Identity, Commodification and Revolution: Tourism and the Transformation of Society, Politics and Space in Cuba 3515135863, 9783515135863

Table of contents :
Preface
Summary
Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
List of Abbreviations
Formal Remarks
Prologue
1. Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodification
1.1. Aim of the Book and Research Questions
1.2. Structure of the Book
2. Identity
2.1. How Identities are Constructed
2.1.1. Overcoming Essentialist Notions of Identity
2.1.2. Symbolic Interactionism and Discursive Identity Formation
2.2. A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation
2.2.1. Cogito, ergo sum: Pre-Modern Identities
2.2.2. Modern Identities
2.2.3. Postmodern Identities
2.2.4. Bauman’s Defeatist Foursome of Postmodern Identities
2.2.5. Do-It-Yourself Identities, Patchworks and Crazy Quilts
2.2.6 Born in Blood and Violence: Postcolonial Identities
2.3. Resources for Identity Formation
2.3.1. Accessing Identity Resources through Derrida’s Deconstructivism
2.3.2. Nation
2.3.3. Culture
2.3.4. Religion
2.3.5. Family, Relationships and Community
2.3.6. Race and Ethnicity
2.3.7. Gender
2.4. Identity Formation as an Ever-changing Process
3. Commodification
3.1. Fundamental Insights into Commodities
3.2. Commodification from a Marxist Perspective
3.2.1. Marx on Capital: The Roots of Commodification Theory
3.2.2. Neoliberalism Fostering Commodification
3.3. A Contradiction in Itself? Commodification in Socialist Societies
3.4. The Commodifying Power of Tourism
3.4.1. Tourism as a Commodifying Practice
3.4.2. Does Marxist Value Theory Require a ‘Tourist Upgrade’?
3.4.3 Who or What Becomes Commodified in Tourism?
3.5. Touristic Commodification: Consequences for Identities?
3.6. Noel Castree’s Six Principles of Commodification
3.7. Materialisations and Spatial Manifestations of Commodification
4. Historical Background and Cuban Transformations
4.1. Colonial Roots and the Transcultural Cuban ajiaco
4.1.1. The 1762 Occupation of Havana and its Consequences: Slavery and Patriotismo Habanero
4.1.2. Cubanidad Developing in the Cuban Cooking Pot
4.2. National Conscience and the Long Struggle for Independence
4.2.1. The Awakening National Conscience
4.2.2. José Martí: Mastermind of Independence and Projection Surface for National Identity
4.2.3. Cuban Independence and American Intervention
4.3. The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro
4.3.1. Dependence on Independence: Cuba under US Influence
4.3.2. Machado and Batista Undermining Politics and Civil Society
4.3.3. Gangsterismo and Desperation
4.3.4. Social and Moral Decay during Batista’s Second Dictatorship
4.3.5. Fidel Castro Steps up: Beginnings of the Cuban Revolution
4.3.6. Meeting Che in Exile and Returning to Cuba
4.4. The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba
4.4.1. The Revolution: Founding Myth and Anchor of Identity
4.4.2. Collectivisation and Agrarian Reforms as First Revolutionary Measures
4.4.3. Excursus: Cuban Emigration to the United States
4.4.4. Rapprochement with the USSR, Bay of Pigs and Socialism
4.4.5. Conflating Revolutionary and Socialist Consciousness
4.4.6. Revolutionary Conquistas Contributing to a Socialist Society
4.4.7. Domestic Stabilisation and External (In-)dependence
4.4.8. Revolutionary ‘Offensives’ of the 1970s and 1980s
4.4.9. On the Nature of the Cuban Revolution
4.4.10. The ‘Correction of Errors’: Refusing Gorbachev’s Reforms
4.5. El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation
4.5.1. A Period of Acute Crisis
4.5.2. Can Capitalism Save Socialism? Reforms of the 1990s
4.5.3. Social Repercussions and Liberalisations
4.5.4. Excursus: Religion and Religiosity in Cuba
4.5.5. Strengthening Ideology and Identity in Times of Crisis
4.6. From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge
4.6.1. Raúl Castro’s Economic Agenda
4.6.2. Raúl’s Reforms: Economic Revival, Social Restratification
4.6.3. Reapproaching the United States under President Obama
4.6.4. The Phenomenon of Lasting Support for the Revolution
4.6.5. The Dawn of the Post-Castro Era
5. Tourism in Cuba
5.1. The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba
5.1.1. Tourism in Cuba before the Período Especial
5.1.2. Fidel Castro on Tourism: Concerns and Necessities
5.1.3. A Separation not to Last: A Cuba for Tourists and a Cuba for Cubans
5.1.4. International Tourism: From a Makeshift to a Long-Term Strategy and American Influence
5.1.5. The Social Costs of International Tourism
5.2. Economic Success of Tourism in Cuba: Numbers and Data
5.3. Co-Producing Cuba: Tourist Imagination and Cuban Performance
6. Methodology
6.1. Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory
6.1.1. Grounded Theory
6.1.2. Sampling
6.1.3. Description of the Interview Sample
6.2. Mapping
7. Cuban Perceptions of Tourism, Commodification and Revolution
7.1. Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba
7.1.1. Positive Perspectives on Tourism, and their Rationales
7.1.2. Reasons for Negative Attitudes towards Tourism
7.1.3. Touristification of Cuban Cities
7.1.4. Concluding Remarks on International Tourism in Cuba
7.2. Cuentapropismo and its Assessment
7.2.1. Reasons for Positive Views on Cuban Cuentapropismo
7.2.2. Negative Voices towards Cuentapropismo
7.2.3. Cuentapropismo as a Capitalist Practice?
7.3. Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework
7.3.1. Capitalism in Cuba: Pros and Cons
7.3.2. Socialism in Cuba: Pros and Cons
7.3.3. Current Appraisal of Socialism in Cuba
7.3.4. “It’s a Frankenstein”: Simultaneity of Socialism and Capitalism
7.3.5. Beyond the Horizon: Other Socialist Countries as a Paragon?
7.4. Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society
7.4.1. Increase in Crime
7.4.2. Discrimination and Segregation
7.4.3. A Taste of the Future? Fears for Society Falling apart
7.5. Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture
7.5.1. Cuban Identity as a Product of History
7.5.2. Music, Dance and Humour to Escape from Dismal Reality
7.5.3. The Significance of La Lucha for Cuban Identities
7.5.4. Mutual Support, Solidarity and Humility
7.5.5. Identification with the Revolution, and Pride in Being Cuban
7.6. What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?
7.6.1. Revolution, Socialism and their Popular Support
7.6.2. The Revolution as a Perpetual Backdrop to Cuban Life
7.6.3. Idolised Heroes as Identification Figures and Personifications of the Revolution
7.6.4. The Revolution as the Root of Cuban Freedom
7.6.5. Conquistas, Tranquillity and Social Security
7.6.6. Critical Perspectives on the Revolution
7.7. Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities
7.7.1. Scope of Cuban Identities Transformed by Tourism
7.7.2. Changes in Cuban Culture
7.7.3. Change and Loss of Values
7.7.4. Decreasing Identification with the Revolution?
7.8. Commodifying the Cuban Revolution: Differences in Symbols, Materialisation and Spatial Patterns
7.8.1. Commodifying Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution
7.8.2. Non-Commodifying Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution
7.8.3. Spatial Differences of the Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution
7.9. Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identities
7.9.1. Rejecting the Commodification of the Revolution
7.9.2. Agreeing with Commodifying the Revolution
7.9.3. Impacts of the Commodification of the Revolution on Cuban Identities?
7.10. Summary of the Findings
8. Towards an Enhanced Understanding of Commodification
8.1. International Tourism in Cuba: Consequences and Perceptions
8.1.1. Undesired Disparities and Transformations
8.1.2. Transforming Urban Spaces into Spaces of ‘Spectacle’
8.1.3. Politics and Power Causing Unequal Opportunities: Positive Assessments of Tourism Prevail
8.2. The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity
8.2.1. Is there Human Labour in the Cultural Common ‘Revolution’?
8.2.2. The Process of Commodifying the Revolution
8.2.3. Spatial Effects of the Commodification of the Revolution
8.2.4. Discourses on Commodification: Locally and Theoretically
8.3. Implications of Commodification for the Revolution’s Identity-Forming Power
8.3.1. Commodification and its Impact on Identities
8.3.2. The Constructivist Character of Commodities
8.3.3. Commodification Fostering Creative Identity Re-interpretation?
8.4. Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolution
8.4.1. Commodification as a Proxy for Evaluations of the Revolution
8.4.2. Factors for Assessing the Commodification of the Revolution
8.4.3. Stances and Demands in Relation to the Revolution
8.4.4. Reasons for prior Alienation from the Revolution
8.5. Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution
8.5.1. Individualisation and Globalisation
8.5.2. A Society of ‘Vagabonds’
8.5.3. Identity Optimism only for a Few?
8.5.4. The Rise of Non-Revolutionary Cuban Nationalism
8.5.5. Religion Gaining Importance Again
8.5.6. Identification and Self-Fulfilment through Labour?
8.6. Summary of the Key Insights
8.7. Critical Reflections on Methodology and Positionality
8.8 Normative (Self-)Reflection on Commodification
9. The Fading Power of the Revolution
9.1. Commodification as an Indicator of Transformed Identities
9.2. Conceptualising the Cuban Revolution as a Tourist Commodity
9.3. Socioeconomic and Political Realities of the Revolution: Beyond a mere Explanatory Context
Epilogue
References
Appendix: Information on Interview Partners
Index

Citation preview

Niklas Völkening

Identity, Commodification and Revolution Tourism and the Transformation of Society, Politics and Space in Cuba

Erdkundliches Wissen | 168 Franz Steiner Verlag

Erdkundliches Wissen Schriftenreihe für Forschung und Praxis Begründet von Emil Meynen Herausgegeben von Martin Coy, Anton Escher, Thomas Krings und Eberhard Rothfuss Band 168 www.steiner-verlag.de/brand/Erdkundliches-Wissen

Niklas Völkening

IDENTITY, COMMODIFICATION AND REVOLUTION Tourism and the Transformation of Society, Politics and Space in Cuba

Franz Steiner Verlag

The author is grateful for the financial support provided by the Young Researchers Travel Scholarship Program of the University of Augsburg

Coverabbildung: Souvenirs featuring the image of Che Guevara amongst other souvenirs with stereotypical Cuban motifs; photographed in Calle San Ignacio, Habana Vieja. © Niklas Völkening Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über dnb.d-nb.de abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2024 www.steiner-verlag.de Layout und Herstellung durch den Verlag Druck: Beltz Grafische Betriebe, Bad Langensalza Satz: SchwabScantechnik, Göttingen Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-13586-3 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-13587-0 (E-Book) https://doi.org/10.25162/9783515135870

Preface

This book is the published and slightly revised version of my doctoral thesis, which was accepted for the doctoral degree “Dr. rer. nat.” at the Faculty of Applied Computer Science at the University of Augsburg. Writing this book has been like a journey – in academic, practical and human terms: a journey into different realities of life, halfway around the globe, and, to some extent, also back to myself. Without the contribution of many people, however, this journey would not have been possible. At this point, I would like to express my deep gratitude to all those who have supported and accompanied me along the way. First and foremost, I would like to thank my supervisor, Prof. Dr. Matthias Schmidt. Along with his ever-encouraging and inspiring thoughts on this research, I am especially obliged in terms of his unfailing reassurances and infinite patience. Matthias, I am truly grateful for the privilege of writing this book, for the freedom you granted me to let my thoughts roam and for you reeling them back in when they strayed too far. I would also like to thank PD Dr. Markus Hilpert for his numerous and helpful remarks – as well as for the many useful articles and newspaper clippings he sent to my mailbox. In addition, I would like to thank Prof. Dr. Tim Freytag for his valuable and pertinent reflections and suggestions on this book, which he offered over the course of two colloquia for young tourism researchers, as well as for the assessment of this work. I greatly appreciate your commitment. Furthermore, I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the many people in Cuba who enabled this work and the knowledge it provides through their contributions in the interviews, and who gave me an understanding of cubanidad in countless conversations and encounters. I am particularly indebted to Adriana R. G. (Havana), Lisandra V. P. (Santiago de Cuba) and Tomás H. D. and his family (Trinidad). I will never forget your kindness, hospitality and warmth; it is thanks to you that I understood that wealth is not a question of possessions. I also wish to thank my dear colleagues – present and former – at the University of Augsburg and beyond. You have enriched this research with your insightful thoughts and critical – but always constructive – commentaries. In particular, I would like to laud Dr. Andreas Benz, Dr. Stephan Bosch, Christina Graß, Sophie Grunenberg, Dr. ­Thomas

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Preface

Kippes, Friederike Schlenker and Dr. Daniela Wilden for your time and effort – I sincerely appreciate your contributions. Equally, my thanks are extended to Jochen Bohn and Simone Kupies, for their valuable support in creating maps, and Claudia Stucke, for her patience and for taking care of administrative tasks of every kind. I also offer my cordial thanks to my student assistants, Mona Dürner and Isabella Schalk, for their tireless dedication and the contributions they made towards the completion of this work. Furthermore, I would like to thank Dr. Christina Hünsche from Franz Steiner Verlag for her skilled, proactive and encouraging guidance during the realisation of this book project. I consider myself fortunate that she led me on this sometimes-challenging path from dissertation to book. I also express my sincere gratitude to the editors of the Erdkundliches Wissen series, Prof. Dr. Martin Coy, Prof. Dr. Anton Escher, Prof. Dr. Thomas Krings and Prof. Dr. Eberhard Rothfuß, for their in-depth consideration of the book and for deeming my insights worthy of the series. I also owe a debt of gratitude to the numerous colleagues who discussed and contributed to my research during conferences, congresses and other events; this applies especially to the AK Lateinamerika, the Arbeitskreis Tourismusforschung (AKTF) and the Geographischer Arbeitskreis Entwicklungstheorien (GAE). Moreover, I am grateful for the financial support provided by the Young Researchers Travel Scholarship Program of the University of Augsburg. In this context, I explicitly wish to thank Ms Ulrike Gerstmeier from the office of the Vice-President of the University of Augsburg, who repeatedly provided me with advice and support in applying for these grants. Finally, I am thankful for my family and friends, on whose support I have always been able to rely over the years and who have spurred me on more than once. In particular, I have to thank my parents. They have always encouraged me in both my curiosity about the world and my desire to quench it, and they have instilled in me the perseverance to pursue this desire with tenacity and thoroughness. Special appreciation is due to my partner Laura – thank you for all your motivation, for your everlasting support in every conceivable situation and for your understanding in the face of late nights at the desk.

Summary

In postmodernity, identities are in constant flux and subject to numerous pervasive influences. In the literature, the commodification of identity-forming elements – often occurring in tourism – is described as one such influencing factor, albeit with mostly negative effects on host identities. However, the literature to date has largely neglected societies of the Global South in this regard. Moreover, almost all relevant studies focus on tourism and commodification in Western capitalist systems. Using Cuba as an example, this volume aims to fill these research gaps, by analysing tourist commodification in a socialist setting in the Global South. Its central research question is how the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution affects Cuban identities. The empirical design is based on a deconstructivist framework and employs a mixed-methods approach with a focus on qualitative interviews  – analysed using Grounded Theory – complemented by on-site mappings. The study builds on two main strands of theory. First, it draws on sociological and socio-psychological approaches to identities and the transforming conditions of their formation. Second, it utilises Marxist and human geography perspectives on commodification processes in tourism and their consequences for individuals, societies and identities. The Cuban Revolution, i. e. the commodity under investigation, has been ongoing since 1959 and represents the constitutive framework of Cuban society in several respects. On the one hand, it is an all-encompassing social and economic system, although it has been under considerable pressure since the collapse of the USSR. On the other hand, many sources describe the Revolution as having been a strong identity-forming resource for many Cubans for a long time. However, radical socioeconomic transformations in recent years – including the rise of tourism – have challenged many long-held certainties in Cuba are at stake. The results of the study show that tourism has considerable destabilising effects on Cuba’s socioeconomic fabric. Moreover, it reveals the alienation of certain population groups from the Revolution, in line with growing criticism of the socialist government, is evident. Nevertheless, the empirical findings contradict the assumption frequently made in the literature that commodification leads to alienation and loss of identity.

8

Summary

Although the tourist commodification of the Revolution evokes very specific (spatial) practices and social spaces, the alienation of many Cubans therefrom cannot be conclusively attributed to this notion; rather, the widespread perception of the Revolution as being dysfunctional, coupled with frustrated hopes in the revolutionary project and resignation in the face of egregious deficiencies in terms of supply and economic development, is responsible for the diminishing identification power of the Revolution. The commodification of the Revolution in tourism is thus not to be understood as a cause of the diminishing power of identification, as other scholars have suggested, but rather as a symptom of alienation that began earlier. In Particular, those Cubans who feel marginalised and excluded from socio-economic advancement as a result of the liberalisation of recent years often express criticism of the Revolution and the Cuban government. Consequently, many disillusioned Cubans abandon the Revolution in disappointment and, for lack of alternatives, turn to modern anchors for their identities, such as nation, family or religion. The significance of this research lies in the fact that it considers commodification not only as a trigger for alienation processes, but also demonstrates that it can serve as an indicator of transforming identities and changing socioeconomic realities – which in turn can lead to commodification. To be able to draw such conclusions, however, it is necessary for future studies to analyse commodification processes comprehensively and to explore a wide range of social, economic, political, historical and individual circumstances. Beyond the analysis of its commodification, this book also provides important insights into the current state of the Cuban Revolution. It shows that the present Cuban system, a hybrid of socialism and capitalism, is widely perceived as flawed and lacking in future potential. Although the social achievements of the Revolution are acknowledged, criticism and calls for further market reforms dominate the attitudes of many Cubans towards the Revolution, over which the state appears to be increasingly losing its interpretive authority – also suggesting the erosion of its hitherto comprehensive power.

Contents



List of Figures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

15



List of Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

16



List of Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

17



Formal Remarks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

18



Prologue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

19

1.

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  21 1.1. Aim of the Book and Research Questions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  26 1.2. Structure of the Book . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  31

2. Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 



2.1. 2.1.1. 2.1.2. 2.2.

How Identities are Constructed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  Overcoming Essentialist Notions of Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Symbolic Interactionism and Discursive Identity Formation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  2.2.1. Cogito, ergo sum: Pre-Modern Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.2. Modern Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.3. Postmodern Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.4. Bauman’s Defeatist Foursome of Postmodern Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.5. Do-It-Yourself Identities, Patchworks and Crazy Quilts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.2.6. Born in Blood and Violence: Postcolonial Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3. Resources for Identity Formation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  2.3.1. Accessing Identity Resources through Derrida’s Deconstructivism . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.2. Nation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.3. Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

34 36 37 40 43

 43  45

 51

60 65

6 9 76  77  81 86

10

Contents

2.3.4 Religion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.5. Family, Relationships and Community . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.6. Race and Ethnicity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.3.7. Gender . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.4. Identity Formation as an Ever-changing Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

 88

3. Commodification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

100 101 104 105 109 112 114  115 121  123 125 128 132



4.



3.1. 3.2. 3.2.1. 3.2.2. 3.3. 3.4. 3.4.1. 3.4.2. 3.4.3. 3.5. 3.6. 3.7.

Fundamental Insights into Commodities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  Commodification from a Marxist Perspective . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  Marx on Capital: The Roots of Commodification Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Neoliberalism Fostering Commodification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Contradiction in Itself? Commodification in Socialist Societies .  The Commodifying Power of Tourism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  Tourism as a Commodifying Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Does Marxist Value Theory Require a ‘Tourist Upgrade’? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Who or What Becomes Commodified in Tourism? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Touristic Commodification: Consequences for Identities? . . . . . . . . . . . .  Noel Castree’s Six Principles of Commodification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  Materialisations and Spatial Manifestations of Commodification . . . . 

Historical Background and Cuban Transformations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

4.1. Colonial Roots and the Transcultural Cuban ajiaco . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  4.1.1. The 1762 Occupation of Havana and its Consequences: Slavery and Patriotismo Habanero . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.1.2. Cubanidad Developing in the Cuban Cooking Pot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2. National Conscience and the Long Struggle for Independence . . . . . . .  4.2.1. The Awakening National Conscience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.2. José Martí: Mastermind of Independence and Projection Surface for National Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.2.3. Cuban Independence and American Intervention . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3. The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  4.3.1. Dependence on Independence: Cuba under US Influence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.2. Machado and Batista Undermining Politics and Civil Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.3. Gangsterismo and Desperation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.4. Social and Moral Decay during Batista’s Second Dictatorship . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.5. Fidel Castro Steps up: Beginnings of the Cuban Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.3.6. Meeting Che in Exile and Returning to Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4.4. The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  4.4.1. The Revolution: Founding Myth and Anchor of Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

91

 93  95

98

136 138  139  141

142

142 146

148

150

150 154

156

 158  159

 161

162

 163

Contents





4.4.2. Collectivisation and Agrarian Reforms as First Revolutionary Measures .  168 4.4.3. Excursus: Cuban Emigration to the United States . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  170 4.4.4. Rapprochement with the USSR, Bay of Pigs and Socialism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171 4.4.5. Conflating Revolutionary and Socialist Consciousness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175 4.4.6. Revolutionary Conquistas Contributing to a Socialist Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  179 4.4.7. Domestic Stabilisation and External (In-)dependence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  189 4.4.8. Revolutionary ‘Offensives’ of the 1970s and 1980s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191 4.4.9. On the Nature of the Cuban Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  192 4.4.10. The ‘Correction of Errors’: Refusing Gorbachev’s Reforms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  195 4.5. El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation . . . . . . . . . . .  196 4.5.1. A Period of Acute Crisis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  197 4.5.2. Can Capitalism Save Socialism? Reforms of the 1990s . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  200 4.5.3. Social Repercussions and Liberalisations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  204 4.5.4. Excursus: Religion and Religiosity in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  207 4.5.5. Strengthening Ideology and Identity in Times of Crisis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209 4.6. From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge . . . . . . .  210 4.6.1. Raúl Castro’s Economic Agenda . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  211 4.6.2. Raúl’s Reforms: Economic Revival, Social Restratification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 4.6.3. Reapproaching the United States under President Obama . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  216 4.6.4. The Phenomenon of Lasting Support for the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  217 4.6.5. The Dawn of the Post-Castro Era . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  220

5.

Tourism in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 



5.1. 5.1.1. 5.1.2. 5.1.3. 5.1.4.





5.1.5. 5.2. 5.3.

223 The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  224 Tourism in Cuba before the Período Especial . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  224 Fidel Castro on Tourism: Concerns and Necessities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  226 A Separation not to Last: A Cuba for Tourists and a Cuba for Cubans . . . .  228 International Tourism: From a Makeshift to a Long-Term Strategy and American Influence . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  230 The Social Costs of International Tourism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 Economic Success of Tourism in Cuba: Numbers and Data . . . . . . . . . . .  234 Co-Producing Cuba: Tourist Imagination and Cuban Performance . 240

247 6.1. Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  248 6.1.1. Grounded Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250 6.1.2. Sampling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  252 6.1.3. Description of the Interview Sample . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  254 6.2. Mapping . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  258

6. Methodology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 



11

12

Contents

7.



Cuban Perceptions of Tourism, Commodification and Revolution . . . . . . . . . .  260

7.1. Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . .  261 7.1.1. Positive Perspectives on Tourism, and their Rationales . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  262 7.1.2. Reasons for Negative Attitudes towards Tourism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267 7.1.3. Touristification of Cuban Cities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 270 7.1.4. Concluding Remarks on International Tourism in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  273 7.2. Cuentapropismo and its Assessment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  274 7.2.1. Reasons for Positive Views on Cuban Cuentapropismo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  275 7.2.2. Negative Voices towards Cuentapropismo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 280 7.2.3. Cuentapropismo as a Capitalist Practice? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  282 7.3. Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  284 7.3.1. Capitalism in Cuba: Pros and Cons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 284 7.3.2. Socialism in Cuba: Pros and Cons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  291 7.3.3. Current Appraisal of Socialism in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  295 7.3.4. “It’s a Frankenstein”: Simultaneity of Socialism and Capitalism . . . . . . . . . . . . 299 7.3.5. Beyond the Horizon: Other Socialist Countries as a Paragon? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  302 7.4. Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  303 7.4.1. Increase in Crime . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 304 7.4.2. Discrimination and Segregation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  305 7.4.3. A Taste of the Future? Fears for Society Falling apart . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309 7.5. Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  312 7.5.1. Cuban Identity as a Product of History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  314 7.5.2. Music, Dance and Humour to Escape from Dismal Reality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 315 7.5.3. The Significance of La Lucha for Cuban Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 317 7.5.4. Mutual Support, Solidarity and Humility . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 318 7.5.5. Identification with the Revolution, and Pride in Being Cuban . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  320 7.6. What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  324 7.6.1. Revolution, Socialism and their Popular Support . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  325 7.6.2. The Revolution as a Perpetual Backdrop to Cuban Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  327 7.6.3. Idolised Heroes as Identification Figures and Personifications of the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  329 7.6.4. The Revolution as the Root of Cuban Freedom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331 7.6.5. Conquistas, Tranquillity and Social Security . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333 7.6.6. Critical Perspectives on the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  336 7.7. Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  337 7.7.1. Scope of Cuban Identities Transformed by Tourism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  337 7.7.2. Changes in Cuban Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  339 7.7.3. Change and Loss of Values . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  341 7.7.4. Decreasing Identification with the Revolution? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  345 7.8. Commodifying the Cuban Revolution: Differences in Symbols, Materialisation and Spatial Patterns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  348

Contents



7.8.1. 7.8.2. 7.8.3. 7.9.



7.9.1. 7.9.2. 7.9.3. 7.10.

8.

378 8.1. International Tourism in Cuba: Consequences and Perceptions . . . . .  379 8.1.1. Undesired Disparities and Transformations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  379 8.1.2. Transforming Urban Spaces into Spaces of ‘Spectacle’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 381 8.1.3. Politics and Power Causing Unequal Opportunities: Positive Assessments of Tourism Prevail . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  382 8.2. The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  385 8.2.1. Is there Human Labour in the Cultural Common ‘Revolution’? . . . . . . . . . . . . .  386 8.2.2. The Process of Commodifying the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  389 8.2.3. Spatial Effects of the Commodification of the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 390 8.2.4. Discourses on Commodification: Locally and Theoretically . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 394 8.3. Implications of Commodification for the Revolution’s Identity-Forming Power . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  395 8.3.1. Commodification and its Impact on Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  395 8.3.2. The Constructivist Character of Commodities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  400 8.3.3. Commodification Fostering Creative Identity Re-interpretation? . . . . . . . . . . . .  401 8.4. Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . .  402 8.4.1. Commodification as a Proxy for Evaluations of the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 403 8.4.2. Factors for Assessing the Commodification of the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  404 8.4.3. Stances and Demands in Relation to the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407 8.4.4. Reasons for prior Alienation from the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 411 8.5. Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  414 8.5.1. Individualisation and Globalisation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414 8.5.2. A Society of ‘Vagabonds’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  415 8.5.3. Identity Optimism only for a Few? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  418 8.5.4. The Rise of Non-Revolutionary Cuban Nationalism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  419 8.5.5. Religion Gaining Importance Again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421 8.5.6. Identification and Self-Fulfilment through Labour? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 422 8.6. Summary of the Key Insights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  424 8.7. Critical Reflections on Methodology and Positionality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  425 8.8. Normative (Self-)Reflection on Commodification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  428



Commodifying Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 348 Non-Commodifying Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  353 Spatial Differences of the Reproductions of 0the Cuban Revolution . . . . . . . . .  355 Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  361 Rejecting the Commodification of the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  363 Agreeing with Commodifying the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  368 Impacts of the Commodification of the Revolution on Cuban Identities? .  374 Summary of the Findings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  375

Towards an Enhanced Understanding of Commodification . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

13

14

Contents

9.

The Fading Power of the Revolution . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

431 432 433

9.1. Commodification as an Indicator of Transformed Identities . . . . . . . . . .  9.2. Conceptualising the Cuban Revolution as a Tourist Commodity . . . .  9.3. Socioeconomic and Political Realities of the Revolution: Beyond a mere Explanatory Context . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  436

Epilogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  443



References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  445



Appendix: Information on Interview Partners . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  479



Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

485 General Keywords . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  485 Persons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  493 Places and Territories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  495



List of Figures

Figure 1: Central research question and sub-questions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27 Figure 2: Research sites and tourism centres in Cuba. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Figure 3: Schematic description of the examination of identities. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  31 Figure 4: Book structure. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  33 Figure 5: M-26-7 armband. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 Figure 6: Interweaving of independence and revolutionary fighters in Cuban art. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164 Figure 7: Illustration of Fidel Castro in a Cuban first grade schoolbook. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Figure 8: Mural of Che Guevara next to a framed picture of Fidel Castro. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 Figure 9: CUP20 banknote depicting Camillo Cienfuegos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166 Figure 10: Cubans obtaining lawful permanent resident status in the US . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170 Figure 11: Page heading of the magazine Bohemia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  178 Figure 12: Literacy rate (in %) in Cuba among people ages 15 and above. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 185 Figure 13: Infant mortality rate (deaths per 1,000 live births) in Cuba 1964–2019. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 Figure 14: Cuban GDP from 1970 to 1993 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198 Figure 15: ‘Flipped’ socioeconomic pyramid during and after the Período Especial. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  214 Figure 16: Overnight stays of international tourists in Cuba by type of accommodation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 Figure 17: Arrivals of international tourists in Cuba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 Figure 18: Overnight stays of foreign and domestic tourists in Cuba (1989–2019; in millions). . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238 Figure 19: Cuban GDP from 1970 to 2019 (in current US$). . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239 Figure 20: Direct revenue from international tourism in Cuba from 1991 to 2019 (in current US$). . . . . . . . . . 239 Figure 21: Detail from the original photograph Guerrillero Heroico. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  244 Figure 22: Reproduction of Guerrillero Heroico on a cigar case. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244 Figure 23: Grounded Theory design . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253 Figure 24: Age (categorised) of interviewees at the time of the interview. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256 Figure 25: Silkscreen prints of socialist propaganda and movie posters. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349 Figure 26: Magnets displayed in a souvenir shop. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 350 Figure 27: Tourists queuing in front of the Museo de la Revolución in Havana. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351 Figure 28: M-26-7 graffiti on a wall. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354 Figure 29: Graffiti praising CDRs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354 Figure 30: Reproductions of revolutionary symbols and utilisation of buildings in Habana Vieja. . . . . . . . . . 356 Figure 31: Reproductions of revolutionary symbols and utilisation of buildings in Matanzas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 358 Figure 32: Reproduction of revolutionary symbols and utilisation of the Plaza América Centro de ­ Convenciones y Comercial (Shopping and Convention Centre) in Varadero. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 359 Figure 33: Example of the omnipresence of Che Guevara souvenirs in the public space of tourism hotspots. .370 Figure 34: Three fundamental assessments of the commodification of the Revolution, with paradigmatic quotes from the interviews. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375 Figure 35: Stages of the spatial convergence of revolutionary legacies and tourist consumption. . . . . . . . . . . . 393 Figure 36: Visualisation of the rejected understanding of the connection between commodification and identity, and a proposal of a more complex approach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 399 Figure 37: Interview partners’ views on the commodification of the Revolution as a function of support for it and the presumed motivations for commodification. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  404 Figure 38: Four types of relationships with the Revolution. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  407



List of Tables

Table 1: Summary of postmodernity’s central social phenomena. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 2: System of binary opposition according to the logic of racial differences. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 3: Commodity types, classified by their origin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 4: Heads of state in Cuba, from 1899 until present. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 5: Countries of origin of the largest groups of international tourists visiting Cuba (1985–2019).  Table 6: Number of interviews conducted at the research sites. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Table 7: Relationship between the level of educational attainment and occupation in tourism within the interview sample. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

57 95 104 152 237 255 257



List of Abbreviations

AES Actually Existing Socialism CDR Comités de Defensa de la Revolución (Committees for the Defence of the Revolution) CIA Central Intelligence Agency COMECON Council for Mutual Economic Assistance COVID-19 Coronavirus disease 2019 CUC Peso cubano convertible (Cuban Convertible Peso) CUP Peso Cubano (Cuban Peso) CUPET Unión Cuba Petróleo (Cuba Oil Union) ETA Euskadi Ta Askatasuna (Basque Homeland and Liberty) FAR Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias (Revolutionary Armed Forces) GAESA Grupo de Administración Empresarial S. A. (Corporate Management Group S. A.) GDP Gross Domestic Product GDR German Democratic Republic HIV Human Immunodeficiency Viruses IHK Industrie- und Handelskammer (Chamber of Commerce and Industry) INTUR Instituto Nacional de Turismo (National Institute of Tourism) M-26-7 Movimiento 26 de Julio (26th of July Movement) ONEI Oficina Nacional de Estadísticas e Información (National Bureau of Statistics and Information) PCC Partido Comunista de Cuba (Communist Party of Cuba) PPC-O Partido del Pueblo Cubano – Ortodoxos S. A. Sociedad anónima (Public Limited Company) UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation UNWTO United Nations World Tourism Organisation URSS Unión de Repúblicas Socialistas Soviéticas (see: USSR) US United States (of America) US$ United States Dollar USSR Union of Soviet Socialist Republics UN United Nations VAT Value Added Tax



Formal Remarks

For some sources referred to in this book, the year of publication of the original edition is indicated in square brackets alongside the year of publication of the source used – e. g. (Simmel 2006a [1911]). This additional information can be found in sources where the original year of publication and the year of publication of the edition used are far apart in time or where the year of publication of the original is relevant for the contextual assessment of the source in question. This notation has only been applied where the reference source is a reprint of the original, not a modified edition. Where the references to two or more authors are indicated in one parenthesis, the authors are listed in alphabetical order. Several works by one author indicated in one parenthesis are arranged in chronological order. In some cases, direct quotations from non-English sources are included. These are mainly quotations from interviews conducted in Spanish, but also some German and French sources (primarily in the theory chapters). To improve readability, these quotations have been translated into English by the author, with the original – non-­ English – references being included as footnotes with the reference ‘Original’. Non-­ English sources have been translated with great care; nevertheless, misinterpretations or mistranslations cannot be ruled out. These are the sole responsibility of the author.

Prologue

In the distance, the silhouette of a white stone tower stands out against the dark night sky of Havana. It rises higher and higher as we approach, until its top can no longer be seen through the window of the taxi. Instead, suddenly, the empty expanse of the Plaza de la Revolución passes by. In front of the tower, a giant marble statue of a man kneels and overlooks the plaza. Additionally, on the buildings opposite, larger-thanlife portraits of two men are illuminated. One of them is Che Guevara; of course, I know that, because this portrayal is world-famous. The other man is depicted with a broad-brimmed hat and a long beard, and he spontaneously reminds me of the Saviour – the hat looks like a halo. “What is this place?” I ask Javier, who drives the taxi. Javier straightens up in his seat but keeps his eyes on the road; he has seen this place a thousand times before. “This is Plaza de la Revolución,” he explains, “one of the most important places in Cuba. Camilo Cienfuegos and Che, whose portraits are mounted on the buildings there, and Jose Marti, whose statue watches over the square, are some of Cuba’s greatest heroes. Every child knows them.” Javier, who was previously so gleeful, almost frolicsome, suddenly seems very serious and a bit solemn. Later that first night in Cuba, I think about the triptych on Plaza de la Revolución. What had Javier said about the three men, with reverence in his voice? “One formulated the idea of Cuban independence, the other two finally established it. They have made us what we are today.” Javier seemed to be very proud of them. The next morning, I wander the streets of Habana Vieja, the historic district of Havana. The likenesses of the three men from the previous evening appear to me again that day, but in completely different forms. José Martí watches as a bust in front of every school and many public institutions. Camilo Cienfuegos smiles at me from the just exchanged CUP20 banknotes, but otherwise he remains inconspicuous. Actually, I see the image of Che on almost every street corner: The Guerrillero Heroico is flaunted on t-shirts, posters, cigar boxes, leather bags, refrigerator magnets, baseball bats and myriad other souvenirs. But he can also be seen from time to time in propaganda graffiti, faded tattoos and framed pictures above door frames in decaying colonial palaces.

20

Prologue

The image of the revolutionaries of the previous night, marked by Javier’s awe, is thus becoming increasingly complex and complicated. On the one hand, there is the quasi-religious reverence of the revolutionaries and the Cuban Revolution and the frequent reaffirmation of how important it is for Cuba, while on the other hand, the utilisation of this very Revolution in tourism is omnipresent. How do these contradictions fit together? How can deference for the Revolution and its simultaneous touristic utilisation be explained? What does it mean for Cuban society and its self-image, and what does it mean for the Cubans and their identity, which, according to their own assessments, is so strongly influenced by the Revolution? The contradictions revealed herein constitute the starting point for the research and reflections that are laid out in the following.

1.

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodification

I don’t feel that it is necessary to know exactly what I am. The main interest in life and work is to become someone else that you were not in the beginning. If you knew when you began a book what you would say at the end, do you think that you would have the courage to write it? Michel Foucault on identity (1988:9)

In the 21st century, the identities of many people are affected by rapidly accelerating social, economic and ecological shifts. Individuals and collectives alike are required to adapt to these changes, which are occurring on different spatial scales – from global to local – and affecting a wide range of aspects of human life. The contemporary social world is becoming progressively unsteady, with key elements of identities (e. g. community, family, political ideologies) becoming more diverse, complex and fragmented. Identities are a powerful expression of how individuals and collectives ascribe meaning to themselves and their lives and how they place themselves in the social world around them. Since identities are always based on social relationships (Goffman 1959, 1963; Luhmann 1995; Mead 1970), transformations and shifts in these social relationships inevitably require a relentless reassessment of individual and collective identities. In this regard, society and identity form a mutually constituting and structuring interdependent relationship, which is both expressed and simultaneously influenced by culture and other resources for identities ( Jullien 2017). As the discourses, practices and social and spatial arrangements through which identities are lived and formed are versatile, dynamic and power-sensitive (Foucault et al. 2003), identities need to be alterable and, to a certain extent, flexible. This research rests upon the hypothesis that the increasingly fluid conditions for identity formation are seizing ever more societies and social strata, for instance via emerging capitalist practices, transforming value systems and growing socioeconomic disparities.

22

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

Thus, it is assumed that on the regional, national and global scales, the jumbling of socioeconomic conditions of prior social and political orders dissolves former certainties. As a result, postmodernity1 is accompanied by entrenched social arrangements and corresponding identities of class, nationality, gender, ethnicity, religious belief and so on fragmenting – sometimes perishing in insignificance, sometimes rearranging (Beck 2009; Reckwitz 2019, 2020) – but all with consequences for individual and collective identities (Bauman 1992, 2002; Hall 1987, 2003; Sennett 1998). Hence, the formation of identities is becoming increasingly complex, difficult and sometimes unsettling under postmodern conditions (Bauman 1996, 1997; Giddens 1991a; Keupp et al. 2006). To reconcile their self-images socially and psychologically with a transformed external sphere, individuals and collectives require new perspectives on their selves, new kinds of explanatory systems and structuring references. In other words, to prevent individuals from despairing and failing at embedding and integrating their selves in a meaningful way in the changing world around them, a re-interpretation of their own position in the social world – of their own identity – is necessary (Keupp et al. 2006:55). While succeeding in this pursuit of meaningfulness can translate into experiences of self-consciousness and of belonging, the aforementioned failures may result in the development of psycho-pathological symptoms. The underlying fundamental changes and distortions leading to identity change, as briefly outlined above, can be observed in various forms and in many places throughout the world. Socialist Cuba has been undergoing far-reaching and deep transformations for about the past 30 years, following “revolutionary Cuba’s golden age” (Ritter 2010:229) of relative socioeconomic stability during the 1970s and 1980s. Recent years have brought significant and profound changes to the nation’s social and economic structures, whose long-term consequences for individual and collective identities are most uncertain. With the dawn of the post-Castro era, Cuba’s political system is subject to transformation as well, albeit in a much weaker form. In this inquiry, transformations are conceived as comprehensive, radical and path-dependent changes in socioeconomic and political systems (Altvater 1998:593–594), which can be described as ‘systemic’ (Geels 2005; Schneidewind 2013), i. e. shifts in which social, cultural, institutional and technological aspects are intricately interwoven and steadily interact with each other. Among the most notable transformative changes Cuba has experienced over the past three decades are fundamental uncertainties in the wake of the socioeconomic crisis during the Período Especial (1990–2005), the death of long-time Comandante en Jefe Fidel Castro in 2016, the new constitution of 2019 and the rollercoaster of relations with the United States. In addition, increasing international tourism in Cuba is one of the principal causes of multi-layered socioeconomic transformations (Hingtgen et al. 2015:184;

1  The

concept of postmodernity, and to what extent postmodern societies exist, is discussed extensively in Chapter 2.2.3.

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

Simoni 2017; Taylor & McGlynn 2009:410); thus, it can be considered accountable for Cuban identities in flux, among several other factors. The Cuban tourism industry, once designated as a coping strategy to overcome the economic crisis following the disintegration of the USSR ( Jatar-Hausmann 1999:49; Salinas et al. 2018:222), saw the number of international tourists increase by a factor of 10.1 from 1991 to 20192 and revenue grow by a factor of 6.6 in the same period3. Considering the major socioeconomic and cultural shifts in Cuba addressed previously, the increasing importance of international tourism is both the consequence and the driver of these transformations. Tourism itself is an arena of struggle for space, power4 and identity (Devine 2017:634– 635), wherein different actors compete for profound socio-spatial agendas and politics, hence profoundly affecting socioeconomic and cultural relations and, ultimately, identities. Marxist authors particularly trace this influencing effect of tourism back to its almost exclusively capitalist and sometimes neoliberal stance (Fletcher 2011; González Velarde 2020; Harvey 2005; Schilcher 2007) – and the multiple violent practices it entails (Büscher & Fletcher 2017; Devine 2017; Devine & Ojeda 2017). The most basic element of capitalism, in turn, is the commodity (Marx 1990 [1867]:163), which also occupies a crucial role in tourism. Practices and processes of commodification are inseparable from capitalism – and thus from capitalist tourism. In recent years, the commodifying character of tourism and the tourist commodification of the environment, of societies and of culture have been increasingly addressed by scholars in various fields (e. g. Büscher & Fletcher 2017; Hillmer-Pegram 2016; Mostafanezhad 2020; Young & Markham 2020; seminal contributions include those of Cohen 1988; Greenwood 1978 and Nuñez & Lett 1989). As Foucault (2009:92) notes, commodification processes produce specific social relations and spatial manifestations, and they affect the behaviours and mindsets of individuals and collectives. Thus, commodification ultimately alters identities, for example through commodification, that are firmly anchored in changing social interactions with social and cultural “resources” ( Jullien 2017). These “resources” are objects and entities of all kinds that individuals and collectives employ to construct identities – in other words, through which they identify themselves. Among others, these resources may include social, cultural, spiritual or political resources. Some studies hint at a disintegrating effect of tourist commodification for identities (Devine & Ojeda 2017; Greenwood 1978; Halewood & Hannam 2001; Lanfant 1995a; Nagy-Zekmi 2019; Salazar 2012). Hence, Salazar (2012) points out that commodification in tourism often produces essentialist and folkloristic – sometimes stereotypical – representations and imaginaries 2  Based

on the author’s own calculations with data from ONEI (2020:334) and ONEI (2021:table 15.2 – Visitantes por meses). 3  Based on the author’s own calculations with data from ONEI (2017a:331), ONEI (2020:342) and ONEI (2021:table 15.12 – Ingresos asociados al turismo internacional). 4  According to Foucault (1978:94), power is not a property of persons or groups of persons. Instead, it lies within all relations (be they of economic, romantic or amicable nature) between two or more persons, so-called ‘power relations’.

23

24

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

of places, people and identities, which are presented, performed and sold in various marketable forms. These places, people and identities are thereby objectified and deprived of their identity-forming features. To put it simply, tourism often does not sell diverse, complex identities but rather smoothed abstractions that materialise in purchasable objects (e. g. souvenirs, postcards), performances (e. g. guided tours, shows) or marketing plugs, thereby degrading them and subverting the foundation of their production (Young & Markham 2020:291). Nonetheless, a few others have highlighted the positive effects of tourist commodification on local identities (e. g. Cole 2007). However, although some studies on cultural commodification in tourism thoroughly take into account questions of identity (Edensor 1997; Lanfant et al. 1995; Urry 1995), most do so incidentally. While some investigations into commodification in tourism and the effects on individual and collective identities in the Global North do indeed exist (Cloke & Perkins 2002; Cottrell & Neuberg 2005), societies and individuals in the Global South, as well as their identities, currently seem to lack scientific attention – especially when it comes to non-capitalist societies.5 Some of the few exceptions are the investigations presented by Roland (2010) on Cuba, Devine (2017) on Guatemala, Applis (2019) on Caucasian Georgia and González Velarde (2020) on Peru. This reveals a research gap regarding the consequences of commodification and commercialisation for the Self – for the identity of individuals – via tourism, especially in the Global South. This research seeks to contribute to closing this gap, hence pleading for multidimensional, comprehensive analyses that transcend disciplinary boundaries to contribute to a thorough understanding of tourist commodification and its transformative effects on individuals and societies in the Global South.6 The case of the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution appears to be well suited for this purpose for chiefly three reasons: 1) International tourism has been affecting Cuban society for barely three decades, and thus for a relatively short time. It can therefore be assumed that tourism and commodification have not (yet) become commonplace; 2) the deeply socialist Cuban Revolution, in its fundamental understanding, represents an ideological antithesis that is essentially irreconcilable with capitalist commodification, as it stands for an ideology that at its heart opposes commodification for the profit of individuals. Therefore, the Cuban Revolution, through its commodification, is haunted by the very process it demonises and 3) the Revolution was – and is – identity-defining for many Cubans (González Rey & Pavón-Cuéllar 2019:11; Pupo Pupo 2005:44–46; Rojas 1995), but by no means for all (Smith 2016).

5  Following Dados and Connell (2012:13), the term “Global South” does not merely describe a diffuse ‘un-

derdeveloped’ space; rather, it attempts to productively incorporate historical experiences of colonisation and imperialism, as well as social and economic dependencies and inequalities, into the notion. 6  Hence, the commodification of identity as a sociocultural phenomenon is of primary concern in this study. The mostly problematic commodification of nature in tourism (Fletcher 2014:10) is unconditionally acknowledged, nonetheless.

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

Nonetheless, in Cuba, social conditions have been and are largely determined by the revolutionary state doctrine. For a long time, the Revolution profoundly shaped the relationship of individuals with the state, the economy, religion, fellow human beings, etc. – in short, the relationship with the world around them – and in part it still does so today (Gold 2014:44). The commodification of the Cuban Revolution thus offers manifold rifts and contradictions to examine, while Cuba itself offers a noteworthy example of commodification in a (mostly) non-capitalist society. In this sense, additionally to its contribution to the understanding of commodification processes in general, this inquiry seeks to enhance knowledge on the subject under non-capitalist circumstances in particular. From the tensions and contradictions between a socialist system and capitalist commodification, new perspectives and discursive formations for understanding tourist commodification and its effects on identities may be derived. In so doing, the commodification of the Cuban Revolution in tourism is considered a symptom of several political and socioeconomical transformations, which involve both relationships between individuals and the Revolution, and between collectives and the Revolution, as well as the significance attributed to it. Certainly, international tourism is not the only way to observe changes in the significance of the Cuban Revolution. However, due to their disruptive, contradictory sociocultural and economic character, tourism and tourist commodification represent influential and well observable examples of this transformation. Besides the tourist commodification of the Revolution, there are certainly further influences on Cuban identities. As far as possible, socioeconomic and political influences on Cuban identities were investigated as well. Hence, the impact of processes of commodification ought not to be understood as a one-way influencing of identities. Rather, identity formation, on the one hand, and transformations of the modes of interaction with sociocultural resources affecting identities, on the other hand, mutually influence each other. In this instance, the commodification of the long revered Cuban Revolution represents the transformation in interactions with a sociocultural and likely identity-forming resource. Of central interest in this respect are the interpretations and conclusions that Cubans draw on the Revolution, its commodification in tourism and its change in meaning, as well as their overall interpretation of tourism with its manifold consequences. This notion broadens the scope of this book, since the examination of the commodification of the Cuban Revolution and its effects on Cuban identities allows for deeper reflections on this very Revolution. On the one hand, commodification is thus the object of inquiry, with respect to which insights are gathered about its consequences for identities. On the other hand, commodification serves as a proxy, a heuristic key to Cubans’ relationship with the Revolution – and therefore with the condition of the Revolution itself. By addressing its commodification, a discursive space is created in which the Revolution itself can be both described and negotiated. The research thus

25

26

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

transcends a mere study of commodification processes and, beyond that, aims to offer an up-to-date dissection of the state of the Cuban Revolution. 1.1.

Aim of the Book and Research Questions

This book focuses on the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution, which is as an initial hypothesis is assumed to be highly identity-determining for many Cubans. Since identity and processes of identification are highly individual, the subjective perceptions and interpretations of Cuban individuals are at the centre of the analysis. This emphasis on subjective meanings applies to Cubans’ stances on both the commodification of the Revolution and leans towards the distinct effects of tourism along with their mutual implications for individual and collective Cuban identities.7 Addressing the centrality of the subjective inscriptions of meaning and their discursive embeddedness for identities, this research thereby rests on a qualitative research design with a poststructuralist stance (Derrida 1973, 1981; Foucault 1972). Thus, this inquiry necessarily considers the social and identity-effective consequences of socioeconomic transformations in Cuba in general, as well as the concomitant impacts and effects of tourism, which itself contributes significantly to these transformations. Both phenomena, i. e. current socioeconomic transformations and the growing significance of tourism, constitute the setting in which the genesis and metamorphosis of Cuban identities occurs and which conditions it. Hence, it is crucial to examine thoroughly the social and economic situation in the country, as well as international tourism and its consequences, to address questions of Cuban identity in the context of the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution. To clarify the research objective, its key aim is condensed into a single, necessarily comprehensively formulated question: What implications does the tourist commodification  of the Cuban Revolution have for Cuban identities? For the sake of operationalisation and better answerability, this broad question is further divided into twelve questions (Q1.1 to Q5.3), as shown in Figure 1. These questions are clustered into five thematic groups. The first of these groups principally addresses a descriptive approach towards tourism in Cuba, drawing on both existing literature and empirical data (Q1.1 and Q1.2). The additional questions (Q2.1 through Q5.3) are predominantly answered by analysing first-hand empirical data collected in Cuba.

7  This

book focuses on the island of Cuba. Research like this one, but carried out using the example of exiled Cuban communities (e. g., in Miami), would most certainly lead to significantly different results.

Aim of the Book and Research Questions

Figure 1: Central research question and sub-questions. Source: own design.

27

28

Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

The primary data gathered to address these research questions was predominantly obtained through semi-structured, qualitative interviews conducted during three survey periods between 2017 and 2019, lasting five months in total.8 For data-structuring and -analysis, Grounded Theory (Glaser & Strauss 2012 [1967]) was utilised. (Kindly note the extensive remarks on the methods employed, as well as their epistemological and ontological foundations, in Chapter 6). In general, changes in identity may vary in different subspaces of Cuba and take place on several levels of social organisation, such as the individual, households and families, neighbourhoods, regions or the whole nation. Therefore, different spaces ought to be examined when looking at the identity-­ linked consequences of changes in the general socio-political set-up of contemporary Cuba and of the touristic commodification of the Revolution. With this intention, the interviews were conducted in several different places (see Figure 2), most of which are hotspots for international tourism on the island.

Figure 2: Research sites and tourism centres in Cuba. (Please note: interviews were conducted in all places underscored in the map) Source: own draft, based on Völkening and Benz (2020:23).

Additionally, extensive mappings were conducted in Havana, Matanzas and Varadero. Hence, the reproduction of revolutionary symbology was mapped in these places, which are utilised so very differently in tourism. For this task, distinct intentions linked to the reproduction of symbols of the Revolution were identified and recorded, with relevant findings in this regard primarily informing the answers to questions Q2.1 through to Q2.3. All of the questions critically reflect on the existing literature and knowledge. As a result, these reflections often contribute complementary and confirming, as well as

8  Survey periods in Cuba comprised February through to April 2017, August and September 2017, as well

as February through to April 2019.

Aim of the Book and Research Questions

contradictory, perspectives on existing corpora of theory. These perspectives on theory are brought into focus through the lens of the empirical material, and an attempt at abductive theory development (Reichertz 2019:268–269) is made on that basis. Certainly, the commodification of the Cuban Revolution might perhaps lead to additional effects, besides the alternation of Cuban identities and possible alienation from the Revolution. However, apart from the spatial effects of the commodification of the Revolution, these additional effects are not considered in the following. At the same time, numerous other, predominantly social factors beyond processes of commodification can influence the self-perception of Cubans, for instance religious beliefs, questions of gender and ethnicity or identification with a professional activity. These entities (e. g. community, religion, labour), which also shape individual and collective identities, are correspondingly addressed within this book, although the focus falls on the Cuban Revolution and its commodification. Thus, various additional resources for identities are presented in Chapters 2.3.2 to 2.3.7 and their significance for Cuban identities considered. At this point, it seems important to stress the impossibility of reflecting all factors that influence Cuban identities – or any identity at all. Identity formation is a complex and perpetual psychosocial process; moreover, it can never be fully understood by the individual him- or herself, since the emergence of identity to some extent always takes place within the pre- and unconscious, and thus it is under the influence of the internal “id” and the “superego” (Freud 1989 [1923]).9 As Findlay (2019) showed in her study of a Cuban family, describing itself as “cien por ciento Cubano” [one hundred per cent Cuban], individual narratives of one’s own identity sort different aspects of cubanidad – i. e. the conviction of Cuban peculiarity – according to a very specific understanding. Individual elements are excluded, highlighted, subordinated or superordinated, emphasised or concealed, so the individual can construct a narrative through which he or she gives a stable account of the Self that is logical and self-empowering. Consequently, Cuban individuals and their personal interpretations of the realities of the Cuban Revolution and its commodification are focused on. Following the Grounded Theory approach, the findings are successively layered, based on the “ethno-­ narratives of actors in the field” (Tavory & Timmermans 2009:244). The aim is to identify and describe individual structures of meaning. On this basis, a typology can be established that outlines different social groups in terms of how they deal with and assess potentially identity-modifying processes of commodification. The objective, in the true spirit of qualitative research (Sandelowski 2004:893), is to create a thorough description of the commodification of the Cuban Revolution and its impact on Cuban identities, as well as to provide individual Cuban interpretations of this phenomenon. On a meta-level, this research investigates the circumstances and consequences of the (post-)socialistic transformation on the island for society, individuals and their 9  Terms in the German original: “Es” and “Über-Ich”.

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Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

respective relationships with the Revolution, thereby ultimately making it comprehensible and able be accurately scrutinised. To clarify the purpose of this research further, it shall be explained what it is not. Analysing identities and their transformation does not mean observing two coherent, complete, well-defined identities A and B, with A representing past identity and B representing the current identity of an individual or collective, wherein B is the later form of A modified by a set of transforming factors that can be clearly specified. In this rejected view of identity and its change, the transforming influences (e. g. the commodification of identity-forming resources, modified value systems, a changed employment situation) could be distinctly recognised, and it would be possible to seamlessly trace how and why identity A turned into identity B (see Figure 3.1). Rather, referring to the black box phenomenon, a different understanding is proposed for the examination of individual and collective identities. Think of a flashlight used to illuminate a wide river at night. The river is so vast that the flashlight only roughly reveals the scale of the river. In fact, what lies beneath the river’s surface can only be discerned close to the riverbank. However, by observing the swirls and turbulences on the water’s surface, a good impression can be obtained of what the riverbed looks like. To disentangle this metaphor: this research represents the flashlight through which the ‘river’ of Cuban identities shall be illuminated (see Figure  3.2). Identity formation partly occurs in the unconscious (below the surface), as the “ego is not master in its own house” (Freud 1981 [1917]:143). Hence, the currents visible on the water’s surface (the interviewees’ expressions) must be interpreted, in order to infer their underlying influences in the riverbed (e. g. socioeconomic transformations, the tourist commodification of the Revolution). By swaying the flashlight back and forth (i. e. asking appropriate interview questions), downstream (past) sections can also be elucidated. Glimpses into the future are naturally denied, although current flow patterns allow for speculation about future identity trajectories. Altogether, the influence of the commodification of the Revolution in tourism, as well as of other socioeconomic shifts on Cuban identities, can only be observed indirectly. Following this understanding of identity, no clearly separable identities A and B can be studied individually. Instead, transformations and continuities of the same identity need to be considered under alternating influences. Furthermore, another remark seems appropriate for those who, by reading this book, hope to find answers to the question ‘Who are the Cubans?’ or similar queries. Due to the qualitative-analytical design of this study, it is neither intended nor possible to derive representative or confirmatory conclusions that quantify the effects of the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution on Cuban identities, or to establish an exact ranking of the identity-generating elements of all Cubans. Nor is the aim of this research to determine the identity of Cubans in an objective manner or to find an all-encompassing explanation for the Cuban national soul. Such essentialist understandings of identity are indeed firmly rejected.

Structure of the Book

Figure 3: Schematic description of the examination of identities. Source: own design.

1.2.

Structure of the Book

Principally, this book is divided into nine chapters. Their succession and the interrelationships between them are illustrated in Figure 4. The first chapter, which includes this section, provides a broad overview of the objectives of the underlying research, introduces the central research questions and expounds the general outline. After these introductory remarks, Chapter 2 contains the theoretical foundations on which identity and identity formation are built. After some considerations regarding the nature of individual and collective identities, the chapter continues with the circumstances for identity formation under modern and postmodern conditions and addresses postcolonial identities as well. Thereafter, various resources for the formation of identities are presented and discussed.

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Identity, Revolution and Tourist Commodificatio

The following Chapter 3 turns to the processes of commodification. It begins with a discussion of the Marxist origins of the concept of commodification and continues with reflections on commodification in neoliberal and socialist environments – although for the latter only a very few references are available. Eventually, the effects of commodification in tourism are discussed, using Castree’s (2003) six principles of commodification. Chapter 4 provides the sociohistorical background of Cuba. Initially, it portrays the emergence of a national consciousness during the colonial period, which ended after three wars of independence and led to a formally independent country. The chapter then proceeds by describing the social and economic conditions in Cuba during the first half of the 20th century, which finally culminated in the Cuban Revolution. Next, the rise of the Revolution as an identity-creating narrative for many Cubans is illuminated. The historical outline is continued with explanations of the development of revolutionary-socialist Cuba, taking a closer look at defining phases and events such as the Período Especial and the death of Fidel Castro, and ending with current events. Chapter 5 focuses on international tourism in Cuba, which has shown increasing importance since its (re-)introduction at the beginning of the 1990s. Tourism is presented as one of the main sources of commodification in Cuba and an intensifier of socioeconomic inequalities. Furthermore, the ‘production’ of Cuba in and through tourism is discussed. Chapter 6 expands on the methodology applied for this research. It contains further details on the main empirical methods as well as a description of the sample of interviewees. In Chapter 7, the findings of the empirical studies are outlined. The structure of the chapter is oriented along the code system developed during the analysis via Grounded Theory. In part, this code structure intersects the research questions, with one code possibly referring to more than one research question. Subchapter 7.8 is exceptional, since it does not unfold results from the qualitative interviews but rather introduces the findings of the mappings. Chapter 8 interprets and discusses the results clarified in the previous chapter while involving the theoretical foundations laid out previously. The research questions are then answered in detail. As a result, overlaps and divergences of theory and empirical evidence become clear and are considered. In summary, an abductively substantiated hypothesis of the implications of the tourist commodification of the Revolution for Cuban identities and in spatial terms arises. Moreover, principal considerations on the conditions for the emergence of contemporary identities in Cuba are formulated. Ad-ditionally, the empirical corpus allows for reflections on the very state of the Revolu-tion. Furthermore, the methodological approach of this thesis is critically assessed and evaluated. Finally, considerations on the normative stance of scholarly inquiry into the processes of commodification are made. Finally, the thesis ends with a conclusion. This final Chapter 9 highlights the main findings and situates them in a broader conceptual context. An epilogue concludes the thesis.

Structure of the Book

Figure 4: Book structure. Source: own design.

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2. Identity

[…] a shaky edifice we build out of scraps, dogmas, childhood injuries, newspaper articles, chance remarks, old films, small victories, people hated, people loved; perhaps it is because of our sense of what is the case is constructed from such inadequate materials that we defend it so fiercely, even to the death Salman Rushdie (1991:12)

Rushdie’s figurative and emotive while simultaneously telling and vague description highlights the way to approach the complexities of identity, “born as a problem”, as Bauman (1996:18–19) expresses in a less charming but nevertheless trenchant way. The huge linguistic distance between both phrasings hints at the scope of scholarly perspectives on identity and identity formation. Moving into this theory chapter on identity, the questions ‘what is identity?’ and ‘what identity are we talking about?’ need to be addressed, since social sciences gave rise to a multitude of identity concepts after the recognition of individual subjects and their identity: individuals do not simply have an identity (in the sense of one identity) but most often possess a national identity, a cultural, sexual, social, historical and religious identity. Accordingly, social sciences developed various perspectives on and definitions of identity, which, however, are partly contradictory or not clearly separated from each other (Stryker 2000:21–22). The list above could certainly be extended and refined, but the point made is clear: identity is a multidimensional entity, whose scopes partly overlap, for example in regard to national, cultural and social identity. However, strictly delineating the dimensions of identity from each other is neither feasible nor reasonable. As an example, reciprocal constitutions of national, religious identities can be mentioned, as they are often used to support each other and remain fragmentary without the others (Kanas & Martinovic 2017:221).

Identity

In addition to the preliminary recognition that identity is a complex, multidimensional construction, it is imperative to emphasise the distinction between individual and collective identities, which also interfere reciprocally with each other. However, the nature of this distinction between individual and collective identities is more gradual than fundamental, as in both cases the individual is conscious of and identifies itself by being part of social groups. The demarcation between individual and collective identities may be administered via the aim of the particular epistemological interest: either the subject (individual identity) as a member of a larger group or the group itself (collective identities) becomes the focus of interest. Over the past decades, the scientific as well as popular literature has increasingly seized the concept of identity and propelled it into unimagined heights of popularity. This popularity has in turn led to an inflationary and progressively arbitrary use of the term ‘identity’ in almost any sphere of society. In 1975, Erikson (1975:17–18) bemoaned the increasing number of diagnoses of “identity crisis” when he noted that “identity concepts have secured themselves rather quickly a place of familiarity in the thinking or, at any rate, the vocabulary, of a wide range of readers in a number of countries”. Likewise, Goldstraß (2008:9) carved out the by now inflationary and continually increasingly heterogeneous usage of the term ‘identity’. But what is identity? Bauman (1992:679) offers a first approximation of the concept, which he describes as “one of the most universal human needs” that “is expected to offer […] self-confidence, certainty and ‘knowing where one stands’”. Furthermore, identity is supposed to instruct the individual “how to place […] among the evident variety of behavioural styles and patterns, and how to make sure that people around would accept this placement as right and proper” (Bauman 1996:19). Building on Bauman’s description, Keupp et al. (2006:70) declare identity as an eternal and universal problem, which is today as fierce as never before. They describe identity as merely a temporary solution for an identically named problem. The conjunction of identity with hardness-laden terms like “problem” (Keupp et al. 2006:70) or “problematic” (Hall 2003:277), “need” (Bauman 1992) and “task” (Bauman 1996) indicates the complexity of the fabric of identity, which has animated the interest of scholars for centuries. The lack of a definite conception of identity also causes this fascination. Mercifully, for those brooding on questions of identity, and unfortunately, for proponents of clear explanatory models, no all-encompassing concept of identity and identity formation exists in pure form. For cultural identity alone, an almost incomprehensible multiplicity of definitions and conceptions exists (Kim 2007:238) in the form of rather general conceptions to describe changes and modes of behaviour in a society, without necessarily describing an individual or a collective perfectly. As Hall (2003:274) observes, “it is impossible to offer conclusive statements or to make secure judgments about the theoretical claims and propositions” on identity and identity formation. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of its definitional broadness, identity is one of the key concepts of social sciences (Wetherell et al. 2009:VIII) and is gaining attention in

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Identity

human-environment research as well (Schulte et al. 2020). It also receives much attention and reception in geography, albeit to a comparatively lesser extent. This might be owed to the fact that interactions between identity and space are in principle known and respected, but detailed interrelationships require further consideration (Valentine & Sporton 2009:157; Wißmann 2011). After this prologue, the theoretical foundations for the formation and alteration of identities are examined. As identity is a complex composition of individual and collective traits, which are inextricably linked with each other, both phenomena are described wherever reasonable to do so. The first subchapter (2.1) focuses on the psycho-social mechanisms of individual (self-)identification and the construction of identities, to lay a stable, socio-psychologically grounded foundation for subsequent considerations. Subchapter 2.2 explores the ever-transforming socioeconomic conditions that frame identity formations of individuals and collectives. First, pre-modern (2.2.1) and modern (2.2.2) conditions for identity genesis are briefly discussed, before the possibilities for identity formation in postmodernity are considered. In addition to describing the fundamental characteristics of postmodern conditions (2.2.3), two strands of theory describing postmodern identities are contrasted: on the one hand, a rather pessimistic view based strongly on Zygmunt Bauman (2.2.4), and on the other hand, a more optimistic perspective adopted by, for example, Heiner Keupp (2.2.5). To account for Cuba’s colonial past and its implications for Cuban identities, postcolonial identities and their peculiarities are discussed (2.2.6). Subchapter 2.3 combines the findings of the preceding pages and synthesises them with Derrida’s deconstruction (2.3.1). Subsequently, Chapters 2.3.2 to 2.3.7 present the “resources” ( Jullien 2017) subjects and social groups use to construct individual and collective identities. As the focus of this book lies predominantly on the collective identities of Cubans, resources for identity formation that are assessed as significant for Cuban identities receive a closer look (inter alia nation, culture, religion, etc.). Finally, the concluding subchapter (2.4) takes a glimpse at the positive and negative consequences of contemporary possibilities for identity formation as well as what strategies subjects might pursue in order to manage this ‘task’ successfully. 2.1.

How Identities are Constructed

This chapter explores the sociopsychological processes that underlie identity formation. The main theoretical concepts used in social sciences to describe the formation of identities are the essentialist, social-interactionist and discursive approaches. The latter two are similar, since both consider the relationship between individuals (and groups) as being pivotal for identities. While the essentialist notion of identity is introduced and discussed herein, it must be dismissed against the backdrop of the poststructuralist framework of this research.

How Identities are Constructed

In contrast to identity essentialism, discursive approaches recognise the embeddedness of individuals in social structures and power relations, as well as the resulting consequences for identity formation processes. In contrast, this conception is underdeveloped in most interactionist theories. Therefore, the discursive, poststructuralist approach appears to be most suitable for this inquiry and for scrutinising specific Cuban circumstances. 2.1.1. Overcoming Essentialist Notions of Identity

In the traditional understanding, identity was perceived as essentialist, as an innate trait or a solid core unalterably defining who and how someone is. Lossau (2013:654) traces this formerly common conviction back to French philosopher René Descartes and his postulation “Cogito, ergo sum”.1 Likewise, German philosopher Johann Gottlieb Fichte (1997 [1794]:17) declared: One cannot think anything at all without thinking of one’s ego, than to consciously think about yourself; one can never abstract from one’s self-awareness.2

During modernity, the prevailing idea of identity moved away from an essentialist conception. The increasing intricacy of the modern world and the cognition of a non-autonomous identity that cannot be formed purely from within the individual provoked this shift in the understanding of identity. The sociologists Mead, Goffman and Erikson developed today’s notion of ‘social identity’, which is not a solid trait assigned to each and every one at birth but has to be negotiated and developed in interaction with others and – which is alterable and anything but static and fixed. This conception of subjective identity as constituted by the individual on the foundation of social interactions and through the ascription of meaning to social processes, lay the foundations for the concept of ‘symbolic interactionism’, mainly based on Blumer (1969), a student of Mead. According to advocates of symbolic interactionism, the identity formation of an individual occurs mainly in interaction with others. In general, symbolic interactionism takes a highly social-constructivist stance, as Charon (1998:42) explains: the human sees the world through perspectives, developed socially, [therefore] reality is social, and what we see ‘out there’ (and within ourselves) is developed in interaction with others.3 1  Translation: “I think, therefore I am.” 2  Original: “Man kann gar nichts denken, ohne sein Ich, als sich seiner selbst bewusst, mit hinzu zu den-

ken; man kann von seinem Selbstbewusstsein nie abstrahieren.” 3  Note on italics in quotations: unless noted otherwise, italics in direct citations were adopted from the source.

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Identity

Korte and Schäfers (1998:41) note that for the proponents of symbolic interactionism, the experienced and internalised reactions of others to an individual’s acting or speaking are essential for self-experience and self-constitution. Drawing on this understanding, Erikson (1980) developed a comprehensive concept to explain the development and condition of the identity of the modern subject. Within this concept, he expounded the process of human self-placement in a complex social world. Erikson (1980:22) explained the “feeling of having a personal identity” as resting upon “the immediate perception of one’s selfsameness and continuity in time; and the simultaneous perception of the fact that others recognize one’s sameness and continuity”. Following this line of thought, identity is an expression of the subject’s confidence in itself and its competence in maintaining its own continuity and sameness – as well as in the perceptions of others (Erikson 1980:22). Greenwood (1994:109) picks up on Erikson’s idea and describes it as a “sense of identity”, which he characterises as “a set of relatively enduring and integrated fundamental beliefs, principles and commitments, references to which can provide an integrated explanation of much of their intentional behaviour” (Greenwood 1994:109). However, Erikson’s concept of identity was criticised by subsequent, mainly late- or postmodern authors, mostly for assuming unrealistic relations between the individual and society under capitalistic conditions. Criticism also arose concerning Erikson’s idea of the successive development of identity with different stages, ranging from early childhood to adolescence. According to Erikson (1980:94), by running through all of these stages, the individual accumulates “inner capital […] from all those experiences of each successive stage”. Keupp et al. (2006:30) describe Erikson’s perception of identity as being irresolvable linked to modernity, as he assumes a modernist line of thought with a “regularly and linear trajectory”4 transferred to the concept of identity. Furthermore, according to Keupp et al. (2006:30), Erikson assumes that subjects can reliably embed themselves in assessable social and cultural continuities that allow for self-discovery. By doing so, Erikson neglected fundamental postmodern trends (e. g. individualisation, globalisation), which unsettle the foundations of modern societies and diminish the potential for resilient and secured identities (Keupp et al. 2006:30). However, this critique is contested. Schachter (2005:152), for instance, suggests re-reading Erikson’s approaches and placing them in post-modern contexts, believing that his theories are equally appropriate for post-modern societies and subjects. Yet, simultaneously, Schachter (2005:153) acknowledges that a “dialogue between Erikson and the postmodern” would be necessary, from which Erikson’s theory would emerge altered. Moreover, Alberts and Durrheim (2018:296) criticise Erikson’s positivist approach, which they argue conceives identity formation as a thoroughly uni-

4  Original:“regelhaft linearer Entwicklungsverlauf ”

How Identities are Constructed

versal process always bound by the same principles. Indeed, Erikson omits the impact of discourses and power relations on identity formation, which is pivotal from a social-constructivist perspective. Despite the harsh  – and justified  – criticism of Erikson, his thoughts were ground-breaking in terms of understanding identity formation. His conceptions were adopted and modified by modern theorists on identity, most notably by Mead and Goffman, who developed the notion of synchronicity of personal and social identity, the latter two resulting a subject’s identity (Keupp et al. 2006:30) through their combination. According to Goffman (1963:57), the personal identity of a subject can be understood as the sum of its individually related features and characteristics, which contribute to the formation of his/her identity. Examples of such personal features are the physical (physical appearance, height, etc.) and the biographical (past experiences) qualities of an individual. Social identity in turn emanates from social relations, i. e. an individual’s distinctive combination of belonging to different social groups. Simmel (1890:103) explains this individuation via unique combinations of social relations as follows: The groups that the individual belongs to form, as it were, a coordinate system in such a manner that each newly added individual determines it more precisely and un-ambiguously. Being part of one group allows individuality a wide scope; however, the more groups the individual belongs to, the less likely it is that other persons have the same group combination, that these numerous circles will intersect again in one point.5

However, in contrast to the unique combination of personal traits contributing to the emergence of personal identity, social identity is based on the various social ‘roles’ individuals are attributed with or attribute themselves with. Depending on the particular social situation and circumstances, a person has a variety of different and sometimes overlapping roles ascribed to him/her (e. g. mother, Cuban, colleague, teacher, pensioner). These roles feature expectations concerning the subject’s behaviour, attitudes, etc. by fellow human beings. Goffman (1963:2) calls the entirety of these expectations “social identity”. This ascribed social identity is based on a counterpart “possessing [of] an attribute that makes him different from others”, which gives one an individual identity (Goffman1963:3). The challenge with this notion is the need (or desire) of the individual to meet the requirements of all these roles, which might lead to conflicts of roles (Goffman 1959:17–30).

5  Original:

“Die Gruppen, zu denen der Einzelne gehört, bilden gleichsam ein Koordinatensystem, derart, daß jede neu hinzukommende ihn genauer und unzweideutiger bestimmt. Die Zugehörigkeit zu je einer derselben läßt der Individualität noch einen weiten Spielraum; aber je mehr es werden, desto unwahrscheinlicher ist es, daß noch andere Personen die gleiche Gruppenkombination aufweisen werden, daß diese vielen Kreise sich noch einmal in einem Punkte schneiden.”

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To understand better the concept of the social role, it is helpful to look at Mead’s distinction between me and I, which are akin to two sides of the same coin. In Mead’s understanding, there is an “I which is aware of the social me” (Mead 1970:173). I and me can never be identical – and they are not supposed to, as they have different functions. While “the I is the response of the organism to the attitudes of the others, the me is the organised set of attitudes of others which one himself assumes. The attitudes of the others constitute the organized me and then one reacts toward that as an I” (Mead 1970:175). At this point, the concept of social roles becomes meaningful, in that identity formation by reassuring the I through the me is complicated by the various social ‘roles’ that individuals assume. The roles individuals play in everyday life can be described as Mead’s social me. The challenge for the subjects is to connect the roles played with his/ her self-perception – the I (Goffman 1959:17–30). Goffman compares playing a role in a theatre while acting on a stage to explain how individuals cope with the differences between the self-perceived I and the passively attributed me. Stretching this metaphor, Goffman (1959:17) states that individuals “perform” themselves in social interactions. During their “performance” they are confronted with external factors they can hardly influence, for example the “setting”, the audience and other individuals taking part in the “dramatic realisation” (Goffman 1959:22). To maintain control over the situation and the way it is interpreted, constant negotiation between the different actors is necessary. At this point, the identity of a subject can be understood as a combination of multiple identities – referring to personal features (personal identity) and to various social relations (social identity) – as well as their interdependencies. To cope with this “complex pattern of identities” (McCall & Simmons 1966:76), which is negotiated between external attributions and expectations as well as individual interpretations of the self, the individual needs to constantly “balance” (Krappmann 2016:70) both personal and societal dimensions of its identity. 2.1.2. Symbolic Interactionism and Discursive Identity Formation

As elaborated previously, large parts of an individual’s identity are based on social relationships – and therefore on communication processes, which are now considered in more detail. In the chapter Communication and Action of his outline of social systems, Luhmann (1995) proposes a concept of communication that explains the formation of social identities and takes into account their constructiveness. He describes communication “as the synthesis of three selections, as the unity of information, utterance, and understanding” (Luhmann 1995:147). ‘Information’ refers to self-consciousness or, more precisely, self-awareness of individuals, that needs to be communicated (‘utterance’). Goffman (1959) emphasises the

How Identities are Constructed

importance of utterance for identity formation in the title of his book The ‘Presentation’ of Self in Everyday Life.6 As ‘understanding’ happens in the intellect of the counterpart and thus is the only part of identity formation that necessarily takes place without the direct influence of the individual, it is the most critical step in social identity formation. As Böing (2017:33) explains, successful social identity formation requires the acceptance of the “identity proposition offered”, or at least its reflection by an alter ego that might be present either physically or notionally. This understanding of social identity has strong parallels with Erikson’s (1980:22) approach, for whom the recognition and acknowledgement of others are crucial for the formation of identity. In this sense, as understood by symbolic interactionism, identity can be conceptualised as the overlapping of self-awareness, self-presentation and reflection. However, criticism of the concept of symbolic interactionism are often formulated due to the neglecting of super-individual social norms, symbols and immaterial entities (e. g. religion and culture). Symbolic interactionists are often accused of overestimating the relevance of social relationships and introspection for identity formation while underestimating the – at least for Mead – important references to nature, evolution and history (Preglau 2015:71). Nonetheless, the cardinal elements of symbolic interactionism experienced a revival and revaluation during the Cultural Turn (see, for example, Denzin 1992). One offshoot from this dilemma of symbolic interactionism neglecting non-human counterparts is the consideration of the individual as an actant, as suggested by Zima (2017). As individuals interact and communicate not solely with other human beings, and as identities are also formed in relation to super-individual entities, the individual may be defined as an actant. Additionally, the interaction between an individual and collective subjects and identities can be described best on an actantial level. Identity-forming relationships with other actants can thus take place on the “individual as well as […] infra-individual, artificial and supra-individual”7 (Zima 2017:9) levels. A subject-constituting interaction occurs with actants who do not necessarily need to be subjects in an individual or a collective manner, or material objects. Instead, individuals also constitute their identity and subjectivity in a constant interrelationship with “collective, abstract or mythical subjects”8 (Zima 2017:1). Zima (2017:15) thus sees “infraindividual, artificial, abstract and mythical instances”9 as possible actants and partners for interaction. In this sense, “nation, state, class, spirit, Weltgeist”10 (Zima 2017:1), ‘destiny’ and ‘history’ can be perceived as “mythical subject-actants”11 who are

6  Emphasis by the author. 7  Original: “individuellen sowie […] infraindividuellen, künstlichen und supraindividuellen” 8  Original: “[…] kollektiven, abstrakten oder mythischen Subjekten […]” 9  Original: “[…] infraindividuellen, artifiziellen, abstrakten und mythischen Instanzen […]” 10  Original: “[…] Nation, Staat und Klasse, [Geist], Weltgeist […]” 11  Original: “[…] mythische Subjekt-Aktanten […]”

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neither individuals nor collectives, but who nevertheless undeniably affect the identity formation and self-subjectivation of the individual (Zima 2017:15). Apart from their rootedness in symbolic interactionism, Mead and Goffman’s concepts were also criticised for assuming that “the subject still has an inner core […] that is ‘the real me’” (Hall 2003:276). To them, this inner me is influenced by and shaped in ceaseless interactions with the surrounding social and cultural world (Mead 1970:173–178). From the perspective of the symbolic interactionists, this “gap between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’ – between the personal and the public worlds” (Hall 2003:276) – can be bestridden by identity. Mead, Goffman and others believed that subjects project their Selves onto such cultural identities, at the same time internalising their significances and values. This helps subjects to reconcile their very own emotions and perceptions with the ‘objective’ positions they hold in social and cultural discourses. (Hall 2003:276). Studying Foucault reveals a solution to the inadequacies of symbolic interactionism and the modern, overcome notion of subjects with unalterable cores. In his understanding, subjects in any society are ‘produced’ and formed by discursive practices, which are themselves pervaded, “characterized and constituted” by multiple “relations of power” (Foucault 2003:24). These relations of power in turn cannot exist without the production, accumulation and constant motion of these discourses, which are supposed to reproduce the relations of power responsible for their existence (Foucault et al. 2003:24). As Bruder (1993:40–41) shows, Foucault tries to explain the power interests which lie beneath the concept of subjectivity and how apparently autonomous subjects internalise control and rules imposed by structures of power and thereby reproduce these external authorities within themselves. Rath (1991:83) elaborates further on this point and postulates that modern anthropology ‘produced’ the subject at the turn of the 19th century. He explains Foucault’s concept of the internalisation of objectifying (and simultaneously subjectifying) discourses and practices. From a Foucauldian perspective, medical surgery produces the invalid, psychiatric examinations produce the lunatic, schools and universities produce the student and so on. Foucault’s perspective is considered ‘modern’, as it internalises this production of the subject – it becomes a “self-constraint” (Rath 1991:83). Whoever is forced into the category of manhood or ‘being human’ must and, by being part of the particular discourse, wants to identify him-/herself only by exclusion from or inclusion in these categories (Rath 1991:83). Of course, the dichotomies mentioned (healthy person – invalid; sane – lunatic; etc.) are only examples for possible categories for identity formation. It should be noted that these identity-forming practices and discourses are shaped via speaking and acting, albeit this means taking distinct positions that are provided within discursive practices. Here, the importance of communication for the formation of identity, as emphasised by Luhmann (1995), becomes clear anew. Furthermore, discourses, practices and institutions that characterise and shape subjects and their identity hold a certain historicality, and hence an embeddedness in historical processes and contexts.

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

Identities emerging from discursive, power-permeated processes thus provide the underlying conception of identity on which this inquiry rests. The pivotal realisation of the symbolic interactionism of identity formation always occurring in social contexts and encounters is thoroughly consistent with this understanding of identity formation. Hence, to comprehend collective and individual identity formation ultimately and to explore identities, a comprehensive examination of the social and cultural frameworks within which identities are formed is necessary. To conclude, it should be noted that these frameworks are not static but are products of modifiable, discursive negotiation processes. 2.2.

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

In this chapter, the socioeconomic circumstances for identity formation will be discussed from a historical perspective. Starting with the emergence of a notion of the individual subject and the development of this intellectual concept during the Enlightenment, the drastic changes during transition to modernity that affected almost every aspect of life will be expounded. Although the idea of an individual identity, and identity formation as an “individual task” (Bauman 1996:19), surfaced in modernity, the problems concerned with identity are not a consequence of modernity; rather, identity “was a ‘problem’ from its birth – was born as a problem” (Bauman 1996:18–19). Finally, the effects of postmodernity on identities which are increasingly exposed to globalisation, fragmentation and similar processes are discussed. However, initially, an important piece of advice seems necessary: the circumstances affecting identities presented in the following pages, for reasons of clarity and comprehensibility, are arranged in a diachronic way that did not exist in the form presented. Instead of a clear, evolutionary sequence, the envisaged circumstances for and effects on processes of identity formation were at no point in time comprehensively valid for everybody and everywhere. Sometimes, two – or even more – of these general conditions were or are suitable for a society and its individuals. And while one or more of these descriptions may apply (or have applied) to some individuals of a society, it is anything but a safe assumption that it must be apt for explaining identity formations for all members of this society. 2.2.1. Cogito, ergo sum: Pre-Modern Identities

Although some scholars argue that “self-awareness and the ability to self-reflect” (Hauge 2007:46) are unique and perennial human features, contemporary perspectives on identities and the individual emphasise the adaptability of identity constructions according to coeval social circumstances. In the preface to The Order of Things,

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Foucault (1970:XXIV) defines the beginning of the 19th century as a turning point in the evolution of the individual and locates the “invention” of man at that point in time. Bruder (1993:38) further emphasises this point and declares the notion of an individual to be modern itself. Elias (2001) especially concentrated on the indivisibility of society and individuals, either of which cannot be defined without the respective other (as hinted in the title of his book The Society of Individuals). Thus, the recent understanding of an individual as a self-reflexive autonomous subject with their very own ideas and plans, and who “states its opinion, carries responsibilities, expresses criticism and acts autonomously”12 (Zima 2017:4), seems to be a result of modern and postmodern individualisation. In the following, pre-modern notions of the individual and its identity are elucidated briefly, to provide a better understanding of societal shifts that took place during the Enlightenment and that led the cited scholars (and many more) to link the development of the idea of individuals closely to the dawn of modernity. Most protohistoric societies were not familiar with the individualistic concepts conceived today. Individuals often merged within collectively practiced myths, and early tribal societies were based on the similarities of their clans’ people (Zima 2017:5). Following Bruder (1993:38), many ancient societies and languages lacked a way of expressing what constituted the ‘individual’ as we know it today. Instead, some utilised the persona concept, an attribute for a single existence that is linked to its social status and comes with various social obligations. Only within this pre-set frame of social status were autonomous behaviour and an independent (ethical) identity possible (Bruder 1993:38–39). In the ancient and medieval past, there was little need for an expression to attach to an egocentric individual. Instead, collective identities and assignment to certain groups were more important in the collective practices of these pre-modern societies (Bruder 1993:38). In medieval Latin, expressions like individualis or individuum were used for indivisible entities (human and non-human). They were rather technical, scientific terms, mainly used by cleric scholars to describe singular instances among species. Elias (2001:160) adduces the example of the “Holy individual trinity”, which was used until the 17th century, whereby individuals were perceived as “vague” and without the property of drawing definite conclusions from them about the individual in question. Nonetheless, human beings have always had a sense of both collective and individual identities, the latter being the result of self-consciousness (Elias 2001:Chapter III). As Elias (2001:184) stresses, “there is no I-identity [individual identity] without we-identity [collective identity]”. As described in Chapter 2.1.2, one cannot exist with-

12  Original: “[…] eigene Meinung äußert, Verantwortung trägt, Dissens anmeldet und autonom handelt

[…]”

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

out the other, and both are ceaselessly created and altered through socialisation and self-reflection. However, depending on the prevalent societal conditions, the emphasis of the collective against individual identity (and vice versa) is shiftable, as the relationship between the individual and society is never stationary (Elias 2001:162). While in societies with a comparable simple social hierarchy (e. g. early hominid societies) collective identities dominated and individual identities were often rather shapeless (Elias 1992:67–68), subsequent social systems allowed individual identities to come to the fore – often to the detriment of collective identities. Seminal in this shift in the significance of the individual over collective identities were several developments during the 17th and 18th centuries. Scholars of the Enlightenment recognised that in a certain way, everything is individual, with its own history, specific abilities and appearance – in short, they have an individual identity. Elias (2001:161) uses the example of Mont Blanc as a mountain with a unique, individual shape to illustrate the scholar’s perceptions of the particularity of each individual case. Over time, the formerly broad term individual was narrowed down, until it was particularly reserved for people. The contemporary understanding of ‘individual’ is characterised by recognition of the uniqueness and peculiarity of every human being and its existence in comparison with every other human being, on the one hand, and the high valuation of this singularity, on the other (Bruder 1993:38). Elias (2001:161) assumes that the particularisation of the term happened in the context of social developments, which nurtured a strengthened urge to communicate regarding the individuality of humans and especially their personal individuality in relation to the individuality of everyone else (i. e. society). Descartes’ already mentioned Cogito, ergo sum illustrates the shift in human self-perception from an emphasis of collectives to individuals. 2.2.2. Modern Identities

The shift from a collective-oriented societies to the self-centred perspectives of individuals during the transition from pre-modern times to modernity is no coincidence, since Feudalist societies mainly perceived their ‘individuals’ as members of a religious community, a guild or a similar collective (Zima 2017:5). In feudalism, people were mostly born into their social circumstances and peer groups, and birth often determined one’s life path: aristocrats were born into their dynasties, townspeople were heritably part of craft guilds, while peasants were bound to their land and a feudal lord. Descartes was among the first to recognise the increasing shift of emphasis: within the self-concepts of people, the ages-old superposition of individual identities by collective identities was altered (Elias 2001:196–197). During the Enlightenment, which was strongly influenced by the ideas of Descartes, the human subject was understood as a “unified individual” (Hall 2003:275), capable of reasonable thinking, of autonomous action and of perceiving itself. A person’s identity

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was now thought to be its “essential centre” (Hall 2003:275) that was overall unalterable and “first emerged when the subject was born, and unfolded with it, while remaining essentially the same […] throughout the individual’s existence” (Hall 2003:275). The individual now experiences itself – or, more precisely, its own thinking and reasoning. For the individual, this is the only thing existing unquestionably, while everything else might be a trick of the devil (Elias 2001:198). Descartes’ Cogito, the increasing emphasis of individuality and the commencing focus on introspective perspectives correlated with the overcoming of feudalism in Europe and led to waves of jumbled social, economic and political relations, a grinding “maelstrom of change” (Harvey 1990:13), endorsed by the thinkers of the Enlightenment and early modernism. Yet, more contemporary scholars observed the fundamental shift from collective to individual identities, as the increasing self-centeredness and introspection of individuals caught their eyes. Marx (2012 [1844]:27) retrospectively describes “throwing off the political yoke” of feudalism (which, for instance in France, was not completed before the French Revolution in 1789) as the simultaneous removal of “the bonds which restrained the egoistic spirit of civil society”. This liberation from old bonds and the transition into modernity were accompanied by great insecurities as well as huge opportunities. As Marx and Engels (1948 [1848]:12) describe emotively, constant revolutionising of production, uninterrupted disturbance of all social conditions, everlasting uncertainty and agitation distinguish the bourgeois epoch from all earlier ones. All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses his real conditions of life and his relations with his kind.

Many scholars of early modernity perceived these disruptive changes, the ephemerality of new orders being achieved and discarded just in the next moment as a frightening but “necessary condition through which the modernizing project could be achieved” (Harvey 1990:13). Therefore, modernity resulted not only in “a ruthless break with any or all preceding historical conditions but [was] characterised by a never-ending process of internal ruptures and fragmentations within itself ” (Harvey 1990:12). For individuals in early modern societies, this must have been an “experience of convolution, contortion and confusion” (Bauman 1997:84). Referring to Marx and Engels’ quote above, especially religion and the three estates that once promised a firm foundation for (collective) identity lost their solidity during the transition to modernity. Marx understood the dissolution of feudal societies the fragmentation of society “into its basic element  – man”, which he specified as “egoistic man” (Marx 2012 [1844]:27), who epitomises a precondition for the development of capitalism as the predominant form of civil and economic structure. Simultaneously, the decay of feudalism crushed several restrictions and offered people a multitude of new options:

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

“Hence, man was not freed from religion, he received religious freedom. He was not freed from property, he received freedom to own property. He was not freed from the egoism of business, he received freedom to engage in business” (Marx 2012 [1844]:27). As previous social structures that assigned individuals to their social status qua birth no longer existed or lost their potency, these individuals were confronted with the “problematic” (Hall 2003:277) task of creating their very own identities. The idea of an inner core of identity, which can (more precisely, must) be placed somewhere, gained popularity during early modernity and under the impression of its new socioeconomic freedoms and obligations (Erikson 1975:17–18). However, the notion of a soberly and deliberately placed identity that calmly and immutably rests wherever it was positioned (as Descartes and Fichte presumed) was rejected. One of the most voluble critics of the conception of the human being as an unalterable, indivisible Ego was Nietzsche, as Oberfeuchtner (2008) ascertains in her dissertation on Nietzsche’s conception of the Self  – a basic concept of individual identities that permeates the œuvre of prominent subsequent scholars such as Mead and Goffman (see Chapter 2.1.2). Instead of assuming the religiously influenced idea of an unalterable and immortal soul, Nietzsche replaces it with the notion of the Selbst [Self], which is identical to the Leib [body] and exists parallel to the Ego. In Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche (2006 [1886]:23) explicates his understanding of the Self: But the awakened one, the knowing one, says: body am I through and through, and nothing besides; and soul is just a word for something on the body. The body is a great reason, a multiplicity with one sense, a war and a peace, one herd and one shepherd. […] What the sense feels, what the spirit knows, in itself that will never have an end. But sense and spirit would like to persuade you that they are the end of all things: so vain are they. Work- and plaything are sense and spirit, behind them still lies the self. The self also seeks with the eyes of the senses, it listens also with the ears of the spirit. Always the self listens and seeks: it compares, compels, conquers, destroys. It rules, and is also the ruler of the ego. Behind your thoughts and feelings, my brother, stands a powerful commander, an unknown wise man – he is called self. He lives in your body, he is your body.

Parallels to Freud’s comprehension of the subconscious become clear at this point. According to Freud (1989 [1923]), who decisively influenced the psychosocial conception of identity, subjects can only be partially conscious of their own identity, since this identity is considerably shaped by the pre- and subconscious subject elements of the internal Id and the superego. The associated methodological difficulties in researching identities are thus evident (see also Chapter 1.1 and Chapter 8.7). It is advised here to keep in mind Nietzsche’s understanding of the Self as a “powerful commander”, who reigns deep down in the individual’s body, while considering further effects of the widening possibilities and obligations for identity formation in the wake of the new freedoms offered by modernity.

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Berlin (1975) especially focused on the role of freedom in identity formation. He describes “two concepts of liberty”. On the one hand is negative freedom, which frees man from coercion and societal paternalism (i. e. freedom from) (Berlin 1975:122–131). On the other hand stands positive freedom (i. e. freedom to) (Berlin 1975:131–134). Only the second kind of liberty empowers individuals to be their “own master” (Berlin 1975:131), to perceive themselves as individuals and actionable subjects. Positive freedom enables individuals to pursue their goals and to think and act in a manner they identify themselves with (Berlin 1975:131). Modernity fostered both freedom from (feudalism, estate-based society, clerical paternalism, etc.) and freedom to (free choice of employment, political participation, etc.). However, modernity concurrently brought about new restraints (see Textbox 1). Textbox 1: Berlin on coercion in the name of the greater good Although freedom from and freedom to may seem to be two sides of the same coin, they were developed under different historical circumstances and derived from different schools of thought. Berlin (1975:132) introduces two notions of one’s Self: the “real, or ideal, or autonomous self ”, associated with “reason, […] with the self which calculates and aims at what will satisfy it in the long run” (Berlin 1975:132). Besides, there is the “lower self ”, which is characterised by “irrational impulse, uncontrolled desires” and which pursues “immediate pleasures” (Berlin 1975:132). Human beings tend to identify their real self with a larger collective: “a tribe, a race, a church, and a state, the great society of the living and the dead and the yet unborn” (Berlin 1975:132). As this collective pursues goals that the individual is incapable of achieving (e. g. a justice system or public health) and which may contradict the individual’s own goals (or the lower self does not acknowledge them as its goals), coercion of individuals is justified in a society. Berlin (1975:133) notes on this rationale: Once I take this view, I am in a position to ignore the actual wishes of men or societies, to bully, oppress, torture them in the name, and on behalf, of their real selves, in the secure knowledge that whatever is the true goal of man (happiness, performance of duty, wisdom, a just society, self-fulfillment) must be identical with his freedom – the free choice of his true, albeit often submerged and inarticulate, self. Nevertheless, this ostensible acting on behalf of someone’s real self is a “monstrous impersonation” (Berlin 1975:133). Although coercion may be justifiable, when individuals are forced for their own (or a greater) good, in the end it still is coercion.

However, the new possibilities of the modern, capitalist society and the overcoming of feudal structures also led to new restrictions for individuals. As Simmel (1978 [1900]:283) points out, this new “freedom is often in fact only a change of obligations; as a new obligation replaces one that we have borne hitherto, we sense above all that the old burden has been removed. Because we are free from it, we seem at first to be completely free”. But this newly achieved freedom also comes with new duties, tasks

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

and hardships, as well as in questions of identity. Bauman (1992:680) explains that the freedom – and responsibility – to construct one’s identity all by oneself, and to turn “it into a task – an objective of self-reflexive activity […] – is one of the most prominent characteristics of modern times”. Besides the fundamental shifts in socioeconomic structures, modernity was accompanied by altered perceptions of time, which had a pivotal impact on modern identity formation, too. Without dwelling too long on the nature of time,13 it is worth referring to Elias (1992:46), for whom time is “a symbol of a relationship that a human group […] establishes between two or more continua of changes, one of which is used by it as a frame of reference or standard of measurement for the other (or others)”. Bauman (1997:86– 87) emphasises the fundamental meaning of the modern notion of time as a linear array, of life “as ascending series of time stages” (Bauman 1997:86). It was not until modernity that time gained attributes that were previously reserved for space: time received a direction, it moved forward and one could look back in time. However, this also meant that modern man was “goaded and boosted to move ‘forward with time’” (Bauman 1997:86). Unlike today, modern time-space had a comparatively firm structure, it was “solid, tough, durable” (Bauman 1997:86), a convenient and since unshakeable canvas on which to sketch modern life. It was a “hard container in which human actions could feel sensible and secure” (Bauman 1997:87), as the interlocking of time and space seemed irresolvable. Bauman’s formulation builds a bridge to Weber’s (2001 [1905]:123) “iron cage”, which, in the form of increasing rationalisation and bureaucratisation, also provides people in emerging capitalism with predictable, albeit constricting, conditions for identity formation. Modern individuals banked on the reliability of this time-space structure. If one had the necessary freedom, the knowledge of this structure and the purposefulness to follow a path once taken, one could be sure to arrive at the chosen designation. The perception of time being directional also led people to perceive their lives as projectable and manageable, as a journey with clearly recognisable stages, even in the distant future. In this sense, life appears as an itinerary one pursues throughout his/her lifetime – like a pilgrim on a pilgrimage (Bauman 1996:19). Therefore, many modern individuals followed a strategy of “saving for the future”, as “one could be sure that the future would reward the savings with interest” (Bauman 1996:23). The terms Bauman uses to describe the modern pilgrim (‘saving’, ‘reward’, ‘interest’) hint at the inspiration he derived from Weber’s (2001 [1905]:74) “worldly asceticism”. While Weber portrayed the influence of the protestant work ethic on the development of capitalism, Bauman used the pilgrim as a metaphor for the prototypical modern individual during the task of identity formation that was accomplished en route – in a scheduled, reasonable lifetime process (Feldman 2017:70). 13  A

popular ancient example for the dateless debate on the nature of time is the deliberations of Saint Augustine of Hippo (2006 [397]:242), who asked in his Confessions: “What then is time? If no one asks me, I know; if I want to explain it to a questioner, I do not know.”

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The pilgrim is a metaphor for the lifestyle that modern individuals had to incorporate in order to find their way through the fast changing times following centuries of feudal and clerical patronising – and guidance. Since modernity diminished the importance of religion and previous societal orders for the identities of individuals, they sought new anchor points on which to base their pilgrimage. And they made a find: nationalism (see Chapter 2.3.2), class-consciousness and personal fulfilment in labour occupied the void left by the death of God (Nietzsche 1974 [1882]:181) and manifold cataclysms. In this context, Wallerstein (1995:472) mentions “the English, the American, the French […] but also the Russian and the Chinese”, who ploughed through the pre-modern world and prepared the field for modern modes of identity formation while burning the ground for pre-modern identity concepts. Against the colonial backdrop of Cuba, the Spaniards must obviously be added to Wallerstein’s list. Here, a critique of Bauman’s notion of modern identities should be raised. Araujo (2017:336) recognises that “modernity is coloniality”, i. e. a multifaceted historical mechanism through which colonial power relations and hierarchies are internalised, reinforced and reproduced. Yet, although modernity is inseparable from coloniality and always implies the latter, Bauman’s accounts of modern identities are suitable only for describing dominant, imperial subjects and cultures of modernity. Thus, Bauman seems to neglect the colonial margins. This lacuna is encountered in Chapter 2.2.6 by considering “Multiple Modernities” as introduced by Eisenstadt (2003:535–536), which take into account the particularities and conditions of postcolonial identities and their processes of formation. To lead a successful life project, modern individuals “could-should-had-to select [their] point of arrival fairly early in life with confidence, certain that the straight line of lifetime will not bend, twist or warp, come to a halt or turn backwards” (Bauman 1996:22–23). The motivation to remain on the pilgrimage was mainly based on confidence in the gratification to be received in the future – a delayed gratification, only to be dispensed in the future. Freud (1961 [1920]:36) saw in this delayed gratification the ultimate driver for personal development and motivation for modern individuals, as “the repressed instinct never ceases to strive for complete satisfaction […] and it is the difference in amount between the pleasure of satisfaction which is demanded and that which is actually achieved that provides the driving factor which will permit of no halting at any position attained, but in the poet’s words, ‘ungebändigt immer vorwärts dringt’”.14 This motif of the restless seeker of satisfaction heralds the turn of eras from modern to postmodern conditions for identity formation. Regarding the later discussion of the socialist Cuban Revolution, it is worth highlighting a remarkable observation by Bauman (2010), who describes communism as a typical product of modernity. Communism, and the process that leads to it via so-

14  Translation: “[…] forever keeps pressing forwards untamed.”

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

cialism, depends on the solidity and reliability of modernity. With the loss of modern certainties on the cusp of postmodernity, the social foundations of communism have thus largely eroded or at least cracked. 2.2.3. Postmodern Identities

This chapter initially focuses on underlying conditions for identity formation under postmodern conditions as well as phenomena and processes signifying postmodernity. Thereafter, it discusses the consequences of these conditions for individual and collective identities and presents the metaphorical nomad as a prototypically postmodern subject. In the subsequent chapters, two perspectives on how subjects cope with postmodern circumstances concerning their identity formation are contrasted. Simplistically, these perspectives can be labelled ‘pessimistic’ (Chapter 2.2.4) and ‘optimistic’ (Chapter 2.2.5). Yet, first, the notion of postmodernity, so far introduced without further explanation, will be elaborated upon. Considerable controversy prevails over the definition of postmodernity and how socioeconomic processes and discourses characterise it (Soja 1989:5). Nevertheless, even the time of the transition from modernity to postmodernity is a contested process (Howe 1994:520). Wood (1997:539) broadly identifies the 1970s as marking the beginning of postmodernity. In social sciences, even the existence of postmodernity itself is sometimes disputed. While some scholars (e. g. Harvey 1990, Keupp et al. 2006 and Lyotard 2005[1984]) see globalised societies as having arrived in postmodernity, some term it “liquid modernity” (Bauman 2000) and others speak of “late-modern” (Giddens 1991a; Keupp 2008) conditions, while again others deny postmodernity. Or perhaps, as Latour (1993) puts it in the title of his ground-breaking book: “We Have Never Been Modern”. Substantial distinctions between the perceptions of postmodernists and late or liquid modernists lie within the formers’ understanding of the passage from modernity to postmodernity as a hard rupture. Late modernists, in contrast, understand late modernity as having evolved transformatively from modernity. However, consensus is mainly found on the characteristics and features that characterise post- or late-modern societies. Since in this inquiry socioeconomic circumstances and their shifts are of special interest, a comprehensive portrayal of the ‘postmodern vs. late modern’ discourse will be omitted. No matter which nomenclature is used to describe the socioeconomic and cultural disruptions related to postmodernity, ultimately the seminal findings of most scholars suggest the overcoming of past structures of identity formation. As illustrated below (see Chapter 4.5), the disintegration of the socialist Eastern Bloc, in many respects, was a disruptive moment in time for Cuba. Since this event was and still is associated with a break with many continuities and narratives, the term ‘postmodernity’ initially seems fitting and will therefore be explored and utilised in the following.

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Postmodernity is characterised by a set of processes, features and narratives that distinguish it from modernity. As Hall (2003:277) argues, this poses fundamental “structural and institutional change[s]” that break up former patterns of identity formation. Furthermore, in postmodern societies, the subjects are “also ‘post’ any fixed or essentialist conception of identity” (Hall 2003:275). Any temptation to offer a concise but inevitably incomplete definition of postmodernity has been resisted at this point. The endeavour would probably be doomed to failure anyway, since attempts to define the postmodern are “likely to say more about the person offering the definition that it is of ‘the postmodern’”, as Vanhoozer (2003:3) pointedly writes. Instead of such a definition, some of the focal processes and features of postmodernity are outlined, leading to a detailed picture of the latter. Moreover, the implications of these processes and features for identity formation are addressed. According to Bauman (1992:696), these implications consist primarily in the fact that formerly “ostensibly firmest foundations of identity”, such as nations, gender or ethnicity, “have been exposed by current practice […] as irreparably fluid, ambivalent and otherwise unreliable”. Moreover, in postmodernity, taken-for-granted forms of social integration and recognition through the adoption of clearly defined roles are eroding (Keupp 2008:305). Employment and Labour Many postmodern societies are characterised by changes in institutional structures, which especially affect employment. These changes have led to a spread of “short-term, contract, or episodic labour” (Sennett 1998:23). As corporations as well as governmental bodies flatten their hierarchies and become more flexible, in order to align more rapidly to the even faster changing circumstances in a globalised economy, they have given up their former organisational form (often a pyramid) and become more network-like. However, as a result, “promotions and dismissals tend not to be based on clear, fixed rules, nor are work tasks crisply defined; the network is constantly redefining its structure” (Sennett 1998:23), thereby leading to increasing insecurities among employees. Such insecurities and instabilities at work in turn affect self-confidence and mental well-being as well as employees’ self-images and identities (Ferraro et al. 2017:151). Describing the conditions of labour in late capitalism, Sennett (1998:133) states that “the psyche dwells in a state of endless becoming – a selfhood which is never finished. There can be under these conditions no coherent life narrative, no clarifying moment of change illuminating the whole”. Nonetheless, in their inquiry into neoliberal work environments, Musílek et al. (2020:515) suggest that new forms of personal connections to labour and the economy can substitute for the modern identification with employment, and thus labour need not necessarily be forlorn for individual identifi-

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

cation. However, they also broadly acknowledge the complicated preconditions for postmodern subjects to identify themselves through labour. Following these deliberations, it is difficult for the postmodern individual to conceptualise a contiguous narration of the Self through Labour. Instead, life consists rather of short episodes and is characterised by discontinuity and breaches. Under these circumstances, the subject obtains structures of “a pliant self, a collage of fragments unceasing in its becoming, ever open to new experience” (Sennett 1998:133), which are the “psychological conditions suited to short-term work experience, flexible institutions, and constant risk-taking”. These are precisely the attributes that are demanded of postmodern individuals beyond the workplace: short-term availability without lasting stability, flexibility and adaptability and a constant assessment of opportunities and risks. These conditions fundamentally define postmodern identity concepts. Individualisation In his widely influential book Risk Society, Beck (2009) described individualisation as an essential process shaping the relationship between individuals and society. To summarise Beck’s core statement shortly, in postmodernity  – which he terms “reflexive modernity” (Beck 2009:21) – the affiliation with certain social classes is not an essentialist and unshakeable fact. Instead, it is acknowledged as having a constructivist character and is reproduced by the subject’s habitus, while primarily economic resources represent the guardrails of the possibilities for individualisation. Therefore, individual re-orientation and the incorporation and reproduction of different, previously non-native lifestyles and behavioural patterns from other social groups are possible and put into practice more and more frequently (Beck 2009:91–92). Yet, Bauman (2002:19) acknowledges the gravity of this trend, stressing the uncertainty that accompanies a “mobile, volatile, fluid world of globalisation, deregulation and individualisation”. Individualisation is certainly not a phenomenon of the late 20th century. Simmel (2006b [1918]:83) observed in Der Konflikt der modernen Kultur [The Conflict of Modern Culture] in 1918 a “mania for originality in so many young people of today” and described it as “vanity and sensationalism, both private and public”. For him, the intention of individualisation is “to preserve not so much the individuality of life as the life of individuality” (Simmel 2006b [1918]:84). Furthermore, Beck (2009:127–128) acknowledges that individualisation has already occurred in numerous other historical contexts. On this point, he identifies three ahistorical dimensions that, he believes, characterise individualisation processes that transcend different societies: 1) a ‘liberating dimension’ that de-embeds individuals from their historically predestined social contexts, 2) a ‘disenchantment dimension’ that reflects the loss of inherited certainties concerning values, norms and practices and 3) a ‘control or reintegration dimension’, which reintegrates individuals into new forms of social involvement. However, the ex-

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tent to which individuals and communities are detached from traditional and historically predetermined social structures to the degree described by Beck is novel in the history of human societies. Nevertheless, increasing individualisation does not necessarily imply that traditional social concepts such as family, class or nation are rendered meaningless completely. Beck provocatively refers to these as zombie categories, “which govern our thinking but are not really able to capture the contemporary milieu” (Beck 2001:262). Indeed, their significance is shifting and they have become more diverse in their forms and significance because of increasing fragmentation (Woodman et al. 2015:1126–1127). Globalisation Postmodernity is fundamentally associated with globalisation processes  – and conversely. For Eickelpasch and Rademacher (2013:56), globalisation is the main driver of the dissolution of boundaries and the dissipation of identities based on nation, culture, ethnicity and gender. However, the term ‘globalisation’ is often used indistinctly to describe various developments in different dimensions of human interactions. For Giddens (1991b:64), globalisation describes the “intensification of worldwide social relations which link distant localities in such a way that local incidents are shaped by events occurring many miles away and vice versa”. Although inter- and transnational connections and consequences of local processes and events occurred during ancient times, both the “pace of change” and the “scope of change” have reached unprecedented dimensions. As Giddens (1991b:6) explains, “different areas of the globe are drawn into interconnection with one another, waves of social transformation crash across virtually the whole of the earth’s surface” and as a result also shape the “nature of modern institutions”. This has a huge impact on societies, mainly by furthering new forms of social organisation (e. g. nation states, social media networks) or by creating novel economic activities through increasing “commodification of products and wage labour” (Giddens 1991b:6). Globalisation fosters a growing consciousness for the conditionality and changeability of national and cultural belongingness and identities (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:56–58), thereby exposing the notion that belongingness is not an essentialist trait, but can  – and has to  – be pursued actively. The “space-time-compression” (Harvey 1990:240) of globalisation leaves individuals unbound to their neighbourhood, town, region or the nation state when choosing a benchmark for their actions, beliefs, attitudes and mindset  – in short, their identities. Instead, nowadays, global relations are often the benchmark for identities formerly negotiated locally (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:57). Indeed, this is not an exclusively positive or psychologically consolidating process. Rather, globalisation and its effects may harm “the protective framework of the small community and of tradition replacing these with many larger,

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

impersonal organisations. The individual feels bereft and alone in a world in which she or he lacks the psychological support and the sense of security provided by more traditional settings” (Giddens 1991a:33). While the margins of nations (in the sense of imagined communities) and other traditionally locally based organisational forms of social life increasingly vanish, the reconfigurations and new conjunctions of the modes of interaction of individuals and local and global communities gain momentum (Harvey 1990:284–290). Cultural Identification With globalisation and its concomitants increasing the migration of people with different cultural, religious and linguistic backgrounds or accelerating the exchange of information, commodities, symbols, signs and meanings, awareness of different alternative possibilities of cultural identification grows (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:75). However, other than during modernity, identity formation via self-projection into cultural identities has turned rather “open-ended, variable and problematic” (Hall 2003:277). Nevertheless, Bauman (1992:696) perceives culture as the most viable foundation for postmodern identities (see Chapter 2.3.3 on culture as a resource for identities). However, cultural globalisation is often linked with fears of cultural standardisation. Some scholars as well as cultural pessimists predict a world where local and regional cultural traits and traditions are suppressed and finally extinguished by a sprawling US culture and the ‘American Way of Life’. Ritzer (1996) introduced the term “McDonaldization” for this abstract process, naming it after the fast-food chain whose burgers taste the same everywhere. Nevertheless, other scholars consider this fear of a standardised and unified global culture as unnecessary. On the contrary, according to Nederveen Pieterse’s (1998:101) concept of the “global mélange”, current cultures and societies are witnessing an unprecedented pluralisation and dissemination of cultural coherences. Giddens (1991b:17) labelled this the “disembedding of social systems”, which he specified as “the ‘lifting out’ of social relations from local contexts of interaction and their restructuring across indefinite spans of time-space” (Giddens 1991b:21). Throughout this process, different (Western and non-Western) lifestyles, symbols, narratives and cultural elements affect each other ceaselessly and are placed into new constellations and contexts. An idea, a piece of clothing, a song or a dish does not automatically have the same influence in every culture or community worldwide. On the contrary, the different backgrounds and coherences with which these cultural elements are being confronted lead to new combinations and perceptions. Therefore, instead of limiting the options and potential constituents for identity formation, globalisation supplies individuals with new styles, ideas, trends and concepts (Hannerz 1998:50), thus multiplying their possibilities and choices for shaping their own identity.

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These global cultural traits come up against existing local elements, which are not just swept away; instead, global and local elements of culture influence each other mutually and create new cultural associations for identities. Robertson (1997:28) introduced the term “glocalisation” to describe this process, which Friedman (2003:19) characterised as the concurrent “globalisation of the local and the localisation of the global”. Consequently, global (universal) and local (particular) phenomena might exist in parallel, without necessarily having to pre-empt each other. In this sense, “glocalisation highlights the simultaneity or co-presence of both universalizing and particularizing tendencies in globalisation” (Giulianotti & Robertson 2007:134). Although globalisation offers seemingly endless options for the formation of individual identities, processes of cultural appropriation are indeed not free of restrictions. Constellations of power, limitations and opposing forces (Hall 1999:106) delimit the unbound incorporation of global influences into individual identities. And despite globalisation creating a sheerly incomprehensible multitude of newly combinable cultural fragments with which to identify individually, Bauman (1992:696) still sees desire and “social demand” for locally rooted identities that provide orientation for individuals. Time-Space-Structure Another effect of increasing globalisation is the changing perception of time-spacestructure. To the postmodern subject, a solid time-space-structure is perceptible mainly through its gradual disappearance. The postmodern world is no longer structured by a solid, unalterable concatenation of time and space as during modernity, whereas admittedly surely not all modern individuals – if any – were aware of this time-space-structure as being a fundamental part of their life projects and their realisation. As Bauman (1997:87) explains, today’s individuals lead their lives in constant mistrust of time and space, as they “live daily with the growing awareness that [they] cannot trust either”. Pluralisation In postmodernity, life no longer follows linear paths that are similar for most individuals. Rather, people are increasingly confronted with pluralisation in many different spheres of their everyday lives (Abels 2019:362). As such, the lifestyles and milieus an individual can inhabit fragment into a plethora of more or less equal alternatives (Keupp et al. 2006:50). However, the experience of social recognition, which the representatives of symbolic interactionism have declared as being central to individual identification, is at risk because of social pluralisation. Due to the postmodern pluralisation of role models and social constructs such as family and peer groups or networks,

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

the satisfaction in the acknowledgement of social circles can no longer be taken for granted (Keupp et al. 2006:41; Keupp 2008:305). Increasing pluralisation is also occurring in the labour markets, as outlined in the section on ‘Employment and Labour’. Advancing trends such as mechanisation and digitalisation are increasing the requirement for workers’ qualifications and resulting in evermore differentiated and specific occupational profiles (Behrens et al. 2017:24). Postmodernism reveals a shift in science as well. Instead of there being one universal truth, the plurality of opinions and judgements is recognised and situational contexts are taken into consideration in discussions on research results (Howe 1994:520; Schönwald 2012:51). Summarising Postmodernity Phenomena and their Consequences The fundamental upheavals that mark the transition from modernity to postmodernity are compiled in Table 1. In addition to the previously discussed characteristics of postmodernity, this table contains further postmodern features, which, however, will not be explicated herein due to their subordinate relevance for the Cuban case study. Table 1: Summary of postmodernity’s central social phenomena. 1. Subjects feel increasingly dis-embedded 2. Boundaries of individual and collective life patterns increasingly dissolve 3. Employment loses its seminal character for individual identities 4. ‘Multiphrene situations’ become the usual mode of life 5. Virtual worlds become new realities 6. Sense of time changes; Time and the time until decay seem to gain speed 7. Pluralisation of personal life designs 8. Increasing modification of gender roles 9. Altered relations between individual and society in the wake of individualisation 10. Search for meaning on individual trails 11. Substantial expansion of “non-places” (Augé 2008)

Source: own table with content from Ferraro et al. (2016:231–232) and Keupp et al. (2006:46).

The characteristics of postmodernity outlined in the previous paragraphs have important consequences for contemporary identity formation. While the modern, pilgrimaging individual required order, determination and a world that would preserve the path covered, in order to present an identifiable route to use for self-identification in retrospection, postmodernity does not provide any of these traits. As Bauman (1996:23)

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puts it, modern men “lost their battle by winning it. They strove to make the world solid by making it pliable, so that identity could be built at will”. But a world that can be formed according to one’s need and will does not in turn offer any solid cessation or foundation. In postmodernity, the problem is not to create identity but “how to preserve it” (Bauman 1996:23). Likewise, Hall (1987:45) observes the dissolution of firm foundations for identity formation, as “the ‘grand narratives’ which constituted the language of the self as an integral entity don’t hold”. During modernity, and with the transition to postmodernity, the preservation of identity and identity itself lost its reliability, its “definiteness and continuity” (Lasch 1984:32). This can partly be traced back to ever-increasing commodification, which “replaces the world of durable objects with disposable products designed for immediate obsolescence” (Lasch 1984:34). While modern individuals were confronted with the task to plan, construct and preserve solid identities, postmodern individuals are constantly trying (and forced) to keep their identities flexible and non-committal and to evade fixation. Postmodern subjects do not have (or are said to not have) a “unified and stable identity” (Hall 2003:276). Their identities are characterised by fragmentation, consisting “not of a single, but of several, sometimes contradictory or unresolved, identities” (Hall 2003:276–277). Under postmodern conditions, “identities can be adopted and discarded like a change of costume” (Lasch 1984:38). The possibility to alter positions and identities by will – the “freedom of choice” – betrays postmodern subjects into “keeping the options open” (Lasch 1984:38). In a similar vein, Luhmann (1994:193) describes the postmodern individual as “defined by divisibility”, thus requiring a musical Self for the opera, a diligent Self for labour, a patient Self for the family. What is left for the individual itself is the problem of his/her identity.15

Nevertheless, individuals still have a strong need for identity. Maybe this need is strong unlike ever before, exactly as once solid foundations of a lifelong identity vanish. But while the need and desire to ‘know oneself ’ has become stronger, the clear and lasting definition of one’s identity has become harder than ever, as on the one hand the options for identity formation have multiplied, while on the other hand former anchors for individual identities have rusted. The primary challenge for the postmodern subject lies within the rapidly changing rules, conditions and social situations with which it is confronted. Yet, Erikson (1977:95–96) defined the core challenge of modern identities as “the capacity of the ego to sustain sameness and continuity in the face of changing fate”. This contrasts sharply with the requirements for identities in postmodernity, which must – and should – be both flexible and versatile. The individual’s reaction is to perceive, to plan and to live

15  Original: “[…] ein musikalisches Selbst für die Oper, ein strebsames Selbst für den Beruf, ein geduldi-

ges Selbst für die Familie. Was ihm für sich selbst bleibt, ist das Problem seiner Identität.”

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

the former (modern) life project, not in a continuous and necessarily concatenated manner (Bauman 1996: 24) but “to live one day at a time” (Lasch 1984:57). A Prototype of Postmodernity? Bauman’s ‘Nomad’ However, when short-term planning is the maxim for postmodern individuals, the modern lifelong pilgrimage is no longer a suitable metaphor for identity formation. Under postmodern conditions, it does not pay to “invest in a lifelong achievement, if today values are bound to be devalued and inflated tomorrow” (Bauman 1997:88). Consequently, postmodern individuals live in a way that avoids fixations and try “not to swear consistency and loyalty to anything and anybody” (Bauman 1996:24). Accordingly, Bauman (1992:693) terms postmodern individuals as “nomads” and relates to an increasing number of commodities and persons circling the globe in what he describes as nomadic form. From his perspective, the spreading preliminarity of relationships, the “temporality and friability of marriage-sustained family bonds” (Bauman 1992:693) and rapidly developing possibilities for the medical manipulation of human genes amplify the notion of identities as being irrevocably haphazard. The postmodern “nomad” can be delimited sharply from its modern equivalent, the ‘pilgrim’. Though both share common traits, they differ in terms of the interconnection of time and space where their identity construction occurs. While postmodern nomadic identities are characterised by “disconnexity” (Bauman 1992:693), the pilgrims show “connexity of the time/space canvas on which [their] identities are woven”. Additionally, although both nomads and pilgrims deliberately choose their ‘life destination’, the pursuance of this goal differs considerably, while the pilgrim follows “an overall ‘life plan’” (Bauman 1992:693) or pursues a “life-project”, the nomad does not and cannot plan far ahead; as such, he must establish “‘momentary’ identities, identities ‘for today’, until-further-notice identities” (Bauman 1992:694). Instead of forming a relatively stable identity around a solid core, it is the nomad’s fate to “move through identities” (Bauman 1992:694). Simultaneously, avoiding fixation means keeping one’s past from influencing one’s present, as well as keeping the present from influencing the future. Instead, time only exists as a “continuous present” (Bauman 1996:24) that leads to a “fragmentation of time into episodes” (Bauman 1996:25). These episodes do not provide any structuring function for space and interpersonal relationships (Bauman 1997:89). As time is no longer directional, there is no ‘right’ time for anything, as only the present exists. Moreover, there is no delay, and consequently no delay to gratification, which Freud (1961 [1920]:36) declared to be seminal for personal development. The security that lifelong relations – be it in the form of a job, partnerships, settling down, etc. – promised in modernity becomes a chain that binds people and prevents them from taking part in contemporary life, which is “fast and leaves no time to pause

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and think and draw elaborate designs” (Bauman 1996:25). This in turn affects professions as well as relationships and social behaviour in general (Bauman 1996:24–25) For postmodern subjects, their life just makes sense in retrospect. Only when looking at their past do “the series of contingencies appears […] as a stochastically determined chain” (Bauman 1992:694). The present is nevertheless important, but it does not inevitably influence the future. Thus, as past, present and future are decoupled and are not necessarily linked or interwoven, anything that might promise solid support or be a reference point for identification – e. g. education, employment, family, relationships – becomes provisional and ephemeral. This is a daunting scenario, which refuses postmodern individuals’ safety and certainty. As Bauman (1992:695) writes: Knowledge I studiously master today will turn thoroughly inadequate […] tomorrow. The skills I learn today […] will not carry me far in the brave new world of tomorrow’s technology and know-how. The job I’ve proudly won yesterday in fierce competition will disappear tomorrow. The career whose steps I’m negotiating will vanish – the stairs, the staircase, the building and all. […] None is, none will be my partner ‘till death us do part’: or at least nothing I do may assure me that s/he will.

In addition, postmodern subjects are characterised by their urge to be on the move, through space and metaphorically. Hardly anything in their lives is “for life” (Bauman 1992:695). Consequently, it is hard – if not impossible – for postmodern individuals to derive a long-term strategy or plan. Therefore, Bauman (1996:25) derives a set of rules from the experiences of postmodern life, most of which are formulated negatively: Do not plan your trips too long – the shorter the trip, the greater the chance of completing it; do not get emotionally attached to people you meet at the stopover – the less you care about them, the less it will cost you to move on; […] Above all, do not delay gratification […]. Whatever you are after, try to get it now, you cannot know whether the gratification you seek today will be still gratifying tomorrow.

The extensive remarks on Bauman’s ‘nomad’ as the prototype of the postmodern individual have further detailed the previous considerations on the conditions for identity genesis in postmodernity. In place of the multitude of scholars attempting to identity formation in postmodern societies, the positions of Bauman and Keupp will be discussed below. 2.2.4. Bauman’s Defeatist Foursome of Postmodern Identities

In his later works, Bauman refined his pilgrim and nomad metaphors for modern and postmodern subjects and designated ‘stroller’, ‘vagabond’, ‘tourist’ and ‘player’ as the possible roles postmodern individuals assume during their quest for identity (Bauman 1996:26). Although these four types of identity formation differ in terms of their

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

traits, beliefs and behaviour, they are united in their struggle against “long-lasting consequences” (Bauman 1996:33). Furthermore, they all agitate against the “construction of long-lasting networks of mutual duties and obligations” (Bauman 1996:33). Before considering Bauman’s four types of postmodern individuals en detail, it is judicious to note that these types never occur in pure form, as “postmodern life is too messy and incoherent to be grasped by any one cohesive model” (Bauman 1996:26). Instead, individuals incorporate all four types and lifestyle typologies to varying degrees at the same time. Bauman (1996:26) compares this to a “postmodern chorus”, whereby “all four types sing – sometimes in harmony, though much more often with cacophony as the result”. Additionally, the four types are not necessarily contingent within themselves. Due to their diversity and contradictory nature, it is an exhausting and sometimes unsuccessful pursuit for the postmodern individual to sculpt a rectilinear lifestyle. Therefore, Bauman (1996:32) attributes “a generous pinch of schizophrenia” to postmodern individuals. Examining stroller, vagabond, tourist and player, it transpires that these are essentially strategies for dealing with postmodern conditions in terms of identity formation. These strategies and mechanisms are not used deliberately and actively by the postmodern subject but are subconsciously integrated into identity and behaviour. The Stroller The first type of postmodern individual is the stroller, who rambles through masses of unknown people. Although observing them, s/he does not even attempt to keep them in his/her life. The stroller is a stranger among strangers, and all encounters in his existence are episodic – what has happened to his/her counterpart in the past is no more important than what will happen to them after their encounter, as the stroller tries to carry on meetings with others free of future consequences or obligations. In Bauman’s (1996:26) words, “strolling means rehearsing human reality as a series of episodes.” Through their restlessness, the strollers’ life is evocative of the pilgrim. However, “what the pilgrim did in all seriousness, the stroller mocked playfully; in the process, he got rid of the costs and the effects alike” (Bauman 1996:27). The Vagabond While vagabonds were persecuted during modernity, as they were perceived as erratic, drifting and vagrant, they became “advanced troops or guerrilla units” (Bauman 1996:28) of postmodernity. Prototypically for postmodern individuals, the vagabond neither settles down nor can actually do so, in either the spatial or the metaphoric sense. To stick with the metaphor, s/he only knows places (in space, in society, in life,

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etc.) where to rest episodically, without knowing for how long s/he will stay. The duration of a stay is determined by the hospitality of its inhabitants, the entertainment and excitement a place offers and the promises augured by other places – “the vagabond is pushed from behind by hopes frustrated and pulled forward by hopes untested” (Bauman 1996:28). At each new place the vagabond reaches, s/he is a stranger, as s/he never stays long enough to become “native” or the “settled one” (Bauman 1996:28). In modernity, the vagabonds were few and wandered through many settled places, but postmodernity inverted this ratio: now the vagabonds are many and the hospitable, inhabited places are few. With increasing frequency, individuals that once settled down find the places they inhabit defunct, devastated and hostile: “Neat streets turn mean, factories vanish together with jobs, skills no longer find buyers, knowledge turns into ignorance, professional experience becomes liability, secure networks of relations fall apart and foul the places with putrid waste” (Bauman 1996:29). Thus, very few are vagabonds by choice; many would prefer to settle down, at least temporarily, to sort out their life. Some of them were deracinated socio-culturally and separated from their familiar circumstances of life by often occult forces of postmodernity. Freedom for the vagabond is “not to have to wander around” (Bauman 1997:92) and not to be chased away from a place but to have the chance to sort out their identity in peace. However, this is a challenging notion, since “the vagabond is a vagabond not because of the reluctance or difficulty of settling down, but because of the scarcity of settled places. Now the odds are that the people he meets in his travels are other vagabonds. […] The world is catching up with the vagabond, and catching up fast” (Bauman 1996:29). To Bauman (1997:92), the vagabonds are “the mutants of postmodern evolution, the unfit rejects of the brave new species”. The Tourist Like vagabonds, tourists are characterised by perpetual movement, preventing bonds and overly long commitments. Furthermore, the tourist manages to be simultaneously “in and out of place” (Bauman 1997:89). However, in contrast to the vagabond, the tourist’s movement is purposeful and propelled by pull rather than push factors. They are driven by a thirst for new and extraordinary experiences, which can only be quenched temporarily. Even newer and more extraordinary experiences are necessary, since those once novel and thrilling become ordinary and habitual and lose their gratifying virtue. This explains why the tourist lacks a planned itinerary or route for the sights s/he wants to visit. Only in retrospection – if that – may his/her life journey be reassembled into a continuous voyage (Bauman 1997:90). Moreover, the tourist’s life is characterised by an abundance of “safety cushions and well-marked escape routes” (Bauman 1996:29). Although the tourist seeks new and exciting adventures, these are supposed to be safe: “The strange is tame, domesticated

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

and no longer frightens” (Bauman 1996:29). The experiences chosen by the tourist are challenging but always manageable, while the vagabond is confronted with bitter and rough reality. Bauman (1996:30) describes the world the tourist inhabits as a “do-ityourself world […] made and remade with one purpose in mind: to excite, please and amuse”. However, the tourist is not only on the move due to his/her quest for adventure and amusement. S/he leaves places when the danger of ‘sticking’ to a place starts to prevail. Mobility, and thus “freedom, autonomy or independence” (Bauman 1997:90) is cherished by the tourists above all. This delineates them from the vagabond, who moves involuntarily. The price the tourist pays for this is that even “the shallowest of roots […] are struck” (Bauman 1997:90), and new relationships are mostly entered superficially. Furthermore, the tourist has a place he calls home – in contrast to the “homeless” (Bauman 1996:30) vagabond. They belong to a place (social network, etc.) that may accommodate them if their travels are too exhausting or not adventurous enough (Bauman 1996:30). But as much as home is comforting, soothing and familiar, it is boring and dull and stimulates the tourist into starting a new adventure. Eventually, home is an “uncanny mix of shelter and prison” (Bauman 1996:31). The tourist therefore has an ambivalent relation with ‘home’, both spatially and in terms of relationships. Bauman (1996:30–31) observes that while the tourist keeps on heading for new adventures and experiences, his/her “homesickness” grows. In this schizophrenic mélange, the “value of home for the homesick lies precisely in its tendency to stay in the future tense for ever [sic]” (Bauman 1996:30). The tourist’s home cannot and is not supposed to be really arrived at anytime. But that is not important at all, since “the point of tourist life is to be on the move, not to arrive” (Bauman 1997:90). The tourist is caught in-between places and therefore needs to be moving everlastingly. For him/her, “the possibility of the home-dream ever coming true is as horrifying as the possibility of it never becoming real” (Bauman 1996:31). Nevertheless, the tourist is in control of the situation and can choose where and with whom to establish relationships – and when to disband them again. However, this is but a treacherous feeling of control: although the tourist is free to decide on the length of the journey, of the travel companions and when/how/where to end such episodes and relations, “past events may return to haunt the future presents” (Bauman 1997:91). Partners and companions from bygone life stages might appear out of nowhere and scratch the shiny but shallow surface of the imagined bubble the tourist controls – and eventually burst it. Bauman (1997:91) calls this reminder of control ultimately being imaginary the “nasty fly in the otherwise tasty ointment” of the tourist’s life. But compared to the vagabond, the inconveniences of the tourist’s life appear trivial, as “the vagabonds […] are the dark background against which the sun of the tourist shines so brightly” (Bauman 1997:94). Although the tourist’s life is not always easy either, “it is [the vagabond’s] evident unhappiness that inspires the rest to thank God daily for having made them tourists” (Bauman 1997:94).

