l-10

Landed in Havana during an evening rainstorm. Spent 8 hours in Mexico trying to fly out–even tried the noon CUBANA airline flight. For some reason they wouldn’t process my flight at ll:30, though one would think that $180 would have made a difference to the Cuban government, but no go. I suspect that security is the reason for not letting me jump on at the last minute. Otherwise, considering that CUBANA had two crashes (Guatemala & Columbia) in December, I was somewhat relieved. They fly Russian planes and parts have been a problem. .

A new postmodern $30 million dollar airport terminal built by Canada, a definite improvement over the old terminal of four years ago. Meanwhile, security insisted that I put my camera bag through X-ray and I refused. I have a lot of high-speed film that would be damaged and no way could I do this. A brief stand off, but finally another security woman interceded and did a hand held search. They waved me through with no further search of my other bags.

Surrounded by state run taxis I go out into the street and secure a private taxi, which is half the price. A nice man and I practice my broken Spanish–and his English is not bad. The first things I see are billboards with pictures of Elian, the boy who remains held captive in Florida. The taxi driver says that, truly, everyone is upset, and that he belongs with his father. I tell him that America thinks that he belongs in the suburbs of Miami with Nintendo, the Mall and Disneyland. And America will not be happy until he has three gold chains around his neck, driving a Mercedes, with a pistol and bag of cocaine under the seat. Then he can out do the guy next door.

I explain my take on this to the taxi driver: forget the international politics for a moment.

It has been documented that Elian’s father was a committed parent who saw his son 5 days a week, etc. However, had HE kidnapped Elian without the mother’s knowledge, and taken him on a dangerous journey and himself drowned, it would have been unspeakable–and without a doubt the boy would have been returned to his mother in 24 hours.

This time on the ride in, unlike 4 years ago, I don’t see prostitutes throughout the streets–it has been cleaned up. Also, along the Malecon a lot of construction scaffoldings and cosmetic work. Spain had promised the Malecon restoration as a gift for years, and probably after a few more lucrative business contracts they came through.

Finally, we pull up to Joseph’s flat in the Vedado section of Havana. Someone leads me into the building and I hold my breath while looking at a rather broken down elevator. I get in and we make it up to the l2th floor.

A warm embrace and Joseph shows me around. A beautiful 3 bedroom flat, a nice balcony with exquisite views of Havana. Something very beautiful about this city–like New York, Beirut or Rio–a city that never sleeps. A lot of wealthy ghosts in this part of town…this was a rather affluent area before the revolution. Beautiful Spanish colonial architecture and gardens, with tree lined streets. Now it is somewhat run down, like this building, though as breath taking and romantic as ever.

I had known Joseph for about 8 years in San Francisco. He is British and lived in the city about 10 years. In l996 he purchased two of my Cuba photographs at a gallery and hung them in a travel agency that he owned with a friend. Two years ago he sold everything and moved to Havana. I had no idea that he was this committed to Cuba, politically or otherwise.

He works for the government radio station called RADIO PROGRESSO–this is Cuban world news and cultural programming in English that is broadcast around the world. He writes, edits and has a program on the air for 2 hours a day. The salary is 400 pesos a month ($20) and he doesn’t pay rent, electricity or water. Also there is a ration card for stable food items every month–and .he has free medical and dental care, like all Cubans.

Also, he is an excellent translator and will take foreign cultural study groups, journalists, and other people on research throughout Cuba. This is extra income, though it can be spotty.

Along with a bit of Rum, I am welcomed by a number of Cubans in the flat–and this includes a couple of doctors, the opera musical director and two writers. Quite impressive. I keep waiting for Castro to walk in, but it never happens.

Amelio takes a collection and goes out for more rum. The minute he gets on the elevator there is a black out. The room erupts with laughter–Amelio has been trapped on the elevator. I didn’t find this very funny, as it could have been me. Cubans have a sense of humor. Actually, there is still some ‘energy-saving’ electrical rationing, but this is negligible compared to the six, ten, and even eighteen-hour cutoffs of the mid-nineties, when I was last here.

l-ll

7 a.m. I awake to a rather loud transmitter/reverb sound and go out to the balcony. Joseph is pacing the floor and talking rather loudly with the telephone to his ear. I soon learn that he is being interviewed by WBAI, the largest radio station in Chicago. They are doing a program on Elian, the boy, and Joseph fills them in on the government’s latest commentary and public opinion.

By noon I go out into the streets of my Ole Havana. I take long walks throughout Vedado, a neighborhood that I passed through four years ago. Some homes and buildings are immaculate, while others are quite ruin down. A lot of the nice places are government, cultural or education centers, while others are homes of Cubans who receive Miami money from families. There are a number of embassies throughout Vedado, and as I walk down Linear Street I run into the Chinese embassy, followed by Poland and Korea.

For the first time since Asia I am focused on color photographs–the doorways, architecture and old American cars. This is a dream, walking these streets, and impossible to put into words…its l950 and I am in a time machine. Literally.

After dinner we go outside to a café for drinks. 85 cents for a beer. At this point a man comes up and pesters us for money. I have never seen this in Cuba–and Joseph says it is only the second time in two years for him. In a moment of humor Joseph says, "We will have to turn him in to the ‘central committee’ and have him re-educated."

