from Havana were: move in (it would save money); drag out the question
of marriage; and avoid "by all means" having a child.
Becker, aged 50, wants to shrug off the years of deception. "It's like, happened," she says, "and I'm not going to judge it."
She
believes that by attempting to forestall acts of terrorism by Cuban
exile groups, Guerrero was doing nothing wrong. Furthermore, Becker
insists that the Antonio she knew ("a complete idealist . . . very
oriented towards Buddhism") was the real Antonio, and that his
jargon-filled reports back to Havana were simply intended to keep his
bosses happy so that they could continue to lead a hard-up but happy
life in the Keys.
Certainly, agent Lorient's reports from inside
Boca Chica base did not tell Havana a lot they did not already know. He
counted the planes coming in and out, but as Becker points out, "it
would have been much easier to do that from outside the base, and
without having to work nine hours a day".
Guerrero also reported
on the construction of what he claimed was a "secret facility" in the
base, but there is no evidence to back its existence up. The base is
constantly open to visitors and he could easily have made it up in order
to make his efforts at spying appear more worthwhile than they really
were.
In which case, he would be the perfect mirror image of
Graham Greene's anti-hero in Our Man in Havana - Guerrero and the
fictional character both share the same incompetence and imagination.
Indeed, the Wasp Network trial could be billed as Their Men from Havana.
No literary invention could more poignantly evoke the pathos and sheer
humanity of Cuba's lonely struggle than this tragicomic coda to the cold
war.
FROM PAGE # 27
THE DEFENSIVE STAGE
Phase 1 (1976-1987), the defensive stage in the
development of civil society, began with the founding of the Cuban
Committee for Human Rights (Comité Cubano Pro Derechos Humanos—CCPDH) by
Ricardo Bofill, Marta Frayde, and others in Havana. This period was
characterized by the focus on human rights and the creation of groups in
political prison. Bofill and the others were inspired by the Soviet and
East European activists they learned about from shortwave broadcasts,
western books and media, and ironically, from earlier sojourns in the
Soviet bloc that brought them into contact with dissident ideas among
intellectuals. Human rights groups have been the heart of the dissident
movement in Cuba since the late 1970s, creating the first fissure in the
wall of totalitarianism (Bragado 1998). Other developments during this
period include the creation of new groups in prison, their dissemination
outside of prison by newly released political prisoners, the
publication of samizdat, and the projection outside of Cuba of the
plight of political prisoners and of the human rights situation in
general.38
Ariel Hidalgo (1994) wrote: “Even though these organizations did not
last for long, their birth during that month [February 1984] under the
influence of the Committee [CCPDH], they were able to play their role
and served as an example, even in the narrow confines of prison, of the
pluralism of civic organizations that would one day develop into the
independent civic movement that later developed throughout the country.
Besides, they made us think for the first time about the possibility of
mining the steely structure of totalitarianism with grassroots
organizations that would gain space little by little under the
protective umbrella of international pressure” (p. 71). Splits in the
fledgling movement also occurred, e.g. Elizardo Sánchez Santacruz was
kicked out of the CCPDH in 1987 and formed the Comisión de Derechos
Humanos y Reconciliación Nacional. Other new groups were formed, in part
influenced by the developments in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union
(Liga Cívica Martiana in 1986 and the Conjunto de Defensores
Independientes de los Derechos Humanos y Reconciliación Nacional José
Martí). Among the major contributions of the dissident movement are: the
development of a critique is from “within” the logic and political
culture of the regime; the creation and development of the ‘civilist’
option when all other paths of opposition had been thwarted; the
beginning of work with Radio Martí (founded in 1985) and exile shortwave
radio in order to have a voice in Cuba (the broadcast of the Coloquio
de La Habana, a discussion recorded in Cuba and broadcast back to the
island by Radio Martí was a first); and finally, the use of
international linkages and solidarities based on human rights and other
progressive ideas. Phase 2 (1988-1993) was marked by the proliferation
of new groups with a more diverse set of interests including political
parties, the first of which was the Partido Pro-Derechos Humanos (1988),
the creation of the first coalitions, the increasing influence of Radio
Martí, the first effective links between civil society and the
diaspora, and a more fruitful relationship with human rights monitoring
groups such as Amnesty International, Americas Watch, and others. 39 The
pattern of isolation of dissidents began to change in the late 1980s
thanks to these developments and to the Cuban state’s concern about its
international image. People cautiously began to return to the churches,
sought help from human rights organizations, and even approached the
Asociación de Lancheros de Cuba for help ascertain the fate of Cubans
who had left the island on rafts (Consejo de Lancheros 1991). Hidalgo
and others have referred to this period as “the explosion of pluralism,”
and in fact the number of groups exploded from about a dozen in 1988 to
103 in 1992 (Altuna 1993). Many of the groups sought to register their
associations according to Cuban law, but most never received an answer.
