An early history of Cuba –
from Columbus to Castro – and how I fell in love with a country and its people
By Jenny Cressman
In January of 1959, Fidel
Castro and his crew of rag-tag rebels marched into Havana, Cuba’s capitol, and
declared triumph for their revolutionary forces. Nine months later, I was born.
I don’t think my parents were celebrating Castro’s victory but the significance
of that year gave me something in common with the controversial little country
long before it was on my personal radar.
Before I tell you how my affection
for Cuba developed, let me first give you an overview of the historical
highpoints of this small archipelago during a crucial time in its development. Let’s
start with its so-called discovery.
When Christopher Columbus
sailed the ocean blue in 1492, before he set foot on other “new world” shores,
he stumbled upon the largest island in the Caribbean. In claiming it for Spain,
he initially dubbed it “Juana” to honor a member of the Spanish royal family,
and raved about its beauty and potential for gold and other riches.
The Spaniards eagerly moved
in, bringing with them disease and destruction, much to the dismay of the
numerous tribes of indigenous people who were already living there, peaceably
farming and fishing. As part of this aggressive colonization process, many of
the island’s natives were brutally massacred.
A Taíno cacique (tribal chief)
named Hatuey decided to organize a guerilla-style resistance campaign to fight
the invaders. He tried to rally other tribes, showing them a basket of gold and
jewels and telling them: “Here is the god the Spaniards worship. For these,
they fight and kill; for these, they persecute us…They tell us…they adore a god
of peace and equality, and yet they usurp our land, make us their slaves. They
speak…of an immortal soul…eternal rewards and punishments, and yet they rob our
belongings, seduce our women, violate our daughters.”
Eventually, Hatuey was
captured and, in February of 1512, he was tied to a tree and burned alive. Just
prior to lighting the fire, a priest offered him salvation; if he would accept
Jesus, he could go to heaven. Hatuey famously asked if there were other
Spaniards like the priest in heaven. When he was told there were, the chief
replied he would rather go to hell.
The heroic story of this
early rebel has become a cultural legend in Cuba, and he is known as the
nation’s first martyr in its long struggle for independence. Cuban history is rich
with rebels and martyrs. Travel anywhere in the country and you’ll see public
parks and roadsides freckled with their faces on murals, statues and busts.
Virtually every city or town
will also have streets and squares named for national heroes, such as Carlos
Manuel de Céspedes, another early rebel. He was a landowner and lawyer who
became known as the Father of the Country. He was given this title because he declared
Cuba’s independence from Spain and launched the Ten Years’ War, which subsequently
led to other wars and, eventually, to freedom from Spanish tyranny.
As the story goes, de
Céspedes rang the bell at his sugar plantation in Bayamo, on October 10, 1868,
to summon his slaves. When they had assembled, he announced that they were thereby
freed; then he invited them to join him and other conspirators in revolting
against the Spanish, who had ruled Cuba almost continuously since Columbus
claimed it in 1492. De Céspedes felt it was time to take a stand against them. [It’s worth noting that, around 1762, Britain
briefly held power in Cuba but soon returned the island to Spain in exchange
for Florida.]
Within six months of
launching his revolution, de Céspedes was named the President of the Republic
of Cuba in Arms. Four years later, he was deposed and killed by Spanish troops.
However, his legacy of freeing slaves in Cuba and rebelling against the
Spaniards lives on, as well as his musicianship.
He is credited with helping
to compose a romantic song about a woman in his hometown. It’s called “La
Bayamesa,” which is not to be confused with another song by the same name that became
Cuba’s national anthem. The Bayamo anthem was written by Perucho Figueredo as a
call to arms at the start of the Ten Years’ War; this stirring version romantically
encourages martyrdom for the motherland.
The next significant war in
Cuba created even more significant martyrs, and José Martí is at the top of the
list. He was a prolific writer who founded the Cuban Revolutionary Party in
1892, while in New York. Martí often traveled internationally to promote his
views and vision for Cuban independence.
When yet another war with
the Spanish broke out in late February of 1895, Martí hurried home. He arrived in
Cuba on April 11 and was killed in battle on May 19, at the age of 42, and he was
almost immediately immortalized.
Considered one of the
greatest turn-of-the-century Latin American intellectuals, Martí was not only a
revolutionary philosopher and political activist, he was also a journalist,
publisher, essayist, poet, professor and professional translator. He excelled
in many cerebral fields but, unfortunately, didn’t fair so well on the
battlefield. Nonetheless, his death became a rallying cry for Cuban
independence from Spain and helped unite his previously factionalized
countrymen.