We return home and I meet Sergio, a doctor, who has come by to see my photographs. Fascinating encounter. In l944 he was born in Peru and at the age of 2 his family moved to New York. His father has spent his whole life working with the United Nations

Sergio spent 20 years in New York, and upon turning 22 he visited Russia, where he spent 2 years attending school. In l966 he returned to New York, and within a year moved to Cuba. There he attended Medical school for 6 years and became a doctor. He has lived and practiced medicine ever since, though he has made a number of trips abroad. Sergio has a Peruvian passport so, officially, he can go where he likes, but he calls Cuba home.

We immediately hit it off and spend a long evening in conversation, followed by drinks in Vedado into the wee hours.

I find it rather interesting to see yet another perspective from Cuba on the ‘inside’. Of course, his English is immaculate, with a slight New York accent. He is a peculiar figure. Also, he is in a state of change, like a lot of Cubans. He says that he is like many Cubans who want change–and not on Castro’s terms, nor on America’s terms, either. He is critical of many things, but he also loves Cuba and what the government has done for the people– and this being the fact that since Castro came to power he built schools, hospitals, libraries, roads, cultural and artistic centers, etc. No other central or South American country can acclaim a 94 per cent literacy rate. And Cuba has a 6.4 infant mortality rate–America is 8.6. Still, he is quite critical about many things. And, in a humorous moment, he says, "To criticize is one thing–to organize is another." We laugh and have another drink. Sergio reminds me that the most appalling thing Cubans find about America is violence, that there are so many guns and shootings, they can’t fathom that environment, especially with kids.

He tells me that he is leaving for England to work for a RED CROSS medical team for disaster relief, and will most likely be sent to Kosovo or Timor. It has been years since he has been out of the country. Sergio plans to make enough money to return and buy a house–and for this he will need Cuban lawyers to get through the state red tape, but these days it can be done. For now, as a Doctor, he is making 400 pesos ($20 a month).

l-12

Today Sergio and I start off for a long tour on his motorcycle. He shows me the University of Havana, the National Ballet Center, and, finally, a number of Hospitals where he has worked.

We continue on the outskirts of Havana and go into rural areas, very laid back and beautiful country. Now we turn on a main road and suddenly he says, "look discreetly to your right and you will see the main political prison–and no photographs!" I immediately photograph a shot from my lap.

On the way back we gas up the bike ($4 a gallon) and drive through Central Havana to have his spark plugs cleaned. We pull up to a building, and outside a man has a small old machine that will grind and clean a spark plug. They converse and I wander about photographing. Soon I return and the job is finished. As we get back on the bike Sergio laughs and says, "Can you believe it? This guy makes about 4 times as much as I do with that little machine."

I suggest dinner and he mentions a wonderful black market private Italian restraunt. We ride through central Havana and while driving up to this house he says, "something is up." He greets a man leaning out the window of the balcony. The man runs his two fingers across his throat and says in Spanish–"shut down". This for one of three reasons: He never registered with the state–or he did register, but tried to have more than 12 chairs without anyone knowing. Finally, he could have been visited by the state and could not show receipts for food items, which means he bought stolen goods–and this is stealing from the state. Absolutely forbidden.

At this point I tell Sergio that money is no problem and to choose a favorite. He rarely gets a treat like this, even though he is a doctor. We head for Miramar to the former Russian consulate, which is now a beautiful restaurant. We arrive at the consulate and it has the feeling of a well groomed country club. This is off the tourist path and is for locals only, though they take only dollars. Cuba now has a lot of places for people to spend dollars and splurge. About 30 to 40 percent of all Cubans get money wired in from their Miami families–and the Cuban government makes sure there is now a lot to spend it on. An estimated eight hundred million dollars a year is being pumped into Cuba’s economy through such remesas ("remittances") from the Cuban émigré community in Florida and elsewhere. The government needs dollars to buy much needed medicine, gas, and other staple items. So there are restaurants, western stores, and a number of places to splurge. I even saw a few places that look like McDonald’s and they serve the same food, with Disney like animals painted on the walls. A lot of "Miami" Cubans live well here, unlike most of the population.

Sergio and I go around back to the Garden and are seated. The waiters are wearing nice shirt and bow ties. It almost looks surreal. We order drinks and food–this being shrimp & chicken w/ vegetables at $5 a dish. I couldn’t help but ask Sergio how often he eats meat, and quite frankly he says, "once in a very blue moon."

Over dinner I ask more questions. What happened after he became a Doctor and lived in Cuba the last 30 years? He explains that there were a few medical conferences in Russia, visited family twice in Peru, and made one trip to New York. Later in 1978 he went into Nicaragua for 2 years and worked as a doctor for that revolution. He dealt with wounded soldiers and was sometimes forced to fight and defend the hospitals. A few very close calls, but he survived. A few years later he went to El Salvador and became a doctor in another ‘war’ and, again, spent some time fighting as well. In l984 back to Cuba.

And I thought I had a life story. I remind Sergio that he has a book in him that should be written sooner than later. He laughs and says that he has been keeping a journal for 20 years and still hasn’t gotten past the first draft. He says I have a book as well and that we must both finish.