The groups also started to show a diversity of interests: independent
Masons, artists and writers (Asociación Pro-Arte Libre), and even
ecopacifism (Sendero Verde). More obviously political groups were also
formed: the Christian Democratic Committee (1988), the social Christian
Movimiento Cristiano ‘Liberación’ led by Oswaldo Payá Sardiñas, Friends
of Glasnost’ and Perestroika, and the trade union Unión General de
Trabajadores Cubanos (1991). Concurrently with this development, the
Cuban Catholic Church was revitalizing by national meetings (e.g., ENEC)
and the resuscitation of lay organizations. At the more informal level,
peñas, tertulias, and salones became more common and dealt with more
challenging topics.
The limited economic reforms carried out in 1993 and 1994, such as
dollarization, the opening to foreign tourism, and the introduction of
other marketlike mechanisms in the centrally-planned economy had some
unforeseen consequences, among which were the accumulation of capital in
private hands and the intermittent opening of social spaces. Increased
reliance on exile remittances and the opening of direct telephone
communication between Cuba and the United States also proved a boon to
the contestatory sectors of the emerging civil society. In the
short-term, however, the government’s combination of repression and
incentives has allowed it to “reequilibrate.”
As stated earlier, the government allowed slight changes in the model
of state-society relations by permitting the so-called “NGO boom”
within the parameters of Decree-Law 54 (Ministerio de Justicia, 1985).
The process began in 1992 with the formation of the Centro Félix Varela
(Benjamin 1997, p. 2), and continued in fits and starts throughout the
period under review. The availability of alternative sources of funding
facilitated pockets of autonomy within this emerging sector, which in
turn created new loci for the generation of social capital and for the
representation of more diverse interests. This liberalization or
mini-apertura and the shrinking of the Cuban state also encouraged the
mushrooming of unofficial, dissident, and opposition organizations “from
below” and the revitalization of the few remaining institutions of
pre-revolutionary civil society such as the Catholic Church and the Free
Masons.
The new Cuban discourse on “socialist civil society” and
“non-governmental organizations” also had a demonstration effect on
dissident and opposition groups who quickly adopted and adapted the
model in their struggle for democratization and political change (along
with strong influences from the experiences of Eastern Europe and Latin
America). They also sought alternative sources of support including
foreign, domestic, and diasporic actors. Some nonstate institutions that
existed before the revolution, such as churches and other religious
groups, expanded their contacts with their international networks of
support. Phase 3 (1994-1996) saw the formation of independent
professional associations such as the Asociación Nacional de
Economistas Independientes de Cuba, founded by among others, Marta
Beatriz Roque, Corriente Agramontista, an independent lawyers’ group,
and the Colegio Médico Independiente. These groups emerged as
“independent” variants of official state-sponsored organizations. More
trade unions were formed such as the Consejo Unitario de Trabajadores,
Unión Sindical Independiente de Cuba, and the Unión Sindical Cristiana.
There is also a Movimiento de Trabajadores Católicos founded in 1994.
Religious denominations (including members of the state-chartered
National Council of Churches) increased their social activities,
ecumenical activities, and contacts with foreign co-religionists. The
Roman Catholic Church started giving greater attention to its social
role through lay organizations such as the Movimiento Diocesano de
Mujeres Católicas, organizing the Centro de Formación Cívica y Religiosa
in Pinar del Río, publishing diocesan magazines such as Palabra Nueva
(started in 1992), Vitral, Vivarium, sponsoring the Semana Social
Católica, a seminar series that dealt with Catholic Social Thought, as
well as others that dealt with contemporary issues. The church also
promoted the development of Catholic lay leaders and intellectuals such
as Dagoberto Valdés and Luis Enrique Estrella, co-authors of the
groundbreaking “Reconstruir la Sociedad Civil: Un proyecto para Cuba,” a
paper delivered at the II Semana Social Católica in 1994, that brought
international and scholarly attention on the topic of civil society in
Cuba. 40
The emergence of independent journalism was another important
development during this period, with figures such as Raúl Rivero, Néstor
Baguer, Yndamiro Restano, and others forming press agencies and
cooperatives. The most significant development however was the formation
of Concilio Cubano—the largest coalition of opposition groups to date.
Founded in October 1995, it gathered 135 groups under its umbrella
before it was crushed in February 1996 (Montaner 1998). Concilio
developed a sophisticated relationship amongst its constituent groups as
well as with exile groups and foreign diplomats and journalists
resident in Cuba. The period between mid-1995 and February 24, 1996,
marked a highpoint in the cooperation and coordination between internal
opposition and exile supporters. Support groups sprouted abroad and a
number of exile organizations openly adopted the “civil society”
strategy against the Castro regime.