One of his poems was later
adapted to become the lyrics for the iconic Cuban patriotic song,
“Guantanamera.” Busts of Martí, with his prominent forehead, big mustache and
small chin, are as ubiquitous in Cuba as 1950s American cars. In the late
1800s, though, when the Cubans were fighting for their freedom, the U.S. was
more inclined to send troops and ships, rather than cars.
Since Cuba’s war with Spain
was heating up, the U.S. sent a military vessel named the Maine to protect American interests on the island. In February of
1898, soon after her arrival in Havana’s harbor, this ill-fated battleship blew
up, and sank into history. The cause was never determined. Although the Spanish
did not take responsibility, many people blamed them – particularly two powerful
U.S. media magnates, William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer, who used
their newspapers to fan the flames of war.
Some investigations
suggested that the Maine’s demise was
not politically fuelled but, instead, was simply fuel related. Apparently, a
more volatile form of coal was being used than the ship had been designed to
burn, setting the stage for a catastrophic explosion.
Cuban officials, conversely,
argued that Americans covertly sank the ship in order to create a pretext for
military intervention. One prominent Cuban historian stated: “Americans died
for the freedom of Cuba, and that should be recognized. But others wanted to
annex Cuba, and that should be criticized.” Indeed, five U.S. presidents had
tried to buy Cuba during the Spanish reign.
The U.S. and Spain declared war
with each other a few months after the Maine
sank, thus giving the Spanish-American War its name in many history books – even
though Cuba was the key battleground and that country’s independence was at
stake. When I was studying history in the U.S., where I grew up, we were taught
that future president Theodore Roosevelt and his Rough Riders bravely galloped
in to save the poor Cubans during the war’s pivotal battle of San Juan Hill in
Santiago de Cuba. Cuban historians, understandably, have a different take on
it; essentially, others did the heavy lifting but Teddy got the glory.
When the Treaty of Paris was
signed in December 1898, ending the relatively brief Spanish-American War, Cuba
was freed from Spanish rule but the U.S. was granted temporary control of the archipelago.
At first, the pros and cons of annexation were hotly debated. When the Platt
Amendment to the American Army Appropriations Act went into effect in 1903, however,
Cuban sentiment shifted. The U.S. clearly wanted to maintain dominance and was
reluctant to withdraw its troops, which didn’t sit well with
independence-seeking Cubans.
[Although the U.S. occupation was undesirable from the Cuban perspective,
it’s worth noting that, during this period, the Americans did lay the
foundation for the system of education and public healthcare that Fidel
Castro’s revolutionary government significantly expanded after 1959.]
Cuba was also required to
amend its own constitution, as part of a Treaty of Relations with the U.S., and
to agree to potential American military intervention, should the U.S. become
dissatisfied with how the Cubans were running their own country. As well, the
treaty authorized the U.S. to lease land for two naval bases; one of these was
located at Guantánamo Bay.
This treaty, in fact, was
used as justification for further U.S. occupation from 1906 to 1909. During
this period, future president William Taft, who was then the U.S. Secretary of
War, declared himself the Provisional Governor of Cuba; this was ratified by Teddy
Roosevelt, who was president by then. The Cuban-American political salsa has a
long, complicated history, and the dance goes on!
At this point, Tomás Estrada
Palma was serving as Cuba’s first president. Like many other important
political figures, he was from Bayamo. He had worked with José Martí and, after
Martí’s death, became the leader of the Cuban Revolutionary Party. He had also
been Cuba’s diplomat in Washington and, while there, had tried to broker a deal
with an American banker to buy his homeland from Spain.
Estrada Palma was responsible
for signing the treaty that leased Guantánamo to the U.S. in perpetuity, and he
was clearly pro-American in other ways. Even so, he had to step down when Taft
stepped in to govern Cuba.
When a new Treaty of
Relations between Cuba and the U.S. was signed in 1934, most Platt Amendment
provisions were repealed, but not the Guantánamo lease. This deal can only be terminated
if both parties agree to do so; in over a century, the U.S. government has not
been inclined to agree. Thus, it remains a bone of contention that is being
gnawed on to this day.
Throughout the early 1900s,
the U.S. kept stirring the pot in Cuba, sometimes openly intervening and, at
other times, using more surreptitious means to maintain involvement and shift
the political tide. General unrest was growing, however, particularly among
students and workers in the sugar industry, which was key to Cuba’s economy. Uprisings
and strikes rocked the island.
Another Bayamo native, Carlos
Manuel de Céspedes y Quesada – the son of the Father of the Country – became
president in August 1933, but he didn’t retain the position for long. The
following month, he was overthrown in a military coup known as the Revolt of
the Sergeants, led by Sergeant Fulgencio Batista. It was, in effect, a practice
run for this ruthless ruler’s subsequent takeover.