Cuban cigarettes are so strong that they are impossible to smoke, though the cigars are another story. I order a pack of American cigarettes from the waiter and he brings back a pack of Marlboro for $1.25–and that’s 25 cents more expensive than Mexico. Whatever, it looks like Cuba hasn’t gotten around to taxing or suing Phillip Morris as yet.

l-13

Noon. I meet Joseph and we head out to a Maternity hospital–he is meeting some western journalists and another group doing research on Cuba’s Medical Practice. We go to the director’s office and I am introduced to Alina, who is about 60 and has been a physician for 35 years. I step out and shoot some photos and am immediately confronted by guards. After explaining that I am with Joseph and the director they apologize and offer to take me around. Finally, Joseph, the director and I proceed to a conference room, now filled with people. She gives a brief introduction and greetings as Joseph translates. Then the questions begin. Some questions upset her, but most of the hour goes smoothly.

Doctors in Cuba spend 6 years in medical school and then for 2 years practice medicine. And only after this mandatory two years of practice can they return to school to become a specialist. This is because medical treatment is based on the "community." The doctor learns to live in that community for those two years and become an integral part of their life. And this is primary in beginning a practice.

Cuban medicine is also based on educating the people–and preventive medicine is key. They provide a lot of literature and have daily community meetings to address people’s concerns. The doctor will also make home visits that have as much to do about education as medical care. This month is a focus on A.I.D.S. and how it will affect their lives. Also, Cuba has one of the lowest rates of A.I.D.S. in the world.

This is a Maternity hospital and there are on average about 350 to 400 births a month. Also, about 200 abortions a month. Birth control services and education are widely available. IUDs pills, condoms, are widely available and free. The downside of Cuban medicine is anti-biotics. You can have the most successful heart operation, but with the on set of infection there are often not enough anti-biotics to go around. This is another sad footnote with America’s attempt to isolate Cuba with the embargo. Unlike Russia, Viet Nam, and China–Cuba cannot trade goods and open such markets with America. And most recently the United States has lifted a ban on the sale of food and medicine to Iran, Libya, Sudan, and North Korea–the only country that is still denied humanitarian assistance is Cuba. Now about 70 percent of Americans are against the embargo–but the Miami anti-Castro money lobby has bought out every politician, including the last eight presidents. And the United Nations (all countries) has voted 102 to l against the embargo.

A shame.

l-15

Today I pack-up and head for the Havana Vieja (old town) section of Havana. Joseph will be in Cienfuegos for 3 days of government meetings on the economy. . Vieja is the old historic side of Havana. Four years ago this was my home, where I lived and photographed during most of my stay. I go back and visit the doctor, Alexandro, who I lived with in that period. I drop by and find that both rooms are occupied; though one might open up tomorrow. His mother and wife both give me a cordial greeting–and they remember me! Alexandro is working today, but they insist that I come back tonight. Otherwise, we talk about the new ‘beautification’ of the Malecon sea front and they make light of it. Other Cubans would call this family ‘counter-revolutinary’–they do not like Castro. And yes, they are like almost everyone else who has family in Miami.

I circle around the Prado district and call on another friend of 4 years ago. We have a warm greeting and he says that there is a woman around the corner who has a room with a nice balcony for $15 a night. We go to her place and he yells up 2 stories, she greets us and throws down the keys. Her name is Nora and she gives me a warm embrace. She is very warm and hospitable, and insists on washing my clothes while showing me the room. I shower and go out for more photos.

I am shooting color 3 to l over black & white and have made a lot of good shots of doorways, balconies, old American cars and various studies of architecture. Last time the photography was more intense, and that is because I was ‘on the streets’. This trip I have seen Cuba from the ‘inside’ and have made a lot of contacts. These photos are not as intimate as four years ago.

I return home and Nora says that she has a friend who would like to meet an American and practice her English. She lives out in the Campo province. I am not sure what to make of this, but of course I agree to meet her. It is 3: 00 and I tell Nora that I will return at 7:30 this evening.

While photographing I turn into a side street to buy tobacco and meet Eric, a Swedish filmmaker–and I have seen two of his films! He did a wonderful award winning documentary of the Indians in Columbia, South America. Now he is involved with a film in Santiago Cuba, shooting religious ceremonies. We exchange cards and I give him Joseph’s telephone number.

I return to Veija an hour late. In the back kitchen Nora introduces me to her friend Dona –she is a beautiful woman, a mulatto (half black & Latin). I pull out a bottle of Rum and we all share drinks. They are discussing the American lottery for winning a visa to America. Last year the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service sponsored a lottery for six thousand immigrant visas for Cubans, and during the month they were available more than five hundred and forty thousand people between the eligible ages of eighteen and fifty-five applied for them. This out of ll million people in Cuba.

There is a nice restaurant around the corner and I ask her out for dinner. Suddenly, this becomes an international dilemma. With the new crackdown on prostitution one must be careful in the company of a Cuban woman. It is suspect, and police will often confront the woman and ask questions. Often they are taken in or fined.

From here, between the three of us, we go over the scenario. We are to hold hands in public at all times while walking the streets–and, again, even though she is not a prostitute it doesn’t matter. I am to say, if confronted by the police, that she is "mi novia" (my love). This should help but no promises. As soon as we go out the door a policeman passes and nothing happens.

Hand in hand we round the corner and make it up stairs. We have drinks out on the balcony and just as dinner is being served a heavy rainstorm has moved in from Florida. I insist on finishing the dinner outside, as it is so rare to experience a warm rain–something that never happens in San Francisco.

