(el fuzz) *repost*

okay, so i'm gonna level with you.   i am back in toronto....for now.   and you know, at times i really miss cuba.   well let's be honest, i really miss being anywhere but toronto.   and although i am sure it would be fascinating for me to write about my misadventures on the ttc or some shit like that,  i have decided that i will remain in cuba in my mind.  and in my blog.  

so, i have decided to repost something i wrote while i was there (unedited, I might add) - it references the cops quite a bit and i was told while in cuba to keep my blogging generic or risk a knock on your door.  but, seeing as i am nestled safely in the bosom of democracy now, i thought it still an important story to tell. 

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cuba is country that keeps me bewildered,  enchanted,  horrified and desperately sad.    i have traveled from one end of the island to the other,   danced in the streets,   drank (a lot) of rum from the bottle sitting in parks watching people go by,   visited museums,  cemeteries,  churches,  palaces,  eaten everything (shockingly) off the street and have lived with a cuban family.   although i think it would take years here to really understand what makes this place tick,   how the politics really work,   how deep the corruption really goes,  what keeps the cubans engaged - i feel lucky enough to be truly immersed in the culture here,  i have made cuban friends,  i have wandered off the beaten track,  i have challenged myself as a traveler,  a woman,  an individual and here is one thing i can tell you i see very clearly – the cuban government doesn’t give a shit about it’s citizens.   like,  not an iota.   if it did,  would it pay them $10 a month?    would it keep them segregated from the tourist population?    would it force them to live a lifetime in uninhabitable dwellings,  literally crumbling on top of them?    i may not have a phd in political science or sociology but i’m thinkin’….no? 

i was recently in a beautiful part of the country,  the province of sancti spiritus, in the city of trinidad with a cuban friend and we were enjoying a beautiful sunny hot day on a beautiful beach.  it’s funny to hang out on the beach here with cubans because they really know how to make the best of a free activity like that – they bring all their food and excitedly suck the meat off the bones and toss them around (with all their other trash,  more on their inability to use garbage cans in future posts),  splash fervently in the water playing all kinds of crazy games (even i have unfortunately been lifted over someone’s head in my bathing suit (oy) and tossed unapologetically into the undercurrent while they all squeal with delight).   and the funny thing is that in contrast to that,   the tourists who are all there to enjoy their vacations (and probably should be throwing caution to the wind and having some fun) are quietly reading ‘eat, pray, love’ and cooking their tender white bodies in the blazing sun.    the cubans are often quite bemused by this apparent lack of real excitement for being on the beach (and i am often praying they will leave me to read my own copy of ‘eat, pray, love’ and cook my own tender skin) but their unabashed love of making fun out of the simplest of activities forces me to abandon my timid, north american ways and allow them to bury me in the sand and throw chicken bones at me.   

all this to say,  i was recently on the beach engaging in such activities and the most disturbing thing happened.    my young cuban friend,   while engaging in said fun activity with me was arrested.    why?    because (and we only found out after he sat in a jail cell for an entire day) that he was ‘bothering’ a tourist.    now,  call me crazy but do people who are frolicking in the ocean,   laughing and enjoying themselves sound like they are engaged in bothersome behaviour?    there are actually undercover ‘beach police’ who’s job is exactly that – patrol the beach and look for cubans who are bothering tourists.    now,  anybody who has traveled knows that the beach is a perfect place for someone to annoy you and there have been times that i wished such a cop was about,  but here,  most of the time,  the cubans and the foreigners are just hanging out.   having fun.   enjoying each other’s company.    they are so completely obsessed with keeping the cuban/tourist combo segregated that it really doesn’t matter if you’re happy on the beach or not.    you are a foreigner,   they are a cuban,  and that’s enough to get their fuzzy panties in a twist.     so,  my cuban friend was plucked right out of the water,   told (in not so hushed tones) to get dressed and go with them.    they humiliated him in front of a beach full of people,   asking for ID,   screaming at him,  but alas,  with no explanation of why they were harassing him.    they didn’t just take him under a palm tree and explain to him that they don’t dig the cubans on their beach,   they actually threw him in the back of a police car and raced him off to a jail cell.    where he sat.   and sat.   and sat.   for an entire day.   and whenever he asked for an explanation as to why he was there,   they told him to shut it.    he sat amongst other young,  attractive cuban men who were in there for the exact same reason….for talking to a tourist.   TALKING.  some were there for days,  with no real explanation.   that’s the crazy thing about communism, nobody (well, an official) needs any explanation to do anything.    you just do what you want.   and many innocent (beach goers) suffer. 

