By JOSE ALBERTO ROZA*

How can we transform a communist island into a tourist destination in a capitalist world where the desire to consume is immense, but where scarcity is present?

The island is represented in our leftist imagination. The expression “Go to Cuba” comes to us from the extreme right. And, having been sent to the island, today I invited myself to think about it, in a context: the biggest blackout in recent years. I take into consideration the book Sofa for a walk (2001), by Fabio Herrmann, and I begin the journey understanding that being in a place is a field and can be analyzed. Thus, I place myself before the psychoanalytic gaze to think about my experience in Cuba.

My stance was not in the tourist field because in Cuba you cannot be a tourist. “To be a tourist is to turn your back on reality” (Herrmann, 2001, p. 85). The tourist photographs himself with his back to the object-monument and keeps his self-representation intact. His counterpart is the traveler, with a more attentive gaze that observes the object-monument. The tourist goes and comes back, intact in his identity. The traveler goes and, when he returns, something is broken.

How can we transform a communist island into a tourist destination in a capitalist world where the desire to consume is immense, but where scarcity is present? “We are all tourists. However, we can become travelers and, with some luck, the trip becomes an adventure and even exploration.” (Herrmann, 2001, p. 54)

In this text, I share five points that crossed my mind during the trip and I operate in analysis with the Theory of Fields, proposed by the author.

A Chinese wing on the plane:

The first few seats were occupied by Chinese people. The strangeness occurred during the flight, but above all, upon arrival in Havana. The plane door opened and members of the Cuban government entered to welcome the group. My gaze was lost in the scene, so I decided to follow the group through the airport. The lines at a special customs checkpoint are an example of how China is inside Cuba. This is not new information, but it makes me think about access to the island.

I would like to highlight that Cuba was one of the first Latin American countries to recognize the People's Republic of China, in 1960, followed by Fidel Castro's visit to China in 1995, the strengthening of economic and political ties, and cooperation agreements in areas such as trade and investment in 2020. Today, Cuba is heavily dependent on China for imports and investments, including in energy renewal.

China is one of the most technologically advanced countries in the world, and one of the largest economies in the world. The giant maintains a communist regime in selected parts of the world. In general, they are in the capitalist world. Cuba maintains a communist regime (after all, that's where they sent us in the last elections). Havana's airport is small and the heat of the island invaded me...

Walking around Havana

I chose a hotel strategically located on the corner of Malecón and Paseo José Martí, in the Old Havana neighborhood. It is a luxurious and modern hotel, with a large room, king-size bed, king size and a large bathtub in the middle of it all. Everything was created for tourists, made for those who don't live on the island. The sunset is magnificent, seen from the terrace-bar. I couldn't drink the traditional Mojito drink, because the hotel ran out of mint.

A little after sunset, I decided to go down to the boardwalk and returned after walking for two blocks. It's scary when people, with sad looks, show that the reality below is not the same as the one found above. The tourist me stepped away and the traveler me was summoned: it was necessary to pay attention.

Breakfast was not rich in options, yet another sign that I was on an island in need. I just wanted a coffee, a sip of coffee to wake me up. I looked for something familiar: a filtered coffee. When I had my first Cuban coffee… it was bad, bitter, burnt, just like the others I had on the island.

Walking through Havana began with a statue of José Martí, a great figure in the island’s independence movement. The historical buildings intrigue and fascinate me. They are old buildings that have deteriorated due to the passage of time and the scarcity of resources, but I wasn’t in Europe and that didn’t bother me. “Tourism is when life is transformed into a spectacle, into a kind of narcissistic trance, wanting everything to be transformed into a picture of vulgar beauty (…) The tourist wants nature and culture to show their faces without haggling and very quickly: it is he who runs and haggles when shopping.” (Herrmann, 2001, p. 85)

What intrigued me was the trash on the streets outside the tourist circuit. As a tourist, I had an itinerary, but I decided to improvise and walk around other places closer to the traveler. There was trash, including dead rats, on the streets and the looks of the locals were everywhere. I wasn't approached by any of them, but I looked at them and smelled the strong smell coming from the streets. A block outside the tourist circuit and I was placed in a kind of “Baixada do Glicério”, a reference to my city São Paulo, a place where degradation is enormous.