We spend a couple of hours eating and talking, getting to know one another. Soon we must head back out into the streets. Is this a war zone or a movie? As we walk in the rain some one yells and I make nothing of it, but she says "rapido" (hurry) and we run down the street. Luckily, the key miraculously fits and with haste we make it upstairs. I laugh but she is more than concerned. Nora greets us and manages to comfort Dona. Nora is also illegally renting me this room, though nobody would call us on it, and no one has confronted me while coming to and from the building–though I am always keenly aware of this possibility. Dona has an hour bus ride back to the country, but Nora talks her into staying over.

l-l6

Today we have a light breakfast here, then I go out to shoot and look for more color film. Dona agrees to accompany me to the Fototeca for a photo gallery opening, and I am to meet the director again about showing my work there. I had a small show 4 years ago, but we plan something big for the future.

1 P.M. As soon as I come in Nora is up in arms about a "FREE ELIAN" rally–a l00,000 people expected to march right under our balcony, along the Malecon sea front to the American Interest Section. Cuba and America do not legally recognize each other but both have an ‘Interest Section" in each country. And this should be intense as the Cuban people are quite intimidated by America keeping the boy from his father.

Dona and I fall into an intimate hour in my room, and soon I can hear shouting and a near riot just out the window. Nora is pounding on the door (she knows I want to photograph this). I get up, half-dressed, and run to the balcony and see the procession happening. I return to the room and get dressed, slinging camera gear across the room. I am in a trance and have waited all my life to live and record a moment in history like this. I politely ask Dona to accompany me but don’t mean it–and she knows–and wouldn’t come anyway. They both laugh as I run, disheveled, out the door.

By now the crowd has rounded the Prado and making their way to the malecon, which is about another mile or so to the American Interest Section. I must move fast. I follow the tail end of the march and mingle in. Now I am approached by police, as I am not wearing a tag, or that I am not Cuban? They don’t know what to make of me. I try to explain that I am American, etc. They are going into a routine about security and I pull out, as I must hurry to get a cab to the Interest Section. Several policeman salute me and seem make light of our encounter. I am on another planet. The Malecon is closed down for security and impassable.

I make my way one block over to try for a cab and desperately attempt to flag down any car or taxi that will take me. The streets are filled with people in a near riot, and I am still a mile away. Suddenly, out of no where a new Mercedes pulls over–it looks more like a government car and is definitely not a taxi. I open the side door and explain that I am trying to get to the American Interest Section. I get in, not knowing

exactly who this guy is, but everything is now in the hands of destiny. I tell him that I am an American–and that I am also for Elian’s return. He asks me if am a journalist, and if so, what paper? I respond that I am a fine artist photographer from San Francisco. I then volunteer that I am staying with a friend who works for Radio Progresso. In a situation like this I couldn’t have come up with a better line, and finally I am relieved to state my case. Whatever, it is still an anxious moment, though we now continue the conversation with more ease. However, I wonder how much of this is about intelligence and spy vs. spy.

I can hear loud speakers, thousands of people waving tiny Cuban flags, all yelling in unison, in Spanish–"FREE ELIAN, FREE ELIAN, FREE ELIAN." Now, while pointing towards the Interest Section he says that this is as close as he can get. I hand him $5 and he refuses. Interesting. He reaches out to shake my hand–I would like to shake his hand, but my hand is already shaking. He says, "mucho gusto" (nice to meet you)….

I make my way over to the Interest Section. At this point police and soldiers surround it. I realize now that the government is worried about a violent assault on the American Complex and it is quite tense. I go around to the backside and duck under two barriers towards a platform where speeches are being made. Immediately two soldiers confront me and bring me back. Now two Soviet made helicopters circle the area. There might even be l00,000 people. It is just a massive sea wall of Cubans from here all the way back two miles to the prado.

I have my eye on a building and if I can get on top it would be a beautiful place to photograph. I discreetly go in the back entrance and head for the elevator. Now three soldiers move in and proceed to block me and other residents trying go upstairs. Nobody is allowed up. I go outside again, and now I realize not even other Cubans can cross the barriers toward the speaker platform and other protesters. If you weren’t on this march in the beginning, then you are left out. And this is all about security. A woman is handing out small Cuban flags–she approaches me and puts one in my hand. In the next minutes I am in conversation with a couple from Argentina. When the Cubans come over and learn that I am an American (holding the flag) they cheer. Twice I am interviewed on two radio stations, once in Spanish and then in English. Now I see two large television camera crews making their way towards this block–they look European or American. Suddenly it occurs to me that CNN has a bureau in Havana–and I realize that it is a good time to make a grand exit! I do not wish to be in the news!

At this point, with my l5 minutes of fame, I make my way back to the Vieja district. The women drill me about the events of the day. I am so wired that it would take a few bottles of rum to bring me back to earth.

Dona and I make it over to the Fototeca opening. The Director has gone over my portfolio, and wants to show half of it, including the Cuba shots. Lugging the portfolio around Cuba and Mexico has been a problem, but I am finally glad that I went to the trouble–and I have conversed with many artists.

l-18

Today I meet Andre, a doctor, under rather unusual circumstances. While photographing in Central Havana I am approached by a well mannered older man, and he is carrying a barber kit. He says, "Doctor, medico, doctor, English". I can’t make this out and turn away. Finally, after much insistence on his part I agree to follow him. A couple of blocks later we enter a doorway and a locked gate. He yells and, finally, Andre appears, sizes me up and greets me in broken English.