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The Player The fourth postmodern individual type is the player, who plays the games life pre-sets. In this game of life, everyone is supposed to play the hand dealt as masterfully as possible. Unlike ever before, the world is not an “indomitable rule-setter and a no-appeal-allowing umpire” (Bauman 1997:88), but a player for itself, and “luck and misfortune are but the moves of the world-as-player” (Bauman 1996:31). There is neither a fixed set of rules nor are rules completely absent; there is “neither order nor chaos” (Bauman 1996:31). The player’s main goal is to gain an advantage over his competition in life. As rules do not exist while the game is not disorderly, it is important to “guess the moves of the adversary and anticipate them, prevent or pre-empt – to stay ‘one ahead’” (Bauman 1996:31). The player’s life is a continuous concatenation of games, which are rigorously separated from each other and have distinct characteristics. Each of these games is a particular “province of meaning” (Bauman 1996:31) with its unique collocation of players and circumstances. Every game the individual decides to play needs a distinct beginning and a clearly defined end. Furthermore, games are not supposed to interfere with each other, to influence other games or to give (dis)advantages to the players. Essentially, the games should not “be of consequence” (Bauman 1996:32). The realisation that everything  – partnerships, occupations, moral values, etc. – is just a game ensures they are not taken too seriously. You either win or you lose. If you win, you are lucky – if you lose, examine the damage, write it off and start a new game. However, the player does not worry, as there are always new possibilities ahead, and maybe next time, s/he will enjoy the rub of the green (Bauman 1996:31–32). Concluding Bauman’s Defeatist Foursome In the synopsis of Bauman’s metaphorical deliberations on postmodern individuals, the principal “duty of the postmodern citizen […] is to lead an enjoyable life”, although “this does not necessarily mean that the life of so reduced citizens must be unmitigated bliss” (Bauman 1996:34). Not everyone is able to use the cards handed out in this game of postmodern life, some due to restricted abilities, many more due to circumstances beyond their control. According to Bauman (1997:94), there are winners and losers in the game of postmodernity. The restlessness, insecurities and anxieties many postmodern individuals experience nowadays, their feelings of homelessness, rootlessness, not-knowing-where-onebelongs and how to know which life path to choose, are the consequences and hidden trapdoors of the freedoms and presumed infinity postmodern life offers. In Bauman’s view, many individuals struggle and seek cessation and orientation in a world that does

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

no longer provides pre-selected life destinations and prefabricated blueprints for solid identities. However, the conception of postmodern identities by Bauman has been criticised by postcolonial scholars, who point to his Eurocentric view, which is often not transferable to realities of the Global South (e. g. Avishek 2020). All in all, Bauman’s notion of postmodern subjects and the processes and circumstances of their identity formation is pessimistic, almost defeatist. The following chapter, however, discusses a much more optimistic approach to the consequences of postmodernity for identities. 2.2.5. Do-It-Yourself Identities, Patchworks and Crazy Quilts

As described in the previous chapter, many postmodern individuals lack focal points, solid foundations or anchor points for their identities. Formerly sturdy sociocultural foundations for identity formation, such as nation, gender, class or ethnicity, are increasingly losing identification potential, prompting some authors to warn of fragmenting and dissociating identities. Instead of holding a solid and coherent picture of the Self, these identities are ceaselessly shaped and reshaped in reciprocal relationships of representation, within different cultural systems that offer a “multiplicity of possible identities” (Hall 2003:277) from which to choose. Thus, “the choice or rejection of cultural tokens” (Bauman 1992:692) characterises identity formation. Yet, these choices are not made for a lifetime but are only temporal in character. In this understanding, the individual does not have one unalterable identity but “assumes different identities at different times, identities which are not unified around a coherent ‘self ’” (Hall 2003:277). In this sense, Lifton (1999:1) referred to the postmodern individual as a “chameleon”, which alters its appearance based on its surroundings. In a later publication, Lifton (2002:1) takes a more negative perspective on individual identity by calling the postmodern identity-seeker a “protean self ”.16 Rorty (1991:191) adopts a similar attitude, describing postmodern subjects as “centreless networks of beliefs and desires”, whose “vocabularies and opinions are determined by historical circumstance”. At another point, he speaks of the human being as a “centreless web of historically conditioned beliefs and desires” (Rorty 1991:192). Hence, Rorty as well argues against the notion of an essentialist identity simply given; instead, he perceives human identity as being shaped (and, to some extent, predetermined) by the historical circumstances in which it is placed.

16  Lifton (2002:1) refers to Proteus, the Greek god of the seas, who had the ability to change his form de-

pending on his surroundings but who had difficulties in assuming his very own form.

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In contrast to these culturally critical – if not culturally pessimistic – perspectives of Bauman, Hall, Lifton and Rorty, Keupp perceives postmodern identity formation as a process of self-organisation that can be handled actively and with creativity, and which may lead the individual to a fulfilling identity. Keupp’s Identity Patchwork In accordance with many other scholars, Keupp acknowledges the conditions of a highly individualised, globalised and risk-taking society that are at least unfavourable for stable, long-term identities providing inner coherence. In his view, all attempts to form introspective coherence face the risk of either fundamental or esoteric distortions (Keupp et al. 2006:56–57). When postmodern individuals try to devise a coherent story about themselves, this often happens in defensive ways that lead to secluded perceptions of the world and of the Self, thereby disallowing contradictions. The dangers of this process lie within the alleged need for clear concepts of antagonists from which to delineate the Self and in the selective perceptions of meaning and narratives to support the individuals’ worldview. Keupp et al. (2006:57) call this “reflexive fundamentalism”.17 Consequently, Keupp et al. (2006:57) suggest letting go of the desire for an ever-lasting, self-contained and self-consistent coherent Self. Instead, they offer a perspective on coherence as an “open structure”, which sometimes may offer contradictory and diffuse pictures of a subject for others, while – and this is seminal – offering an “authentic” self-perception for the individual. This self-concept can be adjusted deliberately and consists of interchangeable parts. Consequently, this assemblage of identity elements does not necessarily presuppose the consistent and continual succession of the individual’s life events (Krappmann 2016:9). Keupp et al. (2006:57) expound that it is not important to cement foundations to last but to establish a reflexive, situational mindfulness for the creation of new and more suitable modes of explanation and self-perceptions, dependent on current circumstances. These always newly constructed and assembled pieces of meaning may eventually deliver a coherent and meaningful narration of the Self for the individual. Referring to the manual weaving of a rag rug consisting of a multitude of different and not necessarily fitting pieces, which nevertheless form a single carpet in the end, Keupp (1988) introduced the term “patchwork identity”, which refers to this strategy for identity formation. In contrast to former times, when meta-narratives shaped identities and externally provided a sense of coherence, postmodern individuals are increasingly forced to weave their own fabric of identity and meaning, using various cultural scraps provid-

17  Original: “Reflexiver Fundamentalismus”

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

ed by the outside world and processed within themselves. Globalised culture, fuelled by the increasingly influential international cultural industry and the myriad (sub-) cultural niches spreading especially through New Media (Chen & Zhang 2010:804), offers an abundance of prefabricated patterns of meaning that subjects can incorporate into their very own “crazy quilt” (Keupp 1989:64), whose shape and pattern is unpredictable and must not follow any conventional design. However, although these flakes of cultural meaning seem to offer individuality and authenticity, Keupp et al. (2006:59) see the possibility of new standardisations. In the epigraph to this Chapter, novelist Salman Rushdie (1999:12) uses a similar metaphor depicting the simultaneous and ceaseless fragmentation and composition of postmodern identities as “a shaky edifice we build out of scraps, dogmas, childhood injuries, newspaper articles, chance remarks, old films, small victories, people hated, people loved”. “Basteln” with Hitzler Similar to Keupp’s approach, Hitzler’s understanding of postmodern identity formation is characterised by strong confidence in the creative abilities of individuals. Hitzler and Honer (1994:310) chose the German term “Basteln” [Crafting, doing handicraft] to describe the everyday creation of meaning and identity. They use it purposely and prefers it over ‘constructing’ identities, as this implies a professional, target-oriented process  – features postmodern identity formation does not have. Instead, “Basteln” transports the amateurish steps conducted in private to form one’s identity, which can range between “dilettantism and genius”18 (Hitzler & Honer 1994:310). For Hitzler and Honer, identity-crafting is a daily chore, an imposed obligation of postmodern subjects who try to align their life and the personal narration of their life with the “great societal procedures for interpreting the world”19 (Hitzler & Honer 1994:310) and the subjective reference of these interpretations on their very own being. Lifton (2002:1) also argues for identity formation as a creative and an active task. Based on a series of interviews, he perceives postmodern subjects not simply as weak creatures, shaken and disoriented by their circumstances. For him “rather than collapse under these threats and pulls, the self turns out to be surprisingly resilient. It makes use of bits and pieces here and there and somehow keeps going” (Lifton 1999:1). Occasionally, Bauman (1992:692) takes a similar position, for instance, when he reflects on “DIY identities” that are crafted using the pool of cultural elements available.

18  Original: “Dilettantismus und Genialität” 19  Original: “große gesellschaftliche Weltdeutungsprozeduren”

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Identity Formation as a Creative Task For many scholars, the formation of one’s own identity, which consists of various pieces of meaning and connects different narratives and roles, has become a dutiful task in postmodern societies. Keupp et al. (2006:55) speak of “spaces of possibilities”,20 which do not offer prefabricated patterns and foundations for stable identities but an unprecedented number of possibilities for creative identity formation. Besides possible feelings of loss of control and the growing risk of failing to create a fulfilling and satisfying identity, these “spaces of possibility” give chances and freedom to individuals that previous generations did not have – or did not have to take care of. Identity formation is thus more of a task than a voluntary leisure pursuit (Keupp et al. 2006:55). Although postmodern individuals do not just have a unified identity, an unalterable core or foundation on which they can build their identities, they are not doomed to fail in crafting identities or to doubt having a contingent identity. Hall (2003:277) explains this notion through the “narrative of the self ” individuals construct about themselves. Subjects feel having a “unified identity from birth to death” (Hall 2003:277), as they construct it while living with “contradictory identities, pulling in different directions”. However, a “fully unified, completed, secure and coherent identity is a fantasy” (Hall 2003:277), only existing as an unattainable ideal. Although Hall and other scholars like Bauman query the possibility of a coherent narration of the Self under postmodern conditions, Keupp et al. (2006:59) stress the importance of coherence for creating subjective identities, as a disturbed principle of coherence in an individual’s self-perceived life narration may lead to serious (mental) health issues. In practice, many individuals in postmodern societies automatically and instinctively regard the borders, power-laden relationships and gaps between different layers of meaning (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:24–25) that need to be surmounted in order to create a coherent Self. To conclude these rather optimistic perspectives on postmodern identities, Keupp et al. (2006) and other authors also point out the dangers for identities in. However, they emphatically stress the possibilities and creative leeway individuals may acquire in the process. Having addressed the principal conditions for postmodern identities, as well as pessimistic and optimistic perspectives on identity formation, the particular circumstances for identities in postcolonial contexts are considered next.

20  Original: “Möglichkeitsräume”

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

2.2.6. Born in Blood and Violence: Postcolonial Identities

Who are we? What distinguishes Us from Others? What symbols and cultural practices best represent us? According to Anderson (2006) and Chatterjee (2001:21), these are questions formerly colonial societies face as they become independent nation states – and thus must deal with questions of nationhood and national representation. The colonial experience results in cultural, individual and national postcolonial identities that are “not fixed, but poised, in transition, between different positions, which draw on different cultural traditions at the same time” (Hall 2003:310). Due to the colonial suppression of pre-colonial social and cultural structures, postcolonial identities on the very margins of cultures are often deprived of support through heritage and provenance. Thus, the construction of such postcolonial identities might turn into a ceaseless process of short-termed identification with symbols, ideas, beliefs and cultural fragments available, but mostly without any possibility of maintaining this identity for a longer time (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:107). Fanon (2004 [1961]:182), for instance, remarks that colonised subjects must constantly ask themselves “Who am I in reality?” under the pressure of colonialism and externalised identity negotiation. When facing the eradication of autochthonous culture and society, postcolonial authors especially reject the concept of an essentialist identity, which is self-sufficient and derives from itself. Instead, postcolonial individuals need differing images, imaginations, concepts and ideas from which to demarcate themselves, so they can construct and reproduce notions of themselves. According to postcolonial authors, this is valid for the personal identities of individuals as well as for collective (imagined) identities that are also formed by delimiting themselves from others (Lossau 2013:654). The following sections present key findings on postcolonial identities, each assigned to a specific scholar. A synopsis summarises these points at the end. Edward W. Said Orientalism, by Said (1979), is often referred to as a founding document of postcolonial studies. Said uses Foucauldian discourse analysis to carve out the persistent domination of colonised subjects via hegemonic dichotomous discourses dominated by Western societies, which define themselves by delimiting from the other, thus allotting the other identity to colonised societies. Said illustrates this point through the example of the Orient, which was discursively constructed as the opposite of the European Occident. The same applies to the allegedly discrete pairs ‘coloniser/colonised’ and ‘man/ woman’. Interpretational sovereignty thereby permanently belongs to the coloniser, to the West. It holds a continuous monologue about the Orient, while Orientals are con-

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demned to be the silent mirror, the reflection in which Europe recognises itself. As Said (1985:4–5) explains, “the Orient was […] not Europe’s interlocutor, but its silent Other”. However, it was not enough for Europe to recognise itself; it also constructed an image of the colonial Other and turned it into an allegedly analysable object. The strict delineation from Orientals, the negation of similarities and the highlighting of cultural differences characterised Western scientific involvement with the Orient. Osterhammel (1997:599) emphasises the deliberate construction of differences between Europe and its object of investigation, ‘Orient’, turning it into what it is not: a reflection of reality. Based on Said, Mudimbe (1988) sketches with The Invention of Africa the African equivalent to Orientalism, while Mignolo (2005) focuses in The Idea of Latin America on the production of Latin America by the West. Fulger (2019:26–29) discusses the basically analogous process of “tropicalisation”, in which Caribbean identities are framed specifically by US inscriptions. They all demonstrate that the production of the ‘other’ is deeply inherent to colonialism. Thereby, the identity of colonial subjects is constructed as a negative image of Western identity, whereby pre-colonial sociocultural roots are disregarded and cut almost completely. Frantz Fanon Fanon is much concerned with how the detachment of colonised societies from their colonisers is feasible and how these same societies can (re)cultivate identities of their own.21 He believes that “there is no conciliation possible” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:4) between the coloniser and the colonised. From his point of view, violent resistance is the only viable way for colonised societies to emancipate themselves from their European colonisers and to create independent and authentic cultures and identities (Fanon 2004 [1961]:14). For him, nonviolence is the wrong path, as colonialism “is naked violence and only gives in when confronted with greater violence” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:23). Furthermore, he identifies capitalism as the driving force behind colonialism and suppression (Fanon 2004 [1961]:26–27) and instead perceives socialism as a “regime entirely devoted to the people” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:56), which puts man at the centre of attention. He advises decolonised countries to turn to socialism, as it “allows [them] to progress faster in greater harmony” while circumventing the dangers of a society serving the enrichment and empowerment of the few (Fanon 2004 [1961]:56). Nevertheless, Fanon (2004 [1961]:55) warns that underdeveloped countries may not blindLes Damnés de la Terre [The Wretched of the Earth], Fanon relates several times to Cuba and the Cuban Revolution. In this regard, he does not hide a certain admiration for Fidel Castro, the Revolution and the measures taken by the Cuban government after victory in the Revolution. See, for example, Fanon (2004 [1961]:54). 21  In

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

ly follow the ideological itineraries preordained in Europe; instead, they must define their own morals, methods and organisational forms.22 Furthermore, he stresses the role of heroes, identification figures and martyrs for postcolonial identities, especially in rural areas. In the following passage, remarkable parallels to the heroic images of the Cuban Revolution, especially to Che Guevara, emerge as well (see Chapter 4.4.1). Fanon (2004 [1961]:69) describes the children from the villages who know by heart the names of the elders who took part in the last revolt, and the dreams in the douars and villages are not those of the children in the cities dreaming of luxury goods or passing their exams but dreams of identification with such and such a hero fighter whose heroic death still brings tears to their eyes.23

The national (postcolonial) bourgeoisie is in Fanon’s (2004 [1961]:101) deliberations a danger to postcolonial national identity. As in its establishment, it orients itself in the old colonial bourgeoisie of the former motherland, hindering the definition of a detached postcolonial bourgeoisie and nation (Fanon 2004 [1961]:122). Therefore, at least for postcolonial societies in Africa, Fanon sees the necessity to pursue the unification of Africa “under pressure and through leadership by the people” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:110) and with “total disregard for the interests of the bourgeoisie”. He additionally accuses the former bourgeoisie of turning into a henchman of the European bourgeoisie, grasping for the former colony but now in the clever disguise of tourism (Fanon 2004 [1961]:101).24 In the wake of cutting the political, economic and cultural cords to the former motherland, most formerly colonised societies initially define their cultural identity by delimiting and contrasting it with Europe. Fanon (2004 [1961]:150–151) describes the “black man, who has never felt as much a ‘Negro’ as he has under white domination” and who therefore bases an African culture of “négritude” as a counter-draft to Europe. However, Fanon (2004 [1961]:154–155) doubts the existence of a national postcolonial culture in general. He perceives the reference to a pre-colonial national culture,25 overprinted by colonial domination and cultural influence, until it solely existed in the narratives and remembrances of the elderly, as an important but “burning, desperate return to anything” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:155). He therefore dismisses a return to

22  Fidel Castro and the Cuban revolutionaries instinctively followed this advice by complementing socia-

list world views with the very Cuban ideological foundation of Martíanism (see Chapter 4.4.5). 23  Note: a douar is a Maghreb term for a village or camp, especially made of tents. 24  Fanon (2004 [1961]:101) explicitly states that the “casinos in Havana […] are the scars of this depravation of the national bourgeoisie”. 25  For example, the culture of pre-Colombian Cuba did not serve as a blueprint for a Cuban national culture in delimitation from Spain. As the indigenous population was wiped out rapidly after the Spanish ascent, the Cuban population does not see its cultural and biological roots in the tribes of Taino, Caribs and others. A pre-colonial culture to fall back to did not exist in Cuba.

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“unknown roots” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:155). Nevertheless, in Fanon’s eyes, developing a national culture is an indispensable part of establishing a nation after overcoming colonial suppression. For him, “conscious, organized struggle undertaken by a colonized people in order to restore national sovereignty constitutes the greatest cultural manifestation that exists” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:178). Gaytari Chakravorty Spivak Although she resists a distinct classification of her work, Spivak might best be described as a “feminist Marxist deconstructivist” (MacCabe 1987:IX). Besides postcoloniality, she covers a wide range of topics, including literature critique, feminism and psycho-analytics. Of great importance are her contributions to the understanding of subaltern women as “sexed subaltern subject[s]” (Spivak 1994:103), who are suppressed by both colonial structures as well as subordination in a patriarchal system. Spivak (1994) draws on Said’s observation, namely that the cultural characteristics of (formerly) colonised collectives are often projected onto them from the exterior, especially by colonisers. The question, i. e. whether colonised individuals and collectives can enunciate or even assert their necessities and frame their identities autonomously, is at the centre of her essay Can the Subaltern Speak? From the author’s discursive position as a white, male Western academic, Spivak’s main point is of particular importance. Following a critical analysis of prominent poststructuralist theorists – Foucault (1977a:205–217) as well as Deleuze and Guattari (2008) and others  – she argues that major parts of Western academia studying the colonised other support economic and hegemonic interests – either on purpose or not so.26 In recognition of Foucault’s (1977b:27) power/knowledge nexus, even scientific knowledge, though generated in good faith, is a commodity exported to the Global South to reinforce Western (economic) concerns. For Spivak (1994:90), data collection and field studies represent “information retrieval”, a new form of imperial practice whereby the Western “teaching machine” (Spivak 1993) turns knowledge from the Global South into a resource for academia in the Global North. While Foucault and Deleuze reject the recruitment of intellectuals, who can speak for themselves, to serve as mouthpieces for the marginalised in the Global South, Spivak (1994:104) concludes that “the subaltern cannot speak”. However, this phrase is often misunderstood; instead of the subaltern being unable to communicate or having to cope without political agency, their vice will not be heard, because nobody will be listening, even though they try to articulate themselves (Landry & MacLean 1996:292).

in particular criticises the conversation titled Intellectuals and Power between Michel Foucault and Gilles Deleuze. 26  Spivak

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

Spivak’s understanding of ‘subaltern’ refers to Gramsci, who defines it in contrast to the hitherto usual Marxist notion, which focused on marginalisation via economic conditions. For Gramsci, the subaltern is characterised in opposition to hegemonic classes within a capitalist setting: besides structural and economic subordination, a lack of political autonomy and organic intellectuals thwarts their potential for socioeconomic participation (Modonesi 2014:15–22). Hence, subalternity can be understood as a “general attribute of subordination […] expressed in terms of class, caste, age, gender and office or in any other way” (Guha 1982:VII). Therefore, subaltern groups are always characterised by a state of relationality – in opposition to hegemonic groups. As a result, subalternity is not a description of identity but a position and socioeconomic gap (Castro Varela & Dhawan 2015:187). This notion derives from Spivak’s (1987:204–205) assessment that subaltern consciousness is not a suitable foundation for identity formation, as it is rather a “theoretical fiction”, helpful in criticising dominant colonial and national historiography, but not defining individual identities. Moreover, Spivak addresses the question why non-hegemonic groups stomach their state of subalternity. She shows that subalterns accept their state of socioeconomic marginalisation as fatefully given, since they often lack the self-evidence necessary for being actors with (political) agency. With recourse to Gramsci, Spivak (2009:36) sees democratic education as a possible expedient that should not produce a qualified workforce for capitalist valorisation but enable the people to govern. Homi K. Bhabha Besides Said and Spivak, Bhabha is the third kinsman of the “Holy Trinity of colonial-discourse analysis” (Young 1995:163). He follows and widens the footsteps of Fanon and W. E. B. Du Bois and commonly uses a poststructuralist perspective derived from Foucault and Derrida.27 Bhabha is a member of an Indian minority, the Parsis, who were “the middle persons between various Indian communities and the British” (Bhabha 1995a:80). The experiences associated with this status fostered his interest in cultural differences, their negotiation in “third spaces” (Bhabha 1995b:246) and their forms of representation. A desideratum of his œuvre is the understanding of postcolonial reality as a continuum still attached to colonial conditions, described as the “on-going colonial present” (Bhabha 2004:183). Bhabha addresses the consequences of this (neo-)colonial present and the often conflicting overlapping of postcolonial and postmodern discourses. Contrasting Fanon, who in Bhabha’s (2004:59) eyes tries to develop a “total theory of colonial oppression”, Bhabha attributes agency to the colonised subjects. Indeed, even

27  Furthermore, Bhabha is heavily influenced by the psychoanalytical insights of Freud and Lacan.

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though their power is decentred, they nonetheless might exert forms of resistance and opposition. However, in contrast to Said, who drew sharp lines between colonisers and those being colonised, Bhabha shows that the formation of solid colonial identities, intended to cement colonial hierarchy and to strengthen the colonial system, was a fragile and ambiguous process. Hence, Kalua (2009:23) describes Bhabha’s conception of postcolonial identities as “vexed, non-dualistic and shifting”, shaped in the dynamic field of tension between those formerly colonised and the colonising. The arena in which postmodern identities are crafted is termed a “third space” (Bhabha 2004:53) or an “in-between-space” (Bhabha 2004:56). In this ‘third space’, identity formation with cultural fragments of different origins occurs, and cultural identification is negotiated. To Bhabha, culture is not essentialist, but it is characterised by hybridity, shifts and perpetual becoming. Instead of “pure” (Bhabha 2004:7) identities, the border regions of cultures are of interest to him, as these frontiers are the nuclei from which culture must be contemplated. This perspective further undermines the notion of stable, authentic and clearly distinguishable identities, and instead it emphasises their hybrid character. Thus, Bhabha (1991:82) urges us to consider and accept the contested and conflictual disposition of culture. In his understanding, cultural identity is a “signifying process”, instead of an instance fastening and standardising culture. As Kapoor (2008:21) notes, postcolonial culture is always negotiated and socially constructed. It is neither static nor stable but a dynamic, vivid and hybrid process. For Bhabha (1990:211), then, “hybridity […] is the ‘third space’ which enables other positions to emerge. This third space displaces the histories that constitute it, and sets up new structures of authority, new political initiatives”. Within ‘third spaces’, cultural symbols can be re-interpreted and attributed with new meaning. However, ‘third space’ must not be understood as separating subaltern positions from orientalising discourses. Instead, the ‘third space’ “in-between cultures” (Bhabha 2004:178) enables hybridisation by offering possibilities for new “cultural positions” (Pelliccia 2017:56) to arise, in which case hybrid individuals may conceptualise themselves by strategically and selectively acquiring meaning. Rushdie (1991:394), whose biography is also characterised by recurring cultural hybridisation, salutes hybridisation in retrospection on his novel The Satanic Verses: The Satanic Verses celebrates hybridity, impurity, intermingling, the transformation that comes of new and unexpected combinations of human beings, cultures, ideas, politics, movies, songs. It rejoices in mongrelisation and fears the absolutism of the Pure [sic]. […] [The Satanic Verses] is a love-song to our mongrel selves. […] Like many millions of people, I am a bastard child of history. Perhaps we all are, black and brown and white, leaking into one another, […] like flavours when you cook.

Nevertheless, identities formed via the hybridisation of different cultures are often described as precarious and a “plight of those who are torn between motherlands and mother tongues” (Iyer 1993:48), who stand out due to their “hyphenated status”.

A Sociopsychological History of the Conditions for Identity Formation

Stuart Hall Hall, one of the founding fathers of today’s Cultural Studies, developed his notion of postcolonial identities under the influence of his own experience as a cultural hybrid – he was born in Kingston, Jamaica, into a multi-ethnic family of African, East Indian, British and Portuguese Jewish ancestry, as Hall (2017:16–19) supposes. With recourse to Said and Fanon, Hall (2021a:257) describes identity as an always incomplete, dynamic and processual condition based on representations. Like Bhabha, he pursues the idea of hybrid identities, although both perspectives vary significantly. In Hall’s notion, hybrid identities are simultaneously characterised by discourses of the cultural collective and depend on subjective positions of the individual – with identity as a “meeting point, the point of suture” (Hall 1996a:5) between both. In Cultural Identity and Diaspora, Hall (2021a) offers two central perspectives on postcolonial cultural identity. From the first perspective, cultural identity can be seen as a “collective ‘one true self ’” (Hall 2021a:258). It is the individual’s sense of belonging to a social group, based on “act[s] of imaginary reunification” (Hall 2021a:259). This constructed, collective postcolonial connection rests on a shared history of deportation, enslavement and colonisation. Thus, afro-Caribbean identification occurs across the particularities of different nations, social groups and individuals. “This ‘oneness’, underlying all the other, more superficial differences, is the truth, the essence of ‘Caribbeanness’, of the black experience” (Hall 2021a:258). The presumption of an apparent ‘oneness’ of culture and descent underlies this idea of shared Caribbean identity. The imagined common bond is ‘Africa’ (Hall 2014:222–224), which is neither a continent nor a specific country but a socially constructed, unifying and positively charged symbol counteracting the “loss of identity” (Hall 2021a:259) resulting from a past shaped by slavery and forced migration. Referring to ‘Africa’ restores connection to a pre-colonial past and constructs an affiliation to a large social group with shared experiences. Fanon (2004 [1961]:148) described this passionate striving for belonging as being “guided by the secret hope of discovering beyond the present wretchedness, beyond this self-hatred, this abdication and denial, some magnificent and shining era that redeems us our eyes and those of others”. However, believing in the unifying virtue of culture is to chase a myth, as all modern nations are “cultural hybrids” (Hall 2003:297). The second perspective Hall offers addresses the dynamics of identities. In his understanding, cultural identities are neither static nor firmly rooted, but they always underlie a historical contextualisation and are constantly altered in discourses influenced by power, society and culture. Identities belong “to the future as much as to the past […], they undergo constant transformation” (Hall 2021a:260). However, individuals descending from colonialised pasts are positioned by historical and sociocultural conditions and simultaneously position themselves in the context of narratives of the past (Supik 2005:13). The violent colonial experience led oppressed individuals to position

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and to experience themselves as ‘the other’, as who they were constructed to be by actor groups with interpretive power within dominant discourses (Hall 2021a:260). This passive ascription of their own discursive position uprooted generations of people in Africa, Latin America and the Caribbean and turned them into “individuals without an anchorage, without borders, colourless, stateless, rootless, a body of angels” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:155). A Brief Synopsis on Postcolonial Identities Taking an integrated view, several characteristics of postcolonial identities outlined by the authors cited above stand out. Not all of these properties necessarily apply to all postcolonial societies, let alone subjects. Nevertheless, at least some similar underlying influencing factors can be discerned. In the same way as societies not affected by colonising experience, the identities of postcolonial communities and individuals are distinctly marked by historicity and transformativity. Thus, postcolonial identities are often shaped by the disruption of traditional cultural and social relations and contexts – be it through abduction and enslavement or by imposed cultural assimilation. These experiences and their influences on postcolonial identities continue to affect postcolonial societies and individuals today. In addition, postcolonial identities are often subject to orientalisation, i. e. the external attribution of qualities and characteristics. Situated in partly subaltern positions, postcolonial communities sometimes have difficulties in resisting these attributions of identities. However, in the ‘third spaces’ between cultures, opportunities arise for hybridising, creatively re-interpreting postcolonial identities. Taking advantage of these opportunities, though, is clearly not possible for all postcolonial subjects. It is especially Fanon who urges overcoming colonial sociocultural structures and influences, if necessary, violently. 2.3.

Resources for Identity Formation

In the previous subchapters, socioeconomic circumstances shaping individual and collective identities were outlined. In doing so, a multitude of entities serving as categorising systems were addressed briefly, mostly exemplarily and without closer examination (e. g. nation, culture, society, religion, gender). However, as these entities are seminal for identity formation, they will be scrutinised in the following. Jullien (2017) describes these entities as the “resources” individuals use to construct their identities – a nomenclature that will be adopted henceforth and elucidated soon. Beforehand, the further content of this chapter will be outlined.

Resources for Identity Formation

First, theoretical deliberations are made about what confers these resources their identity-forming capability. Derrida’s concepts of différance and binary opposition are fundamental to these considerations and provide the framework to grasp the identity-­ forming character of resources such as nations, religions, and ethnicity. Thereafter, the focus shifts to examine resources considered essential to individual and collective identities. The reflections concentrate on the following: nation (2.3.2), culture (2.3.3), religion (2.3.4), social relationships (2.3.5), race and ethnicity (2.3.6) and gender (2.3.7). Certainly, there are many more resources for identities (e. g. class, age, language, employment) that also influence identification and self-perception. Indeed, the following remarks concentrate on the resources regarded as seminal in the Cuban case study. Interestingly, apart from ‘social relationships’, all of the resources named above are social constructs and have the effect of distinguishing individuals or groups from each other. This is in accord with Jullien’s (2017) understanding of identity formation. For him, the “gap” (2017:74–75) separating cultures is important for the development of differing identities. This ‘gap’ can be conceived as the distance necessary to reveal the spaces between different cultures ( Jullien 2017:54–55), which serve as distinguishing features and are suitable for fostering identity formation. This conception bears huge resemblance with Derrida’s theories, which are discussed hereafter. 2.3.1. Accessing Identity Resources through Derrida’s Deconstructivism

Most resources for identity formation are grounded on the relational differentiation between individual or collective identities and others ( Jullien 2017:74–75). This relationality of identity resources poses challenges concerning their theoretical conception. Derrida’s concept of deconstruction is suitable for unravelling the particularities, origins, and trajectories of identities, and the resources used for their formation. Caputo (1997:231) describes Derrida’s purpose related to the development of his theory of deconstruction as follows: The idea behind deconstruction is to deconstruct the workings of strong nation-states with powerful immigration policies, to deconstruct the rhetoric of nationalism, the politics of place, the metaphysics of native land and native tongue, of propria and my-ownness. The idea is to disarm the bombs […] of identity that nation-states build to defend themselves against the stranger, […] against all the others […].

This quote vividly describes Derrida’s scepticism concerning the superlative power of institutions, which turned him into a trailblazer of postmodern critique. Within his œvre, he focused on the un-decidability of language, which also applies to symbols, traits and resources for identities. To condense his argument, Derrida believes that the meaning and identity-forming power of anything (e. g. a nation) are never conclusively definable just by themselves. Instead, the comparison with other things (here, other

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nations) is necessary to explain the particularity of the nation named first and the identities based thereon.28 Derrida builds his concept upon the structuralist theory of de Saussure. According to de Saussure (1959), the cognition of an object is based on a signifier (e. g. the spoken word ‘Cuba’ or a map of the island) and the signified (an idea or general concept of Cuba), which is always individual.29 Combining the signifier and the signified happens automatically in the human brain. However, the object (here, Cuba) obtains its meaning not from the word ‘Cuba’ but from other objects reciprocally associated with it (e. g. ‘island’, ‘Caribbean’, ‘socialism’). And yet, a large proportion of the explanation of the object ‘Cuba’ is owed to other objects that are different from it. Hence, ‘Cuba’ is actually what others are not (e. g. ‘continental’, ‘arctic’, ‘capitalism’). As de Saussure (1959:118) explains, a linguistic system is a series of differences of sound combined with a series of differences of ideas; but the pairing of a certain number of acoustical signs with as many cuts made from the mass thought engenders a system of values.

These other objects giving meaning to the signified are, as a result of their “trace” (Derrida 1973:156), always present within the meaning of an individual object.30 When contemplating ‘Cuba’, other objects (things, signifiers) – some with explanatory function, some in opposition – are automatically present in the sign itself, in order to define its meaning. In this sense, the “trace is not a presence but is rather the simulacrum of a presence that dislocates, displaces, and refers beyond itself. The trace has, properly speaking, no place, for effacement belongs to the very structure of the trace” (Derrida 1973:156). This ‘trace’ is part of Derrida’s concept of différance, which results in the realisation that meaning cannot exist in the space between signs. Following Derrida (1981:27), différance is principally the systematic play of differences, of the traces of differences, of the spacing by means of which elements are related to each other. This spacing is the simultaneously active and passive […] production of the intervals without which the ‘full’ terms would not signify, would not function.

28  Derrida’s original example derives from linguistics. He showed that it is necessary to use other words to

explain the meaning of a particular word. 29  Besides, this individuality is the reason why Derrida does not believe in the possibility of a shared truth. 30  Although his philosophical origin differs, the contemplations of Ricœur (1994) on the relationality of identity show certain similarities to Derrida’s notion. Ricœur defined two different perspectives on identity: la mêmeté [sameness] as identity with itself over time and l’ ipséité [selfhood] as setting oneself apart in constantly and reflexively encountering of ‘the other’. Creating one’s identity in the sense of l’ ipséité means also recognising oneself as another: “Oneself as Another [also the title of Ricœur’s book] suggests from the outset that the selfhood of oneself implies otherness to such an intimate degree that one cannot be thought of without the other” (Ricœur 1994:3).

Resources for Identity Formation

Différance does not mean pure otherness or difference. By playfully adding the ‘a’ to it, he slightly changes its meaning of difference but does not extinguish the ‘traces’ of its other claims. According to Norris (1982:32), Derrida’s understanding of différance remains suspended between the two French verbs ‘to differ’ and ‘to defer’, both of which contribute to its textual force but neither of which can fully capture its meaning. Language depends on ‘difference’, as de Saussure showed […] the structure of distinctive oppositions which make up its basic economy. Where Derrida breaks new ground […] is in the extent to which ‘differ’ shades into ‘defer’ […] the idea that meaning is always deferred, […] by the play of signification.

Proceeding from his notion of différance, Derrida criticises large parts of Western philosophical tradition for falling victim to a system of binary opposition in its structures of thinking, thereby affecting the thinking of large parts of humankind. This binary opposition is dominated by the distinction of either/or – without an in-between. This dichotomy not only describes disparity in an unsophisticated, crude manner (new/old, man/woman, culture/nature, North/South, right/wrong, life/ death, etc.), but it is also often judgmental and gives one term primacy over the other (e. g. ‘new’ is better than ‘old’, ‘Christianity’ is more divine than ‘Islam’, ‘heterosexuality’ is more natural than ‘homosexuality’). However, for Derrida, a sharp line delimiting ‘either’ from ‘or’ does not exist, as they need each other to receive their meaning. Nonetheless, such differentiations of either/or shape the thinking of people fundamentally. Recognition of the concept of binary opposition gives order to the world. Or, more precisely, it gives logocentric subjects of power the possibility to ascribe order and attributes to the world. Due to the power/knowledge nexus Foucault (1977b:27) described, it is a position of power (not of truth or argument) that enables the enforcement of meaning: We should admit rather that power produces knowledge […]; that power and knowledge directly imply one another; that there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute […] power relations.

Nonetheless, binary oppositions are inscribed deeply in human thinking, and they are seminal to systems of symbols and language and “to the production of meaning itself ” (Hall 1996b:188). Thus, the production of meaning and knowledge through discourses always proceeds under the influence of power, i. e. power relations. According to Foucault (1977b:184–185), these discourses are vehicles for the exercise of power. The knowledge produced in a discourse virtually represents power that turns one side of the power relation into the known, the one subjected by knowledge and defined by the powerful side of the relation. With the power to dominate discourses and to assign meaning and attributes to the ones ‘known’, powerful actors have the power to impose

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a “régime of truth” (Foucault 1980:133), in that they can define truth, regardless of what might ‘factually’ be true or false. To Foucault (1977c:14), truth is “a system of ordered procedures for the production, regulation, distribution, circulation and functioning of statements”. This system is connected “by a circular relation to systems of power which produce it and sustain it, and to effects of power which it induces and which redirect it” (Foucault 1977c:14). Therefore, objective truth cannot exist, but what is regarded as true is always discursively produced under the influence of power. The power-conscious linkage of multiple meanings and positionings that occur within these binary oppositions may lead into what Foucault (1972:38) defines as a “discursive formation”. Within these formations, the different meanings relate to each other in a regular and systematic manner and form a superordinate “ordering of objects” (Foucault 1972:49). Discursive formations “refer to the same object, share the same style and support a strategy […] a common institutional […] or political drift or pattern” (Cousins & Hussain 1984:84–85). These discursive formations match the system of relational ascription of meaning. Following deconstructionist theory, every meaning is indissolvably connected to other meanings, which give the first meaning its identity and content. To Derrida, logocentric moments of pure naturality, of a perfectly self-identical meaning, do not exist (Garrison 2003:350). A deconstructionist agenda therefore challenges the constructed arrangement of allegedly logocentric identities (e. g. white male) as solely ‘normal’. An example offered by Hall (2004:174) transfers these insights to the field of identity formation: To be English is to know yourself in relation to the French, to the hot-blooded Mediterraneans, and to the passionate, traumatized Russian soul. You know that you are what everybody else on the globe is not. Identity is […] a structured representation that achieves its positive only through the narrow eye of the negative.

This exemplification also helps explain Derrida’s (1967:159) famous “Il n’y a pas de hors-texte” [There is no outside-text]: transferred to the construction of national identities, the French (the possibility of being French) can and do give meaning and identity to the British, as they stand for what the British are not. Wood (2016:8) uses the example of an “outlaw, in French an hors-la-loi, [who] has everything to do with the law, since it makes him what he is”. The mechanism of delimiting oneself from others to distinguish and identify the Self is central to the formation of identities. As Hall (1987:45) explains, “it is an immensely important gain” to realise that “all identity is constructed across differences and begins to live with the politics of difference”. Not only do collectives such as nations and other collectives, but also individuals utilise this notion. Hall (1987:46) revisits “the fact that every identity is placed, positioned, in a culture, a language, a history”. To conclude these considerations, it should be remembered that most of the resources for identity formation exert their effects through difference and demarcation. In the following subchapters, central identity resources are introduced and discussed.

Resources for Identity Formation

Apart from the resource ‘social relations’, specific emphasis is placed on the social constructivist character of these resources. 2.3.2. Nation

The sense of being part of a nation is one of the strongest and most influential resources for (collective) identities (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:68). However, the nation is nothing real, grabbable or natural but an “imagined political community” (Anderson 2006:6), socially constructed through nationalist agendas and solely existing in the intellect of people. Gellner (1998:48–49) shares this fundamental insight: Nations as a natural, God-given way of classifying men, as an inherent though long-delayed political destiny, are a myth; nationalism, which sometimes takes pre-existing cultures and turns them into nations, sometimes invents them, and often obliterates pre-existing cultures: that is a reality, for better or worse […].

Although in the past, many scholars, political figures and philosophers drafted definitions of the fundamental characteristics of the historically relatively new construct of a nation by adducing common language, ethnicity, religion and other factors, Hobsbawm (2000:6) declares these features as “themselves fuzzy, shifting, and ambiguous”, as outright “useless” to serve as solid criteria for defining a nation. Following Hall’s (2003:292–293) definition, by contrast, a nation is based on discourse, on “a way of constructing meanings which influences and organizes both our actions and our conception of ourselves”. It is thus not constituted by territory, ethnicity or other shared traits. Nonetheless, Hobsbawm (2000:6) is right when he observes that the ambiguity of features such as language, culture and psychological makeup makes them “unusually convenient for propagandist and programmatic […] purposes”. The discursive-imaginative character of nations as communities in Anderson’s understanding is based on individuals who believe in this community and identify with it, although communities’ members only get to know an infinitesimal small share of each other, “meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion” (Anderson 2006:6). Nonetheless, nations and national identification are often fundamental to the self-concept of individuals and collectives (Smith 1979:1). The constructivist objects ‘nation’ and ‘nation state’ as collective actants and resources for identities did not always exist but are inventions of modernity (Hobsbawm 2000:14; Zima 2017:14). During European feudal times, affiliation to a feudal lord was by far more important than the – at those times – just vaguely existing idea of a common nation. Although retrospectively the emergence of national consciousnesses was often re-interpreted as an ecstatic movement of the masses, the very beginning of nationalism was a project of political and economic elites, mainly in Europe (see Textbox 2).

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Textbox 2: On the relationship between nationalism and nation Gellner (1964:169) explains the relation between nation and nationalism: “Nationalism is not the awakening of nations to self-consciousness: it invents nations where they do not exist.” Hobsbawm (2000:10) summarises this point neatly when he states that “nations do not make states and nationalisms, but the other way round.”

Until the mid-19th century, the concept of ‘nation’ mainly referred to the economy within the borders of a state. According to political and economic elites, this ‘national economy’ had to be fostered and protected by the state, giving rise to widespread protectionism across Europe (Hobsbawm 2000:27–28). Thus, deliberations on nations at first were mostly questions about elites, and mainly had an economic core. Initially, national questions rarely considered questions of identity. For the period circa 1830 to about 1880, Hobsbawm (2000:37–38) enumerates three criteria a people had to fulfil at that time to be considered a nation. First, a historical connection to a present or a former state, with this state’s history dating back long enough (although ‘long enough’ is a matter of interpretation). Second, the existence of a long-established cultural elite, which, along with its culture, had to feature a unique script used for literature and official affairs. Third, a certain size of territory and population, as well as the ability to conquer and incorporate other communities.31 However, during approximately the 1880s, a rapid mobilisation for national questions is observable in Europe. The emergence of widespread nationalism was closely interrelated with two phenomena: democratisation and the politicisation of the masses, albeit the latter, at first, was reserved only for men (Hobsbawm 2000:43–45). The increasing inclusion of the people in politics undermined the cohesion of the states at the threshold of modernity, as the previously God-given subordination under royal rule was questioned. To still secure the compliance of the people, the connection of nation and state – to form a national state – proved vital. Hence, nationalism is a “hinge fastening together state and society” (Bauman 1992:683). This claim requires some further explanation. While individuals do not choose their nation but are born into it (lat. natus = born), the modern state is a community its citizens choose (voluntarily) to belong to, as they pursue common interests. However, as the interests of the state and of individual citizens sometimes contradict each other, the state needs arguments to prove its claim of legitimacy. Therefore, the state is conceptually united with the nation, which is free of the internal contradictions that inhere the 31  This

notion was widespread and had positive implications for many scholars of the 19th century. John Stuart Mill (1991 [1873]:314), for instance, declared the incorporation into larger nations as a blessing for small, nonviable and underdeveloped entities: “Nobody can suppose that it is not more beneficial to a Breton, or a Basque of French Navarre, to be brought into the current of the ideas and feelings of a highly civilized and cultivated people – to be a member of the French nationality […] – than to sulk on his own rocks, the half-savage relic of past times, revolving in his own little mental orbit, without participation or interest in the general movement of the world.”

Resources for Identity Formation

state (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:72). By combining state and nation, the state profits from the nation’s potential to build legitimation and identity, as a nation confers meaning, a common fate and destiny. At the same time, the nation benefits from the state by using its authority to amplify its desire for discipline. To strengthen the legitimacy of the nation state, modern politics and elites utilised various strategies. Bauman (1992:677–678) deconstructs the two most common practices of forming a nation: first, the dissociation of others (‘othering’) and second, the construction of myths, traditions and world views declared as characteristic of a nation. Indeed, the construction of a nation as an imagined community rests not (only) on the definition of what the nation is, but does so by delimiting it from other nations. Although in the interpretation of nationalists, the definition of an unalterable, time-stable core of national identity is the precondition for the separation from others, Bauman (1992:677) shows with recourse to Ricœur that this process works the other way round, too: a nation is mainly based on delimitation from others before it can define itself in the ‘mirror’ of this ‘other’. Forming a nation that is defined by a set of shared attributes conceals “that the ‘commonality’ itself (of land, of language, of tradition) is always an artefact of boundary drawing activity” (Bauman 1992:677). Nonetheless, these imaginary shared and uniting and simultaneously delimiting traits and characteristics were developed – purposely or unwittingly – afterwards to justify the boundaries drawn ex post. As Bauman (1992:678) puts it, “the ‘we-ness’ of friends owes its materiality to the ‘they-ness’ of the enemies”. The affiliation with a nation provides the individual with “inclusion, acceptance and confirmation” (Bauman 1992:679), a “realm of gratifying safety”, contrasted by an “frightening wilderness of the outside” inhabited by enemies. Derrida’s deconstructionist notion of binary opposition is obviously transferable to the genesis of nations: they require an ‘other’ from which they can differ and delimit to define themselves. As Hall (1996b:188) claims, “national cultures acquire their strong sense of identity by contrasting themselves with other cultures”. Even after its creation, a nation’s self-perception and the identification of its members is enhanced by delimiting it from others, especially when the ‘other’ constitutes a threat to the ‘we’. As Roberts (1985:121–122) expounds by portraying the emergence of the social entity called ‘Europe’, given the menace of Islam during the early Middle Ages, “all collectivities become more self-aware in the presence of an external challenge, and self-awareness promotes cohesiveness.” As mentioned before, the production of a common history and origin, as well as of shared traditions, is considered one of the most important discursive strategies required to construct a nation. Shared traditions, conventions, rule- and mindsets give the individual a feeling of being embedded in the course of history. They also deliver explanations as to why things are the way they are, why certain questions are answered in certain ways and for what reasons there should be no changes to these systems (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:69). Repatriating recent structures of a society and

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of power within a nation towards a collectively shared history gives these structures a powerful legitimation that it is hard to argue against. As “the past confers a halo of legitimacy”32 (Hobsbawm 1994:49) to the prevailing relations of a nation and to the nation itself, criticism of these relations can be easily blocked by referring to the past. However, ‘past’ must not be understood in an academically credible historical sense. As Le Bon (1977 [1895]:67–69) pointed out in his study on the psychology of the masses, it is rather legends and mythically exaggerated narratives that form the pillars of cultures and nations. Not only history, but also traditions are intentionally constructed to legitimise socio-political and economic circumstances. “The invention of tradition” tries to “establish continuity with a suitable historic past” (Hobsbawm 1983:1). Though, human societies inevitably produce traditions throughout the course of history. Giddens (1991b:37) explains, that in traditional cultures, the past is honoured [sic] and symbols are valued because they contain and perpetuate the experience of generations. Tradition […] is a means of handling time and space, which inserts any particular activity or experience within the continuity of past, present, and future.

Yet, the (re-)invention of traditions is unavoidable for new generations when they take “over [their] cultural inheritance from those preceding it” (Giddens 1991b:37). Le Bon (1977 [1895]:82–84) emphasises the importance of traditions and lore for the cohesion and self-identification of nations and cultures. In his view, there is no culture without persistent traditions handed down from generation to generation. However, to avoid a standstill and the ‘death’ of a culture, these must be constantly evolved, the challenge being to find and maintain the right balance between perseverance and change. Withal, it is necessary to distinguish between traditions that are re-interpreted, reformed and newly pieced together in the “reflexivity of modern social life” (Giddens 1991b:38), as well as traditions developed intentionally and purposefully. However, the cohesion of traditions decreases in globalised, postmodern and post-traditional societies. This does not necessarily imply societies abandoning traditions. Instead, these societies attempt to accept that not only one, but multiple complexes of traditions, beliefs and values might bear legitimation simultaneously (Giddens 1993:483–485). To invent and enforce a national tradition, a ‘foundational myth’ – a narrative explaining the origin of a people and its national identity – is an often-used instrument to construct a community of common blood and descent. This almost imperceptibly elevates the nation beyond human scrutiny and reproach and gives it the appearance of a “natural phenomenon”33 (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:71). Through these foun-

32  Original: “die Vergangenheit verleiht den Heiligenschein der Legitimität” 33  Original: “Natur-Phänomen”

Resources for Identity Formation

dational myths, differences in ethnicity, religion, language or culture are smoothened more easily, and unity and homogeneity can be created in a simpler way. Therefore, nationalism often avoids the “exceptionless, impersonal, overpowering determinism” (Bauman 1992:683) which, for instance, derives from delimitation via racism. Instead of an imaginarily predetermined (passive) attribution to a race, a nation depends on “the willing acceptance of fate” (Bauman 1992:686). A quote from Barrès (1902:20) illustrates this point in more detail: We are not a race, but a nation; it continues every day to be made and under the threat of diminishing us, to annihilate us, we, individuals whom it encases, we must protect it.34

Interestingly, nationalism and racism often have similar outcomes: the inclusion of certain individuals in a group, while others are excluded from it. This in-/exclusion is based on supposedly objective traits (skin colour, place of birth), which prove to be socially constructed. Bauman (1992:686) aptly describes this as follows: “Nationalism […] is a racism of the intellectuals” and “racism is the nationalism of the masses”. Apart from others to delimit from and founding myths as well as invented traditions, nations also require institutions to produce the nation in practice. Although the unity and homogeneity of modern nations may appear ‘natural’ or historically grown, they are the result of lengthy processes under the influence of power. Both, physical power to suppress cultural differences and cultural power for the production of narratives and a common history help to unify the nation despite inner differences and contradictions. Almost all current nations result from violent unifications of different ethnicities, cultures or language stocks. As these differences tend to remain and endanger the inner coherence of the nation, they often are encapsulated into a ‘national culture’. In this process, former differences are marginalised and only appear as detailed ingredients of a common cultural identity. Especially during the first decades of the development of the idea of nations, force was utilised to ‘pacify’ minor ethnic groups that resisted their incorporation into the nation (and, as a result, often their cultural dissolution) – most frequently by dislocating and resettling them. An example is the forced exodus of the Ottoman population from the young Balkan states in the wake of the Balkan Wars (1912 and 1913) and the First World War (Şeker 2013:6). However, after the often violent consolidation of the nation state, force was no longer used to impose a unified nation but rather the state’s rigorous and unavoidable educational system. Defining a nation and distinguishing it from others was performed by elites in modern nations, but the doctrines they developed had to be spread throughout the nation: “At the base of the modern social order stands not the executioner

34  Original: “Nous ne sommes point une race, mais une nation; elle continue chaque jour à se faire et sous

peine de nous diminuer, de nous anéantir, nous, individus qu’elle encastre, nous devons la protéger.”

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but the professor”, as Gellner (1998:34) writes. Moreover, “the monopoly of legitimate education is now more important […] than is the monopoly of legitimate violence” (Gellner 1998:34). Indeed, civil institutions proved to be much more effective in producing a nation than the use of force. Althusser (1977:119–122) seizes on the concept of individuals being subjected to different societal institutions and apparatuses of power, which form and predetermine national discourses and national subjects. Here, Althusser (1977) introduces the “ideological apparatus of state”, namely institutions not directly belonging to the state but situated in between the two conditions of ‘private’ and ‘public’ (1977:120). In a short list, he mentions religion, school, family, politics, unions and culture, among others, as ‘ideological apparatuses of state’ that affect discourses and practices by using their power (e. g. power to punish, to exclude, to select) and therefore influence subjects and their identities. This manipulation is primarily asserted via ideology. According to Althusser, a main distinction between ideological and repressive apparatuses of state is necessary. While the former function on the foundation of ideology, the latter use authority in the form of direct and indirect force. Nonetheless, ideological apparatuses of state use repression to assert their interests, too (Althusser 1977:121). Concluding the deliberations on nations and nationalism as anchors for individual and collective identities, a caution raised by Hobsbawm (2000:11) needs to be expressed. Though an individual might strongly identify with a nation, this does not necessarily outshine every other identification s/he is capable of. National identity does not inevitably render identification with a religion, a sports team, a subculture or others impossible, although it most often is very efficacious. Although the concept of nations offers ample resources for identity formation, a society defining itself with a nation state is probably a phenomenon of modernity. Bauman (1992:690) predicts an “end of the age of society identified with the nation-state”. He ties this weakening force of the nation state as a resource for identities to globalisation and its multi-layered, disruptive and newly combining effects on the economy, flows of communication and information, as well as the “almost universal accessibility of cultural contents” (Bauman 1992:691). Consequently, the concept of nations might disappear in the future together with the “geographical, historical, cultural and linguistic” situatedness that it provided to the individuals identifying with it (Zima 2017:14–15). 2.3.3. Culture

For the constitutions and identities of collectives and societies, their historically confirmed genesis and the self-reflexive realisation of this history are meaningful and indispensable (Angehrn 2018:11). Identification through culture occurs primarily through

Resources for Identity Formation

cultural differences and distinction. Bourdieu (2010a) reveals that distinct collectives (e. g. classes, milieus) distinguish from each other through their habitus, i. e. their way of doing things, leading their everyday lives and preferring specific forms of cultural representation. Bourdieu rejects an essentialist understanding of classes, which he conceives as constructed and (re)produced by the habitus of individuals. The “social space” (Bourdieu 2010a:103–104) is structured by habitus as social practice and contains different representations of collective identities, which are thereby differentiated from each other Bauman (1992:692) takes a similar stand, in that, for him, cultural differences foster identity formation in the same way that nations do. Cultural traits (e. g. characteristic cuisine, clothing, music) are used as points of reference, which delimit groups and individuals from each other. However, as nations are products of nationalism, cultural differences are often not the starting point for identity formation but are expressions of efforts to distinguish the own identity from others (Bauman 1992:692). The reflections of Simmel (2006a [1911]) on culture provide an interesting insight into the relationship between individual and culture. Besides, these deliberations have striking actuality, albeit they are more than a hundred years old. Weinstein and Weinstein (2011), for instance, depict him as a fundamental “postmodern(ized)” scholar. According to Simmel’s (2006a [1911]) Tragedy of Culture, differentiation between objective and subjective culture is necessary. Objective culture can be described as the entireness of shared human products: “Art and morality, science and practical objects, religion and the law, technology and social norms” (Simmel 2006a [1911]:57) fall into this category and feature the ability to influence and form the life and identity of individuals. Subjective culture in turn signifies the creativity and intellect of individual subjects. A strong connection exists between both spheres, as the subjective culture must necessarily be influenced and shaped by objective culture. A subject’s ‘inner’ culture is therefore inevitably and ceaselessly forged by external cultural traits. Or, as Simmel (2006a [1911]:58) puts it, “Individuals must put these constructs and constraints within themselves, but they must really include them within the individual self, and not simply allow them to continue to exist as objective values”. What Simmel (2006a [1911]) calls the “tragedy of culture” began during modernisation, when cultural products were fetishised and obtained power, but they did not have naturally: “The ‘fetishist character’ which Marx attributed to economic objects […] is only a particularly modified instance of this general fate of the contents of culture” (Simmel 2006a [1911]:70). Society and individuals were overwhelmed by masses of products of an objective culture, which were too numerous to be processed or even overseen by individuals. People were confronted with amounts of cultural products, signs and symbols in such an unprecedented manner that endangered the development of an individual’s subjective culture, personal intellect, psyche and soul (Simmel 2006a [1911]:55–75).

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Baudrillard (1994) took up Simmel’s ideas and reflected them in a postmodern setting. For him, the ‘tragedy of culture’ became even more intense in postmodernity: in modernity, objective culture was mainly produced by individuals as parts of interactive communities which concerned themselves with “real issues” (Allan 2005:224). Thus, objective culture was able to produce real purpose and anchors for identification, rooted in genuinely negotiated social conventions and intersubjectively shared persuasions (Allan 2005:221–223). However, in postmodernity, this objective culture based on ‘real issues’ is increasingly extruded by “simulacra and simulation” (Baudrillard 1994). After examining the role of consumption for postmodern societies, cultures and identities, Baudrillard (1994) states that in postmodern societies, most simulations only are simulacra, i. e. copies without originals. They therefore lack factual foundations in reality, and instead they construct and produce a “hyperreality” (Baudrillard 1994:78) on their own. Instead of an image of reality, postmodern subjects get presented something more real than its original. Rather than individuals collaboratively creating culture, it is produced, often for capitalist purposes, and represented, for example, in advertising and the mass media. In short, this indicates a radical shift in the role of culture, which has altered from representing social realities to representing commodified images. Accordingly, most individuals have turned from creators of culture to consumers thereof. The formerly seminal role of culture as a resource for identity formation and as a distinctive feature of ‘real’ meaning has changed into a hollow shell that no longer carries any meaningful contents but merely simulates them. 2.3.4. Religion

Religion is one of the most encompassing resources for identity formation and often constitutes parts of the core of identities, as it appeals to human needs, wishes, hopes and fears with a significant weltanschauung and offers everlasting group affiliation – unlike many other identity resources do. Compared to other resources for individual and collective identities, religion and religious beliefs are quite potent and relatively resilient (Ysseldyk et al. 2010:67). The solidity of religion as a resource for identities stems from the resilience of its traditions and institutions. Seul (1999:558) exemplarily names “doctrine, ritual, moral frameworks, role expectations, symbols” as long-lasting content that religions tend to enshrine and conserve. Although most religions can incorporate new “identity content” (Seul 1999:558) and even raise new identities (e. g. by proselyting or rites of passage), they offer believers a robust (or imperceptibly slowly changing) foundation for identity formation. Although the wide assortment of different religions is not even remotely comprehensible, most of them serve fundamental psychologic needs by providing a

Resources for Identity Formation

sense of located-ness  – socially, sometimes geographically, cosmologically, temporarily, and metaphysically. Religious meaning systems define the contours of the broadest possible range of relationships – to self; to others near and distant, friendly and unfriendly; to the nonhuman world; to the universe; and to God (Seul 1999:558).

Especially in a postmodern and globalised world characterised by a sense of rootlessness, for some, affiliation to a religious group is an effective strategy to self-actualise, validate and locate their identity (Kinnvall 2004:743). According to Mol (1976:9), this is the main purpose of religions: to steady and order individual and collective identities. The promise religions make to individuals is to “sum up the variegated elements of mundane existence in a transcendental point of reference where they appear more orderly, more consistent, more timeless” (Mol 1976:11). Religion as a system of meaning provides individuals with a sense of belongingness and acknowledgement, and theistic religions especially offer personal affirmation by assuring an all-reliable counterpart – God – who fortifies the individual’s “sense of self [even] when one’s fellows do not” (Seul 1999:559). Additionally, all world religions revere collective identities at least equitable to individual identities. Seul (1999:560) names the Christian “ecclesia”, the Muslim “ummah” or the Buddhist “sangha”, which use distinctive symbols, rites and traits to dissociate group members from non-members. The dissemination of religious beliefs and commandments – transmitted in sacred texts, prayers and songs – fosters order and satisfies the desire for mental steadiness with its socialising influence (see Textbox 3). Furthermore, dogmatic norms strengthen the collectives’ feeling of uniqueness and ‘chosenness’ (Seul 1999:561). Religious norms demand higher integrity from their believers than mundane ordinances. Thus, dogmatic rules create individuals who are “stronger […] it is as though he [the individual] were raised above the miseries of the world, because he is raised above his condition as a mere man; he believes that he is saved from evil, under whatever form he may conceive this evil” (Durkheim 1976 [1912]:416). Textbox 3: Religious elements addressing identity needs Referring to Weber’s (1978 [1921/22]) deliberations on religious groups, Little (1995:292) examined the different matters religions hold available for individuals and collectives to create their identities: – Myths of joint genesis – Dogmas of divine election and strife – Assertions of preeminence – Saints, priests and clerics, who mount guard over the adherence to sacral rules – Rites and feast days to remember the sacrifices of religionists

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One momentous factor distinguishes theological doctrines from many other resources for identity formation: their explanatory power regarding the relationship between man and time. Beginning with a divinely ordained creation, periodic rituals and traditions dividing the week (e. g. Sabbath, Friday prayer), the year (e. g. Easter, Ramadan) and one’s whole life (e. g. baptism, Anointing of the Sick) and finally messages of redemption connect the individual with the seemingly endlessness of time. Religion offers an interpretation of the world that integrates every (faithful) individual’s life in a contingent narration of the profane and metaphysical cosmos, “from furthest past to the most distant future” (Seul 1999:560). Especially in social and economic crises, when identities are at stake, religiosity and the moral principles and institutions it provides apparently satisfy human longing for control, orientation and (mental) stability in unsafe and unpredictable times (Kay et al. 2008:21). Furthermore, Lopez et al. (2011:1298) show that religious identification might be stronger among ethnic minorities migrants, as their desire for a sense of belonging is often much more pronounced. However, Seul (1999:562) warns of blindly following the promises of a stable foundation for identity, which religion seems to offer. Non-religious actors frequently use ostensibly religious arguments to justify their regimes and to present their agenda “in the service of religious group’s nationalistic aspirations” (Seul 1999:562). In his research on religious identities in post-Soviet nations, Agadjanian (2001:473) observed that the collapse of the USSR led to an “identity crisis – […] a rapid and painful turning point” that encouraged an apparently new orientation towards spirituality and religiosity. For individuals and collectives, religions (as well as their institutions) provided a readily available and firm intellectual and practical paradigm to cope with the realities of the crisis. Admittedly, the revitalisation of religious beliefs in the former USSR is not necessarily a sign of growing spirituality; instead, it is an indicator for “growing cultural, social and political pluralisation and participation occurring throughout society” (Agadjanian 2001:476). Following religious liberalisation in the formerly (by law) atheist republics of the USSR, “religious identity [was often used as] an auxiliary source of ethnic and national consolidation” (Agadjanian 2001:477). Supporting ethnic characteristics, religion was politically used as a dividing line for post-Soviet nation-building and the accentuation of national identities.35 In contrast, religion did not play an outsized role in Cuban society – at least until the 1990s (see Chapter 4.5.4); an essential reason for this was the adoption of Marx’s critique thereof. As Marx (1970 [1844]:131) put it, “religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature […]. It is the opium of the people. The abolition of religion as the illusory happiness of the people is a demand for their true happiness”. This critical attitude to-

35  Examples are the Christian identity of Armenia, almost surrounded by Muslim-oriented countries (Sar-

kissian 2008), or Muslim Tatars in Christian-dominated Russia (Faller 2011).

Resources for Identity Formation

ward religion became part of many Marxist-Leninist policies. The rejection of religion in many socialist systems stems from a reinterpretation of Lenin, as Kern (2019:16) outlines. While Marx calls religion the opium of the people, Lenin refers to religion as the opium for the people. For Marx, religion is simultaneously an expression of genuine misery and a protest against it, as well as a therapeutical in the form of opium, whereas Lenin regards religion as a narcotic allowing for a brief, hallucinatory escape from inhumane earthly conditions intended to conceal these conditions. Since Marxism-Leninism is meant to surmount such inhuman conditions, according to Lenin, religion is unnecessary. 2.3.5. Family, Relationships and Community

The conditions of postmodernity furthermore led to changes in the way individuals interrelate. The paradigm of avoiding long-term-relationships (both in a romantic and a professional way) represents a “principle which corrodes trust, loyalty, and mutual commitment” (Sennett 1998:24). In a pessimistic tone, Sennett (1998:25) notes that “detachment and superficial cooperativeness are better armour for dealing with current realities than behaviour based on values of loyalty and service”. In part, this can be attributed to (post-)modern institutions, which are organised as networks. This makes it less necessary and even harder for postmodern subjects to rely on each other and to establish long-lasting bonds (Sennett 1998:24–25). In the first book of his trilogy on The Information Age, Castells (1997) focuses on the implications of this emerging “network society”.36 After explaining international economic interactions, he expounds the effects of globalised cultural and social norms and meanings. For Castells (1997:477), “the network society represents a qualitative change in human experience”. Giddens (1992:58) renders the prevalent type of postmodern relationship as a “pure relationship”, which describes “a situation where a social relation is entered into for its own sake” but “is continued only in so far as it is thought by both parties to deliver enough satisfaction for each individual to stay within it”. Consequently, postmodern subjects “are well aware that romance can no longer be equated with permanence” (Giddens 1992:52). Lasch (1979:51) mentions that “the culture of personal relations […] conceals a thoroughgoing disenchantment with personal relations, just as the cult of sensuality implies a repudiation of sensuality in all but its most primitive forms”. Due to this short-termness and the tendency to avoid everything determining and bonding for the future, postmodern relationships are increasingly under pressure, as “deep and lasting friendships, love affairs and marriages [become] increasingly difficult to achieve”

36  The title of volume I in this series is The Rise of the Network Society.

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(Lasch 1979:30). Or, in Bauman’s (1996:34) words, postmodern relationships are characterised by “fragmentariness and discontinuity, narrowness of focus and purpose, shallowness of contact”, and thus as non-binding and terminable at will. All of these factors lead to weakening social ties in postmodern societies. Putnam (1995) describes the social consequences of this decrease in human interaction and claims that democratic structures will suffer from the drawback of individuals from society and mutual support. He also predicted the proliferation of self-chosen isolation in times of leisure. The “new ‘virtual reality’ helmets” Putnam (1995:75) introduced as examples turned out to be smartphones, and the negative effects of new technologies on the number of direct social interactions a person has are daunting, as Sigman (2009:15) illustrates. However, although circumstances are changing and the conditions of postmodern life are annulled and rewritten constantly, human beings continue to be social beings. Thus, the changes described have a lasting impact on the social needs and desires of subjects. Sennett (1998:138) outlines the influence and the “unintended consequences of modern capitalism”. According to him, the deep imprint of capitalist practices has strengthened the value of place, aroused a longing for community. All the emotional conditions we have explored in the workplace animate that desire: the uncertainties of flexibility; the absence of deeply rooted trust and commitment; the superficiality of teamwork; most of all, the spectre of failing to make something of oneself in the world, to ‘get a life’ through one’s work. All these conditions impel people to look for some other scene of attachment and depth (Sennett 1998:138).

As the individual’s need for social communities with which to identify remains and seems to increase as old certainties fall to pieces, the importance of voluntarily chosen communities for self-identification grows. But different from the predetermined collectives with which individuals formerly identified (e. g. a nation by birth), the affiliation with voluntarily chosen communities is solely based upon the conscious decision to be part of it (Bauman 1992:697). But due to affiliation by choice, such communities are always in danger of vanishing as soon as their members lose interest or find another community they prefer to belong to (Bauman 1992:696–697). Maffesoli (1996) developed the theory of “neo-tribes”. Based on his observations, postmodern individuals are overwhelmed by the possibilities for communication and social relations, and they therefore long for social and communicative settings already known to their ancestors in pre-industrial (or even pre-feudal) times. He predicted postmodernity as being a time of neo-tribes, with people re-organising in smaller groups, similar to the communities described by Bauman. Following Maffesoli’s perspective, both the individual and society itself are fragmented to an extent, whereby individuals seek orientation in postmodern “neo-tribalism” (Maffesoli 1996:75), which is incompatible with a political project and characterised by its “preoccupation with the collective present”.

Resources for Identity Formation

That said, Bauman (1992:697) describes such communities as “endemically precarious and hence bellicose and intolerant”, as they “face daily the danger of evaporating without trace together with that energy of self-identification which lent them the appearance of solidity”. Moreover, Sennett (1998:138) perceives such newly formed companionships as bound by delimiting the ‘we’ from an ‘other’. These communities usually present a “defensive” (Sennett 1998:138) character, which is particularly evident in their mistrust of migrants and strangers. For Sennett (1998:138), it “is almost a universal law that ‘we’ can be used as a defence against confusion and dislocation”. 2.3.6. Race and Ethnicity

A paradigmatic and socially momentous example of the definition of the Self and of a group through distinction from others is identification or demarcation based on race and ethnicity.37 For many non-white individuals, this identification in colonialism took the form of violent, asymmetrical attribution. Exemplary for the violent, determining gaze of the other that appoints ethnicity is a passage from Fanon’s (1986 [1952]) Black Skin, White Masks. When young Fanon arrived in Paris, he encountered a white European child with its mother, whereupon the kid yanked its mother’s hand and cried out: “Mama, see the Negro! I’m frightened!” (Fanon 1986 [1952]:112). For Fanon (1986 [1952]:112), this experience of direct external attribution was seminal: I was responsible at the same time for my body, for my race, for my ancestors. I subjected myself to an objective examination, I discovered my blackness, my ethnic characteristics; and I was battered down by tom-toms, cannibalism, intellectual deficiency, fetichism [sic], racial defects, slave-ships […]. On that day, completely dislocated, unable to be abroad with the other, the white man, who unmercifully imprisoned me, I took myself far off from my own presence, far indeed, and made myself an object.

The essence of Fanon’s epiphany lies in his observation that his identity is determined by the perception, denomination and ascription of others. Eickelpasch and Rademacher (2004:78) describe the necessity of reflection and the gaze of the other as an “anthropologic constant”38 that turns problematic if it is characterised by an imbalance of power in which unsolicited and violent attributions occur. Asymmetrical ascriptions are based on differing positions of power and interpretational sovereignty – and therefore the distinctive force of the dominant individual or collective imposes prop-

37  Ethnicity is mainly based on a collective’s “perceptions of shared social experience or [their] ancestors’

experiences. Members of the ethnic group see themselves as sharing cultural traditions and history that distinguish them from other groups” (People & Bailey 2009:383). Ethnicity is often conceived as overcoming boundaries of social stratification, thus including people from various classes and milieus. 38  Original: “anthropologische Konstante”

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erties on the inferior subject that thwarts self-determined identity formation (Singer 1997:45). Although identification through race or ethnicity is often portrayed as a ‘natural’ distinction between individuals or collectives, race is a social construction. The persistence of distinctions along axes of constructed races lies in the apparent obviousness of differences in skin colour, facial features or hair structure. As Adorno (2005 [1951]:102) notes, the proposition that “all people and all races are equal […] lays itself open to the simple refutation of the senses”. This emphasises the perfidy of racism, “because in such racial characteristics as colour, ethnic origin, geographical position, etc., racism discovers what other ideologies have to construct: an apparently ‘natural’ and universal basis in nature itself ” (Hall 1996c:56). However, naturalising different races disguises the historical processes that are in fact responsible for global inequalities and pervasive underdevelopment in the Global South, and which are characterised by European power, domination and exploitation. This leads to discursive formations that delineate one race from another under the false pretences of feigned naturality. While ‘race’ was used primordially to characterise individuals and collectives similar to the contemporary understanding of ‘ethnicity’, emerging European sciences (esp. natural sciences such as biology) used the concept of race to classify flora, fauna and human beings. The allegedly natural difference between ‘white’ and ‘black’ was used by European colonialism to justify and prescribe “exploitation, domination, and violence” (Clair & Denis 2015:857) against those constituted as ‘non-white’. Furthermore, Europe (the West) constructed the other, non-Western counterpart with which it needed to identify and define itself in the reflection and delineation of the other (Hall 1996b:187). The victims of this discursive production of Europe as ‘civilised, urban, developed and desirable’ were the people in Africa, the Americas and Asia. They had to be ‘savage, uncouth, underdeveloped and undesirable’, so Europeans could be the exact opposite. They were the ‘dark’ screen from which the bright light of European culture and progress could set itself apart from. From the position of the powerful white colonisers, the black ‘others’ were everything the Europeans were not: a binary distinction along multiple axes ascribed attributes, characteristics and peculiarities to both, i. e. black and white (see Table 2). In this, the dominant ‘white’ perspective combined the positive, favourable traits of itself. Through this discursive production of ‘blackness’, a persistent image of people of colour was created, which was then substantiated with pseudoscientific studies. Hall (1987:46) concludes his essay Minimal Selves with the recognition that ethnicity is likely to supersede nationalism as a resource for identification, and he remarks with some satisfaction that this might also “make the British, at least, feel just marginally ‘marginal’”.

Resources for Identity Formation

Table 2: System of binary opposition according to the logic of racial differences. White

Black

Rational

Emotional

Educated

Primitive

Civilised

Savage

With self-control

Compulsive

Self-reliant

Dependent

Reason-based

Instinctively controlled

Source: own design adapted from Eickelpasch and Rademacher (2004:86).

Nonetheless, a postcolonial world is not necessarily a post-racial world. The experiences, interpretative frames, images and attitudes that shape racial discourses show a high level of persistence. They still constitute the “base-images of the ‘grammar of race’” (Hall 2021b:108), and they continue to have considerable influence on individual and collective identities. So far, postmodern conditions seem to have had little influence in this regard. 2.3.7. Gender

Like ‘race’, the often identity-forming resource ‘gender’ conceals its constructivist character under the cover of apparent naturalness. Precisely through its presumed naturalness, it offers a seemingly objective distinction of people and collectives, and hence it is an ostensibly dependable source for identification. As a categorisation system for identities, gender obtains its superficial naturalness from everyday sensual experiences. Similar to categorisation by race, it serves as a widely accepted distinguishing mark of different bodies – apparent and allegedly unalterable evidence for the distinctiveness of human beings (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:94). The perpetual tradition of this mainly binary system of ascription rests especially on the distinction man/woman, which is in fact constructed as well. As Willis (1993:183) observed, it is one of the fundamental paradoxes of our social life that when we are at our most natural, our most everyday, we are also at our most cultural; that when we are in roles that look the most obvious and given, we are actually in roles that are constructed, learned, and far from inevitable.

The artificial gender-binary system persists due to the power and interpretational sovereignty that it provides to the patriarchy. As de Beauvoir (1974 [1949]) shows, the female gender is defined as the “second sex”, while male sexual identity is ­constructed

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as ‘normality’. The “masculine domination” that takes effect through “physical and symbolic violence” (Bourdieu 2001:34) solidifies the inequality of male and female identities by imprinting the polarity of the pretended binary gender identities deeply into the habitus of individuals. Differentiating between men and women therefore becomes “second nature” (Bourdieu 1977:79), a supposed fact pervading human thinking, acting, feeling and perceiving by “incorporating” itself in the body. However, gender as an identity resource may become intricate and contradictory, as social, political and scientific processes of the past decades challenge outdated conceptions of ‘men’ and ‘women’ and what self-attribution to one of these artificial categories means for individual and collective identities. As a result, three major developments are notable. First is a fundamental change in the roles of sexes, especially in models of femininity as a consequence of the individualisation and pluralisation of life scripts. This might bring an end to stereotyping sexes. Second, since the 1980s, debates concerning gender identities and their constructivist character have increasingly arisen from (post-)feminist studies and the gay rights movement. Third, fuelled by advances in postcolonial and gender theory, the notion of a globally homogenous subject category ‘woman’ is challenged as mere imagination. This additionally shows that the marginalisation of female identities often happens in the intersections with other identity categories. However, the first of these assessments only peripherally approaches questions of gender identity. Therefore, in the following, further attention is paid to the second and third assessments. Butler (1990) developed a theory on the performativity of gender and sexuality in questions of identity. Hence, gender is not something someone is, but it must be understood as something someone does. Through performative acts, the individual is “constituting the identity it is purported to be” (Butler 1990:33), which reveals the influence of power and external attributions as described by Derrida and Foucault. Butler refers to de Beauvoir (1974 [1949]:38), who claimed that ‘woman’ (and by this any gender) is neither a natural fact nor a genetic predisposition but an historical situation: “one is not born, but, rather, becomes a woman”. Moreover, Butler (1993) shows that the performativity of gender leads to the insight that the physical appearance of individuals and their gender need to be considered independently, as they are detached from each other. For Butler (1988:519), gender is in no way a stable identity or locus of agency from which various acts proceed; rather, it is an identity tenuously constituted in time – an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts. Further, gender is instituted through the stylisation of the body and, hence, must be understood as the mundane way in which bodily gestures, movements, and enactments of various kinds constitute the illusion of an abiding gendered self.

Thus, behaviours and identities typecast as ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’ are not natural but produced within the manner individuals perform (mundane) actions. Gender is

Resources for Identity Formation

discursively produced within traditionalised social norms, whereas these norms disguise the constructivist, performative character of gender (Butler 1990:33). According to Elliott (2002:150), “gender is a kind of improvised performance, a form of theatricality that constitutes a sense of identity”. The widespread perception of it as something ‘natural’ or a biogenetic circumstance underscores the deep entrenchment of the discourses that were – and are – responsible for the construction of genders. As Baxter (2016:40) notes, “the sexed body, once established as a ‘natural’ and unquestioned ‘fact’, is seen as the alibi for constructions of gender and sexuality”. Nonetheless, Butler’s deduction is sufficiently differentiated not to diminish men and women to “automata, programmed by their early socialisation to repeat forever the appropriate gendered behaviour, but treats them as conscious agents who may – albeit often at some social cost – engage in acts of transgression, subversion and resistance”, as Cameron (1997:49–50) indicates. Gender, though, is not a socio-structural category that solely affects the bearer of gendered identities. Instead, it rests within the intersections of multiple factors for discrimination and marginalisation, such as race, class and nation. Crenshaw (1991:1243– 1244) showed through the example of racism and sexism  – both being socially negotiated in discourses of feminism and antiracism  – that women of colour, whose identities are placed at the intersection of these discourses, are excluded from both discourses – and therefore marginalised twice. Hill Collins and Bilge (2016:65) criticise that second-wave feminism often focused on the needs of white women in the Global North, although their experiences and needs only partly coincide with those of women of colour in the Global South. Consequently, the struggle against racism, sexism and sexual oppression should be thought jointly. However, it is important to note, that “all identities are intersectional in the sense of embodying a complex array of gender, race, class, religious, sexual, and other categories of identity, but intersectional approaches demand an accounting for the privilege that some bodies possess” (Lopez 2018:160). The fundamental idea behind intersectionality recognises that different resources for identity formation do not just operate independently from each other but overlap, and thus they must be examined jointly (McCall 2005:1721). However, the interlocking of different forms of marginalisation must not necessarily be the result of patriarchal structures; it may also derive from supremacist, neo-colonial or nationalist discourses. Principally, the imposed and suppressing construction of binary-heterosexual gender ideologies conduces and reproduces patriarchal structures and racist and classist ideologies (Dow 2006:268) that may accumulate. Consequently, individuals whose identities are located at the intersections of several axes of marginalisation (e. g. queer, unemployed women of colour) more often face challenges regarding their identity negotiation in communication with others. As experiences of marginalisation and rejection due to one of their fundamental elements of identity are likely to happen more frequently, full approval of their identity concept is rare.

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2.4.

Identity Formation as an Ever-changing Process

As the previous subchapters demonstrated, resources for identity formation that once offered solid foundations for self-reflection, self-awareness and self-actualisation softened, almost melted and revealed the ambiguities, the disturbances and disruptions concealed underneath: “Identity does not proceed, in a straight, unbroken line, from some fixed origin” anymore, as Hall (2021a:261) notes. Kossek (1997:226–227) focuses on this new ambiguousness and the possibilities associated with them when asking, Are our historically classified and dominated bodies, which we are used to classify and dominate, actually black, white, female, male, homosexual, heterosexual? It is exciting to see eye-catching borders that are perceived as ‘natural’ and ‘naturally cultural’ to become blurred.39

As she argues, the dissolution of traditional and heirloom resources for identity formation also offers new perspectives on the Self and its location in relation to others. Thus, losing traditional boundaries and anchor points for identities opens up space and freedom for more individualistic identities. This in turn significantly reduces the influence of fate and offers possibilities for free choice (Berger 1996:95). However, in order to benefit from these – at least for some – almost unlimited possibilities for identities, certain requirements need to be fulfilled. Otherwise, the richness of cultural and social resources from which to choose may overwhelm the postmodern individual. Eickelpasch and Rademacher (2013:117) describe these possibilities as either a space for a multitude of options or a scenario of mental overload that paralyses the subject. Likewise, Zima (2017:XIII) notes that success in identity formation is never guaranteed. It is rather endangered by the intentional manipulation of powerful actors and the iconoclastic bombardment through (social) media, on the one hand, and by the globally advancing sociocultural differentiation, on the other. In a globalised, postmodern world, subjects and their identities run the risk of being torn apart between different cultures, social orders, languages and ideologies (Zima 2017:XIII). However, subjects are able to face the challenges of a postmodern world by dialogically adapting new languages, practices, cultures and ideologies, signs and symbols, as well as narratives (Zima 2017:XIII). The most important prerequisite for individuals to use their new possibilities and freedoms is economic safety. As Keupp (1994:334) notes, without employment that is considered meaningful, alongside a decent salary, identity formation becomes “a cynical state of uncertainty”.40 Thus, economic safety

39  Original: “Sind unsere historisch klassifizierten und beherrschten Körper, die wir zu klassifizieren und

zu beherrschen gewohnt sind, wirklich eindeutig schwarz, weiß, weiblich, männlich, homosexuell, heterosexuell? Es ist aufregend, ins Auge stechende ‚natürliche‘ und ‚natürlich kulturell‘ empfundene Grenzen verschwimmen zu sehen.” 40  Original: “zynischen Schwebezustand”

Identity Formation as an Ever-changing Process

and independence are preconditions for leading a life one wishes, which nowadays is the most determining factor for the social hierarchy: “Freedom of choice […] is in postmodern society by far the most seminal among the stratifying factors” (Bauman 1997:93). The number of viable options to pursue individual ways of life determines social differences in postmodern societies. Kellner (1998:158), for instance, remarks that “identity today becomes a freely chosen game, a theatrical presentation of the self, in which one is able to present oneself in a variety of roles, images and activities, relatively unconcerned about shifts, transformations, and dramatic changes”. But the possibilities – and the coercion – of this game without solid and predefined anchors entail problems, too: “When one radically shifts identity at will, one might lose control, one might become pathologically conflicted and divided, disabled from autonomous thought and action” (Kellner 1998:153). Any conclusion from these reflections on modern and postmodern identities and the changing influences on their construction cannot reveal how an everlasting – and for all individuals satisfying – way of identity formation might appear, as it has become too much of an individual process, independent from fixed framework conditions. As Bauman (1992:698) puts it, “Sociality with its endemic fluidity and indefiniteness elbows out structure with its implied fixity and determining power. Process takes the place once occupied by systems.” Nevertheless, the circumstances under which postmodern subjects fabricate their identities are with the utmost not the final state of identity development. The frame for identity formation is always set by the society in which it occurs, and in return it influences society. Bauman (1996:35) observes that “each society sets limits to the life strategies that can be imagined, and certainly to those which can be practised.” This assessment leads back to the relational character of identities. Contemporary individual and collective identities were – and are – shaped and produced under the conditions of modernity and postmodernity. Thus, through changing sociocultural conditions, the vanishing of the subject, i. e. humanity casting off the concept of subjectivity and identification as individuals, is an actual possibility, as described by Foucault (1970:386– 387) in the often misinterpreted conclusion of The Order of Things: Man is neither the oldest nor the most constant problem that has been posed for human knowledge. […] one can be certain that man is a recent invention within it. […] And one perhaps nearing its end. If those arrangements [responsible for man’s invention] were to disappear as they appeared, […] then one can certainly wager that man would be erased, like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the sea.

Yet, currently, there is little sign of human societies abandoning present understandings of subjectivity and individual identity despite  – or perhaps because of  – every (post-)modern influence. Among these influences are processes of commodification that have already been briefly addressed several times, and to which the following chapter is dedicated.

99

3. Commodification

A commodity appears at first sight an extremely obvious, trivial thing. But its analysis brings out that it is a very strange thing, abounding in metaphysical subtleties and theological niceties. Karl Marx (1990 [1867]:163)

Commodification is a social process that affects the Cuban Revolution in tourism, and it lies at the heart of this research. This chapter outlines and discusses the origins of scholarly engagement with commodification, as well as the mechanisms of and interrelationships with identity formation. Scientific interest in the processes and results of commodification is constantly increasing but is also fragmenting noticeably (Smessaert et al. 2020:4). Research on the diverse practices of commodification, and their social, cultural and ecological implications, has led to a multitude of theoretical approaches taking a closer look at the “non-human and human, material and symbolic” (Prudham 2009:124) dimensions of commodification. Hence, commodification is not to be confused with ‘commoditisation’ (see Textbox 4). The structure of the chapter is as follows. First, a general understanding of the processes of commodification and resulting commodities is provided (Chapter 3.1). Subsequently, commodification in Marxist terms is discussed (Chapter 3.2.1), as well as the evolution of commodification processes in the neoliberal era (Chapter 3.2.2). Thereafter, commodification processes in socialist societies are outlined briefly (Chapter 3.3). Although socialist systems strive to supersede commodity-based forms of exchange in a Marxian sense, these processes occur within them, too. Tourism as a highly commodifying practice is examined in Chapter 3.4, including some discussion regarding the suitability of Marxist theory in grasping recent tourism phenomena. The following Chapter (3.5) addresses interconnections between tour-

Fundamental Insights into Commodities

ist commodification and host identities, and Chapter 3.6 introduces six principles of commodification, developed by Castree (2003), which serve as guiding principles for the analysis of the empirically collected material. The final Chapter (3.7) considers the spatial consequences of commodification processes, employing Lefebvre’s theory on the production of space. Textbox 4: A necessary semantic detail: commodification vs. commoditisation Although commodification and commoditisation are sometimes unwarily used s­ ynonymously, and both terms refer to commodities, their meanings differ considerably:  Commodification, the term used in this study, stems from Marxist theory and originally describes the fundamental transformation from use-value to exchange-­value. It was taken up by both Marxist and non-Marxist scholars to broadly describe ways of incorporating objects into economic cycles that were formerly beyond capitalist logic. It often infers a normative notion.   In contrast, commoditisation originates from business theory and describes a process that turns products, which were formerly distinguishable (based on certain features such as quality), into equable, interchangeable commodities from the market’s point of view. In what remains, the only distinguishing feature is the price of the commodity. It often infers an economic notion (Reimann et al. 2010).   In short, commodification makes non-marketable objects marketable, while commoditisation makes formerly unique products unexceptional.

3.1.

Fundamental Insights into Commodities

Many approaches towards commodification and commodities refer to Marx and his seminal deliberations on the genesis and characteristics commodities and value; however, not all scholars base their understanding of commodification on his work. Consequently, Saunders (1995:12–13) notes that Marxist approaches are not necessarily the only ones predestined to analyse capitalism and respective commodification processes. Even non-Marxists, for instance Appadurai (2013) and Kopytoff (2013), deliver profound contributions to discussions on the subject. Appadurai (2013) frames a relatively broad definition, whereby commodification might be equated with the ingress of entities into capitalist markets, which have been outside of these markets before, as well as their subordination under the logics of those markets (Appadurai 2013:6–7). In other words, the commodity status of an object can be described as “the situation in which its exchangeability (past, present, or future) for some other thing is its socially relevant feature” (Appadurai 2013:13). The very denomination of the three tenses (past, present, future) illustrates what Dant (1999:24) meant when he stated that “objects do not have a commodity status built into them” but are socially constructed as commodities along a temporal axis; hence, commodification is a transforming process. Castree (2003:277) deduces the objective behind research

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addressing commodities: for him, one of the core questions is “what kind of characteristics do things take on when they become commodities?”. In another text on commodification, Castree (2011) correctly notes that the state of being a commodity, i. e. assuming “commodity form”, does not inevitably need to be the final form an object takes but perhaps just a temporary one in the “complex social life of things” (Prudham 2009:124). Additionally, objects do not simply become commodities but are actively produced and turned into such – commodification is an active process that requires a commodifying actor. Yet, once something has attained commodity status, it may lose it again – it is just one potential status in the social life of a thing (Kopytoff 2013:64). Yet unfortunately, as Castree (2003:274) bemoans, the meanings associated with the term ‘commodification’ have multiplied in the last 30 years, too; however, regardless of following a Marxist or an anti-Marxist agenda (or anything in between), Castree’s plea (2003:274) to overcome definitional trench warfare and to abandon the attempt to force the different perspectives on commodification into one coherent concept is reasonable. Instead, focus should fall on examining the manifold nature of commodification, its processes, agents and outcomes. Nonetheless, Appadurai’s (2013) marker for commodities – being exchangeable – falls short for many Marxist scholars trying to grasp the essence of commodification under capitalist circumstances. Many of them particularly mention the extent of commodification in (recent) capitalist societies as being remarkable. For instance, Pred (1998:151) writes about the comprehensiveness in today’s world of capitalist valorisation logic, in that “every nook and cranny of everyday, everynight life is subject to colonisation by the commodity form”, thereby leading to the assessment that almost anything is subjugated by the constraints of capitalist commodification: Almost anything is provided with a price tag. Thrift (2006:291) affirms this perspective and explains that commodification processes are closely linked to and fostered by increasing globalisation, both economically and technologically. Lysandrou (2005:793) confirms this stance and supplements it with a notion of commodification simultaneously being a globalised and globalising process that leads to the alignment of human practices and behaviour under the predominating banner of contemporary financial capitalism. As a result, commodification processes can be observed as targeting almost anything: besides the commodification of nature of any kind (Bakker 2005; Fairhead et al. 2012; Gómez-Baggethun & Ruiz-Pérez 2011; Hahn et al. 2015; Mosedale 2016a; for an overview, see Smessaert et al. 2020) such processes also take aim at immaterial things such as human labour (Friedman & Lee 2010; Katta et al. 2020; Marx 1990 [1867]), culture (Bunten 2008; Harvey 2002; Root 1996; Shepherd 2002; Su 2011;), language (Heller 2010; Holborow 2018; Petrovic & Yazan 2021), intimacy (Constable 2009) or the human body, as in Pateman’s (1988) seminal work on the commodification of female bodies and their labour power within structural subordination along a gendered axis.

Fundamental Insights into Commodities

As the last example suggests, commodification does not proceed in isolation from biased socioeconomic conditions. On the contrary, it oftentimes has multiple overlaps with such relations, especially along the axes of power imbalances and one-sided relationships of dependency. These power imbalances  – and thus commodification processes – are often found in the division between the Global North and the Global South (Brand & Wissen 2016; Mowforth & Munt 2016:51) or along gendered lines of contestation (Pateman 1988) or those based on racism (Roland 2006). Although it has become the dominant mode for exchange in almost all societies, commodification does not develop in the same manner or with the same outcome every time; instead, these factors are specific to the place, time and society binding it together with consumers that are intended to buy the commodified then-to-be commodity, as Callon et al. (2002:199) demonstrate. Based on who commodifies what under which spatiotemporal circumstances, the process, as well as the result of commodification, may vary (Castree 2003:275). Furthermore, the way a thing assumes commodity status offers a way of distinguishing commodities. With recourse to Belgian anthropologist Jacques Maquet1 (1971), Appadurai (1994:84) defines the four types of commodities listed in Table 3: Likewise, Thrift (2000:96) recognises that “not all commodities are equal”, and so every commodification process, its actors and outcomes need to be considered individually. However, as soon as an object enters the capitalist cycle of production, it is subdued down to its logic, thereby leading to a change in its character. It runs through the stages of “development, maturity and eventual replacement by a new product” (Leys 2003:88), in that it must compete with other commodities, reduce its production costs (and related issues, such as how the commodity might be produced cheaper, etc.) and search for new markets or eventual substitute products – all of which become important.

1  Unfortunately,

Appadurai provides incomplete references at this point, making it impossible to inspect the original source. Both books published by Maquet in 1971 (Power and Society in Africa and Introduction to Aesthetic Anthropology) were fruitlessly combed for the right references. Hence, Maquet’s original source is unknown and is not included in the bibliography of this book.

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Table 3: Commodity types, classified by their origin. Commodity type

Description

Commodities by destination

Produced by their creators with the main intention of exchange

Commodities through metamorphosis

Originally produced with a non-exchange purpose, assume a place in the commodity cycle by transformation

Commodities by diversion

Explicitly protected from commodification or created in opposition to it, finally acquire commodity form; special form of ‘commodity through metamorphosis’

Ex-commodities

Formerly possessed commodity form but abandoned temporarily or permanently in favour of another form

Source: own design based on Appadurai (1994:84).

Watts (2014:391) adds an important feature of commodities and commodification. For him, a commodity is a functional “article of trade or commerce […], something that we take for granted”, as it fully encompasses subjects in capitalist societies. In Western societies, the commodity form is currently the central mode for exchange and trade, with people seldomly scrutinising it. Yet, as can be seen in Cuba, commodities may be the predominant form of goods in socialistic societies as well. Marx reveals that this has not always been the case in the history of mankind: the ascent of the commodity as the predominant form of economic good is inextricably linked to the rise of capitalism. Since understanding the processes and consequences of commodification is difficult without the analytical framework prepared by Marx, the next chapter examines Marxist commodity theory in detail. 3.2.

Commodification from a Marxist Perspective

It is no coincidence that Marx chose deliberations on commodities as a starting point for his reflections on societies and the nature of their wealth. As he notes at the very beginning of Capital, the singular commodity is the elementary particle on which capitalist societies are based. Unlike in non-capitalist societies, the buying and selling of commodities is the default mode when providing goods (Harman 2010:21). It has become somewhat tricky to draw a clear and unmistakable dividing line between Marxist perspectives on commodification and those of non-Marxists. Nonetheless, Marx’s understanding of commodification is seminal for the development and understanding of contemporary approaches to the subject. As Marcus and Fischer

Commodification from a Marxist Perspectiv

(1999:11) put it, “the label Marxist itself has become increasingly ambiguous”. Therefore, also in Marxist theory, there is not a one-and-only notion of commodification but an abundance of approaches with a shared theoretical nucleus. In the following subchapter, this theoretical core on the characteristics of commodities as described by Marx is discussed first, followed by current perspectives on the relevance of the commodity form in global neoliberalism, building on Marx’s commodity understanding. 3.2.1. Marx on Capital: The Roots of Commodification Theory

First of all, according to the famous beginning of Capital, a commodity is “an external object, a thing which through its qualities satisfies human need of whatever kind” (Marx 1990 [1867]:125); hence, Marx terms a commodity as being useful in some way, as it satisfies unspecified human needs. The usefulness of different ‘things’ may then be evaluated from two different perspectives: quality and quantity (Marx 1990 [1867]:125). Consequently, the usefulness a certain commodity provides differs depending on its intended utilisation, as well as the perspective taken. The use-value of a commodity is thus always socially constructed. As a result, Marx (1990 [1867]:126) derives the concept of use-value thus: The usefulness of a thing makes it a use value. But this usefulness does not dangle in midair. It is conditioned by the physical properties of the commodity, and has no existence apart from the latter. It is therefore the physical body of the commodity itself, […] which is the use-value or useful thing. This property of a commodity is independent from the amount of labour required to appropriate its useful qualities. […] Use-values are only realised in use or in consumption. They constitute the material content of wealth, whatever its social form may be.

Fundamental to the transformation of an object into a commodity is the apposition Marx subsequently adds to these remarks, since he denotes commodities concurrently as “material bearers of  … [sic] exchange-value” (Marx 1990 [1867]:126). In other words, commodities possess two values that usually differ from each other, namely use-value and exchange-value, with Marx building upon Adam Smith’s (2003 [1776]:41) seminal insights into the dual nature of commodity value. The use-value of a commodity has already been defined as its usefulness, while the exchange-value is the quantifiable relation in which two use-values might be exchanged. Marx uses the example of wheat being exchanged for different quantities of boot polish, silk or gold to illustrate the quantifying character of the exchange-value. In addition to being quantitative in nature, exchange-value is characterised by its relativity. To Marx (1990 [1867]:126), an “exchange-value that is inseparably connected with the commodity, inherent in it, seems a contradiction in terms.” This contradiction derives from the idea that the exchange-value of a commodity cannot be calculated by only taking the com-

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modity itself into account but by relating it with other commodities in a capitalist market. Harman (2010:23) criticises that some contemporary Marxist theorists neglect the value duality of commodities, since – in their eyes – the exploitation of labour power, and not the value of commodities, was at the centre of Marx’s inquiries. Cloke and Perkins (2002) closely orient their understanding of commodification towards Marx. According to them, commodification is the result of an “inversion of exchange-value over use-value. Objects become commodities when they take on an exchange-value over and above their use-value and are [hence] able to be traded” (Cloke & Perkins 2002:526). Following Marx further, trading commodities on a capitalist-oriented market based on their exchange values is “characterised precisely by [their] abstraction from use-value” (Marx 1990 [1867]:127). Therefore, the quality (i. e. usefulness) of commodities becomes of secondary importance, if they are available in the right quantity. At first, Marx terms this quantity “a third thing” (Marx 1990 [1867]:127) while later identifying it as human labour that is inherent to all commodities in different forms. After the initial definition of these two concepts of value that are constitutive for commodities in capitalism, Marx turns to the connection between human labour and commodities. All commodities are the product of workers, and human labour is consequently always an intrinsic of them: “Human labour-power has been expended to produce them [the commodities], human labour is accumulated in them” (Marx 1990 [1867]:128). To render productivity and the capabilities of workers comparable, Marx (1990 [1867]:129) uses the notion of “total labour-power of society, which is manifested in the values of the world of commodities”. As commodities produced by this labour-power are comparable via their exchange-value, labour itself becomes comparable in the form of a “socially average unit of labour-power” (Marx 1990 [1867]:129). Moving on from this point, Marx defines “socially necessary labour-time” as the temporal amount of labour “required to produce any use-value under the conditions of production normal for a given society and with the average degree of skill and intensity of labour prevalent in that society” (Marx 1990 [1867]:129). In a capitalist society, however, labour-time is abstracted and turned into a quantifiable measure that is used to assess relations in the exchangeability of commodities. According to Marx (1990 [1867]:150), “concrete labour therefore becomes the expression of abstract human labour”. When commodities as the product of human labour are unified and made commensurable by reducing them to their exchange-value, the labour materialised in these commodities becomes conjugated, too. The exchange of commodities can therefore be perceived as the trade of labour-time which inspired Marx (1973 [1847]:47) to reach his grim assessment: “time is everything, man is nothing; he is, at the most, time’s carcase”. Hence, labour that produces exchange-value is “explicitly presented as labour which counts as the equal of every other sort of human labour” (Marx 1990 [1867]:155), thus setting the stage for a universal equivalent that allows one to trade and exchange ob-

Commodification from a Marxist Perspectiv

jects of utterly diverse qualities (e. g. trading linen versus coal, wheat or a service by orienting towards the labour that was necessary to produce them as their exchange-value). Marx explains in Chapter 3 of Capital, which deals with the measurement of value, that money is the form of this ‘universal equivalent’ (see Textbox 5). Textbox 5: Marx on the money form Within his examination of the development of capitalist societies, Marx (1990 [1867]:205) turns to the matter of money, which he calls the “absolutely alienable commodity, because it is all other commodities divested of their shape, the product of their universal alienation”.   He traces the historical origins of money and finds the reason for the utilisation of precious metals (such as gold, silver) as initial forms of money: “Only a material whose every sample possesses the same uniform quality can be an adequate form of appearance of value, that is a material embodiment of abstract and therefore equal human labour.” Furthermore, as the exchange-value of commodities is expressed only in quantitative terms, “the money commodity must be capable of purely quantitative differentiation, it must therefore be divisible at will, and it must also be possible to assemble it again from its component parts. Gold and silver possess these properties by nature” (Marx 1990 [1867]:184).   By abstracting these metals from their use-value, they are turned into pure exchange-values. This in turn enables their subsequent replacement by paper money (and even later, by electronic money), which has no use-value at all. Therefore, the money form is the bearer that enables the “act of transubstantiation” (Marx 1990 [1867]:197) that turns use-values into exchange-values, thereby alienating commodities from the labour that was necessary to produce them and which actually gives them their (use-)value. As the money form allows one to express the value of a commodity with the omission of its use-value, it contributes to and facilitates the commodity fetish.

As Marx (1990 [1867]:188) notes, “all commodities […] are objectified human labour, and therefore in themselves commensurable, their values can be communally measured in one and the same specific commodity, and this commodity can be converted into the common measure of their values, that is into money”. As a result, the social circumstances under which the commodity is produced are obscured. A comparable metamorphosis occurs in the value of products traded on the capitalist market.2 Use-value retrogresses in these markets, while the exchange-value of commodities becomes important and dominates the market. The distinction between use- and exchange-value is hereby necessary, as “the exchange relation of commodities is characterised precisely by its abstraction from their use-values” (Marx 1990 2  It

is important to note that, for Marx, the market does not represent the ‘invisible hand’ in an understanding of Adam Smith, a mysterious regulator of supply and demand responsible for the determination of prices. Instead, it is merely some kind of meeting place, “an arrangement for linking together the concrete acts of labour of different human beings” (Harman 2010:28).

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[1867]:127). This abstraction of value into exchange-value, which omits the use-value and the labour-time contained in the commodity, allows for the dominance of the money form as a universal equivalent within capitalist societies. However, there also exist certain commodities that do not possess exchange-value in a Marxist understanding of congealed labour-time, albeit they do have monetary worth. As Marx (1990 [1867]:197) writes, things which in and for themselves are not commodities, things such as conscience, honour, etc., can be offered for sale by their holders, and thus acquire the form of commodities through their price. Hence a thing can, formally speaking, have a price without having a value […]. The imaginary price-form may also conceal a real value-relation or one derived from it, as for instance the price of uncultivated land, which is without value because no human labour is objectified in it.

Consequently, intangible objects, which are not products of human labour, can become commodities, too. For Polyani (1944), who examined the tentative beginnings and manifold descents of capitalism, the market-based exchange of commodities, which he defines as “objects produced for sale on the market” (Polyani 1944:75), is one of the centrally determinative characteristics of capitalism. Sayer (2003) supports this claim. According to him, the replacement of use-value by exchange-value marks a seminal shift in the purpose of commodity production. In Sayer’s (2003:343) understanding, the new dominance of commodification signifies a “change from producing what previously or otherwise might have been simply use-values to producing goods for their exchange value”. This involves a pivotal transformation of the meaning assigned to the production of goods in general – and to the role labour plays therein. Marx (1990 [1867]:130) concludes that “as exchange-values, all commodities are merely definite quantities of congealed labour-time”. However, under capitalist circumstances, subjects are prone to detaching the exchange-value of a commodity from the socially necessary labour expended to produce it and instead assume the money form (i. e. the monetary equivalent value) to be the ‘true’ value of this commodity. This leads to the fetishising of commodities, and in so doing, alongside their exchange-value, subjects tend to perceive the monetary value of a commodity as something intrinsic, a feature embodied within the commodity. Thus, both human labour that was invested in producing this commodity and the origin of the commodity as a product of social relations are concealed. Consequently, the “definite social relation between men themselves […] assumes here, for them, the fantastic form of a relation between things” (Marx 1990 [1867]:165). This effect of valorisation and commodity fetishisation – disguising the labour that contributed to the production – “transforms every product of labour into a social hieroglyphic” (Marx 1990 [1867]:167). Shumway (2000:5) summarises the commodity fetish neatly when explaining that it “is not lust after laces or purses, but a mistake about the locus of value and the origins of the capital that the exchange of commodities seems magically to yield”.

Commodification from a Marxist Perspectiv

Gilbert (2008) describes “consumerism” as the proliferation of ‘commodity fetishism’ into further spheres of social life previously untouched by capitalist logic. Consumerism, which is a “potent ideology which privileges the consumer/retailer transaction as the normative form of social relations” (Gilbert 2008:554), bears the power to obfuscate further the effects of commodification on society and environment by making it appear as the solely logical outcome of human interaction. Also, Bauman (1990:210–211) describes this new kind of relationship as increasingly becoming the social norm. Before concluding this section on the Marxist foundations of commodification, one should note that commodities and money can only turn into capital when being transacted and exchanged. Therefore, the circulation of capital is an absolute necessity for its coming into being as well as for accumulating and concentrating it. As Marx (1990 [1867]:253) puts it, “the circulation of money as capital is an end in itself, for the valorisation of value takes place only within this constantly renewed movement [that] is therefore limitless”. Thus, as capital can solely originate from that act of circulating money and commodities, the contiguous transformation of ever-new and hitherto non-commodified objects into commodities, i. e. their commodification, and their integration into capital flows are necessary for the maintenance of capitalism. Consequently, capital and capitalists constantly seek new possibilities to incorporate objects into the capital market that previously existed outside of it. 3.2.2. Neoliberalism Fostering Commodification

Many scholars note a globally increasing tendency towards neoliberal policies (Burgoon et al. 2017:423), partly due to the never-ending quest of capital to seek out the possibilities of commodification. From their perspective, neoliberal economic policies and reductionist welfare agendas fuel the commodification of cultural and natural resources on multiple spatiotemporal scales, and the socioeconomic and environmental consequences linked to it. Mosedale (2016a) considers notably international tourism to be both a driver and an expression of these neoliberal dynamics. For Low and Smith (2006:2), the “assertion of neoliberalism since the 1980s harkens back not to the somewhat progressive appeal of a twentieth-century American social liberalism but to the more conservative doctrines of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century liberalism”. Similar to its intellectual predecessor, which was deeply influenced by Adam Smith and John Locke, current neoliberalism is mainly characterised by four convictions (Castree 2010:1728). First, it calls for personal economic responsibility and is additionally convinced that the self-involved pursuit of individual interests results in the utmost common good. Second, privatisation and private property in general are considered seminal for the enforcement of individual interests and should be encouraged. And third, the distribution of commodities should be organised by a free market, to assert

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individual interests as demanded in the first point. The demand for free markets leads to the fourth conviction: That de-regulation of the market and the substantial withdrawal of the state from it are necessary; yet, this seldom means complete de-regulation but far more often re-regulation of markets – to the advantage of the few (Aalbers 2013:1084). Such a broad understanding of neoliberalism is at risk of missing through the “hollow label of ‘neoliberalism’ […] what it is exactly that is problematic, [and] why that is so” (Buitelaar 2020:488). Therefore, the consequences of neoliberally embedded commodification will be explicitly addressed hereafter. Within his critique on the neoliberal state, Harvey (2005:80) warns that the “commodification of everything can all too easily run amok and produce social incoherence”, even threatening the “very idea of society itself ”. Holborow (2015:15) argues similarly, showing that neoliberal capitalism has dragged aspects of life into the logic of capitalist exploitation and competition which were formerly organised differently (e. g. care work, education, culture). Harvey adds that the redistribution and uneven allocation of wealth is both the main characteristic and the objective of neoliberal capitalism. To him, “accumulation by dispossession”, based on the “commodification and privatisation” of formerly common or collective entities (e. g. land, labour power, culture), is the central feature of asocial neoliberal agendas (Harvey 2005:159). In his examination of the “future of the commons”, Harvey (2011) turns to the commodification of common goods.3 Alike nature, which is also touristically commodified under neoliberal conditions (Duffy 2014), he regards intangible commons, such as “knowledge” or “cultural assets [to be] very much under assault these days” (Harvey 2011:103), for which he cites the commodification of cultural entities by the “heritage industry” (Harvey 2011:103) as an example. However, there are some differences between the commodification of natural resources and that of intangible resources, such as culture or ideology. As Hardt and Negri (2009:139) expound, the cultural common is dynamic, involving both the product of labour and the means of future production. This common is not only the earth we share but also the languages we create, the social practices we establish, the modes of sociality that define our relationships, and so forth.

Additionally, cultural commons are frequently not subject to scarcity and exclusiveness, unlike many natural resources. Harvey picks up this argument and extends it, suggesting that although cultural commons do not necessarily have limited access, they might anyhow be subject to regulation, restrictive policies or social control. Fur3  Harvey combines his own reflections regarding the commons not only with compliments, but also sub-

liminal criticism for Hardin (1968) and Ostrom (1990). To Harvey, Hardin drew an easily mistakable conclusion: the famous example of cattle-owners overusing the common pasture was often employed as justification for the privatisation of formerly common resources, as the common management of these resources had obviously failed (Harvey 2011:101). Ostrom, in Harvey’s (2011:103) judgement, seems to be merely interested in natural resources (more precisely: resources socially defined as ‘natural’) while omitting cultural, social and other immaterial commons.

Commodification from a Marxist Perspectiv

thermore, from Harvey’s (2011:104) point of view, a “culturally creative common cannot be destroyed through use, [but] it can be degraded and banalized through excessive abuse”. Brown (2015:10) reinforces Harvey’s scepticism of neoliberalism by stating that it assesses human beings, culture, and environment, i. e. the entire world, exclusively from an economic perspective. Every sphere of human and non-human existence has been incorporated into this mindset and subjected to its logic and value systems. She perceives human beings as being reduced to their role as “human capital across all spheres of life” with “all market actors […] rendered as little capitals” (Brown 2015:35–36). It is thus evident that commodification processes are decisively involved in the neoliberal arrangement of the world. Carvalho and Rodrigues (2015:293) refer to the continuing expansion of capitalist and hence commodifying markets under neoliberalism as “economic imperialism”. The objective of this neoliberal mode of imperialism is to discursively consolidate and naturalise markets as sole and universal sites of commodity exchange. At the extreme, according to this market ideology, every relationship can and should be understood as a market transaction. These relationships include both interpersonal relations and those between human and non-human agents. Commodification would thus become universal, since the precondition for everything to be organised through markets would be that all objects and entities would become marketable commodities. Whilst the subordination of all relations to market logics as feared by Carvalho and Rodrigues (2015) has not yet occurred, their observation that commodification processes are proliferating must be agreed with. Moreover, a comment from their ‘final remarks’ deserves attention: Therein they describe the spread of commodification into ever further cultural, social, and ecological spheres not as a natural process, but as “the result of specific political choices, which […] are placed in history” (Carvalho & Rodrigues 2015:309). To conclude the deliberations on commodification from a Marxist perspective and under neoliberal conditions, commodification might be understood as “the process during which a thing that previously circulated outside monetary exchange is brought into the nexus of a market” (Page 2005:295).4 Hence, commodification is a process during which the production of tangible and intangible goods for the satisfaction of human needs is superseded by production for the exchange and, ultimately, accumulation of capital. Likewise, Page (2005:295) emphasises the assignment of financial or monetary value to a thing, an object, or an immaterial entity in the process of its commodification. However, this incorporation into the logic of capitalist markets does not 4  See

also Jackson (1999:96) for a similar definition of commodification. His examination also contains an interesting observation regarding the rise of commodifying practices in 19th-century Britain, since he noticed that changes accompanying increasing commodification affected processes of exchange and production.

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leave the now-to-be commodities unaltered; instead, they might become fetishised, acquiring a socially constructed value that leads to an altered perception and appraisal of the commodity. Throughout this commodifying transformation, money gains almost uncontested importance as a medium for exchange-value and capital, successfully obscuring the use-value of commodities and fetishising them. Furthermore, social reproduction increasingly depends on the acquisition of commodities, whereas the commodity cycle becomes incited further. This leads to a perpetual expansion of commodification, progressively annexing novel entities into its logic of valorisation, as capital is reliant upon the steady incorporation of further values into its cycles. Thus, contemporary neoliberalism enhances commodification to unprecedented levels. 3.3.

A Contradiction in Itself? Commodification in Socialist Societies

Though especially Marx and his conceptual adherents connect commodification closely with the existence of a capitalist society and correlating markets, this does not result in an actual limitation of commodification to these societies. Although it seems to be contradictory at first, commodification occurs in socialist societies as well, even if the number of scientifically documented examples is limited. This contradiction stems from several peculiarities that differentiate capitalist societies from socialist ones. In centrally planned socialist economies, the workers do not need to sell their labour-force to a capitalist (to use Marx’ diction) in a competitive labour-market. Furthermore, the commodification of labour and products is unlikely, as production and labour do not aim at creating surplus-value that might be skimmed by the capitalist. Consequently, an exchange-value different from the use-value of a product is unnecessary, as the production of tangible and intangible goods aims at the utilisation of products within the state or public economy, not their exchange for the purpose of capital accumulation. Though the appearance of the commodification of labour or objects therefore seems to disagree with the very definition of a socialist society, late actually existing socialism (AES), especially in Eastern Europe, manifested several mannerisms of commodification, as Williams (1980:16–17) observed already in the early 1980s. As Lampland (1995:5) shows through her ethnographic study on Hungarian villages under pre-socialist and socialist conditions, the advancement of labour commodification and commodity production for their exchange-value can be understood as a result of socialist practices and policies. Late AES especially offered Hungarians many possibilities to sell their labour-power, as well as other commodities. Nagengast (1991), who examined Polish peasants, assesses that the agricultural policy of the centralised Polish state during the 1980s allowed for the rise of capitalist structures and finally led to polarisation between the mass of small-scale farmers and a few large-scale farmers who were governmentally tolerated in order to counter food shortages. Furthermore,

A Contradiction in Itself? Commodification in Socialist Societie

Greed (1999) observes that capitalist commodification processes were also distinctly prevalent in socialist Bulgaria. Yet, in his study of Bulgarian villages, it became apparent that in particular after the shift to capitalist economic structures and the accompanying sharp acceleration in the socioeconomic stratification of the rural population, the social fabric and identity of the rural population came under pressure (Greed 1999:236). Nonetheless, these deliberations on commodification in socialist societies should not lead to wrong conclusions. Several authors fall for the erroneous argument that if socialism and its politics result in capitalist practices and settings, then it should instead be labelled as some sort of ‘state-capitalism’. Corrigan et al. (1978:46), for instance, imply that “unsurprisingly, to foster capitalist forms of productive activity eventuates in the reproduction of various defining relations of the bourgeois Stateform [sic] that is their condition and consequence”.5 However, Corrigan et al. (1978) and others erroneously equate the management of factories and enterprises by capitalists to those managed by a centralised government. Admittedly, certain similarities exist, for instance regarding hierarchical organisation in a factory or the distribution of labour; however, these perspectives tend to overlook the “social process of economic activity, [while] ignoring important differences in economic decision making” (Lampland 1995:17). It must be pointed out that these examples of commodification in socialist states almost exclusively refer to societies in their late socialist phase, often characterised by partly significant deviations from ideological tenets. In theory at least, the socialist production of goods and commodification should be widely mutually exclusive. Yet commodification by the state is observable in socialist Cuba as well – which indeed can be considered an example of prevailing AES. Muñoz Nieves (2021:116) describes the substitution of use-value by exchange-value in the field of mobile telecommunications. Thus, the extremely high cost of mobile Internet compared to Cuban income levels is not a result of high cost for labour or production of the service, but serves primarily to absorb foreign currency (e. g. remittances) from the domestic economic cycle. The commodification by Cuba’s state-owned telecommunications provider ETECSA, which occupies a monopoly position, is argued with the fact that access to mobile Internet does not represent a primary need of Cuban workers, but rather a (bourgeois) ‘luxury’ for which appropriate prices are thus justified (Muñoz Nieves 2021). Similar arguments are used to justify further instances of commodification in Cuba, especially in tourism: As these mainly affect international tourists and thus foreigners and not Cubans pay the surplus-value retained and accumulated by the Cuban state, commodification seems to be both imaginable and practicable in socialist Cuba – despite all ideological contradictions. These processes of commodification in Cuban tourism affect various cultural areas: Gold (2014:51) describes the commodification

5  With this critique of Bolshevism, Corrigan et al. (1978) take a line that Trotsky (2004 [1937]) prepared

many years previously.

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of Santería,6 where, in some cases, its practices are reproduced not for ceremonial or spiritual purposes, but for sheer touristic entertainment and the intent to realise profit, thus commodifying it. In his study on the internationally popular Buena Vista Social Club, Finn (2009:192) examines the character of Cuban music as an introversive cultural marker and simultaneously as a “highly profitable commodity for the international market”. Likewise, the legacy of American author Ernest Hemingway, who lived in Cuba for several decades, is heavily commodified in Western and central Cuba (Escher et al. 2019: 62–63). Moreover, cubanidad, an imagined Cuban way of life, is being stereotyped and commodified for tourists in return for foreign currency (Roland 2010:5). However, the extent to which undesired sociocultural and identity-related side effects of these commodifications occur in Cuba has so far scarcely been addressed and – as a reminder – is a key part of the underlying research objective. Continuing from these last references to commodification in Cuban tourism, the discussion of commodifying effects of tourism ensues. 3.4.

The Commodifying Power of Tourism

Commodification nowadays permeates and influences almost every form of social interaction. Material and immaterial objects alike, be they of natural or cultural descent, are integrated into the capitalist logic of valorisation and thus turned into commodities at a progressive rate. As the final paragraphs of the previous chapter have already indicated, tourism is a social practice that has diverse commodifying effects (Roland 2010:15). As a form of reciprocal social interaction between tourist(s) and host(s), tourism ought not be understood as an “exogenous force” (Lanfant 1995b:1) but rather as being embedded within society. Consequently, speaking of tourism always refers to relationships situated in certain social and cultural circumstances that must be considered accordingly. This chapter pursues three main objectives. First, some general remarks about the commodifying character of tourism are made, supported by remarks on the mechanisms and consequences of tourist commodification, which are observed in detail. The second part discusses whether Marx’s value theory is an appropriate theoretical foundation for the analysis of commodification in contemporary tourism. Third, the chapter concludes with some reflections on what exactly is being commodified in tourism.

6  Santería is an Afro-Cuban religion.

The Commodifying Power of Tourism

3.4.1. Tourism as a Commodifying Practice

Tourism as a practice performed globally and by a rapidly increasing number of people has a forceful “transformative power […] to reconfigure space and place” (Young & Markham 2020:276). A huge share of this transformative power derives from its commodifying character. The studies of Cohen (1988), Greenwood (1978) and Nuñez and Lett (1989) were fundamental for the understanding of the interplay between tourism and commodification, as they substantiated the widespread production of manifestations of culture for the sole purpose of tourist consumption. Since then, tourism in general is seen as a “major force for commodification” (Richards 1996:265). Thus, Greenwood (1978) explains, tourist commodification subordinates the complex and intertwined layers of socio-spatial life to a capitalist logic of accumulation. He adduces the example of a cultural festival in the Basque Country, Spain, to take up Marx’s deliberations on commodification and apply them to a tourist setting. In this case study he demonstrates that the commodification of cultural practices led to local culture being “altered and often destroyed” (Greenwood 1978:131). Instead of contributing to local identities and strengthening them, “the ritual has become a performance for money. The meaning is gone” (Greenwood 1978:135). However, as Cohen (1988:379) expounds, it is possible for some cultural products meant for tourist consumption to feature some “emergent authenticity”, thereby rendering these products “authentic” (and thus conveying identity) for tourists and hosts alike. Consequently, he perceives the destruction of meaning and intangible values for both locals and tourists not as an inevitable, but rather as a potential consequence of the commodification of culture (Cohen 1988:383). Urry (1995:169) describes the commodification of cultural and social resources in tourism as a process in which “local identities are increasingly packaged for visitors”. The marketing of places to attract visitors – these places then being labelled ‘destinations’ – itself alters perceptions of tourists and locals. As Harvey (1990:287) asserts, marketing and promotion for places are “increasingly geared to manipulating desires and tastes through images that may or may not have anything to do with the product to be sold”.7 Hence, tourism drives the logic of capitalist exploitation (Lee et al. 2015) increasingly into the intangible social domains of identity, culture, and history, objec-

7  However,

many scholars engaged with destination marketing and management reject Harvey’s accusation indirectly. Some argue that places (destinations) feature certain characteristics (such as higher complexity, involvement of a multitude of actors) that prevents them from being marketed in the manner of ‘ordinary’ products (Moilanen & Rainisto 2009:3). Therefore, Morgan et al. (2010:XXIV) propose labelling the marketing of a destination as a “place reputation management” instead. However, ‘managing’ a place/ destination ultimately requires it to be perceived as a ‘manageable’ entity. To manage the reputation of a destination presupposes the assumption that the destination in fact is some kind of commodity, albeit a complex one.

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tifying them and turning them into products to be consumed by tourists (Urry 1995) while taking them from their former bearers. Based on the connections between commodification and the capitalist logics of social and economic organisation discussed before, Robinson’s (2008:133) assessment regarding the character of tourism as a commodifying practice is important: “It is not tourism per se that converts cultures, peoples and the environment into commodities, but capitalist tourism”, while tourism “need not be a capitalist activity” (Robinson 2008:133). To prove this point, he refers to tourism in socialist states, primarily serving recreational activities for the working class and peasantry. Nonetheless, and since the decline of international socialism in particular, interconnections between most of the tourism industry and the capitalist logics of commodification, capitalisation and exploitation are quite strong, and by tendency they grow even stronger instead of weakening (Büscher & Fletcher 2017:664), thus increasing the precarity of labour conditions in tourism production (Lee et al. 2015:198). Furthermore, tourism itself is not just a capitalist practice but has significant importance for the preservation, establishment and expansion of globalised capitalism (Fletcher 2011:449; Higgins-Desbiolles 2009:1195). Tourism is a splendid machine employed to assure the reproduction of the labour-force necessary to maintain the capitalist system while simultaneously turning tourism as a ‘relief mechanism’ from capitalism into a source of the further accumulation of capital (Fletcher & Neves 2012:63–66).8 In The Survival of Capitalism, Lefebvre (1976:84) argues similarly, stressing the importance of “leisure [as it] permits labour power to recuperate”. His discussion is completed by the “leisure industry, a large-scale commercialisation of specialised spaces, a division of social labour which is projected ‘on the ground’” (Lefebvre 1976:84). Additionally, Fletcher (2018:532) ascribes tourism the ability to enable the individual to escape (temporarily) from the accelerating and not always comprehensible transformations in societies, economies and cultures that increasingly stress them.9 According to Mostafanezhad (2020:435–437), tourism and tourist commodification play a major role in the transgression of spatial and social frontiers: tourism is frequently among the first industries to commodify hitherto pristine natural environments and, simultaneously, to influence social relations of production through the possibility of capital accumulation. Through the example of the tourist commodification of newly emerged islands in the South Chinese Sea, Mostafanezhad (2020:444) furthermore demonstrates how the widening of the “tourism frontier” is geopolitically appropriated. The tourism frontier, which is expandable through processes of commodification, thus has three dimensions: spatial, social, and geopolitical. 8  Fletcher and Neves (2012) stress the example of ecotourism to raise this point; however, the relationship

they found applies to almost any form of tourism. Therefore, no specification of the specific form of tourism is made here. 9  Actually, this mostly applies to individuals from the Global North having enough income.

The Commodifying Power of Tourism

Many scholars attribute the commodifying character of tourism to negative outcomes – in both natural and cultural landscapes (Crick 1989:308; Nash 1981:81; Wood 1997:5). Shepherd (2002:183) concludes that the perception of tourism, especially in the social sciences, is that of an “internationalized, homogenized and demonized” practice. Harrison’s (1994:250–252) observation is admittedly correct, i. e. that the commodification of culture in tourism and its consequences for local identities are not essentialist problems per se; however, by value-attributing definition, this does not weaken normative implications linked with it. Büscher and Fletcher (2017:653), for instance, refer to tourism as a “form of structural violence” that, although most actors add to it indirectly and unwittingly, “systematically produces inequalities, waste and ‘spaces of exception’”. Likewise, Harvey (2002) takes a dismissive stance against tourism. He calls latter-day tourism the “most obvious example” (Harvey 2002:103) of capitalist commodification, thus explaining the dual contradiction of ‘monopoly rent’ he observed in commodification processes by reference to tourism. Such monopoly rent refers to capital income based on a “monopoly power of private owners of certain portions of the globe” (Harvey 2002:94) and which offers them “control over some directly or indirectly tradeable item which is in some crucial respects unique and non-replicable”. The first contradiction stems from this claim for uniqueness: commodities must not be too unique or extraordinary, as this would hinder or prevent their marketisation. Then again, easier commercialisation and tradability correlate with decreasing uniqueness and peculiarity. Therefore, “marketing itself tends to destroy the unique qualities” (Harvey 2002:95) and to prevent monopolisation. The difficulty for capitalists in tourism arises from the task to simultaneously convince potential customers of their commodity’s (i. e. destination’s) singularity and non-replicability while presenting it as consumable and ‘selling’ it as often as possible (Harvey 2002:95–96). The second contradiction refers to the effect caused by commercial competition without regulating institutions leaning towards monopoly or oligopoly, since competitors that cannot match up to top performers are eventually driven out of the market (Harvey 2002:96). However, why would competitors seek this ultimate intensification towards ‘the-winner-takes-it-all-monopoly’, while the rest perish? Harvey (2002:98) assesses that “capitalism cannot do without monopoly powers and craves means to assemble them”, as monopoly guarantees long-term predictability and financial security while reducing risks and imponderables. By applying these considerations to the field of tourism, Harvey (2002:103) shows that the “claims to uniqueness, authenticity, particularity, and specialty [that] underlie the ability to capture monopoly rents” can be met very well in the commodification “of collective symbolic capital, of spatial marks of distinction that attach to some place”. The tourist commodification of destinations, of their material as well as symbolic substance, “leads to the valuation of uniqueness, authenticity, particularity, originality and all manner of other dimensions of social life that are inconsistent with the homogene-

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ity presupposed by commodity production” (Harvey 2002:108). Consequently, alienation, acrimony and grievance are among the consequences for populations affected by their native heath, their narratives and culture being turned into commodities (Harvey 2002:108). Nevertheless, some scholars stress opportunities for local host societies and their cultures offered by tourism, without threatening cultural identities and culture itself. On the contrary, these authors consider tourism as potentially culturally enriching, mostly attributing agency to the host society. McKean (1978:105), for instance, suggests that tourist interest in local cultures may foster hosts’ interest and engagement with their own culture, using the example of Bali. Roland (2010:15) regards cultural commodification accompanying tourism as a way of empowering local actors who can use their cultural imagery for creative performances and re-interpretations of Cubanness. Yet, although Roland (2010:8–9) describes the way Cubans and the Cuban government “mimetically reproduce cubanidad” to fulfil tourist expectations, thus intentionally commodifying cubanidad or tolerating it for the sake of financial benefits (Roland 2010:8), her study just lightly touches questions of Cuban identity under the influence of touristic commodification. Kirshenblatt-Gimblett (1998:149) points out that host societies addressing their cultural legacies as motifs for touristic commercialisation at most simulate culture and heritage, thus use it to produce marketable content but do rarely retrieve it for self-reference or self-identification. Indeed, as Picard (1996:181) noted (rightly), the potentially non-destructive commodification of culture presupposes that local actors know which cultural elements are suitable for the benign commodification (as their commodification would not threaten their identities), and which are ‘sacred’ and hence not intended for tourist commodification. However, this precondition is hard to accomplish, because even if some cultural features were suitable for commodification, the challenge of defining their value remains. As such, due to the social-constructivist character of culture, the determination of a society-wide, equally assessed value of cultural elements is doomed to fail. As Frow (1995:131) puts it, “different social groups employ criteria of value which may well be incompatible and irreconcilable”. Appadurai (2013:15) describes these criteria as “regimes of value”, which, depending on the commodity and the sociocultural value attributed by the exchangers to it, enable or prevent exchange through a greater or lesser overlapping of the ascription of value regarding the commodity. Similarly, Smith (1988:30) expounds as follows: All value is radically contingent, being neither a fixed attribute, an inherent quality, or an objective property of things but, rather, an effect of multiple, continuously changing, and continuously interacting variables or, to put this another way, the product of the dynamics of a system, specifically an economic system.