This phase was also characterized by increased hostility between Cuba
and the United States, the Clinton administration’s Track II policy
that promoted the development of civil society in Cuba to help bring
about a peaceful transition to democracy, and the implicit recognition
by Western European diplomats of the opposition. The regime nevertheless
refused to grant recognition to the emerging groups referring to them
as grupúsculos contra-revolucionarios, counterrevolutionary grouplets
created by the American Central Intelligence Agency and aided by the
“Miami Mafia.”41 This phase ended with the crushing of Concilio Cubano
and the shootdown of two airplanes piloted by Cuban-Americans over
international waters. These two acts, combined with the crackdown on the
CEA and other regime reformers announced in March 1996, demonstrated
the regime’s awareness of the potential disruptive synergy of exile,
opposition, and reformist initiatives to its survival. The Castro
government was willing to face international condemnation and a possible
military confrontation with the United States rather than allow the
consolidation of an alternative to its rule on the island. Phase 4 (1996-1997) was distinguished by the
regrouping of many of the civil society groups repressed in the earlier
in the year by the summer 1996 and the proliferation of new groups
throughout the island. The Working Group of the Internal
Dissidence—Grupo de Trabajo de la Disidencia Interna—led by Vladimiro
Roca, Marta Beatriz Roque, René Gómez, and Félix Bonne, was founded in
1996 in the aftermath of the crushing of Concilio Cubano and published a
number of studies culminating in the document, La Patria es de Todos
(1997) in June 1997, in response to the Cuban Communist Party’s call to
the Fifth Party Congress. This period also saw a boom in independent
journalism and in information exchange facilitated, in part, by direct
telephone links between Cuba and the United States, the use of the
Internet by groups such as CubaNet, and the use of Radio Martí and South
Florida Spanish- language stations as a medium for denunciation and
mobilization. This phase ended with the arrest of the four leaders of
the Working Group in July 1997. Phase 5 (1997-1998) began with the imprisonment or
exile of a number of leaders, but ironically, the groups ‘deepened’
their presence on the island. ACS has expanded from urban areas to rural
areas and public civic action was reported in all 14 provinces between
February 1998 and January 1999 (up from 7 provinces in the previous 12
months).42 In 1998, 36% of civic activity was in the city of Havana,
down from 41% the previous year. The number of groups grew more slowly,
but their membership increased. A report published by the Directorio
Revolucionario Democrático Cubano (Rivero, Gutiérrez, and López 1999)
notes that the civic movement has begun to plan and carry out public
activities directed at the Cuban public. Many of the new groups such as
the Lawton Foundation for Human Rights, the Third Millennium Forum, and
the Moderate Opposition Reflection Forum, have also undertaken longer
term projects that are geared toward organizing among the population
with less emphasis toward projecting outward to the exile community and
international media. The Directorio also reports more cooperation
between groups and better communication between them—31% of civic
activities involved more than one organization. The report also notes an
increase in spontaneous strikes, riots, protests, and demonstrations
that in many cases compelled authorities to address grievances.
The spectrum of activity of the current groups can be classified as
follows: (1) civic movements or organizations; (2) political parties;
(3) human rights movements; (4) social assistance organizations; (5)
labor unions; (6) rural, agricultural and other workers’ cooperatives;
(7) independent professional and sectoral associations; (8) independent
journalism; (9) cultural and arts groups; and (10) faith-based groups
and institutions. 43
The number of organizations, their geographic distribution, and the
small, but consistent size of their membership demonstrate the
persistence of Cuban activists despite the repression, privations, and
the machinations of Cuban intelligence. Their inability to better
organize a movement that will allow them to go to the next step, from
marginal group to movement, reflects a number of problems of Cuban
society and of the civil society groups themselves, among them the lack
of material and logistical support, a lack of trust, and the lack of
access to media.
Holly Ackerman (1996) summarizes the impasse that goes beyond a
collective action problem to one of mobilizational fatigue and
hopelessness; writing about Cuban rafters who left in 1994, she wrote:
They risked their lives to escape, not to try to change the regime.
What is more, they could not envision places where struggle might take
place. Churches, human rights groups, and independent organizations in
general, were viewed as ‘trouble,’ not as causing trouble The state’s
ability to monitor and punish these groups was seen as thorough and
inevitable. Essentially, they felt the regime could not be defeated. The
phrase, ‘why go to jail?’ was repeated as a reason for avoiding human
rights groups despite belief in their objectives (p. 200).
Ackerman also points to an essential element in Cuban political
culture that has hampered the development of political maturity and of
civil society in Cuba:
Exile in the U.S. served as a substitute for civil society in some
absolutist sense. Albeit at a high price, those who lacked commitment
could leave- sooner or later. Miami became the repository for dissent
and the ‘North American dream’ became a transitional mechanism that
substituted for citizen action. In this way, the privileged migratory
status of Cubans in the U.S. probably slowed evolution of civil society
(p. 214).