The flat is like a museum, with a few cobwebs thrown in. Andre is in his late 60’s and just recently retired, after practicing medicine for 40 years. He is happy to meet an American and his English is not bad. I begin to ask questions and he brings out a box of cigars. We smoke and he goes over the life story. After medical school he spent two years in Russia, with a lot of time in Romania and Hungary. He fought and practiced medicine in the Angola war in Africa. Finally, and most interesting, in l980 he went to Viet Nam to learn about Herbal medicine, and wrote a book for Cuban doctors to consider integrating into their western medicine.

I shoot photos and it might be some of the best of the trip. He has paintings of Castro on the wall and photos of himself with Che Guevara. I ask him to put on his Angolan army uniform and we laugh. Then I put the uniform on, with a cigar in my mouth and he photographs me. More laughter.

Now one of his best friends drops by. His name is Camilo, a musician, who has played around the world with a lot of famous Cuban Salsa groups. He has played in Canada, Mexico, Russian, Paris, etc. It’s interesting that I have met a lot of people who have been in countries where they could have easily applied for political asylum–albeit they all love Cuba, their country and consider it "home". America media always paints the story that all Cubans live in poverty, slums, and are in a political jail, etc. It is just not totally true. I don’t agree with everything that is going on here, but in many ways it is better off than many other countries in Central and South America.

Cuba is not another Banana Republic, with cheap labor and all wealth owned by 3 or 4 families, like Mexico, Columbia, Brazil, etc. Those leaders care little about education, medical care, and the well being of the people. In a moment of humor Camilo reminds me of a famous Cuban/Mexican saying–"SO FAR FROM GOD AND SO CLOSE TO AMERICA." We laugh and Andre hands out more cigars.

Finally, I bring up the Santeria religion ceremony with Andre, and mention that it would be an interesting photo study. I had noticed evidence of this religion on one of his tables. He inquires about my work and I offer to return with the portfolio. 6 P.M. Back with the photographs and they take me quite seriously. He does know a few people–in particular a woman priestess, but no promises. I arrange to meet tomorrow evening and will continueto press.

l-19

I stop by the Cuba National Ballet Center–one of the most famous in the world– and right up there with New York and the Bolshoi in Moscow. I have made contact with an ex-dancer who now works here, and hope to I get a private tour.

At the front desk I ask for Celia, she is somewhere in the building and I take a seat. In a half-hour she appears and we have a warm greeting. We met through Joseph and had dinner last week. Her English is very good, perhaps the best I’ve heard in Cuba. She gives me a tour of the building and I find it quite beautiful, stunning–and learn that it is one of the oldest in all of the Americas.

We walk down endless halls and slip into a large room full of mirrors where young girls are practicing. I wonder if these girls are from wealthy families, as they look rather affluent and protected. I ask and she says that it is (if you pass screening) $2.50 a month, but as no one makes more than $20 a month it is absolutely unaffordable. If you are really talented then it doesn’t matter. Anyway, a lot these girls obviously have families with Miami money. But regardless, only the most talented & committed continue after a certain age.

I shoot color, then switch to black & white, change lenses, all the while shooting. We quickly exit to another room and I continue shooting–these girls are older and the scene is more interesting. Now, we continue down another hall into a very large room where artists are painting and doing set design for the stage–they are preparing for the ballet season, which begins in the spring. A German company is doing a dance performance tonight and they are wandering about. Last month a French entourage performed with Cubans.

Another practice hall with young women, and of course they are more refined. Mirrors, a very large window with stunning architecture and a courtyard below. More shots and I move about freely…20 women and I find two of them spell binding and move in to shoot close while they dance. Celia stands by patiently, though I know I am pushing it, but this is a dream–and I won’t come to until I get another dinner bill with Celia tonight, but no mind.

We continue towards the main stage–and these are the professionals–men and women stretching together, but not dancing. As we stroll about the auditorium Celia has more questions about San Francisco. On the way out I thank her and we agree to have dinner tomorrow night.

1-21

I am back in Vedado. Joseph has returned from Cienfuegos with a bottle of Mexican wine and we go out to buy pizza for a dinner party. The pizza connection is black market, behind a house nearby. A small round baked bit of dough with sauce, cheese and onions. The onions make it, no matter how pitiful the pizza really is. We by 6 for 36 pesos ($l.50). We return to set up dinner and open the wine. Just before dinner Joseph makes the announcement to everyone that this is the 3^rd day without water in the building, and that we must all conserve what little there is. Almost comically, at that very moment, there is a black out–the room erupts with laughter. This is Cuba. And there are candles. Now a romantic dinner–thanks to the American embargo!

l-22

6 a.m. I get up to photograph the sunrise in Vieja–this is the most interesting light. At all hours I see kids playing baseball, and they use whatever is possible. Often I see parts of a tire cut, rolled and tied into the shape of a ball. There are a lot of good leagues for kids to play in when they get older. Baseball, along with Hollywood and jazz, is perhaps the biggest American past time that the Cubans have embraced. And they play baseball very well, having won a number of Gold medals in the Olympics. Also, some of the Cuban stars have defected to America and play there. The New York Yankees best pitcher is now from Cuba. American baseball scouts are even permitted entry to Cuba to scout prospects. They are many changes going on in Cuba, and I suspect soon enough that Cubans will be able to legally sign contracts abroad.

Spain held Cuba as a colony for many years, and they have always hated Spain (and still do). Originally, Cuba took up baseball in l890, and this was also a political statement. Spain, like Europe, held soccer in the highest esteem, but the Cubans, in defiance, rejected it, and embraced baseball. And a hundred years later this hasn’t changed.

l-23

Noon. I meet Joseph at Radio Progresso. A woman in the lobby asks my reason for being there–and she looks quite concerned and doesn’t know what to make of me. She makes a call, I am seated and Joseph arrives. As we make our way up an elevator, he reminds me that absolutely no photographs in the building.