The hope that tourist demand in cultural elements might strengthen a local population’s interest in its own cultural roots is further torpedoed by most tourists being

The Commodifying Power of Tourism

less interested in congregating unadulterated cultural experiences and more so in consuming easily digestible cultural shreds compatible with their taste and expectations (Mathieson & Wall 1982:165–169). The satisfaction behind this demand gives rise to a “New Age Primitivism” (Errington 1998:147), in which tangible and intangible cultural artifacts sold to tourists do not necessarily emanate from a genuine spatial, cultural or social context but instead represent an imagination. Referring to Baudrillard (1994) and his notion of “simulacra”, such cultural objects deprived of their meaning lead to a “postmodern pastiche” (MacCannell 1994:100) of hollow cultural shells. The ‘pastiche’ to which MacCannell refers to also seizes those hosts who develop self-perceptions skewed by the expectations of tourists (Linnekin 1997:216–217) and who commodify their very own identities, turning themselves into ‘others’ and causing what Lanfant (1995a:35–36) termed “reciprocal misconstructions”. This traces back to Ritzer’s (1996) deliberations on the ‘McDonaldization’ of cultures, which McLaren (2003:18) links to a spread of “capitalist values” and “consumer culture” within host societies. Ironically, as Bruner (1995:224) assesses, the advancing incorporation of societies and cultures of the Global South into tourist marketisation makes these societies and their cultures appear less primordial and interesting for tourism. As MacCannell (1994) put it, tourism as a “cannibal” consumes itself – an alternative phrasing of Enzensberger’s (1958) observation that “the tourist destroys what he seeks by finding it”.10 The perspectives and arguments outlined above closely resemble those used to describe the role of culture as a resource of postmodern identities. To recall this notion, McDonaldization and forces of globalised capitalism are sometimes regarded as being potentially harmful for distinct identities. This threat is defused by the observation that a globalising American culture must not simply be adopted by individuals but is aligned with local cultural practices and traditions. Following these deliberations, the idea might emerge that cultural commodification in tourism has similar effects and is the touristic variety of cultural heterogenisation via the processes of globalisation. However, this perception falls short. Remembering Marx, commodification is not simply the incorporation of objects into the market cycle; instead, it substitutes their use-value with an exchange-value, thus alienating the people once culturally attached to it. Shepherd (2002:190) mirrors this argument, stating that the “degrading” element of commodification is the “traveling of cultural practices and their related objects from the domain of an authentic ‘real’ or genuine sphere to that of a corrupt, degrading, superficial sphere” – from use-value to exchange-value. The contemplation on Baudrillard’s (1994) concept of ‘simulacra’, in combination with what Debord (2005 [1967]) describes as a ‘spectacle’, offers further perspectives on commodification in tourism. According to Debord (2005 [1967]:11), it is the func-

10  Original: “Der Tourist zerstört, was er sucht, indem er es findet.”

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tion of the “spectacle […] to use various specialised mediations in order to show us a world that can no longer be directly grasped”, whereas mediation is primarily offered by advertisements and marketing. This does not imply that “spectacle is [only] a collection of images”; rather, it is “a social relation between people that is mediated by images” (Debord 2005 [1967]:7). Eventually, “spectacle is the stage at which the commodity has succeeded in totally colonizing social life” (Debord 2005 [1967:21). Conveying reality – or what is taken for such – to tourists via purposely customised images builds a bridge to Baudrillard’s (1983) notion of “simulacra”. The sign-value of objects, which turns these objects themselves not only into commodities, but also their images, leads to a valorisation of objects, images and sociocultural elements (tangible and intangible) that fosters hierarchisation based on reputation, associational patterns, symbolic codes and coded symbols that albeit have “no relation to any reality whatever: it is its own pure simulacrum” (Baudrillard 1983:11). This notion of simulated spaces is adopted by Urry (1995:219), who expounds that such simulated spaces are “not places that people come from or live in, or which provide a sense of social identity”. Following on from this, Debord (2005 [1967]:28) concludes that the “glitter of spectacular distractions” leads to the “banalisation”, the “decomposition and destruction” (Debord 2005 [1967]:103) of cultural traits that previously were unspoiled by capitalist commodification. In a rather negative remark, Mordue (1999:631) supports this perspective and warns that many places might turn into “centres of spectacle and tourist consumption rather than places of material production”. And Nobel Price-winning novelist Mario Vargas Llosa (2015:38) writes in an essay contained in Notes on the Death of Culture that especially societies of the Global North have fallen into docile submission to emotions and sensations triggered by an unusual and at times very brilliant bombardment of images that capture our attention, though they dull our sensibilities and intelligence due to their primary and transitory nature.

To conclude these first remarks on tourism as a commodifying practice, it should be noted that most scholars presume tourist commodification to be a negative, alienating process, and very few give credit to producers or consumers for their agency in re-writing the meaning of cultural elements and signs. Following this argument, Meethan (2001:95) addresses the issue of what is considered authentic and who determines it. He refers to authenticity as “a constructed value or set of values [that] cannot be accounted for without considering the social and material contexts in which it is located”. Therefore, multiple interpretations and versions of authenticity are permissible. Rather than perpetuating debates about the quest for ‘authentic otherness’, Meethan (2001:93) is disturbed by the “patronising elitism” as well as the conception of tourism’s ‘other’ as being “locked in the past”. Rather than bemoaning the loss of cultural authenticity through tourist commodification from the high horse of the Global North, he believes that the opportunities for cultural re-interpretation and re-arrangement should be lauded. For, to put it simply, authenticity is in the eye of the beholder.

The Commodifying Power of Tourism

3.4.2. Does Marxist Value Theory Require a ‘Tourist Upgrade’?

As Watson and Kopachevsky (1994) note, engagement with sign-values might be fruitful for the analysis of commodification processes, maybe even more promising than espousing use-value in Marxist concepts. According to the authors, “modern men and women seem far more fascinated by, and interested in, the ‘spectacle’ – the chaotic flow of signs and simulated images so carefully purveyed by the mass media, than by any supposed use-value of commodities” (Watson & Kopachevsky 1994:647). Furthermore, they reject “Marx’s simple dichotomy between use-value and exchange-value” (Watson & Kopachevsky 1994:647), which they regard useless for examining the commodification of culture, while “all tourism attractions are cultural experiences”. Their argumentation follows the much-cited and much-controverted deliberations of MacCannell (1976), who questioned the Marxist axiom of socially necessary labour time as being constitutive for the value of tourist spaces or commodities. At least for tourist places, MacCannell (1976) denounces labour-time as value-determining, instead declaring the experiences these places produce as determining the value of tourism. MacCannel justifies his negation of Marxist value theory with the fundamental difference between the commodification of an output produced in a factory and the consumption tourism represents. In his words, tourism mostly consists of the consumption of experiences or immaterial use-values that “leave no material trace” (MacCannell 1976:21). This type of immaterial use-value, which does not require labour to come into being, prompted (MacCannell 1976:11) to demand a total reconceptualization of Marx’s theory of value: It is necessary to recall that Marx derived his model of social class relations from his analysis of the value of commodities. As new species of commodities appear in the modern world, and as the fundamental nature of the commodity changes (for example, from a pair of pants to a packaged vacation […]), Marx’s deduction must be repeated.

In short, MacCannell (1976:5) perceives the experiences a tourism destination can produce as the commodity, while the quality and quantity of this experience define the value they can generate. However, the assumption that the exchange-value of tourism derives from the experience it generates, instead of from the labour put into its genesis, is particularly problematic: Following this conception, many subsequent studies focused mainly on the “tourist gaze” (Urry & Larsen 2011), considering symbolic values as fundamental for the commodification of culture and heritage in tourism. By emphasising the notion of tourist commodification as the consumption of symbols and experiences instead of products of human labour, the true origin of these symbolic use-values becomes obscured. Some succeeding authors have assumed MacCannell’s position, with some further strengthening it. Watson and Kopachevsky (1994:647) refer to him when they state that tourism consumption occurs in “a world […] in which image, advertising and

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consumerism – as framed by style, taste, travel, ‘designerism’ and leisure – take primacy over production per se”. They refer to the statement of MacCannell (1992) that the boundaries between production and means become blurred, and it is increasingly difficult to distinguish production from consumption, economy from culture. Regarding their general reflections on the burgeoning amount of tourist attractions and superficial experiences offered to tourists, they might be right. However, different to the arguments of MacCannell as well as Watson and Kopachevsky, the Marxist theory offers conclusive explanations for commodification processes in tourism. MacCannell’s demand for a ‘repetition of Marx’s deduction’ appears based on a fundamental misunderstanding. Obviously, he came to believe that in Marxist theory, only tangible commodities can satisfy human needs (Young & Markham 2020:281); yet the materiality of commodities does not determine their ability to fulfil needs. As Young and Markham (2020:281) put it, a “commodity need only have a social use-value – a use-value for others – to make it exchangeable”. Whether or not this refers to tangible or intangible objects is irrelevant. Furthermore, objects do not necessarily require a material form to possess use-value. Indeed, MacCannell as well as Watson and Kopachevsky seem to miss the source of value produced in tourism, as most of the symbolic use-values consumed in tourism are produced by human labour in processes that are effective in a material, spatial and economic sense. Focusing on the tourist experience as exclusively seminal for the generation of value in tourism neglects the socially necessary labour time spent to produce these experiences – safaris require guides, souvenirs must be produced and sold and hikers need trails prepared by labour. This might sometimes be ‘unproductive’ labour in a sense that it does not lead to tangible commodities. Marx (1951:170) himself explains that the fundamental difference between productive and unproductive labour is that productive labour is “represented by a vendible thing”. In contrast, unproductive labour “must be consumed while it is being performed” (Marx 1951:170). For instance, actors, singers or prostitutes do not generate tangible outputs “in the form of commodities, but only in the form of the action itself ” (Marx 1951:170). Their immediate consumption does not render the results of unproductive labour less of a commodity. Terming unproductive labour “immaterial labour”, Hardt and Negri (2000:290) clarify the sometimes admittedly misleading terminology of Marx. To them, immaterial labour “produces an immaterial good, such as a service, a cultural product, knowledge or communication” (Hardt & Negri 2000:290). The use-value of immaterial commodities produced in this way is calculated according to the labour required to produce it. This understanding is in accordance with the Marxian value theory. Lazzarato (1996:133) describes immaterial labour as “the labour that produces the informational and cultural content of the commodity”. Thus, he acknowledges that commodities may consist of material and immaterial elements. Such a commodity that unifies material and immaterial properties is termed a “joint product” by Walker (2004:99).

The Commodifying Power of Tourism

However, MacCannell apparently rejected the possibility of labour producing non-material goods and services for immediate consumption as tourist commodities. He therefore “conflated use-value (i. e. experiences or other intangible aspects of space) and value (i. e. the socially necessary labour time required to produce them)” (Young & Markham 2020:280). MacCannell thus misinterpreted the sole experience as the source of value for tourists while neglecting socially necessary labour that is fundamentally necessary to enable tourism. Indeed, many tourist experiences are based on the ‘free power’ of nature or culture (e. g. tropical beaches, mountain summits, lakes), but to make them experienceable, human labour is required.11 Beaches require access, and mountain summits are reached via hiking trails, with the help of hiking or climbing equipment. To experience and enjoy the natural beauty of a lake, it is common to rent a boat or participate in an excursion. Consequently, although the experience of tourism – be it as ‘free natural productive powers’ or as a human-made museum – takes place in the tourists’ cognitive and emotional world, tourist commodities are either tangible goods, intangible services or ‘joint products’ with varying fractions of material and immaterial labour. Ultimately, inquiries into commodification processes in tourism can be invigorated by a Marxist notion of commodification. Although MacCannell contributed significantly to the understanding of tourism as a social relation, his reflections on the source of value therein seem doubtful. As Young and Markham (2020) in particular demonstrate, Marxist theory is indeed suitable for comprehending commodification in contemporary tourism. 3.4.3. Who or What Becomes Commodified in Tourism?

As demonstrated in the previous subchapters, commodification in tourism is a complex process. This complexity manifests, among others, in the question what exactly is being commodified in tourism? However, one definite commodity is not clearly definable but rather a conglomerate of different elements, as well as “background tourism elements, including coasts, mountains, national parks, cultural artifacts, etc.” (Briassoulis 2002:1069). The ‘product’ consumed in tourism is far more than transportation, accommodation or tourist activities. It also contains intangible traits of the destination, be they a distinct cultural tradition, social structures or an (imagined) attitude

11  Such “free natural productive powers” represent a term used by Marx (1991 [1894]:879) to signify pro-

duction inputs formed naturally and without human assistance. They are “natural elements which go into production as agents without costing anything, whatever role they might play in production, do not go in as components of capital, but rather as a free natural power of capital; in fact a free natural productive power of labour, but one which on the basis of the capitalist mode of production presents itself as a productive power of capital, like every other productive power.”

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towards life. Gotham (2002:1737), who examines the commodification of Mardi Grass in New Orleans tourism, names “local customs, rituals, festivals and ethnic arts […] performed for tourist consumption and produced for market-based instrumental activities” as objects of tourist commodification. Hochschild (2012:9–12) suggests another possible intangible source generating value in tourism. Her findings indicate that the ‘product’ many people working in tourism sell is their “emotional labour”, especially among guides. Their task is to evoke emotions, which tourists seek in order to satisfy their desire for certain experiences; hence, according to Hochschild, this leads to the alienation of tourism workers from their very own emotions, which they provide as commodities. This may result in profound consequences for the psychosocial health of these individuals. Although some studies deal with the question of how touristic spaces become commodities, most of them remain fragmentary or concentrate on one specific dimension of tourist commodification (e. g. Büscher & Fletcher 2017; Hillmer-Pegram 2016; Nagy-Zekmi 2019). Indeed, geographic scholars are far from neglecting commodification processes in tourism. In questioning both the commodification of nature and the theory of political economy, substantial contributions to academic discussion have been made during recent years. Nonetheless, the question addressing the very nature of the tourism commodity remains unresolved. The most elaborate attempt so far was conducted by Britton (1991), who examined interlinked economic sectors that specialise and cooperate to produce commodifiable spaces of tourism via a “tourism production system”. Yet, he acknowledged his findings to be far from comprehensible, thus calling for intensified examination of the production of tourism spaces and the contribution of commodification in this regard. Certainly, his appeal remained widely unheard. Gibson (2009:532), for instance, notes that “the wider discipline, and particularly economic geography, has failed to fully acknowledge tourism”. Yet, he argues that this failure applies only partially to critical-geographical approaches, which in the past have successfully addressed tourism’s interrelationships of power and specific commodifying economic forms as well as precariousness and injustice. Young and Markham (2020) draw on Britton’s call to further substantiate the commodification of tourist spaces, resulting in an “attempt to set the commodification of tourist spaces upon a firm basis in political economy” (Young & Markham 2020:278). They confirm that considerable ambiguities still exist regarding “what precisely constitutes a tourist commodity, which processes convert spaces into commodities, and what characteristics spaces take on when they assume commodity form” (Young & Markham 2020:279). Tourist spaces as commodities apparently are constructs difficult to comprehend, since they consist of different kinds of value, as Harvey (2018b:102) remarks: The mix of free gifts and of commodity values within a tourist package is intriguing. Such labour can also be capitalistically organized and hence contribute to value and surplus

Touristic Commodification: Consequences for Identities

value production. This does not obviate the fact that many of the basic use value inputs into the production process of the tourist industry are free goods (e. g. sunny beaches or cultural heritage) which may acquire a money price even if they are of no value (unless they have been recently produced in the course of the invention of history, tradition and culture in the Disney mode).

Consequently, commodification in tourism assumes countless forms, deriving from the multitude of tourism commodities on the one hand, and the manifold combination possibilities of material and immaterial labour on the other. Referring to Marx, Young and Markham (2020:290) declare “the great attractions of the world” to be “pseudo-commodities”, which “acquire the form of commodities through their price” (Marx 1990 [1867]:197) but do not bear value in the sense of socially necessary labour time. The price of pseudo-commodities in tourism is often a function of monopoly rent (Harvey 2002:94–95), whereby the owners, private or public, can charge as much as they like, as they possess exclusive rights to dispose of these attractions. These rights most often are titles of property, which, for instance, allow for charging entrance fees to enter national parks or certain beach sections. The precondition for what Young and Markham (2020:283) term “landed tourist use-values” is the possibility to enclose this use-value and therefore gain exclusivity. The adjective ‘landed’ indicates that the attraction necessarily needs to be spatially delimitable and boundable. Although the deliberations of Young and Markham (2020) might fit well for tourist spaces, they ultimately do not answer the still unresolved question of what exactly is being commodified by whom in tourism. Although the question in the title of this subchapter remains without a definitive answer, the consequences of tourist commodification can be considered, nonetheless. Within the next section, special attention is given to the conjunctions between commodification, identities and identity formation. 3.5.

Touristic Commodification: Consequences for Identities?

After assessing the processes that render tourism a highly commodifying practice, the interconnections between commodification in tourism and identities are now explored. Essentially, this section answers the question ‘what consequences do commodification processes have for collective and individual identities?’ Questions of identity and representation of the Self, both individually and collectively, are at the core of tourism and discourses on the subject, because “tourism transcends individual societies” (Lanfant et al. 1995:IIX) and connects the local with the global. The transformative character of tourism rests in the often overwhelming influx of capital, radical economic changes and the host society’s engagement with

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foreign tourists, their culture, conventions and expectations. These expectations imply an important contradiction often linked with international tourism, especially when it involves tourists from the Global North and hosts from the Global South: While many hosts conflate tourism with modernity and transformation, most travellers see the “tourist object […] as exotic, primitive and immutable. The locals are called upon to preserve a purity that never existed” (Lanfant et al. 1995:IX). This usually results in either disappointed expectations on the part of tourists or simulated sociocultural practices on the part of hosts. However, both the permanent simulation as well as the changeless preservation of certain sociocultural conditions are impossible and dangerous for host societies, as changes, adaptability and transformation are essential features of vivid cultural systems. The dangers to identities outlined by Lanfant et al. (1995:IX) become evident in this field of tension. Among the diverse effects of tourist commodification on identities of the host society, Lafant et al. (1995:IX) name the displacement of the local, the disruption of systems of reference, the endowment of heritage with new affect, the processes of mirroring, reflexivity and transitivity, the recovery of forgotten memories, and the revealing or concealment of self.

All of these are processes have significant effects on identities, in that they can turn out both positively and negatively. O’Connor (1993:68–69) points to the multidirectional character of the tourism-identity entanglement. On the one hand, local identities express themselves in touristic representations, thus shaping tourism. Examples are local cuisine, rituals or the way foreigners are treated in a society. On the other hand, the sometimes staged touristic representations of a place in terms of its culture, traditions and social features are always constructions prepared for tourist consumption and which shape local identities. In this regard, local identities shape tourism, which in turn affects local identities (Urry 1994:91). The presentation of local, national or cultural history to foreign visitors – for instance in museums, statues, architecture or symbols – means structuring heritage in a certain way and telling a distinct story. This does not solely affect tourists but local populations, their identities and their perceptions of the Self, too. Allcock (1995:101) qualifies this as a process characterised by ideology and intentional action: “to speak of heritage is to speak of politics”. Although this relationship might seem obvious, tourism studies often pay little or no attention to the amalgamation of tourism and politics (Hall 1994:2). Indeed, some critical and constructivist studies on the political economy of tourism (e. g. Bianchi 2018; Britton 1991) or even political-ecological approaches (e. g. Rainer 2016, or the edited volume by Nepal & Saarinen 2016) have been conducted in the recent past. Notwithstanding this point, however, descriptive, positivistic approaches make up for most studies conducted in (geographic) tourism studies, whereby questions of power, interests and rights of disposal can fertilise innovative access to the touristic issues addressed.

Touristic Commodification: Consequences for Identities

Nonetheless, the power to stipulate the touristic and non-touristic representation of a certain space (e. g. national culture and history, local cuisine or regional traditions) does not concentrate on one actor, such as the state, as every local citizen is an “ambassador” (Braun et al. 2013:23) for his/her community’s history and heritage. The context of politics and power that encompasses the tourist commodification of heritage is indeed inseparable from tourism – as Light (2000:173) concludes in his examination of the commodification of socialist heritage in Central and Eastern Europe. The purposeful retyping, re-arranging or even hermetically conserving of national history influences the formation of national identities (Hall 2003:293–295). In this context, it must be considered that the re-arrangement or re-interpretation of cultural heritage or history do not solely serve tourist marketing/capitalisation but can likewise be an expression of intentional identity politics and of considerations of political power. In this field of tension, the commodification of resources for identities may turn into a source of conflict over the interpretation, appropriation and commodification of common heritage (Tunbridge & Ashworth 1996:20–21). Later, Tunbridge (2014:127) summarised this duality of heritage reappraisal (or conservation) for both touristic presentation and for identity formation through the contraposition “identity versus economy”. The argument put forward by Edensor (1997:191) reads very similarly. He asserts that the tourist commodification of identity-forming heritage may cause a “disembedding” of identities formerly resting upon this heritage. In “Consuming Places”, Urry (1995) shares a related exposition, using the connection between space, society and the individual to address the cultural commodification of places. He examines how interactions with space shape the relationship with other individuals, with society in general and with the non-human environment. Within his argument, he turns to Sennett and uses his findings to show that “in the contemporary city different buildings no longer exercise a moral function – the most significant new spaces are those based around consumption and tourism” (Urry 1995:21). Nevertheless, places increasingly aiming at being suitable for commodification and consumption might lose their ability to serve as foundations for stable and lasting identities. As Urry (1995:217) puts it, products and images are increasingly disposable in a ‘throwaway society’ in which there is a strong emphasis upon the volatility and ephemerality in fashions, products, labour processes, ideas and images. There is a heightened ‘temporariness’ of products, values and personal relationships, where the ‘temporary contract’ is everything.

Urry (1995) thus adds a spatial component to the observations made by Bauman (1992:696, 1996:23) and Hall (1987:45, 2003:276). All three regard the half-life of identity-forming resources as drastically shortened. Urry identifies tourism as a driver for this issue, and it has a primarily negative effect on host identities through the commodification of culture, space, images, etc. and their reproduction as simulations. The

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vacancy left through the devaluation of hitherto potent resources for identities cannot be filled easily with other resources for identity formation, thereby leading to potentially troublesome processes of reorientation or even consternation. Cottrell and Neuberg (2005:770) facilitate a complementary perspective on the effects of tourism for local identities. As they show, tourists – especially from an unfamiliar cultural background – might be perceived as a potential threat to domestic traditions, values, social structures and, ultimately, identities. To cope with this threat posed by an outside group, a variety of reactions – mostly emotional or angst-ridden – is observable among social groups confronted with outsiders, as we see in the case of tourism. Among others, these emotional reactions include anger, disgust, fear, pity and envy, which themselves consist of various psychological conditions and behavioural reactions (Cottrell & Neuberg 2005:771). However, as the probands were mainly European American students from the United States, the definite reactions and emotions measured by Cottrell and Neuberg may not simply be conveyed to other social groups. Instead, the actual reaction to and the assessment of what is perceived as a threat varies among social groups, depending on their sociocultural and economic background (Cottrell & Neuberg 2005:785). Nonetheless, it can be confirmed that interactions with other social groups such as tourists evoke certain feelings and emotions, which are often biased by the perception of the other group as a potential threat to the moral values, social coordination or economic prosperity of the in-group. That said, the precise reactions need to be assessed in relation to the specific circumstances. In summary, many scholars deem tourism and tourist commodification as threats to individual and collective identities in host societies. The greatest threat is attributed to the alienation from formerly identity-forming resources such as culture, history or social relations due to their now profit-oriented reproduction, instead of their production for use-value. 3.6.

Noel Castree’s Six Principles of Commodification

In light of the numerous approaches to commodification, both in terms of theory and practical application, a framework to classify and analyse commodification processes is a prerequisite. The seminal framework used in this inquiry to examine the commodification of the Cuban Revolution in tourism, and their effects on Cuban identities, originates from Castree (2003:279–282), who identifies six fundamental principles of commodification under capitalist circumstances. These principles henceforth constitute the guiding theoretical approach to commodification. Hereafter, the principles are introduced shortly. While discussing them, it becomes clear that not all principles are applicable to any type of commodity.

Noel Castree’s Six Principles of Commodificatio

Privatisation In Castree’s (2003:279) understanding, privatisation is the “assignation of legal title to a named individual, group or institution. The title gives more-or-less exclusive rights of the owner to dispose of that which is named by the title as they wish.” Although Castree acknowledges that privatisation is clearly not a unique feature of capitalism, he points to the fact that in Marxist concepts, privatisation is a necessary precondition for commodification, as practically – as well as legally – the eligibility of ownership regulates exchange processes and makes commodification capitalistically desirable. Duffy (2008:329) remarks that the privatisation of nature and natural resources in tourism is a hallmark of the ongoing neoliberalisation of tourism. This neoliberalisation and privatisation of nature, which she deems worrisome, can be observed specifically in emerging ecotourism products in the Global South (Duffy 2008:341). Büscher and Fletcher (2017:655) use the example of township tourism in South Africa to illustrate that such privatisation tendencies in tourism do not only affect nature, but also social and cultural then-to-be-commodities. Alienability Alienability, Castree’s second principle of commodification, is not a sole feature of capitalism, either; it is the “capacity of a given commodity, and specific classes of commodities, to be physically and morally separated from their sellers” (Castree 2003:279). However, he remarks that privatisation does not inevitably lead to alienability. Instead, alienability is a requirement for commodities to be tradeable in a capitalist market. If the owner of a potential commodity will not, or cannot, part physically or ethically with the object brought to the market, the trading of this commodity will be impossible. In short: alienating from an entity is essential to commodifying it. As Xu and Li (2021) explain using mountain tourism as an example, the exploitation and thus the commodification of alpine spaces and landscapes by means of technical facilities (e. g., cable cars) results in the alienation of tourists from alpine nature. The authors argue that the tourist experience is not focused on the commodified nature, but on the technologies and equipment necessary for its commodification. Individuation Individuation is closely linked with privatisation and alienability. Castree (2003:280) speaks of individuation as the “representational and physical act of separating a specific thing or entity from its supporting context. This involves putting legal and material

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boundaries around phenomena so that they can be bought, sold and used by equally ‘bounded’ individuals, groups or institutions”. According to Castree (2003:280), individuation is also a necessary precondition for capitalist commodification, as the exchange-value based trading of objects requires them to be detachable from their supporting context, which originally attributed a different, non-capitalist meaning to it – such as its use-value. Without giving it a specific name, Altvater (1993:185) describes processes of individuation as the “splitting of complex ecosystems which simplifies them into legally definable and economically tradeable property rights”. Pearson and Schmidt (2018:218) elaborate on commodity individuation through the example of milk in the Somali region of Ethiopia. They illustrate how community-based legal and material rules and restrictions detach milk from its traditional cultural and social contexts and render it a tradable commodity, which entails significant social consequences (Pearson & Schmidt 2018:218–219). Abstraction Prima facie, abstraction appears to be congruent with individuation. Indeed, it refers to a slightly different mechanism. Castree (2003:281) describes it as a “process whereby the qualitative specificity of any individualized thing (a person, a seed, a gene or whatyou-have) is assimilated to the qualitative homogeneity of a broader type or process”. In a tourism context, abstraction is a fundamentally necessary precondition for destinations. On the one hand, this allows them to present themselves as favourable, and on the other hand it helps make them comparable with each other while they simultaneously seek to delimit from each other, thus highlighting their ‘otherness’ in comparison to different destinations. This presentation mostly follows certain conventions and happens “within standard (commodified) categories of abstraction that make sense to tourists” (Büscher & Fletcher 2017:657). Although destinations try to appear unique, and therefore desirable, touristic marketing by abstraction produces a pool of the seemingly same product (i. e. tourism) in distinct locations across the globe. Debord (2005 [1967]:94) summarises this acerbically when he describes tourism as human circulation packaged for consumption, a by-product of the circulation of commodities [and as] the opportunity to go and see what has been banalised. The economic organisation of travel to different places already guarantees their equivalence.

Valuation Valuation is perhaps the most popular principle of capitalist commodification from a Marxist understanding. Castree (2003:281), too, refers to Marx when he remarks that it is a seminal feature of “capitalist commodities […] that their worth is measured in

Noel Castree’s Six Principles of Commodificatio

terms of labour value – although it appears that their value is intrinsic rather than assigned”. He furthermore reveals that the assignment of a pale, meaningless monetary value turns entities into marketable commodities that become smoothly interchangeable, regardless of their very own characteristics, origins and meanings. The process of valuation itself is “a ‘blind’ social process” (Castree 2003:281) that follows a discrete, capital-oriented logic, which in turn subordinates other possible logics of valuation under the predominance of monetary value. Harvey (2018a:XXXII) perceives money as the “pure representation of exchange-value”, as it enables its owner to convert each commodity into any other type of commodity. Alternative logics of valuation certainly exits, for instance in the form of use-value and existence value. The concept of use-value traces back to Marx (1990 [1867]:126), who assessed that the “usefulness of a thing makes it a use-value”. In contrast, existence value is an example of a so-called ‘non-use’ value, as the object that is the bearer of this value does not need to be used or consumed to satisfy demand for it. Krutilla (1967:779) uses the example of a “grand scenic wonder”, whose existence values derive solely from its existence and people knowing about the existence of these wonders.12 Further concepts of value, for example, are functional value or altruistic value. Although all values describe the ‘worth’ of a certain entity, the absence of a shared baseline or scale hinders value commensurability, as O’Neill (2003:81–82) shows. Instead of searching for an impossible ‘meta-value’ that can mathematically incorporate all other concepts of value, O’Neill (2003:82) suggests using situation-dependent “good practical judgement” to determine the value of nature and the environment. At the same time, he warns of letting monetary values too easily dominate discussions about the ‘true’ value of plants, landscapes or animals. Cultural and social objects ought to be added to this list as well. Displacement The conclusive principle of commodification Castree (2003:282) brings to the discussion is displacement, describing “something appearing, phenomenally, as something other than itself ”. In a different phrasing, he defines it as “set of phenomena manifesting themselves in a way that paradoxically occludes them” (Castree 2003:282). Castree notes that his understanding of displacement is slightly different from other Marxist authors. While Cook and Crang (1996) employ the term in yet another way, most Marxist authors use ‘alienation’ to describe the processes Castree labels ‘displacement’. Castree (2003:295) avoids this term on purpose, as he rejects the connotation with

12  However,

the former.

Krutilla uses the term “sentimental value” instead of “existence value”, which later replaced

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“an alienated human or worker ‘essence’ to be reclaimed”. Additionally, he is afraid of confusion with his term ‘alienability’. These principles describe the integration of objects into the circulation of capitalist markets from a general perspective; hence, they need not – and rarely do – occur within all commodification processes. Instead, just a portion of them might occur in a certain satiation, while other effects might not manifest themselves at all. In the present case, these principles serve as a guide to examine the implications of the commodification of the Cuban Revolution for Cuban identities. Thus, the Revolution is an immaterial construct representing a political and an ideological system, which subsequently fans out into a multiverse of history, persons, world views, associations and connotations in a special type of commodity. Apart from not getting used up by consuming it, the Cuban Revolution is quite a special commodity: the process of commodification itself is an open contradiction of the ideological core thereof. Consequently, it is possible that the commodification of the Cuban Revolution – although it might happen with the best intentions of saving the Revolution – hollows out its identity-forming power and leaves behind a meaningless husk, whose main purpose it is to serve as an atmospheric background for tourists visiting Cuba. 3.7.

Materialisations and Spatial Manifestations of Commodification

The commodification processes described herein not only take place immaterially and abstractly as altered perceptions and valorisations of objects in the minds of people, but they also take on representations and effects in the material world, thereby partially manifesting in space. Following the insights of the spatial turn, geographical spaces do not simply or ‘naturally’ exist but are socially constructed. According to the convictions of new cultural geography, “symbolic or imaginative geography”13 (Lossau 2008:321) constructs reality, which does not exist without external attributions of meaning and sense, i. e. the ‘making’ of space. A particular form of such socially produced spaces are ‘tourismscapes’, which, as the name suggests, are characterised by the dominant influence of tourism on both the physical and the social landscape (see Textbox 6). Kuhn (1994:139) recognises the pivotal significance of Lefebvre’s conception of socially produced space when analysing the production of material and immaterial spatial conditions. Consequently, it can be assumed that the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution is spatially reflected in specific materialities as well. To examine this notion, Lefebvre (1991), in considering the threefold meaning of space, takes conductive approach. To Lefebvre, space is all three at the same time: the precondition for

13  Original: “symbolische oder imaginative Geographie”

Materialisations and Spatial Manifestations of Commodificatio

and the result of social practices and relations, as well as the shroud covering these social practices. Additionally, material and social relations in turn affect the way space is perceived. In this sense, space as the product of social practices has three dimensions, which Lefebvre describes as materiality, meaning and lived space. Textbox 6: Tourismscapes The ways tourists experience destinations are mainly shaped by the cultural and physical landscapes they perceive, which Mosedale (2015:507) refers to as “important elements in the creation, management and consumption of tourist experiences”. Touristic landscapes (natural and cultural), tourists and locals are “mutually constitutive” (Mosedale 2015:507) through their permanent interactions and reciprocal influences. Van der Duim (2007:962) labels the entanglement of materiality, people (tourists and hosts) and sociocultural objects and relations as “tourismscapes”. By using Latour’s (2005) actor-network-theory, he conceptualises a poststructuralist notion of tourismscapes that “consist of many people and things interacting as cogs and wheels concurrently performing tourism” (Van der Duim 2007:972). Thus, “multiple modes of ordering” need to be considered (Van der Duim 2007:972), which constitute and maintain tourismscapes through “a certain set of practices, materials, and resources as well as particular ways of integrating with others and their modes of ordering, as tourismscapes have to be performed through the interweaving of the divergent projects of many actors”.   While considering the gamut of “landscape-tourismscape dialectics” (Stoffelen & Vanneste 2015:555) that encompasses various connections between the material and emblematic properties of landscapes, both the physical aspects of a landscape and its “intangible […] characteristics” (Stoffelen & Vanneste 2015:555) need to be minded when examining “the dynamic interaction between lived landscapes […] and tourism” (Mosedale 2015:507). Landscapes have an experienceable materiality as well as symbolism, in that tourists, who experience a landscape, perceive its physical characteristics as well as its immaterial features.   Taken all together, tourismscapes are constructed spaces. These spaces influence material landscapes (natural, cultural, etc.) and have multiple effects on social, cultural and economic realities, which in turn affect tourismscapes (Stoffelen & Vanneste 2015).

Furthermore, according to Lefebvre, space does not ‘purely’ exist outside of social adscriptions, and it is not an object that is just ‘out there’, as propagated by advocates of materialism (such as Marx). Such substantialist understanding of space as a container independent of the human, of social relations, a container simply holding physical objects (Werlen 1999:144–145) seems improper when attempting to comprehend the interrelations and reciprocal constitution between society, space and social practices. However, space simultaneously is not only a conceptual idea, a sole construction of thought without any link to the material world, as proposed by German idealism (e. g. by Kant, Fichte and Hegel). Instead, it is the product of certain social practices. In his theoretical reflections on space, Lefebvre distinguishes social space from physical-material space, whereby he ascribes a diminishing significance to the latter

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(Lefebvre 1991:31). For Lefebvre, space is thus neither a mere physical container nor a purely relational or exclusively intellectual concept. Instead, Lefebvre (1991:30) posits that “(social) space is a (social) product”. Consequently, Lefebvre (1991:33) bases his theory of space on three columns: 1. Spatial practice, which contains the ‘perceived’ and represents everyday routines and experiences that constitute the inhabited material world. Spatial practice “embraces production and reproduction, and the particular locations and spatial sets characteristic of each social formation. Spatial practice ensures continuity and some degree of cohesion” (Lefebvre 1991:33). 2. Representations of space, “which are tied to the relations of production and to the ‘order’ which those relations impose, and hence to knowledge, to signs, to codes, and to ‘frontal’ relations” (Lefebvre 1991:33). These representations of space are fictional rather than experienced. They constitute an abstract and a constructed representation based on perception, for instance a map designated for spatial planning. 3. Representational spaces, representing “complex symbolisms, sometimes coded, sometimes not, linked to the clandestine or underground side of social life” (Lefebvre 1991:33). Lefebvre (1991:39) explicates his understanding of representational space by explaining that it is “the dominated – and hence passively experienced – space which the imagination seeks to change and appropriate. It overlays physical space, making symbolic use of its objects.” Within Lefebvre’s concept, spaces of representation can – for heuristic reasons – be separated from spatial practices and representations of space. Finally, all three are mutually constituting aspects of a single process, namely the production of ‘social spaces’. Therefore, it is important to note that “every society – and hence every mode of production […] produces a space, its own space” (Lefebvre 1991:31). Consequently, a society experiencing social change is likely to alter its modes of spatial production, leading to changes in the physical appearance of space, which again affects social relationships. Employing this relation in a society that witnesses (or actively exerts) commodification processes, it is likely it will alter its modes of the production of space accordingly, or at least those aspects of spatial production closely tied to the then-commodified object(s). This is related especially to the fact that the use-values commodified in tourism are constitutive for ‘social space’ (Young & Markham 2020:292). Therefore, such commodification processes, e. g. in tourism, are expected to lead to corresponding material manifestations. It can therefore be presumed that commodification processes are not only reflected in changing social conditions, but also have effects in physical-material spaces – and thus can be experienced and documented spatially. Moreover, altered spatial relation in turn lead to further social transformation and discursive negotiations of commodification (as a specific form of socio-spatial relations), which again have impli-

Materialisations and Spatial Manifestations of Commodificatio

cations for individual and collective identities. As Kieffer and Burgos (2015:579–580) illustrate, changes in environmental and culture landscapes and in social relationships, as well as altered practices of handling cultural artifacts induced by commodification processes, tend to affect identities, as they are partially dependent on their material and immaterial surroundings.

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4.

Historical Background and Cuban Transformations

Por el Mar de las Antillas (que también Caribe llaman) batida por olas duras y ornada de espumas blandas, bajo el sol que la persigue y el viento que la rechaza, cantando a lágrima viva navega Cuba en su mapa: un largo lagarto verde, con ojos de piedra y agua.1 Nicolás Guillén (1974:8)

History as an “objective past” does not exist but is merely an invention and self-conceit of modern-day historians (Lowenthal 2015:411). Nevertheless, a retrospective perspective is often essential to understand the trajectories, processes and structures that shape contemporary realities. This notion applies to socioeconomic, political, power structural as well as ecological conditions. Looking into the past, many phenomena of today’s Cuba become comprehensible. Cuba is a cultural and social patchwork, which integrates an elusive spectrum of cultural and social influences that form complex patterns, mainly (but not exclusively) determined by its colonial and socialist past. This chapter is an attempt to disentangle this patchwork, find meaning in its patterns and set the scene for contemporary identity constructions and discourses among the Cuban population. It is dedicated to revealing the past and present roots of Cuban 1  Translation

by the author: Through the Sea of the Antilles / (which is also called the Caribbean) / battered by hard waves / and adorned with soft foam, / under the sun that chases her / and the wind that repels her, / singing with tears of life / Cuba sails on its course: / a long green lizard, / with eyes of stone and water. For a further interpretation of the poem by Guillén, see Mascia (2003:83–86).

Historical Background and Cuban Transformations

identities and their dissolvable amalgamation through the pursuit of independence and the dominant and comprehensive force of the Cuban Revolution. In the introduction to his dissertation, Aguliar (1968:1) notes that reflections on the socioeconomic and political situation in Cuba often dismiss the pre-1959 era and struggle to look past the historical giant Fidel Castro.2 He criticises the “trend ignoring all the previous struggles, triumphs, and defeats of the Cuban people”. To avoid such a short-sighted analysis, the following deliberations on the political, socioeconomic and identity-related circumstances leading to recent Cuban structures encompass a broad historical background. This knowledge is regarded necessary to fully grasp the pathways that lead to contemporary discourses about Cuban identity, Cubanness and the role of the Cuban Revolution, its symbols, heroes, myths and manifestations among the Cuban people. Nevertheless, it is necessary to indicate that, although Cuban history is rich in incisive events and seemingly clearly distinguishable epochs, certain social, cultural as well as political continuities and practices turn out to be rather persistent and go beyond the boundaries of clearly definable eras. A striking example in this regard is the pursuit of a Cuba Libre, a free and independent Cuba, which has been a maxim of Cuban politics and self-conception since colonial times, through the Republic of 1902 to 1959 and on to the Revolution since then. Although the ideologies and narratives associated with Cuba Libre, as well as the political strategies pursued to achieve it, differed greatly in each of those eras, the central idea has nevertheless remained an integral part of cubanía throughout (Kapcia 2000:65–66).3 Besides, Zeuske (2000:14) emphasises the proximity to the United States on the one hand and Cuba’s insularity on the other, as some of the central characteristics that have significantly shaped Cuba’s social, political, cultural and economic development. Likewise, Scarpaci and Portela (2009:24) underscore its island status as a substantial factor influencing Cuba’s political geography. Additionally, although Cuba has stridden through diverse periods during the last 500 years, the aspirations of Cubans as a nation have remained mostly unchanged. According to Fernández (2000:43), “they have been, and continue to be, primarily modern ones: sovereignty, democracy (with order, honesty, justice, and a level of equity for all), economic growth through industrialisation, and social welfare.” The chapter begins with the period of Spanish colonial rule (Chapter 4.1). Subsequently (Chapter 4.2), the origins of Cuban national consciousness are reconstructed, culminating in the nation’s independence in 1898. Chapter 4.3 describes the socioeconomic conditions in the Republic of Cuba in the first half of the 20th century and illus-

2  Luis Enrique Aguliar has an interesting biography. He was both a classmate of Fidel Castro (in Santiago

de Cuba as well as in Havana) and professor to Bill Clinton at Georgetown University. 3  Kapcia (2000:6) defines cubanía as the purposeful belief in Cuban distinctiveness, as the belief that Cuba and Cubans possess different characteristics and traits than other nations. This belief in Cuban particularity is commonly referred to as cubanidad or occasionally as “Cubanness” (Kapcia 2000:42).

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trates how these led to the Cuban Revolution under Fidel Castro, whose ultimate success came in 1959. Thereafter (Chapter 4.4), social conditions in revolutionary Cuba are reflected upon and the way in which the Revolution was established as a central element of Cuban identity is discussed. Chapter 4.5 opens with the disintegration of the USSR and the ensuing deep crisis in Cuba. The final Chapter (4.6) discusses the transfer of power from Fidel to Raúl Castro and the transition into the post-Castro era. 4.1.

Colonial Roots and the Transcultural Cuban ajiaco

European interest in Cuba commenced on October 27, 1492, when Christopher Columbus reportedly noted “this is the most beautiful land human eyes have ever seen” in his diary, after having landed on its eastern shores the same day. A period of almost 400 years of Spanish domination would follow. At the time of the Spanish arrival, Cuba had a history of approximately 10,000 years of indigenous settlement, with social, technical and political complexity not reaching the level of Mayan, Aztecan or Inca cultures (Guerra Vilaboy & Loyola Vega 2014:3). The indigenous population, which numbered about 200,000 people, consisted mainly of Taínos, Guanahatebeys (also referred to as Subtaínos) and Siboneys (Zeuske 2016a:10). Following European colonisation, as almost everywhere in the Americas, the progression of the Cuban indigenous people stopped. They were soon annihilated, be it by disease, violence or slave labour on Spanish haciendas (Guerra Vilaboy & Loyola Vega 2014:4), and so only few sources exist on these cultures and their social or political structures.4 Unlike other Spanish possessions in the Americas, Cuba did not possess large deposits of valuable minerals that were of interest to the early conquistadores – as Hernan Cortés (who arrived in 1519 in what is now Mexico) stated: “We Spaniards suffer from a disease of the heart which only gold can cure” (Biglow 2008:166). However, with the gradual cultivation and trade of tobacco promising vast incomes, the Spanish crown implemented a strict monopoly throughout Cuba on the cultivation and processing of the plant, as well as on domestic commerce and the export of tobacco-based products. This monopoly lay in the hands of the Spanish crown, while Cuban tobacco farmers had to provide the crop (Zeuske 2016b:321–322). Under the reign of Juan Francisco de Güemes y Horcasitas (captain general from 1734 to 1745), the state monopoly on tobacco was expanded until it affected almost any trade in Cuba. To this end, he founded the Real Compañia de Comercio de La Habana [Royal Trading Company of Havana], in which private investors could participate, though the decision-making power remained exclusively with the Spanish crown (Ro-

4  The

edited volume by Wilson (1997) offers a useful introduction to the cultures of the pre-Columbian Caribbean.

Colonial Roots and the Transcultural Cuban ajiaco

dríguez García 2005:47). Although this monopoly generated huge incomes for Spain and its ruling class, it infuriated the Cuban population, which perceived its (economic) survival as being in grave danger, given the poor supply situation beyond the Havana region. For many Cubans, the way to circumvent the state monopoly was organised, partly large-scale contraband, mainly with English, French, Portuguese and Dutch partners (Pérez Jr. 2015:30–31). Soon, illegal trade was prevalent all over the island. Yet, this contraband does not demonstrate the general immorality of Cubans, “but their respect for another moral” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:64), because, through contraband and black-market activities, they tried to ensure their survival and that of their families. As Pérez Jr. (2015:30) notes, contraband was the “difference between subsistence and extinction” for many Cubans. This ‘other moral’ found its entry into the collective memory of Cubans as a somehow legitimate way of coping with adverse conditions. Putting their own survival first, before complying with laws or societal understandings, has thus “become rooted in the Cuban character” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:61). Cuba, and especially Havana, gained major importance and riches via the trade between Spain and its colonies in the Americas. Havana was the starting point for Hernán Cortés’ conquest of the Aztec empire and was chosen as the port where the galleons from Nueva España and the South American Viceroyalties met and were assembled into large convoys before heading to Spain (Zeuske 2000:14). Following the growing wealth from this trade and the outstanding importance of Havana as a hub linking the Americas and Europe, it started to grow rapidly and became the most important city in the Americas for almost 300 years. Simultaneously, most other settlements on the island remained rather poor and unimportant, thus Cuba’s Oriente [east] fell increasingly into poverty, as all trans-insular commerce passed through the distant port of Havana (Pérez Jr. 2015:29–30). 4.1.1. The 1762 Occupation of Havana and its Consequences: Slavery and Patriotismo Habanero

The outstanding importance of Havana and its port is obvious in view of the British conquest of the city in 1762: after not even one year of British occupation, Spain agreed to exchange Havana for the Florida peninsula. The occupation of Havana had two major and long-lasting effects for Cuba and its society. First, these few months of British rule fuelled “patriotismo habanero” (Guerra 1971:175), as the Spanish colonial masters were obviously unable to protect Cuba and Havana. Patriotism and national consciousness would grow slowly but steadily during the following decades and culminate in a multitude of attempts to shake off the Spanish yoke. Second, Cuba was forced to open up its trade to British products, including slaves, mainly abducted from Western and Southern Africa.

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Historical Background and Cuban Transformations

Opening up Cuban trade to international markets, and introducing large-scale slavery for the plantation cultivation of sugar and tobacco, which until then had been based mainly on a feudal system, set the stage for the boom of the Cuban sugar industry in the late 18th century (Hoffmann 2009a:29).5 The small Spanish elite soon understood that Cuban soils could generate riches comparable to those from mines in Central and South America. Hence, at the threshold of the 19th century, Cuba’s economic and social rise gained momentum, due to multiple factors. Tobacco and sugar produced on the island were highly profitable through the replacement of the feudal system and the introduction of capitalistic modes of production – at the expense of slaves (see Textbox 7). The slave revolution in Haiti (1791–1803) provided two additional economic advantages to Cuba: on the one hand, it profited from the mainly French sugar plantation owners who fled to the island along with their knowledge and capital. On the other hand, Cuba lost its biggest competitor in terms of sugar exports (Zeuske 2016b:320), thus becoming “the lord of the sugar market” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:75). Textbox 7: Humboldt on slavery in Cuba Humboldt (2011 [1826]:227–228), who travelled to Cuba during his second journey to South America in 1800 and 1804, noted on the slavery system, which treated slaves not as human beings but as factors for production and capitalisation: I have heard discussed [sic] with the greatest coolness, the question whether it was better for the proprietor not to overwork his slaves, and consequently have to replace them with less frequency, or whether he should get all he could out of them in a few years, and thus have to purchase newly imported Africans more frequently. But these are the reasonings of avarice when one man holds another in servitude.

While many other parts of Hispano-America took advantage of the Napoleonic occupation of Spain in 1808 to fight for and gain their independence, Cuban sugar barons were dependent on Spanish reign. They needed the Spanish force mainly to control the many slaves they imported, who were – as they feared – too numerous for them to suppress without the military. Aguliar (1968:5) identifies a second reason for the support of the wealthy Cuban criollos6 for Spain: they were afraid that a military conflict and disengagement from the motherland would risk the economic boom that was still in affect following the Haitian Revolution and the upsurge of the Cuban sugar industry. In recognition of this commitment to the Spanish motherland, Cuba indeed was given the title “la siempre fidelisima isla de Cuba” [The forever most faithful island of Cuba], 5  In Cuba, slavery was officially permitted by the Spanish crown in 1789. 6  In Cuba, the term criollos refers to descendants of Europeans who immigrated to the island; in contrast,

Spaniards who came directly from the motherland were called peninsulares.

Colonial Roots and the Transcultural Cuban ajiaco

but already in 1832 this was perceived as a “ridiculous compensation” (Röding 1832:83), given the toll that the Cuban population had taken by clinging to Spain. 4.1.2. Cubanidad Developing in the Cuban Cooking Pot

These circumstances were the pillars of the nascence of the Cuban people and of la cubanidad, i. e. the belief in Cuban particularity. It would be too short-sighted, however, to perceive cubanidad – and with it Cuban identity – as a final condition or an endpoint. Rather, it has a processual character that is best described with reference to Cuban anthropologist Fernando Ortiz’s concept of transculturación. Following Ortiz’s (1947:101) reflections on the evolution of cubanidad, “there was no more important human factor […] than these continuous, radical, contrasting geographic transmigrations, economic and social, [conducted by] the first settlers”. Due to its central location between North and South America in the Caribbean, Cuba was predestined to be at the intersection of different cultures and worldviews, which is particularly valid for Havana (Zeuske 2000:16). Ortiz (1947:100) describes as one of Cuba’s central social characteristics: […] since the sixteenth century all its classes, races, and cultures, coming in by will or by force, have all been exogenous and have all been torn from their places of origin, suffering the shock of this first uprooting and a harsh transplanting.

Ortiz rejects what at that time was the popular North American notion of acculturation as predominant feature of cultural transformation; instead, he defines his understanding of the transculturación of criollos and peninsulares, of abducted Africans, of refuge-seeking Frenchmen, of Chinese contract workers and multiple other people in Cuba by stating: “Cuba es un ajiaco” (Ortiz & Barreal Fernández 1991:14).7 However, the ajiaco metaphor reaches out further than its North American equivalent, i. e. the ‘melting pot’. As Palmié (1998:368) explains, “cubanidad […] cannot be reduced to any simple notion of hybridity as the result of a synthesis of heterogeneous elements”. Rather, Ortiz and Barreal Fernández (1991:16), note on the character of cubanidad:

7  Ortiz and Barreal Fernández (1991:15; own translation) describe the ingredients and cooking process of

this Cuban dish as follows: “[Ajiaco] is a stew most typical [of Cuba] and most complex, made from various types of legumes, which we call ‘viendas’ here, and of pieces of different meats; all of which is cooked with water at boiling point until it produces a very thick and succulent potage which is seasoned with the most Cuban [ingredient] aji, from which it derives its name.”

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Cubanidad inheres not just in the result, but also the complex process of its formation, disintegrative and integrative, in the substantial elements that enter into its genesis, in the ambiance within which it takes place, and in the vicissitudes of its course.8

Even nowadays, these insights concerning the transcultural origins of Cuban society and culture have not lost their relevance. And even though, metaphorically speaking, the Cuban Revolution added some spices and ingredients to the ajiaco while removing others for the most part, transcultural influences continue to strongly shape the identities of many Cubans.9 4.2.

National Conscience and the Long Struggle for Independence

Parallel to the economic boom in sugar and tobacco trade, sociocultural transformation gained momentum in Cuba. During this transformation, the idea of independence, of Cuba Libre, arose among many Cubans. The founding of the Universidad de la Habana in 1728 contributed to the establishment of a well-educated bourgeoisie born and raised in Cuba, not in Spain. This bourgeoisie was an ideal environment for the formation of intellectual circles, which were the substrate in which the notion of Cuban independence from Spain flourished. 4.2.1. The Awakening National Conscience

Although, leading intellectuals10 certainly had their own vantage points and emphases, their unifying element was the growing idea of Cuba as an independent nation (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:77–78). Simultaneously, and in direct relation to the national question, these intellectuals reshaped the attitude towards Spain, which was in a

8  Original: “La Cubanidad no está solamente en el resultado sino también en el mismo proceso complejo

de su formación, desintegrativo e integrativo, en los elementos sustanciales entrados en su acción, en el ambiente en que se opera y en las vicisitudes de su transcurso.” Ortiz and Barreal Fernández (1991:16; own translation) also have an adequate culinary allegory for this process: “The characteristic thing about Cuba is that since it is an ajiaco, its people are not a finished stew, but a constant cooking. From the dawn of its history to the hours which are presently ticking away, there has always been a renewed entry of exogenous roots, fruits and meats into the Cuban pot, an incessant bubbling of heterogeneous substances. Hence, the change of its composition, and [the fact] that cubanidad has a different flavour [sic] and consistency depending on whether one tastes what is at the bottom [of the pot], in the middle or at its top, where the viendas are still raw, and the bubbling liquid still clear.” 9  Examples of this are Santería as a fusion of West African religions, Catholicism and Spiritism, or the Son Cubano, which incorporates musical influences from Spain and Africa. 10  Particularly worth mentioning are Romantic poet José María Heredia, literary critic Domingo del Monte, the Catholic prelate Félix Varela y Morales and essayist José Antonio Saco, among others.

National Conscience and the Long Struggle for Independence

state of flux. According to Kapcia (2000:42), the intellectual movements were not (yet) characterised by a nationalist approach but were initially primarily concerned with emphasising and elaborating cubanidad. Yet, in both Kapcia’s analysis and Cuban intellectual circles of the 19th century, the boundaries between cubanidad and Cuba-centred nationalism are blurred, prompting Kapcia (2000:42) to resort to the term “proto-nationalism” to describe the growing idea of an independent Cuba. However, several decades were to pass before achieving this independence, with the pursuit of independence deeply inscribed in Cuban identities and collective consciousness. In addition, Pérez Jr. (2001) considers the genesis of Cuban national consciousness as having been influenced by socioecological relations in the 19th century. As the devastating effects of hurricanes hit Cubans across all classes, reciprocal support was negotiated regardless of status and class before, during and after such disastrous storms. Such mutual support wove Cuba’s social fabric more tightly and contributed to the emergence of cubanidad. Although the national movement was indeed mostly visible in the intellectual sphere, the emergence of a “national conscience” (Aguilar 1968:5) primarily occurred against the backdrop of Cuba’s economic development in the first half of the 19th century. Though Havana’s intellectual circles had been discussing the possibilities for independence for several years, it was plantation owners’ dissatisfaction with Spanish trade restrictions, high taxes and inadequate political representation, paired with deteriorating economic prospects, that triggered concrete rebellious thinking (Pérez Jr. 2003:49–50). Thus, a series of violent insurrections adumbrated the bloody wars for independence that surfaced in the second half of the 19th century. Even though none of these insurrections went beyond the stage of conspiracies, and they were all repressed by the colonial government without exception, they demonstrate the advent of the national idea and revolutionary deliberations in Cuba. Interestingly, these conspiracies derived from various social classes: while the Soles y Rayos de Bolívar conspiracy (1822) and the Gran Legión del Aguila Negra conspiracy (1829–1830) were planned by members of the middle class, freed slave José Antonio Aponte in 1812 organised a conspiracy oriented towards the Haitian Revolution (Guerra Vilaboy & Loyola Vega 2014:16). However, of crucial importance in the further course of Cuba’s history were the three wars of independence, fought until it broke away from Spanish rule: The Guerra de los Diez Años (1868–1878; called Guerra Grande), the Guerra Chiquita (1879–1880; Little War) and the ultimately successful Guerra de 1895 (1895–1898; known as Guerra Necesaria). These three conflicts, and decisive actors on the Cuban side, are significant for the self-conception and identity of many Cubans to this day, and thus they deserve closer attention. The Guerra de los Diez Años had its roots, organisation and main funding among criollos from Oriente province, who represented Cuba-born rural elites and plantation owners. These criollos found themselves increasingly burdened by Spanish rule, and

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opposition to the colonial power grew steadily. It was Carlos Manuel de Céspedes, owner of a medium-scale sugar plantation near Bayamo, who sparked the uprising against Spanish rule on October 10, 1868 (Pérez Jr. 2015:93). With his Grito de Yara [Cry of Yara], Céspedes released his slaves into freedom and appealed for their participation in a war for Cuban independence. The rapidly growing army of white workers, free Afro-Cubans, former slaves, plantation owners, men and women called themselves Mambises, referring to the black Spanish officer Juan Ethninius Mamby, who participated in the successful struggle that led to the foundation of the Dominican Republic and independence from Spain in 1844 (Brenner & Eisner 2018:24–25).11 Still today, references to the Mambises are frequently made in Cuba and are used to create a (national) Cuban identity. Thus, for instance, the current Cuban Constitution of 2019 explicitly refers to the nation’s Mambisian roots (República de Cuba 2019:2). Besides their struggle for independence from Spain, the Mambises addressed various additional issues, such as the abolition of slavery, anti-colonialism and – as one of the first approaches in modern politics – equal rights for women.12 Gender equality, anti-imperialism and their achievement remained a cornerstone of Cuban revolutionary identity. For Fidel Castro, women provided a reliable foundation of power, both before and after the successful Revolution on January 1, 1959 (Stoner 2003:92). Yet, the abolitionist stance of Céspedes and his companions did not necessarily stem from their deeply held humanist convictions. Rather, it was based on the conviction that an anti-slavery approach was a fundamental precondition for any form of political recognition or even military support from abroad (Corwin 1967:224). This first war of independence provides even more material for shaping contemporary Cuban identities in accordance with an (imagined) past. A central role is ascribed to four rebel generals, who serve as identification figures and are stylised as morally and patriotically impeccable heroes by the Cuban revolutionary government: Máximo Gómez, Ignacio Agramonte, Calixto García and Antonio Maceo. They will be referred to several times in the further course of this book. Moreover, Fidel Castro’s revolutionary movement later presented itself as the ideological and intellectual heir to these men, who are nowadays present and enshrined all over Cuba, be it in the form of monuments, banknotes, holidays or school textbooks, and appropriated their legacy (Brenner & Eisner 2018:25).

11  According

to Ortiz (1924:315), the term is derived from the Congolese word ‘Mambí’, which means, among others, ‘insurrectionist’, ‘criminal’, ‘repulsive’, ‘harmful’, ‘vicious’ or ‘evil’ and was used to name the first Dominican insurrectionists in the Caribbean. 12  Ana Betancourt (cited in Prados-Torreira 2005:84), who edited the revolutionary newspaper El Mambi, claimed equal women’s rights at the Constitutional Assembly of Cuban Patriots in 1869: “Citizens: The Cuban woman in the dark and peaceful corner of the home waited patiently and resignedly for this beautiful hour, when a revolution would break her yoke and untie her wings. […] You have destroyed the slavery of color by emancipating the slave. The time has come to free women.”

National Conscience and the Long Struggle for Independence

One event in the final phase of the Guerra de los Diez Años, namely the ‘Protest of Baraguá’ particularly stands out regarding both its reframing and political exploitation by the Castristas,13 and its potential to shape Cuban identities (Hoffmann 2009a:32). When the Cuban rebels’ military situation deteriorated in 1878, Spain offered a tradeoff: amnesty for the Mambises, freedom for the slaves who had fought in their ranks and some reforms – but Cuba would remain a Spanish colony, and slavery would continue to be legal. Although the rebel commanders signed the treaty, Antonio Maceo refused to ground arms and accept it, as it left unachieved the two essential goals of the insurgents: Cuban independence and the abolition of slavery. In his ‘Protest of Baraguá’ he called upon the Mambises to carry on the war (cited in Foner 1977:81): Our policy is to free the slaves, because the era of the whip and of Spanish cynicism has come to an end, and we ought to form a new Republic assimilated with our sisters Santo Domingo and Haiti.

In contemporary Cuba, this ‘Protest of Baraguá’ is an often quoted and a proficiently deployed symbol of the unrelenting fighting spirit and urge for independence – especially by Fidel Castro (1978): Why does the Protest of Baraguá have such extraordinary significance in the history of our country? […] The Cubans had fought heroically for almost 10 years. It can be said that nowhere in this continent has a people fought so heroically and for so many years, in such difficult conditions, for their independence.14

After his schism from the other rebel leaders, Maceo perpetuated the armed resistance but was defeated within weeks, thereby marking the end of the Guerra de los Diez Años in 1878. He was exiled and did not return to Cuba until 1895. In conjunction with Calixto García, Maceo initiated a new rebellion, known as Guerra Chiquita, in August 1879. However, the rebels suffered from poor preparation and insufficient funding, thus causing the fighting to end without any political solution after 13 months (Foner 1977:94–97). Concurrently, socioeconomic transformation in Cuba accelerated, mainly due to the vanishing of large parts of the landowner class in Oriente province during the war – by death, economic ruin or migration. The Spanish rulers fuelled the centralisation and modernisation of the again sprawling sugar industry. Furthermore, political and moral arguments finally led to the abolishment of slavery in 1886 (Zeuske & Zeuske 13  Castristas

are the supporters of Fidel Castro. Here, the term is used synonymously for the loyal inner circle of command around Castro. 14  Original: “¿Por qué tiene tan extraordinaria significación en la historia de nuestro país la Protesta de Baraguá? ¿Y qué fue la Protesta de Baraguá? ¿Qué es y qué será siempre la Protesta de Baraguá? Los cubanos habían luchado heroicamente durante casi 10 años. Bien puede decirse que en ninguna parte de este continente un pueblo luchó tan heroicamente y durante tantos años, en condiciones tan difíciles, por su independencia.”

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1998:376–377). Many former slaves moved to the slopes and mountains of Oriente, where they practiced subsistence farming. Interestingly, as Hoernel (1976:249) observes, it was amongst these poverty-stricken Afro-Cubans, called “precaristas”, living in the valleys of the Sierra Maestra, where Fidel Castro and his guerrillas would find broad support and continuous hideouts at the beginning of their armed uprising. Altogether, these also mark the stabilisation of economic and social disparities, which would keep Cuban society in a state of restlessness for many decades. 4.2.2. José Martí: Mastermind of Independence and Projection Surface for National Identity

As a result of the two failed wars, the movement for Cuban independence was demoralised and exhausted, and their generals were dispersed in exile. It was José Martí, the Cuban national hero, who vibrantly reformulated the idea of Cuban independence, drafted a drastically modified social order and, together with Antonio Maceo, led Cuba into a new and, finally, successful battle for independence (Martínez Heredia 2018:32). Martí was not a military officer; as a poet and a reporter, he instead impersonated Cuban intellectual circles of that time. Today, Martí is worshipped everywhere in Cuba: his statue stands in front of almost every school and public building, and his central works and thoughts can be recited by almost every citizen. Martí conceptualised the idea of both an independent Cuba and Nuestra América [Our America], in an unprecedented manner, at the end of the 19th century. Although he had barely any military training, he called the fight for independence a “just and necessary war” – a project he pursued in cooperation with other Cuban national heroes mentioned previously, i. e. Máximo Gómez, Antonio Maceo and Calixto García (de la Cova 2003:18). Martí lived in New York for several years, where he wrote articles for various important Latin American newspapers and witnessed the consequences of North American capitalism during its uprising.15 Disgusted by the effects of the capitalistic economy in the US, Martí (1975a [1888]:335) wrote: “By its excessive cult of wealth, this republic has fallen, without any of the shackles of tradition, into the inequality, injustice and violence of the monarchic countries.”16 Deeply influenced by his experiences in the US, Martí formulated a doctrine whereby the republic would care for the dignity and advancement of all its members. His opinion of the capitalism he encountered in the US is clear in a letter Martí (1975b 15  Among others, Martí wrote articles and columns for La Nacíon (Argentina), La Opinión Nacional (Ve-

nezuela) and El Partido Liberal (Mexico). 16  Original: “Esta república, por el culto desmedido a la riqueza, ha caído, sin ninguna de las trabas de la tradición, en la desigualdad, injusticia y violencia de los países monárquicos.”

National Conscience and the Long Struggle for Independence

[1895]:168) wrote on the day before his death: “I have lived in the monster, and I know its entrails.”17 In the same letter, Martí (1975b [1895]:167) formulated the purpose of his actions: […] to prevent in time with the independence of Cuba that the United States would extend through the Antilles and fall, with even greater force, on our lands of America.18

Initially, Martí published Nuestra América, which also inherited his conception of a social model for Cuba, in 1891. In his appeal to the people of Latin America, he called for strategic and political unity, which he regarded as necessary for the people of Nuestra América to withstand the imperialistic ambitions of the United States or any other power del Norte to dominate them politically, militarily and economically. Martí’s (1975c [1891]:15) call for concord and cooperation is illustrated in a vivid section of Nuestra América: People that remain strangers have to hurry to get to know each other, like soldiers about to go into battle together. Those who once shook their fists at each other like jealous brothers who want the same plot of land or small house, who quarrel over who has the bigger house, must now grip each other so tightly that their two hands become one.19

To achieve this unity, according to Martí, the Latin American peoples would have to develop their own measures, solutions and means. Simply copying foreign and imperialistic formulas and solutions might lead to imitating northern thoughts, ideas and perspectives while preventing the Hispanic countries of the Americas from developing their own actuality in political and socioeconomic regards. José Martí’s ideas heavily and lastingly influenced successive generations of Cuban nationalists and patriots, as well as Venezuelan Chavismo, which sought to create Pan-American solidarity and identities (Wajner & Roniger 2019:460). Furthermore, Martí’s sketch of a united Latin America in opposition to the United States, as well as the emphasis on the importance of Cuban independence, was a cornerstone of the political agenda of Fidel Castro and the Cuban Revolution. After his death on the battlefield, the worship of Martí rose steadily, and he was endowed with divine titles such as prophet, redeemer or the most incisive: “El Apóstol”,20 which is still widely used today. As Fernández-Guevara (2019:118) demonstrates, virtually all subsequent Cuban politicians, be they ultra-conservative or radically progressive, referred to José Martí with widely differing interpretations to legitimise their 17  Original: “Viví en el monstruo, y le conozco las entrañas.” 18  Original: “[…] impedir a tiempo con la independencia de

Cuba que se extiendan por las Antillas los Estados Unidos y caigan, con esa fuerza más, sobre nuestras tierras de América.” 19  Original: “Los pueblos que no se conocen han de darse prisa para conocerse, como quienes van a pelear juntos. Los que se ensenan los puños, como hermanos celosos, que quieren los dos la misma tierra, o el de casa chica, que le tiene envidia al de casa mejor, han de encajar, de modo que sean una, las dos manos.” 20  See for example the biography by Mañach (1933): Martí: el Apóstol.

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political positions. Thus, the Monumento a José Martí in today’s Plaza de la Revolución was commissioned by Fulgencio Batista in 1952 and erected during his rule as of 1953. Nevertheless, Fidel Castro, who would overthrow Batista a few years later, frequently honoured the monument – or had to honour it – lest he lose popular support. This underscores once again Martí’s significance for Cuban identity and national consciousness. The third war for Cuban independence was different from the preceding uprisings. Starting in 1895, it involved three years of intense preparations and organisation, which prevented the quick defeat or dispersion that happened in the minor insurrections of 1892 (lasted only a few days) and 1893 (both rebellions quelled within a few months) (Pérez Jr. 2015:124). A further difference that would influence the political and social environment of 20th-century Cuba derived from the observation that injustice and socioeconomic as well as political inequality did not necessarily originate from Spanish rule but was already ingrained in Cuban society. Subsequently, Martí, Máximo Gómez, Maceo and Calixto García sought not only independence, but also a “transformation of Cuban society” and a “social revolution” (Pérez Jr. 2015:124). The ideological superstructure they erected led to unification among the many groups of independence-seekers and augured an objective worth fighting for. The overcoming of racial and social oppression in a free and independent Cuba proved a strong and persistent stimulus for the insurgents, so much so that even the death of some of their ideological and military leaders did not halt the third war of independence.21 4.2.3. Cuban Independence and American Intervention

Cuban victory was very likely and imminent when the US intervened on the Cuban side in 1898. The explosion and sinking of the USS Maine in the harbour of Havana, which killed 266 American sailors, made a peaceful solution for the US-Spanish confrontation almost impossible (Musicant 1998:151–152). In fact, it was the straw to break the camel’s back. As Sartorius (2013:211) explains, American newspapers had previously been painting a picture of “unspeakable brutality” used by Spanish troops against Cuban insurgents. These reports on Spanish abominations prompted the American people to express deep compassion with the Cuban struggle for independence and to press the US government to intervene. Nevertheless, it took almost two months after the Maine incident until a declaration of war was delivered in April 1898, leading to the Spanish-American War. The destruction of the Maine was not the single reason for the

21  José Martí was killed on May 19, 1895, in Dos Ríos; Antonio Maceo was killed on December 7, 1896, in

Punta Brava, and Calixto García died of pneumonia on December 11, 1898, in Washington, D. C.

National Conscience and the Long Struggle for Independence

conflict, but it did cause a public outcry for retaliation, thereby making it impossible for US President William McKinley to ignore (Pérez Jr. 1989:314–315). Despite its intervention for humanitarian reasons, the US primarily pursued an economic and geopolitical agenda concerning Cuba, exemplified by the fact that prior to declaring war on Spain in 1898, President McKinley had tried to purchase the island for US$300 million (Guerra Vilaboy & Loyola Vega 2014:35). An 1897 memorandum issued by US Undersecretary of War J. C. Breckenridge (cited in Ricardo 1994:45–46) reveals US policy towards Cuba at the time: We must destroy everything within our cannons’ range of fire. We must impose a harsh blockade so that hunger and its constant companion, disease, undermine the peaceful population and decimate the Cuban army. […] We must create conflicts for the independent government. […] To sum up, our policy must always be to support the weaker against the stronger, until we have obtained the extermination of them both, in order to annex the Pearl of the Antilles.

With American troops advancing against the already decimated Spanish colonial army, victory was achieved in a matter of months. The Treaty of Paris, signed on December 10, 1898, officially ended the Spanish-American War and brought Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam and the Philippines under US-American control (Hendrickson Jr. 2003:15). Cuban officials did not take part in the negotiations, and without José Martí or Calixto García’s political powers of self-assertion, the Treaty of Paris stifled the Cuban struggle for independence. Finally free from Spanish rule, Cuba found itself immediately under US domination, although this time the dependency was covered more carefully and was legitimised by the United States using a narrative of modernisation: Cuba should finally be given a modern infrastructure, a modern educational system and an up-to-date culture (Zeuske 2000:27–28). Thus, on January 1, 1899, US General John R. Brooke assumed power and was appointed Military Governor of Cuba. He was replaced by US Major General Leonard Wood on December 23 of the same year. Although the US government agreed upon democratic elections in Cuba, it never seriously projected total independence and sovereignty for the island. Elihu Root, US Secretary of War at the time (cited in Healy 1988:133), noted that “although it [Cuba] is technically a foreign country, practically and morally it occupies an intermediate position, since we have required it to become part of our political and military system, and to form a part of our line of exterior defense”. Osterhammel and Jansen (2017:24) thus adduce the Cuban status until 1959 as a paradigmatic example of a “semi-sovereign territory of exploitation”22 in the orbit the United States as an informal empire. The country’s dependence on the US for its foreign policy and the preservation of its colonial economic and social structures indicate Cuba’s status as a virtual protectorate

22  Original: “semi-souveränes Ausbeutungsgebiet”

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of the United States (Zeuske 2000:11). Nevertheless, without their ideological masterminds, Cubans relinquished the ideas of a “transformation of Cuban society” and a “social revolution” (Pérez Jr. 2015:124) that Martí and the other heroes of the Cuban independence wars had pursued fervently. The promise of a free and an independent Cuba remained so until Fidel Castro (1959a) proclaimed “Esta vez sí que es la Revolución”23 on January 1, 1959. 4.3.

The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro

Although the universally revered José Martí formulated the vision of a socioeconomically just, independent republic with participation for all, the political reality of Cuba during the early 20th century was significantly different. In the decades after the turn of the century, unjust social and economic conditions persisted and, in some cases, even worsened. The unequal opportunities for political participation, the considerable disparities between the metropolis and the periphery, between Havana and Oriente, and barely concealed racism as the legacy of an extensive concentration on slavery-based sugar production (Zeuske 2010:26) prepared the ground for Fidel Castro’s successful Revolution and simultaneously shaped Cuban identities. 4.3.1. Dependence on Independence: Cuba under US Influence

As in many other spheres of social life in newly independent Cuba, the political realm was characterised by great imbalances, mirrored in the constitutional foundation of the Republic of Cuba, which was drafted by political institutions dominated by a white, predominantly male, elite (Zeuske 2000:21). This applied to the Asamblea Constituyente [Constitutional Assembly], which met between November 15, 1900, and February 21, 1901, as well as to the presidential elections of the following decades (Guerra Vilaboy & Loyola Vega 2014:43–46). The Cuban Constitution drafted in 1901 ended immediate US administration, but it took until the following year for the Constitution to become law, as the US military authorities insisted that the Platt Amendment be included therein. Eventually, the Platt Amendment, a constitutional addendum that granted the United States extensive influence in Cuba, was added to the Constitution of the Republic of Cuba on December 25, 1901. Both the first democratic presidential elections (1901) and the drafting of the Cuban Constitution were thus strongly swayed by the United States, which deployed sizable forces on the island until May 1902 (Veeser 2013:54).

23  Translation: “This time, it is the Revolution.”

The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro

On May 20, 1902, the Republic of Cuba was proclaimed, and the US handed over governmental authority to Tomás Estrada Palma, the first elected President of Cuba (in office from 1902 to 1906). Although Cuba had gained independence from Spain, the establishment of a just civil society and stable political conditions was challenging. As Table 4 displays, Cuban heads of state changed frequently between 1899 and the eventual Revolution under Fidel Castro in 1959. This volatility in the highest public office – elected presidents alternating with provisional or appointed heads of state and dictators – was ultimately a symptom of the fragile political situation in Cuba during the first half of the 20th century. The Platt Amendment’s eight regulations contributed to this instability. Veeser (2013:54) considers this imposed constitutional supplement as an almost experimental effort by the US to determine how to exert influence over a formally independent, but nevertheless a politically, economically and militarily-dominated, country. In the context of expansionist US foreign policy at the time, this strategy of extensive control, combined with formal sovereignty, appeared preferable for strategically critical territories. For Cuba, however, the Platt Amendment had severely restrictive consequences, especially regarding foreign policy and fiscal affairs, as regulation III (Statutes of the United States 1901:897) illustrates: That the government of Cuba consents that the United States may exercise the right to intervene for the preservation of Cuban independence, the maintenance of a government adequate for the protection of life, property, and individual liberty, and for discharging the obligation with respect to Cuba imposed by the Treaty of Paris on the United States, now to be assumed and undertaken by the government of Cuba.

By means of the Platt Amendment, the US asserted its right to intervene in Cuba several times during the 1910s and 1920s. Furthermore, as a tool to enforce US interests, the Platt Amendment proved to be “an adequate if imperfect substitute for annexation” (Pérez Jr. 2015:148).

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Table 4: Heads of state in Cuba, from 1899 until present.

Source: own design.

Having American troops on the island was not unusual during the first years of the Cuban Republic. Many Cuban presidents, among them Tomás Estrada Palma, allowed the United States into their interventions, sometimes reluctantly, but often also supportively, recognising that the goodwill of the United States was necessary to remain in office – or even to achieve it in the first place (Zeuske 2000:27). When the presidential election scheduled for 1906 was overshadowed by suspicions of electoral manipulation and the exclusion of candidates who were disagreeable to the government, violent riots, known as Guerrita de Agosto, erupted (Zeuske

The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro

2016a:159–160). President Estrada Palma had to call upon the help of the United States, which felt compelled to intervene after his resignation in the same year. Initially, the US installed William H. Taft24 as military governor for two months, followed by Charles E. Magoon as civilian governor, to head the government (until 1909). Zeuske (2000:33) remarks that the intervention of the US was a “self-fulfilling prophecy”: The necessity of the intervention by the protecting power seems to prove Cuba’s inability to govern itself autonomously, but in fact it was repeatedly and purposefully forced by the Cuban political elite to secure its own power. In the presidential elections postponed until 1908, which, like the first election of 1902, were held under the supervision and control of the US, José Miguel Gómez was voted Cuban president (in office until 1913). He was formerly a farmer and a respected major general during the third war of independence and originally was “regarded a true representative of the poor” (Guerra Vilaboy & Loyola Vega 2014:48). However, he swiftly betrayed voter confidence, as widespread corruption, self-enrichment and racism characterised his presidency (Pérez Jr. 2015:170–171). Thus, even free, democratic elections did not genuinely improve the situation of the landless, impoverished masses. Instead, a small ruling class made up of mainly white officers, a few coloured icons of the independence war, large landowners and old-boy networks was cemented during the Guerrita de Negros in 1912. This armed conflict, also known as Levantamiento Armado de los Independientes de Color [Armed Uprising of Coloured Independents], was launched by former Mambises of colour and resulted in several thousand deaths (Zeuske 2010:26). During the struggle, the US sent troops to protect American property such as mines and sugar plants, but it did not actively intervene in the conflict (Pérez Jr. 1986:537). Nevertheless, the Cuban economy boomed, mainly due to high international demand for sugar and increasing capital inflow from the US.25 Between 1913 and 1928, direct investment from the US rose by more than 536 %. Hence, in 1929, the US government and US corporations invested over US$1.5 billion, totalling about 27.3 % of all US investments in Latin America during that period (Smith 1960:29). Already during the independence wars of the 19th century, the decay of the “grand Cuban bourgeoisie” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:46) had begun, which formerly mainly consisted of criollos. Its demise gathered speed through the temporary decay of the pivotal sugar industry in the 1920s, following the short but extreme ‘gold-rush mood’

24  Taft later became the 27th President of the United States (1909 to 1913). 25  Crucial for the Cuban sugar industry was the rapidly increased demand

for sugar in the US (Pollitt 1984:5–7). The fast-growing US population (from 81 to 115 million between 1903 and 1925), surging per capita incomes and increasing per capita sugar consumption resulted in a doubling of the annual US consumption of raw sugar, from three to six million tons between 1903 and 1925. To tie Cuba economically closer to the US, imports of Cuban sugar were subject to both purchase and price guarantees.

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of the Danza de los Millones, which soon turned out to be a financial bubble (Middelanis 2018). This crisis enabled US corporations, specialised in sugar and industrial-scale food production in general, to buy bankrupt sugar mills and large amounts of land in Cuba – among others, National Sugar Refining Co., United Fruit and Hershey (Pino Santos 1973:92–94). As a result, the Cuban bourgeoisie lost much of its power to shape the Cuban destiny they had been fighting for so long to politicians and financiers from the US. This reshaping affected not only questions surrounding economic development, but also the processes of cultural transformation and social as well as political conditions. The high influence of US governments as well as companies and cultures in Cuba is described by Phillips (1959:357) thus: “The United States is mirrored in every phase of Cuban life.” This US political and cultural dominion remained largely intact despite the rebellion of 1933 and lasted until Fidel Castro’s eventually successful revolution in 1959 (Dunne 2011:448–449). Cuba’s relative lack of power vis-à-vis the US at that time partly explains the deeply negative attitude many Cubans still exhibit toward the US today. 4.3.2. Machado and Batista Undermining Politics and Civil Society

The aforementioned revolution of 1933 ended the regime of Gerardo Machado y Morales (in office from 1925 to 1933), who at first “seemed one of the best presidents that Cuba had had” (Munro 1974:342). However, after initial efforts to revitalise the sugar industry and to improve living conditions for the population, Machado started to disempower regulating government bodies. After he won the presidential election of 1929 by fraud (Machado was the only candidate), he installed a repressive dictatorship and unlawfully promoted especially American sugar mills. Shaken by the repercussions of the Great Depression, Cuban sugar and industry workers started to oppose Machado’s government heavily. In February 1933, the first sugar mills were occupied in Oriente, armed defence groups were formed and Soviet-style worker’s councils proclaimed (Carr 1996:138) until the insurrection escalated into a full-scale revolution. This uprising infringed on all of Cuba and culminated in a general strike in August 1933, terminating Machado’s dictatorship. Domínguez Lopez and Yaffe (2017:4) explain this “crisis of the oligarchic-imperial model of domination” as the result of the US’s “growing awareness of the centrality of [its] imperialism in the country’s situation” among the Cuban population. In September of the same year, Sergeant Fulgencio Batista, who was supported by the US, toppled the provisional government, stifled the revolution and started a major reform process through several presidents controlled directly by him. In the following years, Batista built a strong nation state with a tradition of regulation and strengthened the military and police forces. Nevertheless, dependency on the US remained high, although Batista’s governments coloured themselves as nationalistic (Zeuske 2010:26)

The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro

and populistic – at least until 1940 (Whitney 2000:439). Presidents and governments changed in quick succession in the following years, but all of them remained under Batista’s control (Argote-Freyre 2006:230). However, the experiences of the revolution of 1933 led to the unprecedented politicisation of Cuban society, with the broad consensus that the nation needed an “authoritarian and reformist” (Whitney 2000:438) government that “should intervene in society” to foster economic and political development. The newly drafted Constitution of 1940, which simultaneously considered labour rights and the necessity for government intervention, while accepting the ascendance of private ownership, was the result of these new tendencies of politicisation among the Cuban population. It is considered one of the most progressive constitutions at that time (Wachs 1994:543) and addressed central questions on social and economic rights, namely the Constitution limiting the size of landownership, ending capital punishment, introducing minimum wages and, inter alia, encouraging public education. Whitney (2000:438) notes the irony of the “demands of the failed revolution of 1933” to become “the constitutional edicts of 1940”. However, large parts of the Constitution of 1940 were never transferred into actual law, or they were outright ignored by many presidents. From 1952 to 1954, Batista even suspended the Constitution completely (Wachs 1994:544). Furthermore, the alteration of the former presidential system to a semi-parliamentary system did not have the intended effects. In 1949, Stokes (1949:361) noticed that the implemented fragments of the 1940 Constitution did not enable the Cuban population to enforce its political will; “instead, [the] Cuban administration [was] still characterized by executive omnipotence”. Nevertheless, the 1940 Constitution was widely regarded as essentially operative, albeit with huge defects in implementation – mainly due to corruption, self-enrichment and a constant balancing act between the demands of Cuban society and US interests. For although the Platt Amendment was rescinded in 1934 and removed from the Cuban Constitution of 1940,26 the US-backed reign of Batista seemed to confirm its principal idea: Cuban governments could only persist with the support and benevolence of the US (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:116). The eminence of the 1940 Constitution and the hopes associated with it were emphasised by Fidel Castro, who referred to it during his famous defence speech La historia me absolverá [History will absolve me], held in 1953. In this speech, Castro (2007a [1953]:89–90) initially drew an idealistic picture of Cuba under the 1940Constitution:

26  This

mainly happened in the wake of US President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s (in office from 1933–1945) Good Neighbor policy, which tried to improve relations between the US and Latin America in the light of expanding fascism in Europe. In addition, the lease on the US military harbour in Guantánamo Bay, originally regulated by the Platt Amendment, was extended virtually indefinitely (Miranda Bravo 2008:72–76).

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Once upon a time there was a republic. It had its Constitution, its laws, its freedoms, a president, a congress, and courts of law. Everyone could assemble, associate, speak and write with complete freedom. The people were not satisfied with the government officials at that time, but they had the power to elect new officials and only a few days remained before they would do so. […] The whole nation pulsated with enthusiasm.

In contrast to this exuberant description, Castro then depicted a dark picture of the seizure of power by Batista, from whom he demanded the restoration of the Constitution of 1940. In a further vein, Castro (2007a [1953]:90) declared this to be one of the main goals of his revolutionary movement. Poor country! One morning the citizens woke up dismayed; under the cover of darkness, while the people slept, the ghosts of the past had conspired and had seized the citizenry by its hands, its feet, and its neck. That grip, those claws were familiar: those jaws, those death-dealing scythes, those boots. No, it was no nightmare; it was a sad and terrible reality: A man named Fulgencio Batista had just perpetrated the appalling crime that no one had expected.

In 1940, Batista was elected Cuban President in a comparatively fair and free election (Pérez Jr. 2015:220). US dependency rose further in the following years, and especially the sugar industry greatly benefitted from World War II, as sugar was declared a strategic resource in the US. In the following years, Batista conducted several economic reforms, and his politics were mainly worker- and union-friendly. He had realised that a stable government would inevitably fail unless the popular masses were given proper consideration (Whitney 2000:459). Nevertheless, he was unable to install his designated successor in office during the presidential election of 1944;27 instead, Ramón Grau San Martin (in office from 1944 to 1948) and the Partido Auténtico won the election (Domínguez 1979:101). Batista moved to the US, from where he kept close ties to Cuba – especially to the military – without open interference (Argote-Freyre 2001:203). 4.3.3. Gangsterismo and Desperation

In his examination of this period of democratically elected but felonious governments, from 1944 to 1952, Ameringer (2000:145) notes that the administrations of the Partido Auténtico under Grau San Martin and his successor Carlos Prío Socarrás (1948–1952) lost nearly all credibility among the Cuban population, mainly due to corruption and violence that pervaded the highest ranks of the government. As Pérez Jr. (2015:222)

27  The electoral system, introduced by the Constitution of 1940, precluded Batista from this election.

The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro

puts it, “the public trust was transformed into a private till”. During Auténtico rule, the term Gangsterismo described the fusion of political power and means of violence and terror used to enrich the inner circle around the government. Under such circumstances, it was certainly difficult to cultivate lasting and thorough trust in democratic institutions and principles. Although the competing Partido Ortodoxo28 (actual name: Partido del Pueblo Cubano – Ortodoxos; PPC-O) was not free from defects itself, its charismatic leader Eduardo Chibás is described as a “people’s champion” (Ameringer 2000:145) who possibly might have won the presidential elections, as he typified the “outraged conscience of the nation”. However, Chibás did not have the chance to compete in the elections of 1952. During one of his weekly radio shows, where he made a blazing appeal to the Cuban population to ‘wake up’ and fight for economic independence, political freedom and social justice, he committed suicide by shooting himself with a Colt 38 during the live broadcast (Hoffmann 2009a:53). After Chibás’ suicide, his successor at the head of the PPC-O was unable to fill the “great void” (Ameringer 2000:165) the death of Chibás had left, or to position the party as a real opposition to the Auténticos, who themselves had lost almost all credibility and support among the Cuban population. In these politically unstable times, Batista returned from exile and made it to the top of the military. In March 1952, backed by the armed forces, he utilised the ‘great void’, annulled the presidential elections and toppled the elected government in a coup d’état.29 Chibás’ suicide out of despair, and the initially unresisted takeover of Batista, highlights the confused and ambiguous circumstances that characterised Cuban society and politics in the 1940s and 1950s. These events, year-long uncertainties and sudden changes in politics left deep marks in the collective memory of the population, which in contrast perceived the comparatively stable relations under the revolutionary government after 1959 as a strong foundation on which to provide stability and orientation.

28  The name Ortodoxo does not refer to orthodox belief but to the strict loyalty to the ideals of José Martí.

Young advocate Fidel Castro was among the founding members of the Partido Ortodoxo. 29  Guillermo Cabrera Infante (1994:143–144), a Cuba-born writer who grew up during the regime of Batista, was familiar with Fidel Castro and Che Guevara and now lives in exile in England, comments on the suicide of Chibás and Batista’s coup d’état: “With his death, Chibás had deprived the political opposition of their natural leader and had left his party in a chaos greater than the one the Republic was in then. So, some months later, Batista carried out his infamous, fateful coup d’état that was both bloodless and easy because President Prío chose not to resist, his bags always at hand.”

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4.3.4. Social and Moral Decay during Batista’s Second Dictatorship

Batista’s subversion was a reaction to the imminent electoral victory of a left-wing-national and anti-Communist unification he wanted to prevent. He soon started to install a barely disguised dictatorship, which used repressive methods against the Cuban population but was unable to appease the growing unrest due to “massive Americanisation, modernisation and [the] sugar crisis” (Zeuske 2010:26). Batista managed to restrict the freedom of press, political engagement and freedom of assembly, as he could count on both the military and the United States (Domínguez 1979:124–126) to exert pressure in this regard. During Batista’s regime, tourism evolved rapidly, especially in Havana. According to Jayawardena (2003:52–53), tourist arrivals increased 23-fold between 1944 and 1957, with US-Americans representing 86 % of visitors in 1958. The popularity of Cuba as destination among many white elitist American tourists was due to a great deal on the fact that things almost unconceivable back home in the prudish United States of the 1950s were possible: gambling, alcohol, sex and exotic beaches (or at least their imagination) took full effect on American amusement seekers and made them perceive Cuba, and especially Havana, as places offering legal vice (Fulger 2019:72). However, the Cuban population did not profit from this boom at all: for the most part, the political elite around dictator Batista and a cabal of collaborating US mobsters gained control over popular hotels, nightclubs, bars, casinos and brothels and extracted large amounts of touristic profit. Meanwhile, the Cuban population suffered under these conditions, as morality and social structure decayed increasingly (Miller & Henthorne 1997:4–5). Elizalde (1996:37) estimates the number of prostitutes in Cuba in 1959 at roughly 100,000, out of a total population of about 6 million. According to her estimate, about 95 % of the prostitutes in Havana at that time originated from rural areas. Commenting on the social situation in Havana during the second regime of Batista, Pérez Jr. (2015:239–240) quotes American historian Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr.,30 who remembered a stay in the Cuban capital: I was enchanted by Havana – and appalled by the way that lovely city was being debased into a great casino and brothel for American businessmen over for a big weekend from Miami. My fellow countrymen reeled through the streets, picking up fourteen-year-old Cuban girls and tossing coins to make men scramble in the gutter. One wondered how any Cuban […] could regard the United States with anything but hatred.

By contrast, Argote-Freyre (2020) presents an interestingly different perspective on tourism and Mafia activities in Havana during the 1940s and 1950s. Following his analysis, he acknowledges such activities in principle but assigns them a marginal role.

30  Schlesinger Jr. was also political advisor, including Special Assistant to President John F. Kennedy.

The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro

Instead, he argues that the accentuation of the wickedness of tourism in Cuba during this period was largely a result of the skilful framing of Fidel Castro’s revolutionaries. The entanglement of organised crime and pre-revolutionary governments are thus “manufactured memories” (Argote-Freyre 2020:282) that primarily serve political goals. 4.3.5. Fidel Castro Steps up: Beginnings of the Cuban Revolution

The second period of Batista’s rule was no longer populist but in fact dictatorial (Fernández-Guevara 2019:117). For large segments of the population, social and economic conditions worsened. Moreover, it became clear that the populist announcements of the 1930s and 1940s were at most empty promises. As a result, armed uprisings occurred regularly, some of which sought to follow on from the revolution of 1933. Hence, during the 1950s, several groups of anti-Batistas competed for support among the population (Zeuske 2010:27). The arguably most spectacular and influential violent attempt to usurp was the attack on the Cuartel Moncada [Moncada Barracks] in Santiago de Cuba on July 26, 1953. Under the command of Fidel Castro, about 135 poorly armed men and women tried to storm the barracks (though with about 400 armed soldiers the second largest in the country) to steal weapons for the armed fight against Batista. The assault was defeated quickly, mainly due to organisational mistakes, poor strategy and bad luck (de la Cova 2007:117). About half of the revolutionaries were killed, and many others were arrested, tortured and murdered in jail. Fidel Castro and his brother Raúl, who also participated in the attack, were arrested five days later and put on trial as of September 21, 1953 (Daynes 1996:2). Although the attack itself failed, it was of tremendous symbolic importance (Eckstein 1995:15). Fidel Castro emphasised this importance when he named his movement responsible for the overthrow of Batista in remembrance of the attack: Movimiento 26 de Julio [26th of July Movement]. Furthermore, July 26th became a national holiday right after victory, and the lettering M-26-7, as well as the red-black flag of the movement (see Figure 5), became symbols of the Cuban Revolution that can still be seen frequently across the island (see Figure 28 on page 354). As a lawyer, Fidel Castro defended himself in court. On October 16, 1953, he made his famous speech, which later received the title in line with its conclusion: La historia me absolverá. In his appeal, he expounded the motives and justifications for the attack on Cuartel Moncada. His argumentation mainly focused on his ‘duty’ to restore the Constitution of 1940 and to bring back law, order and liberty, as well as democratic principles. In his speech, Castro positioned himself in ideological agreement with the ideals of José Martí and proclaimed a violent revolution to be the only remaining way to achieve this restoration (Castro Ruz 2007a [1953]: 95, 99, 104):

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Figure 5: M-26-7 armband. Source: own photo (2017), taken in the Museo Armería 9 de Abril, Havana.

Cuba is suffering from a cruel and base despotism. You are well aware that resistance to despots is legitimate. This is a universally recognised principle and our 1940 Constitution expressly makes it a sacred right, in the second paragraph of Article 40: ‘It is legitimate to use adequate resistance to protect previously granted individual rights.’ […] With our Constitution betrayed and the people deprived of all their prerogatives, there was only one way open: one right which no power may abolish. The right to resist oppression and injustice. […] It seemed that the Apostle [Fidel Castro refers to José Martí and puts himself on the very same historical pathway with him] would die during his centennial. It seemed that his memory would be extinguished forever. […] But he is alive; he has not died. His people are rebellious. His people are worthy. His people are faithful to his memory. There are Cubans who have fallen defending his doctrines. There are young combatants who in magnificent selflessness came to die beside his tomb, giving their blood and their lives so that he could keep on living in the heart of his nation. Cuba, what would have become of you had you let your Apostle die?

Likewise, within the speech, he presented his blueprint for a Cuba after victory by his revolutionaries: besides agrarian reform, the financial participation of industrial workers and the confiscation of unlawful attained properties were focal parts of his agenda (Castro Ruz 2007a [1953]) and indeed would partly be found in measures taken by the revolutionary government after 1959. Overall, the attack on Cuartel Moncada, the ensuing trial and especially Castro’s defence speech sparked the population’s interest in and appreciation for the rebels. This appreciation did not spare him from jail (he was sentenced to 15 years, his brother Raúl to 13 years), but it was mainly responsible for him not being tortured and executed (Caistor 2013:33–34). However, in retrospection, the revolutionaries acknowledged that they had misjudged the willingness of the Cuban people to take part in an armed uprising to topple Batista. Che Guevara (1969 [1960]:509), who joined Castro’s M-26-7-movement in 1955, later conceded the revolutionaries had “blind confidence in

The Cuban Republic: Political Instability Setting the Stage for Fidel Castro

a rapid popular outburst, enthusiasm and faith to wipe out Batista’s power by a quick uprising combined with spontaneous revolutionary strikes and the subsequent fall of the dictator”.31 Nevertheless, a political campaign led to the premature discharge of Fidel and Raúl Castro in 1955, after just two years in jail (Eckstein 1995:15). 4.3.6. Meeting Che in Exile and Returning to Cuba

In July 1955, not even two months after his discharge, Fidel Castro went into exile in Mexico. In a letter to the press, Castro (2004 [1955]:36) explained his departure: I am leaving Cuba, because all doors of peaceful struggle have been closed to me. […] As a follower of Martí, I think that the time has come to take our rights and not beg for them, to fight instead of pleading for them.32

To prepare for a renewed violent struggle, Fidel Castro, his brother Raúl, who was already sojourned in Mexico City, and their proponents practiced guerrilla warfare and tactics and raised a small invasion army. Raúl also acquainted Fidel with a young doctor from Argentina, Ernesto Guevara Serna, called Che, who joined the cause of the Cuban Revolution (Hoffmann 2009a:58). This encounter was to leave a lasting influence on the revolutionary movement, both ideologically and in terms of its identity-forming character. Guevara, who was an ardent Marxist-Leninist, introduced Fidel and Raúl Castro to the ideological structures of socialism, which especially Raúl would espouse fiercely from that point on. Fidel Castro and Che Guevara quickly became friends, revolutionary masterminds and comrades in arms; indeed, the latter certainly was more adept in Marxist social theory and ideology. On his own admission, Fidel Castro later confessed his admiration for Che, whom he characterised as “a more advanced revolutionary than I was” (see Lockwood 2003:162). Finally, after many months of preparation, 82 revolutionaries, among them Fidel and Raúl Castro, Che Guevara and the later also revered revolutionary hero Camillo Cienfuegos, set sail for Cuba on November 25, 1956, aboard the heavily overcrowded motor yacht Granma.33 The plan was to reach the mountains of Sierra Maestra in eastern Cuba and to start an armed rebellion against Batista, using tactics of guerrilla warfare. The Cuban Revolution now fully took off. 31  Original: “Confianza ciega en una rápida explosión popular, entusiasmo y fe en poder liquidar el pode-

río batistiano por un rápido alzamiento combinado con huelgas revolucionarias espontáneas y la subsiguiente caída del dictador.” 32  Original: “Me marcho de Cuba, porque me han cerrado todas las puertas para la lucha cívica. […] Como martiano pienso que ha llegado la hora de tomar los derechos y no pedirlos, de arrancarlos en vez de mendigarlos.” 33  The official newspaper of the PCC was later named Granma for this yacht that today is exhibited in a pavilion of the Museo de la Revolucíon in Havana.

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4.4.

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

Fidel Castro’s second attempt to topple Batista by force initially appeared to be ill-fated as well (after the attack on Cuartel Moncada). The Granma got caught in a storm, most of the men became seasick and the expedition landed on December 2, 1956, in a swampy area of the coast, not on a beach as originally intended. In addition, the Granma reached Cuba two days later than planned, and therefore the prearranged reception committee equipped with trucks had already left, leaving the 82 revolutionaries on their own. Above all, the Cuban military knew about the revolutionaries landing and attacked the expedition on December 5, 1956, and in the following days. After many of the men fell, were arrested or deserted, the rest of them scattered. On December 26, the M-26-7 army consisted of only 21 revolutionaries hiding in the thick woods of the Sierra Maestra, as Guevara (2013 [1956]:36–37) noted in his diary. Among them, besides Guevara, were Fidel and Raúl Castro and Camillo Cienfuegos. Nevertheless, due to extensive support, mainly provided by peasants and a wide underground network collecting money and weapons and further material in Cuban cities, M-26-7 forces were able to resist the numerically and technologically superior troops of Batista. After several months of consolidation, they finally succeeded in carrying the revolutionary war from the mountains of the Sierra Maestra to the plains of central Cuba. One key factor in the widespread support for Fidel Castro’s revolution was the disappointment of many Cubans with the Batista regime. For most of the population, the pre-revolutionary state was a reflection of “falsehood, of corruption” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:111) and far from the ideals conveyed by José Martí and the promises of the Cuban struggle for independence. Therefore, very few Cubans identified and sympathised with the state and endorsed it during the revolutionary fight of the M-26-7 army. Conversely, many of them supported the revolution of Fidel Castro. The main reasons for this were, on the one hand, the chance to participate in this historic movement, thus perhaps leading it in a personally favourable direction, and on the other, the “substratum of the ideal” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:112) of a free and independent Cuba that had been promised to the people for a very long time. With their Manifesto de Sierra Maestra from 1957 (Chibás et al. 1957:96–97), which announced free elections based on the 1940 Constitution, the rebels also convinced intellectuals and factions within the Cuban upper classes to ally with them.34 Hence, Castro and his guerrillas won backing, not only by the rural population, but also by members of the political opposition to Batista and the Cuban middle class, which was suffering from growing inflation, economic stagnation and major socioeconomic disparities, but who did not expect a comprehensive transformation of the whole Cuban system (Hoffmann 2009a:60–62). Even the United States, though a 34  However, it should be noted that Castro did not keep his promise of free elections and the restoration

of the 1940 Constitution.

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

longstanding ally, turned away from Batista and weakened his position significantly. In 1958, the guerrilla movement led by Fidel Castro became the predominant force in the fight against Batista (Zeuske 2010:27). Despite superior resources and troop strength, the Cuban army under Batista was progressively put on the defensive throughout 1957 and 1958, while the revolutionary movement steadily gained ground. While Cuban elites had called upon the United States for support against the popular masses’ uprising (and Fidel Castro’s movement can be regarded as an expression thereof) amid the revolutionary skirmishes of the 1890s and 1930s, they now held back. The realities of the Platt Amendment and the 1940 Constitution, which was magnificent on paper but never fully applied, were too frustrating, even for the Cuban upper-class. Consequently, some parts of the Cuban financial and social elite secretly put their hopes for a restoration of the 1940 Constitution in Castro, who had indeed promised to do so on numerous occasions (Pérez-Stable 1999a:59). Throughout 1958, the effects of a large-scale offensive by Batista’s army came to nothing. At the end of the year, Fidel and Raúl Castro besieged Santiago de Cuba while Che Guevara and Camillo Cienfuegos marched with several hundred guerrillas towards western Cuba. When Che’s column won the only major battle of the revolutionary war by derailing an armoured train in Santa Clara on December 29, 1958, the path to Havana was cleared for Cienfuegos (Hoffman 2009a:62). In light of his imminent defeat, Batista fled into the night on New Year’s Eve. Fidel Castro and the guerrillas of M-26-7 had won the war (Pérez-Stable 1999a:61). In his victory speech in Santiago de Cuba on January 1, 1959, Fidel Castro (1959a) declared: “Esta vez sí que es la Revolución” [This time, it is the Revolution] and put it in sharp contrast to the impeded and suppressed revolutions of 1895, 1933 and 1953. This time, the Revolution was for real. 4.4.1. The Revolution: Founding Myth and Anchor of Identity

The Cuban Revolution constitutes the foundation myth of the present Cuban nation. In the narrative of the revolutionaries, overthrowing Batista, ending US domination and obtaining comprehensive independence for the first time in Cuban history represented the fulfilment of a great promise pledged centuries ago. By repeatedly using references to José Martí, Antonio Maceo, Carlos Manuel de Céspedes and other heroically charged figures of the struggle for independence, the revolutionaries painted a picture of the Cuban nation as having achieved the destiny their ancestors started to pursue hundreds of years previously (see Figure 6).35 35  In the silkscreen, Che Guevara seems to guide a band of combatants in the wars of independence and of

the Revolution. From left to right: Máximo Gómez, José Martí, Igancio Agramonte, Che Guevara, Camilo Cienfuegos and Quintín Bandera.

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The Revolution thereby is turned into a de facto inevitable occurrence in Cuban history. It tells of a nation of revolutionaries struggling for freedom and independence, who are unafraid to fight and sacrifice their lives in the pursuit of liberation (Holbraad 2014:383). By doing so, the revolutionaries created a strong, distinctive narrative that embedded the Revolution in a positively connotated historical context of continuity. According to this narrative, the Revolution was Cuba’s natural destiny, making it a source of identity for broad strata of the population.

Figure 6: Interweaving of independence and revolutionary fighters in Cuban art. Source: Silkscreen by René Mederos (1972), image taken from Kunzle (1997:18).

First and foremost, the 21 surviving men of the Granma landing became venerated and admired heroes of the Revolution, as well as figures of identification for generations of Cubans to come. This identification is specifically fostered by the revolutionary regime: As shown in Figure 7 using Fidel Castro as an example, the heroes of the revolution often appear in school textbooks. They address the pupils directly, for example in

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

reading exercises. Through the constant exposure to the revolutionaries, even in a school context, as well as through the familiar, quite intimate imagery (in Figure 7 on the left), a close bond with the revolutionaries and the revolution is to be constructed from an early age. Furthermore, countless murals (see Figure  8), statues and even banknotes (see Figure 9) still cite and depict them. The days of their deaths are national memorial days, with the state press covering them and their intellectual inheritance on a regular base. Medin (1990:29) even writes about a “guerrilla epic” that revolves around the heroes of the Revolution, while Iwasaki (2019) calls Che “el Cristo de los guerrilleros” [the Christ of the guerrillas]. Likewise, Camillo Cienfuegos was and still is highly revered.36 Especially Fidel Castro himself became a living symbol of identification for many Cubans (Kice 2008:36). His significance for the integrating and rousing force of the Cuban Revolution can hardly be overestimated. In addition to his eloquent speeches and his charismatic appearance (always in uniform, often with a gun), his widespread photographs, mostly taken by Alberto Korda, also contributed to his important role and his identity-forming impact.

Figure 7: Illustration of Fidel Castro in a Cuban first grade schoolbook. Source: Álvarez (1977:10–11).

36  Cienfuegos

died on October 28, 1959, in unexplained circumstances. While the version of Cuban officials indicates a plane crash as the cause of his death (the plane was never found), other sources (mainly critics of Fidel Castro) suggest a targeted assassination because of his popularity and potential rivalry to Fidel Castro.

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Figure 8: Mural of Che Guevara next to a framed picture of Fidel Castro. Source: own photo (2017), taken in a bakery in Matanzas.

Figure 9: CUP20 banknote depicting Camillo Cienfuegos. Source: own photo (2017).

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

A large proportion of their potential for worship and admiration derives from the fact that the revolutionaries were willing to suffer and immolate for the Revolution. Especially their willingness to sacrifice their own lives for the cause contributes to their continued adoration and recitation in newspapers, television, radio and the arts (Medin 1990:34). In this context, Medin (1990:34) and Holbraad (2014:377–378) point to the revolutionary battle cry “Patria o muerte” [Homeland or death], which can be understood quite literally: convinced revolutionaries (i. e. as envisioned by the leadership, all Cubans) should be willing to make the greatest sacrifice for the homeland. Moreover, the comparison with the great sacrifices of the heroes of days gone by provides the moral scales on which today’s deprivations (e. g. economic crisis, power cuts, fuel shortages) appear comparatively ‘light’ and bearable. This narration commences with the grand wars of independence and finally culminates in the triumph of the Revolution in 1959. Such continuity bestows the Revolution with the appearance of a “natural phenomenon” (Eickelpasch & Rademacher 2013:70–71). Following this narrative, the Revolution had to happen. Hence, Cubans were given a sense of historical importance; they felt embedded in history, aligned with their ancestors and arrived at their national fate. Fidel Castro (1968) repeatedly promoted this narrative, for instance in his speech for the hundredth anniversary of the Grito de Yara on October 10, 1968: In short, it [the Grito de Yara] means the beginning of a hundred years of struggle, the beginning of the revolution in Cuba, because there has only been one revolution in Cuba: the one started by Carlos Manuel de Céspedes on October 10, 1868. And which our people carry forward at this very moment.37

During the guerrilla war in the Sierra Maestra mountains, the revolutionaries realised that in order to ensure the long-term success of the Revolution, it was necessary not only to elicit short-term enthusiasm arising from the impending transformations, but also to inculcate revolutionary consciousness in the Cuban people. This development of consciousness among the masses could not – and would not – occur instantaneously but would have to be gradual, i. e. people would have to be progressively transformed into revolutionary subjects (Medin 1990:5–9). To this end, the masses would need to follow the example of a vanguardia [leading group], as Guevara (1968 [1965]:4) noted later: Then came the stage of guerrilla warfare. It was carried out in two different environments: the people, an as [sic] yet unawakened mass that had to be mobilized, and its vanguard, the guerrilla, the thrusting engine of mobilisation, the generator of revolutionary awareness and militant enthusiasm. This vanguard was the catalyst which created the subjective condition necessary for victory. 37  Original: “[El Grito de Yara] significa sencillamente el comienzo de cien años de lucha, el comienzo de

la revolución en Cuba, porque en Cuba solo ha habido una revolución: la que comenzó Carlos Manuel de Céspedes el 10 de octubre de 1868. Y que nuestro pueblo lleva adelante en estos instantes.”

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The task of anchoring revolutionary consciousness firmly in the Cuban population, however, began right after the revolutionaries’ victory. Instead of merely restoring democracy based on the 1940 Constitution, Fidel Castro and his guerrillas wanted to fundamentally transform the socioeconomic and political realities in Cuba (Medin 1990:6–7). While during large parts of the 1950s, most citizens were excluded from decision-making processes in various areas (including societal organisation, community work and job issues), the Revolution, and especially Che Guevara, aimed at a society based on collective participation and the inclusion of individual creativeness. For Guevara, as at first for Fidel Castro, the vision of Cuban socialism consisted not merely in the restructuring of the distribution of wealth and goods, but also in a fundamental transformation of the relationships between the individual and the state, and the individual and his/her labour (Benjamin 1997:18). This intended subjectivation of the Revolution highlights the dialectical relationship between the creation of revolutionary consciousness among Cubans and the emergence of a new socioeconomic order: instead of simply creating a new society that would produce faithful revolutionaries by itself, the “configuration of the new society and the possibility of its perception were conditioned by the creation of a new revolutionary consciousness” (Medin 1990:7). Overall, however, the emergence and consolidation of a revolutionary and later socialist consciousness was less the result of a reflection of the changed realities of Cuban life than of intentionally initiated and controlled processes. Medin (1990:9) describes the Cuban Revolution as a “patent illustration of the possible relevance of the political and military elite as determinants in a modern state […] in terms of popular consciousness”. 4.4.2. Collectivisation and Agrarian Reforms as First Revolutionary Measures

In addition to the creation of revolutionary subjectivity, the Castristas decided on an aspiring socioeconomic and political agenda. Living conditions in the different regions of Cuba and among the different strata of the population were to be levelled out and generally raised. Furthermore, economic dependency on sugar and the US market would be reduced and democratic structures established (Henken 2004:213). However, not all of these objectives would be achieved. The first agrarian reform of the Castro regime in 1959 was mainly a reaction to public claims. Zeuske (2010:27) describes it as “relatively modest”, whereby domestic landowners with more than 400 hectares of land were dispossessed. This land was nationalised and given over to public ownership. The Castristas created huge manors, sugar mills and jobs for peasant labourers in increasingly collectivist and industrialised agricultural compounds, comparable to kolkhozes in the USSR. In subsequent years, gradually even smaller agricultural enterprises were nationalised, bringing agrarian production completely under revolutionary control by 1963 (Henken 2004:215).

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

Collectivisation occurred in other economic sectors as well. While in 1959, collectivisation was still quite moderate, its scope increased through 1960. According to Mesa-Lago (2000:176), it is difficult to discern whether this collectivisation already reflected socialist ideology and development principles or whether they were merely reactions to popular claims and international developments. Either way, during 1959, property belonging to members of the Batista regime was confiscated, as well as rental houses and those means of production (workshops, factories, warehouses, etc.), which, in the eyes of the revolutionaries, had curbed Cuban production (Mesa-Lago 2000:176). The Castristas’ extensive collectivisation prompted large parts of the bourgeoisie to disassociate themselves from the Revolution (Hoffman 2009a:67). This was not what they had hoped for from Fidel Castro, prompting many to leave the country in disappointment (see Chapter 4.4.3). However, for large parts of the Cuban lower and middle classes, the revolutionary reforms constituted a significant improvement in economic and social conditions. Rents were drastically reduced (between 30 and 50 %), electricity and telephone charges were cut and wages in agriculture and industry were increased (Pérez Jr. 2015:252). These genuine achievements in establishing social and economic equality and in distributing wealth assured the Revolution maintained popular support for many years. Beginning in 1960, the intensification of collectivisation in Cuba indicates that Che Guevara’s radical socialist economic policies apparently prevailed. His ambition to substantially restructure the Cuban economy and to control it via central plans required the nationalisation of additional businesses in further sectors. Essentially, Guevara sought to crack Cuba’s century-old, mono-structured economy centred on sugar and to diversify it both agriculturally and industrially (Henken 2004:214). To this end, the Cuban state successively gained control of all means of production and transportation, as well as enterprises, banks and educational and health institutions. The collectivisation process increasingly affected foreign property, especially in the second half of 1960 (Mesa-Lago 2000:176). As a reaction to these dispossessions that mostly affected American sugar plantations owners, the US initiated a program of organisational and financial support for domestic enemies of the Revolution. The confrontation between Cuba and the US seemed inevitable in those days and was further fostered by the former’s increasing economic and military proximity to the USSR (Dunne 2011:451). However, initially, it was primarily the nationalisation of property owned by US companies and citizens that led President Eisenhower (in office from 1953–1961) to prohibit the refining of Soviet crude oil at American refineries in Cuba. Moreover, the US quota for Cuban sugar was eliminated, and a trade embargo excluding medical device products and food was implemented in June 1960 (Fandl 2017:318–319). These decisions actuated a self-enhancing loop: Fidel Castro in turn nationalised US refineries and other possessions owned by non-Cubans. Eisenhower, fearing the

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emergence of further US-critical regimes in Latin America, and therefore favouring harsh and incisive measures, reacted by breaking off all diplomatic and trade relations on January 3, 1961 (17 days before handing over office to President Kennedy). This, in turn, provoked Castro to dispossess and nationalise almost all US properties in Cuba (Haney & Vanderbush 2005:15–16). Economic blockades, open and covert interventions and attacks, as well as constant engagement at different intelligence levels, would characterise the nature of Cuba-US relations for decades to come (Zeuske 2010:27). However, already the first measures made by the revolutionaries, such as the reformation of the agrarian sector and the imminent confrontation with the US, prompted recognisable parts of the Cuban population to leave the island, mainly for the United States. Among the early émigrés of the 1960s, highly educated and skilled persons were particularly overrepresented (Pérez 1986:129). 4.4.3. Excursus: Cuban Emigration to the United States

While there has always been emigration from Cuba and immigration towards it, the number of people leaving the country (mostly for the United States) grew significantly in the years following the victory of the Cuban Revolution (see Figure 10).

Figure 10: Cubans obtaining lawful permanent resident status in the US. (please note: year dates represent fiscal years starting in October) Source: own design with data from United States Department of Homeland Security (2020:6–10).

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

In contrast to most other immigrants moving to the US, Cuba was represented by its upper class, “composed of Cuban proprietors, their executives, their professionals” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:44)  – the Cuban bourgeoise, as Fanon (2004[1961]:101) would have called it. At the very end of the 1970s, the exodus of upper-class members willing and able to emigrate dwindled; instead, the proportion of Cuban émigrés with low formal education and social status rose (Portes et al. 1977:16). The fact that emigration during the first years of the Cuban Revolution was mainly characterised by the exodus of the bourgeoise might be traced back to the repellent effect of the ongoing socialist transformation taking place. Albeit the number of people leaving Cuba for the United States is generally an inadequate indicator of satisfaction with the situation in Cuba, peaks in migration numbers often stem from singular measures, and opportunities to emigrate and are rarely spontaneous expressions of dissatisfaction with the current situation. The emigration from Cuba to the United States was “politically favoured” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:45) by most US governments until Barack Obama took office (from 2009–2017). With the Cuban Adjustment Act, from 1966, every Cuban who arrived in the US after January 1, 1959 “by any route, under any circumstances” (LeoGrande 2015a:939) received a permission to work and would gain residence after one year’s continuous stay. Via the Obama administration’s Thaw of US-Cuba relations, this ‘wet foot, dry foot’ policy was rescinded. Subsequently, Cuban migrants were treated by the US like any other immigrants from Latin America, thus drastically reducing the attractiveness of flight to the country. Although this initially seems like a concession to the revolutionary government, the Obama administration’s plan envisioned that dissatisfied Cubans would no longer make the passage to Florida. Instead, they would voice their frustrations in Cuba, where they would openly or subversively engage in change (De Bhal 2018:446). The successive US administration under President Trump (in office from 2017–2021) aggressively opposed migration from Latin America and the Caribbean and retained the regulation for Cuban immigrants passed under Obama. Additionally, the possibilities for Cubans to obtain US visas or permanent residency reduced dramatically (Campos & Prevost 2019:18–19). 4.4.4. Rapprochement with the USSR, Bay of Pigs and Socialism

As Cuba had considerable global political significance for a country of its size, was progressive in social issues but yet almost irrelevant in economic matters, rapprochement with the USSR and the COMECON (Council for Mutual Economic Assistance) was both necessary and logical – necessary, as it permitted Castro to provide the blessings of the welfare state, and logical due to ideological closeness, which was successively established and strengthened. The USSR, in turn, which supplied Cuba from 1960 until its dissolution in 1990 with generous economic aid, regarded Cuba as a perfect

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example and pioneer for socialism and revolution in Latin America (Zeuske 2010:27), thus the reason for its support. The advancing rapprochement with the socialist bloc and the increasingly evident hostility with the United States made the awakening of a new, revolutionary and progressively socialist consciousness among the masses inevitable for Fidel Castro (Medin 1990:7). From the mid-1960s at the latest, the Cuban leadership began to prepare for the proclamation of the socialist character of the Cuban Revolution. For this purpose, the image of the United States as the stronghold of freedom was systematically deconstructed, while at the same time the portrayal of the USSR and communism in general was framed as a “friendly helping hand and model of the ideal society” (Medin 1990:10). This transformation of popular perceptions of the United States and the USSR was favoured by a basically patriotic and sometimes nationalist, but largely anti-imperialist, attitude among the Cuban population at that time (Medin 1990:11). Although the Cuban state received ample support from the USSR and members of COMECON, it never managed to establish a self-sustaining economic system. As Tsokhas (1980:319) elucidates, the early years of the Cuban Revolution and of its relationship with the USSR can be considered a “slide from independence, through interdependence, to dependence on the USSR”. Indeed, throughout the years, Cuba remained highly dependent on exterior support, a fact that would have bitter consequences after the end of socialism in Eastern Europe. For further elucidations on the relations and agreements between Cuba and the COMECON, see Borrego (2006). In February 1959, less than two months after the revolutionaries seized power, the CIA and the National Security Council (NSC) began to prepare schemes for a coup against Castro due to the large-scale expropriations of US companies without sufficient compensation, as well as the emerging closeness to the USSR (Dunne 2011:451). The most notable and comprehensive attempt to ‘remove’ Castro and his revolutionaries from power in Cuba was the Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961. President Kennedy (in office from 1961 to 1963) permitted the operation, guided by the CIA, and in April 1961, about 1,400 exiled Cubans were transferred to invade the southern Cuban shore. The scheme failed completely, some 100 men were killed and the rest of them were captured by militias and the Cuban army (Fandl 2017:319). As a result of the Bay of Pigs invasion, the public reputation of Castro and his revolution rose significantly in Cuba and throughout Latin America (Dunne 2011:455). In contrast, it was a simple matter for him to frame the United States as an imperialist antagonist. Hence, it was facile to unify the Cuban population in support of the revolutionary cause and to strengthen their identification with the same. Thus, Castro (1961a) harnessed the ensuing patriotic atmosphere and anti-Americanism to declare the socialist character of the Revolution:

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

Fellow workers and peasants, this is the socialist and democratic Revolution of the humble, with the humble and for the humble.38

Medin (1990) meticulously analyses the rhetorical masterpieces that Fidel Castro delivered in his speeches and writings, fusing socialism inseparably with the Revolution. In addition to speeches and addresses, numerous other channels were used to raise revolutionary socialist consciousness among the population. Medin (1990) discusses education, cinema, poetry, theatre, journalism, the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias (FAR) and the state’s mass organisations (see Textbox 8), among others. Beginning with the victory of the revolutionaries, a semantic struggle was fought for interpretative authority over terms, concepts and expressions. While Marxist terminology was at first explicitly avoided by Fidel Castro (e. g. class struggle, dictatorship of the proletariat), it was later carefully, but with increasing intensity, woven into speeches, communiqués and decrees. Medin (1990:11) neatly terms this “Ravelization”, derived from Maurice Ravel’s Boléro. Its musical theme can be heard from the very beginning, but only very tentatively. Over the course of the piece, the theme’s intensity increases gently, imperceptibly, until it is played with monumental, inescapable clarity by the orchestra. The explicit commitment to socialism was reaffirmed frequently, most notably and most recently in the revision of the Cuban Constitution in 2019, whose first article declares Cuba to be a socialist state, while the fourth article professes the socialist system to be “irrevocable” (República de Cuba 2019:2). On December 1, 1961, Fidel Castro (1961c) confirmed his socialist denomination and committed, in an ideological affiliation with the USSR, to Marxism-Leninism: “I am a Marxist-Leninist and I will be a Marxist-Leninist until the last day of my life.”39 Following on from the revolutionaries’ victory, and well into the 1960s, different revolutionary and, later, socialist approaches competed for supremacy in Cuban politics. First, “sino-guevarismo” (Mesa-Lago 1979:31) prevailed. This ‘Cuban way of socialism’ was marked by an emphasis on voluntarism and the undogmatic interpretation of Marxism-Leninism. Sino-gueravismo thus stood in contrast to orthodox Soviet socialism until Cuba converged with the latter in the 1970s. In the wake of Cuba’s firm commitment to socialism, diplomatic relations with the US virtually came to a halt, and President Kennedy expanded the existing trade embargo in 1962 and 1963, thus affecting virtually all of Cuba’s imports and exports. Kennedy felt provoked by the nationalisation of American properties, rapprochement with the USSR and the spread of socialism throughout Cuba after the failed Bay of Pigs coup attempt (LeoGrande 2015a:942). However, the Cuban government was un38  Original: “Compañeros obreros y campesinos, esta es la Revolución socialista y democrática de los hu-

mildes, con los humildes y para los humildes.” 39  Original: “Soy marxista-leninista y seré marxista-leninista hasta el último día de mi vida.”

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impressed at first, as the USSR eagerly offered to replace the US as a trading partner. While the US’s share in Cuban international trade dropped from 68 % in the decade before 1959 to zero in 1962, the Soviet quota rose from below 1 % in 1958 to 49 % in 1962 (LeoGrande & Thomas 2002:326–334). The USSR would remain Cuba’s indisputably dominant trading partner until 1991. Textbox 8: Mass organisations as tools for the maintenance of revolutionary power For domestic stabilisation and to defend and consolidate the fledgling Revolution, the Cuban leadership from the outset relied on revolutionary mass organisations, the first of which were founded as early as 1960. Through these mass organisations, indirect but highly comprehensive control was and is exercised over the population, with the Comités de Defensa de la Revolución (Committees for the Defense of the Revolution; CDR; founded in 1960) having about 8.3 million members are the most widespread. The organisational structure of the CDRs follows a bottom-up attempt, whereby single neighbourhoods or even housing blocks form the primary units, which combine into municipal, provincial, and national layers (Kruger 2007:107). Apart from social questions and crime control, the concerns of the CDRs officially spread (among others) from ideology and youth to public health and finances (Kruger 2007:107–108).   According to official statements, the purpose of the CDRs does not lie primarily in control and crime prevention, but in addressing neighbourhood problems in the very own communities. However, from the beginning, the indoctrination through the various mass organisations and thus the advancement towards revolutionary consciousness and identity was at the same time their task and goal. Most Cubans participate in one or more mass organisations, although participation officially is voluntarily. From a Cuban perspective, these organisations offer possibilities to directly influence Cuban society and politics and furthermore to contribute to social communities by affording an opportunity to foster social networks (Kruger 2007:107).   Contrasting official statements, Colomer (2000:136) furthermore characterises “providing information, citizens’ control, and ‘revolutionary vigilance’” as the most significant purposes of the CDRs. In his study, he demonstrates certain defects of the CDRs: besides a for some time decreasing level of participation, the organisation is confronted with cases of exploiting of power and “complicity” of members who agree on not denouncing each other concerning illegal activities. After pondering the political and organisational consequences from these “perverse results”, Colomer (2000:136) concludes, that the “Cuban experience of social control approximated the more traditional Soviet model of bureaucratic control of citizens by external agents”.   Further mass organisations strong in members are: – Federación de Mujeres Cubanas [Federation of Cuban Women] – Asociación de Combatientes de la Revolución Cubana [Association of Fighters of the Cuban Revolution] – Asociación Nacional de Agricultores Pequeños [National Association of Small Farmers]

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

– Central de Trabajadores de Cuba [Central Organisation of Cuban Workers] – Unión de Jóvenes Comunistas [Young Communist League] – Federación Estudiantil Universitaria [Federation of University Students] Another consequence of the Revolution, of the struggle to defend it against enemies from the in- and outside, and the of centralisation of government is the relatively high militarisation of the people and the creation of a powerful army and different other armed forces (e. g. intelligence, ‘fuerzas especiales’ to tackle unrest). While these elements of the state monopoly on legitimate violence require vast resources and are used to intimidate critics and enemies of the Revolution until today, they also turn Cuba into the safest country of Latin America when it comes to violent crimes (Zeuske 2010:28). The revolutionary mass organisations helped at the same time to stabilise the Revolution and to counter attempts to usurp, both from within Cuba and from abroad.   An interesting perspective on Cuban militarism provides Fanon (2004 [1961]:38), who applauds Fidel Castro for appearing at the United Nations in 1960 in his uniform and explains this with Castro’s understanding for “the continuing regime of [colonial] violence”. He is only surprised that Castro “did not enter the UN with his submachine gun” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:38).

