The post below, written by Individuals EN ESPAÑOL’s editor in chief, Armando Correa, originally appeared on PeopleenEspanol.com.
I’m a terrible Cuban. One of the worst. I spent 17 years without setting foot on the island where I was born, I stay clear of the unending debates about Cuba and I’m aware of what’s happening in that section of globe only when Brand-new York newspapers or newscasts mention it, which is almost never. From the time I left in 1991, Cuba has actually been a terrible nightmare for me.
So, when Cevin Bryerman, vice president and editor of Publishers Weekly, told me last summer he was organizing a historic trip to Cuba – the very first visit by editors and distributors of manuals and magazines from the U.S. – and that he wanted Individuals EN ESPAÑOL to be the only Hispanic publication to be section of that group, I was somewhat skeptical. His suggestion was that Monique Manso, Individuals EN ESPAÑOL’s publisher that was born in Brand-new Jersey to Cuban parents, and I prepare a presentation about the power of the U.S. Hispanic market and the strength of our publication in that marketplace.
First, we had to see if the Cuban government would certainly agree to host a group that is involved along with books and magazines, one that stands for the free dissemination of information. Secondly, as a Cuban exile that is now a U.S. citizen, I called for a special permit to enter Cuba, which for the past 20 years has actually called for Individuals like me to get hold of not only this permit yet likewise a Cuban passport – a process that costs a small fortune.
As the trip’s date neared and we all started to receive flight confirmations, my heart began to race. Monique and I wondered whether we would certainly be allowed to go. In our most recent Individuals EN ESPAÑOL Festival, held in Brand-new York this past fall, we prominently featured Cuban and Cuban-American artists like Gloria and Emilio Estefan and Pitbull, whose music is banned on the island. And to top it off, we had likewise featured a panel along with a vilified independent journalist, Yoani Sanchez, that is allowed to travel outside the island; Cuban artist Tania Bruguera, that was detained for a few months there after attempting to do a performance in Revolution Square during the Art Biennial in Havana; and political activist Rosa María Payá, the daughter of Oswaldo Payá that died in Cuba in a car accident that his family claims was no accident.
I’ve always told my three children – that in a means feel Cuban though they have actually no suggestion exactly what their parents’ country resembles – that we would certainly visit Cuba when the U.S. Embassy in Havana was once again operational (this happened over a year ago), when my cell phone had reception there (it does now, thanks to Verizon), when we could use our bank credit cards there (still not the case) and I would certainly not need a Cuban passport to return (still a long ways from happening).
So, feeling something between fear and paranoia – an emotion difficult to explain to somebody that did not grow up in Cuba at a time when all phones conversations were monitored, when your neighbor reported you to the authorities if you stepped inside a church or if you accepted a call from a family member in Miami, which would certainly brand you a CIA agent – I got on a plane to Cuba from Miami. There, I would certainly meet section of the group that I would certainly share this Havana odyssey with. The flight is only 40 minutes yet the process of getting there can easily last an entire day.
I arrived at Miami Worldwide Airport at 9 a.m. yet my flight didn’t leave until 7:30 p.m. The excitement felt by my seat mates – that were not section of the Publishers Weekly delegation – only diminished mine. Some were so-called “mules” that are paid to use their luggage allotments to take clothing, 65-inch screen television sets, huge speakers, whatever, to Havana from the U.S. Others had simply recently left Cuba and were returning within two years to guarantee they didn’t gone their status as Cuban residents. They were all excited to learn I was returning after 17 years; I kept telling them I had left Cuba in the 20th century and was now returning in the 21st. “Nothing has actually changed,” said the older woman sitting next to me.
In exactly what felt like the blink of an eye, the leader announced we were making our descent in to Havana and from my window I saw a darkened city.
When I stepped off the plane in to the tarmac that led to the terminal at José Martí Airport, I was slapped along with the smell of jet fuel that awoke lots of memories. I reached the window where an immigration official took my photo (the airport has actually gone digital) and he scanned his computer after going through my Cuban passport, page by page. I took a deep breath and thought: “They’re not sending me back this time.” I kept saying that again and again to myself. In 1995, when I was a reporter for El Nuevo Herald – the Spanish-language edition of The Miami Herald – the Cuban authorities granted me a special permit to see my father in Havana, yet once I arrived, they turned me around and sent me back to Miami on the same plane I had simply arrived in.
This time, I mentally repeated: “They’re not sending me back this time” so often that I almost blurted it out to the immigration official that now had my destiny in his hands. Those minutes along with your man were the longest in my life, until I heard the click that indicated he had stamped my passport so I could go through. “Welcome, Armando,” he said without looking at me. I immediately texted my family and friends, all of whom were expecting news of my trip.
Now I had to go through Customs. I saw that one female inspector didn’t take her eyes off of me and was walking towards me, somewhat bewildered. My legs began to shake; I clung to my carry-on and looked away until I felt somebody touching my shoulder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re the editor of Individuals EN ESPAÑOL!” she said, giving me a hug. “Chico, why didn’t you vote for the Cuban girl?”