When I entered the cathedral, I came across a classical music class, where children and their instruments were led by a teacher who apparently is not Cuban. A tour guide with a government badge offered the classic driving tour through the city streets. I decided to walk a little further and took the guide's suggestions: a traditional restaurant and a café that he promised would be good. I liked both options. I tried the traditional dish Ropa Vieja and the coffee, this time, was the most pleasant on the island. I returned to the place a few times during my days in the city.

In the middle of the walk, I came across the image that became my vision of Cuba: a black man bathing in a fountain. He has no face, but he has a face that betrays life outside of tourism, even though he is invading this circuit. “A face is ideality, it is an image; the face changes, the face remains. Or, more strictly speaking, there is only a face when the material face is transformed, because a face is what remains identical. Identical to what? Identical to the soul, of course, to that which does not exist but is there, to the unconscious, if you prefer.” (Herrmann, 2001, p. 79)

My walk took me to the Great theater Alicia Alonso, a famous ballerina in Cuba, who studied in the United States and is considered the greatest Cuban ballerina. On the steps of the theater, a life-size sculpture: Does Alicia still dance in her costume? “The costume, the representations, are always known, but rarely recognized as being the form of the subject. The subject continually changes its representations, according to the changing conditions of reality; moreover, in itself, the representational costume only negatively allows us to see the form of the psychic body, in a certain constancy of the changes themselves” (p. 88). The sculpture of the ballerina in her traditional costume is a kind of historical maintenance, although the theater has shown us its degradation.

The theater was undergoing renovations, but the pandemic halted the work, according to the information provided by the guide. The word embargo refers to the process that has permeated the entire world imagination about the island since 1959. I have no doubts about the role of the embargo on the island, but we need to go beyond it. The guided tour is strange, because it is of what it should be and not what my eyes saw: dirt, bricks, chairs from the old auditorium in the corners. And, suddenly, a closed wing: these rooms belong to the Spanish government, said the guide. An independent country announced itself to me: another historical maintenance?

From the side window, you could see the Capitol, a kind of replica of the United States, responsible for the longest and most painful embargo on the country. The traditional colorful cars and convertibles from the 1950s are there in front.

I chose one of the drivers: Ernesto. The language chosen for communication was English. We started the tour with him, who, right away, will not be Guevara. The imagery of Ernesto Che Guevara is on the streets of the island, as is the revolution, which is stamped on the streets with the phrase: Country or Death. It is as if the people needed to convince themselves that everything that was done by the fighters of 1959 still needed to exist. Perhaps we are still at war: this time, for the survival of a people. The conversation with Ernesto has an impact when he asks a question that we Brazilians hear frequently: Is Lula a communist?

Before, he mapped out whether he could open up about his questions about the Cuban regime. Ernesto is under 40 and considers himself a Cuban entrepreneur. In his opinion, if the regime were not in place, he could become a tourism entrepreneur. I believe he disregards the fact that tourism agencies have more capital than he does and that the entrepreneur's dream could be extinguished by a simple conversation with an employee of a capitalist agency. And as Fabio Herrmann used to say: the world will end… in tourism.

And when we talk about Lula, we talk about his recent opponent: Jair Bolsonaro. That's who Ernesto wanted to talk about. I froze. In Spanish, I said that Lula thinks about diversity, plurality and social issues. I froze again. The partner next to me spoke, in English. The chosen comparison came with a question: what do you think of Donald Trump? Ernesto commented on all the setbacks on the island caused by the Trump administration, and gave the example of the problems in tourism with the closing of the port to cruise ships. That's when the checkmate was done: Jair Bolsonaro is like Donald Trump! Lula is not a communist... Silence fell for a few minutes and my heart calmed down for the rest of the tour.

The last few years in Brazil have been difficult for our left. Has it been functioning like the Cuban regime, which is struggling to stay alive and not reinventing itself? How can we create another space for critical existence, which brings these Ernestos closer and does not place them close to the extreme right?

Trinidad and the blackout

When I arrived in the city, there was an important incident: a mistake on the route to the hotel meant I had to go through narrow streets and I could see locals sitting in front of their houses. The driver worried me by saying that the place was bad, that he felt dangerous and was concerned about my safety. It was like Havana, every street next to the one where tourists were walking was full of poverty, sadness and trash.