4.4.5. Conflating Revolutionary and Socialist Consciousness

US hostilities worked to the revolutionaries’ advantage in their attempt to create a coherent revolutionary identity. Following the aggression in the Bay of Pigs and the trade embargo imposed on Cuba, the Castristas essentially offered a binary choice: support either the Revolution or the enemy, with the latter making one a traitor. By constantly polarising Cuban and American positions, through the stigmatisation of the antipode from the north (who, from a Cuban perspective, always followed its own agenda on Cuba) and via the idolisation of the self-sacrificing heroes of the revolutionary struggle for freedom, any form of diversity in opinions became effectively impossible. Instead, this confrontationist policy created clear distinctions between the (righteous) Cuban Self and the (evil) American other, providing both a strong narrative with which to identify and an enemy from which to dissociate from (Blum 2011:16). To confer legitimacy on the Revolution, narratives of suffering under Batista’s rule and American domination were (and still are) recited again and again. Likewise, Cuba’s founding myth of violent but necessary struggle for freedom and independence is incessantly repeated in schools, universities, museums, demonstrations and mass organisations. Similarly, the constant invocation of external threats, such as from the US or capitalism, increased Cubans’ cohesion and we-ness for a long time. However, the task of incorporating the passion for socialism into Cubans’ newly emerging revolutionary consciousness posed a challenge to the leadership in Havana,

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even though during the revolutionary war, efforts were made in this regard, and the necessity to create a revolutionary consciousness was acknowledged. In order to create socialist awareness, Fidel Castro (1972:413) considered the biggest problem to be the overcoming of: the force of custom, of manner and habits of thinking and approaching issues that a large part of the population had. In other words, the force of custom, a series of prejudices, of ideas instilled and sustained and spread by the ruling economic classes, by imperialism and by capitalism in our country, and which represented, without any doubt, one of the most powerful forces that the Revolution faced.40

To gather and to unify the popular masses behind the banner of Marxism-Leninism, thus to create a new Cuban national identity, citizens were supposed to become loyal Fidelistas, with Castro representing the paramount symbol unifying Marxism-Leninism and Cuban nationalism (Medin 1990:53–54). The revolutionaries recognised the national idea (alongside anti-imperialism) as a suitable vehicle for the legitimation and unopposed introduction of socialism. Through the commitment of leading revolutionaries to Marxist-Leninist socialism, the latter was presented to the public as the only possible alternative to antagonistic American imperialism. Che Guevara and Raúl Castro had already been ardent Marxist-Leninists for years by the early 1960s, Camillo Cienfuegos died before the declaration of the socialist character of the Revolution and many other revolutionaries declared their allegiance to the ideology shortly thereafter. Leading figures critical of socialism were removed quickly from the revolutionary leadership, such as the former commander of the Revolution Huber Matos41 (Kapcia 2000:118). But it was not merely the current revolutionary leadership that found its socialist consciousness. Since the Revolution considered itself to be the continuation of the Cuban freedom fighters of the 19th century, a truly socialist agenda was posthumously ‘discovered’ among them as well. It turned out to be a complex but immensely successful effort to reconcile retroactively the political convictions of those leaders of the independence wars with Marxism-Leninism who, for reasons of time alone, could not

40  Original: “[…] la fuerza de la costumbre, de la manera y de los hábitos de pensar y de enfocar las cosas

que tenía una zona vasta de la población. Es decir, la fuerza de la costumbre, una serie de prejuicios, de ideas inculcadas y sostenidas y divulgadas por las clases económicas dominantes, por el imperialismo y por el capitalismo en nuestro país, y que constituía, sin duda de ninguna clase, una de las fuerzas más poderosas contra las que tenía que enfrentarse la Revolución.” 41  Huber Matos initially served as a high-ranking commander in Fidel Castro’s M-26-7 army in the Sierra Maestra. An avowed anti-communist, Matos was eventually arrested in October 1959, after offering his resignation, and sentenced to 20 years in prison on charges of counterrevolutionary treason (Farber 1983:74). Subsequently, Matos was erased from photographs depicting him next to Fidel Castro entering Havana in January 1959, and his name was otherwise erased from memory as well.

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

identify with it: Martí, Céspedes and many other great heroes of Cuban independence were simply born or died too early to be able to profess Marxist-Leninist socialism. Hence, the revolutionaries incessantly foregrounded the similarities between Martíanism and Marxism. Martí’s fervent commitment to anti-imperialism and social ideals (e. g. education for all) was especially emphasised in this regard (Medin 1990:56). After the introduction of Marxism-Leninism, further arguments were mooted and repeated continually, placing Martí in the same intellectual bracket as Marx, Engels and Lenin. Thus, el Apóstol would serve as an integrative symbol, not only for the Revolution itself, but also for its ideological Marxist-Leninist superstructure, as the following quote by Fidel Castro (1980:60) impressively shows: In our country, though, Marxist-Leninist ideas are deeply rooted in the patriotic and heroic traditions of our people. For us, Céspedes, Agramonte, Gómez, Maceo and Martí are inseparable from Marx, Engels and Lenin. They are united in our consciences, like patriotic and internationalist thought; national freedom, equality, and social justice; the history of a country and the history of the world; the Fatherland and humanity. The foundations of the country that is building socialism today were laid by our glorious ancestors with sweat, blood and heroism. In the homeland they forged yesterday, we do today what they would have done.42

During the past decades, emphases on the similarities between Marxism-Leninism and Martíanism were sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker. In times when relations with the USSR cooled off (for instance, in the second half of the 1960s or following the late 1970s), ideological continuity between Martí, Marx and Lenin was more strongly emphasised than during greater political, economic and doctrinal relations with the Soviet Union (Medin 1990:56). Figure  11 metaphorically illustrates the intellectual continuity from Marx to Martí through to Guevara, which the revolutionaries created. In the illustrated page heading, masterminds of Marxism-Leninism and the Cuban Revolution are depicted in a single line, as if there were an immediate continuity between them (from left to right: Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, Vladimir Lenin, José Martí, Antonio Maceo, Máximo Gómez, Julio Antonio Mella, Camillo Cienfuegos, Che Guevara). However, following the dissolution of the USSR, Martí and other masterminds of Cuban socialism (at least according to official diction) were clearly placed at the centre of socialist state doctrine. 42  Original: “En nuestro país, por otro lado, las ideas marxistas-leninistas se enraízan profundamente con

las tradiciones patrióticas y heroicas de nuestro pueblo. Céspedes, Agramonte, Gómez, Maceo y Martí son para nosotros inseparables de Marx, Engels y Lenin. Están unidos en nuestras conciencias, como el pensamiento patriótico y el internacionalista; la libertad nacional, la igualdad y la justicia social; la historia de un país y la historia del mundo; la Patria y la humanidad. Los cimientos del país que hoy construye el socialismo lo hicieron nuestros gloriosos antepasados con sudor, sangre y heroísmo. En la Patria que forjaron ayer, nosotros hacemos hoy lo mismo que estarían haciendo ellos.”

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Figure 11: Page heading of the magazine Bohemia. Source: Castro Ruz (1980:34–35).

This flexibility, and the shifting emphasis of identification figures and convictions to the core or periphery of revolutionary ideology, characterises Cuban politics to this day, as Benz (2020) exemplifies through changing revolutionary discourse positions on the environment and development. Figures and positions, however, can also vanish from ideological discourse again, usually as an inverse ‘Ravelization’ i. e. a fading out instead of a harsh rupture. This ability to adapt ideologically is one reason for the longevity of the Cuban Revolution. The fusion of socialist ideology with the everyday world of the Cubans advanced in parallel, too, sometimes through seemingly simple measures. For instance, numerous public spaces were renamed in the wake of the victorious Revolution (Medin 1990:57). The Teatro Blanquita became Teatro Karl Marx, in Havana, Parque Lenin was created and Pinar del Río was given a Plaza Federico Engels, to name but a few examples. To supervise and direct the formation of revolutionary consciousness among the masses, from early 1959, the Cuban press was increasingly brought under the control of the revolutionaries. In the following years, a comprehensive “ideological apparatus of state” (Althusser 1977:119–122) was built up, which for many Cubans came with very few alternatives over a long period of time. This changed significantly with the launch of several US propaganda radio stations specifically targeting Cuban people in Cuba. Radio Martí, established by the US government in 1985 and broadcasting from Miami, is certainly the most prominent of these radio and TV stations. It can be received throughout Cuba (Walsh 2012:93), even though the island’s government occasionally jams the signal, depending on the current state of Cuba-US relations. In addition, a vibrant blogosphere, partially critical of the regime, has emerged in Cuba in recent years (Vicari 2014:1012). The enforced conformity of Cuban media with state doctrine culminated in the incorporation of the country’s journalists into the FAR in March 1961. Although the new Cuban Constitution, which came into force in February 2019, acknowledges freedom of the press (República de Cuba 2019:Artículo 55), it likewise declares the media and press as the exclusive property of “the whole people or the political, social and mass organisations”43 and thus subject to state control. The press thereby continues to play

43  Original: “[…] de todo el pueblo o de las organizaciones políticas, sociales y de masas.”

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

the role the state has assigned and continues to control since the 1960s, which García Luis (2013:132) describes as the “militant force in the service of public opinion, the revolution and socialism.”44 In conclusion, the revolutionaries’ approach to establishing Marxism-Leninism in Cuba was an amalgamation, blending several different and sometimes contradictory ideologies. Thus, nationalism, already widespread before the Revolution, was integrated via the nationalist Revolution, later becoming a socialist Revolution and thus incorporated into Marxist-Leninist socialism. Thus, what at first seems contradictory was transformed into a coherent worldview, with anti-imperialism linking the different ideologies. A good Cuban revolutionary could and should be a socialist, a nationalist and an internationalist at the same time (Medin 1990:57). Although initially this seems contradictory, nationalism and internationalism are not necessarily mutually exclusive, as Hobsbawm explains in detail (2000:122–123). 4.4.6. Revolutionary Conquistas Contributing to a Socialist Society

The establishment of a socialist welfare state until 1975 was a predominant result of the Cuban Revolution. The welfare provided exceeded that of most Latin American and even some Western countries at the time. The flattening of social hierarchies and the public granting of food, free healthcare, free education, free – though allocated – housing, labour and social security supply – called Las Conquistas de la Revolución – were essential social improvements. These Conquistas solidified popular support for the Revolution as well as identification with it and led to the political dominance of the revolutionary government (Zeuske 2010:27). In addition to undisputed humanitarian and social achievements in the areas of education, healthcare and nutrition, as well as the equalisation of the living conditions of the different social classes, the Cuban state employed social reforms to strengthen people’s identification with the Revolution and to inculcate a socialist ideology. To maintain the support of the population for these social changes in the future, the Cuban government used a strategy described by Fanon (2004 [1961]:51): after achieving liberation, the people’s struggle continues; but instead of being against a suppressor, the struggle is now against “poverty, illiteracy, and underdevelopment”. The people realise that “life is an unending struggle” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:51), a metaphor often used and reinforced by the Cuban government, which framed the Revolution as the nation’s only option if it wished to win these battles. The mechanisms and enigmatic deliberations attributed to the Castristas become recognisable when looking at the role of education, a central Conquista. Cuban ed-

44  Original: “[…] fuerza militante al servicio de la opinión pública, la Revolución y el socialismo.”

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ucational policy demonstrates how the revolutionaries pursued a twofold strategy through realising these Conquistas. Successes in the public health sector, in which a similar dual agenda was followed, will be discussed briefly hereafter. In the meantime, striving for proper education for the entire population, the revolutionary government pursued social and economic, but primarily ideological, goals (Leiner 1973:6). To the revolutionary government, education in general served and serves three main purposes: First, the development of (socialist) personalities. Second, conveying revolutionary ideology as described, and third, the enhancement of economic productivity (Carnoy 2014:163). Following Foucault’s (1977b) insights into the relation between power and knowledge, the Castristas trained generations of loyal and genuine revolutionaries and transformed Cuban self-conceptions and identity by controlling the educational system and curricula. Disciplinary institutions – prisons, barracks, but also schools and universities – thus aim at controlling and transforming the people affected by it, whereby schools do so by fixing pupils in time and space and by imparting knowledge (or convictions disguised as knowledge). To Foucault (1977b:27), “there is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations”. Thus, governmental power inevitably leads to certain forms of knowledge it wants to transmit. As schools represent the normative-moral basic structure of a society – as intended by governments – they serve a dual function in Cuba. While revolutionary values are imparted to Cuban pupils in school, they are simultaneously the yardstick for ideological convictions diffusing in a nascent socialist society (Blum 2011:5–8). In order to progress societal transformation, Cuban schools and universities were destined to play a crucial role in the education of young socialists and revolutionaries, as Fidel Castro (1961d:271) notes: Every revolution is an extraordinary process of education. Therefore, revolution and education are the same thing.45

Thus, the long-term success of the Revolution relied on adequate education that was conducive to the Revolution. Re-education was one early model utilised in an attempt to create an understanding of previous imperialist domination, capitalist relations of production and possession (which would be overturned) and a class-based society to vanquish (Blum 2011:7). The revolutionary government did not settle for modest adjustments to the educational system but instead fundamentally changed its structure and focus. The entirely new educational concept expressed a certain understanding of the relationship

45  Original: “Toda revolución es un extraordinario proceso de educación. Por eso, revolución y educación

son una misma cosa.”

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

between education, the economy and societal reality. The revolutionaries did not believe in a mechanism of simply changing the economy to improve living conditions for the people. Instead, they wanted to use socialist and revolutionary education to transform human attitudes and behaviours that would in turn affect economic development. Thus, education was – and is – imbued with revolutionary content (Carnoy 2014:153–154). Although Marxist-Leninist theory was included in every Cuban syllabus, the objective of the Cuban leadership was not mere indoctrination, as Fidel Castro (1972:451) clarifies: “It is not about indoctrination, […] but teaching people to analyse, teaching people to think.”46 He continues with a reminder: Do not allow that anyone believes anything they do not understand. This is how fanatics are produced, and mystical, dogmatic, and fanatical minds are born. And when someone does not understand something, do not stop discussing with him until he understands, and if he does not understand today, he will understand tomorrow, he will understand the day after, because verities of historic reality are so clear, and are so evident, and so palpable, that sooner or later every honest intelligence understands them. […] We are going to educate them, to teach them to analyse, to give them the elements of judgment so that they will understand, to discuss the ideas of the bourgeoisie, the lies of the bourgeoisie, the lies of imperialism, the lies of capitalism, and ideology, so that they will dissect it, analyse it and understand it and will begin to patiently understand Marxism-Leninism, in the certainty that it will not be difficult to teach the people the truth.47

In conclusion, the transformation towards a socialist society heavily relied on the socialisation of faithful and confident revolutionaries via education. Socialist education was supposed to lead finally to the emergence of a new persona – the New Socialist Man (and Woman). Particularly in the early 1960s, Che Guevara heavily promoted the notion of el hombre nuevo and his advent through education. In his essay El socialismo y el hombre nuevo en Cuba [Socialism and Man in Cuba], written in March 1965, he outlines a new socialist society, based on equitable and inclusive principles, that still must compete with the legacies of past Cuban society. However, through the efforts and hardships of everyone, Guevara (1968 [1965]:21) believes that this new society and el hombre nuevo will be reached: 46  Original:

“No se trata de adoctrinar, […] sino de enseñar a la gente a analizar, de enseñar a la gente a pensar.” 47  Original: “No admitan que nadie crea nada que no comprenda. Así se producen fanáticos, se desarrollan inteligencias místicas, dogmáticas, fanáticas. Y cuando alguien no comprenda algo, no cesen de discutir con él hasta que comprenda, y si no comprende hoy, comprenderá mañana, comprenderá pasado, porque las verdades de la realidad histórica son tan claras, y son tan evidentes, y son tan palpables, que más tarde o más temprano toda inteligencia honrada las comprende. […] Se va a educar, a enseñar a analizar, a darles elementos de juicio para que comprendan, a discutir las ideas de la burguesía, las mentiras de la burguesía, las mentiras del imperialismo, las mentiras del capitalismo, la ideología, para que la vayan diseccionando, analizando y comprendiendo y vayan comprendiendo el marxismo-leninismo pacientemente, en la seguridad de que no costará trabajo enseñar la verdad al pueblo.”

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Each and every one of us punctually pays his share of sacrifice, aware of being rewarded by the satisfaction of fulfilling our duty, aware of advancing with everyone towards the new human being who is to be glimpsed on the horizon.

Guevara also counters criticism of socialism trying to abolish the individual. From his point of view, the individual is seminal for building and maintaining a stable and humane form of socialism. Instead of a society based on the egoism, greed and selfishness of capitalism, he demands one moulded by education and the direct participation of everyone, a society that “as a whole must become a huge school” (1968 [1965]:9–10) to create “the new man who begins to emerge in this period of the building of socialism”. In his vision of el hombre nuevo, Guevara apparently is deeply influenced by Leon Trotsky’s New Soviet Man (see Textbox 9). Guevara (1968 [1965]:12–13) specifies his emphasis on the individual forming a strong and lasting revolutionary society: The institutionality of the Revolution has not yet been achieved. We are seeking something new that will allow a perfect identification between the government and the community as a whole, adapted to the special conditions of the building of socialism and avoiding to the utmost the commonplaces of bourgeois democracy transplanted to the society in formation […]. It is still necessary to accentuate his [socialist man] conscious, individual and collective, participation, in all the mechanisms of direction and production and associate it with the idea of the need for technical and ideological education, so that the individual will realise that these processes are closely interdependent and their advances are parallel. He will thus achieve total awareness of his social being, which is equivalent to his full realisations as a human being, having broken the chains of alienation.

For the education of el hombre nuevo, conciencia is the crucial resource and central to Cuban socialist ideology. The term may not simply be translated as ‘consciousness’; rather, Fidel Castro (1980:61) characterises it as the “attitude of struggle, dignity, principles and revolutionary morale”48 with a distinct pledge for action. Kahl (1969:32) describes conciencia in the understanding of the Cuban Revolution as “an amalgam of consciousness, conscience, conscientiousness, and commitment.” As such, its imparting and internalisation to all Cubans, regardless of age, gender, race or social situation, is a major goal of Cuban education.

48  Original: “[…] actitud de lucha, dignidad, principios y moral revolucionaria”

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

Textbox 9: Different conceptions of the New Man The ideal of the New Man (el hombre nuevo) is a utopian conception of a human being, which is in most deliberations relatively free from human weaknesses and vices. The conception can be found in different philosophical and political contexts with varying concepts for the creation of the New Man. Most famous and influential are the following conceptions: – Friedrich Nietzsche’s Übermensch (Beyond-Man) who appears in Thus Spoke Zarathustra (published between 1883 and 1885 in German) and who would rise after accepting and processing the Death of God. – The New Soviet Man, who would manifest after being freed from the chains of capitalist labor and being educated in a communist society. Leon Trotsky describes the emergence of the New Soviet Man in the final paragraph of ‘Literature and Revolution’: “The shell, in which the cultural construction and self-education of Communist man will be enclosed, will develop all the vital elements of contemporary art to the highest point. Man will become immeasurably stronger, wiser and subtler; his body will become more harmonized, his movements more rhythmic, his voice more musical. The forms of life will become dynamically dramatic. The average human type will rise to the heights of an Aristotle, a Goethe, or a Marx. And above this ridge new peaks will rise” (Trotsky 1925:256). – The Fascist New Man, which Hüppauf (1993:59) describes as an “amoral, cold, functional, experienced, tough” human being, who does not rely on any ideals to identify with or any enthusiasm to perform. The fascist’s aim was to form “war machines, without emotions or internalized morality, but with the mental structure necessary to subvert the world”. – The Decolonised New Man in Frantz Fanon’s interpretation. Following his deliberations, “decolonization is truly the creation of new men” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:2), for which “out and out violence” (2004 [1961]:3) against the European colonisers and the comprehensive rejection of their morale and ideology is necessary to “make a new start, develop a new way of thinking, and endeavor to create a new man” (Fanon 2004 [1961]:239).

Besides conciencia, the constant emphasis of la lucha [struggle] – e. g. against underdevelopment, illiteracy, the US embargo, imperialism, climate change – in the official use of language is supposed to create a perpetual atmosphere of alertness and what Fanon (2004 [1961]:52) would call “creative frenzy” to overcome underdevelopment. Through the recurring references to conciencia and la lucha, the revolutionaries successfully framed Cuban fate as being forged by confrontation and heroism in all areas of life (Medin 1990:29). An exert from Fidel Castro’s (1959b) concluding speech at the Congreso Campesino de Oriente [Peasant Congress of Oriente] in February 1959 exemplifies this point:

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After the victory in the war comes another type of battle that we will win as well. I have come to tell the peasants how this phase of the war is to be won […]. To achieve this, there must be leadership and every man must be a disciplined soldier.49

Although the education of the Cuban people was aimed at all age groups, the revolutionaries designated the youth as the primer object to their educational measures. As Guevara (1968 [1965]:22) notes, “the basic raw material for our work is the youth: in it we place our hopes and we are preparing it to take the banner from our hands.” Following Erikson (1993 [1958]:134–135), adolescence is a pivotal stage of life in which young people are almost desperately searching for a clear and unequivocal, and at the same time action-oriented and ideological, sense of Self. Thus, youths are especially susceptible to ideological indoctrination promising stable foundations for forming personal identities within a community, because in adolescence an ideological realignment is by necessity in process and a number of ideological possibilities are waiting to be hierarchically ordered by opportunity, leadership, and friendship. […] At no other time as much as in adolescence does the individual need […] oversystematised thoughts and overvalued words to give a semblance of order to his inner world (Erikson 1993 [1958]:134–135).

In a subsequent publication, Erikson (1968:133) even called ideology a “psychological necessit[y]. For the social institution which is the guardian of identity is what we have called ideology.” Thus, the ideological goals of the Cuban Revolution, the subjective need for identification and an ideologically stained projection surface for Cuban youth were largely congruent and interwoven in a conflict-free manner. Cuban educational and mobilisation programmes serve youth’s desire for self-importance. By stylising societal service, working in the fields and selfless devotion not just as strenuous tasks but as deeds of national importance, carried out with pride, honour and a sense of belonging, young Cubans are subtly shoved into a predesigned system of behaviour, belief and societal commitment (Blum 2011:13). Yet, schooling for children and adolescents was not enough for the revolutionaries’ needs, so the redefinition of citizenship via education aimed at adults and Cubans with an already high level of formal education, too. Even decades later, education is of great significance in terms of the Revolution and the development of revolutionary subjects. Reflecting on the Revolution’s efforts in education, Fidel Castro (1997a) remarked that “without education, no Revolution is possible, without education no socialism is pos-

49  Original: “Después de triunfar en la guerra viene ahora otro tipo de batalla que ganaremos también. He

venido para decirles a los campesinos cómo se gana esta parte de la guerra […]. Para ello es necesario que haya una dirección y cada hombre debe ser un soldado disciplinado.”

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

sible, without education there is no New Man of which Che spoke”.50 Consequently, education in revolutionary Cuba proceeds beyond schoolhouses and universities and should occur even in the countryside and in the fields. Moreover, education as a means of socialising el hombre nuevo relies on using “all channels of dissemination to inculcate new revolutionary norms” (Blum 2011:8). To spread revolutionary ideology quickly, and to strengthen collectivism, the Cuban government consistently proclaimed nationwide campaigns and mobilisations, which it does to this day. The National Literacy Campaign of 1961 is one of the most impressive examples of such a massive campaign, in that it actively included a huge amount of people from all social backgrounds and of all ages. The campaign was a massive educational and social success, reducing illiteracy in Cuba to 3.6 per cent in 1961 – hitherto by far the lowest rate in the country (see Figure 12) and at that time the lowest in Latin America (Lorenzetto & Neys 1965:15, 29).

Figure 12: Literacy rate (in %) in Cuba among people ages 15 and above. Source: own design based on Lorenzetto and Neys (1965:15, 29) and UNESCO UIS (2021).

In addition to its educational success and personal edification, the 1961 National Literacy Campaign fostered the formation of revolutionary consciousness and the emergence of el hombre nuevo. By scraping together social classes and people previously

50  Original: “Sin educación no hay Revolución posible, sin educación no hay socialismo posible, sin edu-

cación no hay ese hombre nuevo de que hablaba el Che […].”

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separated economically and socially – the educated urban population and the mostly poor and illiterate rural population – the socialist ideal of overcoming class distinctions and dissolving economic, ideological and social barriers was pursued (Carnoy 2014:172). The revolutionaries mostly successfully tried to “redefine citizenship in collective terms and nationalism in international revolutionary terms. Schooling was to develop a motivation for collective rather than individual material success, and a sense of belonging to Cuba as a revolutionary society” (Carnoy 2014:155). To conclude the analysis of education in revolutionary Cuba and the goals related to it, the ideological foundation of this education is worthy of note. The considerations of Marx, Engels and Lenin, as well as of Martí on the relations between education, society and labour, constitute the theoretical foundation of education policy in revolutionary Cuba. Following Marxist-Leninist theory, education is necessary to turn work into a crucial element for the emergence of the socialist individual, and so working and studying should be combined (Blum 2011:10). In his Critique of the Gotha Programme, Marx (1972 [1875]:32) describes the revolutionising character of labour. In his view, “an early combination of productive labour with education is one of the most potent means for the transformation of present-day society”. A few years earlier, Marx (as logged by Eccarius 1964 [1868]:232) had indeed criticised working conditions for children at that time but had nevertheless claimed that “every child above the age of nine ought to be employed at productive labour a portion of its time”. Inarguably, Marx (1972 [1875]:15) was aware of the persistence of the capitalistic social and economic regime and urged the overcoming of its legacy: What we have to deal with here is a communist society, not as it has developed its own foundations, but, on the contrary, just as it emerges from capitalist society; which is thus in every respect, economically, morally and intellectually, still stamped with the birth marks of the old society from whose womb it emerges.

The Cuban government skilfully intertwined this Marxist-Leninist perspective on labour and the revolutionary potential and requirements it possesses with the notions of José Martí on education. Martí perceived Cuba as an economically underdeveloped nation whose society was largely reliant upon agricultural production. From this observation, he derived the requirement to combine physical and intellectual work, to link theory and practice. In some of his effectuations on education, Martí’s understanding of the need to combine manual labour and the educational purpose of schools becomes apparent: “Physical, mental, and moral advantages come from manual labour, [therefore] behind each school [should be] an agricultural workshop”51 (Martí 1975d [1884]:285–287). The framing of Martí’s ideas on education as being in perfect concord

51  Original:

“Ventajas físicas, mentales y morales vienen del trabajo manual […] detrás de cada escuela un taller agrícola.”

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

with Marxist-Leninist theory facilitated the revolutionary government to legitimise socialism further, which at first felt relatively strange to many Cubans, and to incorporate it into Cuban nationalism (Medin 1990:54–55). Besides impressive achievements in education, healthcare is another of the Revolution’s major Conquistas. Accordingly, and in the same vein as education, the provision of free healthcare and medical treatment serves social as well as ideological and political goals. As Hirschfeld (2007:203–204) posited, the pre-revolutionary, discriminatory and mismanaged healthcare system encouraged the Cuban government to promote public health. Before 1959, medical care was mostly a question of class affiliation, income and place of residence, as many rural areas received their first doctors at the beginning of the revolutionary health programme (Gold 2014:45). The policy of the Castristas to “create healthy bodies […] served as an important source of political legitimacy in official public health discourses” (Brotherton 2012:59). The success and humanitarian achievement of the revolutionaries’ efforts to enhance health among the Cuban population should not be diminished by its ideological impetus. For instance, infant mortality in Cuba declined sharply from 40.29 per 1,000 living births in 1964 to 4.01 in 2017 (Figure 13), thereby reaching a level lower than the US, which reported an infant mortality rate of 5.79 per 1,000 live births in 2017 (Ely & Driscoll 2019:2).

Figure 13: Infant mortality rate (deaths per 1,000 live births) in Cuba 1964–2019. Source: own design with data from United Nations Inter-agency Group for Child Mortality Estimation (2020).

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Although the infant mortality rate is occasionally challenged in terms of how it is calculated, even the staunchest of critics admit that in Cuba it is undoubtedly lower than in other Latin American and middle-income countries worldwide (Gonzalez 2015) and that success in reducing infant mortality is not the result of Soviet patronage but indeed an accomplishment of the Revolution (Geloso & Pavlik 2021:12). Hirschfeld (2007:227–228), however, complains in the conclusion of her study on the Cuban healthcare system that its public image is greatly embellished, in order to cover up negligence, mismanagement and therapeutic deficits. Nonetheless, Cooper et al. (2006:819) conclude from their research on the Cuban health sector that manipulated figures on achievements are highly unlikely. For further information on this point, see Textbox 10. Textbox 10: Selection of Cuban healthcare policy achievements – First country to eradicate polio (in 1962) – First country to eradicate measles (in 1996) – Lowest HIV prevalence in the Western Hemisphere – Most effective programme of dengue control in the Western Hemisphere – Extensive public healthcare: one physician per 120–160 families – Highest rates of treatment of high blood pressure worldwide – Decrease in the cardiovascular mortality rate by 45 % – Free medical education for students from Africa and Latin America (Cooper et al. 2006:818)

In summary, the following three aspects should be emphasised. First, the revolutionaries quickly implemented comprehensive social programmes that remain relevant to this day. Second, these programmes pursued decidedly ideological and political goals in tandem with public welfare. These goals were chiefly the creation and consolidation of a socialist society, which was achieved through a fusion of pre-revolutionary, revolutionary and socialist elements. Third, as has been discussed so far only in passing, establishing a powerful central state could be justified for the implementation of these social programmes. Additionally, this central state proved useful in persecuting and repressing opponents of the Revolution and others deemed to be such, as Nau (2016:12) remarks. The measures taken by the revolutionary government led to the “destratification and equality”52 (Espina Prieto 2005:111) of Cuban society. Ferriol Mururaga et al. (2004:140–141) present concrete numbers to demonstrate the levelling of wealth and the reduction of social disparities in Cuba after 1959. While in 1953, the poorest 20 % of the population earned 6.5 % of total income and the richest 20 % received 57.9 %, the

52  Original: “desestratificación y igualdad”

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

figures had changed to 11.3 % and 33.8 %, respectively, by the 1980s – a consequence of forced dispossession and public welfare programmes. Through the consistent pursuit of an egalitarian ideology, education in Cuba was no longer limited by the income or social status of parents (McDonald 2000:45), health was not reliant on money or connections and as almost all Cubans were working for the state, differences between high and low incomes were marginal (Cooper et al. 2006:818). The social benefits provided by the state were certainly major factors in the long-lasting support of the Cuban people, while the significant convergence of living conditions, and thus the achievement of relative equality, remains a crucial achievement of the Revolution that still prevails today. 4.4.7. Domestic Stabilisation and External (In-)dependence

The Conquista’s blessings did not come for free, though. Instead, a huge part of the bill was paid by the USSR and COMECON, of which Cuba became a full member in 1972. The Cuban socialist model was highly grant-aided, with subsidies from the USSR accounting for US$62.4 billion in total from 1959 to 1990 (LeoGrande & Th ­ omas 2002:341). Financial dependence on the socialist bloc became problematic after the dissolution of the USSR in 1991, which put the Conquistas under pressure. However, the not too close relationship with the Eastern Bloc was decisive in preventing Cuba from being completely dragged down by the disintegrating USSR. Although economic ties strengthened in the 1960s and Cuba, and the USSR converged on ideological and political issues, the revolutionary government recognised that Cuba was finally on its own. Decisive for this realisation was the way in which the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962, which brought the world to the brink of a nuclear war, was resolved, as Nikita Khrushchev53 and US President Kennedy resolved the crisis without involving the Cuban government. Fidel Castro was highly disappointed by this marginalisation by Khrushchev and started to pursue a mostly independent foreign policy (Domínguez Lopez & Yaffe 2017:8). However, the Soviets showed their displeasure and made this clear to the Cuban leadership by reducing petroleum supplies significantly in 1967. This resulted in economic pressure and domestic political tensions, causing the government to accept its economic dependence on the USSR and to re-approach it politically and ideologically in the late 1960s and early 1970s. This ideological and economic rapprochement reached the point where Cuba became the first non-European member of COMECON, though there remained deep-seated suspicion of the USSR (Pérez Jr. 2015:299). In subsequent years, the alienation steadily

53  Khrushchev was First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union from 1953 to 1963.

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increased again and finally led to an almost open renunciation of Soviet politics under Mikhail Gorbachev.54 Beyond its cooperation with the USSR and COMECON, Cuba became involved on the international stage as well. As part of its internationalist politics (see Textbox 11), the nation supported revolutionary, anti-imperialistic and communist movements – during the 1960s, mostly in Latin America, Western Europe (e. g. ETA in Spain) and even until the 1990s in Africa. Following the breakdown of the USSR and ­COMECON, Cuba switched strategies and tried to export the socialist ideal in the guise of sending doctors, teachers and artists abroad (Zeuske 2010:27). Textbox 11: Cuban internationalism Cuban internationalism, decisively influenced by Che Guevara, is and was rooted in the ideals of supporting national struggles for liberation against colonialism and imperialism and pushing back capitalist exploitation and oppression (Harris 2009:28–29). This internationalism was expressed in part in military missions until the 1990s (among others in Algeria, Congo-Brazzaville, Ethiopia, and Nicaragua) and in humanitarian missions until today. For instance, more than 140,000 Cuban health professionals provided health services in 67 countries in the period between 2011 and 2016 (De Vos 2019:190. Kirk and Erisman (2009:113) provide a comprehensive list of countries cooperating with Cuba in healthcare. In the recent past, these entirely commendable humanitarian campaigns en passant generate much-needed foreign currency, for instance by sending doctors on international missions (Baggott & Lambie 2019:175–177).

A seminal point in the further evolution of the Revolution and its international perception was Che Guevara’s departure from Cuba. In 1965, he left in a cloak-and-dagger action, bequeathing a fond farewell letter to Fidel Castro. In this letter Guevara explained that he considered he had “fulfilled the part of [his] duty that tied [him] to the Cuban Revolution in its territory” (Guevara 2007 [1965]:386). Henceforth, he would devote himself to other revolutions in the Third World and advance them (Guevara 2007 [1965]:387). Subsequently, he dedicated himself entirely to the violent revolutionary struggle initially in Congo-Brazzaville and from 1966 in Bolivia, where he was killed in October 1967 (Kapcia 2000:139). After having been President of the Central Bank of Cuba from 1959 to 1961 and Cuban Minister of Industries from 1961 to 1965, his influence faded noticeably after leaving. It also meant that he could not further his vision of voluntarism in Cuba, causing the strategy to finally come to an official end in the 1970s. Domestically, the institutionalisation of the Revolution and the establishment of Cuban socialist structures were advanced as well. The founding of the Partido Comu-

54  Gorbachev was General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union from 1985 to 1991.

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

nista de Cuba (PCC; Communist Party of Cuba) in 1965 represents a significant step in this process. Initially, the PCC was purposely assigned a subordinate political role, which was meant to avoid both sectarianism and elitist institutionalism. Instead, Castro “conducted a kind of personalized, charismatic government, characterized by the concentration of power in the ‘supreme leader’ and his intimate circle of faithful followers, and by a lack of institutionalisation”55 (Mesa Lago 1979:110–111). Indeed, the revolutionary movement was characterised by a considerable lack of institutions until 1961. Apart from the armed forces, the 26 July Movement was a rather loose organisation. Even after the founding of the PCC, Cuban leadership remained limited to a small circle until 1975 (Kapcia 2000:124), albeit this circle held great power. 4.4.8. Revolutionary ‘Offensives’ of the 1970s and 1980s

In revolutionary Cuba, bottom-up attempts to induce required adaptations were virtually non-existent. Instead, so-called Revoluciones were adopted by the controlled parliament in a top-down manner. Zeuske (2010:29) identified the years between 1970 and 1986 as first discursive Revolution in the sense of these imposed reforms. During this time, the Cuban Revolution was characterised by an orientation towards a more modest socialism that involved market mechanisms and was broadly oriented towards the political and economic structures of the USSR (Henken 2004:217). The catalyst for this shift away from previous radical socialist convictions was the disillusioning experiences of 1970’s Gran Zafra – the great sugar harvest. To demonstrate the capabilities of el hombre nuevo and collectivist effort, the Cuban government announced the goal of a 10 million-ton sugar harvest – a project foredoomed to fail (Mesa-Lago 1978:49–50). Besides missing the harvest goal, the tremendous efforts undertaken in the attempt resulted in massive damage to the rest of the Cuban economy, because in order to achieve the goal, workers and machinery from other sectors were mobilised and deployed in sugar cane harvesting, thus reducing their productive capacity (Pollitt & Hagelberg 1994:553). When the deliberations of Che Guevara, who regarded moral incentives as sufficient for motivating workers and enhancing productivity (Kapcia 2000:132–138), proved to be erroneous, the Cuban state turned to material incentives and even allowed private economic activities. Self-employment and non-state farmers’ markets were legalised in the early 1980s after being completely abolished between 1966 and 1970 (Henken 2004:216). Such adjustments were deemed necessary, as in the second half of the 1970s, the Cuban economy – and especially agricultural production – was

55  Original: “Castro ejercía un tipo de gobierno personalista, carismático, caracterizado por la concentra-

ción de poder en el ‘líder máximo’ y su círculo íntimo de leales, y por la falta de institucionalización.”

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well below strength and the population was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the supply situation, both in terms of food quantity and quality (Rosenberg 1992:53– 57). Efforts to create revolutionary socialist consciousness among the masses were also adapted to this policy change. The subjectivism that had previously been strongly emphasised (with appeals to morality, ethics and self-sacrifice) was now replaced by internationalism, among others (Medin 1990:16–19). However, this was a temporary shift of narrative, as even the late 1980s saw a revival of heroic figures being praised for their determination, fortitude and sacrifice. Nevertheless, these measures did not fully placate the Cuban population. Economic improvements were perceived as too little, too late, and repression, ideological rigidity and forced equalisation rose; Fornet (2007) refers to this period from 1971 to 1976 as “Quinquenio Gris” [Grey Half-Decade]. Emigration from Cuba to the United States reached a high in 1980, when during the six months of the Mariel boatlift (named after the Cuban port of Mariel, which was opened for unrestricted emigration) about 125,000 locals left the island. Instead of being welcomed unconditionally like previous migrants from Cuba, the ‘boatlifters’ were welcomed with a wave of distrust in the US. On the one hand, many of them had no family ties in their new home, which raised concerns about their social integration. On the other hand, Fidel Castro had indicated that these persons leaving were mainly criminals, mentally deranged persons and homosexuals, albeit this is regarded mainly as propaganda spread for the Cubans remaining on the island (Mountz & Loyd 2014:392). While this cautious opening towards the market led to significant improvements in terms of various important key figures (e. g. infant mortality, life expectancy, formal education, nourishment and health), its acceleration was stopped by Castro in 1986. Peasant markets and self-employment were prohibited again, as was private trade in housing, since Castro regarded the increasing wealth of a small number of Cubans as threatening the social stability of the country (Domínguez 1986:124). Instead, this market-oriented policy was superseded by a new discursive Revolution, which focused on the mystified figure of Che Guevara and voluntarism linked with it (Zeuske 2010:29). The mystification and veneration of revolutionary heroes is still actively engaged in by the Cuban leadership to strengthen identification with the Revolution and its values. 4.4.9. On the Nature of the Cuban Revolution

Although the Cuban Revolution as a process of radical reconfiguration of structures, ideologies and power relations was institutionalised and widely established among the population from 1968 to 1970, the term ‘Revolution’ is still in use. Especially in inner discourses, it is used frequently by the government to legitimise its reign and to claim “loyalty and obedience” (Zeuske 2010:28–29) from younger generations by utilising its mythical status and symbolic impetus. In this regard, the Revolution reveals its

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

ideological origin in the Marxist idea of a permanent revolution, which maintains the Cuban state as ideology highly dynamic until the comprehensive triumph of Marxism-Leninism is ultimately achieved globally (Gold 2014:55). Hence, according to Cuban interpretation, the Revolution is not yet completed, but is still in progress. During his speech on May 1, 2000, Fidel Castro (2000a) delivered a profound definition of his understanding of the Cuban Revolution. It is still recited in official publications today and offers a high level of explanatory value for the Revolution: Revolution means to have a sense of history; it is changing everything that must be changed; it is full equality and freedom; it is being treated and treating others like human beings; it is achieving emancipation by ourselves and through our own efforts; it is challenging powerful dominant forces from within and without the social and national milieu; it is defending the values in which we believe at the cost of any sacrifice; it is modesty, selflessness, altruism, solidarity and heroism; it is fighting with courage, intelligence and realism; it is never lying or violating ethical principles; it is a profound conviction that there is no power in the world that can crush the power of truth and ideas. Revolution means unity; it is independence, it is fighting for our dreams of justice for Cuba and for the world, which is the foundation of our patriotism, our socialism and our internationalism.56

Interestingly, Castro addressed both freedom and independence in his contemplation, both of which play a fundamental role in support for and criticism of the Revolution. The pertinence of this definition of the Revolution is reflected in the fact that it found its way into the preamble of the revised Cuban Constitution of 2019 (República de Cuba 2019:2): Identified with the postulates exposed in the concept of Revolution, as it was expressed by our Commander in Chief Fidel Castro Ruz on May 1, 2000.57

In 1961, Fidel Castro (1961b) expressed his understanding of the Revolution and its relation to freedom in a speech in front of Cuban intellectuals, complete with his famous expression: “Within the Revolution, everything; against the Revolution, nothing.”58 As expressed through this slogan, as long as new ideas and developments did not interfere 56  Original:

“Revolución es sentido del momento histórico; es cambiar todo lo que debe ser cambiado; es igualdad y libertad plenas; es ser tratado y tratar a los demás como seres humanos; es emanciparnos por nosotros mismos y con nuestros propios esfuerzos; es desafiar poderosas fuerzas dominantes dentro y fuera del ámbito social y nacional; es defender valores en los que se cree al precio de cualquier sacrificio; es modestia, desinterés, altruismo, solidaridad y heroísmo; es luchar con audacia, inteligencia y realismo; es no mentir jamás ni violar principios éticos; es convicción profunda de que no existe fuerza en el mundo capaz de aplastar la fuerza de la verdad y las ideas. Revolución es unidad, es independencia, es luchar por nuestros sueños de justicia para Cuba y para el mundo, que es la base de nuestro patriotismo, nuestro socialismo y nuestro internacionalismo.” 57  Original: “Identificados con los postulados expuestos en el concepto de Revolución, expresado por nuestro Comandante en Jefe Fidel Castro Ruz el 1ro de mayo del año 2000.” 58  Original: “Dentro de la Revolución, todo; contra la Revolución, nada.”

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with the foundations of the Revolution, they could be discussed and perhaps integrated into it. Thus, the only approach to political and socioeconomic change is through revolutionary institutions. Following the argument of Berlin (1975:131–135), the Revolution indeed brought the Cuban people a certain degree of negative freedom (freedom from imperialist influence, poor quality of living, poverty, bad medical conditions, etc.), but it did not necessarily provide positive freedom (freedom to) in turn. Strict limitations on individual fulfilment were set, certain ways of earning an income were abolished, property was nationalised and political freedom was ultimately restricted. For Gold (2014:55), the Cuban Revolution has the “fluid capacity […] to adapt to change and reinvent itself in its opposition to capitalism”. This ability to newly define the limits of the Revolution again and again, to keep it flexible enough for the Cuban people to find themselves – even with seemingly adverse opinions and beliefs – inside the Revolution, contributes largely to the persistence of the Revolution. To include people in the Revolution, and to avoid them finding themselves suddenly (and maybe unintentionally) opposing it, the Cuban state until today steadily incorporates popular practices, opinions and trends into the Revolution. Thus, these practices may finally “become an expression of revolutionary commitment in times of crisis” (Gold 2014:46). Gropas (2007:531) cites the example of urban gardening and discourses on sustainability during the crisis of the 1990s, which were merged into official revolutionary ideology to make the Revolution consistent with popular demand and morale. Especially since the beginning of the Período Especial, she sees the defence of the Revolution and the patria as the main legitimisation of state measures, while the goal of building socialism is pushed to the sidelines (Gropas 2007:535). Referring to its adaptability to external uncertainties, Kapcia (2009:30) describes the Revolution as adjusting itself via “cycles of crisis, soul-searching debate, […] resulting in confidence […] expressed through mobilisation (necessary for the soul) or structure (necessary for the body)”. Following Gold’s (2014:44) deliberations on Bourdieu and the Cuban Revolution, the socioeconomic circumstances the latter produces are not solely doxa, i. e. assimilated via socialisation and education, unquestioned perceptions and beliefs by which “the natural and social world appears self-evident” (Bourdieu 1977:164) to the Cuban people. Rather, Gold (2014:44) suggests perceiving the Revolution as a form of “habitus” of the Cuban people, shaped by the social and political structures it produced, but which leads through the agency of individuals to newly assembled reflections of the Revolution and (re-)productions of structures. Bourdieu himself (1977:53) described habitus as systems of durable, transposable dispositions, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures, that is, as principles which generate and organize practices and representations that can be objectively adapted to their outcomes without presupposing a conscious aiming at ends or an express mastery of the operations necessary in order to attain them.

The Cuban Revolution: A Universal Framework for Life and Society in Cuba

Since Bourdieu originally used the habitus concept to describe the varying social behaviours of people in different milieus, Gold’s use of the term seems unfortunate in this context. However, by omitting the milieu-defining properties of the habitus while at the same time emphasising external influences on lifestyles according to Bourdieu’s definition above, the notion of habitus seems somewhat useful for describing the Cuban Revolution. With reference to Kapcia’s (2009:30) explanation of the Revolution as a system self-adjusting to non-influenceable contingencies, Bourdieu’s (2010b [1980]:56) slightly different notion of the habitus as “embodied history, internalized as a second nature and so forgotten as history […] [that] gives practices their relative autonomy with respect to external determinations of the immediate present” penetrates the mind and provides further comprehension for the nature of the Revolution. Indeed, the Cuban Revolution is in fact virtually an all-encompassing system determining Cubans’ lifestyles and choices of action in accordance with its own rationale. 4.4.10. The ‘Correction of Errors’: Refusing Gorbachev’s Reforms

In only a few decades under Castro’s leadership, Cuba experienced a series of different economic reforms, some of them highly experimental in nature. Mesa-Lago (1989:98) outlines six distinct periods since 1959 in his 1989 review of Cuban economic policies: 1) the eradication of capitalism (1959–1960); 2) the unsuccessful introduction of the Soviet economic system prior to 1965, based on central planning (1961–1963); 3) discussions on alternative forms of a socialist economy and attempts to apply them, such as the voluntaristic model of Che Guevara or the tentative 1965 Soviet model (1964–1965); 4) the disastrous implementation of Guevara’s economic system, with radical aspects and adjustments by Fidel Castro (1966–1970); 5) transition towards and phased introduction of a temperate reading of the pre-Gorbachev Soviet model of economic reform (1971–1985); 6) the Rectificación (correction of errors), turning back the previous course and abandoning decentralisation and the use of market mechanisms (since 1986). The Rectificación mainly consisted of measures contrary to the Soviet Perestroika and Glasnost policies introduced by Gorbachev (Mesa-Lago 1990:97–99). In a political about-turn, the Cuban revolutionary government withdrew many of the market liberalisations it had introduced only a few years previously: farmers’ markets were prohibited again, self-employment banned and almost all private farms of any size were nationalised (Henken 2004:218). Reasons for this radical shift, contradicting the economic policies in the USSR, lie mostly in the fear of losing “political control” and “ideological legitimacy” in Cuba (Henken 2004:219). The harsh and blatant opposition to Gorbachev’s reforms underlines the cooling of relations between Cuba and the USSR. Even a visit made by Gorbachev to Havana

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(1989) did not help improve the relations. On the contrary: imports of publications on Perestroika and Glasnost were prohibited in Cuba in 1989, and in a speech delivered by Fidel Castro (1989b) on December 7, 1989, in Havana, the breach between him and the governance of the USSR was made clear: Thus, we did not hesitate to stop the circulation of certain Soviet publications [on Perestroika and Glasnost] that are full of poison against the Soviet Union itself and against socialism. You can see that imperialism, reactionary forces, and the counter-revolution are behind them. Some of those publications have already started calling for an end of the fair and equitable trade relations that were established between the Soviet Union and Cuba during the Cuban revolutionary process. […] In short, they want the Soviet Union to join the US blockade against Cuba.59

In this speech, Castro also explained the imminent dissolution of Soviet socialism: Imperialism’s undermining actions and the systematic destruction of the socialist values, combined with the mistakes that have been made, have accelerated the destabilisation of the Eastern European socialist countries. The United States designed and implemented a long-term policy of treating each country differently and undermining socialism from within.60

Hence, the Cuban government assigned the guilt for the failure of eastern European socialism to the subversive agitation of the US. The Castristas thus further promoted the pre-existing image of the enemy while gathering the Cuban population behind the shielding Revolution. 4.5.

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

The dissolution of the USSR and of COMECON in 1991 engulfed Cuba in a severe economic and (later) social crisis, since international trade with COMECON member states previously made up to 85 % of Cuba’s trade volume (Zeuske 2016a:206). Without highly subsidised imports, especially of crude oil, machines and food, from

59  Original:

“Por ello nosotros no hemos vacilado en impedir la circulación de ciertas publicaciones soviéticas que están cargadas de veneno contra la propia URSS y el socialismo. Se percibe que detrás de ellas está la mano del imperialismo, la reacción y la contrarrevolución. Ya algunas de esas publicaciones han comenzado a demandar el cese del tipo de relaciones comerciales equitativas y justas que se han creado entre la URSS y Cuba en el transcurso del proceso revolucionario cubano. […] En último término, que la URSS se sume al bloqueo yanqui contra Cuba.” 60  Original: “La destrucción sistemática de los valores del socialismo, el trabajo de zapa llevado a cabo por el imperialismo, unido a los errores cometidos, han acelerado el proceso de desestabilización de los países socialistas en Europa oriental. La política diferenciada con cada país y la idea de minar desde dentro al socialismo, fue la estrategia largo tiempo elaborada y aplicada por Estados Unidos.”

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

socialist allies, the revolutionary model was gravely endangered. Zeuske (2000:15) points out that for the first time in its history, Cuba was without an empire at its side or support (Spain, US, USSR); only the enmity with the only remaining superpower, the US, continued. Fidel Castro and the revolutionary government were forced to introduce a series of reforms that retrospectively marked the beginning of a radical transformation of Cuban society and of the Revolution itself. 4.5.1. A Period of Acute Crisis

The Cuban government reacted to the changed economic and political circumstances with drastic measures that had severe consequences for its population. In a speech on September 29, 1990, Fidel Castro justified these measures and explained that Cuba had entered a Período Especial en Época de Paz [Special Period in Times of Peace]. The idea behind this Período Especial and its measures was originally “thought up in the case of war, in case of a total blockade of the country in which nothing could get in or out” (Castro Ruz 1990b). However, in the wake of the breakdown of Soviet economic aid, “the concept of the special period in peacetime has emerged. And we are undoubtedly already entering this special period in peacetime. And it is inevitable that we will fall into this special period in all its harshness in peacetime. We will have to undergo this trial”61 (Castro Ruz 1990b). In this speech, Castro left no doubt that the measures taken to overcome this crisis were inevitable. Many Cubans regarded the term Período Especial as highly euphemistic; in fact, they perceived it as “a period of acute crisis” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:114). Yet, this example also demonstrates the exceptional rhetorical skills of Castro, who framed the hardships of the Período Especial as trials or tests to overcome – and which could indeed be overcome. Giving up is unthinkable in this rhetoric, thus closing the revolutionary ranks again. Entering the Período Especial, the Cuban economy and society faced an almost complete breakdown of the country. The Cuban economy stalled, with domestic industrial production collapsing and ubiquitous scarcities of food, energy and consumer goods (Hoffmann 2009a:104; Stricker 2010:185). This resulted in the far-reaching deindustrialisation of Cuba and a further deterioration of an already dismal infrastructure, thereby making the country increasingly dependent on food imports (Hoffmann 2011:4), reaching 70–80 % during the 1990s (Hoffmann 2011:8). 61  Original:

“Ha sido muy útil contar con esos programas y planes para el período especial, porque el período especial se concibió para caso de guerra, para caso de bloqueo total del país en que no entrara ni saliera nada de aquí. El período especial, del que se habla ahora, surge como concepto ante los problemas estos que había estado mencionando; ante los problemas que se presentaron en Europa del este y en la Unión Soviética, es la idea de un período especial en época de paz y, sin duda, ya nos estamos adentrando en ese período especial en época de paz. Es casi inevitable que caigamos en ese período especial, con todo rigor, en época de paz y que tengamos que pasar esa prueba.”

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Scholars have assessed the extent and severity of the economic and supply crisis quite differently. García Jiménez (cited by Salinas et al. 2018:221) estimates the drop in Cuban GDP in the wake of the dissolution of the USSR at 35 %. International trade (imports and exports) dwindled to 20 % of its pre-crisis amount. According to Pastor and Zimbalist (1995:708), the early 1990s were characterised by an unprecedented decrease in GDP. For their estimation of Cuban GDP at the beginning of the Período Especial, they included informal economic activities: while real GDP grew slightly by 0.1 % in 1989, it decreased by 3.1 % in 1990 and plummeted by 25.0 % in 1991, 14.0 % in 1992 and 20.0 % in 1993. In just five years, the Cuban GDP had halved from approximately US$32.5 billion in 1989 to about US$16.2 billion in 1993 (Pastor & Zimbalist 1995:708). Official data from the Cuban government and the World Bank display a considerably milder decrease in Cuban GPD during the early 1990s. As Figure 14 shows, GDP dropped from its peak in 1990 (US$28.65 billion) to US$22.09 billion in 1992. For 1993, both sources assess Cuban GDP at US$22.37 billion (World Bank 2021).

Figure 14: Cuban GDP from 1970 to 1993. (in current US$) Source: own design with data from World Bank 2021.

After losing economic aid formerly provided by the USSR and COMECON, the results of the communisation of agrarian production became explicit: half of the cultivable land lay idle, and local food supplies were decimated or at least marginalised. The crisis also affected the Conquistas of the Revolution, i. e. the free and public provision of food, education, housing and medical treatment. As all of these propositions were highly subsidised via resources provided by the USSR and COMECON, a much tight-

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

er supply situation ensued. Concerning medical treatment, for example, the availability of health-related and pharmaceutical products was highly constrained, thereby significantly diminishing the capabilities of the country’s healthcare system (Brotherton 2008:262–263). Moreover, streets, individual housing, mobility, infrastructural systems supplying gas and water, sewage works and waste disposal and environmental protection itself lacked public investment and modernisation programmes and turned into major problems for the country (Zeuske 2010:28). Although the poor condition of public infrastructure did not arise at the beginning of the Período Especial but had taken hold notably earlier, the infrastructural crisis deepened at the beginning of the 1990s. Financial resources for the maintenance of public infrastructure were used for expensive educational, medicinal and housing projects, which also suffered from the weak commercial basis of the Cuban economy and resulted partly from the inefficiency of the highly centralised government. Zeuske (2010:28) describes these problems – as well as shame over the stench in the streets, ubiquitous dilapidation and the lack of housing for those seeking to start a family – as profound, especially for post-1970 generations who did not profit from the blessings of the urban reforms of the 1960s. To complicate the situation, the United States tightened its sanctions against Cuba in the early 1990s (see Textbox 12), further aggravating the crisis there. Textbox 12: “A final push”: Tightening the American embargo Although there were almost always voices predicting the fall of the revolutionary government and an end to Fidel Castro’s rule, these voices sharply intensified during and shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Union breaking apart. Many political advisors and scholars predicted a “collapsing Cuba” (Kaufmann Purcell 1991). These assessments were fuelled by the US tightening its trade embargo, alongside perhaps starting an uprising against the Castro regime.   Hence, the US government tried to use the precarious economic and political situation of Cuba to end socialist reign. Both the Torricelli Act of 1992 and the Helms-Burton Act of 1996 were conceived to tighten sanctions against Cuba. Although they had been in place for decades, the demise of the USSR and COMECON, and the termination of their subsidies, gave hope to Castro’s critics that they could bring him and Cuba to their knees. The Torricelli Act expanded the trade embargo to affiliated companies of US enterprises, even in foreign countries. Cuban commercial trade with these enterprises accounted for annually about US$700 million, of which approximately 90 % were food or medical products.   Likewise, US-Senator Jesse Helms, eponymous for the Helms-Burton Act (official title: Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity Act of 1996), thought Castro’s clock had run down. In a contribution for the Washington Post in 1995, he stated that “Castro needs a final push. [Helms’] bill will provide it, by tightening existing sanctions” (Helms 1995:21). Evidently, Helms and major parts of the US government misjudged the longevity and perseverance of the Revolution.

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4.5.2. Can Capitalism Save Socialism? Reforms of the 1990s

The Cuban leadership soon realised that the precarious socioeconomic conditions of the Período Especial were critical preserving the revolutionary system – and thus its own position of power. To cushion the worst consequences of the Período Especial, to improve the situation of the Cuban population and to maintain the Revolution’s claim to supremacy, several pervasive measures were taken. Torres (2016:1683) describes these reforms as the “most far-reaching process of economic reforms for more than five decades”. During these measures, it quickly emerged that the revolutionaries were willing to depart significantly from hitherto entrenched political and ideological positions – a point concerning not only a number of economic policy reforms that will be outlined in a moment, but also the Revolution’s stance on ecological concerns. Benz (2020) demonstrates that Castro’s turn to nature and sustainability also, and above all, served political objectives. But now to the fundamental economic policy reforms of the 1990s, are outlined through five fields: Monetary Reform As the Cuban economic system was partly liberated, the US Dollar was legalised in parallel to the Peso Cubano (CUP) with a fixed exchange rate, to stabilise the economy and to obtain foreign currency. Inflation had hitherto been a problem almost confined to the black market, mainly because of state-imposed rationing and price fixing (Ritter & Rowe 2002:102). In 1994, the Peso Convertible (CUC) was introduced as a domestic alternative to the US$, which in 2004 was again removed from the Cuban market in order to gain more sovereignty over currency. The system of parallel currencies (CUP and CUC) allowed the Cuban state to make internal payments in CUP, while transactions with foreign parties (enterprises or tourists) were calculated in CUC. Whilst for non-state actors the CUC-CUP exchange rate stood at around 1:24, state enterprises could settle CUC and CUP at a rate of 1:1, giving the Cuban state substantial monetary advantages. VAT rates of up to 250 % ensuring that foreign exchange revenues accrued to the Treasury (Kulke 2011:93; Ritter & Henken 2015:190). In an interview, Fidel Castro (2000b) later defended the temporary legalisation of the US Dollar and expressed his firm belief in the contribution of this measure to the benefit of the Revolution: I believe that in the future it will never be necessary again to ban the possession of dollars or other foreign currencies, but its free circulation for the payment of many goods and services will only last for as long as the interests of the Revolution make it advisable. Therefore, we are not concerned about the famous phrase ‘the dollarisation of the economy.’ We know very well what we are doing.

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

Until 2021, CUC and CUP were used as parallel currencies in Cuba, whereby a strict divide in CUC shops and CUP shops legally existed but was de facto not really practiced. Although the dual currency system was terminated at the turn of the 2020/2021 fiscal year, it seems improbable that income disparities will vanish in the medium term.62 Thus, high incomes earned in tourism will just be denominated in the same currency as comparatively low incomes from public employment. Remittances and Relations with Cuban exiles Remittances from abroad in US$ were legalised in 1993 (Blue 2004:69). Since then, family members (especially exiled Cubans from the US) have been able to send money to their relatives in Cuba. Starting during the 1990s, and increasingly in the last few years, as hurdles for transnational (financial) support were removed incrementally by the Cuban state, the perceptions and valuations of exiled Cubans by their fellow countrymen on the island have changed significantly. Eckstein (2010:1050) illustrates this shift with a linguistic example: while exiles were often disparaged as traitors or gusanos [worms], those providing financial support via remittances are now labelled as “long-distance nationalists” or, even more euphemistically, comunitarios [communitarians]. With the US government, since 1998, successively reducing barriers to family remittances and finally eliminating these barriers entirely in 2009 (Spadoni 2017:246), remittances have become an important economic factor for Cuban families and the state, which skims a certain percentage off them (Torres 2016:1691). Nonetheless, the Trump administration reversed this trend and again significantly limited remittances in 2019. International Tourism Cuba opened up to international tourism and defined it as a primary source of foreign currency – which was desperately needed. The declaration of tourism as one of the new pillars of the Cuban economy would prove economically beneficial, prompting Jayawardena (2003:56) to even speak of a “new type of revolution in Cuba: the recent and ongoing ‘tourism revolution’”. As Chapter 5 illustrates, tourism in Cuba also has considerable, not merely desirable, effects on the Cuban social and economic structure, in addition to its economic achievements.

62  However,

by the summer of 2021, the drastic economic effects of the global COVID-19 pandemic still overwhelmed the impact of the Cuban monetary and economic reforms that took effect on January 1, 2021, making it impossible to estimate the effects of these reforms more precisely at this time.

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Non-State Employment With Decreto-Ley 141, passed on September 8, 1993, private enterprises and self-employment were allowed in initially 117 occupations selected by the government. In Cuba, this self-employment is called Trabajo por Cuenta Propia [Working for one’s own account; also called Cuentapropismo]. Shortly afterwards, the number of legal occupations was raised to 135 and eventually to 157 in 1995 (Henken 2004:220). The legislation of 1993 allowed access to Cuentapropismo only to “retirees, housewives and laid-off workers” (Henken 2004:220), a restriction gradually rescinded in the following years. Originally, Cuentapropismo was legalised in six business areas: 1) Transportation and support services; 2) Housing repairs; 3) Agricultural-related activities; 4) Family and personal services; 5) Home services and 6) Others. Later, the number of legal occupations increased to 201 (Mesa-Lago 2018:2). At first, Cuentapropismo excluded large areas of engagement in tourism. Although an official licence is required to engage in Cuentapropismo, a growing private sector established, as Cubans regarded it as an opportunity to autonomously improve their economic situation. Especially for touristic offerings, the introduction of Cuentapropismo turned out to be advantageous: several laws enabled Cubans to open private restaurants (so-called paladares; 1995), provide transportation (1996) and rent private rooms (in so-called casas particulares del aquiler;63 1997) for tourists (Henken 2004:220). Foreign Direct Investment The route towards international tourism was directly linked with enabling and simplifying foreign direct investments via joint ventures, as many Cuban state enterprises were lacking capital, technology and knowledge. Subsequently, the liberalisation of Cuba’s economy proceeded. On September 5, 1995, Decreto Ley 77 advanced the possibility of foreign investors to engage in the country through joint ventures (Salinas et al. 2018:223). The law was intended “for the fundamental purpose of achieving sustainable development in the country and a recovery of the national economy” (República de Cuba 1995:2). The opening paragraphs of Decreto Ley 77 specify the purpose of the law and highlight the circumstances that made the law necessary. Although the following quote is lengthy, it conveys a clear impression of the perspectives Cuban leaders had in the 1990s in terms of both the country’s national economy and the importance of integrating it into the global economy:

63  Literal translation: ‘private houses for rent’; analogous translation: ‘private rooms for rent’.

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

In today’s world, without the existence of the socialist bloc, with a globalizing world economy and strong hegemonistic tendencies in the economic, political and military fields, Cuba, in order to preserve its accomplishments despite the fierce blockade to which it is subjected; lacking capital, certain kinds of technology and often markets; and in need of restructuring its industry, can benefit from foreign investment, on the basis of the strictest respect for national independence and sovereignty, given that such investment can usher in the introduction of innovative and advanced technology, the modernisation of its industries, greater efficiency in production, the creation of new jobs, improvement in the quality of the products and services it offers, cost reduction, greater competitiveness abroad, and access to certain markets, which as a whole would boost the efforts the country must undertake in its economic and social development.

Decreto Ley 77 and its regulations were perceived as necessary measures to sustain the Revolution and to keep alive the ideals of the Cuban Revolution (Ministry for Foreign Investment and Economic Cooperation 1995:1). Perhaps in anticipation of the dissolution of the USSR, or at least as a reaction to the decrease in financial and material support, Decreto Ley 50, promulgated in 1982, Cuba had already created possibilities for economic associations between itself and foreign enterprises in certain areas of the economy. Among them were hotel construction, mining and oil exploration. Salinas et al. (2018:221) define Decreto Ley 50 as an “instrument for dynamically expanding exports and tourism”. However, because of relatively strict stipulations that allowed foreign partners to hold a minority stake of up to 49 % in a joint venture, the vital effects of this first law came to nothing. However, the adjustments made by Decreto Ley 77 turned joint ventures into a “key source of capital, management expertise, and markets for the international tourism industry” (Díaz-Briquets & Pérez-López 2005:277). The five fields of reform outlined above offer a clear picture of the rationale behind Cuba’s response to the crisis of the 1990s, which threatened the very existence of the Revolution: Cuba effectively opened many sectors to the global economy, allowing private business in carefully selected areas while relinquishing state control and responsibility. Taylor and McGlynn (2009:412) summarise this stronger market orientation as an attempt to employ “capitalism to save socialism”. Ripley (1999:133) reaches a similar conclusion, emphasising the irony that “capitalist ventures and American dollars helped save the world’s last Marxist economy”. The at least partial integration of the Cuban economy into the global economy seems in hindsight to have been without a truly viable alternative, as the revolutionary government was dependent on foreign exchange income for the purchase of direly needed imports (Roland 2010:15). It did, however, lead to a split in the Cuban economy: a foreign-trade economy intertwined with the world market and operating according to capitalist rules, on the one hand, and an intra-Cuban economy based on socialist principles, on the other (Robinson 2008:349). International tourism in Cuba nowadays thus has the effect of a hinge that connects both spheres of the economy.

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Besides the extensive reforms of the 1990s, international support for Cuba ought not to be disregarded. A special role was played by the then leftist Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez, who sought a close alliance with the ideologically close Cuba from 2002 onward. With Venezuela, a cost-effective alternative was found for the urgently needed petroleum imports Cuba had received from the USSR prior to 1991. In exchange for the services of more than 30,000 Cuban medical professionals, military consultants and security experts (Azicri 2009:100), Venezuela shipped an estimated 98,000 to 130,000 barrels of crude oil to Cuba daily until 2013 (Serbin & Serbin Pont 2017:237). In turn, Cuba resold some of this oil on the world market to refinance imports from foreign exchange earnings. 4.5.3. Social Repercussions and Liberalisations

Although the Cuban Revolution had achieved remarkable progress, especially in social matters, up to 1991 and was reasonably stable economically, the Período Especial and the subsequent measures exposed new as well as pre-existing problems. These were primarily social and economic issues, some of which remain unresolved to this day. The experiences of the Período Especial full of deprivation and the transformations in Cuba brought about by liberalisation reforms had a considerable influence on society – as illustrated by the following several examples. The plight of Cuba during the Período Especial is evident in the balseros phenomenon. Balseros are Cubans attempting to migrate to the United States by sea, often using self-constructed balsas [rafts]. Between 1991 and 1994, a total of 45,575 migrants were intercepted by the US Coast Guard while crossing the sea to Florida (Ackerman 1996:169). The situation reached its peak during the so-called ‘Balsero crisis’ in August 1994, during which time 35,000 Cubans fled to the United States alone (Greenhill 2002:39). This surge of migrants was preceded by violent public unrest in Havana (Masud-Piloto 1996:137). In response, Castro announced that the Cuban Coast Guard would no longer prevent Cubans from sailing to the United States. Thus, thousands embarked on the crossing. Greenhill (2002) argues that the Balsero crisis, as a mass migration incident, was deliberately provoked by Castro to force the United States to negotiate its policies on migration and Cuba – a tactic via which he succeeded (Greenhill 2002:58). Ackerman (1996:197–198) elaborates further that the reasons for migration given by many balseros of the Período Especial were multicausal. Along with economic and political factors, the suppression of individual life choices apparently played a prominent role. This is interesting, since the motivation of previous balseros had often been their rejection of Castro’s socialist system (Ackerman 1996:198). The relatively brief Balsero crisis and the liberties granted at the height of the special period reflect a pattern described by Corbett (2004:92) very well, i. e. during economic crises, the Cuban population is (temporarily) granted significant easing, which is

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

quickly revoked in times of economic recovery. Corbett argues that this allows the revolutionary leadership to maintain its power during trying times – and beyond. Although this strategy had been applied several times before, some observers predicted an end to the Cuban state’s strict control over society, given the liberalisations in economic policy. The overcoming of previous institutional forms, which mostly determined the nation-state identity by the revolutionary order, was partly expected (Rojas 1997:256). Certainly, some of these expectations overestimated the ambitions of parts of Cuban civil society to sweep aside the fusion of nation and state established under the banner of the Cuban Revolution, while underestimating the power of the state to enclose society within an adjusted narrative of the Revolution. Thus, the firm grip of the state on society was again loosened, albeit only temporarily. To earn the foreign exchange income almost indispensable for daily survival in Cuba during the Período Especial, many Cubans took advantage of these liberalisations. However, not all of them had the legal right to earn CUC, so some explored various semi-legal and even illegal means (Nau 2016:14). In tourism, for example, a widespread black market and various legal, illegal and semi-legal possibilities to earn foreign currency income have emerged alongside official and governmentally approved offerings. Ranging from street sales of undeclared cigars, semi-legal taxis or offering overnight stays with Cuban ‘friends’ in unregistered casas particulares, to offering food in unlicensed paladares, a wide range of ways to (illegally) participate in tourism are practiced by Cubans (Taylor & McGlynn 2009:409). The slowly increasing availability of internet access (see Textbox 13) has boosted the emergence of semi-legal and illegal occupations, especially in tourism (Nau 2016:15). Textbox 13: Internet and mobile communication in Cuba In recent years, the availability of the internet has been extended in Cuba. In December of 2018, mobile internet based on the 3G standard was introduced in Cuba and made available in large parts of the island, yet Cuba is one of the world’s least digitally connected countries (Grandinetti & Eszenyi 2018:869). Partly because of the comparatively high prices for this service, many Cubans do not have reliable, steady internet access. Nevertheless, many with family abroad use messenger services to keep in contact with their relatives in the US, Latin America or Europe. Unlike other socialist countries, for example China, the Cuban government filters and blocks online content ‘only’ to a very limited extent – the substandard and mostly outdated digital infrastructure affects Cubans’ connectivity far more negatively (Baron & Hall 2015:342–345). Therefore, Google, Facebook and similar services are available, but often they are not or only hardly accessible.

Furthermore, symptoms of social decay that were thought to have been overcome reappeared: besides the black market, which had flourished since the 1980s, prostitution (illegal nationwide but largely tolerated by the government), theft of state property (e. g. in hotels or stores), child begging, domestic violence and petty crime appeared

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to an extent that Cuba had not seen since the years of the Batista regime in the 1950s (Uriarte 2002:29–30). Nau (2008:69–72) finds the justification for these acts in the hardships of the Período Especial, but simultaneously ascribes to them great danger for the healthy development of Cuban society (Nau 2016:14). In contrast, Rodríguez Rivera (2007:61) regards the practice of using illegal methods to ensure one’s own survival as being part of Cuban identity for centuries. Even on neighbourhoods or families the Período Especial and the state’s measures to cope with it had a serious impact. In this vein, Skaine (2004) and Uriarte (2002) analysed the effects of the Período Especial on Cuban families. Besides the apparent economic problems, they note a decrease in family time, as many adults started to work in multiple jobs to be able to obtain food and provisions for their families. In the wake, relationships and family networks are at a pinch. While for decades, family and relatives were the most important socioeconomic backing for Cubans, migration on national and international scales as well as bad housing conditions put pressure on social relationships. Gold (2014:50) comments on separation anxiety and the “frustrations that a constant state of struggle – a permanent Revolution – demands” that prevail in Cuba. Likewise, within families, new challenges emerged. Many parents stayed in their CUP-paid state jobs, while their teenage children were able to earn their parents’ monthly income in one afternoon by simply showing tourists around Habana Vieja or other touristic hotspots. As a result, many parents complained about losing authority over their children who earned more money and felt increasingly under pressure to buy expensive consumer products (e. g. mobile phones, brand-named clothing). The hardships of the Período Especial fostered “significant family stress and dysfunction” and led to increasing divorce rates (Uriarte 2002:29). However, the Período Especial also led to increased social support within neighbourhoods as an ‘extended’ family. Cooperation and shared responsibility were preached and encouraged by the local CDRs as nuclei for informal assistance (Taylor Jr. 2009:56). Mutual support, strong and reliable networks and shared resources were almost indispensable in withstanding many adversities, and they served to intensify a “collectivist mindset” (Hingtgen et al. 2015:186) among the Cuban population that was “reinforced through socialism” and its ideals. Accordingly, Taylor and McGlynn (2009:410) designate the “highly functional, stable, well-organised neighbourhoods”, which provide alongside cooperation and mutual support a counterpoint to the “accelerated rise of a culture of consumerism and materialism”, as one reason for the nonetheless relatively resilient society. Nonetheless, to assume that Cuban society was united in solidarity throughout the crisis would romanticise reality. The fact that personal advantage often came at the expense of others is also illustrated by the resurgence of racism. Although the Revolution propagates the ideal of equality, Afro-Cubans suffered most as a result of the Período Especial (as well as of the consequences of the financial crisis in 2008). Even during economically prosperous times, most newly created jobs associated with ac-

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

cess to foreign currency were allocated to white people with an alleged buena presencia [pleasant appearance], as de la Fuente (2008:716) notes. Hansing and Optenhögel (2015:11) observed the renaissance of racial discrimination in Cuban society through Afro-Cubans missing out on jobs in tourism. Instead, the present-day over-representation of Afro-Cubans in informal touristic activities reflects the persistence of the racial divide in the sector (Taylor & McGlynn 2009:408). Racial differences in economic and cultural capital were furthered with legalisation relating to remittances sent from the US. Since the Cuban expat community is composed mainly of white émigrés, their (white) families receive the bulk of remittances, further widening the racial divide (de la Fuente 2011:318–319; see also Zeuske 2010:29). Nevertheless, popular support for the Revolution apparently remained relatively high during the Período Especial. Miller and Henthorne (1997:83), for instance, note that “Cubans recognize the very real gains made by the Revolution, in the face of determined and unrelenting opposition from the United States: education, literacy, health care, vaccinations, social equity, work conditions, nationalist pride, even good ice cream. It was the Revolution that opened higher education opportunities, advanced job opportunities, restaurants, and the best beaches to Cuba’s black and mulatto population. Castro largely retains a respected, father-figure status.” 4.5.4. Excursus: Religion and Religiosity in Cuba

The continued strong popular support for the Revolution despite the Período Especial partly stemmed from its ability to transform itself, as mentioned previously. This ability to adapt ideologically and conceptually to external circumstances ought to be demonstrated in an excursus on the relationship between the Revolution and revolution, which underwent a fascinating turn during the Período Especial. Following Marx’s (1970 [1844]:131) deliberations on religion as “opium for the people”, the 1976 Cuban Constitution propagated scientific atheism and excluded believers from membership in the PCC. Nevertheless, formally religious freedom was granted (República de Cuba 1976:Artículo 54), albeit with the constraint that it is illegal and punishable to oppose religious faith or belief to the Revolution, to education or to the fulfilment of one’ s duties to work, to defend the homeland by arms, to revere its symbols and the other duties established by the Constitution.64

64  Original: “Es ilegal y punible oponer la fe o la creencia religiosa a la Revolución, a la educación o al cum-

plimiento de los deberes de trabajar, defender la patria con las armas, reverenciar sus símbolos y los demás deberes es tablecidos por la Constitución.”

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With the growing influence of leftist Liberation Theology in Latin America, the Cuban government altered its position towards religion during the 1980s, though initially only Christian denominations benefited. Fidel Castro (1985:326) himself tried to construct an ideological relation between Christianity and Marxism, when, during his nocturnal conversations with Brazilian liberation theologian Frei Betto, he explained that I also believe that many of the passages in Christ’s preaching, such as the Sermon on the Mount, cannot be interpreted in any other way than what you [Frei Betto] call an option for the poor. […] I believe Karl Marx might have subscribed to that Sermon on the Mount.65

Consequently, one could be a good Marxist without having to cease being Christian. In 1986, a nationwide synod of the Catholic Church was held in Havana, which further relaxed its relationship with the Cuban state. This was also achieved by relatively broad concessions on behalf of the Catholic Church; as cited from Moebus (2011:3), the synod’s closing statement reads: We knew how to be Christians in time of colonialism and of capitalism. […] Now we have to learn how to be Christians in a desacralized and secularized society inspired by Marxism.66

However, the Cuban government also made several compromises regarding ideological convictions. Particularly after entering the Período Especial, the Catholic Church’s ability and that of several protestant churches to organise aid shipments, social projects and international donations contributed to the cushioning of the worst socioeconomic effects at that time, and to partly prevent public unrest, led to relief for the Cuban government (Babún Jr. 2001:418–423). In addition to the above-mentioned liberalisations – for instance, in terms of economic policy or migration – the revolutionary leadership felt almost compelled to permit the Apertura [liberalisation] in religious matters as well (Ayorinde 2004:138). The visit of Pope John Paul II in 1998 also underscores the Cuban state’s new open-mindedness toward religious communities in the early 1990s. This receptiveness affected not only Catholicism and different protestant movements, but also ­especially Afro-Cuban beliefs, such as the Santería or Ifá cults. There are several reasons for the growing importance and discipleships of religious beliefs in Cuba since the 1990s. Holbraad (1999:654), who examined the rise of Ifá Cults in Cuba, mentions as one of the

65  Original: “También muchos de los pasajes de la prédica de Cristo, como el Sermón de la Montaña, creo

que no pueden interpretarse de otra forma que lo que tú [Frei Betto] llamas una opción por los pobres. […] Pienso que ese Sermón de la Montaña lo habría podido suscribir Carlos Marx.” 66  Original: “Wir wussten, was es hieß, Christ in Zeiten des Kolonialismus und in Zeiten des Kapitalismus zu sein. […] Nun müssen wir lernen, Christen in einer entsakralisierten und säkularisierten Gesellschaft marxistischer Prägung zu sein.”

El Período Especial: Cuba’s (Post-)Socialist Transformation

main factors the declaration of Cuba as a “lay” state in 1992 (before, it was “atheist” by Constitution), which enabled members of the PCC to practice religion legally and officially. However, even more beneficial for the increasing popularity of religious beliefs in Cuba was probably the establishment of “social support networks” in religious communities “as a way of dealing with the crisis” (Gold 2014:54). In addition, religion and religious identification were seen as alternatives, as the identity-forming power of the Revolution seemed to decay during the Período Especial. Santería and similar beliefs originating in Africa were perceived particularly as Afro-Cuban facets of Cuban “folkloric heritage and a marker of cubanidad” (Wirtz 2004:416). Although it is practiced nowadays only by a minority of the Cuban population, the significance of Santería for Cuban cultural identity has grown, especially since the 1990s and the beginning of the Período Especial (Ayorinde 2004:171). Gold (2014:54) states that many practitioners of Santería insist on their belief being “an authentic expression of Cuban national identity, the result of a unique history of slavery”. She mentions further that “struggle” [la lucha] is a “unifying force of the Revolution, transforming the plight of Afro-Cuban slaves into revolutionary nationalism”. Herewith, four identity resources (African origin, nationalism, religion and Revolution) were subtly woven into an identity-forming narrative under the primacy of the Revolution. 4.5.5. Strengthening Ideology and Identity in Times of Crisis

To obviate public unrest under harsh economic conditions, and to bring the Cuban population into line ideologically, broadly conceived public campaigns were launched and conducted during and after the Período Especial. Most often, widely known events were catalysts for such campaigns, as in the case of Elián González Brotons, which led to the so-called Batalla de Ideas [Battle of Ideas]. In 2000, the conflict over Elián González Brotons created unrest and anti-American protests in Cuba. The boy was rescued in the water off the Straits of Florida and taken to the US, while his mother drowned in her attempt to migrate to Florida. This led to an international custody battle (Elián was later sent back to his father in Cuba), which was used by the Cuban government to call for national unity and support. Using the vigour of the protests and the anti-American atmosphere, the Cuban government launched the Batalla de Ideas that positioned the Cuban socialist model as an antithesis to the capitalist-hegemonic ideology promoted by the United States (Font 2008:26). Primarily, the Batalla de Ideas was a programme for social improvement and was proclaimed as the Cuban answer to a globally expanded and aggressive conflict led by neoliberalist forces to attain cultural hegemony and transnational market control through mass media and economic coercion. It is evident that the programme was also designed to oppose the grand American narrative of capitalism as the only solution for humanity and the only conceivable mode for the distribution of wealth (Mendes & Marques 2008:72–73).

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The Batalla de Ideas itself consists of six ‘battles’, each of which translated into a variety of different actions and measures: 1) Socially useful employment; 2) Social security and welfare; 3) Education; 4) Culture and access to culture; 5) Health and healthcare and 6) Sports (for further information, see Ferriol et al. 2004). The programme outlined an alternative developmental path to achieve a more equitable and culturally independent Cuban society, and to raise consciousness of questions of cultural identity among Cubans, while advertising for peace to the world (Mendes & Marques 2008:72–73). The intensified attention to questions surrounding Cuban identity was associated with the aim of strengthening identification with the Revolution itself. As Fidel Castro (2000c) explained, the position of the Cuban government concerning the Batalla de Ideas was as follows: Our battle of ideas will not cease as long as the current imperialist, hegemonic and unipolar system is still in place and remains a scourge of humanity and a mortal threat to the survival of our species.67

The example of the Batalla de Ideas illustrates the Cuban leadership’s continuing efforts to influence and shape the revolutionary and socialist consciousness of the population, even decades after the revolutionary takeover. The creation of revolutionary consciousness must thus be understood as an ongoing and probably never-ending effort. Within the campaigns of the Batalla de Ideas, themes of Cuban existence in the form of confrontation and heroism were reproduced again, often drawing on historic figures and events. After overcoming the extremely arduous and austere 1990s, and with the economy recovering in the early 2000s, Fidel Castro declared the Período Especial to be over in January 2005. Yet, with the official termination of the crisis, Cuba’s society and state did not simply return to their previous conditions. Many of the economic liberalisations could not be reversed, some because they were fiscally indispensable and others because their reversion would have caused popular discontent. Moreover, the Cuban Revolution, as a stable foundation of Cuban identities, had suffered some damage. 4.6.

From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge

The Cuban economy had recovered to some extent from the Período Especial by the middle of the 2000s, and yet the need for reform was still pressing. However, Fidel Castro would no longer oversee planning and implementing these reforms. After 47 years at the helm of the Cuban state and the Revolution, the Comandante said adiós

67  Original: “Nuestra batalla de ideas no cesará mientras exista el sistema imperialista, hegemónico y uni-

polar, convertido en azote para la humanidad y amenaza mortal para la supervivencia de nuestra especie.”

From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge

on July 31, 2006. For reasons of health, he officially passed power to his younger brother Raúl, who Roland (2010:14) describes as “more capital-friendly”. Although political experts and scholars expected at least some stumbling and an uncertain future for the Revolution (McKinley Jr. 2008), if not the total collapse of the regime, the transition of power “was smooth and uneventful” (LeoGrande 2015b:378). In his article on the political transition from Fidel to Raúl, Hoffmann (2009b) analyses and explains the smoothness of this process. In his explanations for the still dire state of the Cuban economy, Raúl Castro had a clearly different perspective than his older brother. Fidel identified natural “character defects” (LeoGrande 2015b:389) of the people, caused by the temptations offered by the free market, which culminated in corruption and inefficient labour, as the main problems facing the Cuban economy. Therefore, during his command, high social control and the repression of the free market were established to tackle these problems. For Raúl Castro, in contrast, the nation’s economic problems stemmed from the system itself. In a speech delivered on July 26, 2007, he declared the present economic model to be “surpassed by life itself ” (Castro Ruz 2007b). Although Fidel is said to rarely have agreed with Raúl on the form and extent of economic reform, the older of the Castro brothers admitted in 2010 that “the Cuban model doesn’t even work for us anymore” (Goldberg 2010). To raise the terrifyingly low productivity of the country, Raúl Castro announced comprehensive reforms along with “structural and conceptual changes” (Castro Ruz 2007b) to the revolutionary model of economy. These reforms reflected his understanding of the Cuban economy and society well. 4.6.1. Raúl Castro’s Economic Agenda

In the wake of Raúl Castro’s reforms, social control was reduced and Cubans found themselves in a state of unknown personal freedom (LeoGrande 2015b:377). Although the reforms initiated some of the biggest changes since the initial implementation of the economic model of the Revolution, the government preferred (and still prefers) the term ‘update’ instead of reform. The most influential package of ‘updates’ at that time was announced during the sixth Congress of the PCC, which was held in April 2011. To identify the fields which needed revision most importantly and quickly, the PCC held meetings of its local branches, where citizens, party members and non-members could participate and discuss ideas and fields for reforms (LeoGrande 2015b:390). In economic terms, the reforms can be summarised as further liberalising steps that concentrated on five major issues: First, Raúl Castro wanted to boost productivity in agriculture through “de facto privatisation” (LeoGrande 2015b:392). What previously were state farms were transformed into cooperatives, which in turn often split their land into family plots. Still, many farmers had to sell 90 % of their harvest to the state at fixed prices. The remaining

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10 % could be sold at free farmers’ markets; however, the state retained the right to set prices or dates for sales. Second, the range of businesses in which Trabajo por Cuenta Propia was allowed was extended to more than 200 in 2013. This led to fast and steady growth in the number of private businesses, mostly in the retail and service sectors (LeoGrande 2015b:392). However, Ritter and Henken’s (2015:304–305) study on entrepreneurship in Cuba finds a low level of professionalisation among Cuban private businesses. Mostly, they are used as an additional income source or for subsistence. As a result, 1.14 million Cubans were employed in the private sector in 2016 (ONEI 2017a:11), which is equivalent to 24.8 % of the total workforce and represents the highest proportion of private-sector employees in more than 50 years (Torres 2016:1688). Third, the law on foreign direct investments was modified. Until 2010, foreign investors could only hold up to 49 % of a joint venture, whereby joint ventures in cooperation with the Cuban state were the only way of investing in the country. Following the 2011 ‘update’, it became possible for foreign investors to own up to 100 % of a Cuban company, with the state retaining control over enterprises and industries deemed essential. Additionally, a free trade zone was established in the port of Mariel to attract foreign capital. The March 2014 Foreign Investment Act further facilitated foreign capital investment, mainly in key export-oriented sectors of the economy, namely tourism, mining, fossil fuel extraction and agriculture (Salinas et al. 2018:226; Solorza Luna 2016:154–155). However, land ownership by foreign investors is currently prohibited; instead, they may acquire surface rights (e. g. for the construction of buildings), while the land itself remains property of the Cuban state (Feinberg 2017:324). Fourth, for LeoGrande (2015b:392), the most important element of the reforms was the decision to force state enterprises to become more efficient and, eventually, profitable; otherwise, these deficient enterprises would be liquidated. Especially since Venezuela faced severe economic, social and political problems and could not maintain its support for Cuba, inefficiencies and rampant bureaucracy that had developed under Fidel Castro were no longer tolerated (Maihold 2014:3–4). Subsequently, Raúl Castro’s goal of reducing state expenditure on bureaucracy led to the dismissal of more than 500,000 state employees. These civil servants were supposed to seek employment on their own in the newly widened private sector or to employ themselves (Secretariado Nacional de la CTC 2010). Eventually, as fifth central reform, Nau (2016:14) highlights the new opportunities for Cubans to own private property and to buy and sell goods privately among themselves. For example, as of 2011, Cubans could buy or sell houses and apartments for the first time since 1959 (República de Cuba 2011). Nevertheless, the newly created Cuban real estate market was tightly regulated by the state, and nowadays, while real estate ownership is not possible for foreigners, Cubans are allowed to own a maximum of two properties: one for residential purposes, the other as a vacation home (Monzon 2020:643–644).

From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge

The main thrust of the reforms described herein remained principally the same as those in the 1990s: to stimulate the Cuban domestic economy and to boost it via financial and managerial support from international investors. While in the beginning, the Cuban government meticulously ensured that control over joint ventures remained in Cuban hands, this maxim slowly deteriorated, bit by bit. The transformation of the centrally planned socialist economy into a market-driven, possibly (semi-)capitalistic national economy seemed to be in progress. The explanation and self-justification for this is still the goal of sustaining the revolutionary society and culture of Cuba. The measures taken by Raúl Castro are similar to those introduced at the beginning of the Doi Moi [renovation] in Vietnam, which were supposed to establish a so-called ‘socialist-oriented market economy’, and to the comparable Chinese reforms of 1978 under Deng Xiaoping (Cling et al. 2013). However, Chinese-style market socialism was based on specific characteristics of the country that are difficult to transfer, such as low public debt, the integration of the banking system into the global economy and the sheer size of the national economy (Newfarmer & Liu 2001:56). Weeks (2001) offers an in-depth analysis of the similarities between the Cuban transformation and the economic transformations of (formerly) socialist economies. Different to China, the Cuban government tried to preserve the Conquistas of the Revolution while liberalising its economy. To give up social achievements such as free education, free healthcare and relative socioeconomic equality would have involved reducing the credibility of the revolutionary project to a critically low level and might have been its end (LeoGrande 2015b:392). Raúl Castro (2010) commented on this point in a speech in front of the National Assembly when he said: “I was not elected president to restore capitalism in Cuba nor to surrender the Revolution”. 4.6.2. Raúl’s Reforms: Economic Revival, Social Restratification

As with previous reforms, scholars again forecasted the end of the Cuban Revolution as a result of Raúl’s measures (Sweig & Bustamante 2013). However, the Cuban government again proved to be resilient. Resistance to these reforms was expected to originate not from the Cuban population, which on the contrary strove for further reforms, but from the government and its bureaucratic machinery. As Hernández (2010) and Sánchez Egozcue (2012) explain, the largest risk for the projected reforms originated from members of the government and the PCC, who saw their privileges and socially prominent positions as being in danger. While ideology also seemed to play a role in resistance against Castro’s reforms, self-interest and defending privileges were far more important and dangerous for the reform process (Sánchez Egozcue 2012:157–159). Overall, Raúl Castro’s measures, issued in the early 2010s, turned out to be the most radical and influential changes for the Cuban state and society since the 1960s. The utmost far-reaching development continuing to this day is Cuba’s socioeconomic “re-

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stratification” (Nau 2016:13) and the emergence of a widening gap between different income classes. LeoGrande (2015b:395) formulates this very directly, in that “there are winners and losers”. For many Cubans, especially those who grew up before the Período Especial – and thus in a rather egalitarian society – this restratification was a new experience. Before this process, purchase power, the ability to travel and resource access were distributed relatively equally across society. Now, for the first time in over 40 years, some members of society were able to accumulate much more wealth than others – especially through remittances from family members living abroad. Instead of forming an economic hierarchy based on social status, education and the reputation of one’s job, the new socioeconomic Cuban reality based on other determinants. While those Cubans who stayed in their CUP-paid state jobs remained in their income class, those who changed their job into Cuentapropismo (especially tourism) were able to generate far higher incomes, by earning foreign currency. This led to a paradox: while doctors, lawyers and professors working for the state struggle to survive and to provide for their families, Cubans who are bartending, driving taxis or otherwise working in tourism – with the possibility of earning foreign currency and receiving tips – could earn the monthly wage of a state employee in a single day. Subsequently, four income groups established in Cuba during the 2010s, which effectively ‘flipped’ the economic stratification of society (see Figure 15). Level 1) On the lowest level stand the poor parts of Cuban society, consisting mainly of people unable to earn foreign currency. This group is made up mainly of “pensioners, single parents, ill persons, and marginal groups” (Nau 2016:14). Although they

Figure 15: ‘Flipped’ socioeconomic pyramid during and after the Período Especial. Source: own design based on Hoffmann (2015:6), LeoGrande (2015b:395) and Nau (2016:14–16).

From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge

were incapable of accumulating wealth even before the Período Especial, the necessity to have foreign currency to maintain their standard of living leaves them with huge problems. Furthermore, former clerks, who lost their jobs and were unable to establish a Cuentapropismo business, are now unemployed and suffer from the changed circumstances (Nau 2016:15–16). Level 2) The second tier of Cuba’s recent income hierarchy consists of state employees. While academics would normally be the educational and income elite in other countries, their salary is enough to sustain a modest Cuban lifestyle, but nothing more (Nau 2016:14). Especially the rural population, the elderly and comparatively poorly trained parts of the population face the risk of descending from this class into the lowest stratum of Cuban society. However, they have hardly any prospects for socioeconomic advancement, especially when they do not have family abroad that can provide remittances (LeoGrande 2015b:395). Level 3) People with access to foreign currency form the income elite. In most cases, this is the urban population with comparably high educational achievement who earn CUC through tourism. Although most of them are employed by the state and receive moderate wages in CUP, through tourist tips, renting out rooms in casas particulares or offering services as Cuentapropistas they benefit from the more liberal economic conditions and earn incomes that are unattainable for state employees (LeoGrande 2015b:395). Level 4) The top tier of Cuban incomes consists of those who earn foreign currency from various sources, primarily through family members abroad who send them money (Nau 2016:14). As Hoffmann (2015:6) and Nau (2016:14) point out, the political elite and highest ranks of the military are also part of this tier, as they manage to occupy the most profitable positions in newly founded state enterprises and in joint ventures with foreign investors. The Cuban state is aware of the issue of large income differences. The restratification of society is again leading to a class society based on income. Overcoming such classes was a main promise of the Revolution for a long time, a promise that now seems increasingly difficult to keep. As the wages in state employment remained comparatively low with an average of CUP740 (roughly US$29) in 2016 (ONEI 2016:24), even state employees often fell back on either the black market or additional incomes, mostly in tourism. Likewise, the “brain drain” of young, well-educated Cubans from the public workforce (e. g. doctors, lawyers, teachers) into the economically more lucrative Cuentapropismo (often in tourism) is posing serious challenges for the Cuban state (Becker 2013:122; Wehrhahn & Widderich 2000:105). As part of the monetary and economic reforms of January 2021, Cuba introduced a monthly minimum wage of CUP2,100 (about US$88) in the public sector. Since the reform, top state employees can earn up to CUP9,450 (about US$394) per month (del Sol González 2020:2). Though this represents a huge increase in state salaries in nearly all fields of public employment, state wages remain well below the incomes that are much easier and faster to achieve in

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tourism (Colantonio & Potter 2006a:30). It remains uncertain whether these reforms will re-invert the inverse income pyramid and reduce brain drain from the state sector. While the proportion of Cubans earning or having access to foreign currency has risen since Raúl’s reforms, living costs have increased significantly, too (Hoffmann 2015:5), in the form of prices for consumer goods (food, water, hygiene articles, clothing, etc.) and housing. Price increases are particularly serious in cities and regions with a high influx of tourists and thus comparatively high incomes – at least for some. Although the government keeps promising to preserve the main Conquistas of the Revolution, some of its services and benefits have been cancelled (LeoGrande 2015b:395). People without access to income from tourism or remittances are facing growing problems maintaining their standards of living, especially as state subsidies for water and electricity, and the coverage of the healthcare system, have been reduced (Nau 2016:15). The restratification of Cuban society and the widening gap between winners and losers in this development also have spatial consequences. As real estate commerce is legal and possible, social groups with higher incomes are beginning to spatially separate from groups with lower incomes. Simoni (2017:305) comments on the widening social and economic gap, describing a “class of new rich” emerging particularly in the hotspots of international tourism. Especially in urban tourist areas like Habana Vieja, intensified “touristification” (Sequera & Nofre 2018) is occurring, displacing and marginalising longstanding residents (Völkening et al. 2019). Relocations to the city’s outskirts hamper a population that has been displaced from partaking in tourism and, thus, in earning foreign money (Nau 2016:16). Looking back on the political reforms initiated, and looking forward to future challenges, Taylor and McGlynn (2009:412) express optimism that Cuba will essentially preserve its socialist character through selective but limited free market reforms – at least if it succeeds in resolving discrepancies between the realities of life and ideological agendas, curbing corruption and minimising inefficiencies. 4.6.3. Reapproaching the United States under President Obama

Along with the reforms outlined above, the significant, albeit only temporary, improvement in relations between Cuba and the US following the election of Barack Obama as President of the United States in 2008 led to a continued stabilisation of the Cuban economy. Thus, in 2009, Obama started to implement legal changes he had announced during his electoral campaign. In a first step, he dismissed restrictions regarding travel and remittances for Cubans living in the US (LeoGrande 2015a:951). Eventually, on December 17, 2014, President Obama declared the normalisation of US-Cuba relationships as an objective of his presidency and presented ideas to abandon parts of the US embargo that had been in effect since 1961 (Látková et al. 2017:349).

From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge

In addition to softening the travel ban for US citizens to Cuba, which led to a significant increase in visitors, the resumption of diplomatic relations and the removal from the list of State Sponsors of Terrorism68 were the effects of this historic step (Salinas et al. 2018:224). Although his decision to lift parts of the trade embargo against Cuba evoked harsh criticism from the Republican Party and conservative leaders of Cuban exiles, Obama pursued a distinct strategy. Instead of using hard power that had proven ineffective during the previous 53 years, loosening the embargo should strengthen private employment, the diffusion of ideas and ease the accessibility of information to establish a society independent from the centralised government, in both economic and social terms (LeoGrande 2015a:951). Obama’s policy was not merely altruistic but based on the notion that the Cuban government might not survive a sudden end to the embargo. According to these considerations, the drastic socioeconomic changes that occurred through the ‘flood’ of American tourists, the sudden swelling of imports, direct investments and the expected growing influence of exiled Cubans would form an explosive cocktail that might sweep away the Cuban government (Gratius 2015:2–3). While Obama ostensibly modified the measures, the essential objectives of US policy toward Cuba remained largely the same. American influence in Cuba was now to be established not by a firm hand, but rather subliminally via investment capital, tourists and growing economic ties between both countries (De Bhal 2018:443). 4.6.4. The Phenomenon of Lasting Support for the Revolution

When considering the frequently changing governments in Cuba during the first half of the 20th century (Chapter 4.3), the stability of the revolutionary government and its continued support from the Cuban people is somewhat surprising. Currently, the revolutionaries can look back at more than 60 years of control over Cuban policy, the nation’s economy and society. There are numerous reasons why they could still retain their power. First, in revolutionary Cuba, as in many other Latin American countries, Caudillismo, the cult of strong leaders, and Amigismo, the power and perpetuation of rope networks, are prevalent. Cuban Caudillismo is rooted in Spanish colonialism and the successive dictatorships of Machado and Batista, who were able to easily overthrow democratic governments, thereby weakening the trust and confidence of Cubans in

68  Cuba was added to the list under the presidency of Ronald Reagan on March 1, 1982, mainly due to its

support for leftist revolutionary movements in Latin America and Africa. It was removed on May 29, 2015. However, during his final days in office, President Trump put Cuba back on the list of State Sponsors of Terrorism on January 11, 2021, partly for Cuba’s support for the Colombian FARC as well as for the Venezuelan regime under Nicholas Maduro (Zagaris 2021:29).

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democratic governmental structures, political parties and “solid systems of thought” (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:114). After the experiences of US domination and dictatorships, it seemed that no-one could be trusted more than a strong jefe [chief] promising an egalitarian society. Amigismo is exerted by a small group of Fidelistas, most of whom have supported the Revolution since its civil beginnings and during the armed conflict in the 1950s. Members of this group held office in all important institutions in the military, the PCC and the administration. When a position needs to be restaffed – usually because a member of the ‘old’ circle around Fidel and Raúl Castro has died, or to prevent a potential accumulation of power in a particular post – the new candidate is handpicked by the Castro group (Zeuske 2010:28). As the leadership tests new candidates for top positions with great effort and endurance, a political transition of the PCC from within is not expected to happen. Second, a multi-party system is said to be unlikely to be favoured by a majority of Cubans, or realised soon. In an interview from 1997, Fidel Castro explained why he dismissed a multiparty system in Cuba. In his opinion, whichever political party other than the PCC in Cuba “would be the party of the Americans” (Vázquez Montalbán 1998, cited in Rodríguez Rivera 2007:127), an opinion likely shared by some Cubans and many members of the government. Fears of a multiparty system concentrate mostly on exiled Cubans from the United States, who are certainly not a homogeneous group, so between them different strategies for dealing with the PCC and the Cuban government exist. However, a common position of most exiled Cubans is the demand to restore private property, currently worth some US$14 billion (Fisher 2014), that was nationalised by the revolutionary government. A multi-party system and democratic elections would enable exiled Cubans to take immediate actions in Cuba. However, many working-class Cubans have limited interest in the restoration of property in a pre-revolutionary condition: they highly profited from the redistribution of wealth in the wake of the Revolution and therefore have no direct interest in a government possibly influenced by the US and exiled Cubans (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:124). As a result, the political alternatives for Cubans appear to be limited. Third, the long-lasting ‘support’ for Fidel Castro can be tracked back to the Cuban regime being a comparatively controlling entity, which – especially in the past – through state security agencies used repressive and dissuasive methods to keep the Cuban people in line (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:115). The fourth reason for the persistence of the revolutionary government, especially in its early days, lies in its handling of the defeated Batista army – instead of keeping many of the old forces, the revolutionary government discharged most soldiers and replaced them with men and women of the M-26-7 army. Only a few soldiers, who had proven loyal to the Revolution, remained in the Cuban Army. Additionally, thousands of new soldiers were incorporated. Furthermore, a multitude of militias and civil defence forces were established, all of which demonstrated strong devotion to the Revolution. In contrast to other Latin American governments toppled by CIA-led invasions (e. g.

From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge

Guatemala), these forces proved to be skilled and motivated enough to repulse the invasion at the Bay of Pigs in 1961 (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:120). Today, a military insurrection against the revolutionary government from within Cuba is highly unlikely. Since Cuba is no longer a direct military or ideological threat to the US, American support for such an undertaking would be limited, compared to the 1960s. Furthermore, without external support, any military action from within Cuba is highly likely to fail due to the well-organised, moderately trained and equipped Cuban Army and its militias (Rodríguez Rivera 2007:125). As Cuba’s political and military leaderships have remained virtually identical since the very beginning of the Cuban Revolution (Pérez Jr. 1976), and strict ideological loyalty is required even in the lowest ranks, the interests of Cuban politicians and military leaders are often congruent. A further, fifth, reason lies in what Weber (1947 [1921/22] 358–363) would have called Fidel Castro’s “charismatic authority”. Since the victorious Revolution in 1959 and until his stepping down Cuba’s president, Fidel Castro was the leading figure in the nation’s politics. Even after the formal transfer of power to his brother Raúl on August 1, 2006, and after his death on November 25, 2016, Cubans continue to support the Revolution. Fidel Castro was head of state for more than 40 years and the longest serving politician in Latin America – an unprecedented era of political continuity in Cuba. In Fidel Castro as jefe, many Cubans found an identification figure, a personification of the Revolution. On the one hand, this underscores the great importance of high-profile personalities  – and especially Fidel Castro  – for Cubans’ identification with the Revolution (Hoffmann 2009b:233). On the other hand, it highlights Fidel Castro’s presence and persuasiveness. In summary, the revolutionaries certainly will not give up their position of power and Amigismo without the need to do so, many Cubans show little interest in a multiparty system and military intervention from outside is highly unlikely, as is military conflict from within. Domínguez (1993), Pérez-Stable (1999b) and Pickel (1998) offer further arguments for the long-lasting support of the Cuban people for the revolutionary government – even during hardships and despite sacrifices. Though these explanations were formulated during the 1990s, arguably the hardest time for the Período Especial, the reasons for supporting the (post-)Castro regime might not have shifted too much, as the economic perspectives for Cuba developed positively or at least offered the hope of economic and social advancement.69

69  Moreover, perhaps some Cubans do not want to admit that they spent decades believing in or fighting

for the ‘wrong’ system. It is usually difficult to admit that ideals pursued for a long time are wrong and that therefore many struggles were in vain. This aspect occasionally surfaced in the conducted interviews, without being explored in depth.

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4.6.5. The Dawn of the Post-Castro Era

The era of the Castro brothers at the top of the Cuban state ended on April 19, 2018, the day the National Assembly elected Miguel Mario Díaz-Canel as President of Cuba and successor to Raúl Castro. However, Raúl remains First Secretary of the PCC, which is the most powerful position in Cuba, and commander-in-chief of the FAR. With DíazCanel in power, socialist Cuba is governed for the first time by a president born after the 1959 Revolution. Additionally, it is the first time since 1976 that the president has not been a member of the Castro family. In his acceptance speech, Díaz-Canel aligned himself with the ideals of Fidel Castro and José Martí (Díaz-Canel Bermúdez 2018). Moreover, he clarified that he would not break with the revolutionary process and the Castros’ politics, but that he would pursue the present course and the legacies of Fidel and Raúl. He requested the Cuban population to do the same: I accept the responsibility for which I have been elected, convinced that all Cuban revolutionaries, from the position we occupy, from the work we do, from any job or trench of the socialist fatherland, will be faithful to the exemplary legacy of the Commander in Chief Fidel Castro Ruz, historic leader of our Revolution, and likewise to the example, courage and the teachings of Army General Raúl Castro Ruz, current leader of the revolutionary process.70

Taking a closer look at his speech, Díaz-Canel refers to narratives and representations of Cuban nationalism and the Cuban Revolution. He quotes José Martí several times, mentions worshipped heroes of the three wars of independence (inter alia Carlos Manuel de Céspedes, Ignacio Agramonte, Antonio Maceo and Máximo Gómez), refers to the failed attack on Cuartel Moncada in 1953 and to the M-26-7, broaches the Granma-journey, the revolutionary struggle in Sierra Maestra, the invasion of the Bay of Pigs and further cornerstones of Cuban history and the Revolution. These references illustrate the importance the Cuban leadership assigns to the revolutionary past for the nation’s self-understanding – and thus for contemporary Cuban identities also. Certainly, such testimonials are expected from the veteran revolutionaries as well, but it can be assumed that Díaz-Canel is indeed a loyal and ideologically firm revolutionary. To underscore the contingency in which he sees himself as the successor to Fidel and Raúl Castro, Díaz-Canel (2018) concluded his acceptance speech with the same words Fidel Castro used: “Fatherland or death! Socialism or death! We shall overcome!”71

70  Original:

“Asumo la responsabilidad para la que se me ha elegido con la convicción de que todos los revolucionarios cubanos, desde la posición que ocupemos, desde la labor que realicemos, desde cualquier puesto de trabajo o trinchera de la patria socialista, seremos fieles al ejemplar legado del Comandante en Jefe Fidel Castro Ruz, líder histórico de nuestra Revolución y también al ejemplo, el valor y las enseñanzas del General de Ejército Raúl Castro Ruz, líder actual del proceso revolucionario.” 71  Original: “¡Patria o muerte! ¡Socialismo o muerte! ¡Venceremos!”

From Fidel to Raúl: Transfer of Power after 47 Years in Charge

Díaz-Canel’s tenure saw the final negotiations and the nationwide popular vote on the new constitution. With an official approval rate of 90.6 % of the valid votes, the Cuban people approved the Constitution on February 24, 2019, with a voter turnout of 84.4 % (Castro Morales 2019:3). The 2019 Constitution draws heavily on Cuban history. The preface names the foundations of the nation, and the heroic fighters and patriots72 who made sacrifices by fighting for “a free, independent, sovereign, democratic homeland of social justice and human solidarity”73 (República de Cuba 2019:1) are named (see Textbox 14 for an overview). Textbox 14: References to the foundations of present-day Cuba The 2019 Constitution mentions in its preamble several groups who participated in the fight for the fatherland and who are considered essential to the emergence of the Cuban nation and its identity: – The indigenous and slaves fighting against their suppressors. – Those who contributed to conceive a Cuban national consciousness and the idea of la patria. – The patriots who participated in the struggle against Spanish colonialism since 1868 and those who made the final push in 1898 possible, which was eventually frustrated by American intervention (named explicitly). – Those who fought for over 50 years against foreign imperialism, corrupt politicians, the abuse of rights and liberties of people and their exploitation in capitalism. – Those who contributed to developing the first revolutionary, Marxist and Leninist movements. – Those who helped to make the victory of the Revolution possible in 1959. – Those who gave their lives to defend the Revolution and who contributed to its consolidation. – For the internacionlistas. – For the tremendous resistance and unity of the Cuban people.

According to the constitutional document, the Cuban state will also in the future follow the ideals of José Martí and Fidel Castro, as well as the ideas on social emancipation conceptualised by Marx, Engels and Lenin (República de Cuba 2019:1). Furthermore, it is declared that Cuba shall never fall back to a capitalist system, wherein man is exploited by man; instead, only in socialism and communism will the Cuban people find dignity. Article 4 declares the socialist system to be irrevocable and that betraying la patria is the most severe crime. Furthermore, the subsequent Article 5 confirms the

72  According to Fanon (2004 [1961]:114), such recurring references to the heroes of the past indicate the

persistent incapacity of political leaders to permanently “open[ing] up their future” for the people. Instead, the elite “asks the people to plunge back into the past and drink in the epic that led to independence”. 73  Original: “[…] una Patria libre, independiente, soberana, democrática, de justiciar social y solidaridad humana”

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status of the PCC as a prime political force in the state, and a vanguard institution of the Cuban nation (República de Cuba 2019:2). Yet, despite these rather history-centred references, the revised Cuban Constitution also contains some progressive and novel ideas by Cuban standards. In recognition of the growing importance of the private sector, Article 22 (República de Cuba 2019:3), for instance, legally defines the right to private property, which is now explicitly extended to means of production – a unique notion in socialist Cuba. Subparagraph d) bears the relevant passage: The following forms of ownership are recognised: […] The [property] exercised over certain means of production by Cuban or foreign natural or foreign persons; with a complementary role in the economy.74

In Monzon’s (2020:629) opinion, the 2019 Constitution marks the beginning of the “departure from the socialist grasp on the economy”. However, in terms of revolutionary conditions, the comprehensive, albeit not full, legalisation of private property may result in some challenges for Cuba; for instance, pre-existing inequalities in income and wealth could be further exacerbated and even lead to the formation of a plutocracy (Monzon 2020:663–665). However, the latter fear may overestimate the level of income and property among the PCC’s circle of leaders. Over the past three decades, a progressive and ongoing transformation away from centrally controlled and planned macroeconomic approaches for the development of the Cuban economy is observable. A certain orientation towards not only more economic freedom, but also greater individual responsibility reached a preliminary climax in the Constitution of 2019 and the reforms initiated at the turn of 2020/21. Never in the history of the Cuban Revolution have the elements of a market economy been accentuated as clearly as in the first half of 2021. Nevertheless, it should not be regarded that these steps towards liberalisation are by any means an expression of the political and ideological convictions of capitalist economics by the Cuban leadership. Rather, they represent urgently needed efforts to save socialism, the ultima ratio of the Revolution. The fact that this is done grudgingly and unwillingly becomes evident when considering the deep ideological divide between the Cuban Revolution and capitalism that has been elaborated during this chapter. As reluctantly and desperately as the introduction of market elements in Cuba has proceeded, so has the reintroduction of international tourism. In the following chapter, tourism is discussed as one of the central pillars of the Cuban economy – and as the most important source of foreign currency.

74  Original:

“Se reconocen como formas de propiedad, las siguientes: […] La que se ejerce sobre determinados medios de producción por personas naturales o jurídicas cubanas o extranjeras; con un papel complementario en la economía.”

5.

Tourism in Cuba

We did not like tourism very much, we all know it; however, one of the tasks was to promote the development of tourism and prepare ourselves to withstand the inconveniences of tourism, without living in a glass case; and we see the negative and the positive aspects of tourism […]. But we, in this world today, have to be in contact with the world and its realities.1 Fidel Castro (1997b)

To alleviate the severity of the socioeconomic crisis caused by the Período Especial, and to preserve Cuba’s socialist system, international tourism was designated as a mainstay of the nation’s economy. The foreign exchange obtained in tourism is primarily intended to finance much-needed imports. From an economic and a budgetary perspective, the orientation toward tourism proved to be highly successful. However, as Fidel Castro’s quotation in the epigraph illustrates, this success was partially achieved through gritted teeth. Opening up the country to international tourism, at least to some extent, was a virtually inevitable necessity, even though Cuba “did not like tourism very much” (Castro Ruz 1997b). This Chapter is divided into three sections. Initially, the development of the Cuban tourism industry is traced, with a particular emphasis on the political objectives associated with it (Chapter 5.1). In this context, the ambivalent relationship of the Cuban state and Cubans to tourism will be explored recurrently. In the brief Chapter 5.2, the 1  Original:

“No nos gustaba mucho el turismo, todos lo sabemos; sin embargo, una de las tareas fue impulsar el desarrollo del turismo y prepararnos para soportar los inconvenientes del turismo, sin vivir en una urna de cristal; y los vemos, qué aspectos tiene de negativo, qué aspectos tiene de positivo […]. Pero nosotros, en este mundo de hoy, tenemos que estar en contacto con el mundo y con sus realidades.”

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economic success of tourism is quantified based on various key figures, which underscore once again the outstanding importance of tourism for Cuba. Finally, Chapter 5.3 addresses the intentional ‘production’ of Cuba and cubanidad in tourism and discusses the few sources available to date on the commodification and marketisation of the Cuban Revolution in tourism. 5.1.

The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba

The evolution of tourism in Cuba is not a coincidental product but essentially the result of purposeful and conscious political choices. Thus, also the adverse and undesirable consequences of tourism in the country also stem from political decisions. Although these are mostly inadvertent side effects, they are generally tolerated, given the economic importance of tourism (Völkening 2021a:18). Fundamentally, tourism (too) is embedded in structures of power and networks of actors. Thus, tourism and touristification should not be conceived as the uncontrollable results of market processes but must be understood as the outcomes of intentional actions of actors who operate within political and discursive frameworks (Slater 2017). 5.1.1. Tourism in Cuba before the Período Especial

In the years immediately following the Revolution, international tourism almost disappeared from Cuba. Although some attempts were made by the revolutionary government to sustain tourism as a source of foreign currency, and to keep the jobs linked to the sector,2 three main factors were responsible for the complete disruption of international tourism to Cuba. First, shortages of food and supplies made the maintenance of tourism almost impossible. Second, the US embargo embraced a travel ban for US residents, who at that time were by far the largest group of visitors (Salinas et al. 2018:220). Third, the Cuban government perceived international tourism (especially tourists from the US) as being closely linked to the deterioration of morals and the promotion of debauchery through gambling, prostitution, drugs and corruption, and as a provider of growing social disparities and racism (Taylor & McGlynn 2009:406). Therefore, international tourism was perceived more as a “hedonistic vice” (Sharpley & Knight 2009:242) than as a potential source of support for the revolutionary economy. example, the establishment of the Instituto Nacional de la Industria Turística [National Institute for Tourism Industry; INIT] in November 1959, with Fidel Castro its first president. Among the tasks of the INIT were the promotion of Cuba as a destination for tourism, the conception of plans for touristic development and the preservation of nature and culture for touristic purposes (Salinas et al. 2018:220). 2  For

The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba

Instead, following the example of other socialist countries, tourism was a way to reward deserving workers and to restore their working power. The aim was not to let individuals organise their vacations by themselves but to enhance productivity and collectivism (Paesler 2007:558–560). Hence, only 1,600 foreign tourists visited Cuba in 1970 (Wehrhahn & Widderich 2000:95). This attitude was reconsidered at the beginning of the Período Especial. In adversity, Cuba returned to former successful strategies while trying to avoid the disadvantages and negative effects (Sanchez & Adams 2008:31). Subsequently, 30 years after the victorious Revolution, Cuba started to re-establish its position as a destination for international tourism in the Caribbean (Roland 2010:3). However, in the preceding years, the first cautious steps were taken towards the commercial and structural development of tourism. Beginning in the 1970s, Canadians, Latin Americans and Eastern Europeans started travelling to Cuba, albeit in rather small numbers and without active promotion by Cuban institutions, which did not advertise mass tourism aimed at Western markets at the time (Salinas et al. 2018:221). In November 1976, although the Instituto Nacional de Turismo [National Institute of Tourism; INTUR] was established to implement and centralise touristic development planning further in the wake of a reorganisation of Cuba’s economic system, tourism was still connoted negatively throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Only when, during the mid-1980s, economic support from the USSR and COMECON decreased and Eastern European socialism was floundering did tourism start to play a seminal role concerning Cuban economic development and governmental plans (Sharpley & Knight 2009:247). The Cuban Five-Year Plan, issued for the 1981–1985 period, was the first to feature a strategy for tourism development, i. e. that defined tourism hubs that would be developed as a priority. Varadero and Habana Vieja were among the first of these tourism centres (Colantonio & Potter 2006b:109). Additionally, the Cuban government started to create institutes and state enterprises, which today are able to act with relatively high autonomy and collect international capital via joint ventures. Cubanacan S. A., for instance, founded in 1987, is designated to prepare joint ventures and to attract foreign investment capital. Further enterprises, for example, are Gaviota S. A., which is associated with the Cuban military (Dolores Espino 1993:50–51), and the semi-autonomous corporate network of the Oficina del Historiador de la Habana [Office of the City Historian of Havana], which includes among others the enterprises Habanaguex (hotels, restaurants, historic preservation), San Cristóbal (travel agency) and Aurea (real estate) (Scarpaci 2012:73). Especially in tourism, the Cuban state is careful not to lose either control or economic participation. Although many state-owned tourism holding companies can operate somewhat autonomously, many are de facto under the control of the state and often represented by the Cuban military, which can extract profits (Miller et al. 2008:268). As an example, this became apparent in 2016 when the highly profitable Habanaguex enterprise was separated from the independent and (in Havana) influential corporate

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network of the Oficina del Historiador de la Habana. Subsequently, Habanaguex was transferred into the hands of the Grupo de Administración Empresarial S. A. (GAESA), which is in turn under the control of the Cuban military. The official explanation for making this move was corruption and self-enrichment within the company, which the state would not tolerate. Since then, revenues from Habanaguex’s operations have gone directly to GASEA and the Cuban military (Pentón & Escobar 2016). 5.1.2. Fidel Castro on Tourism: Concerns and Necessities

The main factor for choosing tourism as a pillar for the Cuban economy lies in the financial potential of international tourism, expressed aptly by Opaschowski et al. (2006), who call tourism the “leading economy of the future”3 in the subtitle of their edited volume. The UNWTO shares this assessment on an international level (UNWTO 2013:2). In addition, the tourist boom on other Caribbean islands that began in the 1980s, promoted in part by the World Bank in response to the crises of the previous decade (Robinson 2008:145), was certainly noticed in Cuba, too. Although Fidel Castro is frequently cited as making statements that suggest a strong aversion to tourism (e. g. Taylor Jr. & McGlynn 2009:406), he understood the necessity for foreign currency income from tourism to sustain the Revolution throughout the Período Especial. During the inauguration of the Hotel Sol Palmeras in Varadero in 1990 – the first hotel to be developed as part of a joint venture with a foreign company – he offered insights into his underlying convictions concerning tourism and touristic joint ventures (Castro Ruz 1990a): It’s not that we do not want to [engage in tourism]; it is that we do not know how a hotel is managed, how tourism is handled and – gentlemen, I do not know whether to use the word or not – how to get more money out of tourism, how tourism is exploited best.4

This quote vividly illuminates the contradictions generated by the progressive integration of tourism into the Cuban national economy. Particularly at the ideological level, ‘exploitative’ capitalist tourism and Cuban socialism seem to be compatible to a limited extent only. However, by structuring tourism through joint ventures, these contradictions can be circumvented. Since Cubans, as explained in the above quote, “do not know […] how to get more money out of tourism” (Castro Ruz 1990a), the capitalist, exploitative element is the responsibility of international partners. Thus, Cuba’s social-

3  Original: “Leitökonomie der Zukunft” 4  Original: “No es que no queramos; es que no sabemos cómo se administra un hotel, cómo se maneja el

turismo y – caballeros, no sé si emplear la palabra o no – cómo se le saca más dinero al turismo, cómo se explota mejor el turismo.”

The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba

ist profile can be maintained for the outside world. At the same time, Castro (1990a) hoped that many more investors would follow the first international venture partners: They [the investors] have trusted us, and we have trusted them; they ignored the auguries of those who were frightened. I am sure that behind them many will come and behind them a few are already coming; and our tourism programs will march, as all the programs of the Revolution are marching.5

The main objective pursued by re-establishing international tourism in Cuba was to earn foreign currency to retain the achieved social and political order ( Jatar-Hausmann 1999:49). Tourism was solely “a means to sustain the system” (Roland 2010:4). To achieve this goal, the expansion of tourism initially was planned only as a temporary and spatially limited measure during the Período Especial (Salinas et al. 2018:222). In a speech given in October 1991, Fidel Castro made clear that he conceived tourism as a tool to preserve the Cuban economic and social model (Castro Ruz 1991): We will do what needs to be done, we will work on what has to be worked on, we will solve the problems that we have in our hands, we will continue our programs under any circumstances […], we will continue developing our tourism program, we will continue developing all economic programs […], we will look for formulas to save the homeland, to save the Revolution, to save socialism.6

The Cuban tourism programme soon proved successful. By the end of the 1990s, the state had constructed 60 new hotels across the island, aided by considerable international investments, ranking Cuban hotel capacity second in the Caribbean (Gutiérrez Castillo & Gancedo Gaspar 2002:78). Additionally, legalisation relating to joint ventures, and the subsequent influx of global investment capital, enabled international tourism to supersede sugar in the early 1990s as Cuba’s most significant source of foreign currency income ( Jatar-Hausmann 1999:83).

5  Original:

“Ellos han confiado en nosotros y nosotros hemos confiado en ellos; ellos desoyeron los augurios de los que se asustaban. Estoy seguro de que detrás de ellos vendrán muchos y detrás de ellos están viniendo ya unos cuantos; y nuestros programas de turismo marcharán, como están marchando todos los programas de la Revolución.” 6  Original: “Haremos lo que haya que hacer; trabajaremos lo que haya que trabajar; resolveremos los problemas que esté en nuestras manos resolver; continuaremos en cualquier circunstancia nuestros programas […] continuaremos desarrollando nuestro programa de turismo; continuaremos desarrollando todos los programas económicos […] buscaremos fórmulas para salvar la patria, para salvar la Revolución, para salvar el socialismo.”

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5.1.3. A Separation not to Last: A Cuba for Tourists and a Cuba for Cubans

Regardless of the significant economic success of international tourism in the 1990s, the Cuban government initially linked tourism with the vices of “capitalist evil” (Dolores Espino 2000:362). Recalling the deteriorating effects of tourism on society during the Batista years, when prostitution, gambling, mafia control and drugs were commonplaces in Havana, the beginning of the tourism boom was characterised by an attempt to separate tourists and Cubans spatially, as well as organisationally, to prevent the ‘undermining’ of the socialist society (Taylor & McGlynn 2009:407; see Textbox 15). Mazzei (2012:92) refers to the originally strict separation of tourists and Cubans as an “economic firewall” that was supposed to isolate capitalist tourism from the rest of Cuba’s socialist economy. Textbox 15: McDonaldization and tourism in Cuba The fear of McDonaldization pervades Cuban tourism. Asked why they are visiting Cuba, many tourists sooner or later state, “We want to see Cuba before everything changes”, followed by the explanation, “Now, there is no Starbucks, no Burger King and no other American influence in Cuba. We are afraid that this will change when the rapprochement of both countries continues”. Yet, these concerns exist less among the Cuban population than they do among foreign tourists.

Varadero and Habana Vieja were early touristic enclaves, but when governmental tourism policy was rather perceived as “tourism apartheid” (Dolores Espino 2000:362) and “tourist bubbles” ( Judd 1999) started to emerge, official policy was adjusted to allow more direct contact between tourists and Cubans. In 1996, the central government defined 67 core areas for the development of tourism, complementing the existing tourist zones (Colantonio & Potter 2006a). This expansion resulted in considerably elevated visitor numbers and later widespread socioeconomic transformations in some places, such as Viñales (Simoni 2017) and Trinidad (Scarpaci 2012:80–82). The government’s conceptual distinction between a ‘Cuba for tourists’ and a ‘Cuba for Cubans’ was both impracticable and moribund from the very beginning (and, indeed, naive). It also contradicted the revolutionary ideals, as it was the Castristas who granted “free access to all beaches and coastal areas for everyone” (Salinas et al. 2018:220) in Act 270 as early as March 1959. The initial exclusion of Cubans from certain touristic facilities and areas at the beginning of the re-introduction of international tourism recalled unpleasant memories of the Batista era, when beaches, tourism resorts and venues were privatised and made inaccessible to ‘ordinary’ Cubans. Eventually, the government’s policy of isolation and the strict separation of Cubans and tourists failed. In March 2008, the prohibition of Cubans using tourism facilities trading in foreign currencies was terminated (Salinas et al. 2018:224): on the one hand, due to the inextricable ideological discrepancies, while on the other hand, as the sep-

The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba

aration of tourists and Cubans in areas like Habana Vieja, which is of high touristic interest and densely inhabited, was almost impossible (Taylor & McGlynn 2009:409). For the Cuban population, multiple reasons to participate in tourism exist. Besides the (for Cuban circumstances) almost incomparable income opportunities in the sector, curiousness, the prospect of amusement and eventually the hope of gaining social capital can also be listed (Roland 2010:6). Nevertheless, the Cuban hosts perceive and acknowledge Western tourists as privileged, compared to their everyday reality of scarcity, rationing and disparately low incomes (Roland 2010:9). Yet an increasing interest in close contact with the Cuban population exists among tourists. Among young Western tourists especially, the desire prevails to experience a destination from the everyday perspective of locals (Larsen 2008), with practices resembling those of locals (Cohen & Cohen 2012:2180) and sometimes even accompanied by locals. To get this local ‘touch’, some tourists have adopted strategies of “avoiding ‘touristy’ areas and blending in” (Lim & Bouchoun 2017:14). In these cases, a pleasant and meaningful touristic experience (in other words, a satisfied customer) relies on close and direct interactions between tourists and the local population. Although these interactions might enable Cubans to earn their livelihoods independently, they entail social and cultural costs (Lim & Bouchon 2017:14; Novy & Colomb 2019:361) such as commodification. The increasing demand of the population to participate in tourism, the growing desire of tourists for ‘authentic’ experiences and the inevitable interaction between locals and tourists also led to the extension of legal occupations in Cuentapropismo (Henken 2004:220). These new possibilities (see Chapter 4.5.2) in turn led to the lasting establishment of small and micro enterprises. Especially paladares (private family restaurants), taxi services and, most notably, casas particulares (private accommodation) offer diverse opportunities for Cubans outside state-run tourism enterprises to earn money from foreign visitors.7 Casas particulares and paladares have also proven to be welcome occasions for tourists and Cubans to penetrate the “tourist bubble” (Simoni 2017:293). During the 2010s, casas particulares consistently accommodated a significant share of international tourists (see Figure 16). The percentage of overnight stays of international guests hosted in these private homes has remained relatively stable throughout the years. In 2017, a record share of foreign tourists was accommodated in casas particulares at 26.97 %. This percentage decreased to 22.83 % in 2019, while in the preceding years, the proportion fluctuated close to 25 %.

7  Casas particulares are rented by private persons and offer a more personal, communicative and individual

alternative to accommodation in state-run hotels. In addition, they are often rather cheap compared to hotels.

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Figure 16: Overnight stays of international tourists in Cuba by type of accommodation. Source: own design with data from ONEI (2017a:326) and ONEI (2020:337).

It should be noted that the establishment of a private business requires a certain amount of investment capital, government permissions and access to often scarce construction materials. These obstacles prevent certain  – often socially deprived  – groups from entering the tourism market, thus marginalising them further (Simoni 2017:297). 5.1.4. International Tourism: From a Makeshift to a Long-Term Strategy and American Influence

At the beginning of the 2000s, the perception and significance of tourism changed significantly from a provisional to a durable solution. Cubans and their government got used to the idea of tourism as a long-term support for the economy. In the following years, they started to interweave tourism increasingly into the economic circle as well as social and cultural life (Salinas et al. 2018:223–224). Besides the economic effects of the Período Especial, the increasing touristification of Cuba was already at that time the main driver of social transformation (Hingtgen et al. 2015:184). The subsequent boom of tourism benefited from the introduction of so-called people-to-people exchange educational trips under the presidency of Bill Clinton in 1999, which fostered US citizens visiting Cuba in increasing numbers in the following years.

