Frank Newgent
Philosopher
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2002
- Messages
- 7,508
http://www.opendemocracy.net/debates/article.jsp?id=3&debateId=33&articleId=1439
What else could they be talking about? At times one or another of the participants in this public display of manic fervor would have to stomp away, at a temporary loss to handle the excitement. Then he'd be back, swinging his arms, pacing in circles, carrying on as though nobody would ever be able to understand the crucial significance of what he was trying to say. I remembered the sight of the fellow in the street the day before, facing down the pelota with only his arm, batless, and understood.
Béisbol!
Spent a week in Havana in 1988 and still remember it as one of the most fascinating places I've ever been. Though my (Mexican) Spanish is pretty good I had a difficult time understanding the clipped lisping variety spoken there and became lost in the ventilations of a large group of young men carrying on in an animated exchange one day in the street. I thought "Hey, isn't such open political discussion kinda dangerous around here?"His theme, anyway, is the surprise factor of paradox. The word has a semi-surreal invocation, which outsiders might find fits their preconceptions of a Latin country with its taste for magic realism and the films of Luis Buñuel. But at times I wonder if what he actually means is contradiction or downright hypocrisy. Is he too circumspect to say so? It depends, I suppose, on the degree to which you think the discrepancy between the reality at stake, and the words used to describe it, has been willed.
It is, however, an intoxicating theme. The prevalence of such paradoxes is one of the reasons no one ever understands the Cuban reality, in his view. ‘Contradiction’ is part of the fabric of daily life here.
He starts tamely enough. No one has anything to eat in Cuba but people somehow survive. No one has any soap but the Cubans are cleaner and better dressed than the Europeans who visit. No one has anything to say for Fidel, but everyone turns out in the plaza to applaud him. This is the Hotel Nacional, the great bulwark of Cuban nationalism, but it was built by the famous American company, Pan Am, in the 1930s.
The Cubans are more enamoured of America than people think, although it is their deadly enemy: they play baseball (like Americans) and not soccer (like the rest of the world); American heroes are their heroes. They watch endless streams of American TV on illegal satellites.
As for foreigners, he glances around them room, they used to come to Cuba, to discover the scope of the “new man”, el hombre nuevo (as Che Guevara put it). Now they come to rediscover the etiquette of the old ways and the spirit of the 1950s (which is what the revolution sought to escape). That may say more about the disquiet about modern development in the west than about Cuba, but it is true that a Cuban holiday is a nostalgia trip.
He pauses, and shaking somewhat, he takes a sip of his cocktail, replacing it gingerly on the glass table. He looks to see that the bolero band is louder than it was, and the waiters are otherwise engaged. He then launches his biggest paradox yet. The Americans have an embargo on Cuba, but the only reason anyone survives today in Cuba is because of the money their relatives send them from the States. That amounts to a cautious estimate of a $1 billion a year in total – more than the entire sum earned by the Cuban government in the sugar trade. That makes America Cuba’s biggest donor in aid, and the aid goes direct to the people.
What else could they be talking about? At times one or another of the participants in this public display of manic fervor would have to stomp away, at a temporary loss to handle the excitement. Then he'd be back, swinging his arms, pacing in circles, carrying on as though nobody would ever be able to understand the crucial significance of what he was trying to say. I remembered the sight of the fellow in the street the day before, facing down the pelota with only his arm, batless, and understood.
Béisbol!