We get off on the 4^th floor and here are a lot of offices, computer stations, sound rooms. Everything is old, but functions quite well. Again, it is l940 and I am in a movie. Radio Progresso is essentially known as "Radio Havana" and is carried around the world in English. It consists of news, commentary, music and other cultural programming. Everything is written, edited and recorded here–then the program is sent out and picked up by satellite frequencies all over the world. Call it news, propaganda, what you will–but a lot of countries do this, including Uncle Sam.

Joseph is editing a piece to be recorded. He covers the Europe and Asia news. Also, he writes a commentary piece and interviews a lot of people, including famous figures and journalists in America and other parts of the world. He chats with Noam Chomsky and Howard Zinn almost every week. Radio Progresso has pretty much given him free reign on programming, though, of course, he has a superior that he meets with everyday.

It seems like a bit of chaos everywhere, but all business. Meanwhile, as I am being introduced to a lot of people, a ‘live’ feed comes in from a Cuban reporter in Puerto Rico. We go to the sound room and the technician says "go" and they start recording. Joseph as usual listens in to make sure all English is correctly pronounced, etc. Her name is Mirta and her story concerns the American military base that does practice bombing on an island just off Puerto Rico. Last year, they accidentally killed a local civilian while bombing; and now people have taken over the island and have called for the removal of the American military base.

A somewhat typical news story, with a more than obvious anti-American slant. This one goes on the first ‘take’ without any problems and will we be edited into tomorrows programming.

Now Eliza has come in with a story on Pinochet, the former Dictator of Chile, who has been held in Britain for over year. He was to stand trial for the murder and disappearances of 3,284 people. The British now say he is too ill to stand trial, and will be released. A big story and here we go…She brings the story in the sound studio and we are introduced. Finally, the tech man says ‘go’ and she begins. On the 2^nd paragraph she says Pinochet’s political ‘cup’–instead of political ‘coup’. Joseph says stop and the tech man rewinds the tape. Meanwhile Joseph tells her, on another microphone, the error. 2^nd take and it go through without a hitch. Now, into the third paragraph she says ‘exarate’, instead of ‘extradite’. As Joseph says ‘stop’ the whole place erupts in laughter. She is obviously embarrassed, but is able to laugh with everyone. And now with an American in the room, it makes it a bit more difficult with the English. 2^nd take and she breezes through.

The program ‘host’ comes in to confer with Joseph and the technician about his introduction and voiceover to be edited into all stories, music, commentaries, programming, etc. This is all being edited to go out on the next day’s program. Joseph and the sound technician go over the editing, and I sit about with Eliza and the host chatting in English. I tell them both that their English and accents are quite good–and I remind them that their accents are quite American, unlike Europeans, where English is spoken with a British accent. They then remind me that a lot of English instructors at the National language Institute have been Americans secretly working in Cuba.

Now they take me on a short tour of the building. There are other small stations on another floor that do a ‘news only’ program in 9 languages; including French, German, Arabic, Chinese, South African, etc. From here we go into a very large computer room where you can pick up news being fed in from every major news organization in the world: AP, CNN, French, Russian, German, British, etc. This room is full of tele-type noise, with many people scurrying about with paper feeds of news stories, etc. CNN is the only American news bureau with an office in Havana. A lot of visual news feeds on Cuban t.v. come from CNN–and I’m sure that was part of the agreement for getting a bureau here.

I am suddenly thinking that not even James Bond got this close to the ‘inside’ of Cuba–and actually, for the first time, realize that I am pretty close to the fire and taking my chances. And I don’t doubt, for a minute, that American intelligence is everywhere in Havana.

Joseph and I manage a few shots of in the studio, exchange final greetings with everyone and exit through the elevator. On the way out we are stopped and thoroughly searched by security. Now Joseph insists that I have the experience of taking a local bus with him back home. We get in line behind 70 to 80 people and wait. Some vacation….

I take a nap, go out and shoot a sunset by the bay, followed by dinner and Salsa music with Celia, my ballet guide. Everyone in the Radio ‘Progresso building is making $15-20 a month. I feel rather guilty taking such pleasures tonight…

l-25

6 p.m. Jeremy has flown in from Miami and will be staying here for a couple of weeks. He is writing and photographing a book on A.I.D.S. in Cuba. Joseph is organizing people everywhere to go down and help bring up 2 very large trunks that Jeremy has flown in from America. I soon learn that these trunks contain $50,000 worth of A.I.D.S. medicine–donated by three hospitals from San Francisco. Jeremy is still in shock that they passed through customs in Miami without being confiscated. Or, we all wonder, did they just let it go through because it was medicine? He came in on a legal journalist visa (after a year’s wait).

Now, in celebration, Jeremy pulls out 2 bottles of California wine. Amelio goes out to bring back pizza with the wine. A day after arriving from America, I found this pizza to be the most pathetic thing I have ever seen or tasted. Well, now, after 2 weeks in Cuba, I consider this to be a ‘take out’ from a 4 star restaurant and am most grateful. And almost everyday I bow to the Chef, Roberto, as he stands behind this broken down shack behind his house, just off Verde Street….