The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba

However, the programme was ceased by President George W. Bush in 2003, leading to a 75 % decrease in American tourists travelling to the island (from roughly 200,000 in 2003 to about 50,000 in 2004). In the wake of the rapprochement under the Barack Obama administration (2009–2017), the people-to-people exchange educational trips programme was re-initiated in 2011, and the influx of tourists from the US rose significantly (Látková et al. 2017:349). Although the presidency of Donald Trump disrupted the rapprochement and reintroduced limitations on travel to Cuba for US citizens, the relatively short period of a relaxing relationship “shifted the narrative of Cuba as a potentially viable destination for tourists from across the globe” (Salinas et al. 2018:216). However, the Trump administration was willing to restrict considerably the capabilities of the Cuban state and its military to generate foreign currency revenues via international tourism. On June 16, 2017, President Trump signed the ‘National Security Presidential Memorandum on Strengthening the Policy of the United States Toward Cuba’ (Federal Register 2017), followed by extensive measures. On June 5, 2019, the possibilities of American citizens entering Cuba in groups through people-to-people travel for educational purposes were disestablished once again (Federal Register 2019a). Although certain options remained for US citizens to enter (e. g. for religious or scientific purposes), this regulation had severe consequences for Cuban tourism. Furthermore, the situation for Cuban tourism faltered substantially with the simultaneous prohibition of private and commercial aircraft and vessels (cruise ships, sailboats, yachts, etc.) flying or sailing to Cuba (Federal Register 2019b). Both measures, which are good examples of President Trump’s political stance on Cuba, attempted to “restrict non-family travel to Cuba to prevent US funds from enriching the Cuban regime” (Department of Commerce 2019:1). Additionally, further US laws and regulations hampered opportunities for international capital to invest and engage in Cuba (de Bhal 2018:447–448). Up to the summer of 2021, US President Biden, who had been in office since January of that year, had not significantly changed the Cuba policy of his predecessor. Overall, US policy decisions continue to exert a strong influence on the Cuban tourism industry. 5.1.5. The Social Costs of International Tourism

Regardless of antagonistic US policies in the Trump era, tourism can generally be considered an economic success for the Cuban state; however, its promotion has come at a price. The fact that tourism entails advantages as well as disadvantages not only concerns Cuba, but is inherent in tourism (for an overview of the potential advantages and disadvantages of tourism, see e. g. Hall and Page 2014:144). Alongside economic benefits and job creation, numerous studies have revealed the vast negative effects of

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tourism on both Cuban ecosystems8 and society, with the main interest of this inquiry resting in societal impacts. As Taylor and McGlynn (2009:410) note, “the creation of a tourist infrastructure, combined with the influx of tourists, constituted a frontal assault on Cuban culture”. The social deferrals and personal repercussions of international tourism stand in sharp contrast to the socialist ideal of el hombre nuevo. Additionally, the unequally distributed possibilities for additional income threaten the very cornerstones of revolutionary society: social equality, collectivism, interconnection and reciprocal fairness, as well as the just and equal distribution of wealth. To counterbalance the negative effects of increasing touristification, the government has adopted several laws and started programmes (comparable to the Batalla de Ideas) emphasising the ideals of the Revolution. However, even these measures have been insufficient in fully containing discontent following the unsatisfied desires of many Cubans, fuelled by the tourism-induced promotion of consumption and a social order based on possessions and wealth (Taylor & McGlynn 2009:410). Certainly, it is noteworthy that materialism and a fixation for consumption do not prevail among all Cubans In addition, the Cuban population, and especially Cubans involved in tourism recognise the negative effects of tourism regarding economic and social matters. Mainly during the 1990s, when the first steps toward tourism development were taken in Cuba, a series of negative spin-offs emerged. Mainly due to a lack of control and planning, of uncoordinated and sometimes illegal investments, of unbridled prostitution and sex tourism, and of improperly accomplished constructional works, as well as over-challenged and poorly trained staff in hotels and restaurants, tourism faced minor and major difficulties (Martin de Holan & Phillips 1997). Robinson (2008:151) notes that in the early 2000s, sex tourism in Cuba had one of the highest growth rates in Latin America. Today, Cubans are worried about the possible scarcity of water and food, as well as rising prices for food and a range of consumer goods, due to tourism. Furthermore, the growing social and economic inequalities between Cubans legally or illegally employed in tourism and Cubans working in the state sector raise concerns. Above these intra-Cuban economic and social disparities, tourism also fosters a “transnational hierarchy” (Roland 2010:15): while the relatively affluent tourists can purchase almost anything in the country, domestic customers sometimes consider themselves “second-class citizens” (Roland 2010:15) and customers.

8  The

effects of tourism on Cuban marine ecosystems have been addressed by Maal-Bared (2006), while Ruiz Gutiérrez (2015) examines the ecological consequences of newly built hotels. The considerations of the Cuban government, which often prioritise tourism revenues over concerns for environmental protection and conservation (Díaz-Briquets & Pérez-López 2000), have been addressed by Acevedo Rodríguez and Pérez Reyes (2000), Cepero and Lawrence (2006), and Völkening and Benz (2020), among others.

The Political Setting for Tourism in Cuba

To satisfy the needs and expectations of international tourists, the Cuban tourism infrastructure has had to modernise and develop. Aided by international investors and both commercial and non-profit advisors (e. g. UNESCO in Habana Vieja), the Cuban government started to refurbish and build hotels, restaurants, cafés and bars, museums and other tourism facilities. The physical structure and functions of the spaces declared as poles for tourism growth often underwent fundamental changes as a result (see Völkening et al. (2019) and Wehrhahn and Widderich (2000) for Habana Vieja; Simoni (2017) for Viñales, and Scarpaci (2012) for Trinidad). Throughout this process, interests of the tourism industry have often been – and continue to be – prioritised over the rights and concerns of the local population, as exemplified by expropriations and displacements in Habana Vieja (Völkening et al. 2021). Along with changes in political and economic guidelines, Cubans’ practices have also undergone a number of transformations. In this regard, Roland (2010:5) refers to de Certeau’s (2011:52–55) observation that social practices often become unstable and mutable in times of structural upheaval. The introduction of international tourism in Cuba qualifies as such a dynamic, in that it renders practices volatile (Roland 2010:5). In his case study on tourism development in Viñales,9 Simoni (2017:295) describes that, in the eyes of the local population, profit-oriented attitudes and practices are increasingly replacing previous social customs, bonds and active solidarity. This replacement of values and norms fosters fears for the future as well as disputes within local society. One of his interviewees (who could not participate in tourism and is described as the “strongest critic […] of Viñales’ tourist-related commoditisation [sic]”) expresses a yearning for the reciprocal “solidarity” and “generosity” that characterised Cuba two decades ago (Simoni 2017:303). A representative survey conducted among the population of Havana in 2019 indicates that 57 % of respondents perceive tourism as predominantly beneficial to their and their families’ lives. In contrast, 38 % of respondents saw no benefits or mostly disadvantages in tourism (Chávez et al. 2019:12–13). Fidel Castro also broached the impact of tourism on social cohesion. During a speech in 1998, he made a comparison between the consequences of international tourism and “the viruses and bacteria of alienation, selfishness, egoism, and all those things created by the capitalist system of production”10 (Castro Ruz 1998).

9  Currently, Viñales is a centre of tourism west of Havana and features a high density of casas particulares.

Tourists visit the region mainly because of its exotic landscape replete with dome-like limestone mogotes and vast offerings for ecotourism (Simoni 2017:295). 10  Original: “Hemos logrado, incluso, ir incrementando nuestra economía. Tiene su costo, ¿no?, porque vivíamos en una urna de cristal, asepsia pura, y ahora estamos rodeados de virus y bacterias de todas clases – me refiero a los virus y bacterias de la enajenación, del egoísmo, el individualismo y todas esas cosas que crea el sistema capitalista de producción.”

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Simultaneously, the positive effects of tourism are acknowledged as well. The overall growth of the Cuban economy and the opportunities for the population to engage in private business, thus increasing their personal income, illustrate a certain level of confidence in tourism and its role as foreign currency earner (Látková 2017:359). The undoubted economic achievements of tourism in Cuba are quantified in the following chapter. Almost exclusively macroeconomic perspectives exist on the economic effects of tourism in Cuba, while insights into the consequences for individual Cubans or on the household level are mostly limited to the sources discussed previously. 5.2.

Economic Success of Tourism in Cuba: Numbers and Data

At the beginning of the Período Especial, the boom in tourism was hardly foreseeable. Many scholars, such as Dolores Espino (1993:54), considered a “significantly” growing Cuban share of the Caribbean tourism market to be “unlikely” – at least if the US embargo on trade and travel stayed in effect (Dolores Espino 1993:54–55). Yet, reality shows a different outcome. Despite the negative effects of international tourism and the initially critical and mistrustful attitude of the Cuban government towards it, the strategy of strengthening it turned out to be a huge economic success. At the beginning of the 1990s, tourists from Western Europe represented the largest group of visitors to Cuba, with more than 40 % of the 340,300 tourists in 1990 arriving from Germany, Spain and Italy (Dolores Espino 1993:52). Indeed, increasing arrivals of international tourists have demonstrated the accomplishments of the Cuban state to attract foreign visitors since the 1990s. As Figure 17 illustrates, international arrivals escalated since then and grew almost by a factor of 14: from about 340,000 in 1990 to more than 4.7 million in 2018 – a record in Cuba. Growth has been interrupted three times to date: first as a consequence of the terrorist attacks of 9/11, second because of the world financial crisis in 2008 (in both cases, growth rates were re-established rapidly) and a third time in (and since) 2019, due to several unrelated factors occurring simultaneously, namely President Trump’s restrictive Cuba policy, which particularly discouraged US citizens from travelling to Cuba, the bankruptcy of tour operator Thomas Cook in September 2019 and, since early 2020, substantial cutbacks resulting from the global COVID-19 pandemic (see also Textbox 16). Official data for 2020 are not yet available in the summer of 2021.

Economic Success of Tourism in Cuba: Numbers and Data

Figure 17: Arrivals of international tourists in Cuba (from 1945 to 2016; in millions).11 Source: own design with data from Jayawardena (2003:54), ONEI (2021:table 15.2 – Visitantes por meses), ONEI (2020:334) and Villalba Garrido (1993:25, 54).

Intriguingly, arrivals of international tourists had exceeded the numbers of the 1950s, which were considered morally and socially bad, by the second half of the 1980s (see Figure 17). Tourism of the 1980s and later was admittedly different from its ‘hedonistic’ congener of the 1950s. Nevertheless, the different depiction and vocabulary used by Fidel Castro and the Cuban government to make this ‘new’ tourism appear benTextbox 16: COVID-19 and its effects on Cuban tourism On March 22, 2020, foreign tourists were prohibited from entering Cuba, in order to prevent the further spread of COVID-19 (Correa et al. 2020:2), thus stalling international tourism completely. In mid-October 2020, a few tourist destinations (among others, Varadero and Cayo Coco) opened up to visitors again. However, many flight services, especially those on intercontinental routes, were still not operating in the summer of 2021. Additionally, tourists’ freedom of movement in Cuba has been significantly restricted. Tours to Havana, for instance, are not possible. Overall, the medium- to long-term implications of the COVID-19 pandemic for Cuba are difficult to foresee.

11  For the periods from 1961 to 1967, from 1969 to 1973 and from 1980 to 1984, no systematic data are available.

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eficial and harmless is remarkable. In a speech given in Sancti Spíritus in 1989, Fidel Castro announced plans to use economic synergy effects and emphasised that Cuba “will combine domestic use and international tourism. We have not made any final decision on this, but we are thinking of ways for this project to become a kind of gold mine through which the country can obtain foreign exchange” (Castro Ruz 1989a). His vision of tourism as a ‘gold mine’ for Cuba would indeed ring partially true. As a further example of the fast-growing numbers of tourists, cruise ship passengers alighting in Cuba may be taken as an example. Especially during the presidency of Barack Obama, the number of US cruise ship tourists rose sharply, from 8,085 in 2014 to 130,002 in 2016 (Perelló & Betancourt 2019). However, instead of Americans forming the largest group of tourists, as in the rest of the Caribbean, European, Canadian and Latin American visitors flock to Cuba in great numbers, as indicated in Table 5. Furthermore, this table illustrates the importance of Canadian visitors for the Cuban tourism industry. Most recently, roughly every fourth international tourist comes from Canada (2019: 26.2 %), while Western European tourists represent less than a fifth (17.55 % in 2019), with Germans having the largest share (4.16 %). In contrast, in the mid-2010s, the share of Western European tourists exceeded 25 %. Interestingly, former and present sister states (Venezuela with 0.47 % and Russia with 4.16 %) constitute only a small fraction of travellers, though the numbers of Russian tourists have multiplied lately. Moreover, the economically fortunate times of Venezuela and its ideological rapprochement with Cuba during the mid-2000s are reflected in the temporary high proportion of the country’s visitors (e. g. in 2005, 7.98 % of all international tourists came from Venezuela). Although, according to tourism theory, specific historical ties and spatial proximity encourage the movement of tourists between countries (Steinecke 2014:29–31), visitors from Spain (3.42 % in 2019) and the US (11.66 %) represent a relatively small share of international tourists. In comparison with international tourism, domestic tourism in Cuba is less prevalent. Indeed, during the boom in the international market, the number of overnight stays by domestic visitors remained below the levels reached prior to the Período Especial (see Figure 18). Domestic tourism in Cuba is largely unresearched, and therefore the reasons for the relatively modest figures can only be speculated. However, it most likely reflects the precarious economic situations of many Cubans. To conclude, the reimplementation of tourism in Cuba proved to be an economic success. Although the first years of the Período Especial are characterised by decreasing GDP (see Figure 19), the year 2000 marks the beginning of a significantly rising GDP, which more than tripled over 15 years (from US$30.57 billion in 2000 to US$103.13 billion in 2019). This substantial increase is credited largely to the strength of the tourism industry (Suárez et al. 2012:2727). Yet, as with the GDP decline at the outset of the Período Especial, doubts persist about these figures as well. For instance, De Miranda-­ Parrondo (2013:42) and Vidal Alejandro (2017) regard Cuban GDP growth as ­being

7.47 %

6.46 %

Spain

Italy

234,026

1.34 %

n/a

1.10 %

340,329

5.09 %

n/a

1.60 %

n/a

4.97 %

9.97 %

10.13 %

2.42 %

18.85 %

n/a

2.17 %

n/a

21.87 %

1990

745,495

1.16 %

1.84 %

4.37 %

2.63 %

15.39 %

12.01 %

4.30 %

4.61 %

7.71 %

1.11 %

2.77 %

n/a

19.25 %

1995

1,773,986

0.70 %

0.77 %

3.05 %

5.13 %

9.90 %

8.64 %

4.88 %

7.45 %

11.47 %

0.81 %

4.33 %

n/a

17.35 %

2000

2005

2,319,334

7.98 %

0.72 %

1.07 %

8.60 %

7.30 %

8.37 %

3.84 %

4.64 %

5.37 %

0.89 %

1.61 %

n/a

25.97 %

Source: own design with data from ONEI (2021:table 15.6 – Visitantes por países). Note: official statistics explicitly record visitors from England, rather than from the United Kingdom.

Total

Venezuela

Chile

Argentina

n/a

9.31 %

Mexico

England

3.96 %

France

11.98 %

n/a

Russia

Germany

2.44 %

n/a

16.76 %

1985

United States

Cuban Community Abroad

Canada

Country of residence

Table 5: Countries of origin of the largest groups of international tourists visiting Cuba (1985–2019).

2,531,745

1.22 %

0.69 %

2.32 %

6.89 %

4.44 %

4.15 %

2.63 %

3.18 %

3.68 %

2.22 %

2.49 %

14.83 %

37.34 %

2010

3,540,175

2.69 %

1.39 %

2.41 %

4.40 %

3.89 %

3.03 %

2.98 %

3.91 %

4.95 %

1.23 %

4.55 %

11.03 %

36.72 %

2015

4,275,558

0.47 %

1.36 %

2.24 %

2.89 %

3.12 %

3.42 %

3.91 %

3.96 %

4.09 %

4.16 %

11.66 %

14.59 %

26.20 %

2019

Economic Success of Tourism in Cuba: Numbers and Data

237

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Tourism in Cuba

exaggerated by the government, and so they assume the true GDP level to be only about half of the official value.

Figure 18: Overnight stays of foreign and domestic tourists in Cuba (1989–2019; in millions).12 Source: own design with data from ONEI (2021:table 15.9 – Pernoctaciones de turistas nacionales) and (ONEI 2021:table 15.8 – Pernoctaciones de turistas internacionales).

Following the end of the Período Especial, revenues from international tourism also multiplied (see Figure 20), suggesting a correlation between the readmission of international tourism and economic recovery in the last few years. Direct revenues increased more than sevenfold from US$402.1 million in 1991 (Salinas et al. 2018:225) to roughly US$3.3 billion in 2017 (ONEI 2021:table 15.12). Like the number of international tourist arrivals, direct tourism revenues have also declined significantly since then (to US$2.65 billion in 2019). The indirect or induced economic effects of tourism are not gathered statistically in Cuba and are therefore difficult to estimate. Overall, tourism represents the most important and significant source of foreign currency for the Cuban state (Martínez Hernandes & Puig Meneses 2018). In 2017, Salinas et al. (2018:233) projected a further increase in tourist arrivals, revenues and Cubans employed in tourism. They considered Cuban tourism likely to keep

12  Please note: overnight stays of international tourists in private accommodation (e. g. in casas particula-

res) have been systematically published only since 2012.

Economic Success of Tourism in Cuba: Numbers and Data

Figure 19: Cuban GDP from 1970 to 2019 (in current US$). Source: own design with data from World Bank 2021.

Figure 20: Direct revenue from international tourism in Cuba from 1991 to 2019 (in current US$). Source: own design with data from ONEI (2017a:331), ONEI (2020:342) and ONEI (2021:table 15.12 – I­ ngresos asociados al turismo internacional).

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Tourism in Cuba

on rising throughout the next decade, though the extreme growth rates seen during the 1990s and 2000s were not to expected. Instead, it would stabilise and align increasingly more toward global development in tourism (Salinas et al. 2018:233). This assumption was supported by the long-term plan for economic development of the PCC up to 2030, which attributes seminal importance to the tourism sector. In the official plan of the PCC (2016:17–18), tourism is mentioned as one of the sectors necessary to accomplish the transformation of the national economy and to foster its integration into the global economy. To achieve this aim, the strategy contains specific goals regarding the development of tourism by 2030: Strengthen the competitiveness, diversification and sustainability of the tourism sector to increase revenues from service exports, its ability to create employment, promote national and local culture and increase its linkages with domestic markets and domestic production.13

Although tourism is undoubtedly linked with negative effects on Cuban society, it has turned into an economic necessity ensuring the survival of the social and cultural project started with the Revolution – even if it has broken with some habitual practices and convictions (Babb 2011:61). As the PCC quote above demonstrates, international tourism is evidently firmly anchored in the economic calculations of the socialist leadership. 5.3.

Co-Producing Cuba: Tourist Imagination and Cuban Performance

There is not one exclusive factor responsible for the successful (re-)ascent of Cuba as a destination for international tourism. Instead, a range of sociocultural and political push and pull factors determine the increasing number of tourists. While on the Cuban side, the political decisions discussed above are central to the rise of the industry, for international tourists it is primarily cultural and social factors that render Cuba a destination worth visiting. Additionally, economic effects on the consumer side have resulted in a global expansion of tourism activities. Growing prosperity for large swathes of Western societies and emerging economies, a significant increase in time for recreation, leisure and vacation, simplified border crossings (Steinecke 2014:39), market liberalisations for airlines leading to the rise of low-cost carriers and to lowering fares for intercontinental flights (Bjelicic 2016:15) are among the most important push factors for international tourism. 13  Original:

“Fortalecer la competitividad, diversificación y sostenibilidad del sector del turismo con el propósito de incrementar los ingresos por exportaciones de servicios, su capacidad de crear fuentes de empleo, promover la cultura nacional y local e incrementar su encadenamiento con los mercados internos y producciones nacionales.”

Co-Producing Cuba: Tourist Imagination and Cuban Performance

While these push factors are similar for most tourists on a global scale, touristic pull factors leading to Cuba’s popularity among tourists, and the long-lasting increase of touristic arrivals on the island, are manifold and Cuba-specific. Difference – may it be cultural, scenic, political or other – is the key factor that drives tourism (Urry & Larsen 2011:2–3). The thought of having non-everyday experiences that contrast with the mundane motivates many tourists. The new middle class especially regard the experience of ‘Otherness’ (preferred in a non-Western culture) as seminal in travel decisions, as well as aspects of learning and intellectual involvement with the country of destination, whereas this kind of tourism often also conceals the urge for class-distinction (Munt 1994:116–117). From a more critical stance, Büscher and Fletcher (2017:657) describe these ‘differences’ as “inequalities”, which are the “sine-qua-non of tourism”. In the following, the Cuban Revolution is presented as a central and effective element in tourism that distinguishes Cuba from other destinations. In addition, the question is explored as to what extent the Revolution and cubanidad are being reproduced for tourism purposes, and how tourist imaginaries actually contribute to the ‘making’ of tourist Cuba. The unique history and the (imagined) sociocultural reality of Cuba are main attractive factors that other Caribbean destinations, unlike sun, sand and sea, cannot provide. Its socialist character particularly offers an often-idealised counterpoint to Western societies, which shimmers through the tourists’ whole experience of Cuba. Salinas et al. (2018:217) stress the “sociocultural resources” of Cuba derived from its multi-ethnic origins. Furthermore, they acknowledge the “unique influence of socialism” adding to the mélange of culture and history, landscape and climate, music and dance, which characterises the country’s unique selling proposition on the international tourism market. Cuban actors in tourism are mostly aware of these attractors: besides natural beauty, cultural resources resemble “unique attractions” and especially “Cuba’s history makes it an intriguing place to visit” (Látková et al. 2017:359). Questions of cubanidad, of local identity and representation are central elements in attracting tourists to a place (Roland 2010:4). Babb (2011:51) explains Western tourists’ interest in Cuba as a yearning for “nostalgia”. Both pre-revolutionary hedonism as well as romanticised notions of a mystified revolutionary Cuba, aligned with perhaps a little curiosity relating to Cuba in transformation, spark their imaginations. Lévi-Strauss (1969:45) conceived the idea of tourists “hastening in search of a vanished reality”, fuelled by “the illusion of something that no longer exists, but yet must be assumed to exists if we are to escape from the appalling indictment that has been piling up against us through twenty thousand years of history” (Lévi-Strauss 1969:39). This nostalgic quest for a ‘vanished reality’ almost inevitably causes a transfiguration of the Cuba image by tourists. Often, they travel to Cuba with distorted expectations and imaginations. To satisfy the tourists’ expectations and Orientalizing imaginations regarding Cuba, and to turn them into satisfied and loyal customers, a range of storylines is employed.

241

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Thus, multiple narratives, among them the hedonistic vices of the Cuban 1950s, the ‘glorious’ Cuban Revolution, as well as what Fulger (2019:89) calls “Post-Socialist Nostalgia”, are constantly being re-imagined and reproduced by public and private actors. Although it might seem contradictory, the Cuban government manages to present Cuban pre-1959 history in a way “that the ‘bourgeois’ pre-revolutionary period may be viewed as the logical precursor to the triumph of the Revolution” (Babb 2011:51). The parallelism of “Hemingway bars, Tropicana nightclub showgirls, and Buena Vista Social Club music” (Babb 2011:51), as well as revolutionary legacies such as memorial sites, museums and commercialised heroes, rouses very few discrepancies for visitors. Certainly, exotic landscapes, tropical beaches, Caribbean sun and sea are valuable assets in competition for international tourists, too. However, the unique feature that Cuba offers in the international tourism market, and which pleases the tourists’ need for ‘nostalgia’ is the Revolution’s mystifying breeze wafting across Cuba. The universe of internationally famous heroes (Che Guevara, Fidel Castro and many unnamed and unknown), of symbols and signs, of narratives (e. g. the confrontation of Cuba and the US as a reflection of the biblical story of David and Goliath) and the meaning the Revolution creates give Cuba touristic significance. Self-references to the Cuban Revolution with its own past also fuel its authenticity and desirability, especially for Western tourists, who tend to blend ‘past’ with ‘authenticity’, thus creating interest and desire (Spooner 2013:230). Western tourists interested in socialist legacies started to constitute a significant touristic market segment in the early 1990s, when travel to former socialist countries in Eastern Europe began. Light (2000:159) describes these visitors as “communist heritage tourists”, who are especially interested in the “material legacy of communism” upon which they gaze. However, the interest in Eastern European socialism has decreased considerably since the late 1990s (Light 2000:161). On the one hand, this drop in interest might be due to the often rapid and comprehensive transformation of these Eastern European states, reflected materially in the removal of socialist statues and monuments, or the renaming and redesigning of public squares. On the other hand, this may simply result from a declining interest in socialist heritage sites. This second explanation, however, must be doubted in view of the sharp increase in the number of arrivals in Cuba and the great interest in revolutionary and socialist legacies. The populations of Eastern European countries had little to no influence on how their socialist legacy was perceived by Western tourists’ “gaze on communism” (Urry & Larsen 2011:137), as the promotion of their past was mainly in the hands of foreign tour operators. As Light (2000:159) writes, these were “external influences for external consumers”, with the local population being kept away from the presentation of socialist legacies. This led to contradictions and conflicts as tourists pursued the legacies of a socialist past that these societies so desperately sought to transcend. Both of these challenges appear to be transferable to Cuba, but only in part. Socialism and the Revolution have not perished in Cuba but continue to influence their touristic marketisa-

Co-Producing Cuba: Tourist Imagination and Cuban Performance

tion as the dominant political power. The Cuban government indeed recognises the touristic potential within the history of the Revolution, which is depicted as one of the main assets of its tourism industry (Felipe 2017:9). The Revolution and the AES, which persists in Cuba, thus contribute significantly to the nation’s touristic appeal – as well as to its imagination. Babb (2011:52) describes Havana in her analysis of Cuban tourism as an “amalgam of colonial architecture and traditional life; pre-revolutionary extravagance and nightlife; and socialist modernity and revolutionary culture”, all neatly tied up and packaged as “a state that is ready for foreign consumption” (Babb 2011:52). In her conclusion, she argues that it might be “this mix of revolutionary and capitalist culture […] that lures increasing numbers of tourists to [Cuba’s] shores” (Babb 2011:57). Proceeding from the tourist interest in the Revolution and socialism, places of commemoration or museums related to the Cuban Revolution are often major attractions. Che Guevara’s mausoleum in Santa Clara,14 for example, registered some 4.5 million visitors between 1997 and 2017, more than 3 million of whom were foreigners (García Santos 2017).15 Cuban officials are aware of the popularity of the Cuban Revolution among tourists, as well as the narratives, heroes, symbols and representations associated with it. In a contribution for the state-controlled newspaper Juventud Rebelde, García Santos (2017) expresses his pride and the government’s perspective on the commodification of the revolutionary memorial site for Che Guevara: in his opinion, the high number of guests “confirms the universal recognition of his [Guevara’s] revolutionary legacy”.16 García Santos (2017) continues: “There are many examples of admiration and affection to the Comandante, such as remaining contemplating in front of his statue, or shedding tears in front of the ossuary that keeps his remains.”17 Apart from this ideologically exaggerated perspective, different explanations for the lasting popularity of Che Guevara, which is sometimes akin to religious worship, exist. Lahrem (2010:46) explains that the self-sacrifice for and in the name of the Revolution is at the core of his admiration. For some observers, Guevara’s capture, passion and death in Bolivia offer parallels to the Passion of Christ. As Lahrem (2010:45) notes: 14  Following

his assassination in Bolivia in 1967, the corpse of Guevara was buried in an unknown location in the same country. His remains were rediscovered in 1997 after a tip-off by a former officer of the Bolivian army, exhumed and then transferred to Cuba. He received a state funeral in Santa Clara in the same year. 15  Further prominent sights associated with the Cuban Revolution are (inter alia) the Museo de la Revolución and the Plaza de la Revolución in Havana, the Museo de la Intervención in Playa Girón (addressing the events of the Bay of Pigs Invasion in 1961), Cuartel Moncada in Santiago de Cuba and the Comandancia General de la Plata (the former headquarters of M-26-7 during the revolutionary war) in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra. 16  Original: “[…] confirma el reconocimiento universal a su legado revolucionario.” 17  Original: “Son muchas las muestras de admiración y cariño que le profesan al Comandante los visitantes, como quedarse ensimismados ante su estatua, o derramar lágrimas frente al osario que guarda sus restos.”

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“His death increased the enshrinement even more and turned Guevara into a new Christ.” This popularity is also reflected in the overwhelming amount of Che-themed merchandise. Alberto Korda’s iconographic photo Guerrillero Heroico (Figure 21), considered the world’s most reproduced photo (Casey 2009:28–29), was and is printed on almost every consumer product imaginable (see Figure 22). Through its “erotic-political symbolic power” (Lahrem 2010:43), the photograph fostered the rise of the myth of El Che and paved the way, among other things, for “consuming Che” (Casey 2009:12).

Figure 21: Detail from the original photograph Guerrillero Heroico. Source: Photo taken by Alberto Korda in Havana on March 5, 1960.

Figure 22: Reproduction of Guerrillero Heroico on a cigar case. Source: own photo (2017), taken in a souvenir shop in Varadero.

However, instead of the “recognition of his revolutionary legacy”, which Cuban officials describe as the prime motive for interest in Che Guevara, Lahrem (2010:43) perceives him as a “projection surface for unfulfilled wishes, desires and hopes” that do not necessarily have a political or an ideological dimension. Rather, identification with Guevara offers a way of signalling at least some unconventionality or general sympathy for the suppressed in politically opaque times and to find oneself on the “morally correct side of history” (Lahrem 2010:43–44), albeit this also depends on one’s personal political position. Hence, for Westerners, Guevara mainly stands for “intensity, justice, idealism, purity or identity” (Lahrem 2010:46) and a multitude of terms connoted with asceticism

Co-Producing Cuba: Tourist Imagination and Cuban Performance

(e. g. “uncompromisingness, modesty, incorruptibility”). The Guerrillero Heroico can be turned into a symbol for nonconformism that can be used without worry, as by identifying with it, “nobody expects any political consequences anymore” (Lahrem 2010:46). This is partly attributable to the fact that Guevara’s portrait has been adopted millionfold and in completely different messages. Thus, Casey (2009:12) notes that “capitalism has made Che what he is today: a brand used for both commercial and political purposes”. This observation can be transferred to the tourist marketing of the Cuban Revolution as a whole. While some visitors regard it as just another tourist attraction or curiosity, others are certainly interested in it for political reasons. Moreover, hybrid forms are bound to occur in the form of Revolution sympathisers who jokingly buy a Fidel Castro t-shirt but pay serious attention to a guided tour on the Revolution. However, Cuba’s socialist system is certainly not the pivotal factor for all tourists regarding their decision to visit the island. Nonetheless, the system and its material and immaterial realities are for all of them at least the context in which their travel is embedded. Regardless of whether a Fidel Castro fridge magnet is just one souvenir among many, or whether tourists intentionally and affectionally focus their gaze on revolutionary and socialist content, the conditionalities of the revolutionary system assign a certain setting to the destination. From a Western tourist’s perspective, Cuba seems to be frozen in time, offering pristine and traditional experience and a nation not yet tainted by the unstoppable forces of global capital(ism). Obviously, this nostalgic and romanticised point of view has little in common with the real situation. Most tourists visiting the island experience a “nostalgic dream of Cuba” (Babb 2011:61). Be it the dream of a pre-revolutionary hedonist playground or an idealised and inflated vision of the Cuban Revolution and a just socialist society in exotic tropical surroundings: actors in Cuban tourism (governmental as well as non-governmental) have managed to reproduce and re-imagine both narratives and to weave them together into a meaningful and credible imagination of the country (Babb 2011:61). As Shepherd (2002:192) summarises in his findings on cultural tourism in China, “the most authentic cultural practices and objects appear to be those that not only faithfully imitate an inherited set of practices and objects, but also are reproduced in a specific locale, by a specific type of people, and for a specific purpose, one unconnected to the market process”. However, Cuban actors are just one side of the coin concerning the ‘production’ of touristic Cuba. As Roland (2010:10) establishes, visitors, encouraged by “imagination and fantasy”, represent their global counterpart. Although Cuba has been largely unaffected by these processes and the influence of Western-capitalistic “ideoscapes” (Appadurai 1990:299–300), the increasing incorporation in global systems of production (economically as well as ideologically) fosters the influx of such worldviews – and of external imaginations of Cuba, cubanidad and the Cuban Revolution. In his delineation of the production fetish, Appadurai (2008:42) describes how a “locality (both in the sense of the local factory or site of production and in the extended sense of the na-

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tion-state [in this case: Cuba]) becomes a fetish that disguises the globally dispersed forces that actually drive the production process”. Indeed, in addition, the production of images of Cuba for touristic ‘consumption’ might not be solely based on Cuban imaginations of their home country but fuelled by the imaginations of Western tourists as well. Many Cubans are aware that their practices and performances in terms of tourism do not produce an authentic reflection of their culture. For them, it is a “means to an end, not an end in and of itself ” (Roland 2010:15). Whether such reproductions or performances of Cuban culture and history are grounded in reality or perceived as authentic by tourists is of little relevance for this inquiry. On the one hand, tourists often “do not contrast the staging of their authenticity […] against experience of the original, but rather with a mental image of that original which has already been ‘corrupted’ by mediating influences” (Hughes 1995:782–783). On the other hand, the focus of this study lies within understanding the implications of the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution for Cubans. Hence, tourists’ perceptions might be interesting but are not directly relevant. To conclude, the tourist commodification of the Revolution contradicts revolutionary ideological foundations and aspirations (Roland 2010:15). In considering the intensively discussed identity-forming impact of the Revolution, and remarks made on the implications of commodification for identities in Chapter 4, the question arises as to what consequences the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution have for Cuban identities. The next chapter introduces the methods used to address this question.

6. Methodology

Every discourse, even a poetic or oracular sentence, carries with it a system of rules for producing analogous things and thus an outline of methodology. Jacques Derrida (1995:200)

This research is mainly based on a series of semi-structured, predominantly qualitative interviews conducted in Cuba. Additionally, mappings and the interpretation of secondary statistical data were conducted, albeit the latter was done cautiously, since this information may lack objectivity to a certain degree, as it was used for specific political or propagandistic purposes during the Cold War and thereafter by Cuban and Western sources, especially American scientists and institutions (Brandhorst 2015:23–26). As the central methodological element, a mixed methods approach was employed when conducting the key qualitative surveys. This approach follows the “mixed methods case study design” described by Creswell and Creswell (2018:230). Primarily, this rather broad methodology was chosen herein to gather as much information as possible and to depict the influences behind the commodification of the socialist Revolution on Cuban identities. Concurrently, the disadvantages and limitations of strictly qualitative and quantitative research designs should be avoided. In general, using an assemblage of methods is in line with Johnson (2014:491), who states that, “In short, what works is what is useful and should be used.” This multi-method approach is nested within a Grounded Theory framework that was used in this inquiry to analyse qualitative and quantitative data. The methods applied – semi-structured interviews (Chapter 6.1) and mapping (Chapter 6.2) – are explained in the following, along with their respective tools for data analysis and interpretation. The epistemological background for this study draws on poststructuralist positions that perceive reality as created and shaped by discourses, which themselves are conditioned by the subjects and entities entangled in them. Using a poststructuralist framework mainly inspired by Foucault (1972), this reality (or what is perceived as

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such) in turn affects the positions, rationales and actions available to actors involved in the discourse. Moreover, the research rests on a realist ontology, as it forms the basis of all forms of Grounded Theory (Charmaz 2008:402). This ontology assumes that although reality indeed exists outside of human existence and perception, it is inseparable from processing by human perception and the individual interpretation of that same perception. Especially, the poststructuralist notion of reality as being more disjointed, processand relation-oriented, as well as more culturally swayed than in structuralist theory, which assumes the existence of timeless and essentialist rules and structures for transformation (Boonstra & Rauws 2021:6–7), appears to be productive for this work. Poststructuralist approaches furthermore transcend the binary opposition inherent in structuralism, which is replaced by an understanding of relationally constituted sociocultural relations. Crucial to this is understanding the analysis of practices and discourses through which subjects endow the world with meaning – and through which knowledge and identity are formed (Woodward 2017). Therefore, a clear focus fell on the contexts and embeddedness in time and historically determined processes of both the Cuban Revolution and the interviewed Cubans. Moreover, the importance of textuality and language for the forming of identities and the relational construction of reality was emphasised, while the characteristics of sociocultural conditions (e. g. formal education, circumstances of life) and their influences on cultural practices, identity formation and the various arenas of discourse were considered extensively. 6.1.

Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory

As the examination of oral and written expressions plays a crucial role in both identity formation and poststructuralist theory, semi-structured interviews were used as a primary instrument for data collection. Keupp et al. (2006:69) point to the fact that identity and its formation lie between the poles of social construction and internal psychical processes. Both poles, namely identity as a social construct (which is mainly constructed by speech) and as the result of internal psychical processes, refer to the narrative recounting the structure of identity, which makes qualitative interviews the most appropriate survey tool (Keupp et al. 2006:69). Over three survey periods between February 2017 and March 2019, lasting five months in total, some 70 interviews were conducted, 51 of which were finally included in the analysis. Through the relatively long time spent in the survey area, ample time was devoted to accompanying and observing the interviewees in their social context, a factor Aldiabat and Le Navenec (2018:251–252) consider essential for the effective achievement of theoretical saturation in Grounded Theory. During the first two survey periods, interviews with Cubans involved in tourism were mainly conducted. These interview partners were mostly tour guides (working with or without an official li-

Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory

cence), providers of casas particulares, employees in souvenir shops, taxi drivers and employees of state-run museums. During the third survey period, priority was given to interviewing Cubans not engaged in this sector. Interviews were conducted in English, Spanish or German. Since the author has a thorough but for scientific purposes insufficient knowledge of Spanish, most interviews conducted in Spanish were accompanied by an interpreter. All interviewees were offered the opportunity to conduct the interview in Spanish prior to the start of the interview; however, most of them declined and voluntarily chose to talk in English or even German. Due to the mostly excellent language proficiency of the interviewees, conducting the interviews in a foreign language is negligible to the quality of the data. Due to the pronounced dialect in Unión de Reyes, all Spanish interviews here were performed with the help of the interpreter. The decision to conduct semi-structured interviews was intentional. On the one hand, structured interviews can mean that the interviewer has no ‘space’ or freedom to direct the conversation toward interesting and promising topics that may arise during the interview. Unstructured interviews, on the other hand, can develop in directions and topics the interviewer does not wish to cover or which may be relatively irrelevant to the research. The semi-structured interview, in contrast, offers a (in this case preferred) balanced proportion of freedom to react to unforeseen but important or interesting topics that come up during the interview, and possibilities to intervene and to redirect the conversation in case the interview loses sight of the research topic. In a semi-structured interview, the researcher prepares a set of questions that are related to the main research questions. However, s/he does not necessarily have to ask all of the questions that have been set, and they are free to add questions that appear to be or become important during the interview. As Dunn (2016:158) summarises, semi-structured interviews are “organised around ordered but flexible questioning”, and the questions neither need to be asked in a given order nor actually asked at all. For the interviews, a guide was conceptualised before being pre-tested at the beginning of the first survey phase and slightly adjusted thereafter. Furthermore, the order of the questions asked was adjusted flexibly according to how the interview unfolded, in order to help look closer at certain trains of thought brought up by the interviewees (Rowley 2012:262). Therefore, in certain cases, additional questions and informal as well as unscripted prompts not included in the interview guide were deployed (Leech 2002:667–668). This led to a collection of interviews that never developed in the same way, as they evolved individually during the conversation. The interviews focused on the personal life experiences as well as perceptions of the Cuban interviewees. As Dowling (2008:812) suggests, when addressing questions of identity, the ordinary, everyday life, the banal, should be considered, since the sense of the Self – processes that shape identities and the geographical scales of identity genesis – occur in the minutiae of everyday life.

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Along with open questions, primarily targeting latent structures of meaning, a few closed, quantitative questions were asked during the interviews. Within the “mixed methods case study design” (Creswell & Creswell 2018:230) applied herein, the qualitative parts clearly dominated, while quantitative data were mainly included complementarily. The integration of quantitative data already took place during the data collection process and was used to adapt the interview questions accordingly. Moreover, quantitative information was included during data analysis and its interpretation, so emerging patterns could be accentuated. The decision for this research design was based on the considerations of Creswell and Plano Clark (2018:106). Most interviews were audio-recorded – and always upon approval by the interviewees. All taped interviews were transcribed verbatim. In a very small number of cases, the interviewees disagreed to the interviewer audio-recording the conversation, and so the conversations were manually recorded in writing, with addenda made right after the interview. During and after all interviews, field notes were taken, and observations, ideas and further thoughts were noted. 6.1.1. Grounded Theory

In order to analyse the interviews, Grounded Theory, developed by Glaser and Strauss during the 1960s, was used as the main concept for generating knowledge, as it best suited the research questions and assumptions made. According to Weed (2009:504), Grounded Theory represents more than just a methodology; specifically, it is a “total methodology […] that provides a set of principles for the entire research process”. As Glaser and Strauss (2012 [1967]:1–2) explain, Grounded Theory does not primarily concentrate on testing theories, in an attempt to verify or reject them, but on generating theories and identifying concepts and trains of thought that are significant for a certain topic. The main objective of Grounded Theory as employed in this research lies within the discovery of theory from data, not the validation of pre-existing theories. According to Matteucci and Gnoth (2017:49), it offers a valuable counterpart to the often positivistic approaches in tourism studies, and in order to make substantiated contributions to theory development via Grounded Theory, it is necessary for researchers to reflect on epistemology and ontology in advance, and eventually to select appropriate methods (Matteucci & Gnoth 2017:54). As Corbin and Strauss (1990:6) expound, Grounded Theory contains “specific procedures for data collection and analysis”, which do not necessarily need to be followed blindly, as they offer “flexibility and latitude within limits” in consideration of the peculiarity of each research project. Grounded Theory can be summarised as an “iterative, comparative, interactive, and abductive method” (Charmaz 2011:361). The analysis proceeds cyclically: the first interview is compared with the second, then the second interview with the third and finally the first with the third and so on – until

Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory

all interviews are finally compared to each other. During this deeply creative process, structures of meaning emerge, and it is these that provide the basis for the further steps in the analysis. Within Grounded Theory, coding is a “fundamental analytic process”, for which Corbin and Strauss (1990:12–15) identify three types of coding: open, axial, and selective, each of which is explained in more detail in Textbox 17. In principle they are employed in a three-step abductive process. In the first step, structures of meaning are extracted from the interview material. In the second – deductive – step, these structures are used to formulate hypotheses. Finally, in the third step, the formulated hypotheses are tested against the interview material (Reichertz 2019:264–265). In this inquiry, all three coding stages were performed using MAXQDA software. Textbox 17: Open, axial and selective coding in Grounded Theory Open coding aims primarily at providing “new insights by breaking through standard ways of thinking about or interpreting phenomena” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:12) contained in the collected data. It is supposed to avoid categorisation based on “subjectivity and bias” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:13) by breaking up the collected data and comparing the facts and circumstances recorded for each case for “similarities and differences” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:12). Following this comparison, “events/actions/interactions” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:12) that are similar are clustered into groups and eventually into subgroups. Based on the results of open coding, thematically relevant concepts, their features and dimensions can be derived from the interview data. By comparing different events/actions/interactions and forming differing categories, theoretical sensitivity (i. e. being open to new theories/trains of thought) is strengthened, and any possible vagueness can be approached by further data collection.   Axial coding focuses on developing relationships and interdependencies between different categories, subcategories and concepts. It is important to note that possible relations detected in the data are “provisional until verified repeatedly against incoming data” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:13). The main objective of sampling during axial coding lies in testing and revising the categories and theories/hypothesis developed.   Selective coding mainly occurs during the last phases of an investigation. In this step, “all categories are unified around a ‘core’ category” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:14), while categories that seem to lack clarity may be complemented with further data – either from additional inquiries or from data already present and re-analysed. The ‘core’ category depicts the “central phenomenon of the study” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:14) and outlines its central analytic idea. To get to this ‘core’ category, two principal pathways are conceivable: either it is already represented by current categories and subcategories, or it must be derived from a higher level of abstraction, as the categories developed do not contain this “main analytic idea” (Corbin & Strauss 1990:14). During this phase, sampling concentrates mainly on closing gaps in existing categories rather than on forming new ones.

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Originating from Glaser and Strauss’s primordial conception of Grounded Theory, three main strands have developed over time, essentially distinguished from each other by their epistemological understandings (Matteucci & Gnoth 2017:52). In accordance with the fundamental epistemological premises on which this study rests, the constructivist Grounded Theory approach (Charmaz 2008; 2011; 2014), sometimes called the “constructivist-interpretivist” approach (Weed 2017:151), is pursued. It is characterised by its understanding of the research process and data collection through interviews as social interactions in themselves. The collection and analysis of data are thus to be understood as socially constructed and conditioned.1 Hence, in the process of epistemological discovery, an attempt is made to embed the accounts and actions of the interviewees in overarching discourses and social structures of which the interviewees themselves may not be aware (Charmaz & Bryant 2016:350). This applies to both the methodology itself and to its application in the present inquiry. 6.1.2. Sampling

As Glaser and Strauss (2012 [1967]:45) suggested in their Grounded Theory framework, theoretical sampling was used to choose the interview partners. This sampling method is characterised by the absence of a predefined plan for the examined sample – in this case for the sample of interviewees. Instead, single elements of the sample are identified and chosen based on an overall theory, which does not exist at the beginning of the research, but emerges iteratively during the research process and is based on the collected data and assessed (Glaser & Strauss 2012 [1967]:45–46). Instead of sampling ‘ex ante’ and starting with a previously formulated theory, theoretical sampling helps develop criteria for participant selection gradually during the project and alongside the development of a consistent theory (see Figure 23). As no predefined theory exists, selecting the first interviewees must be based on a partial, incomplete framework that roughly sketches basic structures and linkages in the examined field. Moving on from the first few elements of sampling, collected data are coded (mainly via open coding) and analysed, following which the first draft of a theory may be produced. This first draft leads the way to further interviewees or discernible groups of interviewees that might be interesting to incorporate into the emerging theory. As Glaser and Strauss (2012 [1967]:47) highlight, “further collection [of data] cannot be planned in advance”, as the selection of new and promising groups of interviewees depends on the collected data and the theories derived from that data.

1  For

this reason, Matteucci and Gnoth (2017:54) urge researchers to write about their findings from a first-person perspective, to expose their constructivist origins. The inevitable influence of the inquirer on the research process and results should thus be made explicit. Yet, this book abstains from the proposal.

Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory

Figure 23: Grounded Theory design applied herein for data collection and analysis. Source: own design based on Cho and Lee (2014:9).

The seminal objective pursued through Theoretical Sampling was to identify a number of interviewees to turn to in the next step while gradually developing emerging theories and refining them. Theoretical Sampling explicitly is “not about representing a population or increasing the statistical generalizability” of findings (Charmaz 2014:198). By orienting sampling towards generating and enhancing theory, the theoretical purpose linked with the selection of further interview partners was considered. As “the possibilities of multiple comparisons are infinite […], groups [surveyed] must be chosen according to theoretical criteria” (Glaser & Strauss 2012 [1967]:47). The successful and correct utilisation of Theoretical Sampling has several preconditions: as Grounded Theory is (initially) based on comparing homogenous, i. e. similar cases with each other, it is required that: 1. There are homogenous cases in the collected data. 2. There are heterogeneous cases in the collected data (for contrasting at a later stage). 3. the criteria on which homo-/heterogeneity are defined derive from the current process of theory-building and are furthermore adequate to regulate the construction of the sample. Primarily, due to these preconditions, every ‘ex ante’ definition of sample elements would be incorrect, as the criteria for choosing these interviewees are unknown and no more than estimated at this point of the research process (Strübing 2013:116). Therefore, initially, the interviewees were selected based solely on whether they were employed in tourism. Age, gender, education, ethnicity and further criteria were initially disregarded, to avoid “purposive sampling” (Matteucci & Gnoth 2017:51). The interviewees employed in tourism were easily identifiable by their activities and were approached personally in public spaces. If they agreed to an interview, an appointment was arranged for later the same day or a few days thereafter. Sampling

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by onward recommendation was not used, as this would contradict the spirit of Theoretical Sampling. Interview partners in Unión de Reyes and Matanzas were chosen randomly. The considerable surplus of women in Unión de Reyes can be explained by the labour migration of many men, on the one hand, and by the greater openness to engage in interviews among the women of Unión de Reyes, on the other hand. To administer Grounded Theory properly, it is necessary to repeatedly enter and exit the study area to analyse the collected data and to use them to generate hypotheses in the intervening periods (Connell & Lowe 1997:172). Since field access was not immediately available, due to the great physical distance involved, no more than three survey phases were possible, each of which, however, was comprehensive. During the third and final field period, the numbers of interviews was extended until “theoretical saturation” (Morse 2004:1122–1123) was likely to be attained. In the subsequent evaluation of the data, it became apparent that theoretical saturation would in fact have already been reached with fewer interviews. This ‘overfulfilment’ was also helpful in circumventing the problem of inadequate data caused by overly small samples, which Stern, in a group discussion with Morse et al. (2016:244), attributes to many studies conducted using Grounded Theory. As Glaser (2001:191) explains, theoretical saturation is achieved when “the generated grounded theory [has] conceptual density [and] theoretical completeness”, and further interviews do not add novel theoretical aspects or refine those already developed. 6.1.3. Description of the Interview Sample

During the three survey phases, some 70 interviews were conducted, of which 51 were finally included in the analysis. A detailed list of the interview partners is provided in the Appendix, together with further information on them. Although more interviews were conducted on site, some could not be used or had to be retrospectively excluded from the analysis. Among the reasons for this were primarily too short or interrupted interviews as well as misunderstandings regarding essential terminology that only became apparent after the interview. The interviews not analysed are included in neither the following description of the sample nor in the results of this research. The interviews took place, depending upon the situation and feasibility, either in a public space or at the homes of the interview partners. In all cases, care was taken to create a calm, serious and confidential conversational atmosphere. Since some of the interviewees expressed clear criticism of the Cuban state, the political leadership and/ or the socialist system in general, all of the interview partners’ names mentioned in this book have been replaced by anonymising citation codes. The attribution of the interviewees to the citation codes used hereafter is also provided in the Appendix. The code consists of a consecutive number and three letters indicating the place of the interview. All actual names are known to the author. Usually, interviews were conducted

Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory

as one-on-one sessions, and only in exceptional cases was an interview carried out in a group setting. The duration of the interviews differed considerably, depending primarily on the interview partners’ willingness to share insights and their time available. The shortest interview lasted about 30 minutes, while the most extensive stretched over two-and-a-half hours. Of the 51 interviews, 24 were conducted in Habana Vieja, ten in Unión de Reyes, eight in Santiago de Cuba, five in Trinidad and four in Matanzas (see Table 6). While Habana Vieja, Santiago de Cuba and Trinidad are Cuban tourism hotspots, Matanzas and especially Unión de Reyes are somewhat rural. Of the interviewees, 30 were men and 21 were women, with the majority (35) employed in tourism as both state employees and Cuentapropistas. Exceptional were the interviewees from Unión de Reyes, since none of them was employed in tourism. Indeed, this was the reason for their inclusion in the sample, as they contrasted with the interviewees from urban centres engaged in tourism. Table 6: Number of interviews conducted at the research sites. Place of interview

Tourist/non-tourist place

Habana Vieja

tourist

24

Unión de Reyes

non-tourist

10

Santiago de Cuba

tourist

8

Trinidad

tourist

5

Matanzas

non-tourist

4

∑

Number of interviews

51

Source: own design.

The interviewees represented all age groups (youngest a 12-year-old pupil; oldest an 84-year-old retiree; median age 39 years; see Figure  24) and had been employed in tourism for varying lengths of time. Of those engaged in this sector, a female interviewee serving 33 years in the industry had the longest period of employment. In contrast, a male interviewee with just one month’s employment in tourism – he established a casa particular just some weeks before the interview – had the shortest occupational biography. The other interviewees’ work experience ranged between these extremes, with the clear majority having fewer than ten years’ experience. Although the sample presented here is relatively small and was not compiled according to representativeness criteria, it appears that the group of young adults (25– 34 years) is overrepresented. Though no official statistics are available on this issue, the age group of young adults indeed seems to be disproportionately overrepresented among those involved in tourism, since most of them are university graduates who

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decline state employment and instead seek jobs in this sector due to its higher income potential.

Figure 24: Age (categorised) of interviewees at the time of the interview. Source: own design.

Most interviewees working in tourism were tour guides (18 out of 35). Beyond that, there were no significant clusters of primary occupations. Some of the tour guides interviewed offered their tours as state employees, while others did so as Cuentapropistas. Others, while officially working in state service (in a tourist or a non-tourist role), additionally offered guided tours (or other tourism services) in their spare time. Some of the interviewees worked legally in tourism (employed by the state or under license of Trabajo por cuenta propia), while others pursued these activities illegally or “alegally”2 (33Hav). In some cases, the same person held a licence for one or more tourism-related occupations and pursued them while at the same time conducting one or more tourism-related activities without a licence. Nearly all of the interviewees working in tourism were engaged in more than one tourist occupation, thereby making it difficult to precisely quantify the individual areas of activity.3

2  During his interview, 33Hav clarifies the meaning of alegality referring to privately operating tour guides

in Havana: “private tour guides are in an alegal – not illegal – alegal situation. You know what I mean? You know what it is? Alegal situation? It is not legal, and it’s not illegal either” (33Hav). Basically, alegality is a legally undefined gray area. Obviously, alegal activities are often tolerated by the Cuban authorities. 3  An illustrative example is 17SdC, a dentist from Santiago de Cuba. During the day, he is employed in a state clinic, but in the evenings he works as a mototaxista for Cubans (under licence) and by chance for tourists (without a licence). On the weekends, he works as a driver for a friend who organises trips for foreign tourists, for which 17SdC receives tips (without a licence).

Semi-Structured Interviewing within Grounded Theory

Similarly, the occupations of those not employed in tourism do not show any particular patterns. However, two things are noteworthy, though not surprising. First, almost all of the non-tourist group were employed by the state. The only exceptions were a pupil and a freelance artist. Second, almost all persons in this group pursued one or more additional occupations, too. Without exception, this was explained by the fact that a state salary “is not enough to support a healthy living” (2Hav). The highest educational level attained was known for 46 of the 51 interviewees. Of these 46, 29 had a university degree, ten graduated from Preuniversitaria (grade 10–12; see Gómez 2016:373–374) and seven had completed Secundaria básica (grade 7–9). For the remaining five interview partners, either no response was given or they had not yet achieved an educational degree. Interestingly, there seemed to be a relation between the interviewees’ (non-)occupation in tourism and their educational level. For example, university graduates and those who had completed Preuniversitaria were employed in tourism more often than those with a lower level of formal education. Of the interviewees who had only completed Secundaria básica, not one single person was employed in tourism (see Table 7) – yet this impression should not be overstressed given the small sample size. Table 7: Relationship between the level of educational attainment and occupation in tourism within the interview sample. Occupation in tourism

Highest educational attainment

∑

∑

Yes

No

Secundaria básica

0

7

7

Preuniversitaria

7

3

10

Universidad

26

3

29

33

13

46

Source: own design.

To test this presumed relation between education and occupation in tourism, a Pearson’s chi-squared test was conducted using SPSS. This test was significant (p=0.000014) at the α=1 % significance level. The relationship between the highest level of educational attainment achieved and employment in tourism was strong (Cramer-V=0.697). However, it should be noted that this assessment is based on a very small sample. In addition, the interviewees’ jobs had a significant amount of customer interaction – for which a certain educational level may be a prerequisite.

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6.2. Mapping

In Chapter 3.7, the relations between space and society as well as social transformations and space are detailed. The commodification of the Cuban Revolution, which is by tendency an intellectual process, has significant effects on the material world, on the space inhabited by Cubans. As the meaning of the Revolution is ever-changing (or being changed), its material production and reproduction, and its symbols and representations in space, are expected to change as well. Hence, it can be presumed that different utilisations of spaces are associated with distinct material reproductions of the Revolution. This is investigated by means of three mappings carried out in spring and summer 2017, focusing on three questions: 1. In what ways is the Cuban Revolution reproduced in symbolic forms, and where do these reproductions occur in space? 2. For what reasons are these symbols being reproduced? Are they reproduced to obtain exchange-value from tourism (commodifying representations), or are they aimed at supporting the Revolution (representations for non-commercial reasons)? What hybrids of these two forms of representation exist? 3. Where do commodifying representations occur? Do they occur in spaces and contexts other than for representations for non-commercial reasons? To find evidence for the commodification of the Cuban Revolution, the spatially effective reproduction of revolutionary and socialist symbols was investigated and mapped. The areas were mapped on foot, following which notes and sketches were taken on blank paper maps and then transferred onto electronic maps using ArcGIS. Within the scope of the mapping, building utilisations as well as different forms of reproduction of the Revolution were plotted in the three subspaces. The different building utilisations were adopted from the mapping of Völkening et al. (2019:89–90). Since no reference exists for the various forms of reproduction of the Revolution, their selection and differentiation were inductively based on on-site observations. The mappings took place in three different spaces: Habana Vieja, the city centre of Matanzas and the Plaza América Convention and Shopping Centre in Varadero. They were chosen for various reasons. Habana Vieja and the centre of Matanzas were selected to compare two historic city centres with (almost) no immediate link to the events of the Cuban Revolution, albeit they differ significantly in their touristic penetration: While in Habana Vieja, international tourists generated more than US$390 million in direct revenue in 2016 (ONEI 2017b:54; most recent data available), there is no systematically collected data on arrivals or overnight stays for Matanzas, although the city has a population of more than 150,000. Matanzas’ limited tourist importance, despite its immediate proximity to Varadero, finds good expression in the introductory text of the Lonely Planet travel guide: “Matanzas is like a sunken galleon left at the bottom of the ocean. Most casual visitors to Cuba sail right over the top of it (usually on a tour

Mapping

bus to Varadero), but, a few curious adventurers dive down” (Sainsbury & McCarthy 2017:215). By choosing the city centres of Habana Vieja and Matanzas for the mappings, the effect of extensive touristic penetration on the occurrence and reproduction of revolutionary and socialist symbols could be assessed. By contrast, Plaza América is a completely tourism-oriented space, and it has no historical structures or non-commercial social relations. Instead, this convention and shopping centre in Varadero is a space allocated solely for the amusement and entertainment of mostly international visitors.

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Cuban Perceptions of Tourism, Commodification and Revolution

At the time when tourism arrived, I was a teenager. And our generation suffered a huge impact. Because everything that we had been taught in school, on a social level, everything fell apart. And we began to experiment with capitalism without the benefits of capitalism.1 49Mat

As the conducted research illustrated, and as shall be explained below, international tourism has a significant impact on Cuban society. This chapter describes the Cuban interviewees’ perceptions and evaluations derived from the data collected. After their descriptive presentation, these findings are interpreted, integrated into the theoretical framework and discussed in the following chapter (8). The research questions posed at the beginning of this book are recapitulated briefly at first. The remaining chapter is then arranged based on the code structure inductively derived from the interviews, which was further processed abductively. The presentation of the findings begins with the interview partners’ general perceptions of international tourism (7.1) as well as their perspectives on the private economy (7.2) and the interplay between socialism and capitalism in Cuba (Chapter 7.3). Subsequently (7.4), an assessment and understanding of the socioeconomic impact of tourism in Cuba is presented – in both societal and individual contexts. In addition, the interviewees’ views on Cuban identities (7.5) and on the Revolution are outlined (7.6). Chapter 7.7 introduces the effects of tourism on Cuban identities as seen by the interview partners. 1  Original:

“En ese momento en que llegó el turismo, yo era adolescente. Y nuestra generación sufrió un impacto enorme. Porque todo lo que nos habían enseñado en la escuela. A nivel social, todo se vino abajo. Y empezamos a experimentar el capitalismo sin los beneficios del capitalismo.”

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

The chapter then focuses on commodification processes occurring in tourism. After explaining a number of spatial and symbolic differences in the reproduction and commodification of the Revolution (7.8), the interviewees’ perceptions of commodification are brought into focus. Building on this platform, different positions on the commodification of the Revolution and its legacies are presented and contrasted, whereby special emphasis is placed on the impact of these commodification processes on Cuban identities and how they are experienced and understood by the interviewees (7.9). To reiterate, the focus of this study lies on analysing practices associated with the commodification of the Cuban Revolution in tourism. These practices, as well as their implications for Cuban identities, are at the core of this research and constitute the knowledge gain for which it strives. Through these investigations of commodification and its impacts on Cuban identities, more principal conclusions about the Cuban Revolution and its popular reception in Cuba become feasible. To structure the investigation, a set of research questions was raised at the beginning of this book (Chapter 1.1). The analysis of the principal effects of international tourism in Cuba, as well as of the commodification of the Revolution, rests mainly on two theoretical columns. First are the principles behind the formation and transformability of identities. With respect to questions of identity, the focus lies primarily on postmodern theorists from the social sciences, along with considerations of various identity resources that individuals can draw upon in the construction of the Self. Second, the research addresses commodification processes and their consequences for identities, fundamentally based on a Marxist understanding. Here, special emphasis is given to the commodifying impacts of tourism and its spatial implications. 7.1.

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

When assessing international tourism in Cuba, many interviewees gave a thoroughly differentiated perspective, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of increased tourism. As the following will show, the positive consequences and side effects of tourism predominated for most of the interview partners, partly despite great reservations. A neat metaphor provided by 50Mat exemplifies this contemplative attitude: Everything in life has a good part and a bad part […]. The sun makes the plants grow, but if you get too much of it, it can cause cancer, although it is the same sun. That sun is tourism.2

The observations that “nowadays it [tourism] is really a social phenomenon” (11SdC), that “tourism changes Cuba a lot” (21Tri) and that tourism intensity has increased sub2  Original:

“Todo en la vida tiene una parte buena y una parte mala, todos somos [sound interference], pero así pasa con todo en la naturaleza, el sol hace crecer las plantas, pero si lo tomas mucho puede provocar cáncer y es el mismo sol. Ese sol es el turismo.”

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stantially in the past years are mostly beyond doubt. Only one of the 51 interview partners noted “no changes. Everything is the same way as it was before” (3Hav). In many interviews, the increased numbers of foreign guests arriving on Cuban soil were commented on. This sometimes happened quite plainly, as the observation of 19Tri makes clear: “[There are] many tourists, it is okay”. However, the rapid increase in the number of tourists in Cuba was recognised by many interview partners. The early 1990s are usually considered the beginning of tourism development: “In fact, in 1991, 1992 is when Cuba opened to the world as a touristical country. Before [the] 1990s, we have tourists visited Cuba, but not so many [of them]” (32Hav). Since then, tourism “has come a long way now. Before, there wasn’t so much tourism, and now it has advanced a lot”3 (39UdR). In terms of the reasons behind the strong increase in arrivals in recent years, one was mentioned particularly often: “The main reason [is] the negotiations with the US. The first time Cuba and the US started to be okay, then many people came to Cuba” (13SdC). Obviously, the relationship with the United States was perceived as fundamentally important for economic development in Cuba. However, one interviewee pointed out that changes in the economic policy of the Cuban government also actively promoted tourism: “And there are many tourists now here because Fidel Castro died. We did not like the tourists here. But his brother Raúl Castro did not care, because he knew very well that he [needs] this money for the government” (19Tri). Nevertheless, this interview partner also regarded the many tourists as generally positive, noting “Look, look around. Tourists everywhere. But it is good” (19Tri). In general, most of the interviewed Cubans emphasised the positive aspects and consequences of tourism much more than the negative ones. Subsequently, the positive views and assessments of tourism are presented first, followed by adverse perceptions and evaluations. 7.1.1. Positive Perspectives on Tourism, and their Rationales

Although various explanations were given for the interviewees’ positive attitudes towards tourism, one clearly stands out: the economic promise associated with it. From this association and the particularisations provided below, the central expectations that many Cubans ascribe to international tourism become clear. Numerous interview partners stressed the extraordinary importance of tourism for the Cuban economy. 35Hav, for example, argued that “Cuba is betting a lot on tourism. Because tourism is the so-called factory without chimneys. Because it is also an

3  Original: “Ha avanzado mucho ahora. Antes no había tanto turismo y ahora ha avanzado mucho.”

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

industry that you invest in and recover in the short term. Quickly. […] It develops locally and generates more employment that pays better.”4 Other interview partners also appeared to be convinced of this view. Thus, 50Mat explained that “right now, with all these things about hostels, and that you can rent to tourists in a casa [particular], it is a very good economic path.”5 4Hav amplified that “tourism is the support of the economy of the country. Not only Havana. The country. The entire country depends on the tourist.” And 49Mat went as far as to credit tourism with salvaging Cuba: “Tourism in Cuba saved Cuba, economically speaking.”6 Further interviewees also emphasised this special significance of tourism in Cuba: “Tourism plays a very, very important role. Tourism is very, very important for the economy here in Cuba”,7 as 5Hav stressed. And 23Hav believed that “everybody agrees that right now, [tourism] is one of the best actions for [the] people of the country. Everybody agrees with that.” In this context, it is worthwhile looking at the explanations provided by 35Hav regarding the way in which tourism is intended to generate overall prosperity for Cuban society. To provide brief background details on him, 35Hav lives in Havana, studies economics and offers city tours to discuss the key topic ‘Revolution’. He is obviously a committed revolutionary and conversant with both socialist and revolutionary ideology. In his opinion, tourism is “an engine of the economy”8 (35Hav). When illustrating the development of prosperity in Cuban society, using the example of a hotel being built, he focused strongly on forward and backward linkage effects: For example, you are going to build a hotel here. You need Cuban labour. You need Cuban construction materials. You need furniture, beds, furniture [sic]. And you need all of them from Cuba. So, when you build that, you are developing a construction industry, you are developing a furniture industry and you are creating jobs. Now, the objective of the Cuban state is that tourism develops the country in general. And that the minority that earns now in tourism, they can soon earn more for the others who work in those industries for tourism. And so more and more people earn more.9

4  Original: “Porque Cuba está apostando mucho por el turismo. Porque el turismo es la llamada fábrica sin

chimeneas. Porque aparte es una industria que tu invertes y recuperas a corto plazo. Rápido. […] Desarrolla localmente y genera más empleo que se paga mejor.” 5  Original: “Ahora mismo con todas estas cosas de los hostales y que se puede alquilar a los turistas en la casa, es una vía económica muy buena.” 6  Original: “El turismo en Cuba salvó a Cuba, económicamente hablando.” 7  Original: “Tourismus spiel eine sehr, sehr wichtige Rolle. Tourismus ist sehr, sehr wichtig für die Wirtschaft hier in Kuba.” 8  Original: “[…] un motor de la economía.” 9  Original: “Por ejemplo, tú ahí vas a construir un hotel. Necesitas mano de obra cubana. Necesitas materiales de construcción cubanos. Necesitas muebles, camas, eh muebles. Y los necesitas todos cubanos.” Por tanto, cuando tú construyes eso, estás desarrollando una industria constructora, estás desarrollando una industria del mueble y estas creando empleo. Ahora, el objetivo del estado cubano es que el turismo desarrolle al país en general. Y que esa minoría que gana ahora en el turismo pueda pronto los demás que trabajan en esas industrias para el turismo también ganar más. Y que sean cada vez más los que ganen más.”

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The high economic expectations placed upon tourism were also reflected in the frequent use of the terms ‘opportunity’ and ‘development’ in reference to its expansion in Cuba. For instance, 20Tri suggested that “all of that [tourism] gives the opportunity for people to have money for repairing houses and all you need for the life”. 15SdC agreed with him: “Tourism has just given a lot of opportunity to the country”. And 23Hav summed up the hopes for socioeconomic development associated with tourism: “Tourism is, like I say, it is good for the Cuban economy and the Cuban society”. It is worth mentioning at this point a comment made by 49Mat, who thought “tourism; for some, it is [gives them] hope to accomplish something”;10 for some, however, it remains only a hope. Beyond this notion, tourism was frequently considered as having a positive impact, not only on the Cuban economy, but also on the personal income situation of the interviewees – at least those working in tourism. 33Hav explained that “our tourism has been good for many of us – for many of us individually and for the government”. Other interviewees also explicitly address the positive influence on personal income, which is also the reason why many of them enter the tourism industry. 35Hav, for instance, considers it the essential motivation for his engagement in tourism, i. e. “to try to earn some more tips”,11 – but he immediately suggested that “not all [of] the interest is money”. Yet, by no means do many consider employment in tourism as their career of choice. Rather, for many interviewees, it is an economic necessity, for example because salaries in the public service are described as insufficient. Illustrations of this point can be found in the employment biographies of almost all interview partners involved in tourism. There is the former lawyer (4Hav), who now sells souvenirs and revolutionary memorabilia to tourists in Habana Vieja. He left his previous job “because the payment … actually, the payment is … for lawyers in Cuba, it is very bad”. There is also the engineer (28Hav) who studied in the USSR and now drives a cab, “as the salary by the government is quite bad and not sufficient to make a living”. The case of 22Hav shows that this applies to people of all ages and qualifications. He was a professor of history until his retirement in the early 1990s. His involvement in tourism begins years later, in 1993, when began to circulate the three coins: the Dollar, the CUC and the Cuban Peso. In that time, the prices of Cuban …, of many things multiplied many times. The Cuban Peso was liberated, and to buy in the shops, you need the CUC. And my salary in that time was in Cuban money [CUP], not in CUC. The only way I can get CUC is, well, giving walking tours.

He also indicates that employment in tourism, which is sometimes perceived as compulsory and far below the actual level of qualification, can also lead to tensions: “My

10  Original: “El turismo-, para algunos es esperanza de lograr cosas, […].” 11  Original: “Para tratar de ganar algo más propinas, eh. […] No todo el interés es, eh, de money.”

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

wife hates it, but her salary is in Cuban money, too” (22Hav), thus stressing the necessity to work in the sector. Only for a small number of interviewees does income from tourism represent “extra money” (24Hav). These people, such as 24Hav, have other sources of foreign currency income, such as remittances from relatives living abroad. For the clear majority, however, income from tourism is a vital necessity. A few, such as 16SdC or 17SdC, even have two occupations: one in tourism and one in their actual profession. However, it should not be forgotten that most of these interview partners nevertheless perceive tourism as positive and desirable. Apart from the positive influences on the Cuban economy as a whole, and personal income situations in particular, other factors contribute to the mostly positive assessment of tourism in Cuba, albeit to a much lesser extent. For example, tourism is occasionally perceived as a driver of positive social and economic change. 4Hav, for instance, thought that “the tourists give a big, big opportunity for Cuba, for the change”. And 33Hav agreed: “I can tell you this, the tourism is changing the Cuban economy for better.” Other interviewees mentioned that as tourism has grown, the supply situation has also improved for the population in general. The fact that this is partly due to illegal activities seemed to be widely accepted, albeit it was only spoken about in hushed tones. As 42UdR explicated exceptionally frankly, “some people take a little bit of food there [from the hotels where they work] and sell it in Matanzas. It is easier to find food with the development of tourism. But also towels.” Also, regarding the motivation for individual engagement in tourism, there were two other factors besides economic reasons. On the one hand, some interviewees pointed to curiosity and interest in other perspectives and cultures as their motivation for working in tourism, in addition to financial benefits. For example, 15SdC regarded it as an “opportunity to just extend my vocabulary and widen up, you know, my relationship with people from other countries”. Likewise, 2Hav liked “relationships and to talk to people”. The fact that financial motives still remained under consideration was clarified by 32Hav: “I prefer to earn money by doing this, [it is] what I like the most, you know, talk about history and talk about our reality and at the same time, you know, earn money.” On the other hand, some interview partners mentioned the following intention, as paraphrased by 33Hav, as a decisive factor for engaging in tourism: “The people that come from abroad have a lot of lies about Cuba, have a lot of fake news about Cuba. I want to rectify the mistakes that the media has about Cuba.” Especially ardent supporters of the Revolution seemed to understand their involvement in tourism, at least in part, as a mission for clarification. They wanted to show tourists the real Cuba. In their eyes, this included to “separate myth from the reality in Cuba, [as] there are many stories and many lies about Cuba which are not true” (23Hav). Likewise, 2Hav regarded this as an elementary part of his work as a tour guide, “to show people the happy life of Cubans” and “to show people that socialism works in Cuba”.

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When the interviewees were asked about the presumed motives for their fellow Cubans engaging in tourism, one motive – almost exclusively – was named: the “economy. I bet that” (33Hav). This was particularly relevant for tourist centres like Habana Vieja. 34Hav elaborated that “everybody has found their way into tourism, you know? Maybe you do tours, maybe you sell them [the tourists] cigars. Stolen cigars from the factory. But everybody has found their way into that, because money is there.” Just how attractive the income from tourism is perceived by many Cubans is illustrated by a statement made by 36Hav: “You can divide society into parts. People who work with tourism and people who want to work with tourism. Yeah, and […] the third part would be people who work in private business.” She expanded on this point: It’s true that we have education, free education, free health, free social assistance, but sometimes you need to buy some clothes. Sometimes you need to buy some shoes, sometimes you need to buy for food, and you can’t do that by working with the state, with the government. Because […], for example, my mom has an income of 40 CUC a month. Well, it’s true that we have what we call Libreta12 […]. But the truth is that the products are not enough for a month. I mean, sometimes it seems like it’s a joke to see the amount.

Hence, the ensuing reasoning seemed to be widespread among Cubans: “Tourism is the first industry in Cuba, and it is the best way to make money. Not any money, CUC.” (31Hav). However, from the interviewees’ points of view, this should not be interpreted as negative or questionable but merely as a description of the contemporary socioeconomic reality of Cuba. It is striking, however, that the explanations given by those people not directly employed in tourism, or who did not live in a tourism hotspot, often justified their positive attitude towards the sector through relatively vague or generalised argumentations. In other words, those interviewed in rural areas, most of whom had had little or no involvement with tourism, apparently recited the government’s official diction in order to justify their positive attitude toward tourism, without providing a more precise substantiation. For instance, tourism was described as “important for the economy of the country” (48UdR), as “good income for the country”13 (41UdR) or through a facile equation: “Very good, very good. The more tourists, the more economy”14 (42UdR). Only 45UdR specified this notion somewhat: “It [tourism] benefits us, since we obtain foreign currency, I don’t know, that Cuba needs so much.”15. However, the overall attitude towards tourism was highly positive, even in rural areas.

Libreta is a coupon booklet that guarantees all Cubans a fixed quantity of essential foodstuffs at extremely low prices every month. The food can be obtained from state-run shops known as bodegas. The Libreta’s basic provision is regarded as one of the Conquistas of the Revolution (Hoffmann 2009a:92). 13  Original: “Un buen ingreso para el país.” 14  Original: “Muy bueno, muy bueno. Mientras más turistas, más economía.” 15  Original: “Nos beneficia porque obtenemos las divisas, no sé, que Cuba necesita tanto.” 12  The

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

All in all, the predominantly positive attitude to international tourism was mainly due to the economic opportunities it offers. At the same time, it was often described as indispensable, especially since salaries in the public sector were considered insufficient. Consequently, many people in the touristic hotspots strived to engage in tourism. People in peripheral rural areas, in contrast, seemed to have only an opaque understanding of what it means for Cuba, albeit they were generally positive about it. 7.1.2. Reasons for Negative Attitudes towards Tourism

The perceptions and evaluations of tourism and its consequences for Cuba’s society and its economy were not exclusively positive, however. A wide range of concerns and criticisms were expressed in the interviews, albeit in significantly reduced numbers compared to the positive opinions. In the interviews conducted, it was common for an interviewee to first praise tourism in detail and to stress its necessity, but then to express sometimes harsh disapproval of it and its consequences. Sometimes, this critique remained relatively unspecific and broad, for example when it came to “ugly things we have to deal with”16 (40UdR). In other cases, shortcomings associated with tourism were only hinted at and not further specified, for example as 49Mat stated, “all that [tourism] touched me, and I think it hurt the Cubans a lot”.17 In many situations, however, the reasons for discontent with tourism and its effects were explicitly addressed. Thus, some interviewees complained about what they saw as unfair distribution of tourism profits. Accordingly, 25Mat thinks that “this money is distributed among [just a] few. Especially members of the government, who become bigger and bigger profit from tourism”, while ordinary citizens have been omitted. 11SdC also voiced criticism directed at the Cuban government. In his view, “this quantity of money should be balanced and shared by equal with the people, with the normal people who are working and supporting the economy, but unfortunately they [the government] are just not doing this”. Interestingly, these and similar accusations concerning unequal access to the profits from tourism were raised solely by people who were not employed in tourism or who were excluded from the possibility of economically benefiting from it directly. A series of negative connotations was associated with the unequal treatment of tourists and local Cubans when accessing services related to tourism – to the disadvantage of the latter. Thus, 7Hav lamented that he could not buy pork, beef or seafood, because these items were “only for the tourists, not for the population”. Inequality and unequal

16  Original: “[…] cosas feas con las que tenemos que lidiar.” 17  Original: “[…] todo eso me marcó y pienso que dañó mucho a los cubanos.”

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treatment were usually attributed to the different financial resources of foreign tourists and Cubans. As a result, “it is impossible for Cubans to travel in their own country” (46UdR). As an indication of how Cubans were discriminated against in relation to tourists, there was a multitude of further references made by the interviewees. These will be dealt with in more detail in subchapter 7.4.2; however, it should be mentioned here that, once again, those excluded from tourism, and among them especially the inhabitants of peripheral rural areas, emphasised this point particularly strongly. In addition, the overall negative influence of tourism on Cuban society itself was mentioned repeatedly. For example, 40UdR perceived this as “kind of sad. I think tourists can change our society, but sometimes change is not for good.” Since these negative impacts were mentioned explicitly in many interviews, the relationship between tourism and society is addressed specifically in Chapters 7.4 and 7.7.16SdC also addressed the changes tourism entails for Cuban society: People want change, development and something. And it seems that the tourism gives that or helps in that development. And it really does, because it is a lot of money to the country. But it doesn’t match with the socialist idea and the communist idea.

This quote is interesting in two respects: on the one hand, it summarises well the ambiguity of many Cubans’ attitudes to tourism. On the other hand, the contradictions between international tourism and the socialist ideal, which in her opinion exist, address a problem that seems to concern other Cubans as well. According to these participants, at least in some respects, it was hard to bring tourism in line with the ideals of the Revolution. For this reason, 35Hav urged that Cuba must “try not to lose that idea with which this Revolution was made”.18 The interplay between tourism and the Revolution will also be dealt with in more detail in Chapter 8.3. At this point, it should be noted that some Cubans appeared to be worried about its significance vis-à-vis the increasing importance of tourism. Another reason for negative remarks about tourism in Cuba was the partial perception of it as reacquainting people with colonial practices and ascriptions of Cuban inferiority. 50Mat stated very straightforwardly that tourism, for some parts of society, is “almost like slavery”.19 In the further course of the interview, he described people working in tourism as being “enslaved”20 (50Mat) as a result of their occupation. However, it was not just tourism as such that was ascribed a neo-colonial character by some of the interviewees: some tourists were also accused of visiting Cuba with a colonialist mentality. This was described very explicitly by 33Hav, who made several direct references to the stance of some tourists, which he regarded as neo-colonialist. Among other things, he worked as a tour guide in Habana Vieja and, in his own words, was a 18  Original: “Tratando que no se pierda esa idea con que se hizo esta Revolución.” 19  Original: “[…] para otro sector es casi que una esclavitud.” 20  Original: “[…] se esclavizan ahí.”

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

passionate revolutionary. He described how he was often confronted with guests with a colonialist mindset and who tried to give him or Cuba allegedly ‘smart’ advice. There are people that believe that they know more than enough or more about your country than you. Those kinds of people complain about your country and believe that they come from a colonial perspective to change your country. That happens a lot. […] Like an order. ‘You should do this.’ Just, hey, man, do I go to your house to command you to do anything?

Only on a very few occasions would complaints about or criticisms of international tourists be voiced that went beyond accusations of a neo-colonial stance. In one of these rare cases, 28Hav made a sweeping comment about many tourists not getting to see Cuban reality at all. In his opinion, most guests stay in closed-off resorts, booked one or two city tours and only saw those parts of Cuba that were sanitised enough for organised tours. He believed this created a false, positively biased image of Cuba. The three negative consequences of tourism mentioned so far are the ones most frequently mentioned: 1) unequal distribution of economic profits, 2) unequal treatment of tourists and Cubans, which may extend to 3) the establishment of neo-colonial hierarchies. Besides these points, there were several other negative effects of tourism in Cuba. These were, however, addressed by far fewer interview partners  – albeit sometimes with great fervour. For example, the comparative economic attractiveness of tourism in relation to public service was blamed for a brain drain from the societally important sectors of healthcare, education and supply. 11SdC viewed this with a very critical eye, stating: Because nowadays, professionals are giving up on working for the government, because there is no meaning economically. What are they doing? They start a private job like a restaurant or simply drive their car, a taxi or work in their own restaurant. Why? Because at least quickly they have a soft income to manage in Convertible21.

By developing tourism further, in the eyes of 11SdC, the government was: killing the future expectations for the young people. They want to be a doctor and they want to become a professor, but they [young people] say, ‘How can I live?!’ It’s better to quick go to a technical school, become a waiter or at least going to a private restaurant to work or driving a car.

According to a number of interview partners, growing international tourism was accompanied by a decay of mores. 10SdC even argued that these phenomena only arrived in Cuba through tourism: “In the past, tourism helped Cuba to get through the econom-

21  Peso Convertible (CUC)

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ic crisis in the 1990s, but [it] also had some negative effects. It brought corruption, prostitution and drugs to Cuba.” Apparently, however, the occurrence of corruption did not seem to bother some interviewees too much. For instance, 36Hav shrugged it off as an annoying – but at the same time unavoidable – side effect of tourism, noting that “when it comes to tourism or economic activities, or something like that, which gives you not a lot of money but a little bit more of money, there is always, like, a little bit of corruption”. Another critique of international tourism, which was mentioned relatively rarely but was nevertheless interesting, was the alleged misallocation of investment capital by the Cuban state since the 1990s. In the view of 38Hav, the money that was spent on developing the tourist infrastructure in Varadero should have been used to restructure and modernise the nation’s sugar industry instead. Thus, these resources could have served rural development instead of promoting a mono-structured, spatially highly concentrated tourism that benefits only a few. During the interview with 44UdR, she shared a very personal memory by way of criticising the state’s investment policy. This policy was – in her eyes – too strongly focused on tourism, causing the Cuban health system and, ultimately, the population to suffer particularly as a result: My mom was killed in the hospital. When do they ever take care of you well in the hospital? When you go to intensive care, which seems like you already know you’re going to die. […] So, I say, where are the results of tourism? You see in the news that everything is for tourism, for tourism, for tourism, and you don’t see the results of that. At least in these villages [like Unión de Reyes], you don’t see the results of anything.22

The current state of the Conquistas – the welfare achievements of the Revolution – and their prospects concern many Cubans. Therefore, the interviewees’ opinions on them will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 7.6.5. 7.1.3. Touristification of Cuban Cities

Walking through Habana Vieja and along the Paseo de Martí nearby the edge of Centro Habana, construction noise can be heard almost incessantly. Many parts of Havana’s historic district are crammed with cranes and scaffolding, as hotels are being built, and facades of CUC restaurants are being renovated or casas particulares are being reconditioned. A similar scene – albeit on a smaller scale – can be seen in some of Cuba’s other tourist centres, such as Trinidad, Santiago de Cuba and ambitious soon-to-be destinations like central Matanzas. 22  Original: “A mi mamá me la mataron en el hospital. ¿Cuándo te atienden bien en el hospital? Cuando tú

llegas ya a terapia intensiva, que parecen que ya sabes que te vas a morir. […] Entonces yo digo, ¿dónde están los resultados del turismo? Que ves en los noticieros que todo es para el turismo, para el turismo, para el turismo, y tú no ves los resultados de eso. Por lo menos en estos poblados, tú no ves los resultados de nada.”

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

Many interviewees recognised the spatial implications of tourism in Cuban cities and commented on them, occasionally extensively. In this regard, 35Hav attributed a leading role to international investors. In his opinion, “they are investing a lot in tourism in Cuba. A lot, a lot, a lot. To tell you, they are currently building 30 hotels in Havana alone.”23 At the same time, he remarked on the alarming effects of this increasing touristification, such as the fact that “they [highly touristified areas] are becoming exclusive money zones”.24 In general, almost all of the interviewees were sceptical about the touristification of predominantly urban areas. For example, 32Hav noted that many “old towns […] are being restored right now just for las turistas”. Especially in Habana Vieja, many interviewees worried about public urban spaces being reshaped by tourism. For 4Hav, the historical centre of Havana already had the character of a museum: “The place is like big museum. When you close the museum, there’s nobody inside. It’s the same [with Habana Vieja].” He was also quite critical of the growing influence of foreign investors, explaining that he “speak[s] with a lot [of] Americans, for example, who are telling [him], ‘You need to careful, because it’s possible, in the future, that in every corner, you have McDonald’s’.” However, when these tendencies of touristification were contrasted with the economic necessities of the Cuban state and population, the financial prospects of urban tourism dominated the assessments of many. 35Hav, for example, expressed these contradictions well, noting “it is complicated, because I am critical of that; I don’t like it, but there is no other option.”25 Similar trends were observed in other cities as well. Accordingly, 11SdC felt that Santiago de Cuba “ha[d] become very touristic”. In Trinidad, too, 20Tri was witnessing strong growth in tourist offerings: “We can see more restaurants now. For example, there is a street now, [Calle] Rosario. If you go there, you will see a lot of commercials, galleries, restaurants, massage services and all of that.” However, unlike many others, 20Tri, who had recently opened a casa particular, did not regard this as exclusively negative. Rather, he drew parallels to him starting out in tourism and recognised the opportunity this might provide for his fellow Cubans, too: “And all of that gives the opportunity for people to have money for repairing houses and all you need for life” (20Tri). Often, however, concerns about the touristic transformation of cities predominated. For instance, 35Hav prophesied that “Havana is going to change a lot. A lot of tourism, and it’s going to be a little complicated. I am a little afraid, because Havana is not going

23  Original: “[…] están invirtiendo mucho en el turismo en Cuba. Mucho, mucho, mucho. Para decirte,

ahora se están construyendo en la Habana solamente 30 hoteles.” 24  Original: “[…] se están convirtiendo zonas exclusivas de dinero.” 25  Original: “[…] es complicado, porque yo soy crítico de eso, no me gusta, pero no hay otra opción.”

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to be the Havana of the people anymore, it is going to be the city of the tourists.”26 This development can already be observed in some areas today, such as when Cubans complain that “the prices go up” (16SdC) and that some areas tend to be subject to crowding or overtourism. Even though the latter two terms were never explicitly mentioned, some of the interviewees’ statements suggest the perception that there was too much tourism. It appears that restored colonial city centres in Western Cuba were primarily affected by this issue. 19Tri observed that in Trinidad, for example, there were “many tourists here. More tourists than Cubans.” The same seemed to apply to Habana Vieja. Thus 5Hav, who was a tour guide in Havana, considered that the problem in the historic centre is this: it’s too much [tourism]. That’s the problem, I think. So, so, so many places, so many bars everywhere. […] So, if I want to go out with my girlfriend or some friends, I don’t visit the historic centre, because [there are] too many people.27

Only in one interview was the touristification of some Cuban cities interpreted in a different way. For 9Hav, the “historical centre [of Havana] is not a museum, but a vivid place”. During the interviews conducted in Unión de Reyes and Matanzas, the spatial effects of tourism in Cuba were only rarely addressed by the interviewees. Only 41UdR, who had family links to Matanzas, mentioned the slowly emerging touristification there. In this regard, she complained that the Velasco cinema in Matanzas had long been unsuitable for screenings: The Velasco cinema could not run a film because it did not have the necessary requirements, but they [the government] did nothing. Why? Well, if the tourists were going there, they would have fixed it for the tourists. And now they have repaired the other [hotel], the Louvre, which they have prepared for the tourists. They want to transform Matanzas into a tourist area.28

Like other, mostly negative, repercussions of tourism, the increasing touristification of urban space was indeed perceived and criticised by many Cubans in the affected cities. In their synopses, however, the opportunities for earning money and the prospects of obtaining foreign currency seemed to outweigh the negative aspects. It was noticeable

26  Original: “[…] la Habana va a cambiar mucho. Mucho turismo, y va a ser un poco complicado. Yo tengo

un poco de miedo, porque la Habana ya no va a ser de los habaneros, va a ser el de los turistas.” 27  Original: “Das Problem in der Altstadt ist das: es ist zu viel. Das ist das Problem, das ich finde. Also, so, so viele Orte, also überall so viele Bars. […] Wenn ich alleine also mit meiner Freundin oder Freunde ausgehen will, also sozusagen, besuche ich nicht die Altstadt, weil [dort sind] zu viele Leute.” 28  Original: “[…] el cine Velasco no pudieron poner la película porque no tenía las condiciones necesarias, pero no hicieron nada. ¿Por qué? Porque si los turistas fueran a ir seguro que sí lo arreglaban para los turistas. Y arreglaron ahora el otro, el Louvre, que lo arreglaron para los turistas, quieren transformar Matanzas en una zona turística.”

Ambivalent Evaluations of International Tourism in Cuba

here, too, that the inhabitants of rural areas rarely comprehended the effects of tourism in related hotspots, and accordingly they only sporadically developed an opinion in this regard. 7.1.4. Concluding Remarks on International Tourism in Cuba

At the end of this subchapter, attention should be drawn to a remarkable phenomenon in the interviews. Although international tourism was criticised in many ways by numerous interviewees, its negative effects were almost exclusively related to the entire Cuban society. Only rarely, in contrast, was tourism presented as negative or harmful to the interviewee him-/herself. One possible explanation could lie in the fact that many interviewees wanted to emphasise the presumed opportunities and positive influences of tourism more strongly when looking at themselves. Negative effects, on the contrary, were not related to themselves but to ‘the others’. In addition, it must be pointed out that many, but not all, interview partners had a firm opinion of tourism in Cuba. In the interviews, the latter exclusively applied to people living in rural areas and who had little or no contact with tourism. Some of these people merely had a vague idea of the dimensions, structures and processes of international tourism and its impact on the economy and society. For example, an older woman, 39UdR, would often visit Varadero when she was a child and a teenager, but when asked about the current situation regarding tourism, she answered: “Now I don’t know, because I don’t know how it is anymore.”29 Other interview partners from Unión de Reyes expressed similar sentiments. For instance, 49UdR felt that “with a broader perspective, I might be able to embrace the effects [of tourism] on the economy, but from here [Unión de Reyes], the effects are not visible”. Similarly, 48UdR argued that “tourism is not part of everyday life”. Likewise, 44UdR “cannot say […] very much about tourism”30 but provided a reason for this later: “I don’t know [much about tourism]. I tell you what worries me most in this country is the problem of healthcare.”31 Difficulties in the health sector affected 44UdR in particular, as she was a diabetic and sometimes had problems obtaining insulin. It is crucial to note that this pattern of explanations also seemed to apply to other people living in peripheral areas: these people often had too many other problems to give any considerable thought to tourism and its consequences for Cuba. Debates about the societal implications of tourism were therefore often seen as a problem unique to tourist centres – and certainly not worth bothering about in rural regions.

29  Original: “Ahora no sé, porque ya no sé cómo es.” 30  Original: “Yo no te puedo decir mucho sobre turismo.” 31  Original: “No sé. Ya te digo yo que lo que más me preocupa a mí en el país es el problema de la salud.”

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Although this notion was suggested in many interviews, it has never been formulated directly. Occasionally, however, the positive economic effects of tourism were perceived beyond its hotspots, for instance in terms of rising incomes in the immediate vicinity of Varadero. Thus, 42UdR noted that “the income of people in Matanzas has risen since the development of tourism in Varadero”. Summarising (and simplifying), the perceptions of international tourism in Cuba can be described thus. The interview partners perceived the ambiguous effects of tourism, with positive attitudes predominating. This often stemmed from individual economic opportunities associated with tourism. Negative effects were also recognised, albeit in a somewhat reduced quantity and usually with reference to society as a whole. In rural areas, rather rudimentary notions of tourism and its effects prevailed. Overall, however, the mostly positive stance toward tourism was closely tied to the prospect of participating in it, usually in the form of monetary income. 7.2.

Cuentapropismo and its Assessment

For Cubans, economic participation in international tourism often occurs through Trabajo por cuenta propia – or Cuentapropismo – which means private or self-employment. Among those engaged in tourism, a distinction must be made between Cuentapropistas and employees of the Cuban state. For Cubans who work for state-owned tourism agencies, higher than average incomes can almost exclusively be achieved by receiving tips from tourists. The statement made by 36Hav must also be understood in this context: “Sometimes, I feel like a lot of tourist guides are working for the tips and not because of the job.” In contrast to this, Cuentapropistas can earn relatively high incomes via their private employment (in tourism). Hence, 5Hav estimated that “certainly, 40 per cent of private entrepreneurs here in Cuba have something to do with tourism”.32 Therefore, Cuentapropistas engaged in tourism represent a substantial portion of the population. It will become evident in the further course that the coexistence of a private economy and a centralised state economy leads to major ruptures, contradictions and distortions in Cuban society and the economy. This is further complicated because private and public businesses and services compete in some areas. For instance, casas particulares and state hotel chains compete for guests, while paladares and state restaurants compete for hungry visitors. Additionally, there is competition among privately-run

32  Original: “[…] sicherlich 40 Prozent der Privatunternehmer hier in Kuba haben etwas mit Tourismus

zu tun.”

Cuentapropismo and its Assessment

businesses as well – if only for the amount of people pushing into this sector, as 32Hav remarked: In Cuba, it’s very difficult to earn money. I mean, in a way, it’s easy to earn money and on the other hand, it’s very hard to earn money, because after the opening of this new economy [and legalising Cuentapropismo], in tourism, we have so many freelancers, so many private workers.

Given the pivotal importance of Cuentapropismo for the livelihoods of many Cubans, this chapter focuses on the perceptions and assessments of the interview partners on the subject. For many, the introduction of private business activities (still) is an emotive subject, and it therefore concerns them a lot. Many Cuentapropistas, as well as public sector employees, addressed private employment and entrepreneurship early in the interviews, without being stimulated to do so by the interviewer. The initial legalisation of private businesses during the Período Especial is often considered the only alternative for the revolutionary system. As 32Hav emphasised, “our government was forced to do that”. 34Hav also noted that the private sector in Cuba has been liberalised extensively by local standards in recent years. He illustrated this with “a lot of things. A lot of different categories in business, you could never do that 12 years ago, like open that [private business]. And it’s a step towards economic development.” The last sentence of this quote especially illustrates what many Cubans in general and Cuentapropistas in particular associate with the possibilities of Trabajo por cuenta propia: first and foremost, economic progress. Virtually all of the interviewees expected the private sector in Cuba to expand in the near future. 33Hav predicted that there “will be more private business, I bet. More private businesses and more ways to rise or set up your own business.” Referring to the temporary suspension of issuing licences for private businesses in the summer of 2017, 23Hav foresaw the inevitable prospective expansion of Cuentapropismo in Cuba, too. Being a self-employed tour guide in Havana, these were his thoughts: I do not think [that] it is possible to stop the private business, and it is not good [to stop issuing licences]. Private businesses have proven to be very important and very useful for the Cuban people and the Cuban economy. I do not think they [the government] will just stop it. I think it will continue, after this pause. 7.2.1. Reasons for Positive Views on Cuban Cuentapropismo

As indicated, many Cubans are open-minded towards Cuentapropismo and welcome it. Therefore, this positive stance and its roots are examined closer in this subchapter. The reasons for the positive reception of Cuentapropismo are largely, but not entirely, congruent with explanations for the positive reception of international tourism. Two arguments particularly stand out. First, the prospect of raising one’s income seems to

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be of outstanding importance. Second, contributions made to the national economy and to the state budget through taxes and fees are also applauded often – one interviewee even referred to “a new life in Cuba” (32Hav). It is not surprising that many Cuentapropistas talked favourably about their prospects of earning higher incomes. For instance, 33Hav, a tour guide from Havana thought that “the chances to make your own opportunity, to make your own business, and to increase your economy [are] good”. Likewise, 5Hav based his positive attitude towards the private sector in Cuba on economic prospects: “In this case, I think it [Cuentapropismo] is good, because people earn more.”33 The income of Cuentapropistas also impresses people not engaged in private business, for example 36Hav: “In private business here in Cuba, people have a really, really high income, for example in cooperativas de construcion. At the end of the year, they have what we call a prima [bonus]. And it can be [up] to like, 8,000 CUC.” Many of the interviewed Cuentapropistas also indicated that they (would) use their comparatively high income mostly “to consume” (17SdC), which often means catch-up consumption. As a reference, against which ‘better’ or ‘higher’ income can be assessed, many interviewees referred to salaries in the public sector. In this sense, 25Mat, who used to be a fisherman but had retired and did not pursue any private economic activity, recognises that “until now, private businesses were a great opportunity to earn more or additional money compared to being employed by the state”. The positive assessment of the private economy seemed to predominate not only in the cities, but also in the Cuban countryside. As an example, 45UdR ran a small private shop in her living room. And although she was “constantly fighting to sell. […] Because that is what [her] income depends on”,34 she appeared to be thankful to have this source of income. She explained this as follows: “First of all, as Cuentapropistas, we [self-employed Cubans] are better off, we earn more, […] it’s better.”35 In the urban centres, however, there seemed to be more private businesses – and more possibilities for them. Thus, 45UdR complained for a fleeting moment about the unequal preconditions for private engagement on the periphery, compared to major Cuban cities. Contrasting her opportunities in Unión de Reyes with those in Havana, she observed that in Havana “the prices are different. That’s why in Havana, wherever you go, almost everyone has a business.”36 As a result, she saw rural areas as being constrained in their development through private business involvement, compared to urban agglomerations. Yet, the economic benefits of Cuentapropismo were often not only related to the individual situation, but projected to the whole of Cuba. Many interview partners, such

33  Original: “In dem Fall finde ich es gut, weil die Leute mehr verdienen.“ 34  Original: “Luchando siempre por vender. […] Sí porque de ahí depende la manutención de uno.” 35  Original: “[…] en primera, como cuentapropista, salimos mejores, se gana más, […] es mejor.” 36  Original: “[…] son precios diferentes. Por eso en La Habana donde quiera tú ves, casi todas las perso-

nas tienen negocio.”

Cuentapropismo and its Assessment

as 36Hav, thought that private business “is pretty good. And it’s a good way of developing the economy in Cuba.” Similarly, for 34Hav, the introduction of private economic elements brought overall improvements to the Cuban economic system. Himself employed in a private business, he hinted at potential contradictions and causes of friction between Cuentapropismo and the socialist state ideology, which will be examined more closely in Chapter 7.3. He believed that Cuentapropismo “is our first step towards economic development. The opening of the market, which is something that is really complicated in socialism because everything is centralised, you know? This will keep going. More licences are being opened” (34Hav). Already at this point, though, a key narrative of the supporters of Cuentapropismo should be outlined. Some of them argued for the need for a private sector in Cuba, claiming that the country’s macroeconomic advancement was only possible through economic growth generated in this sector. 33Hav expressed this point immediately when he postulated “To share the wealth, you need to make it. If you don’t allow the private owners to develop their own economy, you won’t have enough money to share.” 41UdR seemed to agree with this opinion, though she expressed it slightly differently: What I think is that the state at one point said ‘See you later’ to the whole thing and then realised that there are some things that it cannot handle all of them, and so it’s up to a private business to do them.37

It should be noted here that this was the first blending of subliminal criticism of the Cuban state with praise for the private economy. This subject will reappear in further sections. However, the predominantly positive remarks on the significance of Cuentapropismo for the Cuban economy prevailed over virtually all places and social elements. Even in rural regions, interviewees noted that “private jobs are good, [as they] give more life to the region, to society and the whole country” (47UdR). The approval for Trabajo por cuenta propia also seemed to be independent of the interview partners’ age. For instance, 39UdR, who was born in 1935, stated: “I appreciate that there are private enterprises.”38 However, there seemed to be at least one precondition for the approval of private businesses. Especially those who did not, or could not, work as Cuentapropistas, expected that the money earned by private businesses would be redistributed within Cuban society. 18Tri explained this point by using the example of a fictional casa particular: If you [i. e. the owner of a casa particular] do it that way, it is good. It brings money to a lot of people, like the one who takes out the food garbage, the one who cleans the houses,

37  Original:

“Lo que yo pienso es que el estado dijo en un momento que ‘hasta luego’ a todo y después se dio cuenta de que hay cosas que no puede abarcarlas todas, y a ventura así a que un particular las haga.” 38  Original: “Yo veo bien que haya particulares.”

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the one who does the laundry and the one who serves the food. So, they all get paid the same money. If you do it that way, I am good with that. You can make as much as you want.

32Hav concurrently associated private businesses with increased revenues the Cuban state could derive from Cuentapropismo. He explained that “when you work for private business, for a cafeteria, you know, or in a casa particular, as an employee, as a worker, you can earn more, okay? So, in fact, our tourism has been good for many of us. For many of us individually and for the government.” This latter point was also raised by other interviewees, i. e. revenues for the state generated in the private sector. According to 45UdR, “in the end, that money goes to the state”.39 33Hav referred in this context to a topic that had already been briefly mentioned, namely that Cuentapropismo dealt with tasks the state could not handle (anymore). However, compared to 41UdR (see quote on the previous page), he connoted this in a much more positive way, stating “private businesses appeared as a chance that is a complementary sector of the Cuban economy, you can’t manage everything. It’s complementary. I mean, the Cuban government can’t manage everything.” In his view, Cuentapropistas thus take pressure off the Cuban state. Even if this was essentially an individual opinion, some interviewees recognised the revenues from taxes and fees that were transferred from the private sector to the Treasury. It was remarkable that taxes and financial duties from Cuentapropismo were perceived as high by nearly all interview partners, regardless of whether they were employed privately or by the state. 49Mat, for instance, explained that “they have to pay super-high taxes”.40 31Hav agrees – albeit he recognised this as entirely positive proposition for the state: In tourism, people make money but also their taxes are very high. We have private works and government works. In the private works, the government continue controlling everything with taxes. They give us very high taxes. So, in a way, it’s good for the government.

4Hav even considered tax revenues as money bestowed on the state as kind of gift: “The government takes the money for free.” He did not convey this in a negative way but rather with admiration: Raúl Castro is very intelligent. Because he’s saying, ‘Oh, I give you licences for a few businesses, private businesses, a little business. If you give me taxes, of course.’ And now it’s easy, it’s part of the business, because he can collect money for no reason now. For free.41

39  Original: “Al final ese dinero va a parar al Estado.” 40  Original: “Y tienen que pagar impuestos súper altísimos.” 41  This quote also indicates how unaccustomed the concepts of a private economy and the taxes associated

with it still seem to be to many Cubans.

Cuentapropismo and its Assessment

All of the interviewees described the fees as necessary and – in principle – reasonable, even though individual Cuentapropistas occasionally grumbled about them. 45UdR, for instance, lamented that “the money goes to the state, not all of it, but in the end it’s ten per cent, it’s the licence, it’s every month; pay this, pay that.”42 To conclude, the majority had a positive attitude toward Cuentapropismo, but another aspect should be mentioned, though it is much less dominant than those described so far. This concerns the experiences the interview partners had themselves as customers. Apparently, the treatment of customers differed substantially, depending upon whether the waiter, gas station attendant, vendor, etc. was employed by the state or privately. When describing these differences, which were exclusively mentioned in interviews conducted at Unión de Reyes, the interview partners sometimes became very emotional, in one case even blaring. In this regard, 44UdR’s initial criticism of the laziness of some state employees developed into a fundamental charge against the entire Cuban system: And who breaks down here at work? The one who sees the outcome of his work. The one who works in an office for 200 pesos does not do anything, but the one who works in Varadero, you can see that he is there at 8:00 o’clock in the morning, because he knows that if he is not there, he will be thrown out. Those who work at the pharmacy do not care if it’s at 8:00 or 8:30, just like the doctors, just like everyone else. What works in this socialist country? That which is interwoven with the capitalist system. That is what works.43

This sentiment was expressed, albeit in less radical forms, in further interviews. The basic conviction was always the same: customers were treated better in privately managed businesses, since both salaries and turnover depend on it. 41UdR explained this point through the example of waiters in a cafetería: […] if we were waiters, but one was from a private business and the other was from a staterun business, and you see that there are some who think, ‘I will treat people here as I wish, because I know that my salary is mine,’ while the other says, ‘No, because I can lose this salary and it is better for me to sell more or sell better to the people’.44

42  Original: “El dinero va para el Estado, no todo, pero al final es el diez por ciento, es la licencia, es-, todos

los meses, paga esto, paga lo otro.” 43  Original: “¿Y quién se revienta aquí trabajando? El que ve los resultados de su trabajo. El que va a una oficina a 200 pesos no hace nada, pero el que trabaja en Varadero sí que tú lo ves que está a las 8:00 de la mañana en punto porque sabe que si no está le botan. El que trabaja en la farmacia lo mismo le da a las 8:00 que a las 8:30, igual que los médicos, igual que todos. ¿Qué es lo que funciona en este país socialista? Que esté integrado con el sistema capitalista. Es lo que funciona.” 44  Original: “Porque entonces, si somos camareros, pero uno es de un negocio privado y el otro es de la estatal, y ves que incluso hay gente que piensa ‘voy a tratar aquí a la gente como quiera, porque total sé que el salario mío es mío’ mientras que la otra dice ‘no, porque puedo perder este salario y me conviene vender más o vender mejor a la gente’.”

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In the end, 44UdR shared her assumptions about why Cuentapropistas treat their customers better: “They have their money, their stability, and they are happy and doing their job with love.”45 Altogether, it was noteworthy that the positive assessment of the private economy in Cuba was based almost exclusively on financial and economic considerations – in relation to both individuals and the state. That Trabajo por cuenta propia may have further potentially positive effects, such as entrepreneurial freedom or self-fulfilment through one’s career, only played a role for very few interview partners, and this only to a small degree. However, it cannot be expected that with an average monthly income of about US$29 in public service, self-fulfilment would be the ultimate consideration when choosing a profession. 7.2.2. Negative Voices towards Cuentapropismo

Although the positive assessments of Cuentapropismo clearly prevailed among the interviewees, reservations and criticism towards the private sector in Cuba were nevertheless expressed. This subchapter presents the main perspectives and arguments linked to criticism of the private economy in Cuba, usually relating to the consequences of Trabajo por cuenta propia for society. 5Hav stated, for instance, that “this issue with private entrepreneurs and so on, it has changed our society already”.46 Reservations concerning the impact of Cuentapropismo related on the one hand to the brain drain from the public sector to the private economy, and on the other hand to inequalities in society that were perceived as increasing. In some interviews, for instance, it was pointed out that there were vacancies in some state institutions, simply because they were financially unattractive: “There are jobs that are for the state, that are for state enterprises, that people do not want, because they earn little money”47 (39UdR). Furthermore, one or another state employee was frustrated over the relatively high earnings possible in the private sector. In this context, 16SdC expressed herself. She studied French in Havana and subsequently lectured at the University of Santiago de Cuba but gave up her academic career due to the low salary. She ended up as a souvenir saleswoman for a state tourism agency and was receiving a higher salary than at the university. However, her income was still significantly lower than the earnings of many Cuentapropistas. She accompanied her explanation with a resigned shrug:

45  Original: “Tienen su dinero, su estabilidad, y es feliz y está haciendo su trabajo con amor.” 46  Original: “Und dieses Thema mit Privatunternehmern und so weiter, das hat schon unsere Gesellschaft

geändert.” 47  Original: “Hay puestos que están en el estado, que son para empresas estatales, que la gente no los quiere porque ganan poco dinero.”

Cuentapropismo and its Assessment

And people start to get tired of this. And to see the other people who do nothing, who don’t have studied, on the streets, people who drive motorcycles have more money than me – that I have been studying six years at the University of Havana in a […] scholarship.

This quote also refers to discontent with growing inequality in Cuban society. This issue was raised in further interviews, often with a cautionary overtone. 36Hav compared the capabilities of her own social environment with those of Cuentapropistas. She stated that “they [i. e. Cuentapropistas] can go to the hotels [in Varadero], they can do tours, they can pay for almost everything. So, a regular worker, as my parents or as my friends, they can’t afford that. But people who work in private business, yes, they can.” On a more abstract level, 23Hav described this phenomenon as inequality [that] started rising in the Cuban society. For example, people who got a private business, people who received money from abroad and people who work in tourism, they started getting the highest life level, [compared to] the people who worked for the government and got only paid by the salary of the government.

18Tri also focused on society as a whole in her description of the growing inequality resulting from the expansion of the private sector in Cuba. According to her, the formerly egalitarian Cuban social structure was increasingly transforming into a class society, though this was not intended: […] in Cuba, years before, we used to have, like, a very small lower class, a large middle class and a very small higher class. Now, that high class is growing. Like, you can see that a lot of people in Cuba have a lot of money. So, at some point, that is not what the government planned.

Particularly grim was the verdict of 25Mat, the former fisherman already introduced briefly and living on his small pension. In his eyes, “Cuba is only good for people who run a private business, who are a member of the government or who have relatives abroad and who can receive money from them” (25Mat). Finally, another problem mentioned less frequently is worth specifying: the legal status of some Cuentapropistas and the sometimes-difficult access to licences for Trabajo por cuenta propia. Beyond the granting of licences ceasing temporarily in the summer of 2017, the long and complicated licensing procedures for prospective Cuentapropistas caused discontent among those affected. For instance, 20Tri, who ran a casa particular with one guest room for international tourists, remembered “a lot of paperwork. One year and seven months, with a lawyer!” before being allowed to host guests. Other interviewees complained that there were no private licences for certain activities, but neither it was forbidden to pursue them. As an example, 33Hav mentioned “private tour guides [who] are in an alegal – not illegal – alegal situation. You know what I mean? You know what it is? Alegal situation? It is not legal, and it’s not illegal either.” Consequently, “there’s a lot of private travel agencies that are not legalised offi-

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cially. They don’t declare their earnings” (33Hav), which he perceived as “bad”. Illegal activities of some Cuentapropistas were also addressed by 32Hav, who lived in the municipality of Marianao in Havana. He explained that “our government doesn’t permit to have shops, you know. All shops in Cuba belong to the government, and you can see in some places, not here, but in my municipality, you can see people in their houses selling clothes, but illegally.” However, in general, non-licensed or illegal Cuentapropistas did not bother the majority of interviewees. Rather, the attempt of their fellow Cubans to improve their respective financial situation was often respected. To conclude the criticism of Cuentapropismo, it must be emphasised once again that the overall attitude of almost all of the interviewees was positive towards the private economy. The perceived positive characteristics and consequences of private businesses substantially outweighed their disadvantages – as reflected not only in the quantity of the particular statements, but also in their quality and insistence. Furthermore, there were many calls to open up further business sectors to the private economy. In contrast, none of the interviewees was in favour of the reverse, i. e. pushing back Trabajo por cuenta propia. 7.2.3. Cuentapropismo as a Capitalist Practice?

From the preceding remarks on Cuentapropismo, a certain proximity to capitalist practices can already be concluded. The question regarding to what extent Cubans considered it to represent capitalist elements in an actually socialist and centralist economic system was cautiously addressed in the interviews. Almost all of the interviewees expressed broad and extensive opinions on this matter, thus confirming that it was of great interest to many Cubans. First, it is remarkable that during the interview passages based on Cuentapropismo, many interviewees emphasised the competitive nature of the private economy. This was particularly striking in a dictum by 32Hav, who compared the private economy to a “fight for our lives, you know. It’s like a jungle.” Likewise, 45UdR used martial vocabulary to describe her efforts in Cuentapropismo: “you have to hunt, always be on the hunt”48 and that she was “always fighting to sell”.49 Second, it was intriguing that with almost no exception, the interview partners considered Trabajo por cuenta propia at least partially capitalist. The only exception to this view was the dedicated revolutionary 34Hav, who was engaged in the private economy by managing a casa particular and offering guided tours through Habana Vieja. He was

48  Original: “Hay que cazar, de cacería todo el tiempo.” 49  Original: “Luchando siempre por vender.”

Cuentapropismo and its Assessment

aware that “people say it [Cuentapropismo] is a step towards capitalism, but that is wrong. It’s just our way, it’s called Cuentapropismo.” Apart from this singular opinion, all interviewees were convinced that Cuentapropismo was based on capitalist logic. Hence 32Hav, for instance, described it as “a mini-capitalistic system in Cuba in a big socialistic system”. In the same way, 13SdC thought that “Cuba right now has capitalist ideas [and that] this particular job [i. e. Cuentapropismo] is for capitalism”. The third and final example on this point was 36Hav, who also recognised the capitalist character of Cuentapropismo. She simultaneously revealed how many Cubans apparently assess these capitalist elements: It [Cuentapropismo] is kind of capitalism, but I personally feel, like, it’s good. Because, I mean, they [Cuentapropistas] earn a lot of money, they have, like, a lot of money, but they work hard. They work like even in holidays […]. They stay, like, for hours at the jobs, and they do it great. So, […] that’s very good for the development. Because when you earn that amount of money, you feel motivated to work – and to work better.

For the interviewees, the introduction of a non-capitalist private sector was and would have been impossible in Cuba – and this is indeed difficult to imagine, mostly perhaps due to the experiments with voluntarism that had already failed in the 1960s and 1970s. Accordingly, almost all of the interview partners did not assume that the introduction of the private sector would have been possible while preventing the entry of capitalist elements. Hence, 23Hav explained: “I think that [the influx of capitalist logic] is natural in every private business.” He added: “Well, that was impossible to avoid. When you have a private business and you focus on profits, this is quite natural.” The reasoning behind capitalism being a “natural” part of the private economy was expressed in further interviews. The alleged and often assumed inevitability of capitalist paradigms and practices in Cuba was thus explained and simultaneously legitimised by the interviewees. This allowed them to deal cognitively more effectively with the contradictions existing between capitalism and socialism in Cuba, as the following example suggests. During the interview with 33Hav, the question emerged whether Cuentapropismo, with its capitalist elements, does stand in opposition to Cuban socialism. 33Hav, who generally acknowledged the capitalist character of Trabajo por cuenta propia, responded: “I say again, the private issues, the private businesses are not in contradiction with socialism. That’s wrong.” He continued with a comprehensive explanation, based on Leninist theory, of the nature of wages in socialism and how their level is determined: “And in socialism, there is a principle for anyone who works: […] equal job to equal salary. If you work more, you need to be paid more. I mean, the salary that you earn needs to be equivalent to your work. That’s the real socialist idea.” However, when asked about the significantly higher wages that Cuentapropistas earn in tourism – and thus less useful work in a Marxist-Leninist sense – he acknowledged the contradiction: “You said that it is a contradiction with equality. It’s true. But these kinds of possibil-

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ities [Cuentapropismo] are not made to make equality. The competition is not made to make equality.” The relatively high incomes attainable in Cuentapropismo, and particularly in tourism, thus diametrically oppose the socialist ideal of equal pay for equal work. For most interviewees, however, this was unproblematic or even welcome in some cases – for example, when they were able to draw on it themselves to improve their income. In principle, this agreement was also valid for capitalist practices and paradigms that made their way into Cuban economy and society through Trabajo por cuenta propia, among other things. Consequently, the following section addresses the interviewees’ perceptions and evaluations of the relationship between socialism and capitalism in Cuba, as well as of capitalism itself. 7.3.

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

As the previous section demonstrated, the private sector in Cuba appears to incorporate capitalist characteristics, at least in part. This gives cause to have a closer look at the interviewees’ perceptions and assessments of capitalism in general and its manifestations and consequences in Cuba in particular. These contemplations were contrasted with the accomplishments and travails of Cuban socialism as outlined by the interviewees. A synopsis explores the possibilities for the simultaneity of socialism and capitalism in Cuba and considers the development trajectories of other (former) socialist states. 7.3.1. Capitalism in Cuba: Pros and Cons

To illustrate the importance that capitalism has already acquired for some Cubans instead of socialism, an observation from the house of a self-employed tour guide in Trinidad shall be described in the first instance. In his house, a one-dollar bill was taped over the doorway running from the living room to the kitchen. Occasionally, it was observed in other houses, too, in the form of small iconographies attached above doorways. Mostly these were pictures of Che Guevara or Fidel Castro, or, much less frequently, Jesus Christ or an Orisha.50 When asked about the banknote, the house owner explained that this might seem a bit superstitious, but the bill was supposed to bring money into the house. Asked about other houses, which often had icons of Che, Fidel or religious figures in similar places, the tour guide laughed and replied: “They certainly won’t bring money into the house!”

50  Orishas are gods of the Santería religion. They stem from the various influences of African Yoruba.

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

For virtually all of the interviewees, it was evident that capitalist practices and logic were either already established in Cuba or about to become so. Thus, 13SdC thought that “Cuba right now has capitalist ideas”. Likewise, 19Tri was convinced that “capitalism is coming back again. Everybody is sure. Everybody.” And 32Hav acknowledged that this was “a new [way of] life in Cuba” – albeit he did not sound pleased. In his opinion, for a long time, “Cuba did not want to open [up] to tourists, because of the philosophy […] that they were going to bring. […] Capitalistic system philosophy” (32Hav). This notion of capitalism coming to Cuba primarily through tourism was shared by several other interview partners. Some considered tourism and capitalism to be inseparably linked or conditional upon each other. For 6Hav, “that is the only form of tourism. Tourism belongs to capitalism, not to socialism. I have, I am young, but I have never seen or read about socialist tourism.”51 Yet, here, 6Hav’s assessment was deceptive, as there was indeed a flourishing tourism industry in the USSR and elsewhere in the Eastern Bloc. However, not all of the interview partners agreed with the label ‘capitalism’ relating to some of the new customs in tourism. For instance, 23Hav explained that the significantly higher restaurant prices in tourist hotspots did not result from capitalist considerations but rather from logical reasoning: The people [Cuentapropistas] want to increase the profits of their business. And […] it is quite normal to charge more in a restaurant in old Havana than in a restaurant in another place, where there are not that many tourists. It might look like capitalism, but I think it is more logic, it’s more logic.

That the inherent logic here strives for profit maximisation, and hence has certainly capitalist character, is indeed clear from this quote. However, from the perspective of many interviewees, this was unproblematic, and capitalist tourism in a socialist country was not necessarily contradictory. Rather, they saw opportunities in the introduction of capitalist elements into the Cuban economy. Remarkably, it was often younger interviewees who had a considerably positive attitude towards capitalism. In addition, those who worked in private business – or aspired to do so – often highlighted the potential advantages of capitalism for Cuba. Surprisingly, however, elderly interviewees, some of whom were already retired, and others who worked for the state in non-tourist activities, also frequently praised capitalism and its advantages. These advantages were discussed in the following, before subsequently addressing the disadvantages and pitfalls of capitalism for Cuba addressed in the interviews.

51  Original:

“[…] das ist die einzige Form Tourismus zu machen. Tourismus gehört zu Kapitalismus, nicht zu Sozialismus. Ich habe, ich habe ein kurzes Leben, aber ich habe nie gesehen oder gelesen von sozialistischem Tourismus.”

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Advantages of Capitalism in Cuba The advantage of capitalism most often emphasised in the interviews was the effective stimulation of the economy. One example was 31Hav, who thought that “we need to take ideas from capitalism, because in many ways, they work”. 22Hav shared this view and referred to a “new economic model” that was good for Cuba, since it offered people the opportunity to pursue their own businesses. Asked whether he believed a capitalist system would be better for Cuba, 19Tri simply answered: “Yeah, sure. Very sure.” 33Hav also agreed that capitalism may support Cuba, because “it is made to make more competition, it is made to increase the innovation, to increase technology, to increase the new ways to build an economy”. The aforementioned competitive element of capitalism appeared to be important to many interviewees for the advancement of Cuba’s economic progress. According to 46UdR, “competition is necessary for success. If there is no competition, there is no development”. To substantiate this point, she drew a comparison with the Olympics: there, too, top athletic performance was only possible because the athletes compete with each other. Without competition, such results could not be achieved. In her opinion, the same was true for the economy. During the interview with 39UdR, she also addressed the competition Cubans face among themselves, for instance over higher salaries: “There are those who earn a lot and those who are paid little. He who earns more lives better, and he who earns little should find a better job.”52 Some interviewees stressed the motivating and stimulating effects of capitalism on people working and portrayed this stimulation as important and beneficial. In this sense 4Hav, who sells revolutionary memorabilia and souvenirs, elaborated: You need to give the people some stimulation, for example, of one travel to the beach, to have a reservation for dinner, give a prize in money. And that causes stimulation to the people to sell, or to work. For example, I work here. When the selling is normal, my boss pays me regularly. If the selling is very good, he pays me more. That is the stimulation to improve.

5Hav provided another example of the benefits of economic stimulation in capitalism. He compared paladares and state-run restaurants. According to him, when you visit a restaurant, for example a privately-owned restaurant, you get a very good service, almost always. […] And in state restaurants it is not like that. This is an example. And sometimes I’d like to go to a state restaurant, which is maybe cheaper, but in the end,

52  Original: “Hay quien gana mucho y quien cobrará poco. El que gana más vive mejor, y el que gana poco

pues que se busque un trabajo más bueno.”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

I’m supposed to wait, I don’t know, like 30 minutes or something, and people don’t want to work and stuff.53

5Hav explicitly attributed the better and faster service at the paladar to the fact that those privately employed can simply earn more if their guests are satisfied – a definitively extrinsic motivation. Increased competition and amplified motivation to work were the main advantages most interviewees associated with capitalism. In addition, there were several other benefits, most of which were named singularly and partly stem from the interviewees’ specific socioeconomic backgrounds. Therefore, most of them are not specifically mentioned herein. However, one interesting assessment deserves to be mentioned. 33Hav explained that it was plain necessity for Cuba to align with the capitalist-dominated global economy, especially in a world without a strong socialist bloc: “the Cuban economy has been supported by 85 % by the commercial interchange with the Soviet Union and East[ern] Europe. […] But now it is a more competitive world after that. We need to adapt to that fact.” In his view, Cuba has no option but to subordinate itself to this dominant system, at least in part. 22Hav argued in a similar way. He observed that “people want to get money, to make money. Because, that is a necessity, to survive. It is a great consequence.” In these statements, capitalism was given the status of something inevitable. To conclude the statements on the merits of capitalism, one issue that several interviewees referred to is worth noting: “The bourgeoisie and capitalism have their good things, thanks to that they have made a lot more things work [than socialism]”54 (50Mat). Important in this context is the emphasis on the fact that capitalism also has its good points, which should possibly be incorporated into the Cuban economic system. Nonetheless, the negative sides and disadvantages of capitalism were also pointed out, both by 50Mat and numerous other interview partners. Before these recognised disadvantages are presented, it should be pointed out that the number of statements about the advantages and disadvantages of capitalism were roughly equal. In contrast, among the advantages and disadvantages of socialism, which are described later, the disadvantages specified by the interviewees clearly outnumbered the advantages.

53  Original: “Wenn man ein Restaurant, zum Beispiel ein privat geführtes Restaurant besucht, bekommt

man eine sehr gute Leistung, oder fast immer. […] Und manchmal würde ich gerne ein staatliches Restaurant besuchen, das vielleicht billiger ist, aber am Ende soll ich da warten, ich glaube, ich weiß nicht, 30 Minuten oder so, und die Leute haben keine Lust auf Arbeiten und so.” 54  Original: “[…] la burguesía y capitalismo tienen sus cosas buenas, gracias a eso han funcionado muchas más cosas.”

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Disadvantages of Capitalism in Cuba The positive attitude towards capitalism was not shared by all interviewees, even though they acknowledged its presence in the country. Some of them attributed positive characteristics to capitalism in principle, although Cuba could not necessarily profit from these. 49Mat explained it thus: At the time when tourism arrived, I was a teenager. And our generation suffered a huge impact. Because everything that we had been taught in school, on a social level, everything fell apart. And we began to experiment with capitalism without the benefits of capitalism.55

18Tri likewise pointed out that not all hopes associated with the introduction of private business elements have been met. She elucidated that they [the government] had to introduce some elements of, you know, capitalism, like, for example, all these private businesses. There are some points working as they imagined or as they planned. But in many places, it is not working as they planned.

A particularly fatalistic perspective was communicated by 11SdC, who was deeply disappointed with the introduction of capitalist ideas in Cuba and believed that with capitalism “it is getting worse. You know, even the capitalism side is not a solution” (11SdC). The negative assessments of capitalism made by the interviewees were partly concrete criticisms of existing shortcomings, and partly fears about future developments in Cuba. In contrast to its positive evaluations, concerns about capitalism referred only in a very few instances to its economic effects. Most interviewees assessed the economic performance of capitalism distinctly positively but saw its weaknesses primarily in sociocultural issues. A central topic that is addressed more intensively later, and which is interpreted as a negative consequence of capitalism in Cuba, is the changing behaviour and value system of Cubans. For instance, 36Hav observed how Cubans engaged in tourism fight fiercely over clients and try to oust competitors: “They started to fight each other for that [i. e. clients]. And they tried to put some light to the garbage of the other one. When they do that, that’s wrong.” In her opinion, such behaviour would be unimaginable under socialism – because it would be unnecessary. 2Hav was also convinced that capitalism has changed people in Cuba. Although he is not religious at all, he quoted the Bible (1 Timothy 6:10) in his own words: “The love of money is the root of all sickness” (2Hav). As a third example, 35Hav may be mentioned. Referring to capitalism, he described the purported money fetish of US Americans and clearly distinguished Cu55  Original: “En ese momento en que llegó el turismo, yo era adolescente. Y nuestra generación sufrió un

impacto enorme. Porque todo lo que nos habían enseñado en la escuela. A nivel social, todo se vino abajo. Y empezamos a experimentar el capitalismo sin los beneficios del capitalismo.”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

bans from it: “But, well, it is their [US American] system. Where, in their system, the most important thing is money. In our system, the most important thing is the human being. That is the difference.”56 In connection with changes in behaviour and values in Cuba resulting from capitalism stands also the occasionally mentioned unfair and exploitative treatment of Cubans by their fellow citizens. One example is the buying up of scarce products by individuals who then resell them to their fellow men at a higher price – a practice associated with capitalism by some. 44UdR, for example, reported “soap, you need soap, detergent, these are essential things. Then the hoarder goes and buys everything, and the one who comes later has to make arrangements.”57 Cubans are also exploited in tourism, by both Cuentapropistas and state agencies. Thus, 16SdC, who formerly studied in Havana, commented on agencies that prefer to hire students for guided tours. The reason for this is that, “because, if you are a student, the agency doesn’t have to pay, you only receive the tips” (16SdC). However, this notion was shared only by a few. A concern often expressed in connection with the further spread of capitalism in Cuba was the potential loss of the Conquistas of the Revolution. More precisely, some interviewees feared that as capitalist penetration increases, the excellent and free health and education systems would either lose significantly in terms of quality or would be associated with high costs. 35Hav, the convinced socialist, explained this in a comprehensible manner: It is difficult, because if you develop the economy too much, you lose the Conquistas. And I tell you, I know a way to grow economically in one day, but nothing is for free. And you develop the economy in one day. In one day, everyone has money. But you’re not going to get anything for free. So, they are going to earn more, but they have to pay for their health. So, it’s the same, because in the end what you earn is what you have to pay.58

18Tri argued in a similar way. She talked about her mother, who at that time was seriously ill. However, her mother benefitted greatly from the Cuban health system, without incurring any costs: My mom is sick; it is a serious disease. And she gets medication from the hospital every month and her medication are really, really expensive for the Cuban government. It costs

56  Original: “Pero bueno, es su sistema. Donde en su sistema, lo más importante es el dinero. En nuestro

sistema lo más importante es el ser humano. Es la diferencia.” 57  Original: “Jabón, necesitas jabón, detergente, que son cosas imprescindibles. Va el acaparador y lo compra todo, y el que llega después se tiene que apañar.” 58  Original: “Es difícil, porque si tú desarrollas mucho la economía, pierdes las conquistas. Y á te digo, yo sé una forma de crecer económicamente en un día, nada gratis. Y creces la economía en un día. En un día todo tienen dinero. Pero no van a tener nada gratis. Entonces, van a cobrar más, pero tienen que pagar la salud. Entonces es lo mismo, porque al final lo que ganas es que hay que pagarlo.”

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them, like, 7,000 Convertible Pesos for a package of 12 injections. She [her mother] has multiple sclerosis, which is a really bad disease. And I thank my government every day because of that. My mom has been stable for the last three years, since she got the medication, and she is not paying anything for that. And she has got the best treatment, the best doctors, hospitals, everything […]. And I think with another government or capitalism in Cuba, there [would be] no way to do that.