Although civil society groups (and particularly the Catholic Church)
are more approachable for the average Cuban, to many, the groups seem to
lack an ideology or of a widely known or developed alternative to the
present situation. Cubans are also exhausted from the daily grind of
“resolver y comer” and the long march to nowhere. There is also an
impression, that is partially borne out by anecdotal evidence, that
rather than presenting an option for change, some of the civil society
groups have become instruments for obtaining dollars from abroad or exit
visas. A Christian Democratic activist who is an experienced observer
of the Cuban scene stated that as long as the majority of groups expend
their energy in projecting images and projects for exile and foreign
media consumption instead of performing the dangerous nittygritty work
of organizing among the population, they will remain marginalized.44
A bit more charitable, Juan J. López (1999) has increasingly focused
on the concept of “political efficacy” as a variable to explain the
Cuban “nontransition” and the reticence of many Cubans to join in
opposition activities.45 López and others have also pointed to the
importance of the development of independent communications media so
that activists can reach the population with news of their activities,
and importantly, their achievements. “Democratic activists and
independent journalists in Cuba need computers, paper, printers, fax
machines, and money for transportation (and sustenance)” (p. 16).
Despite the sobering analyses of informed observers, the number and
diversity of alternative civil society shows potential, under the right
conditions, for the emergence of a civil society in Cuba that will be
able to play some role in the determination of the country’s future.
CONCLUSION OR THE NEXT STAGE?
In terms of Weigle and Butterfield’s “logic,” Cuba is still in the
defensive stage. However, as the discussion of the phases demonstrated,
the situation in Cuba is quite complex. The Cuban case exhibits an odd
amalgam of elements that by coexisting, call into question the
relationship between civil society and democratic transition, as well as
some of the basic assumptions of the literature. Some of the
characteristics that would define a passage into the “emergent” stage
appeared in the offing in 1991 when the Communist Party changed its
attitude toward religious practice by allowing believers to join the
party. Another important step was taken when the state authorized the
creation of the first NGO in 1992, the Centro Félix Varela led by Juan
Antonio Blanco (Benjamin 1997), a development which has led to the NGO
“boom” (1992-1996). When the regime legalized the use and possession of
hard currency “dollarization,” limited self-employment, and farmers’ and
artisans’ markets, it also opened the possibility of legally deriving
income from non-state sources. These developments occurred while more
obviously contestatory organizations were being repressed and their
leaders jailed or expelled from the country. There was also a brief thaw
immediately before and after the visit of Pope John Paul II in January
1998. However, the crackdown in 1996, the jailing of activists, the
intensification of ideological “war” by the draconian “Law for the
Protection of National Sovereignty” (1999), and the closed trial and
continued incarceration of the four authors of La Patria es de Todos,
demonstrated that the regime would continue to reject any vision
different than its own. Other than the limited debates about economic
reforms in 1993-1994 in the National Assembly, there was no public
evidence of intra-party debates and no space was opened for the new
alternative organizations. There was no deepening to the slight
liberalization of 1993-1994, on the contrary, there was retrenchment and
an intensification of the campaign to discredit the opposition.
In 1988, on the eve of the fall of the Berlin Wall, Cuba actually had
a larger and more active dissident and opposition movement than many of
the regimes that collapsed when the Soviet Union pulled out its
military guarantee (see Figure 3). Although Cuba survived the so-called
“Leninist Extinction,” the nature of the regime was changed. The Castro
government did not become a “reformist” regime that might allow civil
society to pass from defensive to emergent stages. Instead, the regime
has eroded, along with its state capabilities, its legitimacy, and
prospects, into an odd hybrid of Stalinism and Iberoamerican
caudillismo. The regime has been able to maintain elite loyalty and
renegotiate the coercive compact sufficiently to stave off a revolt from
below as in Romania or the emergence of a People Power movement that
coalesces political opposition with religious social activists as in the
Phillippines, Haiti, and Poland. The question is how long can the
regime provide the minimum requirements of the coercive compact? The
Castro regime understands the dangers of reform and it also understands
that to accept the legitimacy of an opposition and allow independent
social activism to compete for the hearts and souls of Cubans would mean
the end of the regime, both in the political theoretical sense as well
as in the real political realm.
What do the other communist party-states tell us about the
possibilities for Cuba? Using 1988 as the base year for comparison, let
us look at the subset of cases where communism was imposed from the
outside. 46 These regimes relied on the Brezhnev doctrine to keep their
unpopular Communist parties in control. The three regimes that resisted
political reforms, also exhibited the lowest levels of independent
activity (Bulgaria, GDR, Romania). Dissent from “above” was minimal in
these states; opposition was from “below”—persecuted ethnic and
religious minorities (Turks in Bulgaria, Hungarians and Germans
in Romania). Counter-elites were not allowed to form.47 The transitions
from communism in these cases were pushed from below by inchoate social
forces, not by an organized civil society. In the aftermath of the
removal of the dictators (violently in Romania), communist elites were
able to dominate the process of transition calling on the aspects of
pre- Communist political culture most congruent with their continuation
in power, albeit under different names.