of the many guys sitting in the cell - all were just as determined to get out and go right back and look for another tourist to charm.    in the smaller towns,  outside of havana,   the desperation is far more palpable,   there are fewer opportunities to work,   fewer opportunities to hustle,   more need to create prospects for yourself.    so,  not surprisingly,  there are more cops.    everywhere.     now you tell me,  does that sound like a country where there is a system in place to help it’s citizens flourish and enjoy life?    and not to sound selfish but i finally stumble into a place in my life when i actually don’t cringe at the idea of frolicking in a bathing suit and my day is ruined because they pluck me as well,   spanx trunks and all out of the ocean?    hmph.

here’s what i see:   the system here creates an environment so totally impossible to live comfortably in that it forces people to go to great measures to create opportunity for themselves and then as soon as they do,   as soon as a hand is extended to help them,   they are (literally) shut down by the powers that be?   you can have a business (a b&b or small restaurant in your home) but the taxes are so great that you can’t really afford to do anything but float,  if you’re lucky.   you can have relationships with foreigners but they aren’t (legally) allowed to stay in your home,  you can’t go into the hotels with them,  you can’t really walk down the street with them without being harassed by the police every few blocks.   you can have access to free health care (little medication or functioning equipment),  you can have free food (except it’s not free and there’s very little of it) or ‘amazing education’ (except half of the teachers now are 15 years old).    i’m thinkin’,  if they really respected the natives,  would they force many of them into squalor and very slowly kill their spirit?    for god sakes,  isn’t the ability to have a moment of escape to frolick in the ocean a basic right?    

fact:   you don’t actually have to be a cuban with a tourist to be harassed and humiliated by the police here.    i was recently sitting in a park and watching a man and his daughter sitting across from me.    he was holding a birthday cake in a box on his lap (which is a shock because for some reason there seems to a shortage of pastry boxes here and most people walk with very fancy cakes in their hands and god knows there are enough holes in the sidewalk to land you flat on your ass with a face full of cake) but,  i digress.    he was holding the cake,  she was (very sweetly) holding a balloon and they were very much minding their own business.    a young ‘i’ve got the short man’s syndrome but it’s okay because i have a gun on my belt’ cop saddled up to them and started to harass him.   ask him for ID.    ask what they were doing there (uh,  sitting quietly on a park bench?) and insisted he open up the box to show him…..what?   a bomb?    a photo of a government official with a crazy moustache drawn on it and horns?    no,  it was a birthday cake.    and there you have it.     you don’t have to have one hand down the pants or on the wallet of a foreigner to get it,  you just have to be holding a birthday cake and be in the company of a very cute gal holding a balloon to get it too.    at least we know there isn’t any special treatment.

a police officer is one of the best paid jobs in cuba.     they make 800 pesos a month.    that’s more than most doctors and you know how much education you need?    yeah,  well that’s no surprise.    one of the only (legal) ways for someone from outside of havana can come and live in havana is to be a cop.   so,  if you were living in bum-fuck-nowhere with no possibilities,  wouldn’t you want to have the chance to live in the capital city,  strap on a piece,  make more money than most and be allowed to do whatever the hell you want?     objectively speaking,  i might also want to do the same,  but you know ……i’d leave the little girl and her birthday cake alone.

i know i am straying from my more amusing storytelling about this country but you know,  sometimes what i see,  well,  it just isn’t funny at all.