The notion that Cuba’s revolutionary socialist system, including its Conquistas, is under pressure from capitalism was shared with a good deal of concern by many interviewees. For some, this situation appeared almost hopeless, while others derived from it somewhat vague demands for reforms. Thus, for example, 21Tri urged that “due to capitalism, the government needs to change; otherwise, the Revolution will be lost. It will be very bad if Cuba loses the Revolution.” 11SdC indirectly demanded reforms to the present system as well. He envisioned a smooth transformation of the current, still heavily socialist-dominated economic regime into a capitalist one, but only under two conditions: first, the capital flowing into Cuba must be fairly distributed from the top, because “if the people at the top don’t share it equally, it will be worse for us” (11SdC), while second, the securing of jobs would be a priority. In his view, many jobs in Cuba are overstaffed – as can only be in a socialist economy. A capitalist Cuban economy would thus inevitably lead to higher levels of unemployment and related problems: “It will come money, but will come unemployed, too. And then, when unemployment comes, there will be more corruption and prostitution and even drug rings because people are trying to survive one way or another” (11SdC). Some interviewees stressed that they were already enjoying the most important things in life, which cannot be bought with money. 50Mat, for example, reported on the difficulty he faced in Matanzas when buying cooking oil. He had some “friends who have always been in a good position, because they have family abroad [who send them money] and they also go out to buy oil; in other words, money doesn’t give you everything, money doesn’t give you peace of mind.”59 Using a similar argument, 2Hav argued that “money or property does not make you a happy person. You have the same friends, receive the same messages on an old phone and on an iPhone 7. You have to stick to speed limits, no matter what car you have.” Consequently, in the opinion of these two interlocuters, capitalism would not make Cubans fundamentally happier or improve their lives overall. In summary, the following picture emerged in relation to the attitude of the interviewees toward capitalism. In principle, many Cubans regard capitalism or capitalist elements as desirable. They relate this primarily to improvement in the economic sit59  Original: “Hay amigos que ha tenido siempre una buena posición porque tienen familia en el extranjero

e igual se están fajando para comprar aceite; o sea, el dinero no te lo da todo, el dinero no te da ese estatus de tranquilidad.”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

uation they hope to achieve under capitalism. This is their hope for both themselves individually and for the Cuban economy. However, many interviewees also associate several negative consequences and exacerbation with the expansion of the private sector and capitalism. Among these are the loss of values and undesirable changes in behaviour, as well as the danger of losing the Conquistas. Compared to the perceived advantages and disadvantages of socialism, which are presented in the following, it is remarkable, however, that capitalism in general is assessed much more positively, especially regarding its economic performance. 7.3.2. Socialism in Cuba: Pros and Cons

As with the examination of capitalism, the descriptions of the perceptions of socialism initially present its advantages and then its disadvantages – each from the perspective of the interviewees. Following this comparative assessment, the fundamental percipience of the current state of socialism in Cuba by those interviewed is now presented. Overall, many interviewees were much more critical of socialism than of capitalism. This holds true for both socialism in general and for its Cuban variant. Advantages of Socialism in Cuba The merits of socialism mentioned in the interviews are not surprising at first glance. Regardless of the interviewees’ age, education, place of residence or occupation, they almost without exception praised the social achievements they attributed to Cuban socialism. For many, a key role was given to the most important Conquistas, namely healthcare and education. This was mentioned, for instance, by 15SdC, who explained her pride in Cuba. In this context, she also addressed the internationalist idea in which, among other things, Cuba provided university education to students from several countries in the Global South: First of all, because as Cubans we are all supported by the government. The Cuban government cares about the people. Okay? The Cuban government has just achieved so many things for the Cubans. I mean, in education, in the public health, okay? As internationalist workers as well […]. Also, it has given the opportunity to many other nations that can send people to this place in order to be educated.

In many other interviews, “the social aspect, the right to education, healthcare”60 (50Mat) were addressed, too. The example of 18Tri and her mother suffering from

60  Original: “[…] la parte social, el derecho a educación, salud […]”

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multiple sclerosis, already presented in the section on the disadvantages of capitalism, may be recalled at this point. With respect to free healthcare and education, she asked the rhetorical question, “I mean, what else? What else could you ask for?” (18Tri) and emphasised a little later, “I thank my government every day because of that”. Above all, she stressed the fact that this governmental support is provided free of charge. Additionally, 33Hav addressed how the state takes extensive care of its citizens. With some pride, he noted that this leads to equality among Cubans. “The people already are equal in Cuba. You receive anything from the government, subsidies from the government. People already have equality.” Interestingly, this was the same interview partner who strongly urged the expansion of the private sector in Cuba and wiped away concerns that this might threaten equality in society with the following statement: “this kind of possibilities [i. e. Cuentapropismo] are not made to make equality. The competition is not made to make equality.” Once again, this highlights the contradictions raised by the simultaneity of socialism and capitalism in Cuba – both in society as such and cognitively for the individual. Besides equality, many interviewees considered socialism as a way of ensuring “peace of mind”61 (50Mat) and security. 41UdR specified this point through the example of employment, which is almost guaranteed to her in public companies. After working for the state-owned oil company CUPET for many years, 41UdR transferred to a private cooperative some time ago. However, working conditions there were much more demanding, and protection against dismissal was much weaker, which is why she quickly looked for a job with a state-run company again despite the significantly better pay from her private-sector job. 41UdR explained: At the end of the first year, the contract in the other one [i. e. the state company] is irredeemable. On the other hand, in the Cooperativa, they can tell you right now that you are fired, while in the [state] company it is not like that, there are difficulties to be thrown out. You have to be sanctioned, you are unionised. While the Cooperativa is the one that tells you ‘That’s it’ […] and that’s why I had to change to [names her current employer].62

Her daughter, who also attended the interview, jokingly commented that her mother would prefer a life without hurry, without fear, like a jellyfish drifting in the sea without too many thoughts – and this would only be possible in Cuba. The security that the socialist system provides Cubans was also highlighted by 11SdC as particularly positive. He began his statement on Cuban socialism by also addressing the Conquistas and praising their importance to society. Subsequently, he discussed

61  Original: “[…] ese estatus de tranquilidad […]” 62  Original: “[…] al cabo del año el contrato en la otra es invencible, en cambio en la Cooperativa te pue-

den decir ahora mismo ya has terminado, mientras que en la empresa no es así, existen dificultades para que te voten, que vaya tienes que ser sancionada, estás sindicada. Mientras que la Cooperativa es la que te dice ‘hasta ahí’ y ya, y por eso tuve que saltar a [su empleador actual].”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

security and explained it as follows: “Safety in society is very high, because we are […] not afraid of drugs, of our children going to school and having drugs or something. It’s very restrictive and controlled, so it’s a real benefit of the socialist society.” However, certainly not all interviewees saw the restrictive rigidity of the Revolutionary socialist system and the associated control of the population as positive. All in all, the advantages associated with socialism can be summarised in two key words, namely security and equality, whereby security here means first and foremost social security and welfare. Disadvantages of Socialism in Cuba However, as indicated previously, the socialist system in Cuba was also criticised by many interviewees. In contrast to the assessment of capitalism, disadvantages in this case by far outweighed the advantages, at least in terms of the number of mentions. This criticism was often expressed in a highly specific manner, and only in a few interviews did it take on a fundamental character. An example of the latter is 7Hav, who thought that “communist rule never got anything positive for the people” drawing parallels between Cuba and the former GDR towards the end of the 1980s. A different instance, which impressively reflects the perceived dysfunctionality of socialism by some interview partners, was the following statement made by 34Hav: Socialism was written in theory, 120 to 150 years ago by Karlos Marx and Fredrick Engels. Really smart people, you know, but it was 150 years ago. The world has changed too much. And the change is exponential, you know that. The change in technology, in health, in the economy is exponential, now not only in Cuba, but around the world. What is even more wild. And you cannot just suspect that a system that was conceived and never implemented 150 years ago is going to work exactly like that now. That is a big mistake, that is their [the government’s] big mistake here.

A little later he added, with reference to Marxism, that “it never worked. But history has never actually worked” (34Hav). In both quotes, as well as in some others, the absoluteness of criticism of socialism is striking. Socialism has never worked or helped! Apart from this general criticism, most negative utterances against socialism referred to its economic (dys-)functionality, which was perceived by most interviewees as simply not given. The socialist “economic model just doesn’t work” (1Hav). 1Hav argued that this system is “against human nature”, that “people want to trade” naturally, but that centralist socialism restricts this from happening. Although this somewhat essentialist perspective was singular, many other interviewees argued that a general lack of competition is responsible for the failure of the Cuban economic system to achieve momentum, innovation and progress. Especially Cuentapropistas and people working

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in tourism blamed a lack of motivation and competition for this situation. Many of them believed that fixed, constant and non-performance-related salaries have stifled the motivation and diligence of many Cubans. Thus, 36Hav noted that almost all state employees “have a fixed salary, it doesn’t matter if you work good, if you work bad. If you were absent during a week, it doesn’t matter. If you treat people well or if you mistreated people, you are going to have the same amount of money.” Many other interviewees took the same line. For instance, 28Hav complained that “when you and I work in the same job, and I work six hours more than you, but in the end we both get paid 20 pesos, I would think to myself, ‘Why should I work these extra hours?’”. And a similar question was raised by 31Hav: “To work hard, […] to produce more, for what? My salary is the same salary every month. My salary is low, so there’s no point.” Though state employers certainly try to motivate their employees, this is usually done through idealistic, non-monetary incentives. Similar to the socialist states of the former Eastern Bloc, there are production competitions and awards for particularly outstanding workers – this goes as far as the awarding of the title Héroe del Trabajo de la República de Cuba.63 Even though this is certainly an honourable title that can inspire one or another for their enthusiasm in their work, the effect on Cubans’ overall motivation to work was rated as fairly weak by the interviewees. For instance, 4Hav referred directly to this sort of competition and the lack of motivation it entails: You train all these people, yes, then I’m going to say, ‘We have a competition to show who is the best’. In the end of the competition, you receive a paper [that states]: ‘You are the best.’ The people do this one time, two times […]. But when you don’t give them a real prize, the people, […] they say, like, ‘Come on, I work, like a horse. For one piece of paper?’.

In this context, the state’s extensive coverage of Cubans was occasionally criticised. The basic supply of food through the Libreta, free healthcare and schooling were partly blamed for the fact that people do not care about their employment. For example, 16SdC criticised the husband of a friend, who had purchased a car and now only looked after it. In her opinion, “he cannot be like this in [the] United States, in another country. Just thinking about the car and being with the car and not actually working, or living, living without actually working. He only can do that here in Cuba” (16SdC). Here, parallels to 41UdR, who was referred to as a ‘jellyfish drifting in the sea without too many thoughts’ by her daughter, can be seen. However, the possibility of drifting through life without haste, effort and worry was perceived negatively by 16SdC, while it was rather positively connoted for the daughter of 41UdR. In a similar

63  Translation: “Hero of Labour of the Republic of Cuba”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

vein, 34Hav expressed reservations about the unrestricted equal treatment and care of all Cubans: The socialist idea is strict equality, you know? That is what needs to change. People are not the same. People are not equal. People need equity. You give each one what they need. […] That’s the thing that maybe they [the government] are realising that we need to open that. We need to allow people [to gain] prosperity.

Many other interview partners voiced a desire for the further liberalisation and privatisation of the Cuban economy. In their opinion, this was the only way to increase prosperity nationwide. Especially Cuentapropistas and Cubans working in tourism expressed remarkable, absolute criticism of socialism. They seemed to regard themselves as being restricted in terms of economic development by the socialist system. One example is provided by 16SdC, who thought that they [the government] have to put away a little bit these communist ideas, which are not innovative in any way. Because we need this tourism for the country. Otherwise, from where will come the money for everything here in Cuba?

These quite substantial objections illustrate that the fundamental socialist order in Cuba is being partly questioned by the people. At this point, therefore, a synoptic assessment of the significance of socialism for the interviewees shall be provided. 7.3.3. Current Appraisal of Socialism in Cuba

Enquiries about the significance of socialism for themselves and for Cuba prompted many interviewees to provide extensive explanations and sometimes emotional statements. Based on their attitudes, these can be roughly divided into four groups regarding the stance on Cuban socialism. The four groups are 1) Loyal supporters of Cuban socialism, 2) Semi-convinced Cubans, but demanding reforms, 3) Sceptics and opponents of Cuban socialism and 4) Apolitical. Loyal, almost Unconditional Supporters of Socialism Supporters of socialism believe in its strength and endurance and that “most of the people support the socialism in Cuba” (33Hav). Even considering its apparent economic deficits, interviewees in this group are convinced of socialism and its ideals: “Ideas are preserved and developed so that they do not fall despite economic needs, progress continues to be made. We continue to move forward. We continue […] for

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socialism”64 (14SdC). An essential addition was provided by 15SdC, who highlighted the close connections between socialism and the Cuban Revolution: “We are socialists, and we are Fidelists. Fidelists because we love Fidel, and socialist because we have that … The socialist character [of the Revolution] was declared in 1961, and we have a communist party. That is why.” These faithful socialists provided explanations for Cuba’s economic troubles, which were considered the greatest problem of socialism. In their opinion, economic challenges did not originate from Cuba but were result of the aggressive and destructive policies of the US-led capitalist countries. Thus, 35Hav primarily blamed the US trade embargo for the crisis in Cuba: “The Americans say that socialism doesn’t work, that it’s a disaster. But let me show you why it doesn’t work. Don’t block me. If you block me, it’s because you’re worried that it might work.”65 33Hav was very upset when he spoke of accusations that European tourists occasionally proffered, suggesting Cuba was a socialist dictatorship. For 33Hav, the tameness of the rebellious Cuban nature under socialism was the ultimate proof that the revolutionary regime is not and cannot be a dictatorship: I say to them, ‘Only a simple number. Do you think that if we had 65 years fighting oppression, fighting two dictatorships, do you think that we won’t fight again if we had a dictatorship?’ Why not, man? Why not? Why 55 years of peace later?

Semi-convinced Cubans who, while Acknowledging Socialist Merits, ­ Demand Extensive Reforms Many interviewees assigned to this group did indeed recognise the efforts of the Revolution, but they saw a further, certainly great need for improvements. A splendid example of the simultaneous recognition of achievements and shortcomings of socialism is the following quote by 50Mat: “You may live with little, but with dignity, to have a space to work, to sleep.”66 Moreover, the economic policy reforms of recent decades were mostly acknowledged and applauded by this group. Due to them, “socialism hasn’t disappeared. It [the current state of socialism] is what we call the neo-economic market” (22Hav).

64  Original: “[…] las ideas se mantienen y se trabajan para que no caigan a pesar de las necesidades eco-

nómicas, se sigue avanzando. Continuamente. We continue, I guess, for socialism.” [14SdC was not sure whether she used the correct English word, therefore she said, ‘I guess’.] 65  Original: “Pero yo te digo, los norteamericanos dicen que el socialismo no funciona, que es un desastre. Pero déjame de mostrar que no funciona. No me bloquees. Si tú me bloqueas, es porque te preocupa que pueda funcionar.” 66  Original: “Tú puedes vivir con poco, pero dignamente, tener un espacio para trabajar, para dormir.”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

Nevertheless, this group was open to addressing shortcomings and frankly discussing the need for further reforms. As an example, 23Hav thought if socialism wants to survive, it will have to continue the upgrading of the economic system in Cuba. Many things must be done to fix all the mistakes and all the wrong things we have right now. I have faith that the Cuban people will be able to do what is best for us, the Cuban people.

As this example shows, however, these reforms would need to be carried out within the framework of the socialist Cuban Revolution. A complete overhaul of the system is not envisaged. This positive attitude toward reforms in general, and the introduction of private-sector elements in particular, also becomes evident in a statement by 18Tri, who insisted “we had to create a new economic model, in order to make socialism sustainable in Cuba” (18Tri), thus attributing these reforms with a notion of inescapability. However, it is typical for this group that the restructuring of the Cuban economy and the introduction of international tourism were positively linked to the preservation of the Conquistas. Again, 18Tri stated that “in order to actually keep this socialism working, we had to make our economy stronger. In order to make the government able to pay for education, health, the food system and everything else they [the government] pay for.” However, referring to the current system in Cuba, it was well recognised in this group that “it is not a complete socialism. It is a new model of socialism. We have ideas for particular jobs [i. e. private jobs] and business for the other Cubans. That’s the difference. […] The new model is better” (13Sdc). Nevertheless, not all of the interviewees assigned to this group regarded the mixture of socialism and capitalism in such a positive fashion. For example, 12SdC, who grew up in the GDR but had lived on the island for many years and married a Cuban woman, perceived present-day Cuba as “a so-so society. They push, they try to push socialism forward here – it doesn’t work. The state would starve to death.”67 In his opinion, this necessitates the introduction of private enterprises and, ultimately, the abandonment of pure socialism. One more interesting consideration of 21Tri needs to be mentioned. She was convinced that “Cubans are not socialist, but they follow Fidel [Castro]. He was the principal leader”, so when he declared the socialist character of the Cuban Revolution, the people followed him in this regard, too.

67  Original: “[…] eine La-La-Gesellschaft. Die drücken, die versuchen hier den Sozialismus durchzudrü-

cken – geht nicht. So, da verhungert der Staat.”

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Sceptics and Open Opponents of the Current Socialist System Sceptics and opponents perceived Cuban socialism as highly dysfunctional. For instance, 49Mat explained that Cuba “is a society where socialism is praised, but we have not achieved socialism for some time”.68 Moreover, 34Hav expressed general criticism of socialism, using the example of a newly opened café, though he was actually referring to the decline of the technical school he attended before his occupation in tourism: In socialism, in communism in general, all of the projects they start up really good. Like, this happens in Cuba all the time. Say we are going to do a café; it’s going to be furnished like the 1970s and it’s going to be awesome. And then the first two years, the government is going to provide everything for this café. […] Okay, but two years from now, you’re going to see that it starts to decay. That’s it, it starts to decay, decay, decay. And there is a moment where you say, ‘What happened? This was, I mean, this was going to be …?’ This was the same thing that happened with this technical school.

His criticism continued, referring to the sacrifices along the path to communism that the government repeatedly demands of the Cuban people: “You don’t push it, you don’t push it and push it and ask the people to sacrifice, which is what happens in every socialist government” (34Hav). Another member of the group of sceptics was 32Hav, who saw socialism in Cuba as being in a state of decline and feared a shift toward capitalism in a few years. His fear was not due to his aversion to capitalism but to his assumption that the transformation of socialism into capitalism would inevitably bring about violent conflicts throughout the country: “I believe […] that in five years or more, we are going to have in Cuba a civilian war, a guerra civil” (32Hav). Consequently, he had decided to leave the country and emigrate as quickly as possible: “That’s why many people like me, young people like me, don’t want to live in Cuba. Because we believe that after 10 or 15 or probably 20 years, Cuba is going to change for bad.” Those obviously Apolitical and Uninterested in Discussing Socialism The group of people not interested in politics was relatively small. Either they did not observe politics and therefore were not equipped to make a comment on this topic, or they did not want to talk about Cuban socialism, such as 21Tri: “I do not like to talk about this, this thing. It is more than politics, and I do not like to speak about this theme.” It is noteworthy that especially interviewees in rural Unión de Reyes held back on making statements about the current state of socialism in the country.

68  Original: “[…] es una sociedad donde se alaba el socialismo, pero no hemos llegado al socialismo desde

hace mucho tiempo.”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

In summary, the social achievements of Cuban socialism were praised almost entirely, but its economic performance was also criticised, nearly without exception. The evaluation of these perceptions, however, reveals great differences from time to time. They range from ardent Marxists, who blamed poor economic performance on external, foreign factors, to firm critics, who considered even the basic ideas of socialism to be flawed. Most of the interviewees stood between these two extremes and often concurrently saw both advantages and disadvantages of socialism. However, this group also tended to think that the Cuban system is increasingly distancing itself from the socialist ideal. However, since this socialist ideal was perceived as crescively dysfunctional, this was largely unproblematic for many interviewees from an ideological standpoint. 7.3.4. “It’s a Frankenstein”: Simultaneity of Socialism and Capitalism

When comparing the respective advantages and disadvantages of socialism and capitalism, it is noteworthy that both were often contrasted antithetically in the interviews. While capitalism was usually described as advantageous for Cuba’s economic development, socialism was perceived as obstructing the economy. Conversely, socialism as a whole was seen as highly beneficial for the social security of Cubans, while capitalism was often described as harmful to Cuban society. From the obvious conclusion, that apparently both systems have specific advantages and disadvantages, the claim that “you should take the best of both systems and combine it” (28Hav) was noted in numerous interviews. 35Hav also stated that the “task of the Cuban state is to take the good out of everything. How, within a planned, socialist economy, can we bring in a market economy, one of supply and demand?”69 The extent to which this is perceived as possible and – perhaps already successfully implemented – is discussed now. Initially, it should be considered how Cubans evaluate the parallelism of socialism and capitalism in principle. Many interviewees regarded this simultaneity as a disorienting state containing many uncertainties. For example, 31Hav thought that “it’s complicated. They [the government] imagined a Cuba, but they made a lot of mistakes, and now they need to rebuild Cuba. We need to have a new Cuba. So, […] we cannot say we have socialism, communism, capitalism. It’s a Frankenstein.” 28Hav, who was quoted above with his request for a combination of the advantages of socialism and capitalism, warned “If you take the worst of both systems and combine it, it ends in a catastrophe.” The Cuban administration is thus required to take a prudent and cautious approach to incorporating capitalist elements into the socialist system. This fusion is already in prog-

69  Original:

“[…] la labor del estado cubano es tomar lo bueno de cada cosa. En eso estamos. ¿Cómo, dentro de una economía planificada, socialista podemos meter una de mercado, de oferta y demanda?”

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ress, as 24Hav noted: “Cuba is not communist, it is not socialist, but also not a totally capitalist country. Instead, it is somewhere in between and still evolving.” There was disagreement among the interview partners as to whether the socialist character of the system still prevails or whether capitalist elements already dominate. Individual interviewees such as 3Hav were even overwhelmed by the difficulty involved in characterising the Cuban system. She “cannot explain it. It is more capitalism than socialism. Education, school, hospitals and health are socialist, but the rest of life is very capitalistic.” However, virtually all of the interviewees recognised the need to integrate capitalist, free-market elements into the economic system. 16SdC proposed a pragmatic solution to this problem, which would also address the labelling of the Cuban system. She believe[d] that you cannot be one hundred per cent communist, or one hundred per cent capitalist. […] Because the world doesn’t work like that. […] I think that things cannot be black and white, you know, there are colours. So, you cannot be just communist and socialist, black and white. […] You have to take into account these and other things which are not totally communist but will help you and would help your people to believe in you, because they have to have things.

Her guiding principle involved enduring the ambiguities and contradictions between socialism and capitalism and then using them productively. At the same time, it is an indispensable necessity to save Cuba’s economic and social system from collapse: “In Cuba, the idea of this kind of capitalism, or new elements of capitalism in the Cuban economy, is because we had to”, as 18Tri explained. So, whether elements from capitalism should be incorporated into the socialist system is not a matter of debate for the interviewees; rather, the question is which elements should be incorporated and to what extent, at what pace should this be done and how can the outcome be evaluated? In this evaluation, three different tendencies were identified among the interview partners, which will be presented and explained below. First was a rather critical attitude, whose bearers saw partly irresolvable contradictions between socialism and capitalism. Second was a deeply optimistic attitude, which saw no or only insignificant contradictions. And on the third count, a rather indecisive there-is-no-black-and-whitebut-colours attitude was proposed by 16SdC. In terms of contradictions, from the perspective of 23Hav, “that [i. e. capitalism contradicting socialism] was impossible to avoid. When you have a private business and you focus on profits, this is quite natural.” 41UdR, too, saw many pitfalls associated with this situation: “In my opinion, it is very difficult to make two types of property coexist, with private and state property.”70 In everyday life, too, the simultaneity of

70  Original:

“Yo de forma así muy particular pienso que es muy difícil hacer que convivan dos tipos de propiedades, con la privada y la estatal.”

Capitalist Practices in the Cuban Socialist Framework

capitalism and socialism poses challenges and contradictions for many Cubans. Thus, 11SdC noted that “you can experience it, you can see it, you can realise it and it’s really unpersuading, because it seems to be a lie”. Since many Cubans hope that the introduction of capitalist elements would also improve their individual financial situation, criticism of their incorporation is rarely formulated in a fundamental manner. However, the violent tirade of the former GDR citizen 12SdC was exceptional in this regard: “That does not match! That does not match! That is not socialism! That is not socialism! That is … for me, Cuba is actually a military dictatorship under the guise of socialism. That’s how to put it correctly.”71 Second, in contrast, some interviewees expressed their conviction that there are no contradictions between Cuban socialism and the capitalist or private-sector elements that have been introduced so far. Surprisingly, all of these respondents, without exception, were staunch revolutionaries and socialists. They argued for ideological and practical compatibility, often involving socialist theory. Hence, 4Hav was convinced that “when you read the ideas of Karlos Marx and Engels, Engels tells you [that] a communist needs economic capitalism”. Likewise, by alluding to socialist theory, 33Hav addressed possible contradictions of capitalist elements in the Cuban socialist system with a strict No, it’s not [contradictory]! You need to know that most of the people think that. I don’t know why, they don’t study enough. […] In socialism, there is private property also. You can’t eliminate the private property in socialism. You can’t.

Hence, opinions differ not only on the fundamental evaluation of socialism in Cuba, but also on its compatibility with capitalist elements. Although particularly convinced socialists vehemently pointed out that this does not raise any serious contradictions, the majority of those interviewed did indeed feel this. Thus, many interviewees revealed uncertainties, confusion and discomfort over Cuban socialism combined with elements of a system that had been condemned for decades. A meaningful solution to these cognitive dissonances is not achievable in all cases. With Marxism-Leninism and capitalism increasingly competing as dominant imperatives of daily life in Cuba, it can be assumed that these dissonances are likely to intensify. It should not be forgotten, however, that the necessity of capitalist elements was generally acknowledged and emphasised by numerous interviewees. It should also be stressed that the interview partners from Unión de Reyes were often unable – or unwilling – to answer questions about the compatibility of socialism and capitalist elements and practices. The mega-question resonating in the background is whether, and if so, how, the social benefits of Cuban socialism can be conserved in the transformation to an increas71  Original:

“Das passt nicht zusammen! Das passt nicht! Das ist kein Sozialismus. Das ist kein Sozialismus! Das ist- Kuba ist eigentlich für mich eine Militärdiktatur im Deckmantel des Sozialismus. So ist es korrekt ausgesagt.”

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ingly capitalist system. Admittedly, this question cannot be resolved with the present empirical material but might only be answered by reality and in retrospect. 7.3.5. Beyond the Horizon: Other Socialist Countries as a Paragon?

As the preceding remarks have demonstrated, many Cubans recognised the need to integrate capitalist elements into the Cuban system, while other interviewees believed that this would involve several problems. To overcome these challenges, some interviewees looked to other (formerly) socialist states and their approaches to capitalism, and in some cases, they drew inspiration and conclusions from them for future system policy in Cuba. Most frequently, these interviewees referred to the USSR and Russia as its largest successor state, as well as to the People’s Republic of China. In general, to many Cubans, the Chinese model seemed to be worthy of imitation and much more attractive than the Soviet or Russian model, which is often associated with the collapse of the USSR. The most strident comment on the Soviet Union was voiced by 19Tri. Asked what his memories of the USSR were, he replied “Shit. Because of Gorbachev. […] It [the USSR] was also changing, and now Putin is a good friend of Mr. Obama and Mr. Clinton.” 11SdC associated the USSR with the decline of socialism in Eastern Europe, too: “Even the Soviet Union, the mother of socialism, fell down.” However, interviewees who were notable for their critical attitude towards the revolutionary regime and the current state of socialism in Cuba sometimes drew parallels between the decline of the USSR and developments in Cuba. Thus, 34Hav expected that “it’s going to be like in Russia, the transition is going to be slow. Well, in Russia, Gorbachev did that and all, but I see the transition [in Cuba] is going to be peaceful.” In contrast, many interviewees perceived China as a successful example of viable socialism. What is remarkable about this is that this viability was explained as a result of capitalist elements that have been woven into Sino-socialism. The proof of the positive Chinese example was consequently used in some interviews to legitimise the introduction of capitalist elements into the Cuban economy, for instance by 6Hav: “China also has tourism with quite, a quite capitalist economy.”72 The rationale behind this is that if socialist China has capitalist tourism, Cuba might have it as well – and with a clean conscience. The legalisation of private property, which was included in the 2019 Cuban Constitution, was justified for other socialist models, including China, that allow for private property, too. In this regard, 33Hav explained that “socialism doesn’t mean that you eliminate the private property at all. It’s a […] process to the communism. I mean, as a theory. That’s why Vietnam, that’s why China, even North Korea has private businesses.”

72  Original: “China hat auch Tourismus mit einer ganz, einer ganz kapitalistischen Wirtschaft.”

Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society

Despite this legitimisation of Cuban policy by referencing other socialist states, some interviewees were sceptical about the possibility and desirability for Cuba to adopt an alternative socialist model, such as that of China or Vietnam. 35Hav, who is committed to socialism in Cuba, lists several factors that he believed preclude Cuba from directly imitating other socialist models: “First of all, we are not the Chinese. Yes, yes, yes. The work culture the Chinese have is not the work culture the Cubans have. The Chinese work a lot. Cubans don’t. […] Second: China is a very large country.”73 In 35Hav’s opinion, Cuba can also only partially take Vietnam as an inspiration for socioeconomic development, since the prerequisites for both countries are fundamentally different. Cuba and Vietnam are not comparable in his eyes, “because Vietnam has not been embargoed by the United States. Cuba has”74 (35Hav). Even outspoken critics of Cuban socialism paid respect to the Chinese model of combining socialism and capitalism. 50Mat combined this recognition with sharp criticism of the Cuban leadership, as it made the country an appendage of other powers: China is socialist, but with a capitalist economic base, and it works all over the world. We wanted to do it, and we became the parasites of every socialist superpower; we have been their parasites, and this has meant that we have never had a life of our own.75

Overall, it is notable that many Cubans reflect about the socialist system and possibilities to adjust it. Inspiration for this is drawn from many sources. Other socialist states and non-socialist systems were mentioned in the interviews as potential paragons for the further development of the Cuban system. 7.4.

Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society

After the in-depth exploration of the interviewees’ perspectives on capitalism, socialism and the relationship between them, this and the following subchapters again focus more intensively on international tourism. At first, the consequences of international tourism for Cuban society are considered. For a better understanding of the following remarks, the previous explanations on Trabajo por cuenta propia provide valuable background information. With the foreknowledge of Cuentapropismo and its perception and assessment by the Cuban interview partners, many of their statements and opinions can be understood better. 73  Original: “Primero: no somos chinos. Sí, sí, sí. La cultura de trabajo que tienen los chinos no es la cul-

tura de trabajo que tienen los cubanos. Los chinos trabajan mucho. Los cubanos no. […] Segundo: China es un país muy grande.” 74  Original: “[…] porque Vietnam no ha estado bloqueado por los Estados Unidos. Cuba sí.” 75  Original: “China es socialista, pero con un basamento económico capitalista y funciona en todo el mundo. Nosotros quisimos hacerlo y nos convertimos en los parásitos de toda potencia socialista, hemos sido los parásitos y eso ha producido que nunca hemos tenido vida propia.”

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From the outset, it should be noted that most interviewees observed the strong influence of tourism on society. Only in three cases did the interviewees state that they did not recognise any societal impact in this regard. One of them was 44UdR, who commented: “I cannot tell you much about tourism. What I do not see are the results of tourism.”76 This statement is interesting in two respects. First, it hints at 44UdR’s underlying dissatisfaction with tourism. Second, the population in rural areas seems to be affected by international tourism and its consequences only to a limited extent. Further responses substantiate this point, such as the following by 41UdR, who also did not see any consequences of tourism for Cuban society: “[In the past], there was not that much tourism, and so now, what is this? What difference do you see between before, when there was not that much [tourism], and now, when there is more?”77 A view unique in the interviews conducted in the tourist hotspots was expressed by 3Hav. She was convinced that tourism had led to significant income disparities, but beyond that it had had no effect on Cuba’s social structure. However, this was a singular opinion. Most interviewees indeed perceived impacts of tourism on Cuban society – and regarded most of them negatively, such as higher levels of crime, growing discrimination and segregation, as well as fears for the disintegration of Cuban society. 7.4.1. Increase in Crime

The first aspect to be mentioned in this context is the proliferation in crime. This usually concerned petty crime, especially theft or small-scale fraud. 12SdC regarded this as a widespread survival strategy of many Cubans – especially of working in tourism. He was convinced: “They steal! Look: you just have to find a woman who cleans the hotel rooms. For example, she always has toilet paper to sell privately, she has towels, she has shampoo, soap, detergent.”78 Additionally, from personal experiences and encounters, he was certain that such criminal means of survival are tolerated by the Cuban state and society as long as they do not exceed a certain level. 12SdC continued: “the state accepts that. […] I don’t know how that works. […] They have such a gigantic bookkeeping operation, meaning paper warfare. And they all profit from it.”79 The prevailing acceptance of minor crimes, such as theft in hotels – not necessarily from tourists, but rather of state property – can also be observed among other inter76  Original: “Yo no te puedo decir mucho sobre turismo. Lo que no veo es los resultados del turismo.” 77  Original: “[…] no había tanto turismo y por eso ahora, ¿qué hay? ¿qué diferencia ves entre antes que no

había tanto y ahora que hay más?” 78  Original: “Die klauen! Hier: du brauchst bloß eine Frau, die die Zimmer sauber macht. Sagen wir mal so: die hat immer Klopapier zum Verkaufen privat, die hat Handtücher, die hat Shampoo, Seife, Reinigungsmittel.” 79  Original: “[…] der Staat, der akzeptiert das. […] Ich weiß nicht, wie das so funktioniert. […] Die haben so eine Riesen-Buchführung, also Papierkrieg. Aber die verdienen alle daran.”

Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society

viewees. For instance, 39UdR acknowledged that “it is a little criminal. However, it is a necessity. For the people who take things from Varadero, and for the people who buy them. But it’s safe. The trick is not to get caught.”80 However, 32Hav noted that the rise in petty crime is not solely due to tourism. Rather, already during the Período Especial, as a result of its supply shortages and hardships, “in those times, there were many […] mischievousnesses”. He elaborated on this point, recounting mainly minor crimes of theft committed out of desperate need. In his eyes, however, the “Cuban people are nice people, although in those times, many Cubans did that kind of mischievousness” (32Hav), such as stealing or sometimes robbing tourists. Altogether, however, virtually none of the interviewees considered crime associated with tourism a major problem. Many of them actually quite openly admitted to benefiting from it themselves, but they also stressed its inevitability. 7.4.2. Discrimination and Segregation

According to the interviewees, an additional influence of international tourism on Cuban society is the discrimination against Cubans in favour of foreign guests. This was mentioned by significantly more interviewees than increased criminality, and it was also described as considerably more negative and severe. Many Cubans apparently feel that they are appreciated much less than foreign guests, both by the state and by their fellow Cubans. 49Mat described this feeling of perceived inferiority vividly. She criticised tourism because of “the way it [tourism] was handled, the way that the person who was visiting was given a place above the Cuban until we felt like a cockroach”.81 She further elaborated on the comparison of Cubans to pest insects “in not being able to enter a hotel, in not having the right to eat what other people eat, in seeing how you don’t have certain things and yet the tourist does”82 (49Mat). Almost without exception, the reason given for this discrimination was the Cubans’ poorer endowment with economic capital. For example, 16SdC felt that “the Cubans are in the second place and foreign people at the first one because they have more money than us”. This discrimination manifests multidimensionally within three different relationships, or, put differently, originates from three distinct points: first, some interviewees described discrimination by the Cuban state and government. Second, several interviewees reported experiences of discrimination in their interactions with

80  Original: “Pero sí, es un poco criminal. Sin embargo, es una necesidad. Para la gente que toma las cosas

de Varadero, y para la gente que las compra. Pero es seguro. El truco está en no ser atrapado.” 81  Original: “[…] la manera en que se manejó, la manera en que se le dio un lugar a la persona que visitaba por encima del cubano hasta hacernos sentir una cucaracha.” 82  Original: “[…] en no poder entrar a un hotel, de no tener derecho a comer lo que otro come, de ver cómo no tienes determinadas cosas y sin embargo el visitante sí lo tiene.”

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fellow Cubans. And third, some felt that they were being systemically discriminated against because of their financially inferior resources compared to tourists, without any specific, identifiable actor being held responsible for this issue. All three relationships are now discussed in brief, beginning with discrimination by the Cuban state. Discrimination by the Cuban state In essence, the state discriminates against its own citizens by almost completely excluding them from the possibility of accessing tourist offers and focusing these offers almost exclusively on the needs of foreign guests. Thus, 45UdR was convinced that “tourism is for foreigners”.83 And 32Hav was certain that many investment decisions, such as the restoration of city centres, were based solely on the expectations of tourists. He talked about Habana Vieja, Cienfuegos and Trinidad, which “are being restored right now, just for las turistas”. It becomes evident from a quote by 38Hav that the interviewees did indeed differentiate and speculate as to whose interests the prioritisation of restoration measures is aligned with. On this point, she was very critical of the perceived preference of the state to put the interests of tourism first: “I think directly the changes aren’t for us, and I would like to see something for us, not for the tourism, but something for us. I would like to see that they [the government] are building, restoring or creating something for Cuban profit, not for tourism” (38Hav). But it is not only in the decisions about redeveloping colonial city centres with an interest in the tourist dollar’ that the state’s discrimination against Cubans becomes apparent. Some interviewees also felt a sense of inferiority compared to tourists as a result of the clearly limited opportunities in relation to using tourist infrastructures. An illustrative example of this point was given by 49Mat, who works as an artist, among other things. She recounted an exhibition in a hotel in Varadero, where she displayed paintings together with other Cuban artists: In a collective exhibition, all the artists that had won a prize in a salon here in Matanzas were given the opportunity to exhibit in a hotel in Varadero. When I entered the door, a security guard approached me to announce and warn us very energetically that we could not talk to anyone, nor eat anything, nor enter any other room that was not solely and exclusively intended for us.84 (49Mat).

83  Original: “El turismo es para los extranjeros.” 84  Original: “[…] en una exposición colectiva, todos

los artistas que habíamos ganado un premio en un salón aquí en Matanzas y una de las cosas que le daban a los premiados era que expusieran en un hotel en Varadero, al entrar por la puerta se me acercó un guardia de seguridad para anunciarnos y advertirnos muy enérgicamente que no podíamos hablar con nadie, ni comer nada, ni pasar a ninguna otra habitación que no fuera única y exclusivamente la que estaba destinada para nosotros.”

Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society

She felt degraded and treated as a second-class subject, in that she was allowed to exhibit her art for the amusement of tourists, but not allowed to talk to them or engage them in any other way. Other interviewees shared similar sentiments. Discrimination by fellow Cubans It is not only on the part of the Cuban state that the interviewees felt treated as second-class human beings and discriminated against in everyday life. For example, 11SdC complained that the local Casa de la Trova, a venue for traditional music in Santiago de Cuba, was practically closed to Cubans on Tuesdays and Saturdays, the days when cruise ships would call at the port of Santiago. In his view, “it’s a discrimination, because no local people are allowed to enter, because it’s a special show for Americans” (11SdC). Many of the interviewees also considered their sparse financial status compared with foreign tourists as being the cause of discrimination by their fellow Cubans. From their point of view, it was particularly irritating that they must pay the same price as foreigners for many goods and services, despite their significantly lower income, but they were often ill-treated and dealt with in a condescending manner. For instance, 36Hav remarked: Sometimes, I feel like a little bit discriminated [against] in my own country. […] even if you are Cuban, you have to pay the same amount of money that a tourist has to pay. There is no difference between a Cuban and a tourist. But the service is going to be different.

This behaviour was “really, really disrespectful” for 36Hav, while 16SdC regarded this as problematic, too. She addressed experiences of discrimination extensively during the interview and identified prejudice by fellow Cubans as one of the reasons “why people, some Cubans, get upset” (16SdC). However, she also recognised efforts by some Cubans not to make any distinction in the treatment of tourists and fellow Cubans: “Right now, […] they are trying to be equal in the treatment of foreign people and Cubans. And it is good. It could be really good, because, otherwise, it is like a [vicious] circle. If you treat them very well, why you cannot treat me the same?” However, she acknowledged that there is still a long way to go before actual and full equal treatment is achieved, as there are still “some others, they prefer to treat foreign people like kings or something” (16SdC). Systemic Discrimination In some cases, the interviewees could not specify exactly who is discriminating against them. Nevertheless, in comparison with tourists, they undeniably felt discriminated against and disfavoured in terms of their freedom of movement, how they are appre-

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ciated and in the way they are treated. These experiences indicate systemic discrimination against the local population as a direct result of tourism. Sheppard (2010:6) characterises systemic discrimination as “pervasive and institutionalized in patterns and practices of social exclusion and disadvantaging. While often associated with adverse effect or indirect discrimination, […] [it] may also involve direct discrimination that is both widely tolerated and institutionalized.” The notion of systemic discrimination in this definition is largely synonymous with ‘structural’ or ‘institutional’ discrimination, as suggested by Feagin (2006). In tourism in Cuba, discrimination against Cubans appears to be “part of the deep social structure” (Feagin 2006:2) that depicts systemic discrimination. The underlying cause of this systemic discrimination is, in many cases, again the significant difference in financial resources between tourists and Cubans. It was difficult to imagine for 28Hav that many tourists arriving on the island – including young people and students – could spend the equivalent of a thousand or two thousand CUC on their vacation. This, he said, would take ordinary Cubans five to six years to earn. He illustrated these tremendous differences in economic capital with a specific example: “When there is an important birthday or an anniversary in my family, we go to a CUC-restaurant […]. To do so, to be able to pay for the restaurant, I need to save money for several months” (28Hav). The fact that the feeling of inferiority compared to tourists is primarily based on relatively limited financial possibilities is also illustrated by an experience of 19Tri: “Last night in the cave,85 some tourists told me, ‘Oh, Cuba is paradise.’ I said, ‘We are a little paradise?’ I told him, ‘For you it’s paradise, because you have money’.” For many Cubans, systemic discrimination manifests itself in the fact that they are effectively excluded from tourism in their own country. Thus, 42UdR reported that “a tourist has more rights, because we do not have these [financial] conditions. We want to, we want to get to know [tourism] as you do. There is already the possibility of traveling, but the economy does not … you cannot.”86 43UdR provided a straightforward example of this in the small amusement park Todo en Uno in Varadero. She described some of the gadgets there, among which was a “new ride that you can enjoy, and it costs two dollars to go for a ride that I think is five minutes”.87 Two dollars for a five-minute ride on such an attraction was simply not affordable for her or her family, meaning that the attractions were mainly geared toward foreign tourists and a small number of wealthy Cubans.

85  19Tri refers to Disco Ayala, a bar located in a limestone cave in northern Trinidad. 86  Original: “[…] un turista tiene más derecho, porque no tenemos condiciones. Queremos, porque que-

remos ir a conocer como ustedes. Ya hay la posibilidad de viajar, pero la economía no … no se puede.” 87  Original: “Porque los cachivaches de los aparatos de Todo en Uno ahora que pusieron una onda nueva que tú te montas y cuesta dos dólares dar una vuelta que creo que son cinco minutos.”

Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society

The impression of being discriminated against and of being second-class citizens was widespread among the interviewees. It is particularly striking that this point was mentioned without exception by all interview partners in Unión de Reyes and Matanzas, i. e. places whose inhabitants cannot participate in tourism, or they can only do so to a limited extent. However, such perceptions and considerations were frequently voiced in the urban tourism hotspots as well. The only exception was the group of devoted supporters of the Revolution. None of them addressed the issue on his or her own. When asked about it, they all denied that Cubans were disadvantaged compared to tourists. In some cases, systemic discrimination against Cubans, due to economic disadvantages, additionally leads to the spatial segregation of Cubans and tourists – even though, as explained in Chapter 5.1.3, this should actually have been redressed by now. This segregation does not necessarily stem from strict rules or prohibition but rather from a subliminal, intangible feeling of being out of place in such localities. Often cited examples of such places were not only the perhaps expected hotels, restaurants and bars, but also publicly accessible beaches close to large hotels or tourist attractions. For instance, 50Mat stated with reference to the security staff at hotels: “I don’t like going to Varadero […], because in a place where I feel like a criminal I don’t want to be, because I am not. I am a respectable member of society who contributes to it every day – and possibly more than those who harass me.”88 38Hav reported similar experiences in hotels. For example, at the Manzana Hotel in Havana, she was not allowed to use the elevator and had to take the stairs to meet a friend in the rooftop bar. For her, it was clear: “there is segregation” (38Hav). 7.4.3. A Taste of the Future? Fears for Society Falling apart

While the positive consequences of tourism were often emphasised in the interviews regarding its economic impact, it is remarkable that the effects on society are almost without exception perceived as negative. This applies to the already mentioned issues of increased crime, discrimination and segregation, as well as to the impact of tourism on Cubans themselves. The most serious effect of international tourism on Cuban society, however, is seen by most interviewees in its smallest element: the individual. It is this very influence on individuals that was perceived as particularly grave and far-reaching, and which many interviewees discussed intensively. For instance, 18Tri noted that “a lot of people are changing with, you know, this wave of tourism”. 5Hav expressed this in a comparable way when he remarked that “tourism has already changed 88  Original: “[…] a mí no me gusta ir a Varadero, te voy a explicar por qué, porque en un lugar donde yo

me sienta que soy un delincuente no me gusta estar. Porque no lo soy, soy un ser respetable de la sociedad que contribuye a ella cada día y posiblemente más que los que me asedian.”

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our society”,89 as did 35Hav, who noted that “the influence of the world is changing us”.90 10SdC added, albeit cautiously, that “in the future, Cuba needs to be careful not to change too much”, as he considered an overly strong or too fast transformation of society as dangerous. There are many further examples from the interviews conducted of the transforming influence of tourism on Cuban society, which relate more specifically to what exactly is changing and to what this societal transformation looks like. The statement made by 36Hav is relatively representative in this regard: “People who are on the street, yeah, I think that tourism have changed the perspective that they have.” Initially, she spoke of a change in perspective that many Cubans have experienced because of tourism. 18Tri also addressed this motif of changing: Like, for example, here in Trinidad or maybe in Viñales […], where most of the people are working in tourism, where most people are renting rooms in their houses or doing anything else related with our tourism. People change a little bit, you know? Like their way to think, like, money changes everything.

This rationale, suggesting that the transformative effect of tourism on Cuban society and its individuals is primarily due to economic aspects, was also prevalent in other interviews. Hence, this change in society was always assessed negatively. The statement made by 16SdC, for example, is very critical in this regard. In the following interview segment, she talks about Cubans engaged in tourism: Because of that money that they are earning, they live better. And they start to think in another way. You see, [it] is like philosophy. […] So, they earn, they earn, they earn, and they start to forget where they were born, their origins and the older people and values, values like honesty and everything.

The mentioned loss of values was also addressed in several other interviews, for example by 51Mat, who believed that “values are lost”.91 The reasons for the social transformations associated with tourism and the perceived loss of values remain mostly vague based on the citations considered so far. Many interviewees named ‘tourism’ or, somewhat non-specifically, ‘money’ as the responsible factors. In this regard, the explanation provided by 32Hav is much more tangible. In his eyes, “before the 1990s, our government was keeping us in a bubble, trying that other countries do not come to Cuba, trying that that philosophy will not change Cubans’ heads as we have right now”. Subsequently, he named the philosophy specifically as “capitalistic system philosophy” (32Hav). This was described similarly in another interview in relation to the arrival of this philosophy with the onset of tourism: “we say that the ‘90s were a big change and a 89  Original: “Der Tourismus hat schon unsere Gesellschaft verändert.” 90  Original: “[…] la influencia del mundo nos está cambiando.” 91  Original: “[…] se pierdan valores.”

Tourism’s Effects on Cuban Society

big impact for the Cuban society” (23Hav). Indeed, the 1990s were perceived as an extremely disruptive era in recent Cuban history. 13SdC added two important considerations to these thoughts. First, she noted that social changes affect “not all people, [but] only a part” (13SdC). Second, she emphasised that it is not tourism or tourists per se that are responsible for changing Cuban society and its individuals. Instead, “change for all Cuban people depends on the government, not on tourists” (13SdC), thus highlighting the political dimension of societal transformations in the country. In essence, the decisions to expand or restrict tourism in Cuba are highly political. Closely related to these observations on the effects of tourism on Cuban society are the fears of some interviewees that society could fall apart. At this point, the worries in question are only briefly outlined, as they are discussed in greater detail in Chapter 7.7.3. Many of the interviewees regarded Cuban society as facing major problems, due to its transformation. One of these problems is the formation of a new class structure, which virtually did not exist for a long time during the socialist, i. e. classless, Revolution, although 49Mat indicated that “since tourism entered Cuba, this has been happening”.92 This is just one example of the enormous upheavals that Cuban society is facing and about which the interviewees were concerned. Another example was provided by 20Tri, who runs a casa particular in Trinidad but felt uncomfortable in the face of the huge economic opportunities that tourism offers for a limited number of Cubans. He talked about Cuban society, the influence of tourism and his hometown: “at the same time, I can feel that I have these contradictions. Because, for example, before all the tourists, it was […] a happy town.” In this context, it is worth recalling the consequences of the large differences in income between Cuentapropistas and state employees. The occupational reorientation of many highly educated Cubans toward simple but relatively well-paid jobs worried many interviewees from a society-wide perspective. 11SdC described this as a harmful consequence for Cuban society originating directly from tourism. He tied this to a rather bleak outlook on the future of Cuban society: Indeed, it’s damaged, the way of thinking of society, because nowadays people are trying to get closer to a simple taxi driver who deals with the [Peso] Convertible, it can give them a hand economically with buying, instead of being a professor or engineer or a doctor. That’s common now in our society. It’s really hard, you know? That’s how Cuba is today, and what we have as expectation for years.

Thus, in addition to the positive economic consequences of tourism, most interviewees also perceived a variety of social consequences, the clear majority of which were negative. Most of the interviewees were aware that both effects were effective simultaneously and, to a certain extent, two sides of the same coin. This ambivalence is sum-

92  Original: “Desde que entró el turismo en Cuba eso sucede.”

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marised neatly by 10SdC, who also integrates a temporal component into his tourism evaluation: You have to differentiate between the past and the future. In the past, tourism helped Cuba to get through the economic crisis in the 1990s, but also had some negative effects; it brought corruption, prostitution and drugs to Cuba.

The perception that tourism had an impact on Cuban society, and a negative one in particular, is not limited to tourist areas. For example, while interviewees in Unión de Reyes and Matanzas did not report huge, direct impacts of tourism on the local social fabric, they still often assessed the issue in hotspots as being detrimental, mostly based on second-hand information, as the example provided by 51Mat illustrates: “I have heard a lot of bad things about Viñales.”93 Nevertheless, this information shapes the image of tourism, its societal effects and, ultimately, assessments of the state of Cuban society. In addition to the social effects of tourism introduced so far in this chapter, i. e. the increase in crime, discrimination and segregation, as well as the fear of society falling apart, another consequence of tourism was discussed in almost all of the interviews. Some interviewees feared that international tourism would also affect the Cuban Revolution and eventually transform Cuban identities as well. At this point, 21Tri saw the possibility that “tourism might also change the Revolution. People also leave parts of their culture.” Moreover, 41UdR was convinced that the expansion of tourism and its impact on society would be harmful. In her opinion, it “will create conflicts, will provoke the disappearance of a lot of values or maybe our identity”.94 Since the influences of tourism on Cuban identities are at the heart of this inquiry, as they were attributed great importance, and discussed intensely by the interviewees, they shall be analysed in the following subchapter. 7.5.

Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture

When attempting to provide insights into Cuban identities, several pitfalls must be avoided. On the one hand, the impression should not be created that individual and collective Cuban identities are essentialisms. Stereotypical descriptions and the generalisation of cultural and social characteristics that constitute the identities of all Cubans must be rejected from a constructivist perspective. Rather, the individuality and particularity of interviewees’ experiences, assessments and influences must be considered and highlighted. On the other hand, neo-colonial attributions and role ascriptions that 93  Original: “Yo he oído hablar mal de Viñales.” 94  Original: “Eso creará conflictos, bueno, provocará la desaparición de muchos valores o tal vez nuestra

identidad.”

Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture

would classify the self-perceptions of the Cuban interviewees into prefabricated Eurocentric categories of meaning are to be avoided. Instead, the individual and collective self-descriptions of the Cubans interviewed must be rendered straightforwardly, in order to let them speak for themselves. However, it should be acknowledged that for a systematic analysis and engagement with the interviewees’ self-descriptions, a grouping into categories is unavoidable, albeit this systematisation is done with great sensitivity herein. Hence, repeatedly occurring argumentative patterns and descriptions provided by the interviewees were summarised exploratively from the interview material, while resulting theories were checked abductively against the backdrop of the interviews. These groups were then formed from material acquired during the analysis – in the spirit of Grounded Theory – without drafting a category system in advance. Initially, this chapter explores the historical roots of Cuban identity as indicated by the interviewees. Subsequently, central identity motifs such as music and dance are interpreted as escapist mechanisms. Following this, La Lucha [struggle] is presented as a central element of many Cuban identities. In addition, mutual support, solidarity and humility are described as significant aspects of Cuban identity, before the relevance of the Revolution in this regard is addressed. Before beginning, it is important to point out a statement by 35Hav that is valid for the entire discussion of Cuban identities: “Well. It’s complicated.”95 There is not one Cuban identity in the sense of a fixed, immovable core that characterises all Cubans and moreover is recognisable intuitively and can be expressed verbally. Instead, identity, both individual and collective, is always personal and situational. With reference to the unconscious, it should be remembered that the individual can never disclose all elements of his or her identity so that he or she can report on them in an interview. 16SdC summed this up aptly when she noted that “it is difficult, even for us, it sometimes is. It’s difficult to understand ourselves.” In addition, contradictions must be considered, i. e. in the perceptions and statements of the individual interviewees, as well as the significant differences between the interviewees, partly based on different socioeconomic realities that they experience daily. Because “that’s Cuban, you know? The fancy places, that’s Cuba, and the poor neighbourhoods like this”, as 34Hav put it, pointing at a sordid city block in Habana Vieja. The parallels, patterns and argumentative clusters in the statements of the interview partners shown below thus inevitably produce an incomplete picture of Cuban identities. 33Hav made an important point on this notion: “You need to know that the biggest Cuban colony abroad is in Miami. Basically, there are two kinds of main Cubans in the world. The Cuban from Miami and the Cuban from Cuba.” This book is limited

95  Original: “Bueno. Es complicado.”

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exclusively to Cubans in Cuba, and so conclusions concerning the self-image of Cubans who migrated to the United States are therefore not possible. Questions about Cuban identity and cubanidad were extremely effective stimuli in the interviews. Among them, there was only one person who described Cuban identity as not being special: “The Cuban people are like every other one. It is nothing special. We are not special. We are like any other country. […] Each country has its history, and everyone is proud of his history” (22Hav). However, this represents an isolated opinion. In all of the other interviews, the particularities of Cuban identities were always accentuated. According to 20Tri, these particularities become apparent especially through the increase in international tourism. He said that “now, with the increase of tourists in Cuba, you can feel that there is a big difference between Cuba and the rest of the world. A big difference, culturally, socially … There is a difference. We do not think the same” (20Tri). 7.5.1. Cuban Identity as a Product of History

Many interviewees emphasised the great importance of history for contemporary Cuban identities. As 23Hav put it, “the Cuban identity was formed over the centuries”, while 5Hav believed Cuban identity is “this soul that Cubans have, this whole history of ours”.96 These historical roots, from which current Cuban identities emerge, were addressed more specifically in several interviews. For instance, 22Hav explained that “we have a complex history, from the beginning of the colonisation. Fighting for the independence from Spain. In the 20th century, there were different moments of history.” Both the colonial past and Cuban history since its independence were addressed by many interviewees. 15SdC referred to Cuba’s origins as a Spanish colony and once again stressed the importance of this history for Cuban identities: “Cubans cannot forget the history. History is […] tied to the people from the very beginning, since the colonial times.” Basically, three central periods in Cuban history were repeatedly mentioned as significant for the construction of present-day Cuban self-images, as well as the influences associated with them. 35Hav summarised them succinctly as follows: “We have been affected by many historical moments. The Spanish era, the American era. And now, the Revolution.”97 Although emphasis on the significance of the different influences varied from interviewee to interviewee, this triad can be noted as a principal structure. 23Hav addressed these historical roots precisely, advising:

96  Original: “Diese Seele, die Kubaner haben, diese unsere ganze Geschichte.” 97  Original: “Y hemos sidos afectados, sí nos han afectado muchos momentos

española, la época norteamericana. Y ahora, la revolución.”

históricos. Eh, la época

Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture

I think the Cuban identity, you have to search for it through Cuban history and see what the Cuban people passed through for many years, and not only in the 20th century, but also from the very beginning of the Independence War and the Spanish colonisation here. The answer to what Cuban identity is, is in the history books.

Certainly, it would be insufficient to try to grasp Cuban identity solely by looking at history. For although 36Hav explained that “all those experiences have made us what we are now, what we feel”, they merely form the foundation on which identities are constructed – or can be constructed. Beyond Cuban history, which is undoubtedly significant, multiple other factors influence identities. Before progressing to the next chapter, it is worth addressing another history-related characteristic of Cuban identities mentioned in some interviews: the diversity of cultural and ethnic origins of contemporary Cubans. For example, 23Hav stated that characteristically for “the Cuban life, [is] the mix of many races and cultures”. 33Hav agreed with point, noting “We are a mix of cultures.” Some interviewees elaborated on this statement, explaining the various cultural influences that have been incorporated into Cuban culture and identity over time. 24Hav, for instance, referred to “European, African and Chinese” influences that still affect Cuban identities. Additionally, 6Hav named the descendants of Africans and Spaniards as well as Creoles and the specific cultural elements they contribute to Cuban identity as distinctive to the country. He particularly emphasised the blending and merging of these different influences: “And all of these [influences] mix”98 (6Hav). 7.5.2. Music, Dance and Humour to Escape from Dismal Reality

An additional element of Cuban identity mentioned frequently is the predilection for distractions of all kinds, as well as the generally good mood of Cubans. In terms of these distractions, music, dance and festivities were often named as being characteristic of Cubans. For instance, 47UdR stated that “Cubans are happy: they enjoy to dance, to laugh and to see each other.” 48UdR agreed with her on this, in that Cubans are always “happy, they enjoy every single moment of their life”. In this respect, she also stressed the importance of dance and music. 4Hav also used this broad perspective of partying, good mood and exuberance to describe Cuban identity. According to him, Cubans are “always making a smile, making jokes, [getting] drunk; they like the women, the dancing.” Good mood and sense of humour were also emphasised by 28Hav as a Cuban characteristic. He said that it is

98  Original: “Und alle diese mischen sich.”

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typical of Cubans to always be up for “a joke”.99 For another example, 49Mat likewise considered that, when looking for a common Cuban trait, “it would be perhaps that of the sense of humour”.100 At first glance, this sounds stereotypical and very much like the recitation of external ascriptions and images. At second glance, however, a different perspective on the previously mentioned quotes and opinions emerges. In many interviews, the sense of humour, the fondness for dance, music and festivities were positioned in relation to the disdainful Cuban reality. According to many interview partners, these represent for Cubans a way of escaping from reality, i. e. “a way to overcome hard times, physically and spiritually” (11SdC). Speaking on this matter, 20Tri stated that “the Cuban people are jokers, they are always making jokes, laughing. Sometimes, the Cuban people say that if we smile, we are getting rid of all the troubles.” In a similar sense, 36Hav thought that as “Cubans, we are capable of laughing off our problems. That’s another thing that I love about the Cubans: to laugh off my problems” (36Hav). The fact that having a sense of humour, being in a good mood and overcoming problems are intertwined for many Cubans was affirmed by 18Tri: I think this is our way to think, our way to face problems. Like, you know, most of the families, we have a lot of problems. We do not have a lot of stuff, but we are happy anyways. Like, you know, we just make fun of our problems.

Not only was good humour explicitly mentioned as a strategy for coping with problems, but also music and dance. For example, 35Hav was convinced that “Cubans are very happy people. We always try to get away, get out of trouble. With rum, with tobacco, with parties, with rumba. We try to escape the problems, because we have a lot of problems.” The upbeat mood, dancing and music – and the abuse of alcohol – may therefore rather be understood as coping strategies for dealing with the harsh reality of life. The vocabulary used in these latter quotes – ‘to get rid of troubles’, ‘to face problems’ – illustrates this idea well. Despite the hardships associated with everyday life in Cuba, very few interviewees had a negative view of being Cuban per se. In fact, only 49Mat explicitly expressed this sentiment. For her, “being Cuban is a challenge”.101 She explained this in greater detail, referring primarily to the dire supply situation. As she stated with sarcasm and bitterness in her voice, “Cuba is the island of wonder. […] You live, and you don’t know how you live”102 (49Mat). The particularly negative attitude of 49Mat can perhaps be partially explained by the fact that she is physically handicapped and relies on 99  Original: “[…] una broma […]” 100  Original: “Sería quizás eso del sentido del humor.” 101  Original: “Pues para mi ser cubano es un reto.” 102  Original: “Cuba es la isla del milagro. […] Vives y no sabes cómo vives.”

Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture

a wheelchair to move around. This complicates her life in many ways, for example as the public space in her hometown is insufficiently adapted to the needs of wheelchair users. However, the vast majority of interviewees had a positive attitude towards their lives as Cubans, even though they have to deal with severe challenges and struggles. 7.5.3. The Significance of La Lucha for Cuban Identities

The fundamental problems of life in Cuba apparently shape Cuban identities in yet another way, apart from the problem-coping strategies outlined in the previous section. According to many interviewees, the constant struggles they have had to deal with over the course of their entire history, and in their everyday lives, has strongly shaped their identity. Thus, numerous interviewees described both Cuban history and Cuban day-to-day life as being characterised by La Lucha – struggle and fight. However, this struggle had positive connotations for all of the interviewees addressing it. In a circumlocutory monologue that is abridged here, 32Hav discussed this pugnacious attitude and its significance for Cuban identities: To be a Cuban, […] it means always smiling, always. No matter what to face. The reality of Cuba […] is very hard, and no matter what, it’s just to face this reality and to try to make an effort, to keep going for and trying to make the best for you and for the family. […] So, to get up every day and fight for your life and fight for your family and fight to have a better life here in Cuba.

In this context, the bellicose vocabulary of some interviewees was striking when they talked about the daily lucha for survival. 16SdC, for instance, thought that “if you’re Cuban, you should be brave. You should have the courage to confront everything. […] You have to be brave.” In another interview, 4Hav compared the Período Especial to a battle that was to be won: “In the ‘90s, in the Special Period, the Cubans have passed a lot of misery. […] The Cubans searched for a form to survive and went to that battle.” An additional example is 21Tri, who characterised the Cubans as a people who “never surrender, work hard and want to improve [their] situation”. This last quote suggests what many interviewees associated with La Lucha. For them, it is the constant striving for progress and improving living conditions. Likewise, 32Hav indicated this notion with reference to his family. This pursuit of improvement and progress was rarely viewed negatively; rather, in many cases, it was coupled with an optimistic outlook on the future. 23Hav explained this in detail and in the end derived the origin of this, in his opinion, pivotal feature of Cuban identities from the nation’s past: Most of the Cubans are always thinking in the way to move forward, to make progress, to survive despite the difficulties. I think that is the essence of the Cuban identity. I think that is the most important thing about the Cuban people. Anyway, no matter where we are, no

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matter what we have to face, we always move forward and make progress. […] That is a big part of the Cuban identity we developed under many years and centuries of fighting tradition.

Interestingly, other interviewees elaborated on Cuba’s bellicose past, too, and described a militant-optimistic character they ascribe to Cubans. In this regard, 32Hav thought that “Cuba is [a] very difficult country to live [in]. Of course, we are used to this country – and that’s why we get up every morning para la lucha, because it’s what we have done since, you know, since [1492].” Likewise, 4Hav shared this conviction: “Cuba has a lot of historic fighters”, who profoundly shaped Cuban identities. To conclude, it should be noted that the perception of Cubans as constantly struggling and engaged in La Lucha was evaluated positively by all of the interviewees, virtually without exception. In contrast, the fact that socioeconomic circumstances, which make this necessary at all, were assessed as negative without exception, remains unaffected. 7.5.4. Mutual Support, Solidarity and Humility

The difficult socioeconomic circumstances in Cuba, as well as the different strategies to cope with them, were, in the eyes of many interview partners, in a further indicator of Cuban identities. In addition to escaping into music, dance and festivities, and waging La Lucha against adverse living conditions, many interviewees noted that caring for one another is a central element of Cuban identities. In this context, 5Hav described his fellow Cubans in the following manner: “What I see are people who are very helpful. Friends who are very, very kind.”103 32Hav also referred to the close bond between Cubans when he stated that “we are like brothers”. Likewise, 13SdC described her fellow Cubans as being an emotionally close-knit community: “people have a lot of love. They are charming and lovely to other people. They don’t have much money, but their heart [is] grande” (13SdC). For many, this interconnectedness reflected the shared experiences of the Período Especial and of the restrictions imposed by the trade embargo. In the mostly egalitarian society of the 1990s, virtually all Cubans were affected to a similar extent by the life-threatening scarcity and shortages of goods. Against this backdrop, solidarity and mutual support were – and still are – essential for the survival of many of them, and they had become second nature to many interview partners. These collective experiences result in a strong willingness to help one another. 23Hav described that “during many years we suffered the embargo, the blockade, and

103  Original: “Was ich sehe, sind Leute, die sehr hilfsbereit sind. Freunde, die sehr, sehr freundlich sind.”

Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture

Cubans have developed a very solidary personality to help each other”. In a similar vein, 21Tri argued that her conclusion “Cuba is beautiful” is rooted in the “solidarity of people”. For many interviewees, this solidarity manifests itself in the act of sharing. 34Hav saw ‘being Cuban’ as being “about the humility and about the …, you share”. Other interviewees addressed the subject of sharing, too, in some cases very passionately. A captivating and insightful statement was provided by 36Hav: It’s like when you are more human. Like when you see someone who doesn’t […] have, like, a meal, or they don’t have the opportunity to buy a meal and […] if I have two eggs or two chickens, I [will] split the chickens and I give the extra chicken, and I give all the things that I have. Because that’s what being a Cuban represents. Being …, treating everyone else like your friend and being kind to everyone else and trying to help the people that you can help.

Similarly, 44UdR talked about mutual support, also using the example of sharing food: If you don’t have a meal, you have a neighbour, like myself, who helps you. I don’t have anything myself, but there is an unmarried man […]. So, every day he shows up at my doorway, he comes over to eat, so I give him a small [loaf of] bread that I buy for him. The familiarity is that we do not eat good, but here no one remains without food.104

Intriguingly, this helpfulness and mutual support are not exclusively associated with relations between Cubans. For instance, 47UdR commented that in her view, Cuban internationalism and, in particular, the deployment of doctors abroad, highlight the humanitarian and solidarity-based character of Cubans. Moreover, according to some interviewees, the fact that almost everyone is dependent on the support of others – be they friends, neighbours or strangers – means that many developed a habit of relating easily to their fellow citizens. Thus, for 41UdR, “the relationship you can have with anyone in the street, to start talking”105 is an integral part of Cuban identity. In a very similar way, 39UdR expressed her opinion, stressing that she can establish a relationship with virtually anyone: “I love going out and talking to everyone. I relate to quite a lot of people, even though the one next to me is a big boy who is 33 years old.”106 In doing so, she ties in with the close contact with her fellow human beings and mutual solidarity, which she considered the very core of Cuban

104  Original: “Si no tienes el plato de comida tienes un vecino, como yo misma que te ayuda. Que no tengo

nada, pero tengo un hombre solterón que le dio un …, entonces todos los días se me aparece en el portal, se ve a comer por ahí, entonces le doy un panecito que compro para él. La familiaridad pues es eso, que no comemos bueno, pero aquí sin comer no se queda nadie.” 105  Original: “La relación que puedes tener con cualquiera que esté en la calle, de ponerte a hablar.” 106  Original: “A mí me encanta salir a la calle y poder hablar con todo el mundo. Relacionarme con bastantes personas, aunque el de al lado mío sea un muchachote que tenga 33 años.”

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identity: “Me [caring] for the neighbours and talking about everything to one another […]. That’s what being a Cuban is all about.”107 In the interviews, the close ties with each other, which were also established towards strangers, as well as solidarity were often attributed to a shared history and the collective experience of current difficulties and challenges. Amid these two self-ascribed traits, namely solidarity and approachability, a third characteristic of Cuban identity was occasionally mentioned: humility. However, unlike solidarity and approachability, this was only mentioned in a small number of interviews. 35Hav, though, mentioned all three of these characteristics in one sentence: “we Cubans are friendly, supportive […] and humble.”108 Yet, humility was only addressed by interviewees living in one of the tourism hotspots and engaged in tourism. For example, 34Hav stated that as “Cubans, we have learned to live with so little. […] But we are really humble people in general.” 10SdC backed up this point, citing the frugality of many Cubans, who “only work little, get used to things not working, are okay with waiting and standing in lines at shops, buses and public offices”. Likewise, 33Hav explained that as Cubans, “we are patient, very patient with people in everything that we do”. However, they are not merely patient with others, but “we also normally do everything with patience” (33Hav). Humility, however, was not mentioned by the interview partners from rural areas, perhaps because dissatisfaction with the current situation is stronger there, and descriptions of humility and modesty are perceived as inappropriate in view of the severely tense socioeconomic situation. Regarding the humility mentioned in some interviews, it is interesting to refer to Fidel Castro’s (1961a) description of the Cuban Revolution as being “of the humble, with the humble and for the humble”109 (see Chapter 4.4.4). This notion seems to be shared by some Cubans, but far from all. Nevertheless, the Cuban Revolution was an integral element of Cuban identities for several interview partners, as the next subchapter shows. 7.5.5. Identification with the Revolution, and Pride in Being Cuban

For a couple of the interview partners, the Cuban Revolution represented a fundamentally constitutive element of their identity. This applied to interview partners from urban touristic hotspots as well as to a few from the rural periphery. Additionally, the Revolution was often described as being highly influential for collective Cuban iden107  Original: “Yo por los vecinos y contando las cosas a uno y a otra […]. Ser un cubano es eso.” 108  Original: “Los cubanos somos, eh, amigables, solidarios, eh la palabra, y humildes” 109  Original: “Compañeros obreros y campesinos, esta es la Revolución socialista y democrática

humildes, con los humildes y para los humildes.”

de los

Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture

tity. Thus, 36Hav felt that the “Revolution made us what we are”. 35Hav agreed, stating that “the Revolution has marked Cubans very strongly”.110 Many other interviewees similarly elaborated on the impact of the Revolution on them, their identity and personality. 22Hav, for example, stated that “Revolution is part of my life. Speaking about the Revolution is speaking about my life. You cannot separate from it. If you live here, you cannot separate from it.” Likewise, further interview partners equated the entire Cuban existence with being a revolutionary. For instance, 34Hav declared that in Cuba “everything is related to the Revolution. […] No matter how much money you have, no matter how famous you are or how much you have to travel. If you’re Cuban, you are revolutionary.” The same applied to 23Hav, who also acknowledged the Revolution’s heavily identity-defining character: “The Cuban Revolution, this project tried to create new men, new ideals. And for a long time, we have been very influenced with these ideas of solidarity [and] equality”. As an all-encompassing system of values, practices, rules and beliefs, the Revolution shapes the lives and identities of Cubans in a fundamental way. This imprint was often endorsed with reference to the nation’s revolutionary past or the history of the Revolution. A striking example of this point are the testimonies of 14SdC, who is a senior manager at the Museo de La Lucha Clandestina in Santiago de Cuba. In her opinion, the Cuban Revolution “is a very important event for the Cuban people” (14SdC). She continued to explain that from her perspective, not only is the Revolution significant as a historical event, but it is equally important to commemorate “the name of the persons who participated in the fighting” (14SdC). This is why, according to her, the Museo de La Lucha Clandestina is so meaningful: “It displays the entire development of the Revolution and how the ideas and experiences of those young people who fought at that time are still preserved today”111 (14SdC)  – and thus the museum addresses exactly those elements of the Cuban Revolution that are, at least in her opinion, still constitutive of Cuban identities today. Sometimes, divergent opinions were observed about the significance of the Revolution for the identities of young Cubans. For instance, 32Hav believed that “young people right now, it’s like they don’t care about our history, about our tradition”, which explicitly include the Revolution. During the interviews, this sentiment was expressed occasionally. Just as often, the Revolution was assigned a major influence on the identity formation of adolescents and young adults in Cuba. In very plain words, 12SdC summarised this point as follows: for “80 per cent of young people, Fidel and the Revolution are everything for them”.112 He expanded further:

110  Original: “La Revolución marcó, eh, muy fuerte los cubanos.” 111  Original: “Muestra todo un desarrollo de la Revolución y cómo se mantiene actualmente las ideas y la

vivencia de esos jóvenes que lucharon en estos momentos.” 112  Original: “80 Prozent der Jugendlichen, für die ist Fidel und die Revolution Ein und Alles.”

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They are inculcated from childhood, they cut their teeth on it: Revolution, Revolution, Revolution. Like this. In the end, that’s your religion. That’s how it is. It’s actually a religion. It’s the Revolution and Fidel. And every day: Revolution and Fidel. […] Media and newspaper and everything is about this Revolution.113

It must be noted that 12SdC is not a Cuban citizen but an expat living in Cuba for years. His central argument, however, that the great significance of the Revolution is instilled in many Cubans virtually from childhood, was supported by statements in many more interviews. Overall, several interviewees seemed to identify to a great extent with the Revolution. Occasionally, revolutionaries and Cubans were considered synonymous in the sense that ‘a Cuban is always a revolutionary’. It should be emphasised, however, that the great importance attributed to the Revolution for Cuban identities does not automatically imply that the person concerned approves non-reflectively of the Revolution. As becomes apparent in the further analysis, the very same person can understand the Revolution as an integral part of his/her own identity, yet at the same time they can sharply criticise or even reject it. Moreover, individual identification with the Revolution does not automatically imply unconditional adherence to its principles and ideals. For example, while some interviewees praised the voluntary work propagated by Che Guevara as a “way of how you can make more with less” (4Hav), most of them were reluctant to engage in such voluntary work. On the contrary, as described in Chapter 7.3.2, 4Hav called for stronger economic incentives instead of “one piece of paper” (4Hav) as a reward for outstanding performance. Similar divergences in identifying with the Revolution while acting according to other rationales were prevalent in other interviewees, too. Just as the Revolution is an integral part of their identity for many interviewees, at least as many saw pride in their nation as an important part of their identity. Interestingly, this pride was most explicitly and vigorously expressed by those interviewees who both were devoted revolutionaries and stated that their identity was largely determined by the Revolution. For instance, 4Hav’s first statement in response to the question of what it means to him to be Cuban was thus: “I’m very proud. I’m very proud. Seriously. […] And the pride is always the Cubans’ characteristic.” 33Hav took a similar stance: “I think that to be Cuban is to be proud about your land. To be grateful about the land that you was [sic] born of.” He elaborated further on this notion and described Cubans as

113  Original: “Von Kindheit an kriegen die geimpft, schon mit der Muttermilch: Revolution, Revolution,

Revolution. So. Zum Schluss ist das für dich deine Religion. Das ist so. Es ist schon eine Religion. Das ist die Revolution und Fidel. Und jeden Tag: Revolution und Fidel. […] Medien und Zeitung und alles dreht sich um diese Revolution.”

Cuban Identities: An Inevitably Fragmentary Picture

very emotive when we hear the national anthem. When we see the flag moving in the air, that’s very emotive for us. When you see a Cuban abroad, we cry a lot, and we hug that man. We hug that man, and we can almost strangle that person. ‘Oh, Jesus, how is Cuba? Tell me how is Cuba?’ (33Hav)

Many additional interviewees also indicated that they felt proud of Cuba and that this pride conditions their identity. In this spirit, 46UdR was “really proud of being Cuban”, 21Tri “love[d] [her] country” and 45UdR said that “being Cuban is a pride, I think”.114 39UdR used almost identical vocabulary when she stated: “Well, one is proud to be Cuban.”115 As 5Hav noted, this pride does not exclusively refer to the Revolution and the political sphere: “I am so proud to be Cuban, not just for political reasons, but for everything.”116 A similarly wide interpretation was shared by 46UdR, who suggested that being Cuban “means to love your roots, to love the place where you were born”. This pride sometimes takes on exaggerated proportions, as 34Hav remarked that Cubans “are like, ‘we are the best in the world in this, and you cannot know’”. 33Hav expressed a similar opinion, embellishing this notion tongue-in-cheek with some examples to illustrate the absurd exaggerations this pride can engender: We are egocentric people, that’s a Cuban characteristic. We believe that we are the best in the world – and we are not! But we believe that, unfortunately. There’s always a Cuban story about anything. The first [unintelligible] was invented in Cuba. Do you know that? And the first radio was invented in Cuba. The first telephone was invented in Cuba also. […] Cuba was always in the middle. That’s Cuban prioritising.

In some cases, it can be hard to distinguish patriotic pride in being Cuban from nationalism. Blank and Schmidt (2003:292–293) provide a well-grounded review of the differences between both concepts. According to their differentiation, some Cuban interviewees express patriotic pride to such an extent that their attitude exceeds what Adorno et al. (1950:107) labelled “genuine patriotism”: The amalgamation of “love of the country” with “attachment to national values based on critical understanding”. Instead, the significance of the nation for the self-perception of some of the interviewees was so dominant that, using Adorno’s et al. (1950:107) terminology, “pseudopatriotism”, commonly called nationalism, was demonstrable. In this way, 15SdC interwove Cuban identity with love for the country: “For me, Cuba is the paradise. I am 100 per cent Cuban, and I love my country.” For 35Hav, the Cuban Revolution provided the foundation of this Cuban nationalism, connoting both positively throughout: “the Revolution was a very important change in Cuba. 114  Original: “Ser cubano creo es un orgullo.” 115  Original: “Bueno, uno está orgulloso de ser cubano.” 116  Original: “Ich bin so stolz darauf Kubaner zu sein, aber nicht nur wegen politischer Gründe, aber we-

gen allem.”

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For me, it was a great victory of the rights we deserve as Cubans, of nationalism: ‘this is ours, this land is ours’.”117 However, it should also be noted that the love for the homeland and a sentiment of national pride sometimes did not prevent criticism of the prevailing conditions in Cuba, i. e. genuine patriotism. Thus 13SdC, who briefly before declared her love for Cuba, did “not like a lot the situation of this country and the lies. But I love this island. The history of my country.” This simultaneity of criticism of prevailing conditions and of the Cuban government, together with an almost unshakable sense of national pride was apparent among several interview partners. Presumably, there were also some Cubans who were not proud of their country and their Cuban identity. Although almost none of the interviewees said this about themselves directly, 18Tri at least mentioned that they do exist: “Well, I am one of the proud Cubans, so I feel completely Cuban. I am not one of those Cubans that want to go and live in Miami. So, I love my country.” Whether consciously or not, 18Tri put Cubans who were not proud of their roots on a par with so-called gusanos who want to leave the country and, in a sense, dissociate themselves from it. Only one interviewee explicitly expressed that she did not feel proud about being Cuban. 49Mat even slightly criticised her fellow Cubans for grounding their own identity so one-sidedly on their pride in the country: “The Cuban identity is often handled as ‘I feel proud to be Cuban’, ‘I am Cuba’.”118 Instead, she, “as a human being, feel[s] that [she is] a citizen of the world”119 (49Mat). Furthermore, it is notable that those interviewees who did not link their own identity closely to pride in Cuba were often critical of the socioeconomic and political situation and appeared disillusioned in the face of current circumstances. Outstanding examples in this regard include, among others, 7Hav, 18Tri and 22Hav. Although they too often stated that their individual identity was shaped by the Revolution, they apparently felt no pride or special attachment to it or to the fatherland. 7.6.

What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?

Essentially, the Revolution seems to play a significant role in the lives of many Cubans. Initially, this applies to their everyday lives as well as to their individual and collective identities. To analyse the implications of international tourism in general, and the commodification of revolutionary legacies in particular, for Cuban identities, it is necessary to focus on the interviewee’s perceptions and descriptions of the Revolution. 117  Original: “La revolución fue un cambio muy importante en Cuba. Para mí fue una gran victoria de los

derechos que merecemos como cubanos, de nacionalismo, ‘esto es nuestro, esta tierra es nuestra’.” 118  Original: “Se maneja mucho la identidad cubana, ‘yo me siento orgulloso de ser cubano’, ‘yo soy Cuba’.” 119  Original: “Yo como ser humano, yo siento que soy ciudadana del mundo.”

What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?

During the interviews, the assessment of the Revolution was discussed intensely, relating to different dimensions and aspects thereof. In many instances, criticism of the Revolution was voiced concerning specific measures and aspects as well as a critique of the revolutionary project itself. However, these critical voices are argumentatively out of place at this point and are discussed in depth in Chapter 8.4.3 and 8.4.4. For the moment, it should merely be noted that “there are a lot of opinions here. Most of the people, even when we complain a lot, most of the people support the Cuban government. Some other people believe that this government is a dictatorship or something, but I don’t believe [that] at all” (33Hav). In that same way that there were some definite critics of the Revolution, there were also a couple of staunch supporters, such as 33Hav. 21Tri’s statement, that the “Revolution is the best thing that happened to Cuba [and] has more good sides than bad sides”, must also be seen against the backdrop of her support for it. However, the paramount significance of the Revolution for Cuba was acknowledged by practically all interviewees. As 49Mat affirmed, “first, the Revolution is important in everything”.120 14SdC also deemed it “very, very important”. Moreover, and probably due to its all-encompassing nature, which permeates nearly every area of life on the island, many interviewees found it difficult to describe the Revolution precisely or to clearly define its very nature. However, some tried, nevertheless. For example, 32Hav commented on the permanent nature of the Revolution: “For example, [the] 1960s, [the] 1970s were Revolution. But we still are in the Revolution, because we believe […] that all we are doing right now is a change; it’s, you know, a permanent change in Cuba.” 49Mat argued alike. For her, “it [the Revolution] is change”.121 This concept of the Revolution as permanent change was one of its central motifs, while another pivotal conception addressed the relationship between the Cuban Revolution and socialism. These elements are not automatically synonymous, even though the boundaries between them are increasingly blurred, as the following subchapters show. 7.6.1. Revolution, Socialism and their Popular Support

On face value, socialism is an ideology, while the Cuban Revolution is a movement. Similarly, argued 23Hav, “In the ‘60s, the Cuban Revolution started a new project, a new social project here. Of course, for many years, the Cuban government tried to start building socialism in Cuba.” From this viewpoint, Revolution is the vehicle by which socialism and eventually communism shall be achieved in a Marxist-Leninist sense. This opinion was supported by 22Hav: “The first change was in the first years of the

120  Original: “Primero, revolución es importante en todo.” 121  Original: “Porque [revolución] es cambio.”

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Revolution. We end[ed] to be a socialist country.” Additionally, 26Hav thought that the “Revolution is the fight for common goals and working together […] for the common good, for goals we all share.” Nonetheless, she repeatedly emphasised that she saw no difference between socialism and Revolution, which were two sides of the same coin to her. Consequently, Revolution and socialism are almost inextricably interwoven. This corresponds to the Cuban government’s perspective that both are indeed inseparable from each other, as written in the Cuban Constitution. However, although the great importance of the Revolution for Cuba and Cubans was acknowledged by almost all interviewees, only a few of them declared themselves as avowed supporters of the Revolution. One of them was 33Hav. Looking at his fellow Cubans, he was convinced that most of the people support the Cuban Revolution. Most of the people support the socialism in Cuba. […] And because I come from a very humble family, my family was also a beneficiary of the Revolution. My family was fighting in the Revolution. That’s why we grew up in this love of the Revolution.

In a similar vein, 10SdC perceived the stance of many Cubans towards the Revolution as follows: “Cuban people do support the Revolution, and they support socialism.” In general, it is notable that interviewees in rural areas were much less likely to openly commit themselves to the Revolution. On the contrary, they were often much more critical of it and its present condition than those in the urban tourism centres. Young, well-educated and financially fortunate Cubans in particular, who were usually engaged in tourism, often displayed a strong identification with the Revolution. Although they were often dissatisfied with existing socioeconomic conditions and demanded market economy reforms, too, they did not want to break up the fundamental revolutionary system. This is evident in another quote by 33Hav. While gesturing at a passer-by, he stated that “even when I complained about the bad things or the bad situations. You can change that. ‘That is bad, this is bad.’ I can complain, but I am still loving my country and this man loves his country.” A similar revelation made by 32Hav is also interesting. At first, it seems contradictory. On the one hand, he described himself as a convinced revolutionary, but on the other hand he had resolved to leave Cuba: I believe in the Revolution. I love my country. I love the weather. I love my language, but on the contrary, I don’t feel happy in Cuba. […] I feel happy but at the same time, I don’t feel happy, you know? I have decided to try to emigrate [to Canada].

32Hav and 43UdR were the only interviewees to speak candidly about their intentions to leave Cuba. Even though many interviewees, as mentioned, often expressed criticism of the Revolution and the prevailing social conditions, one notion recurred throughout most of the interviews. As 31Hav put it: “We are very proud about our Revolution.” Although this pride in the Revolution was expressed a little less frequently

What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?

than pride in Cuba or in being Cuban, it was still referred to with remarkable frequency. Many of the interviewees thought that especially the younger generations have a responsibility to preserve and advance the Revolution. Hence, 23Hav stated: “I think it is up to the young Cubans to preserve this [Revolution] and to move forward with all the aspects of the Cuban context.” 7.6.2. The Revolution as a Perpetual Backdrop to Cuban Life

The fact that the Revolution has a strong identity-forming effect for Cubans is perhaps not surprising. According to many interviewees, it is inextricably linked to their lives. For example, 22Hav perceived it as “a part of [his] life. I live here all my time. When I speak about the Revolution, I am speaking about my life. It’s part of the people. You live in the Revolution. You cannot separate it.” This is the very logic put forward by many other interviewees to explain the inseparability of Revolution and life in Cuba. Thus, 4Hav stated: “I was born, I was raised with the ideas, because in the school they are teaching the ideas of Fidel Castro, José Martí and Che Guevara.” In addition, 18Tri elucidated: “I was born in the Revolution. I do not know anything else than this, and I feel grateful.” 34Hav added, with a somewhat sullen undertone, that “everything is related to the Revolution”. This may be a reason for the close bonds with the Revolution, in that for most people it has always been there and therefore conveys the impression of a naturally given, alternative-less conception of society, economy and politics. Thus, 48UdR believed that “everything we know now is the Revolution”. For 39UdR, the Revolution “so far, [is] a normal thing”.122 This sentiment of normality and attachment to the Revolution since birth concurs with the fact that younger generations particularly are not required take active decisions on behalf of the Revolution. From the cradle, they were raised in this system, and it represents the only mode of society most interviewees have experienced throughout their entire life. This is what 16SdC expressed when, sounding exhausted, she enunciated that “since we are four years old or something, every day, we hear our history. We study the history of Cuba, we see it on the television, we have it all over.” An additional, much more positively worded quote from 46UdR, however, is intriguing in this context, characterising the Revolution as “the place where my children were born, the place that we have been fighting for. When I was born, I was educated for the Revolution”, though she did not elaborate on the apparently authoritarian character of the Revolution. However, 50Mat, who took a critical stance on the Cuban Revolution in its current form, hinted during the interview:

122  Original: “Hasta ahora pues una cosa normal.”

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It was a long time. With just one track. And it’s very difficult to change that. You realise that it’s a whole generation that was fighting for this in some way […]. And then there was another generation – the generation after that generation. And what they knew was that; the only thing that they know is this [Revolution].123

Some interviews addressed divergence in perceptions of the Revolution that seems to exist between different generations. Again, there were various perspectives on this issue. Some interview partners described these intergenerational differences neutrally and without valuation. For instance, 14SdC, who was born 1961, explained: “I didn’t live in the fighting, I was born later, after the Revolution.” And the considerably younger 16SdC, born in 1992, commented: “It was not my generation. So, the generation of the Revolution is my father’s generation, my grandfather’s generation, so they lived that Revolution, that change, that drastic change, they lived that.” In this regard, she hinted at the radical change the early years of the Revolution brought to Cuban society. However, according to further interviewees, this transformation and the dynamics attributed to the Revolution have weakened over the decades to such an extent that social development has now almost congealed. 49Mat assessed this discernibly more negatively than the interviewees quoted above: The Revolution in Cuba. As an event that happened and stayed in time. As something that began to be venerated. And to be seen as something perfect. And that made that Revolution stagnant. And then it lost its meaning. Let’s see, for me, who was born in 1973. It doesn’t mean any change, because things would have already changed.124

In conclusion, the Revolution was perceived by almost all of the interviewees as the ‘natural’ or given state of society. Since most Cubans were born, raised and educated in – and by – this system, this is hardly surprising. Although many Cubans are thus revolutionaries by birth – or at least define themselves as such – some of them nonetheless take a critical stance on the Revolution.

123  Original: “Fueron muchos años. Con una sola línea. Y es muy difícil cambiar eso. Date cuenta que es

toda una generación que fue la que lucho por esto de alguna manera y creo … Y luego hubo otra generación, la generación siguiente a esa generación. Y lo que conoció fue eso, lo único que sabían era esto.” 124  Original: “La revolución en Cuba. Como un evento que pasó y se quedó en el tiempo. Como algo que empezó a venerarse. Y verse como algo perfecto. Y que hizo que esa revolución se estancara. Y entonces pierde su significado. A ver, para mí, que nací en el 73. No significa un cambio, porque ya las cosas hubieran cambiado.”

What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?

7.6.3. Idolised Heroes as Identification Figures and Personifications of the Revolution

A central element of the Revolution and of identification therewith is a set of personalities. Through this personification, the partly theoretical construct of the Revolution is endowed with faces, voices and bodies. Seen from the position of the revolutionary leadership, this greatly simplifies identification with the Revolution. As 34Hav argued, this is but necessary under socialism: “In socialism we need a leader. In capitalism, you only need free market, and they think the leaders will be bored. They will run a company that controls the country and provide. In socialism you need leaders.” Thus, especially the great heroes of the Revolution, first and foremost Fidel Castro, were worshipped in an almost religious way. For example, 21Tri asserted that “people love Fidel. Cubans are not socialist, but they follow Fidel, they are Fidelistas. He [Fidel] was the principal leader, also for people who left Cuba. They did not dislike Fidel but did this because they wanted to improve their economic situation.”125 In many statements, a deep admiration for Fidel Castro reverberated. Two particularly detailed descriptions were provided by 34Hav, which is surprising, because he was critical of the Revolution, its socialist character and the current socioeconomic situation in Cuba. However, his descriptions aptly summarised many further, quite similar statements about Fidel Castro. His first short narration is as follows, with the last sentence showing parallels to religious redemption themes: In that moment, when the Cuban Revolution won, Fidel was handed over all of [Cuba]. It was like, ‘Here’s the nation. There you go.’ […] It wasn’t out of fear, it wasn’t out of oppression. People were in love with the leader, with Fidel. You know, people were like, ‘These guys will lead us to the light.’

The second anecdote refers to the time of the guerrilla struggle in the Sierra Maestra. And again, 34Hav drew a superhuman comparison at the end: At some point in the fight, they didn’t let him [Fidel Castro] fight. They realised that […] Fidel, his brain and his heart were so important for the Revolution that we wanted, that they didn’t want him to fight, to put himself in the line of fire even though he was a good warrior. He wanted to be there, and he was there because he was a leader so he would do it, but they always try to … ‘Don’t let Fidel go to the frontline. Don’t let him put himself in danger because if we lose him, we might win the war, but that man is something else.’

There were numerous idolisations of Fidel Castro in the interviews, and none of the interview partners made any negative comments about him. When the conversation

125  Given the widespread rejoicing in Miami after Fidel Castro’s death in November 2016, there are reaso-

nable doubts about this assessment.

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turned towards him, he was always spoken of in awe and admiration. His capabilities were constantly praised, for example by 16SdC, who admiringly suggested that “he [Fidel Castro] was there like temerario,126 like someone who is not afraid of anything”. A little later, she explained that “the things that he [Fidel Castro] could do, I don’t think that anyone after him in a long time could do the same. I’m not sure. [Not] even Raúl [Castro].” This quasi-religious idolisation was also bestowed on Che Guevara, albeit to a lesser extent than to Fidel Castro. As 24Hav said, the “Cuban people love Fidel Castro and Che Guevara”. Nevertheless, almost all of the interview partners were fond of Guevara. For example, 15SdC, an ardent revolutionary who also adored him, revealed: Che Guevara meant a lot to the people. Guevara was a man of action, who really fought for the freedom of the countries. […] Guevara had so many responsibilities in Cuba. And he quit because he just wanted to fight. […] To defend all the people. That is why he went to Africa. And then he died in Bolivia, for the people.

Again, the messianic comparison at the end is striking, in that Che Guevara, like Jesus Christ, lay down his life for the people. Therefore, it is no surprise that many interviewees indicated that “Che is important” (3Hav) and that they were “proud of him, as he left his well-paid job in medicine to fight for the people in Cuba, Congo and Bolivia” (9Hav). Yet, some interviewees were aware that this image and veneration for Che Guevara can be different abroad. However, it was generally assumed that he is also perceived positively and revered abroad. Thus, 33Hav explained: Che Guevara and Revolution for us is something too deep. […] Che Guevara is not only that image of the warrior and a hero and a communist example. He is an example of someone that believed in something that he died for. That’s what he means for us, but we know that he means [something different] to anyone else abroad, like a facial [means: a paradigmatic representation]. An example of rebellion.

It has already been indicated that a few negative remarks were also made related to the legacy of Guevara. These were almost without exception made by 44UdR, who described herself as opposed to the Revolution. While acknowledging his accomplishments and efforts on behalf of Cuba, she nevertheless emphasised the following: The impression that I have always had of Che is that he spent his life looking for brunettes, leaving them with children and sending himself off to war so as not to support anyone. That is the impression I have always had of Che. Always! And nobody told me that, I created that idea myself. He was an adventurer, that’s my impression.127

126  Translation as an adjective: reckless, bold; translation as a noun: daredevil. 127  Original: “La impresión siempre que me he llevado del Che es que se pasaba

la vida buscando morenas, dejándole hijos, y mandándose para la guerra para no mantener a nadie. Esa es la impresión que

What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?

Other important figures in the history of Cuban independence or the Revolution, however, were discussed less frequently in the interviews. In these cases, they were also spoken of almost exclusively in positive terms. This holds true, for example, for José Martí, about whom 32Hav said: “Martí was very important, because all things written by Martí in the past […], I mean, he’s like a Bible”. Even today, Cubans draw on Martí for references and occasionally establish an ideological link between Martí and the revolutionaries around Fidel Castro. Thus, 15SdC remarked: “The generation of the centennial […] fought as they were inspired by José Martí. We people nowadays, we are inspired by our leaders, those who fought in the ‘50s.” Besides Martí, Camillo Cienfuegos, Carlos Manuel de Céspedes and Antonio Maceo were also mentioned in some interviews, although rather seldomly. Usually, their importance for the history of Cuba and as idols was emphasised. Overall, Fidel Castro and Che Guevara are particularly significant as personifications and icons of the Cuban Revolution. They provide personal and ideological orientation to many interviewees and serve as identification figures. Thereby, they are often aggrandised, idolised and idealised, while critical voices are heard seldomly. Yet, at the same time, they are focal points for pride in the Revolution, which is otherwise often difficult to grasp. 7.6.4. The Revolution as the Root of Cuban Freedom

Besides personifications, many interviewees associated the Revolution with the attainment of freedom, which can be understood in the twofold sense Berlin (1975) described (see Chapter 2.2.2), i. e. negative and positive freedom, or freedom from and freedom to. In regard to the Cuban Revolution, freedom from plays a role just as importantly as freedom to for most interviewees. The latter kind of freedom is usually associated with the Conquistas of the Revolution, which are addressed in the next subchapter. Therefore, the following paragraphs concentrate exclusively on freedom from, or more precisely on that from which freedom is obtained through the Revolution. The manifold statements on this can be summarised well by quoting 24Hav. In his eyes, “the Revolution was very good for the Cuban people, because they got rid of dictatorships and violence”. During the interview, 24Hav, who was born in 1948, recounted the brutal violence against opponents of the Batista regime that he witnessed in the streets of Havana during his childhood. Similarly, younger interviewees referred to the violence of the Batista regime when they talked about the freedoms the Revolution brought. Accordingly, 16SdC reported on her grandparents’ experiences:

yo siempre he tenido del Che. ¡Siempre! Y eso no me lo dijo nadie, eso me lo creé yo misma. Que era un aventurero, esa es mi impresión.”

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So, when my grandfather and my grandmother, when they were born, there was Batista and the others, which was very bad. They tortured people, they killed people. You went out on the streets, and you could see, it was common to see someone dead, with holes, bullet holes […] on his body. […] My grandmother and my grandfather told me that it was awful. And it was like that, and it was like panic in the town between people. But Fidel Castro and the others, so Camillo, Che, all of them, they started a new era […] It was like they stopped this, and they started to make changes, very good changes.

Further interviewees drew on the period under Batista as a reference point when explaining the freedom from that the Revolution provided. To get an idea of the social conditions during the reign of Batista, 15SdC encouraged visiting the Museo Histórico 26 de Julio, which is located within the former Cuartel Moncada in Santiago de Cuba: In the Moncada Barracks, for example, you see the reality, you see so many things in there. How these people suffered, how they were killed, because they were looking for a solution to just free Cuba from the hands of this bloody Batista, who just did a lot of killings […] also killing the society. […] There were lots of corruption. Remember that from 1902, all the governments that had existed in Cuba until 1958, they were supported by the US. And in Havana, there were a lot of casinos; well, all over Cuba. Casinos, prostitutes, but at the same time, lots of killings, starvation.

35Hav used similar motifs to describe the circumstances that, according to him, were abolished following the revolutionaries’ victory. According to him, under the reign of Batista, “in Cuba, all the land was owned by Americans [and] Cuba was a country of whores, of casinos and the mafia, and now it is not”.128 Without exception, the interviewees portrayed the pre-revolutionary period of the Cuban Republic negatively. In contrast, liberation from these conditions was often invoked to justify the Revolution and its perpetuation. It is notable that many interviewees did not experience the conditions under Batista they described themselves but learned about from their grandparents or from school lessons. Thus, even though 16SdC was born in 1992, 15SdC in 1975 and 35Hav in 1993, this did not diminish their revolutionary zeal. According to 21Tri, it is of great importance for the continuation of the Revolution that future generations are comprehensively educated about Cuban history. She believed that “young people need to know about history and having bad leaders, otherwise the Revolution will be lost”. These perspectives focusing on pre-revolutionary dictatorships in Cuba were broadened by some interview partners who provided different references. For instance, 46UdR stated that “the Cuban population was fighting from the very beginning

128  Original: “En Cuba todas las tierras eran norteamericanas. Porque Cuba era un país de putas, de casi-

nos, de mafia, y ahora no.”

What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?

against Spain to abolish slavery”. In her eyes, Cubans continued “fighting until January 1st, 1959” (46UdR), until the triumph of the Revolution. Whereas 2Hav referred to independence from the influence of the United States. In his view, following victory in the Revolution, Fidel Castro also “announced the end of occupation by the northern neighbour” (2Hav). Likewise, 35Hav referred to independence from other nations in his explanation, in that Revolution also means freedom: “I do believe that the Revolution changed Cuba completely. And we feel independent, because actually there is no country that tells us what to do. We decide what happens in Cuba. And that was achieved by the Revolution.”129 In addition to freedom from in the sense of independence from dictators or other states, some interviewees named further liberties the Revolution brought. For example, 32Hav mentioned that “the new government with Fidel at the head changed a lot of things. Fidel eliminated – and this new government eliminated – racism, discrimination, private business, as well as private education and private healthcare.” A little later, he added that “Fidel Castro was a very great leader because he […] eliminated all these capitalistic trades” (32Hav). To conclude this section on the Revolution as a guarantor of Cuban freedom from dictators, foreign states and capitalist dependencies, it is worth pointing out a remarkable but singular view of 33Hav. He believed that even with the economy, the economic difficulties, […] most of the population recognises that this government represents our sovereignty, represents our Cuban pride, represents our nationality. Our desires, which is to believe in a better society for the world.

Following this line of thought, many Cubans were aware of the economic issues but still valued more the freedoms brought by the Revolution. This is how 33Hav explained what he regarded as the continuing high level of support for the Revolution among the Cuban population. It should be noted at this point that, according to the interviews conducted, this support is apparently less pronounced than 33Hav apparently presumed. 7.6.5. Conquistas, Tranquillity and Social Security

Apart from freedom from dictatorship and foreign domination, many interview partners also referred to freedom to as an integral component of the Cuban Revolution. Some articulated this in rather general terms, such as 15SdC, who stated that living conditions in Cuba “changed in 1959 [with] Castro as the President of the Republic. 129  Original:

“Yo sí creo que la revolución cambió a Cuba totalmente. Y, nos sentimos independientes, porque actualmente no hay ningún país que nos dice que es lo que tenemos que hacer. Lo que ocurre en Cuba, lo decidimos nosotros. Y eso lo logró la revolución.”

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He changed all the views that we had in the past, and then gave the opportunity for everybody in Cuba to have a better life and better living conditions.” Many interviewees shared similar views and associated improved living conditions with the establishment of a more just revolutionary society that enables all Cubans to participate both socially and economically. For instance, 45UdR thought about the Revolution that “it’s a just thing”.130 34Hav likewise related this to Fidel Castro whom he described as a really wealthy guy with a really nice life. And he said, ‘What the fuck is going on? Why, if you’re black and poor, you cannot get education or health? Why are there so many people in the street? Why are the Americans […] hanging out in these classic cars? […] And the other ones don’t have employment, or you are 40 years old and you’re polishing shoes because you could never find a job, you know?’ Social justice was something that moved him. And that is beautiful […]. So, you can never say he was just some crazy dictator who wanted power. Fidel Castro was a just man.

It is exactly this justness that 23Hav addressed, too. He talked about the early days of the revolutionary project after 1959, in that “at the beginning, it was to provide many opportunities to the poor people and […] right now, Cuba has one of the highest levels of literacy and health and life expectancy”. This is also the rationale behind 21Tri’s assertion that “especially poor people will suffer from losing the Revolution”. 32Hav took a similar stance. He agreed, believing that the “Revolution changed society for good by doing, you know, different social changes, by building more schools or hospitals, creating […] more facilities to the people”. These quotes demonstrate what many interviewees considered key elements in the establishment of the revolutionary society they deem just: the Conquistas of the Revolution. For many interviewees, these Conquistas constituted the essence of the Cuban Revolution. Thus, 16SdC described the Revolution as “a good change, a lot of good change, the public schools, the public hospitals, everything that […] the Revolution has made”. Within a passionate monologue, 35Hav explained that “for some, for the great majority, for many people, it [the Revolution] gave life. It gave them the right to study. It gave them the right to healthcare. It gave them many rights.”131 Even 43UdR, the youngest interviewee in the sample, named free education and healthcare as central elements of the Revolution: “For me? The Revolution has been very good, because […] the schools are free, the polyclinics are free – and that is thanks to the Revolution, which is very important.”132

130  Original: “Creo, no sé, que sea una cosa justa.” 131  Original: “Para algunos, para la gran mayoría, para mucha gente le dio vida. Le dio el derecho a estudi-

ar. Le dio el derecho a la salud. Le dio muchos derechos.” 132  Original: “¿Para mí? La Revolución ha sido muy buena porque ya no hay … las escuelas son gratuitas, las policlínicas también, y eso es gracias a la Revolución, que es muy importante.”

What Does the Cuban Revolution Signify?

While previous quotes primarily related to the benefits of the Conquistas of the Revolution for society as a whole, some interviewees cited their personal benedictions. Thus, with some pride, 18Tri shared her experiences from her university education: I went to the best university of the country, and I did not pay anything. And I was not from Havana, and I got [a] dormitory, food, transportation and everything for free. I am from Pinar del Río. […] We had buildings with apartments, and they gave us food there, they used to take us to the university every morning and bring us back in the afternoon. […] I mean, what else? What else could you ask for?

In comparison to the free educational and healthcare systems, the basic provision of the population with everyday necessities, which also is part of to the Conquistas, was mentioned far less often as a central element of the Revolution. 32Hav emphasised that “every […] sphere of Cuban economy is supported by our government. I mean, schools, healthcare, television, media”. A little later he continued on this theme: Every Cuban who is born is subsidised. […] We have different subsidies. For example, gas for cooking. We pay low prices for gas for cooking. […] Food is subsidised as well. Electricity is subsidised as well. […] Public transportation is subsidised as well. (32Hav)

Especially the younger interviewees engaged in tourism mentioned the Conquistas and associated social security as the hallmarks of the Revolution. Moreover, those who had successfully completed their studies and who now earned relatively high incomes seemed to be positive about the Conquistas and the Revolution as a whole. This also held true if they were employed outside their field of study, at least if they could earn above-average foreign currency incomes. Although she did not state this explicitly, 18Tri shared this view: People from my generation, I think most of them do not want socialism to go on in Cuba. People did not study anything. But […] those that went to college, to university, who had like good education, we also support this socialism, because we are grateful because of what they gave us.

Also resonating in this quote is the perception of these Conquistas as a godsend from the Revolution to Cubans. 15SdC personally attributed this to Fidel Castro: The benefits that we Cubans have […] and the achievements that we have got since 1959, that is something that belongs to the Cubans. And nothing would change that. I mean, our beloved Fidel is dead now, but his legacy is still present in the new generations.

Thus, supporters of this opinion were almost exclusively Cubans from urban tourist centres. In contrast, older interviewees who had no income from tourism hardly ever commented positively on the Conquistas and did not categorise them as a central constituent of the Revolution. This was especially true when these individuals relied on free health services of the Revolution often lauded by the younger ones.

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For example, 19Tri, 42UdR and 44UdR were extremely critical of the Revolution’s health benefits. Rather, several interviewees in Unión de Reyes cited the tranquillity, or perchance the monotony, of life in rural Cuba as a major consequence of the Revolution. Thus, 41UdR described her life as characterised by “tranquillity, tranquillity, tranquillity.”133 Very similar sentiments were shared by 48UdR, who noted that in Unión de Reyes “we live quiet and with security”. Moreover, the following statement made by 47UdR was along the same lines: “Cuba is the most quiet country in the world. There are no problems.” 7.6.6. Critical Perspectives on the Revolution

To conclude this chapter on the significance of the Cuban Revolution for the interview partners, it should not be ignored that while acknowledging the benefits of the Revolution, many interviewees likewise viewed it critically, especially those already critical of power relations and living conditions in the country. Referring to the Revolution, 49UdR stated that “it has good and bad consequences, as in other societies. But it is not that I feel indebted or grateful for this.”134 There were very few interviewees who solely critiqued the Revolution. Instead, a differentiated perspective often surfaced, such as in the case of 23Hav, who simultaneously specified an external influencing factor accountable for mistakes in Cuba. He thought that “to blame the Cuban Revolution for everything that happened here is not fair. Remember, we have very strong pressure from the American embargo. […] Even if they [the Revolutionaries] made a lot of mistakes, they also created very good things here.” Similarly, 42UdR offered a balancing sentiment, even though she did not directly point out who is responsible for Cuba’s problems. Talking about the Cuban Revolution, she noted: I have my positive thoughts, but I keep recognising that there have to be many improvements, because there have been many problems and the situation has to be improved. In other words, in 60 years of Revolution, we have survived many problems.135

These few quotes already indicate that many interviewees indeed also problematise the Revolution. However, this does not necessarily contradict their recognition of the meanings of the Revolution discussed earlier in this chapter. Even forthright critics

133  Original: “Tranquilidad, tranquilidad, tranquilidad.” 134  Original: “Tiene consecuencias buenas y malas, como en otras sociedades. Pero no es que yo me sienta

deudora ni agradecida de esto.” 135  Original: “Mis ideas siempre fueron positivas. Tengo mis ideas positivas, pero no dejo de reconocer que tienen que existir muchos cambios porque ha habido muchos problemas y hay que mejorar la situación. O sea que 60 años que llevamos de revolución hemos sobrevivido a muchos problemas.”

Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities

of the Revolution might idolise revolutionary heroes, perceive the Revolution as a stronghold of Cuban freedom and describe the Conquistas as blessings for Cuba. Yet, as stated at the outset of this chapter, criticism of the Revolution is addressed in detail in another section, in line with the argument in this book (see Chapter 8.4.4). 7.7.

Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities

The preceding chapters outlined the interviewees’ perceptions of tourism and Cuentapropismo from an economic perspective, as well as their impact on Cuban society. Furthermore, the self-image of the Cuban interviewees was discussed thoroughly, illustrating the central role the Cuban Revolution sometimes plays in Cuban identities. Building on the above, this and subsequent chapters elaborate on the implications of international tourism for Cuban identities. Initially, this chapter does so with a broad, general focus. Then, the commodification of revolutionary legacies in tourism and its consequences for Cuban identities are considered in detail. For these considerations, the interviewees’ descriptions of what they regard as characterising Cuban identities provide the reference against which identity changes through tourism can be observed. Hence, these should be kept in mind throughout. Right from the outset, it should be noted that almost all of the interview partners described fundamental effects of tourism on Cuban identities. Only two interviewees thought that “tourism does not change the country too much” (6Hav). In terms of Cuban identity, committed revolutionary 15SdC thus declared that “in Cuba, we have never changed the way we have been”. Almost without exception, the consequences of tourism for Cuban identities were regarded negatively by the interviewees. There was only one exception, who addressed both positive and negative effects. As a positive consequence of tourism, 36Hav considered that tourism partly enhances the pride of being Cuban: “Now I appreciate more, what we are. […] Also, I feel, like, prouder of where I came from, my roots, my culture. I feel like we have to motivate the humanity between us, between us Cubans” (36Hav). In contrast, the vast majority of interviewees saw Cuban identity as under threat from tourism. 7.7.1. Scope of Cuban Identities Transformed by Tourism

The outright loss of identity is a particularly important issue in this context. Thus, 34Hav felt that with “so many tourists coming, so much money coming in, [that] could create that we will lose our identity”. 4Hav made this point, too. However, he expressed this more abstractly by noting that increasing tourism “makes us lose the mystery, the light” that characterise Cuba.

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Based on the two quotes above and the following one, it is evident that it is not necessarily tourism per se that poses the risk of losing Cuban identity. Instead, it seems to be the sheer number of tourists, the large sums of money pouring into Cuba and the great importance attached to tourism that put identities under pressure. 40UdR formulated it this way: “Because sometimes that very behaviour of giving too much importance to tourism, of giving a lot of prominence to tourism, what it does is that people begin to lose their love for themselves.”136 A hint at the specific causes that might lie behind the loss of identity through tourism was given by 11SdC: “It seems to me that we’re selling our identity – and that’s not good.” In addition, he pointed to commodification processes, which are explored in more detail in Chapter 7.9. At the same time, 34Hav believed that the Cuban government is not aware of this threat: “They [the government] don’t see that we’re losing our identity” – or they fail to react adequately at least. The fact that a genuine response to the threat to Cuban identity posed by tourism seems imperative was highlighted clearly by 35Hav: “Well, we are struggling not to lose our identity.”137 The potential loss of Cuban identity is consistently perceived as negative and undesirable. Hence, 34Hav spoke about both Cuban identity as such and the particular identity of Habana Vieja as a space: “And that’s what I don’t want. Wake up 40 years from now and cry, because what is cool, what was amazing, what was unique is gone.” Such spatial aspects of identity or the loss thereof were addressed by other interview partners, too. For instance, 38Hav referred to her hometown of Matanzas when she remarked “tourism destroys the city and what it stands for”. When she returns there, from studying in Havana, she almost fails to recognise the central part of the city, because “the city centre was changed so much – this is not the city I grew up in” (38Hav). A comment seems relevant here on the frequently expressed apprehension that Cuban identity could be lost in the wake of tourism. When ‘loss of identity’ was addressed in the interview, this did not imply the complete loss of an identity, since a person completely devoid of identity is difficult to imagine. Rather, these formulations referred to the loss of elements, references or resources ( Jullien 2017) pertinent to current Cuban identities, as they might potentially be replaced by different ones. The following statement made by 23Hav can be understood in this sense: “I do not think we will lose the Cuban identity. But we will have to find out how to live with that influence [of tourism] and to preserve the Cuban identity. […] We must not forget our traditions and our own culture.” In a similar vein, 5Hav thought that “the bad thing is, it

136  Original: “Porque a veces ese mismo comportamiento, de darle demasiada importancia al turismo, de

darle mucho protagonismo al turismo, lo que hace es que las personas empiecen a decrecer el amor propio que se tienen.” 137  Original: “Pues estamos luchando por no perder la identidad.”

Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities

[tourism] also altered the mentality of many Cubans”.138 Although the term ‘mentality’ is problematic and diffuse, 5Hav’s basic point is clear and does not differ significantly from that of his fellow Cubans quoted earlier. For now, it can thus be concluded that almost all of the interview partners regarded tourism as having a considerable influence on Cuban identities. The specific implications for Cuban identities are the subject of the following subchapters. They can be reasonably grouped as changes in Cuban culture (7.7.2), loss of prior systems of values (7.7.3), diminishing identification with the Revolution (7.7.4) and frustration spreading through parts of the population (8.4.4). 7.7.2. Changes in Cuban Culture

“Something that tourism has influenced is our culture” – many interviewees concurred with this observation made by 36Hav. They considered international tourism to be one of the biggest forces influencing the way Cubans live, act and think. According to 32Hav, this influence on Cuban culture is far-reaching. He felt that under the sway of tourism, “Cuba [has] changed in many, many senses. In our minds, in Cuban minds, in the way we think – in many ways it [has] changed” (32Hav). Although 6Hav noted that “tourism changes everything, everywhere – somehow”,139 he considered its impact on Cuba and its culture as particularly strong and pervasive. He, like several others, believed that this influence is mostly harmful and undesirable. Thus, 21Tri pointed out that the revolutionary government therefore “did not want to have tourism, because tourism changes cultures”. She continued to stress that this very effect can now be observed in Cuba as a result of tourism: “People also leave parts of their culture” (21Tri). In more expressive language, 11SdC articulated his displeasure with the cultural impacts of tourism. He recognised that “it [tourism] is destroying really hardly our feelings, our way of living” (11SdC). Furthermore, 23Hav, while acknowledging the merits of cultural interchange with other nations, urgently warned that “at the same time, we must not forget our traditions and our own culture, which is beautiful”. When asked about which cultural elements in Cuba were being changed or threatened by tourism, many interviewees referred to intangible cultural features. Values and attitudes were mentioned particularly prominently, so these will be subject to discussion in the next subchapter (see Chapter 7.7.3). A remarkable example of a different cultural reference, however, was provided by 34Hav, who is a Cuentapropista offering walking tours in Havana and engaging several 138  Original:

“Und das Schlimme ist, er [der Tourismus] hat auch die Mentalität von vielen Kubanern geändert.” 139  Original: “Tourismus ändert alles überall – irgendwo.”

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employees. At first, he discussed the changing architecture and design of public spaces in Habana Vieja in line with an increase in tourism. Unlike most other interviewees, though, he criticised the cultural influence of tourism for a different reason. His interview took place on a balcony in a semi-restored part of Habana Vieja, and at one point he gestured toward the facades of the surrounding colonial buildings. In his eyes, Cuba must not lose its unique culture: It’s what makes us interesting. If all of these buildings, they stop looking like that, […] if evolving identity is that, then we are going to lose what makes us interesting. This facade, everything that you preserve, everything you know. If you start changing that, then why would people come? If you take out the cobblestones, the adoquines140, the ones that make the street and you put a really nice road there, that’s good, right? But then why would [tourists] come here?

Using this architectural example, he illustrated why the loss of Cuban culture is problematic in his eyes – not so much because it involves a loss of identity, but rather because he understands Cuban culture mainly as a tourism asset. Following his logic, if Habana Vieja’s buildings and streets were restored without preserving their cultural distinctiveness, the city would simply no longer be of any interest to tourists. He continued: At least Havana […] is something that we need to keep like this, like a Pandora’s box, you know? You’re not even allowed to fix the facade. […] I mean, you need to find the logical point. […] It’s not ‘let them fall apart’. You know, you have to reinforce those structures, because they were built 200 years ago, and they will fall apart. […] You need to fix them, but you need to keep the identity going. You need to restore them. Of course, even if you use new materials and construction materials. […] You need to build a real thing, an authentic thing and make it look like its 200 years old. Like it was just built but we are in the 1800s.

In the further course of the interview, he extended this demand to additional spheres of Cuban identity and culture, arguing that it is not as important to preserve Cuban identity in its current form, but it must appear to be authentic, like a facade, primarily on the outside, towards the tourist observer, while the inside might be allowed a certain level of modernisation. However, this represents a singular opinion among the interviewees and can possibly be attributed in part to 34Hav’s self-employment in tourism. Regarding the change in Cuban culture due to tourism, it should not be ignored that there are or can be other drivers that affect Cuban culture, too. 23Hav, for instance,

140  Translation: “Cobblestone pavement”

Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities

attributed changes in Cuban culture to the intensified integration into processes of globalisation: When the socialist government in Russia fell, we had to find new ways to save the economy, and that was [by] opening to the world and to more foreign influence. And of course, when Cuba started seeing this influence from Europe and also from the United States, especially through communication media, the Cuban identity started being modified by new characters and new values. We are now most influenced by movies, series and cultural productions that came from abroad.

Along with the impact of tourism, media influences might have an impact on Cuban culture. This is reminiscent of Appadurai’s (1990:298–299) mediascapes and thus recalls that cultural influences as well as the transformation of identities are not one-dimensional, monocausal processes but multi-layered, multifactorial and complex structures that are not always fully comprehensible for the individual. In summary, increasing tourism in Cuba seems to affect Cuban culture negatively. It must be added that the remarks to this effect were made exclusively by respondents interviewed in the urban tourism hotspots. Those interviewed in Unión de Reyes and Matanzas were either incapable of or reluctant to comment on this point. This may also be similar in terms of the economic consequences of tourism, i. e. they are too far away from the general hubbub, and therefore it is not really relevant for the local population to concern themselves in these matters. 7.7.3. Change and Loss of Values

Even more frequently than the alteration of Cuban culture, the loss of shared values was mentioned as being due to international tourism. Indeed, virtually all of the interview partners addressing this issue spoke outrightly of loss instead of change; for instance, 16SdC was convinced that tourism “has changed the mind of people, some people”, while 51Mat specified that “values are lost”.141 This loss of values was a significant, serious topic for many interviewees, on which they often commented extensively. The deprivation of these values was invariably seen as negative and dangerous for Cuban society. Closely interwoven with this notion was the threat to Cuban identity, which, according to many interviewees, is partially based on solidarity and mutual support (as shown in Chapter 7.5.4). 41UdR believed that increasing tourism in Cuba “will create conflicts; well, it will provoke the disappearance of many values, or perhaps even our identity”.142 4Hav even saw the danger of 141  Original: “Se pierdan valores.” 142  Original: “Eso creará conflictos, bueno, provocará la desaparición de muchos valores o tal vez nuestra

identidad.”

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dehumanisation in tourism. From his point of view, many people employed in tourism act “not [like] human people. Every person, every seller, a robot!” He continued, mimicking the sounds and movements of a robot: “Hello, Sir. What do you want?” In the following, spatial aspects of such identity transformations related to values are first considered, following which we examine in detail how values of solidarity and mutual support are increasingly being replaced by materialism and egoism. Some interviewees implied spatial differences in relation to the influence of tourism on Cubans’ values. 36Hav, for instance, stated “we are losing our moral values somehow. I don’t know why. Somehow, but not in every place.” Tourism hotspots were mentioned as being particularly affected by this loss of values and changes in identity. Likewise, 20Tri referred to the architectural manifestation of this change and talked about how many houses in Trinidad were turned into casas particulares. He foresaw that “Trinidad, it is going to change. […] Everything is changing, the architecture of the houses is [changing]. Because people are looking to make one more room [to rent] and more money. And that is not something I love” (20Tri). In this regard, the fate of Trinidad was also addressed by 18Tri, who furthermore included Viñales in western Cuba. She suggested that “here in Trinidad or maybe in Viñales […] people change a little bit, you know? Like their way to think, like money changes everything.” Similarly, 41UdR mentioned specific places when speaking about the influence of tourism on identity, and especially values in Cuba. She stated that this very impact of tourism “is why I was telling you that Varadero is like a jungle. So perhaps Viñales is the same, because Viñales is primarily for tourism. And people began to think that way and now they are different.”143 Hence, apparently, the perception of the loss of values is focused on Cuban tourist centres. These do not inevitably have to be urban spaces, as the example of rural Viñales indicates, which has been mentioned repeatedly. The threat of conflict and loss of Cuban core values was something 16SdC also perceived. Referring to her fellow Cubans involved in tourism, she observed: They earn, they earn, they earn, and they start to forget where they were born, their origins and the older people and values, values like honesty and everything. […] But I don’t want that people forget their origins, that people become materialistic you know, that people forget to help other people and to be humans. […] And that’s why, because of the economic situation, the hard economic situation, this situation that people start to change their minds.

This quote covers a whole range of interesting aspects. Thus, the loss of values is concretised in more detail compared to other interviewees. On the one hand, she related

143  Original: “Por eso te decía que Varadero es una selva. Por eso tal vez Viñales sea igual, porque Viñales

es sobre todo para el turismo. Y la gente comenzó a pensar de esa manera y ahora son diferentes.”

Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities

to the causes of this loss of values; on the other hand, she specified the values that were being lost. By referring to ‘the hard economic situation’, 16SdC identified causes for changes in Cuban identities, some of which go beyond tourism. For instance, she considered the challenging economic situation to be a decisive factor in this respect. This sentiment was shared by 11SdC, in whose opinion “We are the ones who separate each other. Why? Because the economy or the money, and that’s destroying.” 32Hav took a similar view: “before the 1990s, our government was keeping us in a bubble, trying that other countries do not come to Cuba, trying that that [capitalistic system] philosophy will not change Cubans’ heads as we have right now”. In addition to bemoaning former values such as solidarity, humanity, honesty and awareness for one’s origin being lost, 16SdC revealed a fear that far-reaching materialism is replacing them. Further interviewees described growing materialism as being characteristic of the changes in Cuban identities and systems of value. Increasing materialism was primarily observed by interviewees employed in tourism, specifically among those working in tourism. Although 41UdR was not engaged in the industry, she still shared this observation and traced it back to the fact that “the more someone has, the more they want. You start seeing things like that already, don’t you? I do not care about this; I care about my own. […] Well, that is how we are now, that is how we are living and getting by.”144 Repeatedly, the interviewees stated that they had noticed not only materialism among their fellow Cubans, but also outright avarice. According to 10SdC, “there are some people who always want more, the more they get. Compared to the past, some Cubans are way more materialistic than in the past.” 10SdC agreed with practically all of the interviewees that such materialistic tendencies were harmful and possibly dangerous for Cuban society; consequently, “the Cuban government and Cuban society have to prevent people from becoming like that”. Equally concerned was 16SdC, who had experienced her peers as considerably “more materialistic. But also, at the same time, they want more and more and more.” However, she added that “it is some people, not everyone, not everyone. But some people have become […] more materialistic because of that [tourism]. And they start to have [have started to show] more interest in earning money and to be very, very kind with foreigners” (16SdC). While stressing the special role tourism plays in the spread of materialism in this last sentence, 16SdC also acknowledged that this surely is not a development affecting all Cubans but rather a limited number of people. Unfortunately, she did not expand on this point. Yet, it stands to reason that she primarily – not exclusively – relates to Cubans engaged in tourism as being particularly associated with growing materialism or even avariciousness. 144  Original: “Mientras más una persona tiene, más quiere. Empiezas ya a ver cosas como eso, ¿no? No me

importa aquel, me importa lo mío. […] En fin, así es como estamos ahora nosotras, así vivimos llevándonos bien.”

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Complementary to emerging materialism, many interviewees identified selfishness, jealousy and increased competitiveness as mindsets proliferating in Cuba. These three traits were closely related to increasing materialism, as shown for instance by 36Hav’s diction, recalling quotes cited previously when she stated that it is “something that has been happening for the past few years, and mostly in tourism, […] when people start to get a high income, when people start to …, they become ambitious and they want more, they want more, they want more”. Due to this perceived egoism and selfishness, some interviewees felt that Cuban identity and former virtues were under threat. 5Hav, for instance, indicated “that this compañerismo [Comradeship, Companionship] has almost died here in Cuba. People care more about themselves than about others.”145 Instead of mutual support and compañerismo, however, there seems to be growing competition and rivalry within tourism. In this regard, 36Hav talked about acquaintances who are employed as tour guides for state agencies in Habana Vieja: So, there are conflicts between them for [working with passengers from] cruise ships. Yeah. Because everybody wants to work in cruise ships with Americans. Well, it’s true that Americans tip a lot, but I mean, you don’t have to fight for that; [it] is like fighting for money or something like that.

However, not only in Habana Vieja, but also across all of the tourist locations visited for this research, there were reports of this relatively new and rapidly intensifying competition and resulting conflicts, which in some cases had even turned violent. As 37Tri reported in the case of Trinidad, “additionally to the already fierce competition [among existing casas particulares], the government establishes several hotels” that further increase competition. Relating to such contest, 10SdC yet again mentioned the “people of Viñales: there is envy in Viñales right now.” He elaborated on this and explained that “in Cuba, the neighbourhood is very important, where everyone knows each other and talks with each other. In those envious neighbourhoods, this sense of community is lost.” Growing envy and jealousy were also observed in places considerably less prominent, such as the city of Gibara in Holguín Province. In this case, however, changing values related not solely to Cubans competing in tourism. According to local sources, there were also conflicts in Gibara between people earning relatively high incomes in tourism and those who did not have this opportunity. This inequality was regarded a source of envy by other interviewees elsewhere, too. Accordingly, 23Hav distinguished between Cuentapropistas and state-employed Cubans:

145  Original: “So ich sage manchmal, dass dieses compañerismo ist fast gestorben hier in Kuba. Die Leute

denken mehr an sich als an andere.”

Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities

People who got a private business, people who received money from abroad and people who work in tourism, they started getting the highest life level [compared to] the people who worked for the government and got only paid by the salary of the government. And of course, this inequality starts getting this jealousy between some people.

Of course, it must be recognised that materialism, competition, egoism and envy are certainly not phenomena that occur exclusively in Cuba. Perhaps, considering the tense economic situation, the pursuit of higher incomes in the country, coupled with increasing competition, is utterly logical and expectable when there are opportunities to do so. Indeed, this is what 19Tri suggested: “Cuban people are after their money. Because, like anywhere, if you do not have money, you cannot live. But here it is more [pertinent] than anywhere else.” 22Hav argued quite similarly: “People want to get money, to make money. Because, that is a necessity, to survive. It is a great consequence.” The aforementioned concomitants of tourism, and thus ultimately the implications of tourism in terms of Cuban identities, are therefore tourism’s ‘great consequences’, to use 22Hav’s diction. That the interview partners saw these consequences as more or less indispensable side effects of tourism by no means diminishes their gravity for Cuban identities. It is significant at this point to note that the interviewees perceived the emergence of materialism, a competitive mindset, egoism and envy as novel, as a change. Videlicet, as a change evoked by tourism or associated with tourism. Additionally, it is astonishing that the negative effects of tourism upon Cuban identities were formulated by this many interview partners independently of one another and in such unison. Though this may sound like the usual lament and romanticisation of the allegedly good old days, these observations pervade through all age groups and occupations. 7.7.4. Decreasing Identification with the Revolution?

Beyond its influence on values and mindsets, as well as the culture of Cuban society, international tourism might also affect another meaningful domain of Cuban identities: identification with the Cuban Revolution – as reported by a few interview partners. For instance, 35Hav voiced concern about the loss of meaning of the Revolution he had observed among some of his fellow Cubans. According to him, they “have to be careful, because I feel that ideas are being forgotten about what the Revolution was about”.146 His fears stemmed specifically from tourism: “it is meant to develop [the

146  Original: “Exactamente. Y eso hay que tener cuidado, porque siento que se están olvidando las ideas

por lo que se hizo la revolución.”