Five “imposed” regimes faced significant independent action
(Czechoslovakia, Estonia, Hungary, Lithuania, and Poland). Of these, the
only Czechoslovakia was an anti-reform regime, but almost alone among
the Eastern bloc, the country had a developed civil society and a
democratic political culture before communism. All had negotiated
transitions where communist elites handed power to civil society-based
counter-elites which had the opportunity to create popular support
(“from below”). In eroding Stalinist regimes, such as Czechoslovakia and
the GDR (both with experiences with Soviet intervention), civil society
quickly coalesced from dissident organizations and spontaneous
movements, but only because regime elites were unable to prepare
smoother exits as in Hungary and Poland. Where civil society had its
strongest presence, Poland, Hungary, and the Baltic countries, the
political and social transitions were more clearly defined and positive.
The subset of regimes where communists came to power through a
native-based revolution includes Albania, China, Cuba, Russia (USSR),
Vietnam, and Yugoslavia. There was significant independent activity in
all but Albania, which along with Cuba, had an anti-reform regime.
Russia was in the midst of the political and economic reforms of Mikhail
Gorbachev. China and Vietnam had already undertaken important economic
reforms, but eschewed political reforms. Nevertheless, they also faced a
revival in civil society fueled in part, by the opportunities opened up
by economic reform. A critical factor for these regimes was party-elite
unity when faced with the moment of criticality. Where party unity was
maintained, regime elites stayed in power: Albania (until 1992), China,
Cuba, Vietnam. When the party fractured, the regime was unable to
survive the moment of criticality: Russia and Yugoslavia.48 In sum,
Albania followed a pattern very similar to that of Bulgaria and Romania
with reshuffled communists leading the transition, while Yugoslavia fell
apart into its constituent republics each finding different paths away
from communism despite the persistence of the Serbian Communist leader
Slobodan Miloševic. The Soviet Union fissioned into 15 republics, each
with its own pattern of transition away from communism that had as much
to do with pre-Communist political culture as with the strength of local
party elites and their ability to recast themselves as national
political elites.
The Leninist survivors have been able to stay in power despite
significant civil society activity because: (1) the communist party
stayed united and never lost control; (2) it carried out economic
reforms not political reforms, allowing it renegotiate the coercive
compact with the population thus quelling potential unrest from “below”
without allowing the consolidation of political dissent or opposition;
and (3) punishing political dissidence by political prison or exile,
this separating potential civil society leaders from potential
followers. Cuba’s meager reforms cannot compare with those undertaken by
China, Laos, and Vietnam. It has taken only minimal economic reforms,
but apparently sufficient, in combination with the prospect of
immigration to the United States, to maintain control. However, as the
other survivor cases demonstrate, it takes a considerable amount of
reform, a willingness to take risks and to be brutal if necessary to
stay in power as a party-state. No communist regime has fallen or been
reformed by the founder. Although the Chinese model has come into vogue
again in Cuban political discourse (see Castro 1999), the kinds of
profound reforms undertaken by China are not likely to happen under
Fidel’s rule. Perhaps the prospect is being held out as an incentive for
younger regime elites. The party-state has indeed eroded, providing
room for divergence, but not for the development of a counter-elite
available for any negotiated transition. Although groups such as the
Moderate Opposition Reflection Forum and many others since 1991 have
offered to be partners in negotiation and exiled figures such as Eloy
Gutiérrez Menoyo have made clear their willingness to sit down with
Fidel Castro himself, the regime continues to attack all opposition as
illegitimate.
The experiences of Eastern Europe have had more than a decade to sink
in on all sides, as has the Chinese success with its mix of communist
party-state rule and state capitalist economic development. The future
of Cuba is contingent on many variables known and unknown. If the
coercive compact can be maintained and the emergent civil society kept
in check, the status quo, (a steady but gradual erosion through
economic, political and social transition) will last until the death of
the founder. The two most likely would be the Chinese option (state
capital, one-party rule) or the Bulgarian option (where reformist
communists come to the fore and slowly ease the triple transition toward
democracy and markets). 49 If civil society can continue to expand to
the point where it can serve as a credible option, regime elites might
call on them to negotiate a reasonable exit or compromise with a modicum
of power-sharing upon the death of Fidel Castro (Hungary or Poland). If
events move quickly toward mass demonstrations and a push from below to
oust the regime, then the quick exit option unfavorable to the
interests of communist elites might hold, with dissident elements
helping channel popular emotion into a peaceful transition (GDR,
Czechoslovakia). However, if the compact cannot hold, civil society is
kept weak, and pressure from below erupts into widespread turmoil like
the riots on the Malecón littoral in Havana in August 1994, then a
Romanian scenario could emerge involving a split in the regime’s armed
forces and violence from below and a transition controlled by the
victorious faction of former regime elites with an uncertain path.