I had no clue exactly what she was talking about, yet I took a picture along with her. She then explained that she saw me on Univision’s Nuestra Belleza Latina reality show, where a winner is decided on by popular vote every season. In Cuba, these television shows as well as movies from the U.S. are recorded and circulated through USBs, which are connected to computers or those 65-inch screens I had seen coming from Miami. lots of times, those shows can easily be up to four years behind exactly what we’re seeing in the U.S.
When this officer at the airport noticed I only had carry-on luggage, she took me to the exit. I was about to step outside when I heard my name called. “Now what?” I thought. The picture was blurry and the official wanted us to take a Brand-new one.
When I exited along with the group in the bus that would certainly take us to dinner in one of the most exclusive dining establishments in the city that is under private ownership, I didn’t recognize the city. Individuals in Havana really live in darkness.
The next day, I did my presentation at the Worldwide routine Reasonable in La Cabaña, a fort from the Spanish colonial era that was used as prison after Fidel Castro came to power. There, Ernesto “Che” Guevara personally oversaw the execution of hundreds of Individuals that were versus the Brand-new government. Photos of “Che” inside La Cabaña could be seen in different portions of the Fair.
The number of Individuals that lined up to buy manuals amazed the group of editors and publishers that traveled to Cuba. A long line of young Individuals filled the hallways of the old jail.
The final scene in my novel, The German Girl – which will certainly be published by Atria Books/Simon & Schuster in November – takes place in the same place I was now in. I started to see the city how it was ought to have actually been seen by my characters: the 937 German passengers, most of them Jewish, that set sail along with Cuban visas from Hamburg on May 13, 1939 on the Saint Louis attempting to escape the Nazis only to be returned to Europe after arriving in the port of Havana yet not allowed to disembark. Only 28 were able to stay in Havana, actually. lots of that returned to Europe perished in Nazi concentration camps. I spent hours contemplating Havana as a distant and unreachable city, not unlike the characters in my novel.
A photo posted by Armando Lucas Correa (@armandocorrea) on Feb 13, 2016 at 10:14pm PST
A photo posted by Armando Lucas Correa (@armandocorrea) on Feb 13, 2016 at 10:15pm PST
I consumed the city along with insatiable hunger. I discovered restored colonial ruins, cafes for tourists, revived imperial architecture. The winter breeze in the tropics, a forgiving sun and different accents from tourists from all over the globe made it almost impossible to tell if I joined Havana or on a adverse street in Paris or Milan.
I retraced the steps of my characters, which really was an exercise in retracing the steps of my youth. I went to the Colón Cemetery, the University of Havana, the Beth Shalom’s Synagogue and I discreetly took a picture in front of my childhood estate in the Vedado neighborhood. simply as I was doing this, somebody came from the house, smiling, and approached me. I explained that I was and she said she still remembered my family. I told her about my novel, that the main character in it had spent her last years in that residence and she asked me inside. I went to my bedroom, my mother’s and grandmother’s rooms, the corner where my sister and I would certainly play. That enormous residence that once seemed like a palace to me was now small, yet perfectly preserved in time and for an instant I was even able to smell the lost sent of home.
A photo posted by Armando Lucas Correa (@armandocorrea) on Feb 14, 2016 at 6:11pm PST
I likewise went to Central Havana, crossing destroyed streets and crumbling buildings propped up by pieces of wood and metal, to surprise my father. I was able to hug your man as if we had never stopped seeing each other.
After revisiting my past, I had to work. Monique had to present statistics about the U.S. Hispanic market, its buying power and our brand. We carefully showed our covers and not having seen the video beforehand, we showed a sizzle reel about the Individuals EN ESPAÑOL Festival. For the very first time, in an official government-controlled space, the images of Gloria and Emilio Estefan appeared. Pitbull likewise was there, repeating his chorus “Noa vamos pa’ Cuba” (“We’re going to Cuba”). No one applauded. The auditorium was filled along with perplexed faces.
In the last days of our trip, Cevin and John Malinowski, president of Combined routine Exhibit, signed the very first accord between the U.S. and Cuba that will certainly permit the exchange of books, authors and books in the future. It’s a very first step and we’ll have actually to see how it goes. I told Cevin that I would certainly have actually liked to see a panel along with authors that still live on the island (the majority of them publish their manuals abroad) and one along with authors that live outside of Cuba and whose manuals have actually to be smuggled in to the country.
That same day we learned that the U.S. and Cuba had reached an agreement that will certainly permit 100 day-to-day commercial flights between the two countries. Currently, only chartered planes can easily make the trip.
When it was time to say goodbye and once again face the long process of Customs and Immigration at José Martí Airport, I wasn’t nervous. I figured that I could call on the tips of that official that is a fan of Individuals EN ESPAÑOL if there were any problems.