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economy], but with caution. Trying not to lose the idea on which this Revolution was built.”147 Likewise, other interview partners, such as 21Tri, considered tourism a potentially devisive influence on the Revolution: “tourism might also change the Revolution.” A similar perspective was offered by 33Hav; however, he blamed the changing stance of many Cubans towards the Revolution not on tourism per se but rather on foreign tourists. He began by explaining what the Revolution means to him and to Cuba, and then he stated that “all that gets influenced directly in the tourism. Why? Because the people who come from abroad have a lot of doubts about Cuba” (33Hav). According to his experience, foreign tourists share these doubts, which he deemed unjustified, with locals, some of whom incorporate them and thus increasingly lose both their faith in the Revolution and their identification with it. Another interesting point was made by 16SdC, who discerned fundamental contradictions between international tourism, on the one hand, which operates according to capitalist principles, and Cuban socialism and the Revolution, on the other. At the same time, she recognised the economic opportunities tourism offers: “People want change, development and something. And it seems that the tourism gives that or helps in that development. And it really does, because it is a lot of money for the country. But it doesn’t match with the socialist idea and the communist idea” (16SdC). From her point of view, international tourism and Revolution are thus mostly incompatible. Hence, all of those who opt for sustained engagement in tourism inevitably distance themselves from the Revolution and its ideals. Several interviewees described declining identification with the Revolution in an indirect way. First, they portrayed for what the Cuban Revolution stands, e. g. mutual support, comradeship or pride (see Chapter 7.5.4). Subsequently, they explained that these values were increasingly being lost and no longer formed the foundation of Cuban identity. This development was evaluated negatively almost without exception, for example by 16SdC, who noted “It’s just that, I don’t want that …; I’m afraid that people forget that [the values described] with this [tourism].” Altogether, though, it is remarkable that the impact of tourism per se on identification with the Revolution does not seem overly pronounced; only a few interviewees indicated otherwise. This is somehow surprising and unexpected against the backdrop of current theory. In Chapter 7.9, the interrelationship between Cuban identities and international tourism is examined in greater detail, by considering the commodification of the Revolution as a case in point. Apart from the relatively minor effects of tourism on identification with the Revolution and its traditional values, some interviewees observed diminishing respect for

147  Original: “Solo es desarrollarlo, pero con cuidado. Tratando que no se pierda esa idea con que se hizo

esta revolución.”

Effects of Tourism on Cuban Identities

revolutionary and national symbols among Cubans engaged in the industry. 18Tri, for example, thought that “the people, you know, lose respect for the symbols, like, for the Cuban flag”. Yet, it must be noted at this point that only a few interview partners held tourism responsible for this situation. 36Hav stated that she had observed diminishing respect for revolutionary symbols, too. But she explicitly did not blame tourism for this: “I feel like in some way we are missing that respect for our symbols. Maybe, well, not because of the tourism, but – I don’t know – because maybe our culture is evolving.” However, as the quote demonstrates, she was not entirely sure about this. At the end of this subchapter, it should be noted that only a few interview partners perceived declining identification with the Cuban Revolution as one of the dominant social consequences of international tourism in the country. This was very rarely formulated directly – and just occasionally indirectly – by first explaining what values and qualities the Revolution depicted to individual interviewees, and subsequently that these were increasingly vanishing. However, the conclusion was similar in both cases: the identity-forming power of the Cuban Revolution is not extensively diminishing in the wake of international tourism in general – or at least only to a limited extent. In this regard, it is important to mention that observations of decreasing revolutionary identification were expressed almost exclusively by interviewees who were themselves active in tourism and/or lived in one of the Cuban tourism hotspots. In contrast, interview partners in Unión de Reyes only very rarely commented on the influence of tourism on Cuban identities. Assessments of this notion thus appear to be spatially sensitive. No distinctive patterns could be discerned in relation to the age, gender or educational level of the interviewees. Additionally, it is worth taking note that several interviewees seemed to support the Revolution, even if they did not identify particularly strongly with it. Support for the Revolution therefore seems to be at least partially unrelated to identification with it. However, its most ardent supporters also tended to identify most strongly with it. After this broad and general consideration of the influence of international tourism on Cuban identities, the following sections focus on a specific process occurring in the sector, namely the commodification of the Revolution and its legacies, as well as its impact on Cuban identities. It has already been hinted at in the previous sections that some interviewees perceived contradictions between the socialist Cuban Revolution and capitalist tourism, with respective implications for their self-image. These consequences were described as potentially negative, harmful or even dangerous in the great majority of interviews. Against this backdrop, it might be expected that the highly capitalistic commodification of the identity-forming Revolution has similarly grave consequences for Cuban identities. This is the main subject of the following subchapters.

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7.8. Commodifying the Cuban Revolution: Differences in Symbols, Materialisation and Spatial Patterns

Prior to analysing the interviewees’ perceptions and interpretations of the commodification of the Revolution in Cuban tourism, it is necessary to delimit practices of commodification from other forms of symbolic (re-)production, be they material or immaterial, which is done by examining the commodification and reproduction of revolutionary symbols and legacies. To this end, initially, a distinction is drawn between commodifying and non-commodifying reproductions of the Revolution, by presenting different examples of the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution as well as of non-profit-oriented reproductions. As a result of this differentiation, an interesting spatial aspect is revealed: the symbolic cosmos of the Revolution is reproduced  – and sometimes commodified  – in varying ways and in different spaces. This is evidently dependent on the predominant utilisation and framing of these spaces. In this regard, the touristic penetration of space seems to be the central determining factor for this differentiation. Before considering examples of the commodification of the Revolution, the materiality of these reproductions is thematised briefly. Besides material examples, the commodification of the Revolution, as well as its reproduction in general, also assumes immaterial forms, which vary spatially, too. Narratives and oral traditions, for instance those of tour guides on sightseeing tours or of neighbours in conversation with each other, produce revolutionary realities that can also take on a multiplicity of contents, intentions and forms. However, like the atmosphere or the mood of a space or a place, these immaterial reproductions of the Revolution are rather difficult to detect and to record, for example on maps. The discursive dimension of such immaterial reproductions is thus explored through the analysis and interpretation of the interviews conducted for this research. The subsequent reflections on the reproduction or commodification of the Revolution in this chapter thus refer primarily to materialisations of these reproductions. 7.8.1. Commodifying Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution

The principal feature of the Revolution in commodity form is its purpose to be consumed, which is why it is characterised by being both easily consumable and identifiable as commodity. Consequently, revolutionary symbols, elements or places, which are easy and quick for tourists to understand, to recognise or to experience, serve often in commodifying reproductions of this very Revolution. In other words, such ‘revolutionary commodities’ generally reproduce revolutionary elements consumable without a high degree of prior knowledge. This might be the case either because they are known for their historical significance or have virtually turned into symbols of pop

Commodifying the Cuban Revolution

culture, as we see in the example of Che Guevara. The primordial meaning of these symbols, elements and places is partly unknown to many tourist consumers, but neither does the achievement of deeper understanding have any decisive importance for most of them. Yet, by no means all elements and symbols of the Revolution are equally suitable for being commodified in tourism. Suitable for the profit-oriented reproduction of the Revolution (i. e. its commodification) seem to be Che Guevara and, to a much lesser extent, further heroes such as Camillo Cienfuegos or Frank País. They are thereby tripped of their primordial significance and turned into consumer objects – above all. Although he had explicitly stated that he did not want to be portrayed on t-shirts or postcards (mentioned, for instance, by 1Hav), Fidel Castro is also increasingly entering the imagery of tourist souvenirs, especially since his death. This view was shared by several interviewees, such as 11SdC: “So now it’s Che Guevara, in the years coming it will be ‘Fidel’ t-shirts.” In fact, there is a great variety of souvenirs with direct revolutionary references. One of the manifold examples is the selling of olive-green military berets with a sewn-on red star, which evoke historical photographs of Fidel Castro or Che Guevara.

Figure 25: Silkscreen prints of socialist propaganda and movie posters. Source: own photo (2019), taken in a souvenir shop in Habana Vieja.

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In tourism hotspots like Habana Vieja or Varadero, these headpieces are sold to tourists on almost any street corner. However, Cubans hardly ever wear these types of caps. Another instance of such a direct revolutionary reference is copies of socialist propaganda posters, which are for sale in virtually all tourist centres (see Figure 25). Tourist markets also peddle old medals and decorations, Korda photos and statues of famous revolutionaries, revolutionary literature (apparently especially popular are the Che diaries and Fidel Castro speeches alongside Hemingway classics) and many other revolutionary souvenirs. A further notable commodification of the Revolution is the under-the-counter sale of CUP3 banknotes: these bills, with Che Guevara’s face printed on them, are often offered for CUC3 to 5, which is about 72 to 120 times the face value of the banknote. Beyond that, there are innumerable examples of knickknacks and souvenirs of all kinds with revolutionary motifs: from paintings, t-shirts and handbags, refrigerator magnets and baseballs through to ashtrays and countless other purchasable objects, the Cuban Revolution is embodied in countless souvenirs in commodity form (see Figure 26).

Figure 26: Magnets displayed in a souvenir shop. Among others, Che Guevara, Fidel Castro, José Martí and Camilo Cienfuegos are featured. Source: own photo (2019), taken in a souvenir shop in Habana Vieja.

Commodifying the Cuban Revolution

Moreover, performers who dress up as bearded revolutionaries and take photos with tourists for a tip can be found in Habana Vieja in particular. Especially popular are the performances of revolutionary fighters in uniform or combat gear, first and foremost Che Guevara. By yelling ‘Aquí, El Comandante’ [here, the commander], the artists draw attention to themselves and encourage tourists to take photos with them. Thereby, the performers benefit from the tourists’ interest in the Revolution and thus earn their livelihood by commodifying it. Furthermore, the revolutionary struggle itself, its course, its justification and its consequences are also commodified frequently. However, the boundaries to propaganda do sometimes dislimn. In particular, sites of past battles or historical events are often employed touristically – and they are quite popular among tourists (see F ­ igure 27). Renowned examples are the Cuartel Moncada in Santiago de Cuba, the Comandancia General de La Plata in the mountains of the Sierra Maestra, the Museo de la Revolución in Havana, the Museo de la Intervención in Playa Giron, the Mausoleum of Che Guevara in Santa Clara and countless small museums all over the island, such as the Museo Nacional de la Lucha contra Bandidos in Trinidad or the Casa Museo Frank País García in Santiago de Cuba.

Figure 27: Tourists queuing in front of the Museo de la Revolución in Havana. Source: Own photo (2017).

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Besides generating entrance fees, these museums serve further purposes, in that they fulfil an educational mission, to inform both Cubans and tourists, and contribute to the legitimisation of the Revolution, of its continuous and comprehensive rule and of the measures it carries out. To this end, all of the aforementioned museums portray either the Batista regime, the United States or both as being criminal, tyrannical and ultimately hostile to Cuba and its people. The Revolution and La Lucha, on the other hand, are presented as a heroic and inevitable struggle against these powers and as the guarantor of Cuba’s peace, independence and stability. The people who died for the Revolution are often commemorated here, and sometimes they are downright stylised as martyrs. Especially in museums dedicated to the heroes of the independence wars, the parallels and continuities between them and the Revolution are accentuated, which in turn enhances the credibility, authenticity and legitimacy of the Revolution. As Alonso González (2015) demonstrates, many Cuban museums thus tend to serve propagandistic purposes as well. Yet, in all of these institutions, the boundaries between their various intents blur and merge into one another. In this way, a museum is an information site, a memorial and a place of remembrance, a propaganda vehicle and a tourist attraction all at once. It should not go unmentioned that these museums and exhibitions are certainly also aimed at Cubans, with admission fees for Cuban nationals often being a fraction of those for foreign visitors. However, the clear majority of visitors to these museums, memorials and guided tours are the latter cohort. This impression was confirmed by museum officials in that Cubans already know about the Revolution at length, for example from school. 16SdC had a similar view. She thought that these museums “are most[ly] visited by foreign people, because they do not know that much. We here, since we are four years old or something, every day, we hear our history. We study the history of Cuba, we see it on the television, we have it all over.” She ended her statement with a rhetorical question: “That’s why maybe you do not see a lot of Cubans at the museum. Because we know the museum since we were children. So, why do we have to go over and over and over to the same place?” (16SdC). 5Hav, working as a tour guide, provided a similar explanation. He rarely visits Plaza de la Revolución in Havana during his spare time, but now he has different associations with it than he had in the past. The principal reason for this is his job: “When I was a child, I visited it [Plaza de la Revolución] many, many times. […] Nowadays, not that much, because I visit it so often, because today it is more related to work than something else.”148 Beyond this familiarity – or saturation – with revolutionary content, 11SdC identified another cause for his fellow Cubans’ disinterest in revolutionary museums or exhibitions: “People are living so stressed, so worried […]; even so disagreeing, not happy, that they’d rather try to do something to earn an income, to put something on a 148  Original: “Als ich ein Kind war, habe ich ihn [Plaza de la Revolución] viele, viele Male besucht. […]

Heutzutage nicht so viel, weil ich ihn besuche es so oft, weil das heute jetzt hat mehr mit Arbeit zu tun als mit etwas anderes.”

Commodifying the Cuban Revolution

plate to feed their family, than going to the museums.” He thus cited existential distress and a certain frustration with the Revolution as further reasons for Cubans seldomly visiting revolutionary museums. 7.8.2. Non-Commodifying Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution

The contents of non-commodifying reproductions of the Revolution differ significantly from those designated for tourist consumption. Such non-commodifying reproductions are usually considerably more diverse, less prominent and not always recognisable as being directly related to the Revolution at first sight. These are often symbols, elements or places whose revolutionary reference or content is either more difficult to grasp or only decipherable with comprehensive prior knowledge. Examples of this type of reproduction are manifold: they include the heroes of the wars of independence who were embedded in a revolutionary context, above all José Martí, Antonio Maceo, Máximo Gómez and Carlos Manuel de Céspedes. Only those tourists thoroughly interested in Cuban history might associate their statues, busts or paintings with the Revolution. The old heroes are very rarely featured on posters, t-shirts or coffee mugs, nor are there guided tours to the ‘most important scenes of Cuban independence’. But even symbols that can be directly associated with the Revolution reveal themselves sometimes only to the privy beholder: graffiti cheering the M-26-7 (Movimiento 26 de Julio; see Figure 28), announcing CDR anniversaries (Comités de Defensa de la Revolución; see Figure 29) or posters and billboards reciting Marx’s tenets, have a clear revolutionary reference, but usually these messages are literally meaningless to most tourists. Moreover, and this is a crucial point, they are almost entirely produced without the intention of realising a profit. Instead, most of these graffiti, posters, plates, statues, etc. serve as propaganda, commemoration or as a way of strengthening the ideology of the Cuban population. Furthermore, the materiality and form of representation of this second group of revolutionary reproductions differs significantly from those elements reproduced for commodification. While the profit-oriented commodity form is often found as a tourist souvenir or as a street artist, non-profit-oriented symbols often take on different forms: they can be found as murals, monuments or busts, or even as commemorative plates on facades on the street, to name but a few instances. Regarding their production, commodifying and non-commodifying representations of the Revolution differ significantly from each other. Thus, commodifying reproductions are often manufactured or imported by individuals or small, revenue-oriented collectives – such as a souvenir shop. This applies to all kinds of tourist offers, from Che Guevara lighters to Fidel Castro photo doubles or tour guides promoting special Revolution-themed tours. Hence, private actors commodify the Revolution in

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Figure 28: M-26-7 graffiti on a wall. Source: own photo (2019), taken in Unión de Reyes.

Figure 29: Graffiti praising CDRs. Source: own photo (2017), taken in Habana Vieja.

Commodifying the Cuban Revolution

tourism considerably more than state actors. This happens, at least, with the state’s acquiescence, since the offerings of independent souvenir vendors or tour guides are also subject to state control. Only museums, as places of multi-purpose reproductions of the Revolution, are managed almost exclusively by state institutions. However, state agencies and institutions also specifically offer the commodity ‘Revolution’, for example in museum shops that sell Revolution-themed posters. Furthermore, state travel agencies offer excursions and guided tours explicitly focussing on the Revolution, too. Finally, Revolution-souvenirs are almost as common in state-run shops as in shops managed by Cuentapropistas. In contrast, non-commodifying reproductions of the Revolution are mostly created at the behest of Cuban state initiatives. The erection of monuments and busts, or the establishment of memorials, is exclusively under the authority of the state. Most propaganda graffiti or posters are produced and installed by the state’s mass organisations, and thus by the state itself. Although citizens are involved in this as well, the leading role falls to the state and its different organisations and institutions. Before concluding these deliberations on the specific forms and symbols of the commodification of the Cuban Revolution in tourism, and addressing the perceptions and interpretations Cubans have regarding this commodification, a supplementary remark seems appropriate. The distinction between profit-oriented, commodifying reproductions and non-profit-oriented projections of the Revolution is not to be understood as them being a purely binary, mutually exclusive pair of opposites. Rather than a dichotomy, both must be conceived as extremes on a broad spectrum of reproductive possibilities and intentions, including innumerable nuances and gradations. Hence, one element can be both, depending on the situational context; for example, an aesthetically appealing mural, which praises the blessings of the Revolution in Habana Vieja, is also visited during guided tours, thereby serving as an atmospheric but often meaning-devoted photographic backdrop for tourists. The many examples provided in this chapter demonstrate that the Cuban Revolution is heavily commodified. As the subsequent subchapter shows, such commodification occurs especially in touristified spaces, while completely different revolutionary materialities, i. e. spaces, are created in non-tourist settings. 7.8.3. Spatial Differences of the Reproductions of the Cuban Revolution

To elaborate on spatial differences concerning the contents and material forms of the partly commodifying reproduction of the Cuban Revolution in tourism, examples of three different spaces are now presented: 1. Habana Vieja, the historic centre of Havana: an urban space with two considerably distinct subspaces, one of which is highly touristy, while the other has almost no tourist significance and is virtually unaffected by it.

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2.

3.

The city centre of Matanzas and adjacent residential neighbourhoods: a space characterised by very limited touristic utilisation. Instead, with some caution and despite its proximity to Varadero, the city centre can be considered rather typical of Cuban cities of this size and without significant touristic relevance. Plaza América Centro de Convenciones y Comercial in Varadero: a shopping and convention centre almost exclusively designed for tourist consumption, especially by foreign tourists.

From the comparison of these three spaces, several conclusions can be drawn. First of all, it turns out that, depending on the utilisation of these particular spaces, the Cuban Revolution is reproduced in utterly distinct forms and by using different symbols, albeit these also evince certain overlaps. In the following, the three subspaces are briefly introduced (see also Chapter 6.2), following which the contents and forms of reproduction of the Cuban Revolution therein are described. Habana Vieja Some areas of Habana Vieja are heavily influenced by tourism (Völkening et al. 2019:87–89), especially the northern part around the four central plazas  – Plaza de Armas, Plaza Catedral, Plaza de San Francesco and Plaza Vieja – as well as around Calle Obispo and Parque Central, as can be seen in Figure 30. In this regard, the point signatures in the map refer exclusively to the Revolution; the listed ‘Murals’ or ‘Statues’ as well as the other symbols therefore always relate to the Revolution, which applies to the two subsequent maps as well. In general, both commodifying and non-commodifying reproductions of the Revolution can be encountered in Habana Vieja. In this respect, clear spatial differences between the highly tourist-oriented north and the less touristy south become apparent: while commodifying reproductions of the Revolution dominate the former, the latter is characterised primarily by non-commodifying materialisations. Remarkable, albeit not overly surprising, is the idea that the concentrated occurrence of commodifying reproductions turns out to be spatially almost identical with the tourist “core” of northern Habana Vieja, as defined by Völkening et al. (2021b:11–12), whose division into “core”, “fringe” and “periphery” is grounded in the spatial density of tourist offerings such as sights, hotels and restaurants. Figure 30: Reproductions of revolutionary symbols and utilisation of buildings in Habana Vieja. Please note: As the mapped area of Habana Vieja is relatively large, but the format of this book is limited, this map is available for download in PDF format at the following link: http://steiner-verlag-extras. de/t_VW4815. Source: own draft, based on own mappings (August and September 2017) and on Völkening et al. (2019:Supplement I).

Commodifying the Cuban Revolution

Even within the tourist core, a further spatial concentration of the commodification of the Revolution is noticeable. It is most pronounced in the areas most frequented by tourists, such as Calle Obispo and Plaza Vieja. To the west and northwest of Plaza de Catedral149, and between Plaza de Armas and Plaza Vieja, the Revolution also appears remarkably often in the guise of souvenirs, museums or artists, i. e. in commodity form. The motifs featured are almost exclusively limited to those presented in Chapter 7.9.1, which tourists can easily identify: Che Guevara, Fidel Castro and red stars, among others. In contrast, the spatial distribution of non-commodifying reproductions of the Revolution throughout Habana Vieja exhibits a considerably more uneven dispersion. On the one hand, non-commodifying materialisations are clearly less spatially concentrated; on the other hand, they show greater variability in the contents depicted as well as in the forms of representation. More specifically, the spatial distribution of the non-commodifying reproduction of the Revolution does not adhere to any discernible spatial or symbolic pattern. Furthermore, this latter form of reproduction is characterised by a multiplicity of different contents, ranging from propaganda to recitations of José Martí, to billboards promoting revolutionary mass organisations. Similarly, the physical forms of these materialisations of the Revolution are much more heterogeneous, especially in southern Habana Vieja, compared to its touristic zone. Particularly notable is the absence of reproductions in the form of souvenirs in southern Habana Vieja, especially in the area further south of the Convento de Santa Clara. Simultaneously, the south of Habana Vieja is significantly less developed for tourist purposes and is particularly characterised by structural decay. As 7Hav described the area, “southern Habana Vieja looks as if a bomb has exploded [there]”, referring to the many collapsed or semi-derelict buildings that adorn the streets (Völkening et al. 2019:92). Matanzas Compared to Habana Vieja, Matanzas has almost no tourist importance. The entire city bears little tourist infrastructure and sights, and it is usually visited only by a few day-trippers from Varadero. Although some efforts have been made in recent years to develop the city centre and the Rio San Juan waterfront for tourism, these attempts have apparently not yet led to a perceptible increase in visitor numbers. The low prominence of tourism is also reflected in the reproduction of revolutionary symbols in the urban space of Matanzas. There are almost no materialisations of the Revolution in commodity form. Only a very small number of Revolution-themed souvenirs can be found, spatially confined to one souvenir shop located in the main

149  Northwest of Plaza de Catedral is where the buses that take day trippers from Varadero to Havana park.

From here, the tourists then flock to Habana Vieja.

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shopping street of Matanzas (Calle Medio) and an art gallery targeting tourists opposite the Teatro Sauto. Besides, there are relatively few reproductions of revolutionary symbols overall (see Figure 31). These few reproductions are apparently distributed arbitrarily in urban space. Their distribution, however, unlike in the more touristy north of Habana Vieja, does not follow any discernible logic, except perhaps for a certain clustering in the centre of town between Parque Libertad and Río San Juan. Thus, the reproduction of revolutionary symbols in Matanzas is unrelated to the spatial proximity to the very few tourist attractions and infrastructures. Figure 31: Reproductions of revolutionary symbols and utilisation of buildings in Matanzas. Please note: As the mapped area of Matanzas is relatively large, but the format of this book is limited, this map is available for download in PDF format at the following link: http://steiner-verlag-extras.de/t_WU8136 Source: own design, based on own mapping (August 2017).

Hence, Matanzas resembles the south of Habana Vieja in terms of the distribution and the motifs of revolutionary symbolism. Here, too, the forms of revolutionary materialisations are primarily related to propaganda poster, banners and commemorative plates. The comparatively frequent appearance of professionally designed posters and plates suggests that these materialisations of the Revolution are mainly produced by state organisations. In fact, many of the reproductions of the Revolution to be found in Matanzas are located in the immediate vicinity of institutions of the state and its mass organisations (for example, on the corner of Santa Teresita and Milanés or at the western end of Calle Medio). Based on the empirical evidence so far, it is reasonable to suggest that the production of certain revolutionary symbols in specific material (or immaterial) manifestations is tied to the extent of the tourist pervasion of a space. This is particularly salient when considering the Plaza América Centro de Convenciones y Comercial in Varadero, in that it represents a stark contrast to Matanzas in terms of both its tourist orientation and in the reproductions of the prevalent revolutionary symbols. Plaza América Centro de Convenciones y Comercial in Varadero While Matanzas is only to a very limited extent an area of tourist consumption, and in Habana Vieja this applies only to the northern part of the city, the Plaza América Centro de Convenciones y Comercial in Varadero fulfils almost exclusively a consumptive function for mostly international tourists. In this regard, Figure 32 indicates that a considerable share of its offerings consists of souvenirs and memorabilia. In addition, there are several restaurants and some high-priced clothing stores, which are included in the ‘other utilisation’ category.

Commodifying the Cuban Revolution

In this space, too, the content and forms of reproductions of the Cuban Revolution are examined. Strikingly, the Revolution is exclusively represented in commodity form, mostly as souvenirs, while non-commodifying reproductions of revolutionary symbols, in contrast, are practically inexistent in this space. The mural depicting Che Guevara’s signature, found near the western entrance, obviously serves to cater to tourist expectations and is intended to give the venue some revolutionary flair. Considering the purpose of this space – consumption of high-priced goods, drinks and tobacco – revolutionary symbols seem to be merely useful for decoration, not as authentic socialist messages.

Figure 32: Reproduction of revolutionary symbols and utilisation of the Plaza América Centro de ­Convenciones y Comercial (Shopping and Convention Centre) in Varadero. Source: own design, based on own mapping (August 2017).

The previously expressed hypothesis that the increased prevalence of commodifying reproductions of the Revolution coincides with the enhanced touristic functionalisation of a particular space is thus further substantiated in this regard. Despite the space considered here being much smaller than the mapped centre of Matanzas, in comparison there is a much greater number of commodifying reproductions of the Revolution in the Plaza América Centro de Convenciones y Comercial. The density of Revolution-themed souvenirs found here is comparable to the most touristified area in Habana Vieja along Calle Obispo.

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Although neither Habana Vieja nor Varadero are sites of particular – or any – importance to the political leanings of the Cuban Revolution, symbols, signs and references to the Revolution can be found all over these spaces. Consequently, the Revolution as a commodity can be described as spatially decoupled and unrelated to the sites of its historical events or current significance through which it actually acquires authenticity. Through the separation of symbols and content, the Revolution thus turns into an empty signifier. The appearance of (at least certain) revolutionary symbols is therefore no longer spatially related to the Revolution but is coupled to the degree of tourist pervasion of a space. Overall, four conclusions can be derived from examining the three mapped spaces: First, the contents as well as the forms of reproductions of the Cuban Revolution differ, depending mainly on the tourist pervasion of a given space. Second, the more a space is functionalised for tourism, the more likely it is to contain consumable, i. e. commodifying, reproductions of the Revolution. Examples of this are found in the north of Habana Vieja or the Plaza América Centro de Convenciones y Comercial in Varadero. Third, the Revolution is transformed into souvenirs, guided tours or similar trivia targeting tourists. The content of such revolutionary commodities exhibits specific patterns and is identifiable and appealing to international tourists, while the form enables tourist consumption. Therefore, spaces with a high degree of tourist utilisation feature a considerably higher density of reproductions and symbols suitable to sell the Revolution. Fourth, this contrasts with non-tourist spaces, such as southern Habana Vieja or Matanzas, where the Revolution is mainly reproduced symbolically in inconsumable forms, for instance as commemorative panels or propaganda banners. The contents depicted here also have a greater variety of expressive forms and contents and might sometimes only be associated with the Revolution with profound prior knowledge. Additionally, spaces that are not – or are only – subordinately designated for tourist consumption hold significantly lower densities of reproduced revolutionary symbols. Overall, the spatial distribution of commodifying reproductions of the Cuban Revolution mainly follows anticipated tourist demand. Thus, the production of revolutionary contents, both material and immaterial, is in these cases not supply-driven (i. e. intrinsically motivated) but profit-driven. In other words, the more a space is dominated by tourism, the higher the density of commodifying reproduced revolutionary symbols therein. Yet, this higher density is not attributable to local pride in the Revolution but rather to the prospect of achieving monetary gains through its commodification. Additionally, it is remarkable that the providers of revolutionary reproductions partly differ, depending on whether they are commodities or non-commodities. Whilst the latter are predominantly produced by (mass) organisations of the state, private actors, and, to a lesser extent, state agencies, fashion the Revolution in commodity form.

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identitie

To conclude, in tourist spaces, the commodity form is at times the dominant manifestation of the Cuban Revolution, both materially and regarding its meaning for the local population. Nevertheless, the Cuban Revolution and socialism, as well as their legacies, are in many cases seminal for Cuban identities. However, socialist and revolutionary legacies are simultaneously of tourist interest and therefore a vital source of income for many Cubans and for the state. Consequently, the neglect of these legacies in tourism would mean forfeiting the financial opportunities that come with it. The commodification of the Revolution in Cuban tourism is thus not particularly surprising, but it is comprehensible from an economic standpoint. Drawing on the theoretical discussion of commodification processes in Chapter 3.5, in relation to the significance of the Cuban Revolution for Cuban identities and on the commodification of the Revolution in tourism, it can be assumed that this commodification might have a great impact on Cuban identities. The interview partners were also consulted on this point, the quite unexpected results for which are presented in the following chapter. 7.9.

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identities

The commodification of the Cuban Revolution and its associated symbols and legacies was of concern to almost all of the interviewees, albeit for very different reasons and with distinct attitudes towards commodification. Essentially, the interviewees can be divided into two opposing camps regarding their stance on the commodification of the Revolution. On the one side are those who reject this commodification and sharply criticise it. On the other side stand those who approve of the commodification. The reason behind these contradictory views lies primarily in the different assessments of the underlying motives and consequences of commodification as well as in the conflicting relationships the interviewees have with the Revolution. Before examining in detail these two camps and the arguments expressed by their representatives, it must be noted that very few interviewees were indifferent to the commodification of the Revolution. This includes 5Hav, who said: “I am not against it. I am not against it. They say ‘tolerant’ in German? […] So, in this case I am. I am almost always tolerant. Everybody is doing with their life what they want. And to me it doesn’t matter.”150 Another example is 44UdR, who was generally critical of the Revolution. Therefore, her comment on t-shirts depicting Che Guevara was not necessarily

150  Original: “Aber ich bin nicht dagegen. Ich bin nicht dagegen. Man sagt, tolerant auf Deutsch? [I: Ja.]

So in diesem Fall bin ich, ich bin fast immer tolerant. Alle machen mit ihrem Leben, was die möchten. Und für mich ist es egal.”

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surprising: “It doesn’t matter to me what people wear.”151 This indifference extended to her overall attitude toward the commodification of the Revolution. Apart from those who did not mind commodification, another – albeit very small – group of interviewees did not acknowledge the commodification of the Revolution as such. From their perspective, “this is no selling of Cuba” (10SdC). Thus, when asked about a few specific examples of commodification, 15SdC stated: “No, I do not think it is like selling the Revolution to tourists.” Likewise, 34Hav shared this view, referring to portraits of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro offered for sale on t-shirts. He did not conceive of this as a commodification of the Revolution, because “you’re just selling just a dream of a really famous face” (34Hav). Overall, in the interview sample, those who did not perceive the tourist commercialisation of such souvenirs as selling (i. e. commodifying) the Revolution, or who indeed strongly rejected this assessment, were in the very small minority. Moreover, it should be noted that in Cuban tourism, not only the Revolution, but also many other cultural elements are commodified (see Textbox 18). Textbox 18: Cultural commodification in Cuban tourism, beyond the Revolution 16SdC described her job as a saleswoman for the local branch of the Casa de las Americas as follows: “You sell, you are trying to sell the books about history, art, photography, everything, also music, a little bit of handmade things.” Many interview partners were very critical of the commercialisation of these cultural features. Referring to Cuban music and dance, 11SdC stressed: “We have this weather, we have such a good traditional music or dancing. […] So, it’s important not to sell these things to the Americans”, thus commodifying them. 34Hav initially referred to the political system and Afro-Cuban religions as being commodified. Eventually, he expanded his criticism of those responsible for commodification to encompass all of Cuba. He thought that “because of the political system being so unique, and religion, the African religion being so unique they sell it […]. I mean they sell out the country.”   In some cases, entire city centres were portrayed as being affected by tourist commodification. For instance, Trinidad was called “an open-air museum” by 10SdC. Altogether, a quote by 36Hav neatly summarised the critical stance of many interviewees towards tourist commodification in general: “Sometimes, I feel that we are selling ourselves like really, really cheap. We are selling ourselves, like, for a penny, and I don’t like that.” Striking here is who is critical of cultural commodification in general. Almost without exception, these are the same interviewees who were critical of the commodification of the Revolution. Conversely, people who approved of the commercialisation of the Revolution were equally uncritical of the commodification of other cultural elements.

151  Original: “Para mí lo que se ponga la gente no me importa.”

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identitie

The following sections describe the two camps presented at the outset, as well as the arguments and perspectives they put forward: first, those who oppose the commodification of the Revolution are discussed, followed by those who favour it. 7.9.1. Rejecting the Commodification of the Revolution

Numerous interview partners harshly criticised the commodification of the Cuban Revolution in tourism. They associated it with a loss of identity as well as a loss of respect for the Revolution itself and for national symbols in general. In the words of 1Hav, “this dishonours the Revolution”. Aside from losing respect for the Revolution, however, some interviewees also feared losing respect for oneself. Therefore, 36Hav strongly opposed this issue: Sometimes I feel we are trying to sell an image, we are trying to sell a product for tourism, and it is not what we are, it is not our true self. […] It is really sad when you see that on the streets, when you see that the development of tourism decreases the value that people have of themselves. Sometimes you see that, and it is kind of sad.

Instead, she believed that “something that is important is to be proud of who you are. And not to, like, […] sell you for something, not change who you are for some tip” (36Hav). A similar opinion was expressed by 34Hav, who succinctly summarised his request to his fellow Cubans employed in tourism: “Don’t sell out” (34Hav). 11SdC also perceived the commodification of the Revolution as having a worrisome impact on Cuban identities: It seems to me that we’re selling our identity – and that’s not good, because if we want to give a gift to tourists, we can make a cake or a maraca, something traditional […]. But not such sub-touristic shopping, because it gives you an idea that we’re selling our stuff, our patrimony in the area of tourism, because of the money.

By ‘sub-touristic’ shopping he was referring to shops that sell cheap souvenirs depicting Fidel Castro or Che Guevara, thus depreciating the identity-forming influence of the Revolution. A similar position was adopted by 38Hav: In her opinion, the reproduction of revolutionary symbols often “is more like something that we are trying to do only for business, not for being authentic”. According to 45UdR, the commodification of the Revolution primarily emanates from tourism and caters to tourists. However, she principally rejected the commodification of revolutionary and national symbols and elaborated on garments with revolutionary prints:

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Those clothes are rather sold because the tourists are the ones who …, the foreigners are the ones who buy it a lot. […] I am not okay with that; I am not okay with that. […] Neither [by people] from other countries nor from here in Cuba, I don’t think it’s right.152

Criticism of the commodification of the Revolution was often illustrated by two particularly striking examples, both of which will be discussed below. The first is the almost excessive use of Che Guevara’s face on all kinds of souvenirs. The second example is the utilisation of national symbols, especially the Cuban flag, which some interviewees rejected. The interviewees’ comments concerning the use of Che Guevara’s popularity in tourism ranged from short statements (such as by 39UdR: “I don’t like the banners of Che”153) to detailed explanations of their rejectionist stance. Hence, 35Hav explained his disapproval of the commodification of Che Guevara as follows: Sadly, sadly the picture of Che is being sold. And I am not happy with that. But it is not a lie either, that 90 % of the foreigners who come to Cuba are here to learn about its politics, its history, its Revolution, what has happened. So, many markets take advantage of this to sell, to do marketing with the face of Che, of Fidel.154

It must be emphasised that significant differences existed among the interviewees concerning the assumed reasons for the average tourist visiting Cuba. 35Hav’s claim, i. e. that 90 % of tourists visit to learn about the nation’s history and that of the Revolution, was clearly contested by other interviewees (see Textbox 19). As a committed supporter of the Revolution and as a tour guide, 35Hav insisted that Cubans engaged in tourism should not commercialise or commodify the Revolution itself. Instead, the knowledge about the Revolution they impart to tourists ought to be at the heart of their occupation. Expounding on his philosophy, he continued: That’s why I’m selling my knowledge. I don’t like to sell something with the face of Che. I don’t like it. Therefore, I wear something simple; I have a sweater, I don’t wear a t-shirt with Che, and I don’t wear a Fidel hat, because I sell my knowledge.155

152  Original: “Esas prendas más bien se venden porque los turistas son los que-, los extranjeros son los que

lo compran mucho. […] Yo no estoy de acuerdo con eso, no estoy de acuerdo con eso. […] Ni de otros países ni de aquí de Cuba, no creo que esté bien.” 153  Original: “Las banderas del Che que no me gustan.” 154  Original: “Tristemente, tristemente la imagen del Che se vende. Y no esto contento con eso. Pero no es tampoco mentira, que el 90 % de los extranjeros que vienen a Cuba es para conocer su política, su historia, su revolución, qué pasó. Entonces, eh, muchos mercados aprovechan para vender, marketing con la cara del Che, de Fidel.” 155  Original: “Por eso vendo mi conocimiento. A mí no me gusta vender algo con la cara del Che. No me gusta. Por eso yo ando sencillo, tengo un pulóver, no ando en t-shirt con el Che, ni ando con gorra de Fidel, porque yo vendo mi conocimiento.”

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identitie

Textbox 19: A Controversial subject: Do tourists understand the meaning of revolutionary symbols? As made apparent from numerous quotes, divergent perceptions existed among the interviewees as to whether international tourists are aware of the meaning of revolutionary symbols. The support or rejection of this belief were largely scattered seemingly arbitrarily throughout the interview sample. Among both critics and supporters of commodification, there were interviewees who believed in the ideological and symbolic preconception of tourists, and those who did not. Exceptional was the group agreeing with the commodification of the Revolution, because they understood it as a way of propagating its ideology.   A typical representative of this group was 16SdC, who believed that “if you buy a t-shirt with Che Guevara, it is because you believe in what he did […], it’s because you like what he did”. On the argumentatively opposite side stood 33Hav, who thought that “most of the people […] that come from abroad don’t know what Che Guevara really is”. Similarly, 21Tri expected that not too many tourists can correctly decipher revolutionary contexts and symbols: “A lot of people do not understand that these things are symbols. Some people use it for good, some for bad things” (21Tri). However, some did not care about this question at all. An example was 44UdR, although she also assumed the lack of knowledge among many tourists: “What people wear doesn’t matter to me. Even though they don’t really know.” [Original: “Para mí lo que se ponga la gente no me importa. Cuando en realidad no saben ni.”]

Others, including 36Hav, argued that political convictions and opinions are deeply personal and not meant for outsiders, thus rejecting the commodification of the Revolution. Therefore, she did not express her political beliefs through fashion and the like. However, she demonstrated understanding of when others do so: When we’re selling ‘Che Guevara freedom flasks’ or something like that, it is more marketing, […] it is more like business, they are selling the culture. I don’t know, I personally don’t wear, like, t-shirts with Cuba, with a flag of Cuba or with Che and all that. Because my ideas, my thoughts are for me, my beliefs are for me, not for showing what I think, what I’ve been through, what I like. […] I have a political position, I have political ideas, but I don’t like to wear that in a t-shirt or to have my cup of coffee with that. I don’t like it. But other people like them.

The impression that tourists express solidarity and support for the project and the political message of the Revolution by purchasing revolutionary souvenirs also surfaces in this quote. 9Hav took a different view. Though she also criticised the commodification of revolutionary legacies, she did not believe that the purchase of souvenirs with revolutionary symbols necessarily stems from political sympathy for the Revolution. In her opinion, this commodification of Che Guevara “is a bad thing and it shouldn’t happen, as he is a national hero. Che and his image are sold worldwide, and to most people it doesn’t mean anything.”

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A trend is apparent at this point: several interviewees disagreed with the commodification of Che Guevara in tourism. Their general attitude was described aptly by 6Hav, for whom “it is not bad to wear such a Che Guevara sweater. In my opinion, it is bad or wrong to sell them to people in the name of these heroes.”156 Throughout Cuba, there seems to exist a discourse on the utilisation and commercialisation of the Revolution and its symbols. This discourse is apparently being conducted across the country, or it at least has some form of presence. In a longer entry, 18Tri voiced her opinion and described this discourse thus: Well, Che Guevara is an international thing. You know this, and I personally do not like, […] for example, to wear, like, symbols of the nation. Like the Cuban flag. I do not like the Cuban flag being part of, you know, tourism stuff like t-shirts or caps or anything else. It is the same with the Revolution stuff. But I think at some point, most of those souvenirs are privately made. […] And we already have, like, a TV show in Cuba, that is to talk about the problems we are having. The name is Cuba dice, like ‘Cuba says’. And they talk about that a lot. […] Like, ‘Why are we using our like symbols to market stuff?’ And I support that. I support what they say, like, I do not like this kind of stuff.

The commodification of revolutionary symbols also seems to trouble Cuban politics. Thus, 32Hav reported with reference to this commodification: Well, that is something that in one moment our government stopped, because it seemed like we were selling the images, the images of Che Guevara. But remember, we are not a capitalistic system. We believe in our history, and under any circumstances, in Cuba, the heroes of Cuba can’t be sold. […] I mean, ten years ago, maybe 15 years ago, the images of Che Guevara were commercialised, you know? And in that moment, our government said: ‘Okay, remember, Che Guevara was a very important hero. […] His images are not to be commercialised so be careful about the way you picture the images of Fidel Castro.’ But anyway, people are still selling, you know, that image. […] But yes, one time, our government said: ‘Okay, be careful of what you are doing, because Che Guevara is a very important hero for Cuba, okay? And he is not an object to be sold.’

Given the intensity of the Revolution’s marketisation in Cuban tourism, the government’s appeal in regard to the reproduction of Guevara and Castro appears to have been unsuccessful. The second example announced previously, which illustrates the negative stance of some interviewees on the subject, is the use of national symbols for commercial purposes. This remarkably often referred to the Cuban flag and, less frequently, to the national anthem. 18Tri, for instance, was persuaded that the commodification of the

156  Original: “Es ist nicht schlimm, so ein Che Guevara Pullover zu tragen. Es ist für mich-, meiner Mei-

nung nach schlimm oder schlecht, sie im Namen dieser Helden an Leute zu verkaufen.”

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identitie

flag in tourism means “you lose respect for symbols like the Cuban flag. [They are] something serious, you do not … you should not use these.” It is remarkable that distinct spatial differences persist in the examples chosen to criticise the commodification of the Revolution. While the commercialisation of Fidel Castro or Che Guevara was almost exclusively addressed by interviewees from urban tourism hotspots, those from the peripheral regions focused practically entirely on what they considered the despicable misuse of the Cuban flag and anthem. 45UdR pointed out the earnestness with which Cuban national symbols should be treated: “I learned and was taught that the symbols of the motherland were highly respected.”157 Consequently, she disliked the way they are frequently handled in present-day tourism. However, the utilisation of the Cuban flag and anthem in tourism was only one of several cases cited by interviewees from the non-tourist areas. Beyond that, they criticised the utilisation of national symbols for non-official purposes. Indeed, the non-tourist commodification of revolutionary and national symbols was discussed much more frequently by the interviewees in rural areas. This may be explained by the fact that these people are confronted with non-tourist commodification much more often in their everyday lives compared to tourist commodification. The interview partners from the tourist centres, in contrast, experience the less subtle tourist commodification of the Revolution practically daily. In this regard, 51Mat disapproved when the national anthem is used as a sample in other songs: “For example, I, I don’t feel comfortable with Alexander Abreu using the hymn.”158 His [51Mat’s] friends, who were also present, objected that this has been done with much love and devotion. According to them, it was rather a homage to the hymn and the Cuban flag. 51Mat answered brusquely: “Out of love for the flag? I don’t know, to put on a towel, that’s not love!”159 36Hav shared a similar opinion regarding the use of the anthem, although eventually she added that there were certainly several opinions on the matter: I was listening to a song, a Cuban song, and they put the melody of the anthem into common music. And I felt really, really upset with that, because I was like ‘Well, that’s the anthem, that’s my symbol. I don’t want you to put it in a common song like that.’ But a lot of people were like ‘That’s a very good way to [promote] our country and […] our culture.’

The profanation of the Cuban flag was also commented on by some interviewees from the rural periphery. In doing so, 42UdR distinguished between different symbols: “regarding the figure of Che, it is beautiful. My husband, two years ago, at the age of 56,

157  Original: “Yo aprendí, yo aprendí y enseñé que los símbolos de la patria eran muy respetados.” 158  Original: “Por ejemplo yo, yo no me siento cómoda con Alexander Abreu utilizando el himno.” 159  Original: “Por amor a la bandera? No sé, para colgar una toalla, eso no es amor.”

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had him tattooed. […] But I don’t like the Cuban flag as a garment.”160 Likewise, she looked at the use of the Cuban flag on clothing and gets fundamental: “I don’t like to wear clothes that have flags of any kind”161 (42UdR). To reiterate, some interview partners vehemently opposed the commodification of the Revolution in tourism. While those from tourist hotspots based their view on the use of distinctly revolutionary symbols, interviewees from tourist peripheries tended to focus on national symbols such as the flag, or the national anthem. In contrast, however, many interview partners favoured the commodification of the Revolution. Their stances and arguments are presented below. 7.9.2. Agreeing with Commodifying the Revolution

After setting out the arguments of those interviewees who opposed the commodification of the Revolution in tourism, the perspectives of those who accepted or even supported it now follow. Their number is significantly greater than that of those who were sceptical of or opposed commodification. Certainly, some, such as 13SdC, merely agreed with this point, though not overly enthusiastically: “For me, the reproduction of the heroes is not bad. The real meaning is in the heart, not in the t-shirt, but it is okay. It is not a problem for me.” Ultimately, most interviewees agreed with commodification, both in urban centres and on the periphery. To justify the commodification of the Revolution as well as their own attitudes toward it, the interviewees essentially put forward two sets of arguments, which will initially be briefly distinguished from one another and then examined in more detail. On the one hand, a somewhat smaller group welcomed commodification, as they regarded it as a way for tourists to express their sympathies towards the Revolution. In this sense, interviewees in this group supposed that visiting the Museo de la Revolución or purchasing a Fidel Castro coffee mug was an expression of support. On the other side of the coin, other interview partners welcomed the sale of revolutionary souvenirs or the like, due to the income opportunities that come with it. Particularly interviewees engaged in tourism fell into this second group. Aside from these two major groups of commodification supporters, there were a few interview partners who did not give further reasons for their positive stance on commodification, and these were mainly respondents from non-tourist places. Thus, relatively unspecific answers were given. For instance, 43UdR stated that “having a pullover or anything that has the image of Che or Fidel is very pretty to me”. Likewise, 39UdR was sympathetic to the marketisation of the Revolution, stating “I agree with 160  Original: “Con respecto a la figura del Che, es bonito. Mi esposo, hace dos años, con 56 años se lo tatuó.

Pero la bandera cubana no me gusta como ropa.” 161  Original: “Para mí … A mí no me gusta ponerme ropa que tenga banderas de ningún tipo.”

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identitie

that. Because it is something they [tourists] take with them from Cuba, a souvenir of Cuba.”162 However, such relatively general statements tended to be exceptional. Most of the interviewees who supported the commodification of the Revolution provided clear reasons for their position. In the following, the first position considered can be roughly summarised as: Tourists Express Support for the Revolution by Purchasing  Revolution-themed Souvenirs Without a doubt, this sentiment was shared by 1Hav, who thought that “it’s cool if a guy from Norway is a revolutionary and wears Che Guevara on his shirt”. This statement reflects the strong affinity assumed by some interviewees on the part of tourists towards the Revolution – the exemplary Norwegian tourist is straightforwardly characterised as a revolutionary. A similarly strong connection was felt by 14SdC, who believed that “Many people [in Cuba] are followers of the ideas of Che and the Revolution, and many show it in fashion. That is their belief in a manifesto. And so do many foreigners.” The purchase of revolutionary-themed souvenirs was thereby equated forthrightly with a commitment to the Revolution by Cubans and tourists. 30Hav expressed this point even more clearly: “It is okay, not harmful, to sell t-shirts with Che or Fidel to tourists. It’s a great thing when a guy from England identifies with them and wears a t-shirt with their face with pride.” Like 1Hav, he assumed that identification with the Revolution and its ideals steers the purchasing decisions of tourists. Many interviewees in this group were convinced that tourists, who buy souvenirs with revolutionary or national symbols, are fully aware of their meaning. Accordingly, 43UdR was adamant that “they [the tourists] not only wear it because of the people it shows [printed on them], or the Cuban flag, but they know what those people did. […] They don’t wear it just for the sake of it.”163 A similar position was voiced by 24Hav, who suggested that tourists’ choices of revolutionary symbols on souvenirs or revolutionary subjects in museums or on excursions are not coincidental. He also drew upon the example of Che Guevara: “They [tourists] want to identify with him and his ideas” (24Hav). Hence, he was “okay with people selling souvenirs with the face of Che Guevara”. This symbolic bond associated with the purchase of revolutionary souvenirs was likewise addressed by 16SdC. Referring to the commodification of the Revolution, she remarked: “It is okay, it’s history. And it is a way to transmit a message” (16SdC). In the preceding quotes, Che Guevara souvenirs were frequently highlighted to exemplify the commodification of the Revolution. First, because his effigy is indeed one 162  Original: “Yo estoy de acuerdo. Porque es algo que se llevan de Cuba, un recuerdo de Cuba.” 163  Original: “Y yo lo que pienso es que no, solo se pongan porque vengan esas personas, o la bandera de

Cuba, sino que sepan qué hicieron esas personas. […] No ponérsela por ponérsela.”

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of the most frequently used revolutionary symbols in tourism, and second, such souvenirs are so omnipresent in tourist hotspots that they almost inevitably attract the eye, thereby suggesting themselves as examples (see Figure 33).

Figure 33: Example of the omnipresence of Che Guevara souvenirs in the public space of tourism hotspots. Source: own photo (2017), taken of one of the shop windows of the Bazar del arte revolucionario in Calle Obispo, Havana.

During the interview with 16SdC, which took place in a friend’s garden and was thus without visual stimulus, she also referred to Che Guevara. In the further course of the conversation, though, she specified several other symbols and objects through which she felt tourists express their revolutionary sentiments by purchasing them: If you buy a t-shirt with Che Guevara, it is because you believe in what he did or something, it’s because you like what he did […]. If you buy this, it is because you really believe in these people [i. e. revolutionaries]. So, if you buy a t-shirt, if you really like him because of what he did, how he was, you want to have something with him. Maybe a book, a t-shirt, a bookmark, I don’t know – something. So, I don’t think it is a big deal to sell some t-shirts with Che or Fidel or something else. Even with phrases that they have said.

While the attitude of tourists concerning the commodification of the Revolution was primarily considered and used as justification for commodification, 15SdC also contem-

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identitie

plated the supplier side. He also referred to the example of Che Guevara and discussed the suspected intention behind most revolutionary-themed tourist offers: “I think that the vision is to let the people [tourists] know that there was an outstanding man who just wanted something different for the society, for the people.” 15SdC thus considered the transfer of knowledge on the revolutionary cosmos as being the purpose of marketing revolutionary souvenirs. In his understanding, tourism has an educational mission and is supposed to provide ideological fodder for tourists. Thereby, 15SdC was not convinced that arriving tourists are already loyal revolutionaries, but that tourism might – and should – play a central role in conveying the revolutionary idea. Essentially, though, the underpinning notion was the same for all interviewees in this group: the tourist commodification of the Revolution is acceptable or even desirable, since tourists either identify with it anyway or can be convinced of its blessings. Although no systematic surveys have been conducted in this regard, it seems doubtful whether the intention of many tourists associated with the purchase of souvenirs or a visit to a museum is actual identification with the Revolution. Rather, numerous informal conversations led to the assumption that fridge magnets adorned with Fidel Castro or Cuban flags are more of a souvenir than a declaration of solidarity with Cuba – to name just one example. Similarly, the assumption that tourists, who buy Che Guevara t-shirts, know in detail about his heroic deeds and ideological views was open to debate. Altogether, this perspective conveys a strongly romanticised impression, which not only puts a positive spin on the commodification of the Revolution, but also transfigures it. However, this idealistic perspective was held by far fewer interviewees than the second vantage point of those supporting the commodification of the Revolution. Almost twice as many interview partners belonged to the second group, and these were almost exclusively Cubans working in tourism and who were directly or indirectly involved in the commodification of the Revolution. Their position can be – exaggeratedly – summarised as: Selling the Revolution is Business – We Offer what Tourists Desire This is almost exactly how 11SdC put it when he talked about the everyday reproduction and selling of revolutionary symbols in Cuban tourism: “Well, nowadays, it’s becoming, like, a touristic business.” This sentiment was shared by 23Hav, who was principally receptive to the commodification of the Revolution. He explained that Che Guevara appears on numerous souvenirs primarily due to his high recognition value. For 23Hav, the countless reproductions of the Revolution were just marketing stuff, you know? Che Guevara is a very famous figure all around the world. […] So, it is natural to create marketing about all this stuff and to sell it to tourists. Yeah,

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so Fidel, he always said that the Revolution must be exported. And … Yeah, but they [the revolutionaries] did not think about the green hats or the Che Guevara t-shirts; they are mostly for touristic marketing [laughs].

The second part of his statement suggests that 23Hav conceived that the tourist commodification of the Revolution is not necessarily to the liking of the political leadership. However, he jested about this notion. The discrepancy between the high aspirations of the revolutionary export as a matter of internationalism and the disdainful tourist reality amused him but did not seem to bother him any further. Similarly, 31Hav noted that, in principle, there are certainly two reasons for the reproduction of revolutionary symbols, albeit one of them is much more salient: It’s simple. Two things. We are very proud about our Revolution. And the other thing, the visitors are very interested about everything related with the Revolution. So, symbols about the Revolution are everywhere. Hey, it’s what we can sell more! […] To many people, this is just a way to make money, to many of them. To others, both. […] It’s about: ‘What are you looking for? What do you want to buy?’

Thus, ultimately, the reproduction and thus the commodification of the Revolution aim at satisfying the demands and consumption desires of tourists. In other words, the generation of revenue is the central driver for commodifying the Revolution. The fact that, of all things, it is being commodified is not due to Cuban pride or its identity-­ forming power. Rather, the respective souvenirs prove to be popular with tourists and are therefore offered. According to many interviewees, the commodification of the Revolution is thus demand-driven. 4Hav summed this up well, referring to his own occupation: When you see the clients like the books about Che. There. You are a seller. You need to sell what the people like […]. The people like Fidel Castro, too. So, you sell books about Fidel Castro. The people like more posters, you sell posters. […] For me, it’s business. Everyone is like that. If you sell that [Revolution], you receive money.

Therefore, once again, tourist demand is of pivotal importance, in that their desires drive supply. In the words of 2Hav: “Tourism in Cuba right now moves to a point where interest [in what vendors offer] is shaped by tourists. […] Tourists want it, they get it.” For 2Hav, this was not problematic; in fact, he was happy when as a tour guide he is able to satisfy the wishes of his customers. Many interview partners echoed this conviction, in that they seek to offer tourists what those are looking for. Yet, many were fully aware that stereotypes and misconceptions about the Revolution prevailed among some tourists. This was sometimes recognised as problematic but likewise accepted as a necessary iniquity. Thus, 34Hav explained that “you have to give tourists what they’re looking for. […] Americans are looking for cigars, rum and the salsa, you know. And others are looking for that [the Revolution] and Che Guevara, Fidel Castro

Commodification of the Revolution and its Impact on Cuban Identitie

and the classic cars, you know? Because, for them, that is Cuba.” Serving and reproducing stereotypes is fine for 34Hav in this regard, and conveying an authentic image is not a major priority. The same applies to 33Hav, who also knew that with the tourist commodification of the Revolution, stereotypes are often reproduced: Most of the people, I think, that come from abroad don’t know what Che Guevara really is. I really think that the people don’t really believe what Che Guevara is. But we sell that souvenirs about Che Guevara, because we know that the people come here looking for that, because it’s a facial [means: a paradigmatic representation]: ‘I have been in Cuba. I have been in Cuba.’ If we can make money with that illusion or that fake idea about Che Guevara, that’s fine.

As becomes evident in the last sentence of this quote, he was okay with selling “illusion or that fake idea[s]” if revenue can be generated by doing so. The following quote by 33Hav indicates that although he was quite critical of commodifying Che, he ultimately approved of the commodification of the Revolution for economic reasons: I see it […] not too well about Che Guevara, I confess. Not too well about Che Guevara. I said, well, but they can make the money by their own. That possibility, that chance is something that we need. […] That’s why I can tell you that it [commodifying the Revolution] is a chance that the people have, to make their own money and to rule [i. e. run] their own business. And they will earn much more than working for the government. They want to earn 40 CUCs, and then they will earn more, I think. Or earn much more, I think. That’s something good. If the people can manage their own business and they can rule their own lives and their own business, why not? Why not?

Economic considerations therefore override ideological and identity-related reservations in many cases. Yet, numerous interviewees did not focus on the staggering profits they can make by commodifying the Revolution. Rather, they perceived the Revolution, cast in commodity form, as “the food on [their] table” (4Hav). Finally, it must be mentioned that the reproduction of revolutionary symbols, bereft of their meaning, is not a practice exclusive to tourism. Even among Cubans, revolutionary signs are sometimes reproduced only for the look, not because they identify with the ideology behind them. As 32Hav pointed out: I mean, we believe in Che Guevara, but it’s just for tourists. […] Okay, you can see some Cubans even right now, you can see some Cubans with a portrait or a statue of Che Guevara. Probably, it’s difficult for you, but I have seen many young boys with the face of Che Guevara in their skin [a tattoo]. For many of these young people, it means, you know, that Che Guevara was very important, but I think it was just a trend. [I: Just cool.] Exactamente. Exactly, exactly. Just cool.

To conclude this subchapter, considerable divergence and contradictions in the statements of many interviewees must be noted, especially by those working in tourism.

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Indeed, some of them stated that the Revolution is very special for them and that its heroes have an unparalleled significance for them and their identity. However, it is commodified and commercialised by them, like any other souvenir or cultural element of Cuba. In the souvenir shops, Revolution-related products are not particularly highlighted; they merely represent one article among many. Similarly, no distinct importance seems to be attached to the Revolution in the promotion of guided tours. Whether visiting Plaza de la Revolución or the Museo del Ron in Havana, the dripstone caves in the valley of Viñales or the church in Trinidad, apparently they do not matter to marketing and local tour guides. 7.9.3. Impacts of the Commodification of the Revolution on Cuban Identities?

The two preceding subchapters provide surprising and unexpected results. Many Cuban interviewees did not seem bothered by the tourist commodification of the Revolution. Instead, many accepted it or even agreed with it and practiced it themselves. In summary, two central argumentations can be identified to justify this commodification. On the one hand, some interviewees considered it an opportunity to spread the revolutionary message among sympathising tourists. On the other hand, using the Revolution in tourism was perceived as means to an end, a mere commodity, whose commercialisation is a reaction to tourist demand. Additionally, a comparatively small group disagreed with it. Figure 34 presents the three groups outlined herein and indicates with bold text the larger clusters at each level. Additionally, each group is provided with an exemplary quote that describes its principal stance on the commodification of the Revolution. Interestingly, the commodification of the Revolution seems to have no or only insignificant influence on its identification potential. This holds true for all three groups displayed in Figure 34. Particularly in the group of those opposed to this commodification, concerns were raised that it impedes or inhibits identification with this very Revolution. However, even when questioned, these concerns were not specified through tangible examples but remained vague fears. Essentially, none of the interviewees indicated that his or her attitude towards the Revolution or identification with it had been affected by its tourist commodification. This applies both to those rejecting the commodification and to those embracing or accepting it. Considering the literature review and the conclusions drawn from the current state of research, this finding is indeed surprising. However, the in-depth analysis of the interview material reveals convincing explanations for why the commodification of the Revolution apparently does not have any significant impact on Cuban identities. The reasons for this are elucidated in Chapters 8.3 and 8.4, wherein the factors that, instead of the commodification of the Revolution, actually have a strong influence on the relationship between Cubans and the Revolution are analysed and discussed.

Summary of the Findings

Figure 34: Three fundamental assessments of the commodification of the Revolution, with paradigmatic quotes from the interviews. Source: own design.

7.10.

Summary of the Findings

To conclude this chapter, the key insights obtained from the field surveys are succinctly summarised below. To recap, these findings are primarily based on 51 qualitative interviews conducted with Cuban participants and analysed using Grounded Theory. In addition, the investigation is supported by further empirical methods, namely mappings and observations. For the analysis of the interviews, MAXQDA software is used to identify central issues and interrelationships in the interviewees’ perceptions. A three-step procedure involving open coding, axial coding and selective coding is applied for this purpose. Emphasis is placed on the consequences of international tourism for socioeconomic conditions in Cuba and on the impact of the commodification of the Cuban Revolution for Cuban identities. To summarise, the latter objective also represents the central research question of this research. Through the empirically collected data and their analysis, the following findings, abridged succinctly and assigned to the respective subchapters, can be drawn: – In general, international tourism in Cuba is assessed positively (7.1). This is primarily due to the economic prospects and hopes associated with it, for both individuals and the Cuban economy in general. To a lesser extent, negative effects of tourism are described, too. These mainly pertain to social aspects.

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– The private sector (Cuentapropismo) is principally considered positively by most interviewees (7.2). Economic considerations and the hope for progress dominate this assessment, too. The less frequent criticism of Cuentapropismo relates to social problems such as socioeconomic disparities. At the same time, Cuentapropismo is consistently recognised as an inherently capitalist practice. – Many interviewees regard the simultaneity of socialism and capitalism in Cuba as inefficient, contradictory and problematic (7.3). However, specific advantages and disadvantages are attributed to both systems. While capitalism is usually credited with high economic performance, many interview partners associate Cuban socialism mainly with a superb welfare system. The drawbacks of both systems are viewed as diametrically opposed: capitalism has social disadvantages, while in socialism economic performance is poor. Overall, capitalism is seen as preferable, while Cuban socialism is said to require major reforms. – Among the negative social effects of international tourism, the most mentioned examples are an increase in crime, in discrimination and segregation and, most importantly, the fear of the hitherto egalitarian Cuban society disintegrating (7.4). – For the description of Cuban identity (7.5), many interview partners refer to historical-nationalist roots. Striving for freedom and independence are central motifs, as is a combative nature as well as a sense of community and solidarity. The Cuban Revolution is also repeatedly referred to as forming identity. Furthermore, escapism via festivities and alcohol is mentioned, too. – In characterising the Cuban Revolution (7.6), many interviewees point to its all-encompassing imprint on life on the island as a central feature. Often, the Revolution is associated with its heroes, with the independence it attained and with the social achievements of the Conquistas. However, multiple challenges are addressed as well. – With respect to the consequences of international tourism for Cuban identities (7.7), cultural shifts and the loss of values are particularly noteworthy. Occasionally, the fear of a decline in identification with the Revolution is described, too. – The tourist commodification and  – thus non-identity-forming reproduction  – of the Revolution and its legacies occurs exclusively in tourist hotspots and is therefore spatially dependent (7.8). Moreover, a clear difference in the ways in which symbols and contents are reproduced in a profit-oriented and commodifying manner, and which are reproduced without seeking to make profits, exists. This relates to both the symbolic content and the materiality of these reproductions. – Three principal attitudes pertain among the interviewees concerning the commodification of the Revolution: 1) Strict rejection, 2) approval, since this is seen to encourage the Revolution and 3) approval, since such commodities provide vital income. The latter stance is clearly the most common one. None of these three groups believes that commodification processes have a major influence on their identification with the Revolution (7.9). This discovery is utterly surprising and was not expected after the literature discussion.

Summary of the Findings

In the ensuing discussion chapter, the findings presented so far are critically evaluated and discussed. Moreover, they are reflected upon against the backdrop of the previously introduced theories. Likewise, the theoretical framework on which this study is based is subjected to a critical review and a debate considering the empirical results. This is particularly necessary with respect to the implications of tourist commodification for identities in host societies.

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Towards an Enhanced Understanding of Commodification

I have to tell you – I want to be sincere with it. […] In Cuba, people don’t care about who is the president, what is the political system. They don’t care about it. What they want is to have a worthy job, they want to work to be able to cover the needs of their families. 31Hav

The qualitative interviews and the mappings conducted disclose a wide scope of interesting and discussion-worthy insights – as outlined in the previous chapter. These insights require interpretation, explanation and contextualisation. For this purpose, the findings as well as the previously elaborated theoretical background on identity formation and commodification and their reciprocal effects are considered. The objective of this chapter, on the one hand, is to answer the research questions raised at the outset, and so the structure of the chapter is chronological. On the other hand, the foundational literature is reflected critically in light of the present findings, thereby allowing for not only some contradictions, but also many concordances between empirical evidence and theory to be pointed out. However, not only the existing literature, but also this study’s investigations are critically evaluated, and limitations as well as potential shortcomings are disclosed and assessed. A key theme of this chapter is the rather unexpected finding that the commodification of the Revolution seems to have little or no effect on its significance as a resource for Cuban identities. Throughout this chapter, the reasons behind this notion, and how this contradiction of some scholarly positions might be interpreted, are explained alongside what implications for scientific engagement with tourist commodification arise as a result. In a conclusive critical review, the methodological approach is then reflected (Chapter 8.7) and normative stances towards (tourist) commodification are discussed (Chapter 8.8).

International Tourism in Cuba: Consequences and Perceptions

8.1.

International Tourism in Cuba: Consequences and Perceptions

In each subchapter, the research question is addressed at first, before the subsequent paragraph summarises the central findings on the question. The ensuing passages of text elaborate on the findings and discuss them in detail. This structure is retained in subsequent subchapters. Q1: What are the socioeconomic and spatial consequences of international tourism for Cuba, and how do Cubans assess tourism and its effects? International tourism aggravates socioeconomic and spatial disparities in Cuba; indeed, Cubans perceive this process with a good deal of concern. Since tourism’s disadvantages and downsides are widely acknowledged, however, it is viewed ambivalently and controversially. Especially due to its considerable economic importance, its disadvantages are mostly tolerated, and tourism is regarded as the least harmful alternative for the country. The subjective assessment of tourism and its effects depends largely on the personal possibilities for economic participation. Beneficiaries of tourism view it significantly more positively than those excluded from economic participation in the sector. Overall, the Cubans’ assessment of international tourism and its consequences in Cuba is characterised by tension. While it is perceived as an economic opportunity, on the one hand, many regard it as a threat to society, on the other. This ambivalent view does not necessarily reflect the opinions of different subjects; rather, many Cubans have a contradictory opinion of tourism. 8.1.1. Undesired Disparities and Transformations

The interview partners blame tourism and the government’s tourism policy for various undesirable developments in Cuba. Arguably the most significant criticism voiced by many Cubans is the inequitable and unjust access to tourism  – and thus to the improvement of their personal economic conditions. They remark that enhancing individual financial circumstances is possible only for a minority, resulting in highly unequal opportunities for socioeconomic development. Likewise, many Cubans assess the inversion of the income pyramid, as described earlier by Hoffmann (2015:6), LeoGrande (2015b:395) and Nau (2016:14–16), critically, along with brain drain from the public sector into tourism. In fact, (non-)participation in tourism exerts an exceptional effect on opportunities for pursuing personal lifestyles. Furthermore, income earned in tourism differentiates social groups more sharply than other criteria relevant to social grouping, such as age, ethnicity, place of residence or educational attainment. However, these certainly (indirectly) affect the prospects of obtaining an engagement in the sector, which primarily distinguishes different lifestyles via income.

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In addition to economic disparities associated negatively with tourism, many Cubans criticise how tourists and Cubans are treated differently, in that the former are favoured by both the state and fellow Cubans, presumably due to the money they bring in to the country. In this respect, too, some Cubans feel discriminated against and consider themselves “second-class citizens”, as Roland (2010:15) observes. However, the concerns of many Cubans are not limited to economic disparities and unfair and unequal treatment, as they also see social transformations associated with tourism. International tourism, therefore, has led to complaints about the emergence of behaviours and character traits mentioned as hitherto mostly unknown in Cuba, such as greed, selfishness and materialism, which increasingly supersede previous systems of values and societal conventions (e. g. 16SdC; 18Tri; 32Hav; 51Mat). Many regard social cohesion, compañerismo and unconditional solidarity as being under threat (e. g. 5Hav; 36Hav) and attribute this primarily to (capitalist) tourism, which is also associated with a perceived surge in criminality and open prostitution. Moreover, their assessment of benefiting from tourism and its economic opportunities as inequitable exhibits a pronounced spatial bias; consequently, the spatial transformations induced by tourism are almost exclusively considered negative. All of these tourism-related social and spatial phenomena and developments directly affect those living in tourist hotspots. Indeed, tourism-triggered transformations manifest almost exclusively in the urban tourism centres, while only a very few rural areas, such as Viñales, benefit from the sector. Instead, the allocation of state capital to tourism is partly blamed for the decline of agriculture, and thus of rural areas, since the beginning of the Período Especial. As a consequence, many – especially among the rural population – equate the profiteers of tourism (i. e. those lacking in solidarity, blinded by capitalism, e. g. 16SdC; 41UdR) with those living in urban tourism hotspots. However, certainly not all city dwellers profit from tourism. Yet, at the same time, rural areas tend to be considerably less affected by social transformation fuelled by the sector. Thus, urban-rural disparities, which are growing again, result in not only economic, but also social dimensions. Overall, the possibilities for socioeconomic empowerment are significantly better in the cities compared to rural regions. This spatial injustice is partially attributable to the selective top-down designation of priority areas for tourist development by the powerful central state. The progressively uneven development of spaces, evident in increasing disparities between urban and rural livelihoods, is not an intended consequence of international tourism, but nevertheless it is accepted and tolerated as a side effect, owing to the urgent need to earn foreign currency. In a nutshell, many urban centres, where “everybody has found their way into tourism” (37Hav), profit from tourism, while those living on the rural periphery face increasing cutbacks in almost every socioeconomic respect. Thus, “they [people living in the countryside] are worried about other things. […] A lot of people there are mostly worried about clothes, or shoes or how to make the day, […] how to survive. And

International Tourism in Cuba: Consequences and Perceptions

not about tourism and those things” (36Hav). Many Cubans are aware of increasing spatial polarisation and the neglect of rural communities, and they usually assess the simultaneous and counter-directional rise of urban centres and fall of rural peripheries negatively. In rural regions, the direct positive effects of international tourism are often not noticeable. Even major cities, which are not classed as tourist centres or defined by the central government as sites of prioritised economic development, are either unable to profit from the Cuban tourism boom or can do so only to a limited extent. Often, these include cities in the Oriente, such as Bayamo, Las Tunas or Manzanillo. Especially in places like Unión de Reyes, “there are not many perspectives for the youth”1 (45UdR). Given the lack of prospects in Unión de Reyes, “they [the youth] have to emigrate, so Unión de Reyes becomes a ghost town”2 (49Mat). The associated permanent migration from Unión de Reyes, primarily of young people, heads mainly to the relatively close tourist hubs of Havana and Varadero (in these cases, especially to the sprawling and impoverished satellite towns of Cárdenas and Santa Marta). Yet, the struggling urban housing situation and restrictive government policies restrict migration, prompting 50Mat to deliver a blistering critique of the central government: For her, living in rural communities “is like when they [the government] lock you in a room and don’t feed you; they are killing you little by little”3 (50Mat). Although money is sometimes transferred through urban-rural family networks, the poor overall supply situation often prevents equivalent consumption, even if people have the necessary financial resources (e. g. 44UdR). 8.1.2. Transforming Urban Spaces into Spaces of ‘Spectacle’

However, international tourism is also associated with adverse effects for urban areas. Spatial segregation still occurs, often on the micro scale, for instance when Cubans are denied access to hotels or elevators. Hence, the segregation of tourists and Cubans has not yet been fully overcome. Likewise, some Cubans criticise the tourist reshaping of urban centres, especially in Habana Vieja and Trinidad. This conclusion is consistent with the findings of Völkening et al. (2021:15–16) and Völkening (2021b). In this respect, restored urban spaces are being appropriated for tourist use, while Cubans increasingly feel uncomfortable or ‘out of place’ in such spaces (e. g. 4Hav; 11SdC; 35Hav). Thus, Habana Vieja especially can be conceived and conceptualised as a “tourismscape” in the understanding of Stoffelen and Vanneste (2015:554–556) and Van der Duim (2007:962). The criticism of tourism increasing the appropriation of 1  Original: “No hay muchas perspectivas para la juventud.” 2  Original: “Tienen que emigrar entonces Unión de Reyes se convierte en un pueblo fantasma.” 3  Original: “Es como cuando a ti te encierran en un cuarto y no te dan de comer, te están matando poco

a poco.”

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urban spaces is independent of any personal profits from the sector. This also applies to the perceptions and negative evaluation of rising prices in tourism hotspots and the displacement of residential populations from these enclaves, although both phenomena are addressed comparatively seldomly. In addition to increased disparities in relation to segregation and to the touristification of urban centres, international tourism influences spaces that serve as resources for Cuban identities. Thus, certain spaces that are integral to the shared Cuban identity and essential to the construction of the “imagined community” (Anderson 2006) of Cubans (e. g. Plaza de la Revolución in Havana or the tomb of Che Guevara in Santa Clara) are being transformed into spaces of “spectacle” (Debord 2005 [1967]) and tourist consumption. Consequently, they are visited less frequently by Cubans and simultaneously charged with alternative meanings and associated with other purposes. These spaces are increasingly associated with profit and tourism instead of collective identity or revolutionary purpose. As 16SdC puts it, most Cubans “know the museums since [they] were children”.4 She asks rhetorically, “Why do we have to go over and over and over to the same place?” (16SdC). Additionally, 5Hav visits Plaza de la Revolution “not so much nowadays, because I visit it so often, because today it now has more to do with work than anything else”.5 In principle, these statements provide arguments for the alienating influence of tourist commodification on host identities. However, in the case of the Cuban Revolution investigated herein, this effect is not particularly pronounced, as it is superimposed by other, more powerful effects of alienation (see Chapter 8.4). 8.1.3. Politics and Power Causing Unequal Opportunities: Positive Assessments of Tourism Prevail

The unequal opportunities for participation in tourism described herein are predominantly due to political decisions. Centres of tourism development are defined centrally, and access to an occupation in the industry is controlled through the granting of a limited number of licences. The Cuban state undeniably emerges as a powerful actor in tourism, controlling its development. Cubans are aware of this, although the state apparatus was addressed only indirectly as “they” in many interviews, while many Cubans attribute little or no agency to themselves. For instance, 34Hav remarks that “they [the state] have absolute power” – a notion many Cubans consider quite critical. They also believe that they “don’t have a freedom of speech […] the medias belong to the government. I mean, radio broadcast and television and the newspaper as well” 4  16SdC refers to Revolution-themed Cuban museums in general. 5  Original: “Heutzutage nicht so viel, weil ich es besuche es so oft, weil das heute jetzt hat mehr mit Arbeit

zu tun als etwas anderes.”

International Tourism in Cuba: Consequences and Perceptions

(32Hav). Since Cuba effectively lacks separation of power, “they [the nomenclature] have power, they have the money” (11SdC), and “everything is tightly controlled by the institutions”6 (49Mat). This perception is shared by essentially all interviewees, with only the most fervent supporters of the Revolution defending this abundance of power in the state apparatus. The interview partners generally perceive themselves as powerless, with no option but to passively “wait to see how the laws will be rethought and adapt to them”7 (50Mat). This also influences the prospects of Cubans, which are often subject to uncertainties. On the one hand, the majority of Cuentapropistas are confident about the future, as many of them think that “tourists give a big, big opportunity for Cuba, for the change” (4Hav). As 31Hav puts it, “many of us, we have hope to have a better future”. On the other hand, especially for older interviewees, the ones economically excluded from tourism and those from rural regions are pessimistic about the future. Many of them regard the future development of their country as “fatal, fatal. There is no progress”8 (44UdR). Likewise, 32Hav “believe[s] that Cuba is not going to change in the future”. Regardless of economic advantages and societal disadvantages, however, tourism causes stress for almost all Cubans through the polarisation and socioeconomic stratification it entails. Those currently excluded from tourism – especially those in rural areas – fear being permanently cut off from economic progress and prosperity. At the same time, those moving up the socioeconomic ladder worry about growing competition in tourism. In some cases, these individuals are now enjoying relative prosperity for the first time ever, which they fear for. Even among those working in tourism, there are very few whose achievements do not rest on shaky ground. The desire for economic advancement is also reflected in an appreciation of the gradually introduced elements of market economy. Only a few Cubans create meaningful associations between Cuban socialism and capitalist elements, thereby strengthening their own relationship with the Revolution as well. They describe capitalism positively as “natural in every private business” (23Hav) and advise the government to “take ideas from capitalism” (31Hav), as they are “necessary for success” (46UdR). However, many others identify major contradictions between the socialist character of the Cuban Revolution and market-based logic in Cuba, as 31Hav describes through his “Frankenstein” metaphor. Fundamentally, capitalism and socialism are attributed different strengths. While many Cubans regard capitalist elements as being beneficial to the economy, they attribute certain strengths to socialism in terms of establishing welfare and equity. However, they argue that welfare and equity are already guaranteed in Cuba, while eco6  Original: “Todo muy controlado por las instituciones.” 7  Original: “Hay que esperar a ver cómo se van a replantear las leyes y uno adaptarse a ellas.” 8  Original: “Fatal, fatal. Esto no ve avance.”

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nomic development is lacking. Thus, an intensified orientation toward market-based elements is often considered inevitable. Admittedly, many Cubans recognise that even the first steps towards capitalism create inequalities, but they regard this as a necessary vice. Textbox 20 offers some considerations on the question as to whether the elements of a market economy have led to the sort of neoliberal conditions described by Harvey (2005, 2011). Textbox 20: Neoliberal Cuba? Indeed, some of the profound reforms of recent years can be interpreted as a fiscally necessary shift toward neoliberal principles as described by Castree (2010:1728). In the last few years, Cuba witnessed the strengthening of individual entrepreneurial responsibility, the far-reaching imposition of private property, the establishment of an essentially free market and the gradual dismantling of the welfare state. Nevertheless, the structural conditions in Cuba certainly cannot be described as neoliberal in Harvey’s (2005:159) understanding. The main argument against the classification of these reforms as neoliberal (in approach) is that the liberalisations and deregulations described are essentially not due to efforts by capitalist actors aiming at further capital accumulation and re-distribution. Instead, the socialist Cuban state decided on these reforms to stabilise the Cuban economic system – not to foster accumulation in a capitalist sense.   The eradication of several distinctly socialist elements from the Cuban system is nevertheless remarkable. Additionally, some phenomena Harvey characterises as typical of neoliberal conditions can be witnessed in Cuba, nevertheless. These include, for instance, trivialisation and desecration through tourist commercialisation. Hence, Harvey (2011:103) decries the commodification of “common goods” such as the Revolution, now redefined as a commodity, and regards them as “under assault these days”, especially in tourism. Harvey’s basic idea translates well to the example of Cuba. Various cultural elements such as music, dances, cuisine, but also the Cuban Revolution, are intensively marketed in tourism and thoroughly trivialised in the process. Though “culturally creative common cannot be destroyed through use”, but “they can be degraded and banalised through excessive abuse” (Harvey 2011:104).

Virtually without exception, the foreign currency revenues associated with tourism are regarded positively, by both individuals and the Cuban state. Despite the difficulties and challenges associated with tourism, the overall positive assessment of the sector must not be ignored. This notion is primarily based on the economic opportunities and prospects it offers. Some of the revenues generated, for instance, are dedicated to maintaining the welfare system, and healthcare and education are particularly frequently addressed in this context. Another example often referred to, and yet controversially discussed, is the activity of the Office of the City Historian of Havana. Revenues generated by the organisation through tourism are partially invested in the restoration of residential buildings and in the creation of non-tourist jobs, e. g. in work-

The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity

shops. International tourism is viewed especially favourably by those able to partake in it. For them, working in the sector is an excellent way to earn a living and survive in their daily “lucha” [struggle] (32Hav). Hence, the economic effects of tourism are primarily evaluated positively, which is reflected in the numerous expressions of ‘chance’ and ‘opportunity’ associated with it. Even those who do not benefit directly from it often evaluate it as generally desirable, even though they tend to have only a vague idea of what is involved. For the most part, the social impacts of tourism are evaluated negatively, especially by those who do not – or cannot – participate in it. 8.2.

The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity

After discussing the general perception and assessment of international tourism in Cuba, the question arises in relation to the consequences of the commodification of the Revolution for Cuban identities. To this end, the Cuban Revolution as a particular tourist commodity must first be conceptualised. Furthermore, the spatial efficacy of this commodification, as well as the parallel influence of space on commodification, requires consideration. Q2: How can the Cuban Revolution be conceived as a tourist commodity? Where, and in what ways, is the Revolution commodified? What spatial processes and consequences are associated with the commodification of the Revolution? The results of the empirical analyses, especially the mappings, indicate that the commodification of the Revolution occurs exclusively in certain spaces, mainly characterised by their marketability for tourism. These spaces are either of general tourist interest, such as Habana Vieja, where the Revolution manifests frequently in commodity form, or they reflect the Revolution in a potentially commodifiable manifestation or an otherwise commodifiable form, such as Che Guevara’s burial site in Santa Clara. Although in the latter spaces the Revolution is initially not a tourist commodity, it is transformed into one, thereby turning the corresponding spaces into hyperrealities. This functional transformation of spaces affects the meaning of these spaces for Cuban identities and the spatial practices within them. It becomes evident that commodities and commodification are inherently subjective constructions, charged and endowed with individual meaning by the subjects. This emphasis on the subjectivity of identities ought not to obscure from a social-constructivist perspective, in that the framework in which subjects assign individual meanings is predetermined by social discourses and orders of knowledge. Hence, the fact that the significance of revolutionary spaces for individual identities could change is already an indicator that these spaces, and the Revolution itself, experience(d) a transformation in their discursive attribution of meaning.

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8.2.1. Is there Human Labour in the Cultural Common ‘Revolution’?

In the Cuban case, more and more revolutionary elements are being turned into commodities and integrated into capitalist logic for their exchange-value. In this context, it is worth noting Robinson’s (2008:133) specification that it is capitalist tourism that “converts culture, peoples, etc. into commodities”. However, the observation of Thrift (2000:96), i. e. that “not all commodities are equal”, may absolutely be agreed with when examining the Revolution as a commodity. The Cuban Revolution is a highly distinctive form of commodity that requires individual consideration and discussion. Nonetheless, since it is not a commodity in the usual sense, various commodity theories may be considered to define its commodity character and to make palpable the origin of its touristic exchange-value in human labour. From the perspective of international tourists, the Revolution provides Cuba with uniqueness. It distinguishes the nation from all other destinations through narratives and especially through the specific reality of life it produces. Thus, the Revolution as a tourist commodity is situated exactly in the area of tension Harvey (2002:94) describes: on the one hand, it must not be too unique and extraordinary as a commodity, since this would limit its marketability considerably. On the other hand, it must not be too commercialised either, since enhanced exchangeability is accompanied by a decline in uniqueness. Thus, excessive marketing and alignment with standardised tourism products would undermine the credibility and uniqueness of the Revolution as a commodity. Hence, from a revolutionary and socialist perspective, the problem facing the tourist commodity ‘Revolution’ is generating enough foreign currency while not harming the Revolution – or, more specifically, harming it only to a very limited extent. From a commercial perspective, the challenge is to make the Revolution as tradable and as commercially attractive as possible without completely destroying it – not for ideological reasons, but because otherwise the genuine basis of its marketing would be subverted. This foundation lies in a revolutionary reality in Cuba perceived as authentic. The Revolution can be attributed to what Cohen (1988:379) calls “emergent authenticity”, in that it is seen as authentic by many tourists as well as Cubans. For the latter, this is obvious, since their lives are embedded in the Revolution, and so it is immediately experienced. From this point of authenticity, the “existence value” or “sentimental value” notions applied by Krutilla (1967:779) help explain the origin of the exchange-value of the Revolution as a tourist commodity. This approach is close to that of Hochschild (2012), who argues that some tourist commodities are created by “emotional labour”, from which they derive value. In this sense, Cubans commodifying the Revolution might be conceived as selling some sort of ‘ideological-emotional labour’. An example illustrates this point. Many tourists participating in guided tours about the Revolution do so because they wish to gain an impression of ‘real revolutionary’ Cuba. Many feel

The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity

a pleasant thrill when the guide reports from his/her own experiences (this is important) of everyday reality in Cuba, and the tourists see themselves confronted with the revolutionary system through the guide (for instance, 34Hav criticises that many tour guides “sell out the country”). Hence, the value of this tour would originate in the guide’s expressions and descriptions. However, this understanding of the commodification of the Revolution and the origin of its exchange-value must be rejected. Indeed, it explains very well how and why the guide might generate exchange-value from his or her labour and emotions. Yet, it remains unclear to what extent the Revolution, as the subject of the tour, contributes to this value. In contrast to MacCannell’s (1976) postulation that the value produced in tourism is located in the experiences of tourists, Marx’s theory of value is in fact appropriate for explaining its origin in tourism. Indeed, as Marx (1951:170) himself and Young and Markham (2020:281) describe, intangible objects that are not the products of human labour can also be commodities. According to Marx (1990 [1867]:197), even objects without use-value in a productive sense can have a monetary price assigned to them through their exchange-value. Nevertheless, labour was devoted to forming the Revolution into what it is today. Marx’s (1951:170) notion of “unproductive labour”, intended to describe the production of intangible commodities, is not apt to describe the Revolution, since it exists not only as a mental construct, but also as produced and reproduced in specific materialities. Hence, the Revolution might be conceptualised as a “joint product” (Walker 2004:99), which consists of material and immaterial parts. Accordingly, the term “immaterial labour” (Hard & Negri 2000:290), proposed as an alternative to “unproductive labour”, seems better suited to describe the production of the Cuban Revolution’s intangible elements. Seen as a tourist commodity, the Cuban Revolution corresponds to Hardt and Negri’s (2009:139) “cultural commons” definition. Hence, they refer to such “cultural commons” as “languages we create, social practices we establish, modes of sociality that define our relationships” (Hardt & Negri 2009:139). The Revolution constitutes all of these elements for Cubans. En passant, the term ‘cultural common’, used for the Revolution, is considerably more appropriate than applying Bourdieu’s notion of habitus, as Gold (2014:44) suggests. Although the Revolution also structures the actions, relationships and imaginations of Cubans, the milieu-distinguishing character in the understanding of Bourdieu’s habitus is mostly absent from the Revolution and is i­ndeed actively opposed by it. However, it must be acknowledged that the stance on the Revolution distinguishes different groups of people in Cuba from each other. While this is not along the trajectory of endowment with cultural or economic c­ apital,9

9  At

most, this exempts top PCC officials and party cadres, who are mostly also part of Cuba’s military leadership.

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there are distinctive rituals, modes of expression and speech that distinguish ‘real’ revolutionaries from other Cubans. These distinguishing elements include, for example, participation in parades or CDR meetings, decorating dwellings with Fidel or Che devotional imagery or reciting Marx, Lenin or Fidel Castro in discussions. But where exactly is human labour in the Revolution as a tourist commodity? It is contained in several forms. On the one hand, it is evident in the productive (i. e. material) and immaterial labour of those producing Fidel Castro t-shirts, leading tours on the Revolution or dressing up as Che to take photos with tourists. On the other hand, the Revolution as a commodity also indirectly contains the labour of those contributing to its very creation. To put it bluntly, the Revolution as a tourist commodity also, and especially, receives its value from the labour of Fidel Castro, Che Guevara and countless Cubans who made it what it is or what it is perceived to be. Without their labour, the Revolution would be meaningless and lack any use-value for Cubans. Likewise, the tourist commodities based thereon would be literally meaningless, so no replacement of the use-value by an exchange-value would be possible – without Che Guevara’s unique activities and his worshipping, his portrayal would not embellish countless souvenirs,10 and his resting place would not be a tourist attraction. The labour of the global tourism industry and international media, which significantly contributed to the (tourist) image and myth of the Revolution, are likewise incorporated into the ‘Cuban Revolution’ tourist commodity.11 Therefore, the Revolution contains tremendous amounts of socially necessary labour (Marx 1990 [1867]:129), which is the foundation for its use-value, as well as for its exchange-value, in tourism. Thus, the Revolution might be conceived as a tourist commodity in Marx’s understanding, since a plethora of human labour has fed and continues to feed into the production of the symbolic and intellectual cosmos that renders it appealing and interesting to tourists. This conclusion is consistent with Young and Markham’s (2020:280) reflections on the constitution of the value of tourist goods, based on socially necessary labour. Certainly, labour did not flow into the Revolution to such a large extent as to make it marketable as a tourist commodity in the forms of museums, guided tours or souve-

10  An

expedient example for this is the almost omnipresent Che Guevara t-shirt that can be bought in almost every corner of the touristified zones of Cuban cities. These t-shirts derive the majority of their monetary value not from the labour put into them, nor from the materials used to produce the clothing. Instead, the multitude of attributed imaginations and projections linked with the person depicted on the t-shirt causes it to be perceived as ‘valuable’. 11  An interesting question for further research in this context would be, who is in control of the commodification of the Revolution, and who coordinates the related labour? Furthermore, if and how are these processes controlled at all? Power relations between different actors (the Cuban state, international tourism companies, Cuentapropistas) presumably assume a key position in this regard. Similarly, Mosedale (2016b:164) encourages critical engagement with “neoliberal tourism developments, policies, and practices”.

The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity

nirs. Since it was certainly pursued and produced primarily with completely different intentions, it might be described as a commodity “by diversion” (Appadurai 1994:84): its use and value as a tourist commodity clearly deviate from – and in fact are diametrically opposed to – its original intentions. 8.2.2. The Process of Commodifying the Revolution

The commodification of the Revolution occurs in material and immaterial forms easy for foreign tourists to recognise and associate with the Revolution. This recognisability, which stems from the individuation of commodified objects as described by Castree (2003:280), also affects the Revolution. In this process, individual elements, symbols or signs are detached from their genuine revolutionary “supporting context” (Castree 2003:280) in a “representational” way to make them touristically marketable. Only in the absence of their ideological and indeed historically controversial background do portraits of Fidel Castro and Che Guevara, or five-pointed red stars as objects of consumption, become interesting for tourists. Thus, the commodification of the Revolution removes the fundamental substrate from some of its elements, simplifies them (Altvater 1993:185) and makes them easier to digest and consume. Baudrillard’s (1983:11) notion of “simulacrum” aptly describes those objects of the Revolution deprived of their explanatory context. To become commodifiable, these objects must assume a form recognisable to tourists as a commodity simulating the Revolution (e. g. a poster, a hat or a tale). This transformation into a commodity recognisable to tourists is a necessary precondition for the Revolution to be traded based on its exchange-value for the “universal equivalent” (Marx 1990 [1867]:188) – for money. Moreover, the commodification of the Revolution requires its “abstraction” (Castree 2003:281). The Cuban Revolution is a complex, partly contradictory, historical process that simultaneously can be considered a “cultural common”. Only by abstracting it into quantifiable and identifiable commodities may revolutionary elements become exchangeable. For instance, this is done by transferring the Revolution represented by an adequate symbol or sign into a form that is identifiable as a tourist commodity – such as a keychain on the display shelves of a souvenir store. Tourists know what a keychain is and how to use it. Thus, instead of purchasing the Revolution itself, tourists purchase an abstraction of the Revolution that is both sensible and recognisable to them. Thus, it is presented as a single instance of the object category ‘keychain’ and loses almost all complexity and contradictoriness, as well as its explanatory power and meaningfulness. As with ‘individuation’ and ‘abstraction’, Castree’s (2003:279) “privatisation” principle of commodification likewise applies to the Revolution. Indeed, it is not the Revolution per se that is privatised. Instead, the commodity form into which it is transformed is privatised, thereby allowing its exchange or consumption for money to be

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regulated and entrusted to individual actors. As Castree notes, privatisation is a necessary precondition for commodification processes, and only through privatisation is it possible for the Cuban Revolution, which as a “cultural common” has no owner, to be transformed into a privatised – and thus exchangeable – commodity form. 8.2.3. Spatial Effects of the Commodification of the Revolution

In Consuming Places, Urry (1995:217) emphasises the “temporariness” of commodities, values and social relations in the postmodern tourist city, whereby the “temporary contract” is the predominant form of relationship – also and specifically from a socio-spatial perspective. Thus, identity formation based on these socio-spatial relationships is complicated or rendered impossible. This emphasis on the ephemeral and non-committal nature of relationships is also found in the thoughts of Bauman (1992:693; 1996:24–25; 1997:89), who draws similar conclusions. Urry (1995:21–22) traces this “temporariness” back to progressing “time-space compression”, reflected in consumption and tourism, which in turn currently have a serious and central influence on urban spaces, decisively shaping both single buildings and ample urban spaces and depriving them of their significance for individual and collective identities. In Habana Vieja in particular, tourism is indeed the dominant force behind urban (re-)structuring (Völkening et al. 2021:10–13). However, as shall be demonstrated below, it is questionable whether this defining influence also extends to identities. Following Lanfant et al.’s (1995:IX) notion that hosts of the Global South are expected to “preserve a purity that never existed”, Cubans are in many cases implicitly expected to serve the imaginations of revolutionary Cubans that satisfy the desires and expectations of international tourists, originating from these tourists’ imaginations. Consequently, many representations and spatially effective manifestations of the Revolution in tourism hotspots do not represent Cuban identities but rather reflect and reproduce tourist imaginations. From a spatial perspective, this leads to “hyperrealities” (Baudrillard 1994:78), whose configuration is informed by tourist imagination, and where Cubans strive to acquire exchange-value from the Revolution through its commodification. One example is seen in the gentlemen who march through Habana Vieja in combat gear, wearing a beret and smoking cigars, and who let tourists take pictures of them for a fee. These performances cater exclusively to tourist imaginations, and Habana Vieja offers the revolutionary touch some tourists expect. The Bazar del arte revolucionario on Calle Obispo in Old Havana likewise reduces the representation of the Revolution to symbols familiar to tourists, i. e. mainly the red star, Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. Thus, certain revolutionary elements are clearly overemphasised, while many subtleties and nuances of the complex construct of ‘Revolution’ are omitted and do not receive spatial representation.

The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity

This commodification thus results in hyperreal symbolic spaces that differ greatly in both their material and social nature from what may be called genuine revolutionary spaces.12 These hyperrealities are “representational space” (Lefebvre 1991), i. e. space that “overlays physical space, making symbolic use of its objects” (Lefebvre 1991:39). In these spaces, some revolutionary symbols and objects that once may have had identity-forming, certainly non-commercial, meaning are converted into commodities. These commodifying representations nowadays do not represent signifiers of support for the Revolution but indicate commercial and capitalist practices. However, the loss of the meaningfulness of revolutionary symbols and objects in spaces heavily influenced by tourism, such as Habana Vieja, does not necessarily affect all Cubans, just as the Revolution is not commodified by all Cubans. Accordingly, it would be too much of a stretch to talk about mere “simulated spaces” of Cuban Revolution as understood by Urry (1995:219). Rather, many of these spaces and places are hybrids of revolutionary simulation and revolutionary reality. Instances in this regard include the Museo de La Revolución or the Plaza de La Revolución in Havana, which serve multiple purposes and functions in a single space, stressing their nature as boundary objects (see Chapter 7.8.1). Hence, such spaces can be endowed with multiple meanings at the same time. While loyal revolutionaries may see Che Guevara’s tomb as a national monument, other Cubans may associate it with the opportunity to earn money as a tourist guide. For others, this space may represent both of these meanings at once. However, the commodification of the Revolution has nonetheless significant influence on tourist spaces in Cuba, even though it is certainly not the sole influence and dimension of meaning in them. A similar commodification-induced metamorphosis is evident for many elements of Cuban culture. Indeed, cultural elements described as pivotal to the self-image of Cubans (e. g. music, dance; see Chapter 7.5.2) are often performed (in a dual sense) for tourists and are thus potentially bereft of their identity-forming capacity. Thus, the ubiquitous covers of Buena Vista Social Club’s hit Chan Chan, and the Creole belles flocking the streets of Trinidad, are hollow cultural shells, cultural signifiers without real content; neither the Revolution nor culture serve exclusively to form or sustain Cuban identities in these spaces but are transformed into fetishised commodities, as described by Simmel (2006a [1911]:70). Again, it must be stressed that tourist spaces have not yet been fully conceptualised as commodities (Britton 1991; Young & Markham 2020:279). In the present case, however, space itself is only partially commodified. In part, the Revolution is merely commodified in space as well, without the latter taking on a ma-

12  These

spaces are characterised by bearing manifestations of the Revolution that were created through practices following its logics and values. Revolutionary symbols are reproduced here for their own sake and explicitly not for tourist commercialisation or similar purposes.

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jor role. Therefore, the relationship between commodified revolutionary spaces and the ‘locatedness’ of commodifications of the Revolution require further detail. As the Cuban Revolution is commodified almost exclusively for international tourists, its commodification occurs virtually exclusively in spaces intended for tourist consumption. Thus, tourist spaces in which the Revolution is commodified can be produced in two ways: first, revolutionary commodities are successively showcased and sold in spaces that are already tourist spaces (e. g. Habana Vieja, Varadero), even though they have no historical reference to the Revolution. And second, spaces with revolutionary significance that can be commercialised through symbols and narratives recognisable and of interest to tourists (e. g. Che Guevara’s burial site, the former rebel headquarters Comandancia de la Plata in the Sierra Maestra or the Bay of Pigs) gradually become tourist attractions. Thus, a bidirectional convergence of revolutionary legacies and tourist consumption emerges, blurring the boundaries between both aspects (see Figure 35). As the convergence progresses, revolutionary legacies and tourist consumption overlap increasingly in spatial and symbolic terms until, in the ultimate form, there is no longer any distinction between tourist commodity and revolutionary legacy within a single space. They melt into each other and become the same thing. The danger lies in losing the meaning of the legacy in the commodity form, as 33Hav indicates, agreeing with selling “that fake idea” of the Revolution, if revenue can be generated from it. The stages involved in the Revolution’s full commodification displayed at the bottom of Figure 35 can theoretically be achieved, but such extensive commodification is difficult to imagine. The contemporary overlapping of spaces of revolutionary legacies and of tourist commodification in Cuba is thus depicted in the middle panel of Figure 35 (labelled ‘During commodification of the Revolution’). In progressing the commodification of the Revolution, the overlapping of both spaces will increase, whilst in diminishing the commodification of the Revolution (for instance, due to novel regularities), the overlapping of both spaces will decrease. Of course, all of these cases refer to representational space in Lefebvre’s sense (1991:33), i. e. socially produced meanings of the Revolution that increasingly overlap both spatially and in their connotations. Such considerations can be applied not only to the whole of Cuba, but also to subspaces; hence, the overlapping of tourist commodities and revolutionary legacies is highly pronounced in the souvenir stores of Havana’s Calle Obispo and strong at Che Guevara’s burial site in Santa Clara, while it is very weak in local CDR offices, for example. An explanation for the spatial and cultural-symbolic transformations described herein lies in the shifting cultural or ideological identification of collectives and individuals. Young and Markham (2020:292) describe the tourist commodification of use-values as a process greatly influencing social space. Ultimately, this also leads to changed practices of spatial production. In summary, commodification leads to corresponding material and spatial manifestations, represented in revolution-themed ­spaces

The Cuban Revolution as a Commodity

Figure 35: Stages of the spatial convergence of revolutionary legacies and tourist consumption. Source: own illustration.

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primarily designed for generating revenue, rather than being expressions of collective identity and heritage. These manifestations in turn influence identities, although this effect is much less pronounced in the present case than described by Kieffer and Burgos (2015). 8.2.4. Discourses on Commodification: Locally and Theoretically

Indeed, locally in Cuba, a discourse regarding the commodification of the Revolution exists, as 18Tri’s comment on the TV programme Cuba dice [Cuba says] indicates. The political involvement of and the remark by 32Hav, i. e. that the state is quite critical of the tourist marketing of the Revolution, underscore the political dimension of (tourist) commodification. What may be legally commodified by whom, and what is commodifiable in principle, is always the result of social negotiation processes and is classified into lawful and unlawful elements by political authorities endowed with power. This conclusion is regardless of the nature of the commodity – whether it is the Cuban Revolution, a natural resource or labour; its turning-into-a-commodity is always embedded in social and legal, i. e. political, contexts. It is thus discursively negotiated and produced. If most Cubans or the PCC were strictly opposed to the sale of Che Guevara t-shirts, such sales would certainly be prohibited. Conversely, the legality of the commodification of the Revolution (at least in certain forms) suggests that powerful actors have an interest in this commodification, or at least they do not reject it entirely. Theoretical opinions differ among scholars on how commodification processes should be evaluated and handled. Holden (2009:375) sees a need for political and regulatory intervention. In his view, political intervention is appropriate to counteract undesirable side effects in tourism. For Harvey (2002), this is not enough at all. In his opinion, an “alternative kind of globalisation” (Harvey 2002:109) is required, hence his call for a socialist opposition to the global capitalist hegemon and a “socialisation of surplus production” (Harvey 2011:107). However, in Cuba, which is one of the few remaining vestiges of socialist opposition, many express a strong desire for an expansion of capitalist practices rather than a containment thereof. Yet, this may be related to Cuba’s status as a solitary socialist state with little agency vis-à-vis globalised capitalism and at the mercy of its market constraints. Although the commodification of the Revolution is a process unfolding within a political framework, the desire or necessity to generate foreign currency seems to be the supreme power determining the (non-)commodification of revolutionary objects. Hence, the objective of capital accumulation trumps even Fidel Castro’s explicit wish not to be depicted on souvenirs and the like.

Implications of Commodification for the Revolution’s Identity-Forming Powe

8.3. Implications of Commodification for the Revolution’s Identity-Forming Power

This chapter is dedicated to the following research question: Q3: What are the implications of the commodification of the Revolution for its identity-forming power? What do these implications reveal about the relationship between Cubans and the Revolution? Contrary to what was expected based on certain strands of published research, the commodification of the Revolution does not have a strong impact on Cubans’ identities or their identification with the Revolution. The principal explanation for this notion lies in the individual understandings many interviewees construct of this commodification. This individual narration enables them to reconcile their personal relationship with the Revolution and its commodification, but this realisation conflicts with several prior accounts on the subject. Although tourism is a vehicle and a driver of commodification in the present case, neither tourism nor the commodification of the Revolution itself are necessarily or solely responsible for transformed Cuban identities. This stands in contrast to certain positions taken by (geographic) tourism research. 8.3.1. Commodification and its Impact on Identities

The results of this study contradict the perspectives and findings of other scholars in certain respects, as the commodification of the Revolution does not have an overly significant impact on Cuban identities; according to the literature, it should have severe consequences in this regard. Lanfant et al. (1995:IX) assign primarily negative effects on identities in the host society to tourist commodification. Hence, it is responsible for the “displacement of the local, disruption of systems of reference, the endowment of heritage with new affect […] the recovery of forgotten memories, and the revealing or concealment of self ” (Lanfant et al. 1995:IX). Although this perspective sounds predominantly grim, it also offers explanations for the positive effects of the commodification of the Revolution for identifying some Cubans with this very Revolution – in particular for those Cubans who see their commitment to it strengthened by providing guided tours or selling revolutionary memorabilia. Some of them indeed endow their individual inheritance of the Revolution with new affect, by interpreting it in a more globally relevant context. For instance, 1Hav and 30Hav are delighted that tourists from England and Norway may be committed revolutionaries who wish to demonstrate this by purchasing Che Guevara t-shirts. However, it should not be neglected that this positive effect is observable only among comparatively few interviewees. Therefore, Guthman’s (2002) suggestion of cushioning

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the negative identity effects of commodification through “meaningful commodities”, i. e. significant tourist commodities, does not seem to be broadly viable. This realisation is particularly true, since a reconsideration of the meaningfulness of commodities, i. e. a focus on their use-value, would possibly inhibit the acquisition of their exchange-value, thereby making them no longer commodities at all in the strict sense of the word. Likewise, Tunbridge’s (2014:127) statement that tourism is a struggle of “identity versus economy” must be opposed. This notion simplifies the reciprocal influences of tourism and tourist commodification on the one hand, and identities and their resources on the other. The same applies to the conclusion of Edensor (1997:191), according to which the tourist commodification of identity-forming heritage leads to the “disembedding” of identities. In the interviews conducted, Edensor’s causal interrelationship between commodification and identity crisis could not be traced. Linnekin’s (1997:216–217) findings that commodification leads to identities that are distorted in line with the expectations of tourists must be partially contested. The commodification of the Revolution as “collective symbolic capital” (Harvey 2002:103) results in the “valuation of this uniqueness and its associated authenticity” (Harvey 2002:108), which Harvey inevitably links to alienation, acrimony and grief among the population. However, there are no – or only very vague – indications of this in the interviews conducted. Among the rare examples is 11SdC, who decries the commodification of the Revolution, in that it “seems to [him] that we’re selling our identity and that’s not good”. Furthermore, the empirical results contradict O’Connor’s (1993:68–69) arguments. While she assumes that host identities are expressed in tourist commodities, and that these, in turn, influence local identities, the empirical results of this case study show that certain elements of revolutionary identity may indeed be performative (not to say fake), in order to meet tourists’ expectations – as 23Hav expresses when asked about the omnipresent Revolution in tourism: “That is just marketing stuff.” Thus, tourist commodities need by no means always be reflections of ‘real’ identities, which anyhow do not exist in an essentialist way. Referring to Marxist value theory, several ‘values’ can be attributed to the Revolution. Prior to its commodification, it had (and still has) use-value for many Cubans. This presumably lies in its function as an anchor of identity and a framework for an individual’s life. Through its commodification, the Revolution is instead assigned a monetary exchange-value that makes it marketable, while it “leads to abstraction from use-value” (Marx 1990:127). In many cases, commodification occurs when the exchange-value of the Revolution is deemed greater than its use-value (see also Cloke & Perkins 2002:526). The commodification of the Revolution thus ought to lead to a (significant) reduction in the identification potential (i. e. use-value) of the Revolution. It should therefore have to result in altered perceptions and appraisals (see Page 2005:295); however, this is not actually the case. There are two possible explanations for this issue: either

Implications of Commodification for the Revolution’s Identity-Forming Powe

the ‘true nature’ of commodification is denied or suppressed by the Cuban interview partners or the Revolution’s use-value was already lost before its commodification. The latter appears to hold true for many Cubans. Indeed, the transformation of objects into commodities is the “universal alienation” (Marx 1990 [1867]:205). However, this need not necessarily be a process but can serve as proof of the alienation of many Cubans from the Revolution that took place beforehand. The empirical evidence of this study suggests that many Cubans had already abandoned the Revolution as a core element in their identity prior to its tourist commodification, as well as distanced themselves intellectually and ideologically. In contrast, those Cubans who continue to identify with the Revolution claim that their self-determination as revolutionary subjects is partly strengthened by tourism, but not or only insignificantly interfered with. They are only critical of the profit-oriented reproduction of the Revolution by some fellow Cubans, but not of their own – presumably ideologically motivated – marketisation. It is beyond doubt that in the Cuban tourist centres, the (re)production of the Revolution often relates to its exchange-value, not its use-value. Indeed, it cannot be verified from the data at hand that such commodification has no impact on identities at all, but this is at least not observable in the cases under consideration. In fact, the cause-effect relation between commodification and alienation seems to be reversed, whereby alienation is a prerequisite for commodification. Therefore, contrary to Edensor (1997), Linnekin (1997), Lanfant et al. (1995) and Tunbridge (2014), the reproduction of the Revolution for its exchange-value (i. e. its commodification) is often, but not necessarily, the consequence of prior alienation or identity transformation, not the reason for it. In other words, the partial alienation from the Revolution is the starting point, not the end, of commodification. However, this is not necessarily the case with all of the interviewees. As shown, some Cubans identify strongly with the Revolution but still commodify it. In their eyes, however, this actually benefits and strengthens the Revolution. Against the backdrop of these specific cases, i. e. the commodification of the Revolution by loyal revolutionaries who understand this commodification as a tribute, Castree’s (2003:279) principle of “alienability” requires further discussion. Indeed, apparently, a contradiction arises here, because while Castree understands alienation as essential to commodification, in these cases the commodification of the Revolution is possible, even though the acting subjects do not regard it as alienating or a way of reducing meaning. Conversely, significantly more subjects were alienated from the Revolution before they began its commodification. In this sense, alienation does not necessarily have to be the result of commodification but can be a precondition for it; consequently, it is not a prerequisite for commodification in general but for that type of commodification representing the complete substitution of previous use-values by exchange-value. However, if – despite commodification – a considerable part of use-value is preserved, alienation does not occur, or it does so but only insignificantly. The

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relationship between alienation as a consequence of commodification and identity, as explained in several publications, must therefore be questioned and reassessed. In short, two types of Revolution commodification can be distinguished: on the one hand, ‘typical’ commodification, and on the other hand, what I call ‘a-typical’ commodification (see Figure 36). Through ‘typical’ commodification (Option 1), use-value is completely replaced by exchange-value, which requires alienation as a precondition (see Option 2). In this ‘typical’ scenario, at least part of the use-value can be retained by the purchaser of the commodity in question; this use-value is then the motivation for purchasing the commodity. If, for example, a Fidel Castro t-shirt is subject to this ‘typical’ commodification, the seller will only assign the monetary exchange-value to it. Thus, the t-shirt and Fidel Castro depicted on it, and ergo ultimately the Revolution as such, have no use-value (e. g. as an identity resource) for the seller. Conversely, for the purchaser, the use-value of the t-shirt is decisive, for example as clothing or a souvenir. However, the original use-value is lost (in this case) through commodification.13 In ‘a-typical’ commodification, by contrast (Option 3), the Revolution preserves a certain use-value and identity-forming power despite the assignment of an exchange-value. In this case, the exemplary Fidel Castro t-shirt not only holds a use-value for the purchaser, but it also retains this value for the seller. This might happen, for instance, with the convinced revolutionaries who consider the sale of such souvenirs as the strengthening of the Revolution or an expression of revolutionary persuasion, and who justify its commodification through this argumentation (see in Figure 36 at the very bottom). After all, it is due to prior alienation from the Revolution that the process Castree (2003:282) terms “displacement” is enabled, and through which the Revolution “appear[s], phenomenally, as something other than itself”. In the case of the Cuban Revolution as a commodity, Castree’s understanding of ‘displacement’ is valid, since he solely describes it as a commodity presenting something other than it essentially is. This (at least in his understanding) does not necessarily lead to alienation. Depending on whether subjects are already alienated from the Revolution or not – in other words, whether they identify with it or not – ‘displacements’ may indeed occur. Therefore, only because many Cubans engaged in tourism are already alienated from the Revolution, it can appear to them as a convenient story for tourists and as but one souvenir among many, instead of a comprehensive ideology, a general context for Cuban life or a political project. At this point, the question naturally arises in relation to the origin of this alternative assessment of the identity-related effect of commodification. The answer lies in the theoretical conceptualisation of identity and its genesis, or more precisely in the specification of what exactly is commodified in tourism. Urry’s (1995:169) notion that “local 13  A purchased commodity must not necessarily have use-value for the buyer. For example, when capital

goods or commodities for resale are purchased, the focus of the buyer falls on the immediate exchange-values of these commodities or the exchange-values that can be achieved through them as capital in a production process.

Implications of Commodification for the Revolution’s Identity-Forming Powe

Figure 36: Visualisation of the rejected understanding of the connection between commodification and identity, and a proposal of a more complex approach. Source: own illustration.

identities are increasingly packaged for tourists” thus seems inaccurate. It is unsuitable for describing the effects of the commodification of identity-forming elements, both tangible and intangible. Instead, drawing on Jullien’s (2017) understanding, it must be argued that it is not local identities per se that are commodified but rather resources providing for these identities, which are then potentially no longer available or meaningful to individuals to construct their own identities. In its psychosocial sense, identity is inseparably linked to the subject, in that it is constructed, shaped and lived by them. Since the mercantile exchange of identity is impossible, due to its subject fixation, it is impossible to convert it into an exchange-value, i. e. to commodify it. Thus,

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identities as such cannot be commodified, due to their lack of exchangeability. In contrast, resources for identities are not inseparably linked to the subject, so their use-value can be replaced by an exchange-value. 8.3.2. The Constructivist Character of Commodities

Apparently, an entity can still be identity-forming for some while being a bare commodity without deeper meaning for others. Hence, the Revolution can be conceptualised as a “boundary object” (Star & Griesemer 1989) in the dual role of identity resource and commodity. This underscores the constructivist character of commodities, which do not just exist but are made – they receive their commodity character through social attribution. It is precisely due to this constructivist character that commodification does not necessarily lead to alienation from the commodified entity. Rather, the attribution of meaning associated with commodification is crucial to the impact of commodification on the relationship between the subject and the commodified object. Hence, commodification is not inevitably a hell-gate leading inexorably to alienation and precarious identities, or to the loss of identity-forming significance. A fetishisation of the Revolution, i. e. the assumption that its exchange-value is naturally inherent therein (Marx 1990 [1867]:165), can be observed, but only to a limited extent. While some of the intrinsic, non-monetary meaning of the Revolution does indeed seem to fade for some interviewees (such as 33Hav), this cannot be generalised for all of them. Loyal supporters seem to obtain exchange-value for the commodity ‘Revolution’, and yet it simultaneously retains its use-value for these Cubans. Consequently, the processes of commodification cannot be simply used as a heuristic key to investigate altered identification with a commodified object, as more than one potential explanation for this commodification exists. Hence, it is imperative to consider not only the arguments and rationales, justifications and explanations that subjects associate with processes of commodification, but also the social and psychological structures in which these subjects are entangled. Of paramount importance are the questions, ‘What meaning do subjects associate and construct with commodification?’ and ‘Which societal and discursive structures, and which power relations, condition these associations and constructions of commodification?’ In addition, it is strongly advised to consider the commodifying subject, its relationship with the commodified object, its personal socioeconomic situation and its embeddedness in relational systems and networks of power. Only then can a comprehensive and meaning-reconstructive analysis of commodification and its effects on identities succeed.14 14  Fulfilling

these demands in an empirically comprehensive form is, admittedly, an overwhelming task. Hence, when designing such investigations, it is important to decide carefully which of the aforementioned elements should be explored in more detail – while at least considering and reflecting on the others.

Implications of Commodification for the Revolution’s Identity-Forming Powe

8.3.3. Commodification Fostering Creative Identity Re-interpretation?

For this case, McKean’s (1978) perspective is only partially applicable, according to which tourism might promote hosts’ interest in their own culture. In fact, the reverse often seems to be the case in Cuba. Although some interview partners report that they have studied Cuban history intensively for their jobs as tour guides, for many others such study remains superficial or absent altogether. Roland’s (2010:15) assessment that tourism in Cuba, and especially cultural commodification, allows hosts to use cultural imagery for creative performances and reconfigurations of their identity cannot be shared in the light of the empirical material. This holds equally true for Meethan’s (2001:93) comparable view. The interpretation of tourism as a “third space” in the understanding of Bhabha (1990), i. e. as a cultural space in-between Cuban culture and global culture represented by tourists, would make such a re-interpretation through hybridisation conceivable. This rings true, because by growing numbers of international tourists, new ideas, lifestyles, symbols and narratives arrive in Cuba and might be available for Cubans to incorporate them into their identities. The interview material, though, provides insufficient evidence for this idea. Instead, those working in tourism or living in urban tourist centres often perceive themselves primarily as ‘the ones gazed upon’ in international tourism, whereby meanings are ascribed to them, while Cubans find it difficult to shape these meanings actively vis-à-vis the global ‘other’. Consequently, it is difficult to find resources for Cuban identity in globalised interactions that can be used creatively and which are not based on fundamental delimitation from the capitalist ‘other’. Among others, this is critical from a postcolonial perspective. Following Said’s considerations, Cubans serve as contrasting antitheses for the self-identification of international tourists; consequently, they are constructed as everything that tourists from the Global North are not: poor, socialist, racialised and exoticised. At this point, Lanfant’s (1995a:35–36) finding can be agreed with, in that tourist commodification transforms hosts into external-defined “others”, leading to “reciprocal misconstructions” between hosts and tourists. Conversely, Cubans are the residual category vis-à-vis elusive tourists. With this role as a contrasting medium for tourists’ identities, Cubans obviously struggle to contrive identities of their own in tourism. Adapting Gramsci’s term, they can thus be characterised as ‘subalterns’. This is also reflected in the bitterness of many Cubans, who “are discriminated in [their] own country” (11SdC). The (re-)production of the Revolution and many of its symbols, heroes and signs as commodities happens in a way that Harvey (2018b:102) refers to as “recently produced in the course of the invention of history, tradition and culture in the Disney Mode”. Although this is a harsh assessment, it is often accurate in Cuba. Thus, within the tourist commodification of the Revolution, creative re-interpretations or reproductions for ideological reasons or for identification rarely occur. As described, commodification most often entails a radical abstraction of the Revolution as a commodity defined by

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and for the sake of its exchange-value, for instance, by 2Hav, 11SdC, 23Hav, 31Hav and 33Hav (see Chapter 7.9.2). Significantly less frequently, the previous interpretation of the Revolution as an identity-forming framework of individual life is maintained, whereby it is somehow ‘incidentally’ also a commodity (put forth, for instance, by 1Hav, 24Hav and 43UdR). Nevertheless, even with the latter interviewees, no re-interpretation of the Revolution occurs, merely a transfer of revolutionary persuasion into tourism. To conclude this chapter, Meethan’s (2001:93) critique of negative assessments of tourist commodification as “patronizing elitism” shall be addressed. This evaluation follows the question why host societies ought not re-arrange or re-imagine their cultural heritage in tourism but rather must maintain cultural elements and identities of bygone days “locked in the past” (Meethan 2001:93). This criticism must be refuted when considering the empirical evidence available. For the vast majority of Cubans, the commodification of the Revolution is not a creative re-interpretation of their identity but primarily a survival strategy in which the already alienated Revolution is reproduced for its exchange-value. For those who consider marketing the Revolution as ‘worship’, it is not being re-interpreted either. Rather, the existing picture of the world, and of the Revolution itself, remains almost unchanged, with commodification justified by a self-constructed narrative. 8.4.

Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolution

This chapter addresses the following research questions: Q4: How do Cubans assess the tourist commodification of the Revolution? Which factors influence different evaluations of the commodification of the Revolution and of the Revolution itself? International tourism is an illustrative example through which the recent confrontation of socialist and capitalist worldviews in Cuba can be observed and examined. This inquiry reveals the deep dissatisfaction of many Cubans with the prevalent socioeconomic conditions and the dysfunctionality of the revolutionary socialist system as they perceive it. This is particularly well reflected in the different stances taken on the tourist commodification of the Revolution. Many of the interviewees employed in tourism express their approval of the Revolution’s commodification. Only a few reject “tour guides sell[ing] out” (34Hav) the Revolution. Slightly surprisingly, this commodification apparently does not have much of an impact on the relationship of many Cubans with this very Revolution. Even among fervent supporters of the Revolution, some favour its commodification, while others oppose it. Consequently, advocacy or rejection of tourist commodification of the Revolution cannot be applied or considered as consistent markers of alienation or desecration

Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolutio

among those indeed commodifying. Hence, it is essential to scrutinise the arguments, justifications and sentiments associated with commodification, as well as the framing conditions. It becomes apparent that the perception and evaluation of the Revolution and its commodification, as well as identification with the Revolution, are considerably related to the appraisal of the economic performance of the revolutionary system. 8.4.1. Commodification as a Proxy for Evaluations of the Revolution

Commodification is utilised in this analysis as a process that allows for the examination of Cubans’ attitudes toward the social, political and economic conditions of the Cuban state and the Revolution. The interviewees’ attitudes towards it are interpreted as discursive contributions and expressive forms that can be adduced to analyse the individual’s evaluation of the Revolution itself. Engagement with the commodification of the Revolution serves as a mirror, reflecting the interviewees’ relationship with it. This ‘reflection’ ought not to be understood as a facile and direct translation of attitudes toward the commodification of the Revolution into the interviewees’ attitudes toward the Revolution as such. Instead, utterances obtained from the interviews on the matter are used as indirect indicators for attitudes towards the Revolution itself – thus circumventing direct, sensitive and possibly difficult-to-answer questions about their personal relationships with it. In this regard, commodification and tourism serve as proxies to help investigate the Cuban Revolution – this is both convenient and serendipitous, insofar as in its totality it is difficult to grasp methodologically as well as practically. Conversing with interviewees about this commodification in turn provides an access point to the Revolution that probably would not have been attainable had it been addressed directly. Since tourism is the “most obvious example” (Harvey 2002:103) of capitalist commodification, examining the tourist commodification of the Revolution is a potent lens through which to examine the state of said Revolution itself. Almost all interview partners discern contradictions between the aspirations and the reality of the Cuban Revolution in this regard, which are particularly evident in tourism. These contradictions in turn manifest themselves particularly prominently in the commodification of the Revolution. This leads to a fundamental question: what are the consequences for subjects when something of such social, cultural and political significance as the Revolution is commodified, or, more precisely, when is its commodification societally acceptable? If what has then become a commodity is indeed meaningful to subjects, they respond either by rejecting or justifying it. Alternatively, and this is the case with the Cuban Revolution, the commodified object is not genuinely meaningful to subjects at all. This need not necessarily be a result of commodification but can be triggered also by further alienating effects.

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Many Cubans show little concern about the tourist commodification of the Revolution. For many, it is merely a ‘means to an end’, often justified by economic circumstances and market constraints. As 2Hav puts it, “tourists want it, they get it”. Many of those justifying the commodification of the Revolution via economic necessities have already lost their faith in the Revolution – if indeed they ever had it. 8.4.2. Factors for Assessing the Commodification of the Revolution

As highlighted, different attitudes towards the commodification of the Revolution exist. Most interviewees approve of this commodification, although their justifications and explanations differ in certain cases and in two fundamental ways: on the one hand, their own attitude towards the Revolution, i. e. their faith in it and their commitment to it, and on the other hand, the paramount motives and intentions of commodifying the Revolution assumed by them (although by no means all of them regard the Revolution’s utilisation in tourism as commodification). Those Cubans who identify strongly with the Revolution either strictly oppose its commodification or support it, as they consider it to be pro-revolutionary. Those who are inherently critical of the Revolution mostly support commodification, as they view it as economically imperative. Transferred into a 2x2 matrix, four possible combinations of these characteristics emerge (see Figure 37).

Figure 37: Interview partners’ views on the commodification of the Revolution as a function of support for it and the presumed motivations for commodification. Source: own illustration.

Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolutio

Loyal Souvenir Shop Missionaries: these supporters of the Revolution, who understand its commodification as increasing its glory and promoting its mission, are firmly in favour of its commodification in tourism. For them, the income generated through it is merely a positive side effect – at least this is how they interpret and justify it. However, the emphasis is on the fact that “it’s cool if a guy from Norway is a revolutionary and wears Che Guevara on his shirt” (1Hav). Certainly, however, this may also represent a coping strategy to make contradictory perspectives processible for the subject. In this way, the veneration of the Revolution oriented to socialism can be reconciled with its capitalist commodification in tourism – and thus the coherence of one’s identity can be preserved. This certainly entails a “generous pinch of schizophrenia” (Bauman 1996:32), in that many of the interviewees in this group are at once dissatisfied with the (economic performance of the) Revolution, yet at the same time they adore and defend it vehemently. Revolutionary Commodification Critics: Almost all of the Revolution’s adherents oppose its commodification, if they assume that it is based on financial motives. This contradicts their own understanding thereof and the way it should be treated. They are afraid to “lose respect for the symbols like for the Cuban flag” (18Tri). To them, the Revolution is “something serious […] you should not use like these”. Disillusioned Economic Pragmatists: Cubans who are either opposed to or suspicious of the Revolution are generally comfortable with regarding its tourist commercialisation as an expression of capitalist exploitation. They perceive the revolutionary project as having failed and are eager to utilise it to secure their livelihoods. Therefore, they usually agree with this commodification for financial purposes. 33Hav remarks that tourists “that come from abroad don’t know what Che Guevara really is”, but “if we can make money with that illusion or that fake idea about Che Guevara, that’s fine”. In doing so, they practice the “valuation” (Castree 2003:281) of the Revolution, whereas their decision to do so is mostly independent of any deteriorating effects of commodification. ‘Valuation’ refers here to the conversion of the Revolution’s use-value into exchange-value. For many Cubans in this group, this is a “blind social process” (Castree 2003:281) that substitutes the intrinsic, identity-forming use-value of the Revolution with a monetary value, thus making the commodity ‘Revolution’ exchangeable in several ways. Yet, the verb ‘substitute’ may not be suitable here, as the role of the Revolution as an identity resource was often lost well before its commodification. For the theoretically possible fourth combination of the attributes ‘own attitude toward the Revolution’ and ‘presumed motives for the commodification of the Revolution’, no cases were identified among the interview partners. All those who forsook the Revolution assume that fellow Cubans, who commodify the Revolution in tourism, share their attitude as well. Interestingly, all those who benefit monetarily from tourism perceive the commodification of the Revolution as an inevitable necessity and justify it retrospectively through different motives. This finding conflicts with Picard’s (1996:181) assessment

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of non-destructive commodification requiring local actors to know which cultural elements can be commodified without harm and which are considered ‘sacred’ and must not be commodified. However, the example of the Cuban Revolution discloses alternative evidence here: Cubans commodify it regardless of whether they view it as antiquated and failed, or fervently idolise it. Rather, it seems that anything is commodified for which there is demand in the tourist market. That said, depending on Cubans’ attitudes toward the Revolution, the narrative perspective and rationale used to justify this commodification change. Contrary to Picard’s (1996) assumption, even those who deem the Revolution ‘sacred’ also commodify it. While their actions show no differences in relation to those Cubans who exploitatively commodify the Revolution, the justifications of the two groups do differ significantly, which again underscores the constructivist character of commodities. Returning to the different stances on the commodification of the Revolution and its justifications (see Figure 37), Appadurai’s (2013:15) “regimes of value” are contextually enriching. These regimes render commodification (im-)possible, depending on the commodity itself and the sociocultural valuation of its exchange. Different ‘regimes of value’ are responsible for divergences in the meaning and value ascribed to the Revolution by Cubans and tourists – and among Cubans working in tourism themselves. Thus, the Cuban Revolution as a commodity is the object of different ‘regimes of value’, as its sociocultural use-value varies considerably between ardent supporters and disillusioned critics. Hence, the value attributed to the Revolution differs in terms of not only quantity, but also – and especially – in quality, in that while loyal revolutionaries emphasise the Revolution’s use-value, many interviewees primarily address its exchange-value. These different notions are also heavily influenced by the economic background of those involved. Overall, it can thus be argued that the subjects’ general assessment of the commodification of the Revolution (its rejection or approval) is only slightly influenced by their general attitude towards it; instead, the stance towards it has a great influence on the explanations and narratives used to justify (or reject) its commodification, but not necessarily on de facto actions. To explain this point, it is necessary to examine closely the meanings, purposes and narratives associated with this commodification. Depending on their support for or aversion to the Revolution, Cubans construct individual narratives to deal with the contradictions created by its commodification. This is especially the case for those for whom the Revolution continues to be identity-forming. Seen from a psychological perspective, this commodification is generally less problematic for those for whom the Revolution has already been lost as an identity-forming resource. The following section addresses the factors on which different evaluations of and demands for the Revolution depend.

Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolutio

8.4.3. Stances and Demands in Relation to the Revolution

The interviewees’ attitudes towards the Cuban Revolution differ along socioeconomic axes, with a strong emphasis on economic. The same applies to political demands and expectations; however, these differences do not suggest validity in a statistical sense. Nonetheless, it is striking that especially those who financially benefit from tourism and Cuentapropismo in general formulate very different expectations towards the Revolution than those who are increasingly marginalised economically and who find themselves in financially insecure circumstances (see Figure 38). By contrast, the factors ‘age’ and ‘education’ are weak indicators of support for the Revolution. The relative economic situation of the interviewees is evidently a highly distinguishing category differentiating certain groups of the population from others.

Figure 38: Four types of relationships with the Revolution. Source: own design.