Cubans have increasingly been on their own in the midst of a
shrinking state and the formation of islands of “savage” state
capitalism, and have begun to look for alternatives; they have turned
outward to relatives, remittances, and the visa lottery, to
institutionalized sources of alternatives visions—- especially the
churches, or to anomic escapes. The party-state is unable to provide
many options as it concentrates resources in maintaining its political
power base (defense, police, intelligence) and in keeping elite cohesion
and loyalty. The state can no longer afford to occupy the public spaces
it did before. Civil society groups function as squatters
(precaristas): living at the margins of legality in precarious
circumstances, “courageously moving the fence at night,” and always at
the mercy of the state.50 Yet, the logic of emergence, a complex,
non-linear process moves along and time waits. While the emergence of
civil society in Cuba meant that an essential change had taken place in
the nature of the regime, it’s presence does not necessitate a regime
change or a democratic transition. However, the strength of civil
society will help determine whether the path the polity takes upon the
death of its founder.
REFERENCES
FOOTNOTES
1. The two other surviving regimes are Laos and North Korea. Although
Belarus, Turkmenistan, and other former Soviet republics are run by
almost the identical cadre of regime elites, the ruling parties do not
identify themselves as Communist.
2. Dissidents, pre-revolutionary organizations, and churches are
nevertheless sources of alternative visions, discourses, and support for
nascent civil societies.
3. For interesting discussions of civil society, see Cohen and Arato (1992), Hann (1996), and Keane (1998).
4. Millions of individuals perished in the Soviet Union, China, and
other communist dictatorships during the long process of takeover and
mobilization in the founding of the party-state.
5. Reforms took place in client or “satellite” states at the prodding of
the new reformist leaders of patron states (USSR, Vietnam) and
sometimes met with the resistance of local hardline party leaders.
6. The economic measures related more to alleviating shortages and
addressing other consumer issues, but not a wholesale macroeconomic
reform. It should be noted that not all ruling party elites implemented
“de-Stalinization” with equal vigor.
7. Revisionism is defined as opposition within the system that seeks to
transform socialism from within “on its own grounds” (Jöppke 1994, p.
550). Dissent (or dissidence) is a critique of communist state power
from outside the party that seeks reforms to the system. He describes it
as “polite and moderate in tone,” but containing “the seeds of
revolutionary transformation” (p. 550).
8. The dissenter often “emboldens the religious and ethnic dissidents to
step forward. Inevitably, religious and ethnic activism is more broadly
based and deeply rooted in the society and is therefore less easily
repressed” (Sharlet 1985, p. 355). Dissidents by speaking out in the
public sphere “have broken the state’s monopoly on spoken and written
information by establishing an alternative, unofficial communication
system” (p. 355).
9. The political realm is seen as “off-limits” because it is perceived
as a locus of conflict totally occupied by the party-state.
10. Ghi a Ionescu (1967) describes five centers of aggregation of
dissent in communist polities: churches, the armed forces, the
universities, cultural reviews and groups, and personalities (p. 191).
11. The process of emergence is essentially a restructuring
state-society relations, an interactive process that changes the
political opportunity structure of the polity and is prone to many
influences and forces.
12. There seems to be a consensus among scholars that civil society can
emerge in communist party-states only if public space is opened through
reform or liberalization initiated by the state (Haraszti 1990, Rau
1990, Remington 1993, Weigle and Butterfield 1992). These reforms can
vary in their scope and motivation; their impact on the polity can be
non-linear and out of proportion with the programmatic changes in
policy.
13. Guillermo O’Donnell (1988) writes “a crisis of social domination is a
crisis of the state in society,” “the supreme political crisis” because
“the state is failing to guarantee the reproduction of basic social
relations and, with them, of the system of social domination”(p. 26).
The definition is even more apt in the case of Communist party-states
due to the all encompassing nature of their power— the party- state that
aspires to control every aspect of the polity’s political, economic,
social, ideological, and cultural life.
14. By 1986, the limits of Cuba’s inefficient and highly centralized
economy had been reached. Fidel Castro’s response to glasnost’ and
perestroika was the proclamation of the anti-reform, anti-market,
ideologically-driven Rectification Process (1986) with its emphasis on
voluntary work, moral incentives, and mass mobilization. Fidel Castro
assigned blame for “errors” and “negative tendencies” to the Soviet
reform model introduced in the 1970s epitomized by the SDPE and to the
introduction of limited market-like measures such as the farmers’
markets. These economic policies were already being undermined by Fidel
Castro as early as 1982 and a move toward recentralization began by 1984
(Rosenberg 1993). The most visible sign of Cuba’s dire straits was the
suspension of its payments on the immense debt it had accumulated to
western creditors. One interpretation of the Rectification was that the
regime needed to mobilize the Cuban people and squeeze the domestic
economy even harder in the absence of more generous Soviet subsidies and
Western cash.