Upon discovering a new path and arriving at the chosen hotel, the luxury was completely opposite to what I had seen minutes before. The huge pool in the central courtyard, the comfortable bed and the balcony overlooking the mountains. It was the end of the day and the decision not to go out on the streets that day came as soon as the check in was done. The hotel dinner tasted bad, there was a shortage of seasonings and even ingredients. The attempt to have another mojito was frustrated: we had no mint! The Gin and Tonic option was possible.

Early this morning, the news reported that the National Electric System (SEN) had collapsed, with a total outage due to a problem in a thermoelectric plant. This caused one of the worst blackouts in the country's history. The people took to the streets of Trinidad this morning. The energy crisis is nothing new on the island; the thermoelectric system is facing problems and there is no doubt that the US embargo is to blame, although it cannot be seen as the sole cause.

There was no light, only the strong smell of fuel coming from the small generators. These are not found in every house, because the island also faces problems of fuel shortages. These people face countless problems in their daily lives. The shortage was evident to the traveler. I walked a little through the narrow streets, listened to the people, and noticed that they had sad looks but without any complaints or indignation. It seems that there can be no revolt against the current model: the Cuban regime.

This is not a critique of the left as a fundamental movement, which I support and believe in. We do not need an advance on the far right, but rather a critical rethinking of what we want from our left: in me, the only possibility of living in a more just and egalitarian world.

I came into contact with the history of the 1959 revolution, and learned about the bandits, Cuban men who opposed the struggle of Fidel, Che and many other fighters for the island's independence in the face of American violence. I learned about the entry (and still present) of Russia. There were many Russian tourists wherever I walked on the island.

I am now placed inside the experience, although not completely, of what Cuban citizens face. In hotels and restaurants, it is hard work to avoid disturbing tourists, who inject money into the daily life of Cubans. I want to, but I cannot experience the daily life because to eat I will use the city's restaurants and they are all for tourists.

I walked a little through the streets parallel to the historic center and found a café. There was no electricity and it was empty. Only the waitress greeted me and I asked for a filtered coffee. The antique furniture and the place are quite interesting. It is not a café for locals, but it is not a place with that touristy makeover. On the wall, I see a small sticker of our president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. I smile and feel good… the coffee and the sticker remind me of something familiar.

I returned to the hotel at the end of the day, took a shower and went out to dinner. When I went out the door and looked at the city: everything was blacked out! It was a huge blackout and it seemed like only the hotel was still alive… everything else was in the dark. I felt like I couldn’t leave, but the doorman tried to reassure me by telling me that I could walk the few blocks to the restaurant and that there would be light there. He added that the city was not at risk of robberies or violence.

I went down a long staircase to the historic center and everything was dark. I could hear voices inside and outside the houses. It seemed like a painful habit of getting used to in this reality that is so present. The only light I have is from my cell phone. It has to be pointed at the ground. I can't see anything in front of me, I can only hear chatter. Today I think that was one of the biggest fears I had when walking in a city. Having lived in São Paulo for so many years, I would never go out on the streets in conditions like that.

Life seemed to exist and not exist at the same time. I was walking through a non-place and something broke in my psychic field. “The interpretative process becomes a series of small stimuli, emotional variations, reversals of the subject’s position or the meaning of the discourse, which provoke the rupture of the field of logical-emotional assumptions that determined the patient’s dominant representations. Like any explorer, he uses the established maps only to reach the unexplored place; there, he sees what there is to see and has to draw his own maps.” (p. 16)

 The desire to get to the restaurant, which I didn’t even know exactly where it was, grew stronger. It wasn’t possible to go quickly, I didn’t know what I would find along the way. I arrived! And suddenly, everything seemed strangely normal. The tables were full of tourists, the food was tasty although they didn’t have everything on the menu, and I managed to get a mojito. The taste of the rum went down incredibly well. But if you go, you have to come back… and the way back was as tense as the way there, although faster. I just wanted to go home.