In addition to material security, a second dimension can be considered, in order to differentiate these groups further: support for the Revolution and identification with it. After all, it is definitely not the case that all of those who profit financially from the current conditions in Cuba automatically support the Revolution. As Figure 38 illustrates, even among economic profiteers, there are numerous Cubans who are not convinced about the Revolution (Conformists & Reformists). Simultaneously, even among

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those who perceive themselves as socioeconomically marginalised, there are still loyal supporters of the Revolution (Marginalised Revolutionaries). Before introducing the four groups in detail, Figure 38 shall be explained briefly. The two double-headed arrows span a coordinate system whose point of origin lies in the centre. Each interview partner can be placed in this coordinate system according to his/her perceived material security and identification with the Revolution. The further to the right an individual is placed, the more strongly s/he identifies with it. Conversely, a placement further to the left indicates no or lesser identification. Placement along the ‘material security’ axis can be read accordingly: the higher an interviewee is placed, the more s/he perceives him-/herself to be materially (relatively) secure. The lower the placement, the less materially secure s/he perceives him-/herself to be. Using these two dimensions, four different groups can be distinguished, each derived abductively from the interview material – from which the two dimensions were derived beforehand. The differentiation of the four groups enables the systematisation of attitudes towards the Revolution and reveals the great importance of the economic dimension for individual evaluations thereof. For this purpose, it must be accepted that the categorisation of the interviewees into four groups, which, with some limitations can be extended to the Cuban population as a whole, is inevitably simplistic and incapable of reflecting certain nuances. The Conformists & Reformists are characterised by a comparatively high level of material security. They mostly achieve this financially exposed position by working in tourism, often as Cuentapropistas. Since such activities are mainly available in urban tourism centres, this group consists mostly of urban dwellers. Many individuals in this group have come to terms with the revolutionary system and are coping well under the current conditions – hence the term ‘conformists’. However, they are rarely convinced of the political and ideological vision of the Revolution, and they do not – or only weakly – identify with it. Many of the ‘Disillusioned Economic Pragmatists’ from Figure 37 are reflected in this group. Although the ‘Conformists & Reformists’ recognise that they are better off than many of their fellow Cubans, they insist on further reforms, including especially further liberalisation for the private sector – hence the designation as ‘reformists’. They rarely advocate the complete overthrowing of the system; rather, they are primarily interested in stable conditions for economic development. Yet, they fundamentally doubt the Revolution as such. 20Tri, 32Hav and 34Hav, for instance, can be attributed to this group. Likewise, those provocatively referred to as Bourgeois Revolutionaries are characterised by relatively comfortable levels of financial security. They are often employed in tourism as well, but less frequently than the ‘Conformists & Reformists’ as Cuentapropistas. This group is also predominantly urban. In contrast to the ‘Conformists & Reformists’, however, the ‘Bourgeois Revolutionaries’ are substantially satisfied with the current system and often identify strongly with the Revolution. Their conviction may be influenced by the fact that they represent the upper strata of the growing socio-

Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolutio

economic disparities, thus the somewhat pointed designation as bourgeoise capable of capital accumulation. Many individuals in this group present themselves as convinced and proud revolutionaries, demanding only minor changes to the system at best. Shortcomings regarding the supply of goods and the macroeconomic situation in Cuba are mainly attributed to exogenous factors (e. g. the US embargo or the collapse of the USSR). The revolutionary zeal of these ‘Bourgeois Revolutionaries’ can sometimes be attributed to extensive ideological training (e. g. in the case of 35Hav at university), yet partly guidance of unknown origin. For example, 4Hav, 15SdC, 33Hav and 35Hav can be considered ‘Bourgeois Revolutionaries’. The Fierce Sceptics & Critics of the Revolution are diametrically opposed to the ‘Bourgeois Revolutionaries’, in terms of both their economic status and their identification with the Revolution. These ‘Sceptics & Critics’ are often employed by the Cuban state or engaged in alegal activities  – especially in tourism. Among them, there are only few Cuentapropistas, and thus earnings and general income opportunities are severely limited in this group. Furthermore, they live in both urban and rural areas and are characterised, apart from their economically strained situation, above all by their rejection of the Revolution. Although it is precisely the socioeconomically weak whom the Revolution seeks to support, it fails in this regard from the perspective of those affected, because it inadequately satisfies the needs of the people. Salaries, welfare and subsidies are often described as “not enough” (e. g. 7Hav; 16SdC; 31Hav; 32Hav; 36Hav; 44UdR). Especially among this group, disillusionment, despair and alienation can often be observed, and so many of them turn apolitical as a result of this disappointment. Moreover, they often demand far-reaching, sometimes radical, reforms, which frequently involve a total transformation of the system. 3Hav, 11SdC, 19Tri, 25Mat, 31Hav and 44UdR are typical representatives of the ‘Sceptics & Critics’. The Marginalised Revolutionaries are equally in an economically disadvantageous position, but nevertheless they (still) trust in the Revolution. Over the past decades, they too have experienced substantial financial pressure, due to the transformations of the Cuban economy and society. State wages and the profits they seldom earn as Cuentapropistas, combined with state welfare programmes, are usually just enough to meet their basic needs. Nevertheless, the ‘Marginalised Revolutionaries’ remain firm believers in the revolutionary system and blame its shortcomings on forces exogenous to the system. Unlike the ‘Bourgeois Revolutionaries’, however, there is a considerable amount of fear about the future in this group; conversely, they also have hope for improvement based on the belief in the ultimate superiority of the Revolution. It must be pointed out that there were only very few ‘Marginalised Revolutionaries’ among the interview partners, and these were almost exclusively found in rural Unión de Reyes. Still, it can be assumed that they represent a significant proportion of the Cuban population. 21Tri, 46UdR and 47UdR can be included among the ‘Marginalised Revolutionaries’.

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Instead of worrying about devaluing the Revolution in tourism, many Cubans are concerned about financial stability, i. e. their own and that of the country. Many express a strong desire for a dignified life, the lack of which often causes dissatisfaction and alienation from the Revolution. For instance, to 4Hav, the Revolution as a commodity represents the “the food on my table” – theoretical discussions about the essence of the Revolution and its commodification are irrelevant to him, given his daily struggle. Many interviewees merely strive to survive and provide for their families, and many are indifferent to the political system. As 31Hav says, “In Cuba, people don’t care about who is the president, what is the political system. […] What they want is to have a worthy job, they want to work to be able to cover the needs of their families.” There seems to be a significant difference in whether individuals perceive themselves as endowed with agency and control over the course of their life or whether they regard their life situation as other-directed. If an individual has the feeling of being able to alter or even improve its living conditions, it looks with optimism and confidence on itself, on society and the Revolution. However, the perspective of those who understand themselves as impotent and dependent on forces they cannot control is distinctly more pessimistic and permeated by resignation. This is accompanied by the financial precariousness they face, as well as dissatisfaction with the Revolution. Given the increased call for market-based mechanisms, several long-lasting revolutionary principles, such as voluntarism, are increasingly being supplanted by capitalist maxims. The hombre nuevo venture has thus failed. Part of the explanation for this lies in the fact that tourism (and thus capitalism itself) promises the almost instant gratification of effort and expense. At least parts of the ideological traditions of cubanía described by Kapcia (2000:85–92) thus appear as having been lost within the course of the Período Especial, while others (e. g. la lucha, anti-imperialism) have persisted. Voluntaristic and solidary engagement, by contrast, either pays off only in the unforeseeable future or possibly not at all – at least not money-wise. Drawing on Freud (1961:36), many Cubans henceforth seem to increasingly be tired of forbearance, to wait for delayed gratification  – which is understandable, given the tense socioeconomic situation. The immediate (financial) reward plainly is therefore more attractive to many Cubans – a sign of patterns of postmodern thought in the sense of Bauman (1996:25). Adapting Lefebvre’s (1991:31) remark that “every society […] produces a space, its own space”, the spatial dominance of representations of the Revolution in commodity form can be interpreted as materialising a transformed, utilitarian perspective many Cubans have on it. This applies especially to urban tourism hotspots. However, this does not mean that its evaluation is shifting significantly only here – there are indications to this effect in rural areas as well. The lack of commodifying materialisations of the Revolution in these areas is due rather to the absence of tourists; it is just ‘not worth’ it reproducing the Revolution in commodity form.

Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolutio

8.4.4. Reasons for prior Alienation from the Revolution

As demonstrated herein, the commodification of the Revolution has little influence on Cubans’ identification with it. Instead, it is oftentimes an expression of a prior alienation from the Revolution. But what are the causes of this alienation? For a long time, Cuban society was highly egalitarian and virtually classless, the guarantor for which was the Revolution. The creation of an equal, solidarity-based and socialist society was attributed to it as a key characteristic. In the past, the Revolution might have been compared to Bauman’s (1996:22–23) “pilgrimage”, namely a project promising prosperity and stability in the long run, a better life in the future. For these reasons, many Cubans pursued and supported it over such a long period of time. Even in challenging times, such as the Período Especial, they embraced the promised “delayed gratification” (Freud 1961:36), since the purpose was encouraging. Nevertheless, after what would become decades of hardships and delayed gratification, many Cubans now seem tired of the incessant calls for perseverance. Moreover, the Revolution appears to be incapable of keeping its promises of equal living conditions, a classless society and welfare for all (anymore), and many Cubans no longer believe that it can deliver on its promise of stability and equality. The fact that the socioeconomic stratification of Cuban society is intensifying is omnipresent and evident to everyone: Cubans with higher incomes  – mostly from tourism – can adopt other social practices (e. g. dining out at expensive restaurants, taking trips to other parts of the country or even abroad), which has substantial potential for distinction. This, of course, has a strong disruptive effect on what should be an egalitarian society and leads to social competition between those climbing the social ladder and the marginalised. 31Hav describes his feelings on this matter: “We have different classes […]. People living a very, very good life, and people struggling to have a dinner for tonight. […] That is one of the things that we criticise, one of our biggest problems in Cuba.” In addition, the sometimes-mourned loss of Cuban characteristics, such as solidarity and mutual support, leads to consternation, dejection and despair. As 36Hav explains, “sometimes, people, they don’t feel like they are represented. They feel like they waste their time by talking or by discussing about politics.” In particular, those who cannot benefit from the opportunities of Cuentapropismo or tourism often feel abandoned and not sufficiently embraced by the revolutionary leadership. Frustration over the discrepancy between the Revolution’s aspirations and its reality often results in alienation among Cubans. As 34Hav puts it, they “have learned to live with nothing, with the simplest things. Like socialism [that] mainly intended that everybody can live with the same, and it’s okay. Obviously now, that’s not the case.” Furthermore, the difficult living conditions in Cuba, for which the Revolution is held responsible, represent the second principal reason for alienation from the Revolution. Or rather, Cubans perceive themselves almost compelled to being alienated by economic circumstances, such as 4Hav, who regards revolutionary “ideology [as] very beautiful.

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[But] from the practical [viewpoint], it’s a disaster”. Particularly from an economic perspective, the Revolution’s accomplishments are considered calamitous, which in turn makes Cubans “really sad and frustrated” (11SdC). Such as 11SdC, who “passed really bad and hard times”, or 16SdC, who “get[s] crazy, thinking about how [she is] going to finish the month”. Especially in the eyes of the rural population, the (ostensible) rise of urban centres, brought about by tourism, runs parallel to the plunging of the periphery into misery and dread. This leads to enhanced discontent among the rural population as the unintended consequence of the success of certain tourism hotspots. Compared to their fellow Cubans working in tourism, “people who work [for the state], people work in disgust. A doctor, what does a doctor have?”15 (44UdR). The economic shortcomings of the Revolution and the growing dissatisfaction of many Cubans are often blamed on socialist economic policy and the country’s political leadership. In comparison with a capitalist economic system, it is almost exclusively attributed with failure. As a result, capitalist rationales are spreading quickly among the population and are gaining popularity. The amalgamation of the Revolution and socialism, which was zealously pursued over decades, is now turning problematic, in that the often fierce criticism of socialist economic theory causes the Revolution as such to be discredited as well, even beyond its economic performance. The economic failure of socialism could thus drag the Revolution into the depths with it. The Cuban leadership has apparently recognised this issue. Indeed, the market-oriented reforms of recent years also permit this interpretation: since the ineffectual socialist economic model threatens the Revolution itself, the gradual introduction of capitalist elements is practically unavoidable. However, since this contradicts decades of ideological indoctrination, this process can only proceed very cautiously. Thus, unlike the description provided by Taylor & McGlynn (2009:412), capitalism is not being used to save socialism. Rather, capitalism is being used to save the Revolution, while socialist elements are increasingly curtailed. However, these reforms seem to be taking effect too slowly and too timidly. For many Cubans, capitalist elements in the Cuban economy often come “without the benefits of capitalism”16 (49Mat), because while only a few benefit from the new Cuban socioeconomic arrangement, many others are deprived of it. These are the two essential determinants of the alienation from the Revolution: on the one hand, the unfulfilled promises and frustrated hopes for egalitarianism, solidarity and prosperity. And on the other hand, the staggeringly dire socioeconomic situation brought about by it. The latter especially is decisively blamed on the Revolution, leading to alienation, and resulting in it no longer providing an identity anchor for Cubans. As 16SdC puts it, it is due to “the hard economical situation, this situation that people start to change their minds, to not believe in things that the government says”. In general, 15  Original:

“De todos modos la gente que está trabajando, la gente trabaja disgustada. Un médico, ¿qué tiene un médico?” 16  Original: “Sin los beneficios del capitalismo.”

Cuban Views on the Commodification of the Revolutio

many Cubans seem to experience disenchantment with the Revolution, which often leads to frustration and disillusionment, as many see its grand social project as either on the verge of failure or already failed – in some cases for decades. According to 11SdC, even people who were fighting in Sierra Maestra, old people are disagreeing and disappointed, because they are living after a pension, retiring. Very low and they can only manage, and they say: ‘This is not the reason that I was fighting for in the hills with the guerrilla, with the rebels.’ So, this is disappointing and disagreeing not only for young people, but people who did something for this society and now they see that they can hardly live.

Consequently, many Cubans are turning their backs on the Revolution, thus decoupling from it their individual and collective identities. Even the market economy reforms of recent years have apparently brought about little change in this regard. According to many interviewees, neither socialism nor capitalism are really of any help in the current Cuban system. Tired of being stuck in this state of being in between ideologies, many Cubans perceive the revolutionary system itself as dysfunctional. For 19Tri, “Cuba […] is not paradise for the system”, since “the government has committed a lot of mistakes” (16SdC). Among those who cannot benefit from the new liberties of free-market niches, especially in tourism, the increased competitiveness of life in general that comes with them leads to fear, exhaustion and disillusionment. This primarily affects the large majority of the marginalised, many of whom feel abandoned and left behind. From their vantage point, the blessings of socialism have been lost over the past decades, while they cannot reap the new benefits of tourism and the liberalisation of the Cuban economy. Their faith in the Revolution and their hopes in the reforms of the Período Especial have been quenched, leading to rising discontent with the government and the political system itself. 13SdC harshly criticises the revolutionary government, as she does not “like a lot the situation of this country and the lies”. Likewise, 25Mat calls the government “liars”. Those who benefit from the new possibilities that entail growing competition, in contrast, mostly welcome this enhanced competitiveness. Even though 34Hav said, “if you’re Cuban, you are revolutionary”, the Revolution appears to have increasingly lost significance as the core of Cuban identities. Indeed, many Cubans honoured the revolutionary socialist past until recently, but they seem to have abandoned it along with its narratives, traditions and identities. Many now appear to be sick and tired of this situation, as they “study the history of Cuba, [they] see it at the television, [they] have it all over” (11SdC). Many just no longer believe in the Revolution; nonetheless, as Gold (2014:44) notes, it continues to be the dominant framework for Cubans’ lives, whether they like it or not: they “live in the Revolution. You cannot separate it” (22Hav), although this certainly does not mean that they must identify with it as well. In summary, it can be stated that, instead of the tourist commodification of the Revolution, Cubans’ identification with it is influenced much stronger by two different

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factors: their individual socioeconomic situation and the extent to which they (still) believe in its promises and visions. Based on the Revolution’s ambivalent and fading significance as a resource for Cuban identities, questions can be asked about what this implies for Cubans’ support thereof. In this regard, the manifold statements of the interview partners on the commodification of the Revolution are employed as indicators of the condition of the Revolution and its status among the population. This raises the question as to when the Revolution will have faded from the minds of Cubans to the point that the PCC, to maintain its power, will need to reconsider whether it can further rely on it for its legitimacy. The fact that the Revolution actually has no central significance for many Cubans (anymore) can be impressively observed in the example of its commodification considered herein. 8.5.

Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution

This chapter addresses the following research questions: Q5: Under what basic conditions are identity formation processes currently occurring in Cuba? How do postmodern influences affect identity formation in Cuba? What identity resources are (ir)relevant to Cubans? Many Cubans no longer consider the Revolution as being identity-forming for them. However, this is not automatically attributable to commodification processes; rather, it is the result of transformations that allow Cuba to be characterised as a society of ‘vagabonds’, borrowing the term from Bauman (1996:28–29). In this regard, Cuban postmodernity shows clear differences from postmodernity in the Global North, in that it is bleaker, darker and less optimistic. The reasons for this partly date back decades: whilst the West initially regarded itself (mistakenly) as having reached the “end of history” (Fukuyama 1989) after the collapse of the Eastern bloc, for Cuba socialist history continued, albeit under considerably aggravated circumstances. Apart from the Revolution, which has already lost its identity-forming power for many citizens, various other resources for identities have undergone a distinct transformation regarding their significance throughout the last few decades. 8.5.1. Individualisation and Globalisation

Following the analysis of the underlying conditions that shape contemporary Cuban identity formation processes, Bauman’s explanatory approaches to postmodern identities are reflected in Cuba’s case. It becomes apparent that Bauman’s four-types model of postmodern identities is inadequate to describe these identities and the processes

Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution

that condition them. Yet, beforehand, the peculiarities of Cuban postmodernity must be clarified. On the one hand, it is characterised by the loss of certainties ascribed to revolutionary modernity, while its gaps often cannot be filled by postmodern elements. Tendencies toward individualisation (Beck 2009) are observable in some places, but many Cubans lack the financial resources to fully customise individualised lifestyles. Moreover, it is not in the interests of the state to promote individualisation, and thus a de-embedding from established regimes of values, norms and beliefs; rather, in accordance with the principle of socialism, it strives for equality among its citizens. While the individualisation dimensions of “liberation” and especially “disenchantment” outlined by Beck (2009:128) certainly apply to many Cubans, up to now Cuban institutions failed to integrate these set-free individuals into new, meaningful social contexts. Therefore, many Cubans must remain at the disenchantment stage. Globalisation also has only limited implications for Cuban identities. Many Cubans do not have the means to travel abroad, to consume foreign products or to adopt a global perspective at all, as even internet access is widely limited, as well as the availability of an independent international press. This is especially true for Cubans in rural, non-tourist areas, who often have limited direct contact with the non-Cuban world. Moreover, they are often unaffected by tourism, with tourists often being the only way for them to encounter foreigners. Yet, although the official policy to spatially contain tourism has been declared terminated, most tourism still occurs in a few government-designated hotspots. Therefore, the possibility of getting in touch with foreigners and global society in general through tourism is limited by state power, eventually leading to a Cuban identity as what Hall (1999:106) terms a “structure of constraints”.17 8.5.2. A Society of ‘Vagabonds’

The reflections on labour, individualisation, globalisation and equality indicate that Cuban society is somehow affected by certain postmodern conditions, yet at the same time it cannot seize the liberating, creative, inventive opportunities of postmodernity. Nevertheless, the diagnosis of postmodern circumstances as being “too messy and incoherent to be grasped by any one cohesive model” (Bauman 1996:26) certainly applies to Cuba as well. Likewise, in Cuba, as in many other places worldwide, people’s living and labour conditions have diversified – not to say fragmented. Thus, in Cuban postmodernity, too, the conditions for firm identities prove somewhat challenging. The mega-narrative of the Revolution, which once promised stable foundations for life, is increasingly disintegrating. As a result, many Cubans find themselves forced to

17  Original: “ein Gefüge von Einschränkungen”

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flexibly adapt themselves and their identities to fast-changing and, for them, almost uncontrollable living environments. However, one peculiarity of Cuban postmodernity is the way the state, through its central position of power, constrains the unimpeded flow of novel cultural elements and the number of cultural offsets Cubans might use for their identities. With little agency, many Cubans working in tourism feel dependent on the power of the state and the travelling preferences of international tourists – and thus the global economy itself. Furthermore, the far-reaching restrictions of the difficult economic situation prevent large segments of the population from taking advantage of what could otherwise be a multitude of options and resources for identities in postmodernity. Instead, many Cubans suffer as a result of the situation and feel overwhelmed and paralysed, as identity formation without economic security poses a “cynical state of uncertainty” (Keupp 1994:334). The circumstances described herein force Cubans to “move through identities”, much like Bauman’s (1992:693–694) nomads, albeit this comparison is deeply misleading and seems inadequate to conceptualise accurately the conditions for Cuban identity construction. Life in Cuba rarely is “fast and leaves no time to pause” (Bauman 1996:25), requiring “momentary identities” (Bauman 1992:694). Instead, social life is rather predictable in its systemically imposed trajectories, and without major political changes, it is almost in a state of rigor mortis. This applies especially to rural Cuba, which often is perceived to be “in a very bad condition. If we look back 30 years ago, we were a little bit better off ”18 (42UdR). For instance, 44UdR complains that even after the transition of presidential office to Díaz-Canel, “you cannot see that anything is improving; on the contrary, everything is going further downhill”.19 Furthermore, unlike ‘identity nomads’ moving from one place to another, Cubans can barely leave the ideological framework of the Revolution – or the island itself. Both the state and the social and economic systems limit the “life strategies that can be imagined, and certainly those which can be practiced” (Bauman 1996:35). In the Cuban “postmodern chorus” (Bauman 1996:26), however, two voices are absent: the postmodern Cuban chorus must do without ‘tourist’ and ‘stroller’, and the ‘player’ sings very quietly, to stay in the metaphor. Thus, Bauman’s approach is not fully transferable to the Cuban case, therefore we require a closer look at the four types of postmodern identity formation in the Cuban context. Unlike the postmodern “stroller” (Bauman 1996:26–28), most Cubans do not attempt to keep encounters episodic. On the contrary, in the face of an existentially threatening economic situation, many are dependent on a functioning and tightly woven social network and the “solidarity of people” (21Tri). 32Hav describes people in his

18  Original: “Está en muy malas condiciones. Si miramos 30 años atrás estábamos un poco mejor.” 19  Original: “Tú no ves que nada nada mejora, al contrario, todo va más para atrás.”

Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution

neighbourhood as “like brothers” who “share” what they have. As the economic distress worsened during the Período Especial and in subsequent years, the prioritisation of family increased even further (Domínguez García 2010:107); hence, “family is very important for Cubans. Family is more important than money” (10SdC). In addition, many interviewees point to the importance of the social environment for survival in Cuba, which often renders as outright impossible a lifestyle similar the ‘stroller’. As 34Hav explains, “in the poor neighbourhoods, you see that a lot, that warmth”. Consequently, for many, family and social relations are key resources for their identities. Whilst many Cubans see family and the (extended) neighbourhood as central to daily survival in times of crisis, those especially in the tourist hotspots are reputed to have become increasingly selfish, greedy and uncaring in relation to their fellow human beings. These remarks echo Giddens’ (1992:58) observation that relationships are maintained in postmodernity only so long as they are deemed profitable. Thus, 20Tri, among others, complains that unlike in the past, conversations are often initiated with business intentions in mind, rather than for mere social interaction: “Everyone wants to look inside your home now, see your business” (20Tri). Indeed, for some Cubans in tourist centres, who are accused of noncommittal and shallow relational and social behaviour, the ‘stroller’ might be an appropriate characterisation. Similarly, Bauman’s (1996:29–31) metaphoric postmodern “tourist” is not, or is only rarely, observable in Cuba. Above all, for most Cubans, this is due to the lack of economic resources, opportunities and the agency to pursue their individual lifestyle in the sense of the tourist. Possibly, it is feasible for a few Cubans engaged in tourism or receiving remittances to pursue and achieve their chosen personal goals, hopes and dreams, without impediment. However, even for those who are materially well endowed, these opportunities are limited by the structural constraints of life and their relatively powerless position in relation to the state and the system. For a large majority of Cubans, who very much lack the financial means to do so, a ‘tourist’-style identity project would almost inevitably be bound to fail. Especially in rural areas, many feel deprived of agency, such as 45UdR, who remarks that “we are here, and we have to live here”. Even more explicit is the comment made by 42UdR: “If I make a change in my life, I fear it.”20 Circumstances in Cuba are equally difficult for the postmodern “player” (Bauman 1996:31–32), as Cubans are not constantly offered new possibilities, new gambles or the opportunity to try their luck anew. New openings do not arise permanently for many Cubans, and social and political structures render the consequences of lost games long-lasting. Instead of a quick card game in which the deck is permanently reshuffled, the socioeconomic game in Cuba is often characterised by obstacles, longe­vity and persistence – lost games do have consequences for future endeavours. Although

20  Original: “Si hago un cambio en mi vida, lo temo.”

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tourism especially offers some opportunities, the socioeconomic structures for most Cubans persist. In contrast, the “vagabond” metaphor (Bauman 1996:28–29) proves to be apt, in that it fittingly describes the experiences and perspectives of many Cubans in a way that renders Cuba a ‘society of vagabonds’. Moreover, the experiences of the Período Especial and contemporary life, as described by the interviewees, reflect the leitmotif of the vagabond in a remarkably pertinent way. As Bauman (1996:29) writes, “neat streets turn mean, factories vanish together with jobs, skills no longer find buyers, knowledge turns into ignorance, professional experience becomes liability, secure networks of relations fall apart and foul the places with putrid waste”. This sentence alone well describes the woes of post-Soviet Cuba and its people, for whom the state and the Revolution can no longer provide. Food supplies are insufficient, and occupations and education have become irrelevant, since tourism income dominates the labour market and determines socioeconomic stratification. Concurrently, greed and selfishness replace and collapse the long-established social relations of those achieving economic advancement. The Cuban vagabond identity is thus primarily marked by expulsion from the pre-1989 socialist paradise (which, for younger Cubans, exists solely in tales of the old). Many Cubans have since found themselves in the dismal reality of post-Soviet Cuba. The socialist vision that many believed in for a long time, and for which hardships were taken on, is increasingly proving to be a Fata Morgana that recedes into the distance the closer one attempts to get to it. This realisation is increasingly emerging among many Cubans – especially among those interviewed for this research. Since a fundamental reorientation toward other ‘destinations’ is both politically and ideologically undesired, Cubans – collectively and individually – are currently stuck with the precarious vagabond life, chasing the mirage of functioning and economically successful Cuban socialism. At this point, criticism of Bauman ought to be voiced. While he demonstrates how society and individuals mutually influence each other and their identities, he takes insufficient account of the political framework. Yet, especially in Cuba, it is the political framework that determines the boundaries of what is expressible, thinkable and practicable in society – and thus has a decisive influence on identities. Perhaps, therefore, a specific Cuban perspective is necessary, such as considering decidedly (post-)socialist, postcolonial, postmodern conditions that influence Cuban identities. 8.5.3. Identity Optimism only for a Few?

Incidentally, the insufficient transferability of postmodern explanatory approaches to the conditions of Cuban identity formation also applies to the ‘optimistic’ perspectives on identities in postmodernity, as formulated by Hitzler (1994) and Keupp et al. (2006) – essentially because the safety and (financial) stability necessary for successful and fulfilling identity formation are often not provided in Cuba. Yet, despite contradic-

Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution

tions and often pessimistic thoughts on the Revolution and its future, a lapse into defeatism is evitable: all societies and cultures exhibit contradictions and dissatisfaction. The decisive factors are the proportion of the population affected by them and what resources are available to deal with them, both individually and collectively. Against this backdrop, doubts are growing as to whether these approaches to explaining postmodern identity constructions are actually suitable for societies from the Global South. The loss of the robustness of socialist modernity after 1989, without its replacement by postmodern freedoms, and the vagabond character of social, economic and political circumstances, need not necessarily be recognised and framed as loss. Instead, new structures of meaning and significance can be erected on the ruins of past identity resources, and they can certainly include the Revolution, alongside foundations for new Cuban identities. What applied long ago to identity formation after the dissolution of the European estate society (Marx & Engels 1948:12; Zima 2017:5) now also applies in Cuba: instead of the predestined assignment to a collective (identity) qua birth, the progressive loss of the identity-forming role of the Revolution might offer not only new options and freedoms, but also obligations. For them, identity formation increasingly turns into a “task” (Bauman 1992:680), but sometimes it is more of a “problem” (Hall 2003:277). Exemplary of this situation are the remarks of 16SdC, who is afraid that “people forget their origins, that people become materialistic, you know, that people forget to help other people and to be humans”. As she indicates, many Cubans worry not only about economic, but also social and psychological survival, though many do find answers to the question of individual and collective identity. As many Cubans turn away from the Revolution in frustration, they instead head out in search of other identity resources that augur for stable identities in times of hardship and distress. In this regard, they encounter resources – some new and some longstanding – that they use to sustain their identities. Compared to many subjects from the Global North, who see themselves confronted with similar tasks, Cubans are challenged by their relatively limited choice of (postmodern) alternatives and cultural elements at their disposal, due to their significantly lower level of global involvement. Consequently, many of them resort to ‘modern’ resources for identities, seeking support in the nation, in religion, in their families and in their jobs, if possible. Yet, sometimes, as reported in a few cases, they break down, due to myriad difficult circumstances, and take refuge in alcohol, for instance. These resources for identities are sometimes in clear contradiction to revolutionary selves. 8.5.4. The Rise of Non-Revolutionary Cuban Nationalism

Identification with the nation is probably the most pronounced. Although Bauman (1992:690) predicted an end to the nation state as identity-forming, in Cuba, on the contrary, a renaissance of identification with the nation is discernible. While growing

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nationalism at first seems contradictory, given the waning identification with the Revolution, a deeper examination reveals that it is mostly non-revolutionary nationalism. Instead, “actually it is a pride. To be a Cuban is a pride” (15SdC). This nationalism, which is not anchored in the Revolution, partly takes up pre-revolutionary narratives, motifs and figures of identification, and the narratives around striving and fighting for independence are used as references. For 23Hav, “the answer to what Cuban identity is, is in the history books”. In his eyes, Cuban identity is rooted in “the very beginning of the independence war and the Spanish colonisation” (23Hav). This nationalism is thus constructed by employing elements of Cuban history, specifically in terms of the veneration of the flag and heroic figures. Fanon (2004:69) emphasises the importance of national heroes in the struggle for independence, particularly for postcolonial identities. Hence, it is no surprise that heroes of the Revolution, first and foremost Fidel Castro, also continue to be central to the self-perception of many Cubans. The same holds true, albeit in a much weaker form, for Che Guevara. However, since the political and socioeconomic concepts of the Revolution are mostly excluded in this case, the few revolutionary figures and elements that remain significant for Cuban identities are partially decoupled from their revolutionary foundations, rearranged and reframed. This can be understood as postmodern creative blending and re-interpretation, as “crafting” (Hitzler & Honer 1994), with various revolutionary and non-revolutionary, socialist and capitalist elements. A ‘new’ Cuban national identity is thereby assembled like a collage, as revolutionary elements (e. g. heroes and values) are detached from their original context and recombined with further set pieces originating from elsewhere. The Revolution is thereby fragmented. Some of its elements are retained and inserted into the new identity collage, while other elements (e. g. primacy of collectivism, voluntarism) are discarded. This process can be observed not only in terms of national identity, but also in cultural identity. These disengagements, reassessments and re-sorting of revolutionary elements are not devoid of disappointment, frictions and conflict, either within society or for individuals themselves. Recombining ‘old’ revolutionary elements with ‘new’ capitalist features in an almost haphazard manner, in order to create a cohesive narrative, is also fraught with contradictions and psychological pitfalls. However, this comes with a few caveats. By no means do all Cubans have the ability to construct their identity so creatively from set pieces and accurately harmonised elements, as described by Keupp et al. (2006:59). This particularly affects Cubans in rural areas, who, due to the dissolution and erosion of the Revolution as a resource for identity, are often spared anything but nostalgia. Thus, 42UdR, born in 1963, asserts that “back in the ‘80s and beyond, almost everybody had the same standards”.21 40UdR,

21  Original: “Verás, los años 80 y pico, casi todo el mundo tenía el mismo nivel.”

Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution

born in 1936, agrees: “well, we had great times.”22 In contrast, today’s youth cannot hold on to the ‘good old days’ or are mired in disillusionment or bitterness, due to a lack of alternatives. Therefore, as 32Hav states, “young people, they have […] other things in their minds. The other thing they have in their mind is trying to immigrate [sic] to other countries, no matter what. So, they don’t care about history, they don’t about traditions.” It is difficult for them to align their lives with non-revolutionary world views, since they often are simply not given any alternatives. Cuban patchwork identities are thus viable only for the few who possess enough (financial) resources. Among them are those employed in tourism, who understand the commodification of the Revolution as a tribute. This interpretation of commodification is a creative way of coping with the otherwise highly contradictory marketisation of the Revolution. Similarly, those already alienated from it, and agreeing with its commodification for profit, still find individual revolutionary elements partially identity-forming, but in a way that is detached from the overall revolutionary context. For instance, they adore Fidel Castro for his services to Cuba, but they firmly reject the ideological superstructure and socioeconomic concept of the Revolution. Since these two groups are particularly common among those employed in tourism, they are well-represented in the interview sample. Yet, overall, they probably constitute a minority in Cuba. In contrast, many Cubans may find it difficult to embrace the Revolution productively for their personal identity, given its dwindling significance. 8.5.5. Religion Gaining Importance Again

Besides the nation, religion appears to take on an increasing function as an identity resource. Although religion and religiosity have not been of major importance to many Cubans during the past revolutionary decades, some interviewees pointed out the great relevance of religious faith for them. Consequently, religion has apparently experienced a revival as a resource for Cuban identities. Among those who have turned to religious faith, especially frequent are those who have lost confidence in the Revolution and are economically disadvantaged, for instance because they cannot participate in the tourism industry or can do so only with difficulty. For example, 31Hav’s religious faith helps him cope with the trials and tribulations of life: “Every political, economic system is not perfect, but a perfect place, a wonderful place is waiting for us. So, try to keep your faith and try to be a very good Christian.” The same is true for 20Tri, who admits that “sometimes it is hard to see the purpose. But He [God] has a purpose for everybody.” Emblematic of the replacement of faith in the Revolution with religious belief is a comment made by 44UdR, which unfortunately was uttered after the inter-

22  Original: “Bien, lo hemos pasado bien.”

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view and therefore was not recorded on audio. Analogously, she said: “I don’t believe in the government anymore, I believe in God now” (44UdR). Concurrently, this again indicates the diminishing influence of the Revolution on Cubans’ lives and self-perception, since the Revolution is in fact diametrically opposed to religion. The growing orientation toward religious faith in times of crisis in Cuba is thus consistent with the findings of Kay et al. (2008:21). Furthermore, the situation is reminiscent of Agadjanian’s (2001:743) study of religious identities in the successor states of the USSR. In contrast to these, however, the Cuban state is unable to leverage religious references for its own stabilisation. Embracing religion too fondly would mean a 180-degree turn in the Cuban Revolution’s attitude toward matters of faith and therefore thwart its socialist essence. However, the aversive attitude towards religion appears to be weakening noticeably, as evidenced, for instance, in the three papal visits in 1998, 2012 and 2015. It is tempting to conclude that the greater openness to religious structures and practices, which coincided with the toughest phase of the Período Especial, is intended to provide moral support and relief for an unsettled population, which the Revolution could not provide. Rather than acting as an indicator of liberalisation in Cuban politics, this would be a move motivated by political power. An alternative interpretation is that the receding significance of the Revolution has left a void that some Cubans have filled autonomously with religious content, i. e. Christian beliefs, Santería or Ifá cults. Based on the empirical data collected, however, no reliable conclusions can be drawn as to which denominations are particularly benefiting from this religious revival. 8.5.6. Identification and Self-Fulfilment through Labour?

The tense economic situation of many Cubans is also – and especially – related to the precarious labour market situation, which has additional consequences for their identities. Identification via labour or employment often plays a marginal role for Cubans, which is related to the fact that working environments in the country have partially taken on postmodern characteristics. After the dismissal of hundreds of thousands of state employees, these workers found themselves in a tough labour market. Seeking employment on their own was – and still is – an unfamiliar situation for many, as the revolutionary state guaranteed Cubans’ employment for a long time. This promise was dashed throughout the 2000s and 2010s, thereby diminishing trust in the Revolution and the potential for identification associated with it. Bauman’s (1992:695) sombre reflection on postmodern labour conditions seems to be valid in Cuba: the skills and degrees many Cubans working in tourism acquired at universities and in previous jobs are now useless and devoid of any practical value. 13SdC is an architect, 22Hav is a professor of history and 4Hav studied law – just to cite a few examples. If they had stayed in their previous jobs, the financial cost of doing so

Resources for Cuban Identities beyond the Revolution

would have been significant, as “it doesn’t matter what kind of job you have. The salary is low” (31Hav). However, even their ‘new’ occupation in tourism does not promise economic stability, as it is highly dependent on external factors, such as government regulations, tourist preferences and the global economy. The resulting conclusion that labour is not a solid foundation for Cuban identities either is consistent with existing knowledge about the significance of labour in postmodernity, such as Sennett’s (1998:133) description of the impact of “short term work experience” on individual identities. Textbox 21: Identification through race and ethnicity? Since the Cuban people have many different ethnic roots, identifying as being part of a specific ethnicity is difficult and unusual for many. A prime example is 31Hav, who characterises himself as a typical Cuban, as his grandparents originate from four different cultural and ethnic backgrounds. Thus, by his own account, he has African, American, German and Spanish roots. While he had blond hair as a child, it turned black during adolescence. Assigning himself to an ethnic group is therefore pointless to him, as many other interview partners similarly argued.   Altogether, ethnicity, race and racism were addressed relatively seldomly in the interviews, partly because many interviewees, referring to the Cuban ajiaco (verbatim, e. g. by 37Tri), regard their society as beyond questions of race. This is partly credited to the Revolution, which “eliminated racism, discrimination” (32Hav). Thus, ethnicity could be a non-distinguishing, and therefore non-identity-forming, category for Cubans. Though this issue was not explored extensively in the interviews, everyday observations revealed that some day-to-day racism occasionally occurs, such as preferential treatment of persons with “buena presencia” (de la Fuente 2008:716), mostly referring to people with light skin. Overt racism, as described by Roland (2006), for instance, was not observed directly.   Yet, from the vantage point of a white researcher from the Global North, a judgment on the extent to which Cuban society is racist or not seems inappropriate. Regarding questions of identity, it should be added that no reference back to Africa as an “act of imaginary reunification” (Hall 2021a:259) was drawn in any interview conducted with Afro-Cubans. At best, however, this may only serve as a slight indication that identification via ethnicity is not of great importance in Cuba – at least among the interviewees.

While many seek an occupation in tourism for economic reasons, others who pursue their chosen career in public service struggle to make a living from their wages. Thus, self-fulfilment through labour is of little importance to many Cubans, and only a few seem to achieve self-fulfilment in their profession. Of much greater significance in terms of choice of occupation is obtaining a sufficient income, resulting in brain drain into tourism; it is thus not a free choice for many – it is decisively influenced by potential income and by government regulations. According to Bauman (1997:93), “freedom of choice is in postmodern society by far the most seminal among the stratifying

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factors”. However, very few Cubans have this freedom of choice – not only in terms of their choice of employment, but also, considering the state-controlled market, in terms of consumption. Besides high-ranking public officials and state employees, Cuentapropistas (almost exclusively) potentially enjoy some freedom of choice. Following Bauman, they therefore rank higher, not only in the inverse income pyramid, but also in social stratification. Owing in particular to their often higher earnings, they stand a better chance of successfully forming an identity, a process rapidly turning precarious without the necessary economic resources (Keupp 1994:334). Finally, it is necessary to broach race and ethnicity as resources for Cuban identities. Since these elements can only be attributed a minor role in Cuban identity constructions based on the interviews conducted, the related findings are summarised in Textbox 21. 8.6.

Summary of the Key Insights

As the discussion of the empirical data indicates, a sweeping judgment about the effects of commodification on identities is inappropriate. This is evident in the commodification of the Cuban Revolution, which is a special form of commodity, because in some cases it retains its use-value despite its commodification. Moreover, the tourist commodification of the Revolution entails specific spatial, material and sociocultural consequences. This examination of the Cuban Revolution as a commodity demonstrates that alienation from the commodified object can also be the precondition for its commodification, instead of the consequence. Hence, alienation from the Revolution is mostly the result of a continuing dire economic situation. Many Cubans are frustrated by the perceived standstill and consider promises of the Revolution to be unfulfilled. It thus often – but not always – forfeits its function as a resource for Cuban identities. Indeed, in some few cases, its commodification proceeds even without prior alienation. Considering individual constructions of meaning is therefore inevitable when examining the consequences of tourist commodification on host identities, since the assessment of commodification, like that of tourism, socialism and capitalism per se, is often ambivalent and contradictory. Commodification defies a binary rationale and cannot easily be assessed as unambiguously good or bad. The evaluation of commodification processes depends, on the one hand, on the subjects’ attitude toward the commodified object and, on the other hand, on their assessment of the commodification process itself. Reciprocally, the commodification of the Cuban Revolution can be used as a proxy to examine Cubans’ attitudes toward it. As Foucault (2003:24) explains, subjects and subject positions are produced and shaped in power-laden discourses. Cuban identities, no longer resting on sound revolutionary foundations, consequently seem possible only if the power of the Revolution

Critical Reflections on Methodology and Positionalit

no longer comprehensively pervades society. In the past, the virtually absolute permeation of Cuban society reflected the power of the state (to what extent this led to inner seclusion and a retreat into the private sphere can only be speculated). This power now seems to have vanished – and with it, the power to determine exclusively the meaning of the Revolution is slipping out of the hands of the state. Recently, the Cuban government has lost interpretational sovereignty over the symbolic representations of the Cuban Revolution. Instead of using and reproducing the symbols, codes and associations for building and strengthening revolutionary consciousness and identities, many Cubans employed in tourism separate them from their meaningful context and depreciate them in relation to their ability to form identities. It is difficult to explain otherwise how the fundamentally meaningful Revolution could turn into a mere souvenir for tourists, albeit very few examples remain in which it retains its identity-forming power despite its commodification. Hence, the evaluation of the Revolution depends primarily on the socioeconomic situation of Cubans and their identification with it – or rejection of it. Having abandoned the Revolution as a resource for identity, Cubans are left with a narrow range of alternatives. Since the potential for postmodern individualisation, pluralisation and the influences of globalisation are limited, many of the types of postmodern identities outlined by Bauman seem inappropriate for describing the Cuban condition. Unique in this regard is the characterisation of the nation as a society of vagabonds. To consider the fading effect of the Revolution on Cuban identities as deplorable, however, would be patronising and inappropriate. Indeed, there are certainly Cubans who are relieved that the Revolution’s long-standing, all-encompassing influence on their lives and identities is waning. In addition, many are orienting themselves increasingly toward other resources for identities, most of which tend to be rather modern. This seems to be primarily the nation, while religion also plays an increasingly important role. Creative re-interpretations of the Self in tourism, though, tend to be less important, as does identification through labour – at least for a great deal of the state workforce. 8.7.

Critical Reflections on Methodology and Positionality

Based on the qualitative interviews analysed via Grounded Theory and on the extensive mappings, a detailed picture of the commodification of the Cuban Revolution and its consequences for Cuban identity formations can be drawn. The chosen methodology involves some challenges and particularities that deserve further contemplation. Thus, the language used in the interviews must be considered as both the medium and the object of inquiry. For the author, Spanish and English, and for the interviewees English and German, are not native languages. Although a profound mutual understanding could be established through a Cuban translator, linguistic misunderstandings cannot be precluded. However, this is valid for all qualitative-interpretive research

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approaches that aim at the reconstruction of meaning from subjects’ expressions. This challenge is inherent in the methodology employed and may have been exacerbated by the reciprocal foreign-language setting. Yet, as the potential for misunderstanding was known, follow-up questions were frequently asked during the interviews, either to clarify specific terms and phrases or to confirm understanding. This procedure turned out to be productive and helpful in several respects. First, the participants were attentive in terms of using clear, precise language, and much effort was put into being understood. Second, recurring queries simultaneously served as narrative stimuli for the interviewees. In response to questions relating to comprehension, the interview partners often expanded on their statements, elaborated on them or elucidated them anew from a slightly different perspective. Third, interviews conducted in public spaces in German or English prevented some bystanders from catching the content of the conversation. Particularly for sensitive topics or criticism of the Cuban state, this created a greater sense of safety for the interviewees. The non-native language used in the interviews must thus be considered, though it also holds certain advantages. Moreover, the author originates from a significantly different cultural and social background than the interviewees. Therefore, the question arises whether it is possible to reflect and address issues of Cuban identity appropriately. This question can be confidently answered with a ‘yes’. On the one hand, the Grounded Theory methodology must be referred to, as it allows for an empirically substantiated reflection on Cuban identities and on the relationship Cubans have with the Revolution. According to the principles of Grounded Theory, no incontrovertible truths about Cuban identities are postulated; rather, abductively derived explanations and theories are proposed to explain the general conditions for identity formation in Cuba. By no means should Cubans be deprived of the ability or opportunity to speak for and about themselves. On the contrary, this study seeks to provide space for their voices and, in doing so, situates their utterances within theoretical discourses.23 Apart from that, in multiple interviews, the impression emerged that it was precisely the interviewer’s non-Cuban background and the conversation in a foreign language that encouraged the interviewees to speak frankly about their lives and their opinions of and relationships with the Revolution and socialism, thus providing room for criticism as well. The interviewer’s foreignness

23  Regardless of the noble intention of this research to provide a space for Cubans to reflect on their rela-

tionship with the Revolution, the academic context in which this effort is created should not remain overlooked. In his paper on the identity of geographers, Berg (2012) problematises the whiteness of (critical) geographical research. This white scientific subjectivity, from whose position this book was written, is a product of “hegemonic liberalism” (Berg 2012:509). This liberalism is supported and promoted by the advancing neoliberalisation of the scientific system (see, among others, Dowling 2008:813–816; Castree et al. 2006). It is difficult to escape the neoliberal conditions of geographic research, since they are deeply inscribed in the social and economic order surrounding it (Berg 2012:515). No immediate remedy to this issue is apparent, apart from considering and reflecting these conditions while reading (and writing) this book.

Critical Reflections on Methodology and Positionalit

hence made it necessary to explain accurately and to reflect clearly on one’s own position. This resulted in often extensive interviews. Admittedly, with positions clearly and explicitly expressed by the interviewees, nuances and shadings might sometimes have been lost along the way, but as the inherent problem of linguistic expression, it is almost impossible to circumvent empirically. The emphasis of the interviewee sample on Cubans engaged in tourism must also be considered when interpreting the results, because the number of Cuban interview partners experiencing the tourist commodification of the Revolution in their daily lives, but who do not actively participate in it, is comparatively small. Indeed, the interview partners from Unión de Reyes do not actively partake in the commodification of the Revolution, but moreover they often have only a vague idea of the forms and dimensions of this commodification. Nevertheless, most of them take clear positions on the subject, as the everyday experience of commodification is not a necessary requirement for developing an opinion on this process. Hence, no substantially different results would be expected if more Cubans who experience commodification but do not actively participate in it had been interviewed. This rings true especially, since they are difficult to find, as at least in Habana Vieja, “everybody has found their way into tourism” (34Hav). Brief consideration should also be devoted to the sample size, the selection of interviewees and the study sites themselves. At first glance, the sample of 51 interviews used in the analysis may seem somewhat limited. At second sight, however, it is sufficient against the backdrop of the epistemological conception of the research, since the essential quality criterion of theoretical saturation has been achieved. It is thus unlikely that the addition of further interviews would have revealed different results. The same applies to the choice of research sites. While the selection of Havana, Santiago de Cuba and Trinidad as tourism centres is consequential and follows theoretical deliberations, the choice of Unión de Reyes as representative of the periphery was made arbitrarily. Certainly, the choice for a rural research site was based on the considerations of theoretical sampling, providing as much contrast as possible with the urban tourism centres. As 42UdR confirms, “there is a huge difference between a city and the countryside”.24 Besides, Unión de Reyes is “like many other towns in the countryside” (46UdR). Still, it would be presumptuous to assume that findings from identical surveys in other rural towns or in major non-tourist cities (Bayamo, Camagüey, Guantánamo, for example) would be exactly duplicative. With some certainty, however, fairly similar results could be expected. Although the interviews were conducted in different regions and with Cubans from various social backgrounds, this book cannot claim to be representative of all of Cuba or of all Cubans. Using the example of small European national movements, Hroch (2000:10) shows that the emergence and manifestation of nationalism and national identity do not necessarily develop on the same itinerary and with the same outcomes

24  Original: “Mira, hay una diferencia muy grande entre una ciudad y un campo.”

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among different social groups and regions of a country. Fundamentally, however, the representativeness of findings was never an objective of this study and would have opposed its foundational ontological and epistemological assumptions. Finally, some psychological reflections on the methodology behind the conducted interviews, and the insights derived from them regarding Cuban identity constructions, are necessary. As Mead (1970) indicates, individuals and individual identities can be understood as consisting of a social ‘me’ and an internal ‘I’. During the interviews as social interactions, interviewees are confronted with a multitude of different issues, associations and social requests in relation to their social ‘me’. In other words, several distinct roles (Goffman 1959) are addressed, sometimes sequentially, sometimes simultaneously. For instance, interviewees may simultaneously be approached as a tour guide, a Cuban, a mother and a revolutionary. Thus, the ‘I’ attempts to reflect these different functions. However, it is virtually impossible to respond to all questions and issues directed towards the social ‘me’ from the position of the ‘I’, as the latter is always influenced by the specific external attention given to different social roles. Moreover, subjects never fully comprehend their own identity and its framing conditions, let alone express it verbally, since parts of identity formation take place in the unconscious (Freud 1989 [1923]). It is therefore impossible to provide an all-encompassing portrayal of the identities of the Cuban interviewees based on these interviews or any other methodology. However, that was never – and is not – the aim of this inquiry. 8.8.

Normative (Self-)Reflection on Commodification

The constructivist character of commodities renders a universal, unconditionally valid normative evaluation of commodification processes, both improper and unjustified. Instead, commodification processes must be assessed and analysed on their own particular terms, while disagreement in their evaluation is to be expected and accepted. Castree (2003:275) accuses left-wing academia (but also non-Marxist scholars) of implicitly rating commodification as ‘wrong’ or ‘bad’. Indeed, many scholars do so, mainly due to both fetishisation and the exploitation of labour entailed in commodification. Nonetheless, Castree acknowledges the nuisances of capitalist commodification if one follows normative and especially Marxist, reasoning (Castree 2003:276). While indeed there are numerous positions based on Marxist ideas which predominantly narrate touristic commodification as being tied to negative ramifications, other scholars – often from tourism management – tend to give more weight to the probable opportunities linked to tourism, in both financial and cultural terms.25 However, the

25  A

good example is Law (1993:154–165), who, in the style of an accountant, calculates and praises the advantages of tourism, but only dedicates a short paragraph to its shortcomings.

Normative (Self-)Reflection on Commodificati

exuberant tone that often accompanied such assessments, even before the turn of the millennium, has since given way to a more reserved attitude and thoroughly critical considerations on the part of tourism science and management with regard both to the Global North and the Global South and mainly addressing questions of ecological and social sustainability (e. g. Hall 2019; Leposa 2020; Pröbstl-Haider et al. 2021). However, considering the constructiveness of commodities, it would seem patronising by the author to evaluate the commodification of the Cuban Revolution as either negative or harmful. Assessments of commodification vary depending on how the Revolution is individually evaluated as a social, a political and an ideological construct. If Cubans perceive it as important and meaningful, criticism of its commodification might seem reasonable and expected, at least from an outsider’s perspective. If, by contrast, the Revolution is subjectively evaluated as irrelevant, or even negatively, then its commodification might more easily be regarded as a legitimate means of securing livelihoods. The fact that these are theoretical considerations, whereas reality usually does not allow for clear assessments of absolute endorsement or condemnation of the commodification of the Revolution, is illustrated by its sometimes positive evaluation by fervent revolutionaries. The evaluation of commodification processes thus requires multidimensional perspectives that consider a variety of arguments and which are sensitive to subtle nuances. A rigid, binary good-bad logic, conversely, seems inappropriate. The discordant, ambiguous assessment of commodification thus occurs both within societies and within individuals themselves. Definite evaluations of commodification processes are hence often illusory. Since commodification is an inseparable component of capitalism (and, according to some examples, can be of socialism as well), it seems unlikely that it will be discarded any time soon, thus rendering it irrelevant. This is especially true, since – despite the financial crisis and climate crisis – capitalism is proving to be steadfast. Commodification is therefore basically a fact that must be accepted; however, as Prudham (2009:137) notes, “commodification is tenuous, incomplete and ephemeral, not monolithic, complete or necessarily lasting”. Since the creation of commodities and their abstraction from their original qualities is essentially a social process, the tools for breaking away from commodification processes also lie in the hands of society. Several authors conceptualise expedients to avoid a commodification-fuelled deterioration of both societal foundations and the planet’s ecosystems. A cautious proposal stems from Holden (2009:375), who appeals to the ethics of market players and perceives political regulations as important for a non-destructive relationship between tourism and nature. Consequently, he designates the market and its participants as crucial for a “symbiotic […] tourism-environment relationship”. In contrast, Harvey’s (2002:109) claim for an “alternative kind of globalisation” is radical and encompassing. For his particular version of globalisation, he asks for widespread socialist opposition that offers alternatives to the dominant system of increasing commodification. The alternative advocated by Harvey (2002:109) should then

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challenge the prevalent capitalism with “progressive forces of culture [seeking] to appropriate and undermine those of capital rather than the other way around”. Harvey (2011) later reinforces this claim and demands the strengthening of collectivist value production without property rights to individuals. He asks for the “socialisation of surplus production and distribution and the establishment of a new common of wealth open to all” (Harvey 2011:107). Somewhat less radical is the call of Guthman (2002), who proposes the subtle replacement of “commodified meanings” by “meaningful commodities”. She argues for altering the significance of commodities by returning meaning, i. e. use-value, to them. However, organic food, which she employs as an example, turns out to be most widely incorporated into processes of (non-meaningful) commodification. Apparently, the attempt to undermine commodifying practices by restoring some meaning to commodities has instead led to capturing its good intentions by even more competitive capitalist actors, who now partly use the ‘meaningful’ ideals once designed to tackle them for marketing and profit-mongering. Nevertheless, even if commodification is to remain an integral part of social activity for the foreseeable future, constant and critical weighing, debating and judging of the process itself, and its sociocultural and ecological consequences, is imperative. Perhaps exactly because of its durability, it is essential that individuals and societies address and discuss this issue: do we truly want to incorporate this or that (cultural/social/environmental) entity into capitalist logics, with all the consequences this entails? For this is also what this inquiry demonstrates: commodification is not a process steered by an invisible hand. Indeed, it is the result of the intentional decisions and actions of actors and groups of actors. And it is exactly because the assessment of commodification is highly individual and depends on the subject’s relation to the commodified object that its normative evaluation is justified. It may well be lamented when the value of an object (a flower, a piece of literature or a religious practice) no longer intrinsically resides in its use-value, but its exchange-value is the maxim for its valuation. Having the associated alienation apparently occur prior to commodification itself generates a second focus for possible critiques thereof. Apart from replacing use-value with exchange-value, alienation as a prerequisite of this change in valuation may also be mourned. To carve out individual assessments of commodification, as well as decisions for or against it, in order to analyse them and to reflect critically on their intended and unintended consequences, has been the driving force, the pressing matter, that has propelled this study. The explanatory potential that the examination of commodification processes offers for analysing recent social, economic and human ecological transformations and phenomena will hopefully inspire further researchers to turn their attention to commodification as well.

9.

The Fading Power of the Revolution

A revolution is a fight to the death between the future and the past.1 Fidel Castro Ruz (1961e)

The Cuban Revolution is prone to metamorphosis and cannot conveniently be pigeonholed into preconceived ideological, political or social paradigms (Kapcia 2000:2–3). Its adaptability and ambiguity have been confirmed in this research, while at the same time, some insights into the Revolution have surfaced. These insights concern not only resources for Cuban identities and the conditions for their formation, but also reflections on the Cuban Revolution, embedded in a broad socioeconomic context. Pivotal consideration has been given to the implications of tourist commodification for the Revolution as well as for identities based on it. The latter remark points to the overarching meta-theme of this study, which transcends mere questions of commodification and addresses, beyond that, the principal relationship of Cubans with the Revolution. In this regard, the tourist commodification of the Revolution serves as a proxy that opens up a discursive space in which addressing the Revolution directly is possible. Hence, it enables an exploration of the relationship between Cubans and the structural particularities, ideological convictions and identity resources provided by the revolutionary system. From this inquiry, several conclusions can be derived about individual perspectives on and appraisals of the Revolution and, based on this, the Revolution’s relevance as a cornerstone for Cuban identities. The key findings of this research are encapsulated in this concluding chapter. However, it does not merely repeat the answers to the individual research questions previously posed in Chapter 8. Instead, these answers are integrated into a synthesising reflection discussing the findings against the backdrop of more fundamental consider-

1  Original: “Una revolución es una lucha a muerte entre el futuro y el pasado.”

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ations of Cuban identities and the Revolution as social order. First (Chapter 9.1), these considerations address the overarching research question: ‘What implications does the tourist commodification of the Cuban Revolution have for Cuban identities?’ Second (Chapter 9.2), the findings on tourist commodities and commodification are contemplated and contextualised from broader perspectives. Third, the recent socioeconomic and political situation in Cuba is considered with a specific focus on tourism (Chapter 9.3), and finally, at appropriate points, suggestions for further scholarly engagement are woven into these chapters. 9.1.

Commodification as an Indicator of Transformed Identities

To pre-empt the answer to the central research question, the consequences of tourist commodification prove to be mostly insignificant for many Cubans identifying with the Revolution. This result is noteworthy, as it contradicts some scholarly literature, such as Edensor (1997:191), Guthman (2002), Lanfant et al. (1995:IX), Linnekin (1997:216–217) and Tunbridge (2014:127). From the empirical data, coherent explanations for this limited influence of the commodification of the Revolution on Cuban identities emerge. For many, the Revolution was not identity-forming, even before its commodification, since they were already alienated from its ideological cosmos and socioeconomic principles; for others, it continued to be an important identity resource despite its commodification. As the case of the Cuban Revolution illustrates, neither commodification nor tourism are solely responsible for changing identities and altered relationships with (once) identity-shaping objects. Consequently, the commodification of the Revolution in Cuba’s tourism hotspots ought to be interpreted as an expression, not a trigger, of altered identities. Indeed, the theoretical cause-and-effect combination ‘commodification leads to alienation, which leads to altered identities’ is just one possibility among several. For tourism scholars examining commodification processes, this implies that a general judgment à la ‘commodification leads to identity loss’ is unwarranted. This extends beyond the example of Cuba and applies to Tourism Studies in general, in that they ought not make sweeping assumptions that the commodification of cultural, social or other entities influences these entities’ identity-forming capacity. Instead, individual cases must always be considered and examined. Hence, discourses and personal explanations associated with commodification need careful observation, for the transformed relationship with the Revolution, which may manifest spatially in the form of tourist commodities, can be traced through the narratives and arguments associated with it. Depending on one’s relationship with the Revolution, the arguments adduced to justify or criticise its commodification vary. Accordingly, commodities are subjective constructs with individually ascribed meanings. Commodification alone thus cannot be used to desultorily infer presumed arguments

Conceptualising the Cuban Revolution as a Tourist Commodity

for commodification and associated consequences for identities. Both findings – commodities as subjective constructs and commodification having individual implications for identities – are generalisable and valid, thereby transcending the example of the Cuban Revolution. Consequently, they should be considered in investigations examining the interplay between commodification and identity. This discovery leads to several implications for the theoretical analysis of commodification processes; thus, it is necessary to conceptualise (possible) causal interrelationships between tourist commodification, alienation and identity in greater detail and more accurately. Though Castree (2003:279) identifies alienation as one of the central principles of commodification, he unfortunately remains rather vague about the exact connection and reciprocal influences between both elements. Hence, this research intends to stimulate deeper investigations into the linkages and interplay between tourist commodification and hosts’ identification with objects being commodified. In this regard, alienation should be conceived as a potential starting point, a prerequisite to be (perhaps necessarily) fulfilled for commodification, not as its final product. Unfortunately, it is unclear exactly from where divergences from the aforementioned contrasting scholarly explanations of the (non-)correlation between commodification and identity stem. Are they due to fundamentally different ontological assumptions? Do they surface because of the peculiarity of the socioeconomic and political situation in Cuba, or perhaps the fact that the Revolution is a rather special tourist commodity? Most likely, all of these factors contribute to the relationship indicated between Cuban identities and the commodification of the Revolution. 9.2.

Conceptualising the Cuban Revolution as a Tourist Commodity

In commodity form, the Revolution can be conceived as a cultural common (Hardt & Negri 2009:139). The process of its commodification features many, but not all, of the principles formulated by Castree (2003:279–282). While, for instance, privatisation indeed occurs during the Revolution’s commodification, it is individual goods and products (e. g. books and guided tours) that are privatised, albeit the Revolution is virtually impossible to privatise in its multidimensionality. Moreover, the Revolution as a commodity exhibits several atypical properties; for example, it is not depleted by its consumption (e. g. in the form of souvenirs), and its commodification does not necessarily lead to alienation. Overall, the Cuban Revolution is an unusual commodity, and as with other examples in this regard, it deserves further scholarly attention, as its contrast with ‘usual’ commodification offers scope for the further understanding of commodification processes and their consequences. The term unusual commodity is somewhat makeshift and should be replaced with a more accurate term. Furthermore, the utilisation of commodities as proxies may open new perspectives on social structures and under-

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standings of individuals’ relations with commodified objects. Moreover, talking about the commodification of an object creates discursive spaces and vantage points for interviewees that allow for a comprehensive reflection and evaluation of the object under discussion. Yet, the commodification of the Revolution occurs not only in discursive space, and has effects only in that space, but it also has impacts within and through physical-material space. Consequently, its spatial aspects must not be disregarded. The commodification of the Cuban Revolution primarily occurs in tourist spaces, and it configures and transforms spaces through spatial practices that manifest in them. Such spatial modifications in turn reveal the sociocultural transformations underlying the alteration of spatial practices. In the present case, the sociocultural transformation responsible for changed spatial practices is the shift in stance many Cubans have towards the Revolution. This finding further informs the conceptualisation of tourist spaces, as called for by Young and Markham (2020:278). Spatial transformations linked to the tourist commodification of the Revolution involve a two-sided conflation of spaces shaped by tourism and spaces shaped by the Revolution, resulting in what are here called ‘spaces of revolutionary tourism’. One side of this confluence is represented by spaces previously shaped by tourism with no original ties to the Revolution. Through the introduction of revolutionary commodities, these spaces are partially turned into hyperreal spaces of revolutionary spectacle, even though they do not actually have any historical connections with the Revolution. On the other hand, spaces significant to the Revolution for historical reasons are partially commodified for tourism; in these cases, their tourist appeal is provided specifically through the Revolution, which is then marketed. In the resulting ‘spaces of revolutionary tourism’, tourist (exchange-)value is generated through the intentional production of these spaces, i. e. through spatial practices – and thus ultimately – human labour. The fact that the commodification of the Revolution is palpable through the (partial) replacement of use-value by exchange-value underpins the position of Young and Markham (2020:290), who consider Marxist value theory suitable for explaining the origin of value in tourism. This position is to be agreed with, whilst at the same time it can be extended. Especially for geographers engaged in tourism research, it might be worthwhile mentioning that the value of tourist spaces can be explained and conceptualised with Marxist value theory and as a result of commodification processes. This finding can be generalised to all tourist spaces by considering the example of the ‘spaces of revolutionary tourism’. But how do Cubans assess the commodification of the Revolution? The answer is, it varies and depends largely on two factors: individuals’ attitudes to the Revolution, and the assumed motives and intentions behind its commodification. For many Cubans already alienated from the Revolution, the latter are predominantly financial motives, while some regard tourist commodification as a form of tribute to and the propagation of revolutionary ideology. Thus, both supporters and critics of the Revolution often

Conceptualising the Cuban Revolution as a Tourist Commodity

agree with its commodification, albeit for different reasons. The only group seemingly strictly opposed to it are those loyal supporters who cannot participate in or benefit from the situation. By contrast, those faithful revolutionaries who are busy commodifying the Revolution interpret it in a way that aligns with their self-image. Hence, commodification does not overly influence identity, and identification with the Revolution does not prevent its commodification. Only the narrative, the justification for this commodification presented to the Self (and to the interviewer), changes, again emphasising the constructivist nature of commodities. Consequently, attitudes towards commodification cannot serve as a dichotomous marker for the support of or opposition to the Revolution itself. Although commodification apparently has no influence on Cuban identities in this case, its analysis can be used as heuristic key to reveal and examine transformed subject-object relations. Thus, through examining commodification processes, the alienation of many Cubans from the Revolution, and their criticism of current economic and political conditions in Cuba, can be portrayed. Even more explicitly: though no implications of commodification for identities are ascertainable, knowledge regarding the commodified object as a resource for identities is achievable through the study of commodification processes. When examining the assessment of the Cuban Revolution and its commodification, it is necessary to consider the individual arguments, rationales and discourses involved to conceive particular stances, motives and scopes of action, as well as their consequences. Only through this understanding is it possible to comprehend the relationships and mutual influences between the subject and superordinate structures, as well as their transformations – and to situate them in broader contexts. Since tourist commodification is thus a mirror of subject-object relations, such commodification and tourism itself seem inadequate foundations for a creative re-interpretation of the Revolution. Indeed, in commodification and its associated narratives, relationships are expressed and made visible, and yet they are not necessarily informed by this commodification. The reproduction of revolutionary symbols, and thus the production of revolutionary hyperrealities, is either an expression of pre-existing revolutionary zeal or, and this is mainly the case, owed to financial motives. In the latter case, the simulation of the Revolution is a meaningless reproduction without deeper identity-forming purpose. It is not a creative re-interpretation but rather a reproduction of the imaginations of ‘gazing’ tourists, aimed at generating income. Cubans posing for photos dressed as Comandante, spicing up Revolution tours with their own anecdotes or selling red-starred berets thus turn into projection backdrops for the imaginations of foreign tourists, making self-determined identity formation more difficult. Discussing the commodification of the Revolution offers discursive arenas and deeper insights into it as well as the social and political reality of Cuba itself, and it has proven a fruitful approach to engaging with the transformation of that very Revolution and its individual and collective meanings. In this regard, commodification

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was used as a proxy to enable the interviewees to speak about the Revolution and their relationships with it. Commodification is a key to discourses on the Cuban Revolution and its role in contemporary Cuba. Indeed, this approach of analysing the transformation of subject-object relationships, by considering the commodification of the objects involved, might prove productive for transformation research beyond this study. Some of the many examples from human-environment research, where a fundamental change in social relations and the relationship between society and environment can be concluded and thus made comprehensible, based on considerations of the commodification of environmental resources, include Liverman (2004), Pearson and Schmidt (2018) and Lounela (2021). In these examples, the transformation of subject-object relationships, of dispositions or of value systems has already been implicitly considered. By focusing on the commodification of objects and entities, on commodification’s modes and the meanings attributed to it, the transformed social relations with these objects or entities might be inferred and made explicit. Hence, even abstract and/or sensitive topics can be rendered tangible for transformation research through the examination of commodification processes. Such approaches are not limited to the analysis of transformed socio-political relationships but may also provide valuable insights involving human-environment or cultural contexts. After elaborating on how the commodification of the Cuban Revolution can be conceived as an expression, rather than necessarily a trigger of altered identities and alienation from the Revolution, the following section discusses the underlying reasons for this disaffection. 9.3. Socioeconomic and Political Realities of the Revolution: Beyond a mere Explanatory Context

In the previous subchapter, it was described that, at least among the interviewees, widespread alienation from the Revolution is essentially independent of its commodification in tourism. Instead, the reasons for this estrangement lie in decades-long poor economic performance and the persistently tense supply situation in Cuba, as well as in the often disappointed promises and hopes associated with the Revolution. The assessment of the Revolution itself hence depends mostly, but not exclusively, on economic factors and frustrated hopes. In this regard, many Cubans evaluate the Revolution as dysfunctional. As a recent contribution to Cuban Studies, this study demonstrates that faith in the Revolution and its popular support are in dire straits. Especially privately employed Cuentapropistas engaged in tourism are betwixt and between: they benefit the most, relatively speaking, from the gradual liberalisation of Cuban economic policy and the orientation towards international tourism; yet, at the same time, they are the most vocal in demanding further reforms and opportunities for private-sector involvement. Certainly, voices critical of the Revolution echo in rural areas as well. After many disap-

Socioeconomic and Political Realities of the Revolution

pointed expectations, however, hopelessness is spreading there, partly resulting in apathy and Cubans turning increasingly apolitical. In the mid to long term, this may pose problems for the continuation of the Revolution, since for a long time it was the rural Cuban population that benefited greatly from its reforms and returned the favour with almost unconditional support and loyalty. For (post-)socialist studies, this provides evidence that the long-term support of socialist ideology depends fundamentally on its economic performance and associated prospects. Ideological arguments, conversely, seem to play a secondary role in the evaluation of the Cuban Revolution. Due to the diminishing hope once attached so vehemently to the Revolution, uncertainty, sometimes even despair, is spreading among Cubans. This incertitude relates to both the present and the future of the Revolution, as well as the homeland, one’s own life and that of one’s close social circle. Initially, this analysis thus seems to add a primarily sombre perspective to Cuban Studies; nevertheless, it is important to emphasise the hopes and dreams for a better future that many Cubans harbour. Certainly, whether they envision this future under the primacy of the Cuban Revolution is a different matter. A positive outlook on the country’s future is chiefly held by those who, through Cuentapropismo and other options for private-sector involvement, especially in tourism, manage to advance economically, or at least have prospects of doing so. It is striking, however, that opportunities, perspectives and hope for social and economic advancement are rarely associated with the socialist and revolutionary system but with capitalist practices and structures. Many Cubans instead relate the Revolution, directly or indirectly, to the loss of trusted values and certainties. Two outstanding examples deserve special attention, as they illustrate how the Revolution’s former assets are increasingly perceived as dysfunctional and forfeited. First is the labour market, from which the state is steadily withdrawing as a reliable employer, and which is in a state of upheaval. The very existence of a labour market, where labour power is traded and monetarily valued according to the principles of supply and demand, and thus commodified, causes friction and contradictions in socialist Cuba. Uncertainties and dissatisfaction are further nurtured by the labour market – due to government regulations – not being large enough for all those who want to offer their effort, while at the same time state salaries are considered insufficient. Second, criticism grows in view of the once much-vaunted welfare system – the Conquistas of the Revolution. Their services are almost entirely deemed inadequate: free medical care covers only essentials, the education system suffers from the brain drain of many teachers into more lucrative private jobs and the basic provisions provided by Libreta food stamps are insufficient. This exposes the great dilemma of Cuban politics. Its attempts so far to integrate elements of the market economy into Cuban socialism continue to be perceived as neither-nor: many Cubans think there is not yet enough capitalism, while, conversely, there is no longer enough socialism. Resolving this conundrum has troubled the Cuban leadership for almost 30 years, and an end to this balancing act is not in sight. It remains open whether the thoroughgoing economic reforms adopted at the beginning

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of 2021 will bring the opportunities and positive prospects associated with them to the broader strata of the Cuban population, but they certainly broaden the opportunities for private sector activities. Hitherto, only a minority of Cubans (substantially overrepresented in the interview sample for this study) were able to participate directly in and profit from tourism, often in urban tourism hotspots. The expansion of international tourism in Cuba therefore causes growing socioeconomic and spatial disparities – certainly, this is not a conclusion valid only for Cuba, as it applies in many other countries and destinations of the Global South. However, since the inevitable generation of foreign exchange in tourism for the very survival of the current Cuban system is widely acknowledged, the mounting inequalities are mostly tolerated, albeit sometimes with Cubans choking back their anger. For while the problems and social challenges associated with tourism, such as growing inequality, social segregation or the loss of moral values, are obvious and subject to criticism, many Cubans have hopes of participating in the sector. The expansion and further stimulation of international tourism in Cuba are thus explicitly urged – by many – for economic reasons. The call for significant tourism growth in Cuba stands in stark contrast to some pervasive and influential trends the sector, which Büscher and Fletcher (2017:664) synthesise in their appeal for a consequent downsizing of tourism. This claim echoes increasingly advocated discourses on degrowth which are becoming more prevalent in tourism research as well, often referring to the ‘overtourism’ phenomena (Fletcher et al. 2019; Higgins-Desbiolles et al. 2019). Such calls for degrowth indeed seem suitable for addressing the manifold social and ecological problems associated with tourism. The ever-more pronounced claim for qualitative instead of quantitative growth (Benner 2020:78) also points in the same direction. However, both approaches, i. e. degrowth and qualitative growth, clearly contrast the hopes of most Cuban interview partners, who wish for substantial tourism accretion for the future. Through this growth, they hope for an improvement in their economic situation, for which they often consider an expansion of tourism essential. The positive attitude towards incoming tourism among the broad population distinguishes Cuba from many destinations in the Global South and North. Debates about downsizing or degrowing tourism should therefore not ignore those destinations and people for whom it is a vital source of income. Thus, a demand arising from this study is that tourism downsizing, which is desirable in many respects (especially from an ecological perspective), should proceed in a socially and economically just manner. However, Cuban criticism of tourism and regional differences should not be ignored. Obviously, questions of growing or degrowing tourism are not unique the island but are relevant to many other global destinations. The same applies to the appeal for tourists to strive for a “longer term connection and dedication to specific places, peoples and their local and extra-local socioeconomic, ecological and political struggles” (Büscher & Fletcher 2017:664), which appears helpful and logical, too. Yet, the

Socioeconomic and Political Realities of the Revolution

foremost pressing demands many Cubans have relating to tourism are significantly different from tourist dedication. Cuban tourism seems like a tablecloth too small to cover the whole table: pulling it toward economic performance leaves ecological and social concerns bare, covering ecological issues raises complaints about insufficient economic returns and a neglect for social equity and emphasising social considerations elicits complaints mainly from the economic corner of the table. The intuitive approach of using degrowth to shrink the table to fit the tourism tablecloth appears unfeasible in Cuba – the table is already that small, it is difficult to seat everyone at it. How socially and ecologically sustainable, yet economically successful, equitable and for the population beneficial, tourism in Cuba would look like still requires considerable research. Certainly, however, the tablecloth cannot be widened immediately, or without crushing the table underneath through its weight (see also Kallis et al. 2012). Regardless of the foreseeable difficulties in meeting the hopes placed in tourism in Cuba, these hopes contribute substantially to preventing widespread frustration over the persistently dire socioeconomic situation from translating into overt resistance. These hopes, in combination with the incontestable position of power held by the PCC, contribute to maintaining a relatively tranquil situation in the country. Likewise, factual actions for or against revolutionary primacy are contingent on the power of the Cuban state, the agency of the people and the alternatives deemed realistic. A closer examination of power relations in Cuban tourism provides interesting additions, for tourism and its socioeconomic consequences are embedded in power-laden structures and actor constellations. The examination of these structures is necessary for a thorough understanding of the underlying processes and configurations responsible for inequalities and transformations in the wake of tourism. Furthermore, considering the structures and interests in tourism, as well as its contexts, allows for a comprehensive interpretation of the ambivalent attitudes toward tourism and commodification. Likewise, tourism and tourist commodification are embedded in and conditioned by power relations. In future research on tourist commodification, particular interest ought to be paid to questions of power, of interests and of agency. Only in that way will it be possible to uncover who decides on what is commodifiable after all, and what is eventually commodified. In this regard, the present case of the commodification of the Cuban Revolution is noteworthy. In principle, it would be expected that powerful actors (in this instance the Cuban state) decide on the (non-)commodification of objects, thereby enforcing their interests. However, although the Cuban state has probably a very limited interest in the commodification of the Revolution for ideological reasons, the latter is thoroughly commodified in tourism. How is that possible? This question offers three possible answers. First, the assumption that powerful actors assert their interests regarding decisions on commodification might be wrong, albeit this seems implausible and has no empirical basis. Second, the Cuban state could be significantly less powerful than presumed. If so, despite its opposition to the com-

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modification of the Revolution, it would not be able to constrain this commodification effectively. This seems implausible as well. Third, in tolerating the commodification of the Revolution, the Cuban state, notwithstanding its abundance of power and its ability to impose its interests, might be bowing to the popular will of those who favour such commodification, mostly for economic reasons. This toleration of the commodification of the ideologically pivotal Revolution would thus be the consequence of a political balancing of interests. Following this line of thought, then, the Cuban leadership assesses the opportunity to acquire foreign currency through the commodification of the Revolution and to appease the Cubans engaged in tourism as being more reconcilable with its own goals than the preservation of the Revolution from its commercialisation in tourism. Put simply, the Cuban raison d’état apparently prefers economic and domestic stability over the ideological integrity of the Revolution. This third interpretation of the Revolution’s commodification being embedded in political interests seems presumptive. In another instance, the influence of power relations in Cuban tourism can be exemplified, since it is powerful actors, first and foremost the state and its officials, who control who can and who cannot partake in tourism, and in what way, through the granting of licences. Yet, the tentative formulations used in earlier deliberations indicate the need for the further inclusion of critical and poststructuralist perspectives in power-sensitive studies of the political economy of tourism and commodification. There are approaches to this issue (e. g. Bianchi 2018; Britton 1991; Nepal & Saarinen 2016; Reiner 2016), but these should be empirically substantiated and given further theoretical structure in the future. However, a purely structurally-oriented approach is not sufficient to comprehend fully Cubans’ assessment of tourism; instead, it requires translation to the individual level. Only the consideration of subjective perspectives, narratives and discursive positions enables an understanding of the impact of superordinate structures such as governmental politics on the subsidiary spatial and social scales – and how these are individually imbued with meaning. Likewise, only by analysing individual fates and perceptions is it possible to understand which positions, forces and interests flow into and shape multiscale discourses – and which positions and interests are oppressed or excluded, by whom and for what reason. The same applies to questions of individual and collective identities and the resources on which they are grounded. To explore the resources for Cuban identities, as well as for all other findings, the qualitative interviews conducted, and their interpretation via Grounded Theory, proved fruitful. The patterns noted in the discourses concerning postmodern influences suggest that neither socialism nor capitalism currently serve as robust foundations for Cuban identities, since the community of Cubans, hyperbolically termed a ‘society of vagabonds’, is losing many of the long-established securities and stabilities of revolutionary socialist modernity, without benefiting from the potential freedoms of postmodernity. Cuban postmodernity is only indirectly comparable

Socioeconomic and Political Realities of the Revolution

with Western postmodernity, in which case explanations for postmodern identity constructions designed for societies of the Global North are only partially applicable in Cuba. Indeed, Cuba faces challenges similar to those in some societies in the Global North  – diminishing labour market security, the dismantling of social systems and the demise of ideological superstructures. However, unlike most postmodern subjects in the Global North, Cubans must do without the liberating and creatively usable possibilities of postmodernity, brought about by globalisation, individualisation and space-time-compression, whereby the formation of truly postmodern identities is complicated, i. e. identities deliberately characterised by hybridity, in-betweens and contradictions. The reality of the Cuban Revolution and its socioeconomic and political structures permits such in-betweens and ambiguities, but only to a limited extent. Moreover, very few Cubans possess the means necessary to weave postmodern identity resources into their own identities in a meaningful way. The path to the liberties of postmodernity in terms of identity formation thus seems obstructed for many Cubans, while they are progressively expelled from the familiarity of revolutionary modernity. Colonial experiences seem to influence Cuban identities significantly, mostly insofar as they are regarded as having been overcome by the Revolution. In search of identity-forming support, many Cubans find stability in distinctly modern identity resources that often lack revolutionary and/or socialist connotations. On the one hand, these are apolitical domains, such as family or religion. On the other hand, Cubans’ preference to turn away from the Revolution is evident in the decisive role nationalism plays in their self-conception, since this often involves non-revolutionary nationalism excluding socialist elements almost completely. Due to blocked access to numerous postmodern identity resources, many Cubans hence turn to modern resources for identities: nation, religion and family. Ulrich Beck’s “zombies” (2001:262) continue to show themselves alive and kicking. This finding is particularly relevant for research on transformations in the Global South as well as for (post-)socialist studies, because while Cuba’s socialist regime ceaselessly sought to eliminate and suppress competing systems of identification (e. g. attachment to the family rather than to the collective, religious faith, identification with the nation instead of socialist internationalism), these identity resources are experiencing a renaissance. Moreover, they provide alternative structures, motivations and rationales, each of which offers support and orientation and which, for many Cubans, the Revolution must regard as being in competition with its own comprehensive claim as prime foundation for identity formation. As this research demonstrates, identities, their spatial manifestations and their spatial efficacy can be fruitfully analysed and interpreted through human geographic and social scientific theories and methods. Geography’s theoretical understanding on spatial practices and their metamorphosis as expressions of socioeconomic transformation is especially helpful in this regard. Furthermore, even though questions of individual and collective identity seem to be firmly anchored in sociology and psychology,

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geography can make valuable conceptual contributions through its spatial orientation. This includes the reciprocal influences of spaces and identities, whereby the transformation of the one is often reflected in the appearance of the other. Recognising that spaces constitute, shape and reflect identities underscores the further demand for geographic perspectives in the deeply transdisciplinary questions about identity. Considering its remarkable ability to adjust to adverse circumstances and to integrate positions and elements that at first appear contrary to its very own ideology, the orientation of many Cubans towards modern identity resources by no means heralds the end of the Cuban Revolution. Indeed, in the past, it has demonstrated its ability to facilitate fundamental transformations – and its willingness to undertake them. Both the scope of this ability to transform and the will to change are impressive, even if, in the eyes of many Cubans, these transformations often proceed far too slowly. In fact, the end of the Cuban Revolution as we know it may be imminent – or has already begun. If the Revolution wishes to ensure its survival in the medium term, it will have to embrace the new old resources of Cuban identity, alongside essential economic and socio-political reforms. In any case, radically suppressing these identity resources is unrealistic in the long run, as experiences with collectivism and state-imposed atheism have shown. These modern identity resources – nation, religion, family – as well as a certain longing for capitalist practices and structures reappear in Cuba like sunken ships in a desiccating lake: even though they were not visible under the water’s surface for a long time, they were ever there. The revolutionary fight for life and death between past and future (Castro Ruz 1961e), cited in the epigraph, hence continues to rage in Cuba. However, unlike in 1961, it is not always obvious whether the Revolution is fighting for the future or for the past.

Epilogue

During the ride to Havana’s José Martí International Airport, I review my impressions of the three field campaigns in Cuba. I have had the opportunity to talk with many people over the past three years, to immerse myself in different living environments and to learn about different perspectives on the Revolution, its commodification and tourism. While I am absorbed in my thoughts, Pedro, the driver, steers the taxi from Zapata to the left and onto Avenida Carlos Manuel de Cespedes. All of a sudden, the Monumento a José Martí comes into view on the left. The colossal white stone tower had captivated me since the evening of my first arrival in Havana. Soon after, we pass by Plaza de La Revolución. I recline in my seat to catch a better view of the scenery unfolding there. On the eastern side of the square, arrayed neatly, stands an armada of tour buses and private cabs. An incessant stream of tourists pours between them and the Ministry of the Interior. With their cameras and smartphones drawn, they gather in front of the giant portrait of Che Guevara, taking candid shots and posing for selfies. The Cuban guides and drivers stand by their vehicles, smoking, waiting. As suddenly as it had appeared, Plaza de La Revolución has already passed by. I turn around on the back seat and try to get another glimpse of the Ministry of the Interior, the Che portrait and the ‘Hasta La Victoria Siempre’ writing [Always until victory] through the taxi’s rear window. Yet the bulky Palacio de la Revolución obstructs the view. I turn to Pedro, whom I have known for a while, and ask him, “What do you think, does tourism in Cuba erode Revolution and socialism?” He replies, “You think too much in black and white. The thing is that life in Cuba is tough. People want to live in dignity, they want to have their income, but without being dependent, we refuse neo-colonial conditions. And we are working on that. But in Cuba, neither socialism nor capitalism work. So, we have to take the best of both and combine them. Which is difficult, because you cannot lean too much to one side or the other. Socialism, capitalism, Revolution … I don’t know … As with everything in life, some balance is required.” I turn back again to the rear window. Plaza de La Revolución is now far behind us. Only José Martí’s pristine tower still shines brightly in the setting Havana sun.

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Year of birth

1987

1990

1977

1990

1991

1988

1965

1991

1990

1986

1966

1975

Abbreviation

1Hav

2Hav

3Hav

4Hav

5Hav

6Hav

7Hav

8Hav

9Hav

10SdC

11SdC

12SdC

m

m

m

f

f

m

m

m

m

f

m

m

Sex

Tour guide

Tour guide (unofficial)

Tour guide

Tour guide

Customer service at travel agency

Selling cigars (illegal)

Tour guide

Tour guide

Selling used books

Horse carriages

Tour guide

Tour guide

Occupation

Santiago de Cuba

Santiago de Cuba

Santiago de Cuba

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Place of interview

Appendix: Information on Interview Partners

unk.

unk.

4 years

1 year

unk.

16 years

7 years

6 months

3 years

12–13 years

4 month

unk.

Works in tourism since

Teacher (IHK in Germany)

Teacher

Linguist (English, German)

Linguist (French, Italian, Portuguese)

Philosophy

unk.

Germanist

Germanist

Lawyer

Studied Spanish Literature (w/o degree)

Teacher

Studied English, worked as Interpreter for TV

Professional ­Qualification

01.04.2017

30.03.2017

29.03.2017

06.03.2017

04.03.2017

04.03.2017

02.03.2017

01.03.2017

28.02.2017

26.02.2017

26.02.2017

25.02.2017

Date of interview

Year of birth

1989

1961

1975

1992

1985

1989

1954

1980

1983

1947

1992

1948

1956

Abbreviation

13SdC

14SdC

15SdC

16SdC

17SdC

18Tri

19Tri

20Tri

21Tri

22Hav

23Hav

24Hav

25Mat

m

m

m

m

f

m

m

f

m

f

m

f

f

Sex

Fisherman

Owner of casa particular

Tour guide

Tour guide

Service at museum

Owner of casa particular

Takes photos with tourists

Tour guide

Taxi driver

Selling tourist merchandise/souvenirs

Tour guide

Service at museum

Maintenance of casa particular (not owner)

Occupation

Matanzas

Centro Habana

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Trinidad

Trinidad

Trinidad

Trinidad

Santiago de Cuba

Santiago de Cuba

Santiago de Cuba

Santiago de Cuba

Santiago de Cuba

Place of interview

Does not work in tourism

unk.

10 months

5 years

5 years

1 month

unk.

5 years

unk.

unk.

24 years

33 years

2 years

Works in tourism since

Fisherman

Engineer

Information Science Student

Professor of History

Studied Social Sciene (w/o degree)

Cashier (Bank), Construction Worker

unk.

Linguist

Dentist

Linguist

Teacher

unk.

Architect

Professional ­Qualification

16.08.2017

13.08.2017

12.08.2017

11.08.2017

15.04.2017

14.04.2017

12.04.2017

12.04.2017

08.04.2017

07.04.2017

05.04.2017

04.04.2017

02.04.2017

Date of interview

480 Appendix: Information on Interview Partners

Year of birth

1978

1960

1971

1970

1992

1984

1973

1988

1993

1997

1998

1980

1998

Abbreviation

26Hav

27Hav

28Hav

29Hav

30Hav

31Hav

32Hav

33Hav

34Hav

35Hav

36Hav

37Tri

38Hav

f

m

f

m

m

m

m

m

m

m

m

m

f

Sex

Tour guide

Owner of casa particular

Tour guide

Tour guide

Manager of Cuban branch of an intl. tour operator

Tour guide

Tour guide

Tour guide

Student

History Professor

Taxi driver

Selling used books

Horse carriages

Occupation

Habana Vieja

Trinidad

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Habana Vieja

Place of interview

2 years

2 years

2 years

7 months

4 years

unk.

3 years

13 months

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

unk.

unk.

12–13 years

Works in tourism since

Spanish Literature Student

Cashier (Bank), Construction Worker

Language Science Student

Economics Student

Computer Scientist

Lawyer

Librarian

Information Scientist

Student

History Professor

Engineer

Mechanical ­Engineer

Studied Foreign Languages (w/o degree)

Professional ­Qualification

03.04.2019

28.03.2019

13.03.2019

08.03.2019

07.03.2019

05.03.2019

05.03.2019

04.03.2019

02.03.2019

27.02.2019

03.09.2017

21.08.2017

20.08.2017

Date of interview

Appendix: Information on Interview Partners

481

Year of birth

1935

1936

1962

1963

2007

1969

1950

1962

1971

Abbreviation

39UdR

40UdR

41UdR

42UdR

43UdR

44UdR

45UdR

46UdR

47UdR

f

f

f

f

f

f

f

m

f

Sex

Librarian (plus private business, rents house)

Librarian (plus private business, sells food)

Retired (plus private business, sells ceramics)

Retired (due to illness)

Pupil

Accountant (Public health service)

Accountant (CUPET, Waterworks)

Retired (welder, mechanic)

Retired (housewife)

Occupation

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Unión de Reyes

Place of interview

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Works in tourism since

Librarian

Librarian

Worked at ice-cream factory before

Worked in several jobs (in a veterinarian pharmacy, pest control)

unk.

Social Pedagogue

Industrial Engineer

Welder

None

Professional ­Qualification

09.04.2019

09.04.2019

09.04.2019

05.04.2019

05.04.2019

05.04.2019

04.04.2019

04.04.2019

04.04.2019

Date of interview

482 Appendix: Information on Interview Partners

Year of birth

1996

1973

1981

1961

Abbreviation

48UdR

49Mat

50Mat

51Mat

m

m

f

f

Sex

Mechanic

Artist

Artist, Personal Coach, Healer

Librarian

Occupation

Matanzas

Matanzas

Matanzas

Unión de Reyes

Place of interview

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Does not work in tourism

Works in tourism since

Vehicle Mechanic

Was doing manual labour at the former workshop in Unión de Reyes

Economist

Librarian (not graduaded, yet)

Professional ­Qualification

10.04.2019

10.04.2019

10.04.2019

09.04.2019

Date of interview

Appendix: Information on Interview Partners

483

Index



General Keywords

26th of July Movement s. Movimiento 26 de Julio Abduction (Method) 250 f., 313, 408, 426 Abolition 144 f. Abstraction (Principle of Commodification) 106–108, 130, 389, 396, 401 Adolescence 184 Afro-Cubans 144, 146, 206–209, 362, 423 Agency – and Cuban Identity 410, 416 f. – and Postcolonial Identities 72 f. – and the Cuban Revolution 194, 382, 439 – in Tourist Commodification 118, 120, 439 Agrarian Reform 160, 168–170 Ajiaco 141 f., 423 Alegality 256, 282, 409 Alienability (Principle of Commodification) 129, 397 Alienation 107, 182, 233, 396, 409–414, 424, 430, 435 f. Ambivalence 52, 223, 261–273, 311 f., 379, 414, 439 Americanisation 158 Amigismo 217–219 Anti-Americanism 172 Anti-Imperialism 144, 176 f., 179, 410 Apathy 437 Asamblea Constituyente 150 Authenticity – in Tourism 115–120, 229, 245 f. – of Cuban Identities 340, 363

– of the Cuban Revolution 242, 352, 359 f., 386, 396 Authoritarianism 155, 327 Balsero Crisis 204 Batalla de Ideas (Battle of Ideas) 209 f., 232 Belonging 22, 39, 54, 75, 89 f., 184, 186 Binary Opposition (Deconstructivism) 77–80, 83, 95, 248 Black Market Activities 139, 200, 205, 215 Blogosphere 178 Bourgeois Revolutionaries (Nature of Relationshipwith the Revolution) 407–409 Bourgeoisie 71, 142, 153 f., 169, 171, 181 Brain Drain 215 f., 269, 280, 379, 423 Buena Vista Social Club 114, 242, 391 Capitalism 394, 440 – and Colonialism 70 – and Commodification 101–104, 106, 108 f., 429 f. – and Labour 106 – and Neoliberalism 110 – and Tourism 23, 115–117 – Critique of Capitalism in Cuba 297–303, 412 f. – in Martíanism 146 f. – in Revolutionary Cuba 203, 283–293, 383 f., 437 – Influence on Modern Identities 49 Capitalist Practices 21, 92, 113, 116, 282–291, 391, 394, 437, 442

486

Index

Casa Particular del Aquiler – and Income 215, 229, 263, 278 – and Touristification 270 f. – Illegal Offers 205 – Introduction 202 – Share in Tourism Market 230 Castristas 145, 168 f., 175, 179 f., 187, 196, 228 Catholic Church in Cuba 208 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) 172 Centralisation 145, 175 Chavismo 147 Christianity 208 Citizenship 184, 186 Coding in Grounded Theory 251–253 Collectivisation s. Nationalisation of Enterprises Colonialism – Coloniality 50, 72 – in Cuba 136–144, 149, 217, 268 f., 314, 441 – Influence on Identities 50, 69–76, 441 Comités de Defensa de la Revolución (CDRs) 174, 206, 353 f., 392 Commercialisation 24, 116–118, 362, 366 f., 374, 384, 405, 440 Commodification – and Alienation 124, 128–131, 396–399, 432 f. – as an Expression of Altered Identities 432 f. – as Heuristic Proxy 25, 400, 403 f., 431, 435 – as Re-Interpretation 118, 120, 401–402, 425, 435 – Assessment of Tourist Commodification 371, 374, 402–411, 434 f. – A-typical 398 f. – Effect on Identities 125–128, 374–375, 382, 395–400, 424, 432 f. – in Cuba 348–353 – in Socialism 112–114 – in Tourism 114–128, 435, 439 – of Everything 110 f. – of Intangible Resources 108, 110 f., 119, 122–124, 399 – of Natural Resources 109 f. – Performative 115, 240–246, 351, 390 – Spatial Manifestations 132–135, 392, 434 – Typical 398 Commodity 101–109 – as Subjective Construction 400, 406, 428, 435

– Commodity Form 102, 104 f., 124, 348–350, 353, 357–361, 385, 389 f., 392, 410, 433 – Unusual Commodity 433 Commons 110 f., 384, 430 – Cultural Common 110, 387–390, 433 Communism 50 f., 172, 183, 186, 221, 242, 268, 293, 295, 298–302, 325, 346 Conciencia 182 f. Conformists & Reformists (Nature of Relationship with the Revolution) 407 f. Conquistas de la Revolución 179–189, 198, 213, 216, 266 (fn 12), 289–293, 297, 331, 333–337, 437 – Education 149, 155, 169, 179, 189, 198 f., 266, 269, 291 f., 300, 437 – Health Services 179 f., 187–189, 199, 210, 213, 216, 266, 269 f., 273, 289–294, 297, 300, 334–336, 384 – Housing 179, 198 f. – Welfare in General 171, 179, 188 f., 210, 270, 293, 383 f., 409, 411, 437 Constitution, Cuban – of 1901 150 f. – of 1940 155 f., 159 f., 162 f., 168 – of 1976 207 – of 2019 22, 144, 173, 193, 221 f., 302 Corruption 153, 155 f., 162, 211, 216, 224, 226, 270, 290, 312, 332 Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (COMECON) 171 f., 189 f., 196, 198 f., 225 Coup d’état 157 COVID-19 201 (fn 62), 234 f. Crime 156, 159, 174 f., 205, 304 f., 309, 312 Criollos 140 f., 143, 153 Crisis in Cuba 194 – and Religion 209, 422 – and Tourism 223, 226 f., 270, 312 – Balsero Crisis 404 f. – Crises during the Período Especial 196– 199, 203, 206, 210 – Decay of Sugar Industry (1920 s) 153 f., 158 Crude Oil 169, 196, 204 Cruise Tourism 231, 236, 307, 344 Cuba Libre 137, 142 Cuban Republic 137, 146, 150–161, 332 Cuban Revolution s. Revolution Cubanacan S. A. 225 Cubanía 137, 410

General Keywords

Cubanidad 29, 114, 118, 137 (fn 3), 141–143, 209, 224, 241, 245, 314 CUC s. Peso Convertible Cuentapropismo (Private Business, Trabajo por cuenta propia) 337, 407–409, 424, 436 f. – and Future Outlooks 383 – and Inequality 344 f., 411, 424 – Assessment of 274–285, 300 f. – Exploitation in 289 – Income from 214 f., 234, 311 – Introduction and Extension 202 f., 212, Culture – as Identity Resource 86–88 – Cuban 213, 232, 246, 315, 339–341, 345, 391, 401 – Cultural Identification in Postmodernity – Subjective and Objective 87 f. CUP s. Peso Cubano Danza de los Millones 154 Deconstructivism 77–80, 83 Deduction 251 Degrowth 438 f. Delayed Gratification 50, 410 f. Democracy in Cuba 149 f., 153, 156–159, 168, 173, 182, 217 f., 221 Destratification of Society 188 Development 268, 283, 346 – Alternative Developmental Path 210 – Economic Development in Cuba 143, 202, 222, 381 – Through Cuentapropismo 277, 283 – Tourism Development in Cuba 225, 228, 234–240 – US Influence 137 Dictatorship 151, 217 f., 296, 332–334 – Cuban Revolution as Dictatorship 301, 325 – of Batista 158–161 – of Machado 154 Discourse 248 f. – and Cuban Identities 136 f., 440 – and Gender 97 – and Identity Formation 21, 39, 75, 385 – and Nations 81 – and Power 42, 75 f., 79 f. – on the Commodification of the Revolution 366, 394, 432

– Role in Colonisation Processes 69 f. Discrimination 207, 268, 304–309, 333, 376, 380, 401 Disillusioned Economic Pragmatists 404 f., 408 Disparities – Socioeconomic 22, 146, 162, 188, 224, 232, 376, 379–382 – Spatial 379, 381, 438 – Urban-rural 380 Displacement (Principle of Commodification) 126, 131 f., 395, 398 f. Displacement of Population 233, 382 Dispossession 168–170, 189 Economic Policy, Cuban 296, 412, 436 – of the 1990 s 200–205 – of the 2010 s 211–213, 262 Ecotourism 116 (fn 8), 129, 233 (fn 9) Education 60, 86 – Cuban Education System 149, 155, 169, 179, 189, 198 f., 266, 269, 291 f., 300, 437 – to Foster Revolutionary Conscience 173, 179–187 Egality 189, 214, 218, 281, 318, 376, 411 Elections 149 f., 152–157, 162, 218 Elite – Cuban 140, 143, 150, 153, 158, 163, 168, 215 – Role in Nation-Building 81–85 Embargo, Economic – and Tourism 224 – Cubans’ Assessment 296, 303, 318, 336, 409 – Introduction 169, 173, 175 – Partial Dismantling under President Obama 216 f. – Tightening 199 Embeddedness 37, 42, 83, 114, 164–167, 245, 353, 386, 400 Enlightenment 43–46 Epistemology, Constructivist 39, 252 Epistemology, Poststructuralist 247 f. Equality 169, 177, 188 f., 193, 232, 284, 292 f., 411, 415 Escapism 313, 315–317 Ethnicity (Identity Resource) (Race (Identity Resource)) 93–95, 315, 423 f. Exploitation 94, 106 Exports, Cuban 138, 140, 190, 203, 212, 240

487

488

Index

Family Networks 192, 201, 206, 214 f., 290, 381, 417, 441 f. Farmers Markets (Peasant Markets) 191 f., 195, 212 Feminism 72, 97 Fetishism 87, 107–109, 112, 245 f., 289, 391, 400, 428 Feudalism 45–48, 81, 140 Fidelista 176, 218, 329 Fierce Sceptics & Critics of the Revolution (Nature of Relationship with the Revolution) 407, 409 Foreign Currency (Foreign Exchange) 113 f. – and Commodification of the Revolution 384–386, 394, 440 – and Socioeconomic Stratification 214–216 – from Foreign Investments 203–205 – from International Tourism 201, 215, 224, 226–228, 234–236, 238, 384–386, 440 – Need to Earn Foreign Currency 200, 226 f., 273 Foreign Exchange s. Foreign Currency Foreign Investments 202 f., 212, 215, 217, 225– 227, 270 f. Foundation Myth 84 f., 163–168, 175 Fragmentation 22, 43, 46, 54, 56, 58 f., 67, 92, 415 f. Freedom and Identity Formation 98–99 Freedom in Cuba 156–158, 164, 175, 193 f., 207, 211, 222, 331–333, 424 – of Assembly 156, 158 – of Press 178 f. Frustration 171, 206, 280, 353, 412 f., 419, 424, 436, 439 Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias (FAR) 173, 178, 220 Future – Role in Identity Formation 49 f., 59–63, 84 – Cubans’ Visions of 233, 269, 275, 309–312, 317, 383, 409–411, 437 f., 442 Gangsterismo 156 f. Gaviota S. A. 225 Gender (Identity Resource) 22, 29, 65, 76–78, 95–103 Glasnost 195 f. Global North 24

– and Tourist Commodification 120 – Identity Formation 401, 419, 441 – Intersectionality 97 – Relations to the Global South 103, 126 Global South 24 – and International Tourism 119, 126, 390, 438 – and Racism 94 – Intersectionality 97 – Relations to the Global North 103 – Scientific Work in the Global South 72 – Social Transformations in the Global South 441 Globalisation 43, 53–56, 102, 119, 341, 414 f., 425, 441 Glocalisation 56 Gran Legión del Aguila Negra Conspiracy 143 Gran Zafra 191 Granma (Yacht) 161 f., 220 Great Depression 154 Grito de Yara 144, 167 Gross Domestic Product (GDP) 198, 236, 238 f. Grounded Theory 29, 247–254, 425 f. Guerrilla Warfare 161, 167 Guerrillero Heroico 244 f. Guerrita de Agosto 152 Guerrita de Negros 153 Habitus 53, 87, 96, 194 f., 387 Hegemony 69 f., 72 f., 209 f., 394, 426 (fn 23) Helms-Burton Act 199 Heritage 69, 110, 118, 121, 126 f., 209, 242, 394–396 Heroism 177, 183, 193, 210 Hershey 154 Heuristics 25, 400, 435 Hombre Nuevo (New Man) 181–185, 191, 232, 410 Hotels in Cuba – as Marker of Touristification 270–272 – as Sites of Discrimination 305–307, 309, 381 – Challenges 232 – Development 226 f., 233 – under Control of US Mobsters 158 Humility 173, 313, 318–320, 326 Hybridisation 74, 76, 401 Hyperreality 88, 385, 390 f., 434 f.

General Keywords

Identity 35 f. – as a Patchwork 66, 421 – as Essentialism 36–38, 45 f., 65 – Collective 22, 35, 44 f., 81, 87, 89, 382, 394 – Crisis 31, 86, 90, 396 – Do-It-Yourself 65–68 – Individual 35, 39, 43–47, 55 f., 57 f., 65, 324, 385 – Modern 45–51, 58 – National 81–86, 176, 420 – Postcolonial 69–76, 420 – Postmodern 51–68, 440 f. – Pre-modern 43–45 – Relational Character 77–81, 99 – Resources for 22 f., 76–97 – Social 37–41 Identity Formation 29,35 – Actantial 41 f. – and Creativity 66–68, 401 f. – Discursive 40–43 – in the Pre- and Unconscious 29 f., 313 – Performative 40 – Social-Interactionist 37–40, 128 – through Distinction 77–81, 87 – through Othering 83 Ideological Apparatus of State 86, 178 Idolisation 175, 329 f. Ifá 208, 422 Illiteracy s. Literacy Imagined Communities 81–83, 382 Imperialism 147, 172, 176 f., 196, 210 Imports, Cuban 173, 196–198, 203 f. Income of Cubans – Disparities 188 f., 201, 214–216, 274, 379, 418 – from Cuentapropismo 274–276, 284 – from Tourism 229, 264–266, 274, 284, 418 – in Foreign Currency 205 f. Independence 133, 142–151, 162 f., 314 f., 333 Indigenous Population, Cuban 71 (fn 25), 138 Individualisation 53 f., 98, 414 f., 425 Individualism s. Individualisation Individuation (Principle of Commodification) 129 f., 389 Individuum, Historical Formation of 43–48 Indoctrination 174, 181, 184, 412 Induction 258, 260

Inequality in Cuba 146–148, 222, 232, 268, 280 f., 344 f., 384, 438 f. Inflation 162, 200 f. Infrastructure, Cuban 149, 197–199, 205, 233 Instituto Nacional de la Industria Turística (INIT) 224 (fn 2) Instituto Nacional de Turismo (INTUR) 225 Interdependence, Political 172 Internationalism 179, 190, 192 Intersectionality 96 f. Interviews, Semi-structured 248 f. Investors, International 202, 212 f., 271 Joint Product 122 f., 387 Joint Ventures 202 f., 212–215, 225 f. Kolkhoze 168 La Lucha 183, 209, 313, 317 f., 352 Labour in Commodification Theory – Emotional Labour 124, 386 – Ideological-emotional Labour 386 – Immaterial Labour 122 f., 125, 387 f. – Socially Necessary Labour 106, 108, 121– 123, 125, 388 – Unproductive Labour 122, 387 Labour in Postmodernity 52 f., 57, 422–424, 437, 441 Levantamiento Armado de los Independientes de Color 153 Libreta 266, 294, 437 Literacy (Illiteracy) 179, 183–185, 334 Loyal Souvenir Shop Missionaries 404 f. M-26-7 s. Movimiento 26 de Julio Mambises 144 f., 153 Manifesto de Sierra Maestra 162 Mapping 258 f., 355–361, 385 Marginalisation 72 f., 96 f., 189, 214–216, 230, 407–409, 411, 413 Marginalised Revolutionaries (Nature of Relationship with the Revolution) 407–409 Mariel Boatlift 192 Market Economy 213, 222, 299, 326, 383 f., 413, 437 Marketisation 117, 119, 242 f., 366, 368, 397, 421 Martíanism 71 (fn 22), 177

489

490

Index

Marxism-Leninism 91, 173, 176–179, 181, 193, 301 Mass Organisations 173–175, 178, 355, 357 f., 360 Materialism, Economic 206, 232, 342–345 Materiality of Commodification 122, 353, 376 McDonaldization of Culture 55, 119, 228 Means of Production 169, 222 Media 88, 98, 121, 178, 209, 322, 341, 382, 388 Migration 55, 75, 141, 170 f., 192, 204, 206, 209, 254, 298, 326, 381, 421 Missile Crisis 189 Mixed Methods 247, 250 Modernisation 87, 149, 158, 199, 203 Modernity 38, 43–51, 55–57, 59, 61, 81 f., 86, 88, 99, 415 Modernity, Socialist 243, 419, 440 f. Money Form 107 f., 131 Movimiento 26 de Julio (M-26-7, 26th of July Movement) 159 f., 162 f., 176 (fn 41), 218, 220, 353 Mural 165 f., 353, 355 f., 359 Museums – as Places of Multi-purpose Reproductions of the Revolution 355, 382, 391 – as Tools to Create Revolutionary ­Consciousness 175, 321, 332 – as Tourist Attractions in Cuba 242 f., 369, 371 – Role in Commodification 123, 126, 351–353, 388 Nation (Identity Resource) 81–86 Nation State 54, 81, 83, 85 f., 154, 205, 419 National Consciousness 81, 137, 139, 142–150 National Literacy Campaign (of 1961) 185 f. National Security Council (NSC) 172 National Sugar Refining Co. 154 Nationalisation of Enterprises (Collectivisation) 168 f., 173, 185, 191 Nationalism 81 f., 85–87, 94, 143 – Cuban 176, 179, 186 f., 209, 220, 323 f. – Cuban National Heroes 144–146, 164–167, 175, 192, 242 f., 329–331, 366–368, 420 – Non-revolutionary Cuban 419–421, 441 – Proto-Nationalism 143 Neo-Colonialism 97, 268 f. Neoliberalism 23, 52, 109–112, 129, 209, 384, 426 (fn 23)

New Man s. Hombre Nuevo Nomad (Postmodern Identity Type) 59 f., 416 Normativity 101, 428–430 Nostalgia 241 f., 245, 420 Nuestra América 146 f. Objectification 24, 107 f. Oficina del Historiador de la Habana 225 f. Ontology, Realist 248 Orientalism 69 f., 74, 76, 241 Othering 83 Paladares 202, 205, 229, 275, 286 f. Partido Auténtico 156 Partido Comunista de Cuba (PCC, Communist Party of Cuba) 211, 213 f. – and Consolidation of Political Power 218 f., 414, 439 – and Tourism 240 – Founding of the Party 190 f. – in the Cuban Constitution 222 – Party Membership and Religious Faith 207, 209 – Raúl Castro as First Secretary 220 Partido del Pueblo Cubano – Ortodoxos (PPC-O, Partido Ortodoxo) 157 Patria 177 (fn 42) 194, 207 (fn 64), 220 (fn 70 f.), 221, 227 (fn 6), 367 (fn 157) Patria o Muerte 167 Patriarchism 72, 95–97 Patriotism 139, 144, 147, 172, 177, 193, 323 f., Peasant Markets s. Farmers Market Perestroika 195 f. Período Especial (Special Period) 22 – and Religion 207–209, 422 – and Restratification of Society 214 f. – and Tourism 223, 225–227, 234, 238 – Announcement 197 – in Cuban Collective Memory 305, 317 f., 380 – Socioeconomic Repercussions 197–199, 204–209, 230, 305, 410, 413, 417 – Subsequent Reforms 200–203, 275 Peso Convertible (CUC) 200 f., 205, 215, 264–266, 276, 308, 311, 350, 373 Peso Cubano (CUP) 200 f., 215, 264 f. Pilgrim (Modern Identity Type) 49 f., 57–61, 411

General Keywords

Platt Amendment 150 f., 155, 163 Player (Postmodern Identity Type) 64, 416 f. Pluralisation 55–57, 90, 96, 425 Polarisation 112, 175, 381, 383 Politicisation 82, 155 Populism 155, 159 Positionality 425–428 Postmodernity 22 – and Postcoloniality 73 f. – in Cuba 410, 414–420, 422 f., 425, 440 f. – Influence on Culture as Identity Resource 88, 119 – Influence on Identities 38, 50–68, 98 f. – Influence on Religion as Identity Resource 89 – Influence on Social Relationships as Identity Resource 91 f. – Influence on Traditions 84 Poststructuralism 26, 36 f., 72 f., 133, 247 f., 440 Poverty 139, 146, 179 Power 23 (fn 4), 79 f. – and Commodification 394 – and Gender Identities 95 f. – and Identity in General 21, 56, 75 f., 424 – and Knowledge 72, 79 f., 180 – and Nationalism 84–86 – and Racialisation 93 f. – and Tourism 23, 124, 126 f., 224, 439 – Concentration of Power in Cuba 191, 200, 205, 380, 416 f., 439 f. – Governmental Power in Revolutionary Cuba 174 f., 217 f., 382 f., 425 – Relations 37, 39, 42, 68, 79, 103 180, 192, 336, 388 (fn 11), 400, 439 Precaristas 146 Pride 184, 207, 291 f., 322–324, 326 f., 331, 333, 337, 346, 372, 420 Private Business s. Cuentapropismo Privatisation (Principle of Commodification) 109 f., 129, 389 f., 433 Production of Cuba in Tourism 240–246 Production of Space 124, 132–135, 258, 392– 394, 435 Prostitution 205, 224, 232, 270, 312 Protest of Baraguá 145 Qualitative Research Design 26, 247–250 Quinquenio Gris 192

Race (Identity Resource) s. Ethnicity (Identity Resource) Racism – and Distinction 85, 94 – in Cuba 150, 153, 206 f., 423 Ravelization 173, 178 Real Estate Market 212, 216 Rectificación 195 Reforms 179 – Agrarian 160, 168 – Demand for 295–297, 407–409, 436 – Economic Reforms under Raúl Castro 210–214, 216 – Market-oriented Reforms of the 1990 s 200–207 – Monetary Reform of 1994 200 f. – Monetary Reform of 2020/2021 215 f., 222 Regimes of Value 118, 406, 415 Religion – as Identity Resource 46, 50, 88–91, 419 – in Cuba 207–209, 362, 419, 421 f., 441 – in Socialist Theory 90 f. Remittances 201, 207, 214–216 Resources for Identities s. Identity Resources Restratification, Socioeconomic 213–216 Revolution (Cuban Revolution) 192–195, 325 f. – Adaptability/Flexibility 177 f., 194, 431 – Alienation from 397–400, 402 f., 409–414, 421, 424, 432–436 – Armed Struggle (159–163) – as Identity Resource 163–168, 320–324, 327–331, 345–347, 395–400, 404–406 – Critique 336 f., 407–410 – Fluid Capacity 194, 442 – of 1933 154 f. – Permanent 193 – Role in Contemporary Cuba 436–442 – Triumph (1959) 163 Revolutionary Commodification Critics 404 f. Revolutionary Consciousness 167 f., 175–179, 210 Revolutionary Legacies 242, 392–394 Revolutionary Spaces 385, 391–393 – Genuine Revolutionary Spaces 391 – Simulated Spaces of the Revolution 391 Revolutionary Values s. Values, Revolutionary Roles, Social 39 f.

491

492

Index

Sacrifice 164, 167, 175, 182, 192 f., 219, 243, 298 Sampling 251–254, 427 Santería 114, 142 (fn 9), 208 f., Scales 21 f., 249, 440 Scarcity in Cuba 229, 232, 318 Segregation 304–309, 381 f. Self, the 47 f., 58, 65–68, 98 f., 425 Self-consciousness 22, 40 Self-employment s. Cuentapropismo Sense of Self 184, 249 Signifier 78, 360, 391 Simulacrum (Space, Simulated) 78, 88, 119 f., 389–391 Simulation 88, 118–121, 126 f., 389, 435 Sino-Gueravismo 173 Slavery – and Postcolonial Identities 75 f. – in Cuba 138–140, 144–146, 209, 268 Social Practice 114, 132–135, 233 f., 411 Social Relations 39–41, 54 f., 108 f., 133–135 Social Relationships (Identity Resource) 91–93, 417 f. Socialism – and Commodification 112–114 – and Cuentapropismo 202 f., 283 f. – in Cuba 168f, 171–182, 188–197, 209 f., 291– 302, 325 f., 412 f., 437, 440 – Tourists’ Interest in 242 f., 245 Socialist Consciousness 168, 172 f., 175–179, 192, 210 Soles y Rayos de Bolívar Conspiracy 143 Solidarity – as Cuban Trait 313, 318–320 – as Revolutionary Value 193, 221, 321, 411 – Being Lost 233, 342 f., 380 – Pan-American 147 Son Cubano 142 (fn 9) Space 132–135 – and Commodification in Tourism 115 f., 124 f., 271–273, 355–360, 385, 390–393, 434 – and Identity 36, 338, 441 f. – Discursive 25, 431 f. – Physical-Material 434 – Public Space in Cuba 178, 273, 340 – Representation of 134 – Representational 134, 391 f. – Simulated s. Simulacrum

– Social 87, 133 f., 392 Spaces of Revolutionary Tourism 385, 434 Spanish-American War 148 f. Spatial Practice 134, 385, 434, 441 Spatial Transformation 271, 380–381, 391, 434 Special Period s. Período Especial Spectacle 119–121, 381 f., 434 State Capitalism 113 Stereotypes in Tourism 114, 372 f. Stroller (Postmodern Identity Type) 61, 416 f. Structuralism 78 Structures of Meaning 29, 250 f., 419 Subalternity 72–74, 401 Subjectivation 42, 168 Subject-Object-Relations 435 f. Sugar – and Slavery 150 – Cultivation and Harvest 140, 191 – Economic Significance 140, 168 f., 227 – Mill 153 f., 168 – Industry 140, 142, 145, 153 f., 156, 270 Symbolic Interactionism 37 f., 40–43 Symbolisms 133 f., 358 Taxes 276, 278 Thaw 171 Theoretical Sampling in Grounded Theory 252–254 Theoretical Saturation 248, 253 f. Third Space 73 f., 76 Time-Space Structure 49, 54–56, 59 Tobacco 138–142 Torricelli Act 199 Tourism in Cuba, Domestic 236 Tourism in Cuba, International 201, 203 – Assessment by Cubans 261–274, 285, 303– 312, 379–385, 438 – Boom 234–240 – Concerns 226 f., 231–234, 379–381, 439 – Hotspots 206, 216, 267, 342, 390, 415, 438 – Influence on Identities 337–347 – Pre-1990 224–226 – Pre-Revolutionary 158 f. – Revenue 238 – Socioeconomic Effects 205, 214–216, 226 f., 303–312 Tourism Studies 126, 250, 432

Persons

Tourismscape 132 f., 381 Tourist (Postmodern Identity Type) 62 f., 416 f. Tourist Arrivals 158, 234–238, 262 Tourist Bubble 228 f., 310 Tourist Commodification s. Commodification in Tourism Tourist Gaze 121, 242–245, 401, 435 Tourist Imagination 241–243, 245 f., 390, 435 Touristification 216, 224, 230–232, 270–273 Trabajo por cuenta propia s. Cuentapropismo Trade, Cuban 198 – with COMECON 196 – with Spain 138–140 – with the US 170, 173 f. – with the USSR 196 Tradition 54 f., 98 – Fear for Loss in Cuba 321, 338 f., 421 – Invention of 79 f. Tranquillity 290, 292, 336 Transculturación 141 Transformation 22, 436 – Postsocialist 196–207, 209–222, 409, 442 – Socialist 171, 180 f., 328 – Socioeconomic Transformation in Cuba 22, 25 f., 145, 204, 213, 228, 240, 311, 379–381 – Spatial 380, 434 Treaty of Paris 149, 151 Underdevelopment 70, 82 (fn 31), 94, 179, 183, 186 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) 233

US-Cuba relations s. United States of America USS Maine 148 Vagabond (Postmodern Identity Type) 60–63, 415–419 Valuation (Principle of Commodification) 117, 130 f., 396–400, 405, 430 Value in Commodification Theory – Exchange-Value 105–108, 112 f., 121, 386–388, 396–400, 402, 405 f., 430 – Existence-Value 131, 386 – Sentimental-Value 131 (fn 12), 386 – Sign-Value 120 f. – Use-Value 105–108, 112 f., 119, 121–125, 128, 130 f., 134, 387–389, 396–400, 405 f., 430, 434 Vanguardia 167 Voluntarism 173, 190, 192, 195, 283, 322, 410, 420 War of Independence 144, 148 – Guerra Chiquita (Little War) 143, 145 – Guerra de 1895 (Guerra Necesaria) 143, 153 – Guerra de los Diez Años (Guerra Grande) 143, 145 Wealth Distribution 110, 168, 209, 218, 232, 269, 430 Welfare State 171, 179, 384 Women’s Rights 144 World War II 156

Persons

Agramonte, Ignacio 144, 163 (fn 35), 177, 220 Aponte, José Antonio 143 Bandera, Quintín 163 (fn 35) Batista, Fulgencio 148, 154–163, 175, 217 f., 228, 331 f., 352 Biden, Joe 231 Breckenridge, John C. 149 Brooke, John R. 149 Castro, Fidel – and Guerilla War in Cuba 161–163

– and Relations to the Soviet Union 171–174, 195 f. – and Relations to the US 169–174 – and the Período Especial 195, 210 – As Identification Figure 165, 219, 420 – Attack on Cuartel Moncada 159–161 – Charisma 219 – Death 219, 329 (fn 125) – Defence Speech La historia me absolverá 155 f., 159 f.

493

494

Index

– – – – – –

Hands over Power to Raúl Castro 210 f. Idolisation of 296 f., 329–331, 333 f., 421 Illness and Stepping Down 210 f. On the Cuban Revolution 193 On Tourism 223, 226 f., 233, 236 Political Convictions 168, 172 f., 175–179, 181–185, 218 Castro, Raúl – and Guerilla War in Cuba 161–163 – and Relations to the US 216 f. – Attack on Cuartel Moncada 159–161 – Becomes President of Cuba 211 – Hands over Power to Miguel Díaz-Canel 220 – Political Convictions 176, 211 – Reforms 211–213, 262 Chavez, Hugo 204 Chibás, Eduardo 157 Cienfuegos, Camillo 19, 161–163, 165 f., 176 f., 331, 349 Clinton, Bill 230, 302 Columbus, Christopher 138 Cortés, Hernan 138 f. de Céspedes, Carlos Manuel 144, 163, 167, 177, 220, 331, 353 de Güemes y Horcasitas, Juan Francisco 138 del Monte, Domingo 142 (fn 10) Díaz-Canel Bermúdez, Miguel Mario 220 f., 416 Engels, Friedrich 177, 186, 221, 293, 301 Estrada Palma, Tomás 151–153 García, Calixto 144–146, 148 f. Gómez, José Miguel 153 Gómez, Máximo 144, 146, 148, 163 (fn 35), 177, 220, 353 González Brotons, Elián 209 Gorbachev, Mikhail 190, 195 f., 302 Grau San Martin, Ramón 156 Guevara, Ernesto Che – and el hombre nuevo 181–184 – and Guerilla War in Cuba 161–163 – Burial Site 243, 351, 382, 385, 392 – Death 190, 243

– Departure from Cuba 190 – Political Convictions 161, 167–169, 176, 191, 195 – Worship of 243–245, 330 f. Hemingway, Ernest 114, 242, 350 Heredia, José María 142 (fn 10) Kennedy, John F. 170, 172 f., 189 Khrushchev, Nikita 189 Korda, Alberto 165, 244, 350 Lenin, Vladimir 177, 186, 221 Maceo, Antonio 144–146, 148, 163, 177, 220, 331, 353 Machado y Morales, Gerardo 154, 217 Maduro, Nicholas 217 (fn 68) Magoon, Charles E. 153 Mamby, Juan Ethninius 144 Martí, José (El Apóstol) – Death 148 – Ideological Appropriation by the Cuban Revolution 159–163, 176–178, 186 f., 220 f. – on Education 186 – on Latin America 146 f. – on the United States 146 f. – Veneration in Cuba 147 f., 327, 331, 353 – Vision for Cuba 146 Marx, Karl 177, 186, 221, 293, 301 Matos, Huber 176 McKinley, William 149 Mella, Julio Antonio 177 Obama, Barack 171, 216 f., 231, 236, 302 País, Frank 349 Paul II, John (Pope) 208 Prío Socarrás, Carlos Manuel 156 Putin, Vladimir 302 Reagan, Ronald 217 (fn 68) Root, Elihu 149 Saco, José Antonio 142 (fn 10) Taft, William H. 153 Trump, Donald 171, 201, 217 (fn 68), 231, 234 Varela y Morales, Félix 142 (fn 10) Wood, Leonard 149 Xiaoping, Deng 213

Places and Territories



Places and Territories

Africa – Cuban Revolutionary Missions Abroad 190, 330 – Postcolonial Identification 70 f., 75 f., 209, 315, 423 – Religions of African Descent 142, 209 – Slaves Abducted to Cuba 139–141 Algeria 190 Argentina 161, 237 Bay of Pigs 172 f., 219 f., 243 (fn 15), 392 Bayamo 144, 381 Bolivia 190, 243, 330 Camagüey 427 Canada 236 f. Cárdenas 381 Caribbean – Identities 70, 75 f. – Migration 171 – Tourism 225–227, 234, 236, 241 Chile 237 China, People’s Republic 213, 245, 302 f. Comandancia General de la Plata 243 (fn 15), 351, 392 Congo-Brazzaville 190 Cuartel Moncada (Moncada Barracks) 159 f., 220, 243 (fn 15), 332, 351 Dos Ríos 148 (fn 21) England 237 Ethiopia 190 Florida (Peninsula) 139, 171, 204, 209 France 237 Germany 234, 237 Gibara 344 Guam 149 Guantánamo 427 Guantánamo Bay 155 (fn 26) Haiti 140, 143, 145 Havana – Calle Obispo 356 f., 359, 370, 390 – Centro Habana 270 – Convento de Santa Clara 357 – Habana Vieja 225, 228 f., 233, 255, 258 f., 264, 266, 269–272, 306, 313, 338, 340, 344, 349–351, 355–360, 381, 385, 390–393, 427 – Monumento a José Martí 148

– – – – –

Museo de La Revolución 351, 368, 391 Museo del Ron 374 Paseo de Martí 270 Plaza de Armas 356 f. Plaza de la Revolución 19, 148, 243 (fn 15), 352, 374, 391, 443 – Plaza Vieja 356 f. – Universidad de La Habana 142 Italy 234, 237 Korea, Democratic People’s Republic 302 Las Tunas 381 Latin America – and Cuba 172, 190 – and Liberation Theology 208 – Discursive External Attribution 70, 76 – José Martí on 146 f. – US Policy towards Latin America 155 (fn26), 170 Manzanillo 381 Matanzas – and the Commodification of the Cuban Revolution 357–360 – and Tourism 258 f., 271 f., 274, 312, 338, 341, 357–360 – Calle Medio 358 – Milanés 358 – Parque Libertad 358 – Rio San Juan 357 f. – Santa Teresita 358 – Teatro Sauto 358 Mariel 192, 212 Mexico 161, 237 Mexico City 161 Miami 158, 178, 313, 324, 329 (fn 125) Moncada Barracks s. Cuartel Moncada New York 146 Nicaragua 190 North Korea s. Korea, Democratic People’s Republic Nueva España 139 Oriente 139, 143, 145 f., 150, 154, 381 Philippines 149 Plaza América Centro de Convenciones y Comercial (Varadero) 356, 358–360 Pinar del Río 178, 335

495

496

Index

Playa Girón 243 (fn 15), 351 Puerto Rico 149 Punta Brava 148 (fn 21) Russia 236 f., 302, 341 Sancti Spíritus 236 Santa Clara 163, 243, 351, 382, 385, 392 Santa Marta 381 Santiago de Cuba – Centre of Tourism 271, 427 – during the Revolutionary War 163 – Moncada Barracks s. Cuartel Moncada – Museo de La Lucha Clandestina 321 – Museo Histórico 26 de Julio 332 Sierra Maestra 146, 161 f., 167, 220, 243 (fn 15), 329, 351, 392, 413 Soviet Union (USSR) 23, 302 – Dissolution 196–199 – Rapprochement 171–174 – Relations with Cuba 177, 188–191, 195 f., 225 – Trade with Cuba 171 f., 174, 204, 287 Spain – and Tourism in Cuba 234, 326 f. – Colonial Domination of Cuba 138–145, 217 – Cuban Independence Wars 143–149, 332 f. – Cuban Revolutionary Missions Abroad 190 – Independence from 149, 314 f., 420 – Spanish-American War 148 f. Trinidad 351, 427 – Change in social values 310 f., 342 – Touristification 228, 233, 271 f., 306, 362, 381 Unión de Reyes 427 – Absence of Tourism 272 f., 312, 347 – Criticism of the State 279 f.

– Limited Socioeconomic Opportunities 276 f., 309, 381, 409 – Public Infrastructure 270 – Tranqulillity 336 United States of America (USA; US-Cuba relations) 137, 151–156, 242, 262 – and Balsero Crisis 204 – and Batista 158, 162 f. – and Bay of Pigs 173, 175 – and Migration from Cuba 170 f., 192, 201 – and Missile Crisis (1962) 189 – and Opposition to the Cuban Revolution 169, 172, 231 – and Platt Amendment 151 – and Tourism in Cuba 158, 224, 230 f., 234–237 – Intervention (1898) 148 f. – Military Occupation 149 f. – Thaw under President Obama 216 f. – Trade Embargo against Cuba 173, 199, 296, 303 USA s. United States of America USSR s. Soviet Union Varadero as Site of Discrimination 305–309 – Commodification of the Cuban Revolution 356–360, 392 – in the Perception of Cubans 270, 273, 342, 381 – Pole of Tourism Development 225, 228, 350 Venezuela 147, 204, 212, 217 (fn 68), 236 f. Vietnam 213, 302 f. Viñales 228, 233, 310, 312, 342, 344, 380 Washington, D. C. 148 (fn 21)

This book explores how the commodification of the Cuban Revolution affects Cuban identities. Contrary to prevailing beliefs, commodification does not inevitably lead to identity loss or alienation. Instead, it serves as a potent heuristic tool for comprehending social and political transformation. The Cuban Revolution, a powerful force shaping Cuban identities, presents an intriguing paradox. Surprisingly, tourism-driven commodification of the Revolution does not induce alienation, challenging prevailing assumptions. Rather, the waning identification with the Cuban Revolution stems from a complex interplay of perceived dys-

functionality, unmet aspirations, and economic inadequacies. Commodification in tourism is thus merely a symptom of alienation, revealing the discontent of marginalized individuals who criticize and disengage from the Revolution. This indicates transforming identities and socioeconomic realities, which are not caused by commodification, but are exposed through its examination. The book further explores the current state of the Cuban Revolution, where criticism and calls for market reforms challenge the state’s authority and imply a decline in its power.

ISBN 978-3-515-13586-3

www.steiner-verlag.de

9 783515 135863

Franz Steiner Verlag