15. The Cuban government proclaimed the “Special Period” in August 1990.
The crisis has its roots in Cuba’s inefficient economic system, in its
extreme dependence on Soviet aid and trade with the socialist bloc, and
in the peculiarly caudillista nature of Cuban communism. Carmelo Mesa
Lago (1994) claimed that “the decline in the Cuban economy is much worse
than the deterioration suffered by any country in market transition in
Eastern Europe, even though Cuba has not yet begun a full process of
marketization” (p. 9).
16. State capability is defined as: the capacity to penetrate society,
regulate relationships, extract resources, and appropriate or use
resources in determined ways (Migdal 1988, p. 4).
17. Fidel Castro learned the lessons of the Soviet bloc collapse: make
as few reforms as possible; keep the party united, lean, and mean; deal
harshly with potential or evident disloyalty; and do not allow a formal
opposition to organize (Domínguez 1993).
18. The Castro regime has allowed periods of decompression at different
times during its tenure, usually prompted by regime crises that required
alleviating social pressures from below. It made tentative moves toward
liberalization starting in 1992 and ending in mid- 1996 with a move to
retrenchment epitomized by the crackdown on Concilio Cubano in February
and Raúl Castro’s speech to the Fifth Plenum of the Politburo in March
1996.
19. Associative life is the world of organized society—the public
existence and operation of groups representing particular collective
interests and values regardless of their autonomy vis-à-vis the state or
other superior authorities. It is distinguished from civil society
precisely because of the irrelevance of autonomy to its definition. Mass
organizations, corporatist organizations, political parties, and soccer
clubs are examples of associative life.
20. This appellation more accurately reflects the origins if not the
degree of autonomy of the NGOs that were spun off the state such as the
Center for the Study of Europe or the Cuban Council of Churches.
21. Benigno Aguirre (1998) has written about shadow institutions and the
odd synergy between different elements of social reality: “In Cuba,
officially sanctioned institutions commingle with their dual deviant
shadows. These shadows are not supposed to exist even as they facilitate
the operation of the legal institutions. Although unsanctioned by the
established institutions, shadow institutions do not exist independently
of the institutions that they complement. Parts of the CO [culture of
opposition], they offer opportunities for covert and surreptitious
activities rather than explicit, open to the public acts presenting
demands to the authorities” (p. 8).
22. The very use of the term ‘civil society’ by the regime is
significant as it reflects the enormous influence of international
trends even on the Communist party-state.
23. It is financially and institutionally supported by the Union of
Young Communists (UJC), the Union of Artists and Writers of Cuba (UNEAC)
and other State organs as well as by a host of private patrons in the
United States, Europe and Latin America.
24. Although some authors have downplayed the financial motive for the
NGO Boom (e.g. Cisneros 1996; Paugh-Ortiz 1999), Gillian Gunn’s
observation in 1995 that “Cuban NGOs grew because the government deemed
them useful financial intermediaries and because citizens desired
self-help organizations capable of resolving local problems the state
was unwilling or unable to address” (Gunn 1995, p.1) and that the Cuban
government’s support for NGOs “is a matter of necessity”is borne out by
the very statements of the Cubans. The Center for European Studies
(CEE), formerly a Communist Party think tank and now an NGO receiving
assistance from abroad, states, “It is clear, that given the State’s
lack of material resources, there is no other alternative but to face
the situation with the active participation of all of those affected,
including the search for external financing as well as resources in the
country” (Mensaje de Cuba 1995, p. 8). [note: author’s translation.]
25. The Pablo Milanés Foundation ran into trouble in mid-1995 (Blanco 1995, Montaner 1995).
26. The CEA was singled out by name by Raúl Castro and denounced in a
speech at the Fifth Plenum of the Politburo of the Communist Party in
March 1996 that signaled the dangers of overstepping the limits of
autonomy (Castro 1996, p. 9).
27. The term is derived from an analogy with the informal economy.
28. ICS is in fact a continuation of pre-existing patterns of
marginality and informality that date back to the days of slave
resistance to colonial masters through secret societies, syncretic
cults, and other strategies of cultural survival and continuity.