Over dinner I bring up the question of racism in Cuba. I proclaim that the Cuba government is, in fact, quite racist–though one doesn’t get this feeling from the Cuban people. I bring up the fact that when I see police randomly pull over pedestrians and bicyclists to check for identity papers–they are always black, not Latin. Also, I point out that out of l4 cabinet ministers in the Cuban government, only 3 are black. This in a country that is 65% black!

Joseph makes it clear that he agrees, and that he has even lodged a complaint with the Central Communist Committee in Havana. No response.

l-26

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Today I am to meet Andre and witness the Woman Priestess( MAYOMBERA) of the Santeria religion. A derivative of the Catholic creed, essentially a mixture of that faith and the religious practices and beliefs brought to Cuba by African slaves, it has given birth to the most fascinating religion in Cuba: Santeria. African slaves identified their deities (orishas) with colors as opposed to figures. It is usually possible to identify followers of Santeria and their chosen saint by the colored beads they often wear around their wrists or neck. Santeria saints are worshipped through a variety of rituals including dancing, music, and chanting and occasionally animal sacrifice. There is also an element of voodoo and it is common, during Santeria ceremonies to witness the use of black voodoo dolls. During Santeria carnivals you are quite likely to witness people falling into trances during the height of the celebrations.

The people who practice this religion often find it necessary to go see the priest–particularly when you have a problem with a loved one, an enemy, health, money, or a need to get in touch with a dead relative, etc. And it does cost money to do this.

Andre and I begin our walk through Central Havana and finally come to a gate. From here a man leads us into the house. It is dark and I already have misgivings about this. I have, of course, agreed to pay up to witness this. Meanwhile, Andre says that while photographing I should also focus on any problems that I might have.

As we come in there is no greeting–she is chanting with a necklace of red beads sliding through her fingers. Three bowls on a table. The first bowl contains a CARACOL–a shell, with a nail driven through it, and this is called ELEGGVA. In the bowl are loose beads with small plastic dolls. Rum and water have been poured in. Three lit candles. Now she lights a cigar, puts the fire side in her mouth and blows out smoke from the other end over the table.

Andre reminds me that sometimes the priest will cut off the head of a chicken and let the blood drain in the bowl. Suddenly, she takes the shell with the nail and cuts her finer and spreads blood on her arms.

She is somewhat in a trance, another world, and has yet to acknowledge us. I am already spooked. Finally, I remember to photograph; though it is not so easy in this spell-bounding environment.

The next bowl is OSUUM, and it looks like a baby coconut shell. This is used to clear the ghosts out of the cemetery–it also has the power to take out the dead and speak with them. For the first time she stares at me and our eyes are fixed. She picks up the MAMEY seed out of this bowl and holds it with both hands above her head while chanting. This is a seed from a large fruit that is put out into the sun for 3 days before the ritual. OSSUM eats this seed.

The last bowl is OCHA. This is known as the rule of OCHA and consists of a lot of small tool like objects (4 to 5 inches long) that have been sauntered together from metal pieces. She picks up the first piece and it looks like a bow and arrow. In the ritual this is used to kill an enemy.

The next object looks like an anvil and is used to solve problems with work. She continues continues and blows cigar smoke on it…. Now the LAMION, a tool that deals with clearing the mind. This is what I am personally focused on–clearing the mind and getting out of here in one piece. More cigar smoke and heavy breathing. She has spent more time with this than anything.

Now a tool called MUERTO OSAIN LUCERO that has to do with the soul. She blows more smoke on this as she picks up the SAMIAN, which looks like a hole or shovel–this is for the farm and good fruit.

Finally, the last tool, which looks like a machete, is used to kill a particular enemy. You write the name of a person on a piece of paper, and wrap it around the machete with your blood on it.

Now the chanting gets louder, she goes into free verse and starts shaking. Other people in the room join in. Another woman walks up as she is under a spell and the whole place, by now, takes on a primal air. More photographs and I figure that it is a good time to get out of here before someone dead from the cemetery walks in.

l-27

A lunch date with Andre and we go out for a quick meal. I inquire about the photo albums in his place and he agrees to share them with me. He had mentioned a photo of Castro and I am curious to see it. Also, another photo of Che Guevara.

He has about seven photo albums and I start going through them. Pictures of him and his wife in Russia, Hungary, and Romania. Pictures of his kids growing up. One daughter now a doctor in Spain and another working for the government in Cuba.

Finally, I ask to see the Castro picture and he goes through several albums, then shows me a shot of a dinner party in l956–and there he sits with Castro, side by side. Andre, just out of medical school, and Castro, then a lawyer–and just out of prison for leading the bloody July 26^th assault on the Moncada Army barracks in the eastern city Santiago, in an ill-fated early bid to oust Batista. Three years later he would help take over the government. Another shot now of Che Guevara in a sugar cane field in l952. They are all cutting cane and posing for the camera.

Andre now tells a story about Castro that I had once heard about years ago. By the time of his death in l956, Castro’s father owned two thousand acres of land and held the leases to another twenty-three thousand. Actually, the family was quite wealthy. Upon taking over the country, Castro ordered the expropriation of the estate "by the people." In Cuba’s historical canon, his action is cited as one of the first radical agrarian-reform measures in Cuba, an example of his selfless dedication to the cause of social equality. His mother saw things differently. After Fidel’s surprise announcement, which caused a frenzied free-for-all for possessions among his peasant followers, she took out her Winchester rifle and threatened to shoot him and anyone who came on to her land. Raul, her favorite son, interceded and managed to calm her down and defuse the situation, and the brothers decided to let things remain as they were. Their mother refused to leave the estate; and she lived there until she died, in l963.