Before continuing my journey, a stroll through the city took me to the train station. I expected moving trains, but the ones I found had been out of service for years and rust was eating away at their parts…

varadero, all inclusive and the energy crisis

Going to a resort was never an option before, this place for travelers would not support something previously built so that one would not experience anything of the city. At the same time, being a traveler in this blackout scene would be impossible. The risk of the traveler succumbing in a place that is not theirs calls for an appreciation of tourism. We are all tourists and maintaining self-representation is essential to avoid diving into waters that we do not know where they will lead.

I just wanted to get to a place where I could get drunk on the illusion of normality. Everything is fantastical in a resort, everything is manufactured for the delight of tourists. The Russian tourist, her green swimsuit, with a transparent cover-up full of pearls. Her cell phone ready to take videos and photos on the beach. Meanwhile, her husband is lying in the sun.

The cinematic imaginary summons the Russian spy. “Espionage merely sets up the plot and gives rise to adventures, but the engine of fascination is the exaltation of everyday life, which highlights the parallelism between the two worlds, that of the tourist and that of the spy. In real espionage, nothing is fascinating, since this is the most sordid of worlds: the miserable work of informers and snoops – flies swarming over other people’s misery –, ubiquitous and useless as only tourists know how to be.” (Herrmann, 2001, p. 36) Everything there seemed tacky, an aesthetic from the 1980s/90s. Electricity only existed in the resorts, and everything else was pitch black. I had the feeling that this was my only possible place.

I went to the medical center for an ear problem and discovered that it was the most humane place in the hotel. I met the staff who promptly cleaned my ears. It's strange when you want to hear and can't. And I wanted to hear, not just listen. The heat there was unbearable, and there was no electricity, unlike the rest of the resort. Their concern came within minutes: how are you? “I'm sad because you tourists are also suffering with this blackout. I hope this doesn't stop you from enjoying the island a little.” All their concern was for the tourists.

I discovered that the doctor had lived in São Paulo, as part of the Mais Médicos program. According to her, who is married and has two daughters in Cuba, it would not be possible for her to stay in Brazil, no matter how much she wanted to. We talked a lot and, in the end, we hugged each other as two critical people, defending a renewed and plural left.

Back in Havana – the Hotel Nacional

The blackout was still on the island when I returned to Havana and then home. I arrived on a Wednesday morning and passed two hydroelectric plants on the road, which were clearly old and operating at very low levels. The crisis was once again before my eyes.

The decision to stay at the traditional Hotel Nacional was important: the hotel opened in 1930 and was run by a US company until 1959, when it was taken over by the Cuban revolution. I found nostalgia for times gone by, but with a strong musty smell in the room, and places where famous names such as Ernest Hemingway, Alexander Fleming, Frank Sinatra, Marlon Brando, Ava Gardner, Rita Hayworth, Fred Astaire, among others, are printed on the doors and hallways.

An entire floor for the Chinese. An isolated floor and the terrace, which they said was a postcard, could not be visited. The lack of electricity, as in other hotels, was not noticed. I decided to go to the patio and listen to Cuban singers. The smell of cigars was strong, nostalgia prevailed. I was in a non-place, where everything was a romantic fantasy of another time, one that was not possible to see when walking around the city.

My room had a portrait on the door, where one of the famous people had stayed. The room was old, from another time, and the musty smell was only camouflaged when, through the crack in the window, I felt the wind come in.

I chose where to have lunch and dinner, two restaurants for tourists: one that was part of a movie and another where former US President Barack Obama dined during his brief and brief rapprochement with the island. At lunch, my table was the only one occupied, and at dinner, a reservation was only possible after a group of Chinese people had dinner. The food was horrible, the lobster was raw and dipped in a sweet and sour sauce, just like all the feelings I experienced on the trip.

The next morning, we tried to walk around a bit and see other tourist attractions. The only thing we could do was pass by the American embassy and, in front of it, the anti-imperialist memorial that bore the phrase I have seen in many places in the country: Country or Death.

Everything, besides, was with the information: closed until tuesday (closed until Tuesday). I didn't think the island would open the following Wednesday, it has been closed for many years. It dreams, creates and invents ways of living, but it seems that the people have suffered a lot, isolated.

*Jose Alberto Roza He holds a PhD in Human Development Psychology from USP.

Reference

HERRMANN, F. The couch for a walk: looking for psychoanalysis where it doesn't seem to be. Sao Paulo: House of the Psychologist, 2001. [https://amzn.to/4imR5oK]

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