29. The most prominent groups in this category are the churches and
other religious organizations left outside of the official government
registry because they are exempted from the Law of Associations
(Ministerio de Justicia, Law 54, Ch. 1, Art. 2)
30. The only alternative vision of society that persisted in Cuba with a
coherent message and a national institutional presence was the Roman
Catholic Church. Although the development of church-state relations and
the church’s emergence out of silence is a critical element of the
larger period of the emergence of civil society in Cuba, it is beyond
the scope of this paper. The church was able to use its unique position
to serve as a greenhouse for many elements of pre-revolutionary Cuban
life and continues to play an important role as a laboratory and
safe-space for civil society in Cuba. Thus, while the church and other
religious denominations are an intrinsic part of the overall picture,
they are dealt with in more detail elsewhere (see Espinosa 1999d).
31. These are the groups that most of the literature on the nascent
civil society in Cuba refers to (e.g. Bragado 1998, del Aguila 1993,
Espinosa 1996, López 1999, Valdés and Estrella 1994).
32. For a thorough discussion of the dissolution of civil society in
Cuba, see Espinosa (1999c). Also see Bengelsdorf (1994) and Rabkin
(1993).
33. Richard R. Fagen (1969), writing about the new revolutionary
institutions that were replacing civil society notes: “…the Cubans were
acting like Leninists long before they knew it” (p. 14).
34. By 1970, there had been between 5,000-15,000 executions, over
200,000 political prisoners, and over 1 million political exiles, not
mention the victims of everyday repression whose lives were disrupted by
the policies of the Cuban dictatorship (Lago and Espinosa 1999).
35. The regime took action against Social Democrats (1960-65),
Trotskyites (1962-63), anarchists (1962), old-line communists of the
Partido Popular Socialista, former members of the July 26 Movement and
their insurrectionary allies (e.g., the Marcos Rodríguez affair), the
microfacción (1967-68), and later, critical Marxist intellectuals.
36. For an interesting analysis of the dynamic between historic political prisoners and the new dissidents, see Ackerman (1998).
37. The major contributions of political prisoners to the eventual
development of ACS in Cuba were: developing models of civic pluralism in
prison that would later serve as examples for the emerging ACS;
developing new strategies and ideas for confronting the Castro regime;
forging bonds of solidarity that overcame differences based on prior
political affiliation which continued (for the most part), upon release
from prison; helping give opposition to the Castro regime names and
faces in the international community through groups such as Amnesty
International; and serving as a training ground for leaders of future
ACS organizations such as Elizardo Sánchez Santacruz, Gustavo Arcos
Bergnes, and others.
38. Among the groups organized in prison in 1984 were: the Association
of Dissident Artists and Writers—Asociación Disidente de Artistas y
Escritores Cubanos (ADAEC) formed by 8 prisoners and led by Lázaro
Jordana and the Self-Defense Group for Persecuted Believers—Junta de
Autodefensa de Religiosos Perseguidos—(JARPE), led by Eduardo Crespo
Govea, a pastor jailed for planning to form a political party based upon
the principles of José Martí (Hidalgo 1994, pp. 70-71).
39. “Para los disidentes en la Isla, para los pequeños grupos de
derechos humanos que intentaban salir a la luz pública, Radio Martí era
el cordón umbilical, la línea directa de información que podía dar
legitimidad a los movimientos” (Encinosa 1994, p. 326).
40. Cáritas-Cuba was founded in 1990.
41. For a typical attack on these groups, see “¿Quiénes son los
disidentes y los presos de conciencia en Cuba?,” Granma (March 4, 1999).
42. Amaya Altuna (1998) estimated the number of groups at 380 in 1998, and now estimates the number to be over 400.
43. The following section relies heavily on Altuna, et. al. (1992-1998),
Bragado (1998), Montaner (1998), Rivero, et. al. (1998, 1999), as well
as many pieces published electronically by CubaNet. This section is an
extract of a longer piece titled, “Alternative Civil Society in Cuba:
Dissidence, Opposition and Independent Social Activism in Cuba”
(forthcoming).
44. A notable exception, in her opinion, is the work of the Catholic
Church. She suggested that civil society groups emulate the church and
engage in civic “evangelizing.”
45. He defines personal political efficacy as the individual’s
expectation that his participation in obtaining a collective good might
have a reasonable degree of effectiveness.
46. The Baltic countries, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, GDR, Hungary,
Poland, Romania. Laos and North Korea are treated elsewhere; see
Espinosa (1999a).
47. The GDR’s rapid absorption by West Germany allowed it take a
different path, but one that has left obstacles that are yet to be
cleared in a unified Germany.
48. Yugoslavia already had a reformist regime (since 1948), a high level
of activity (which varied significantly by republic), a mix of
precommunist political cultures, and a party riven by ethnic divisions.
49. Adam Przeworksi (1991) refers to the double transition, political
and economic, but Marta Beatriz Roque suggests that a social transition
is also part of the process of democratization. She is referring to the
areas of social practice and ideology, and of civil society as an entity
itself (Roque 1997).
50. The term “precaristas” is used by María Cristina Herrera to describe
the strategies used by the Cuban Catholic Church and others in their
quest to gain and keep social space (conversation with author).
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