A photo posted by Armando Lucas Correa (@armandocorrea) on Feb 15, 2016 at 9:46pm PST
When they started going through my luggage, a woman dressed in military attire unwrapped several plaster religious figures I had bought at Our Lady of Regla Catholic Church as gifts. The woman, along with a serious expression, warned me that they “served no purpose.” Alarmed, I was transported to 1980s Cuba, where believing in God could send you to jail. Surely, I joined front of an obstinate atheist. “They’re decorative items; I’m taking them as gifts,” I said. Taking my hand, she said: “Look, Individuals place their faith on that piece of plaster and believe that life will certainly be better, yet the only savior – I believed she would certainly say Fidel Castro – is Jesus Christ. He is the savior; you need to put your faith in him.” I almost laughed in her face. I had simply realized that indeed, I had left Cuba in the 20th century and returned in the 21st.
Havana has actually certainly changed. It’s not more democratic, there are still no free elections, yet you’re no longer jailed if you step inside a church, have actually a private bookstore or attend an embassy party where artists and intellectuals now discover refuge. An actor told me that laws are still not applied or respected. “Anybody can easily come in to your house, default on a contract and the police does nothing,” he said. “yet if anyone on the street yells ‘Down along with Fidel!’ they throw them in jail.”
Today’s Havana reminds me of 1960s Havana, the one immortalized by Cuban writer Guillermo Cabrera Infante. In that Havana, there were still vestiges of capitalism, the splendors of nightlife and cabarets, iconic restaurants. They still held embassy parties for intellectuals, that ended up being accused of being CIA agents because of their diplomatic ties. After that came the so-called Cultural Revolution. Private businesses were confiscated; massive jailing of artists and homosexuals gave means to a dark period of the Revolution.
In exactly what feels to me like a return to the 60s, Havana is full of private restaurants, bars and bed and breakfasts that the government has actually no suggestion how to regulate beyond charging them astronomical taxes. Buses filled along with tourists take them to exclusive restaurants, some of them managed by the children of Cuban generals (Starbien), daughters of ministers and widows of executed generals (Río Mar) and nightclubs where art, meals and parties mix (Fábrica de Arte), artists that romance European millionaires. The state-run restaurants? Empty.
Today’s Havana has actually changed. I left a city at war, where in every corner they dug trenches that would certainly protect us from imminent U.S. bombings, where billboards covered schools, buildings and walls along with phrases like: “Death to imperialism!” “Down along with capitalism,” “Motherland or Death: We will certainly Triumph.”
A photo posted by Armando Lucas Correa (@armandocorrea) on Feb 14, 2016 at 6:30pm PST
In Havana, there are no more political billboards, only painted remains of some which can easily still be seen in corroded walls and dilapidated homes. It felt like the country was planning itself for the imminent very first visit of a U.S. president in 82 years.
Different artists along with whom I got with each other in a surreal party in Havana’s hipster restaurant, El Cocinero – at the foot of a fantastic chimney in an old oil factory – told me the same thing: “There is no going back.” At the party, among writers that are censored in Cuba, the U.S. Cultural Attaché, the wife of the Cuban ambassador in Spain, actors and the Brand-new Cuban businessmen (both foreign or those that have actually return from Miami), were unbeknownst to me, the daughter and granddaughter of Raúl Castro. “can easily you imagine if they all leave?” asked Havana-based writer Wendy Guerra, paraphrasing the title of her very first novel, which was published in various countries around the globe except Cuba.
A photo posted by Armando Lucas Correa (@armandocorrea) on Feb 14, 2016 at 6:26pm PST
They all insisted I return. Some asked to return the following weekend. “I opened up an art gallery in Old Havana,” said actor Jorge Perugorría, the main character in Fresa y Chocolate, the only movie from the island to be nominated for an Oscar.
Yes, I will certainly return, yet I discover hard to accept that I have actually to do it as a tourist. I’ll return next year, if I’m invited again, along with my colleagues. I will certainly return if we can easily do a photo shoot there for Individuals EN ESPAÑOL. I will certainly return along with my novel in hand to present it there. And yes, I will certainly return along with my three children some day. As a tourist? I don’t believe so.
After an additional never-ending day at the airport in Havana – we had to wait 6 hours to board the plane – we arrived in Miami in a few minutes and I ran to catch my connection to Brand-new York. Arriving estate in Manhattan, I heard my 10-year-old’s voice: “Daddy!” I had arrived home.
I went to bed yet could not sleep and started to cry. A moment later, I felt utter joy. I was happy. I finally understood I wasn’t such a terrible Cuban. Cuba still hurts.
Armando Lucas Correa is the editor in chief of Individuals EN ESPAÑOL, a Time Inc. brand. His very first novel, The German Girl, will be published by Atria Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster in November 2016.
from Golden Land Travel http://ift.tt/1oNr9al
0 komentar:
Post a Comment