Andre gives me the telephone numbers of 2 brothers and a cousin who live in America, and I promise to call them. Also, 4 letters to mail. We have a cordial embrace and I bid him farewell. It has been quite touching to share such intimate moments with a Cuban.

l-28

6 p.m. I finally get together with Ricardo Fleites, who lives upstairs from Joseph. He is the music director of the Cuban Opera. We spend the evening together having dinner and lots of coffee. It is arranged that I photograph promotional pictures for the Cuban Opera and send pictures back through Joseph.

I walk through his flat and see a large bust of Mozart and a very exceptional charcoal drawing of Castro on the same wall. A large beautiful grand piano, quite old and a bit out of tune, but it does the job…Also, throughout the flat are photos, awards and mementos of his mentor and teacher, Isolina Cazzillo; she willed everything to Ricardo upon her death. This is one of Cuba’s most celebrated composers. She also wrote the famous song, "Two Gardenias for you".

He is so excited about the opera’s latest production–PORGY & BESS! And I was somewhat astonished to learn that their production will be performed in July at the Graz Opera house in Austria–one the most famous in the world. Gershwin, who wrote PORGY & BESS, fell in love with Cuba during a visit back in l932; and he wrote a beautiful piece called ODE TO CUBA.

1-29

Today is market day and my turn to go out and buy produce for the household. Now farmers can sell their goods in the open market–after they have met government surplus quotas. I go to an open market in Vedado. Oddly enough everything is sold by lbs. and not in metric (unlike Mexico and other Latin American countries). Rice and carrots are 25 cents a pound, but onions are expensive at 50 cents a pound. Also, a table of pork and chicken. I buy coffee, vegetables, fruit and bread. On the way out I see black market chocolate candy from Italy. I almost buy some for everyone, but this is somewhat considered to be an unnecessary, needless counter-revolutionary waste of money in a communist society. However, I buy one, eat it on the way home and tell no one.

l-30

2:00. I take the cameras and head off to photograph the Opera. They are rehearsing in an old large house, just off the Malecon. It reminds me of New Orleans, with a lot old trees and beautiful flowers. Now as I make my way in I can hear the production of PORGY & BESS. A large hall inside with about l00 people sitting about, and Ricardo is directing the score. Everyone who is singing is black. The score is often interrupted by his input and is labor intensive. I move about and shoot. Again, this is a l940 movie and I am in a dream. He finally nods to me and after the piece is finished he introduces me to the cast. Another hour and they take an intermission.

Octavio Cortazar, the director, comes over and introduces himself. As we all stand about conversing Octavio learns that I am from the South and can’t believe it. He is like a very excited kid as he reminds me that they will be performing this piece in Austria at the most famous Opera house in the world. He says his biggest dream is to perform in America. I point out that the CUBAN ballet performs in America every year–and why not the Opera? I promise to bring this up to the San Francisco Opera with photographs and a tape of their music.

I remind Ricardo that I must get back to have dinner with Joseph, and that I fly out tomorrow. We have a warm embrace and farewell. He all but pleads with me to send him the photograph of my daughter with the bird–this was his favorite photograph in my portfolio. I will leave this print as a surprise with Joseph.

l-31

Full moon and last night in Havana. Joseph and I go out for one last dinner, and we head out to one of his favorite restaurants in Vedado, with good Cuban food and music. We go outside to a garden table and order a nice spread.

I thank him for my stay and especially the experience of seeing the ‘inside’ of Cuba. I then suggest and hope that he is keeping a journal–that it would make a hell of a book, to put down his perspective of Cuba. He agrees, but like Sergio he hasn’t gotten the first draft completed. The fact is that he is so busy working and experiencing so much, that there just isn’t the time for now.

Finally, we speak of his life that he left behind and he talks about the many things that he misses in America. Then, in a rather guarded moment he discusses the possible consequences of his tenure in Cuba, and that he suspects sooner or later there will be consequences in America with his green card and residency. He brings up the American Interest Section–it is a $35 million dollar building, constructed 2 years ago. The idea is that it exists to process Cuban visas, but the joke is that a lot of intelligence is going on. Also, should you ever meet an American in Cuba, no matter the circumstances–always turn the other way and do not engage or volunteer anything. Luckily, I have not met an American at any time in my 2 visits to Cuba.

On that note we take a long walk back home. He has arranged for a friend in the building to take me to the airport, as I have a 7 o’clock flight and must leave at 5 a.m.

He gives me a few packages, letters to take back. Now several people have dropped by–Sergio, Ricardo and others. We have a few drinks, a toast–and I vow to return sooner than later. In the mist of all of this a couple has walked in and I am introduced. The woman is FiFi–she just returned from New York, where she received an award from the United Nations for her community work in Cuba. I congratulate her and she introduces me to her friend, Antonio–he was one of Cuba’s most celebrated ballet dancers, and later became a star at the famous Tropicana. I learn that he is quite an icon in Cuba.

2-1

Finally, lights out and after a short sleep I awake to the alarm. With all my bags I head out to the elevator–it opens and as soon as I get the bags in there is a black out! Another second and I would have been trapped–the gods are with me! I stumble around, find a candle, retrieve the bags and make my way out the back door down 13 flights of stairs. The revolution still has a long way to go.