Although other
non-commissioned officers were involved in the Sergeants’ Revolt, Batista was
soon at the helm of the Cuban government and, for most of the next 25 years, he
remained either directly in charge or pulling strings from behind the scenes. Ramón
Grau San Martin and his protégé, Carlos Prío, held office for a few years but
didn’t really stand a chance against power-hungry Batista in the long run. After
running unsuccessfully against Prío in 1952, Batista simply ignored the legitimate
election results, staged another coup and seized the presidency.
To the outside world, Batista
probably looked presidential; by all accounts, he was a handsome man. Nicknamed
“El Mulato Lindo” (the pretty mulatto), he was of mixed Spanish, African,
Indian and Chinese descent – a true Cuban racial blend. However, he was also
widely called “Bloody Batista,” which was equally apt given the brutality and
violence that characterized his corrupt regime, especially in latter years.
Interestingly, Batista had
been legitimately elected as president of Cuba in 1940 and remains the only
non-white to have held the office. During that four-year term, he is credited
with implementing some social reforms and several pro-union policies. For this,
the Communist Party of Cuba endorsed him, even though he supported capitalism and
openly admired the U.S. [It should be
noted that this Party was started in the 1920s; Fidel Castro was born in 1926.]
After he left office in ‘44,
Batista went to the States, where he said he felt “safer.” He spent time in New
York City and at a home he owned in Daytona Beach, Florida, and he spent money,
some say, which he had taken from the vaults of the Cuban treasury. If so, then
this was also merely practice; he completely emptied the national coffers when
he fled the country in ’58, as his dictatorship was crumbling.
While living in the U.S., Batista
continued to be involved in Cuban politics from afar and, in 1948, was elected
to the country’s senate in absentia. His
failure to win back the presidency legitimately in ‘52 only served to galvanize
his resolve to gain and retain power by any means, which was a goal that at
least some Americans seemingly agreed with. Soon after overthrowing Prío, Batista’s
government was formally recognized by the U.S., despite the documented
corruption and escalating police and military violence.
Once back in control,
Batista banned the Cuban Communist Party, which had supported him, and
suspended Cuba’s constitution. He then began aligning himself with the
country’s wealthiest landowners and sugar plantation operators, as well as
forming alliances with powerful U.S. politicians and businessmen, many of whom
had known Mafia connections.
As his reign progressed, he
and his accomplices grew increasingly corrupt, and the gap between the rich
elite and the poor populace widened. To silence the discontented voices, the repressive
Batista government resorted to torture and public executions. Some historians estimate
that, during his regime, as many as 20,000 people were killed in Cuba.
Economically, the country was
doing reasonably well on the global market by the early 1950s, mainly due to
the export of sugar and other produce. Most Cubans, unfortunately, were
uneducated and illiterate, and about a third of the population lived in abject
poverty with no running water. Adding to the wealth disparity, the island had become
a hotspot for tourism, particularly those who wanted an unrestricted playground
where they could freely drink and gamble, use women and drugs, or indulge in
any vice imaginable. Thanks to the growing involvement of organized crime, brothels
and casinos flourished and American money flowed freely through the doors.
Mafiosos Meyer Lansky and
Lucky Luciano had set up shop in Havana and were great pals with Batista, whom
they had wooed during his first term in office and while he resided in Florida.
The Cuban president reportedly took a large cut of all proceeds from each and
every hotel, racetrack, casino, cabaret, nightclub or other mob-backed
enterprise. Some estimates put the average take at the larger casinos at over
$1 million (USD) per day; armed bagmen hauled the cash to owners and business
partners on a nightly basis.
Meanwhile, Batista also
continued to massage his allegiance to the United States government and
legitimate businessmen. Flights and ferries regularly ran from Miami to
hedonistic Havana, or “Little Las Vegas.” In their heydays, the popular
Tropicana nightclub and high-class hotels like the Nacional hosted many
international celebrities, including Frank Sinatra, Fred Astaire, Ava Gardner,
Errol Flynn, Eartha Kitt, Nat King Cole, Rita Hayworth, Marlon Brando, Mickey
Mantle, Walt Disney and Ernest Hemingway (who lived in Cuba for many years),
along with cigar-loving John F. Kennedy and Winston Churchill, to name but a
few.
Beyond the well-heeled
circles of Havana’s elite residents and guests, lethal trouble was brewing. Following
the ’52 coup, young attorney and political activist Fidel Castro had tried his
best to petition and mount constitutional arguments to oust Batista. When legal
means to remove him failed, however, Castro chose another route. Along with his
younger brother Raúl and numerous others, he formed a paramilitary organization
called “The Movement” and began stockpiling weapons and recruiting followers. On
July 26, 1953, they officially launched the Cuban Revolution by attacking government
military installations in Bayamo and Santiago.
The assault on Santiago’s
heavily fortified Moncada Barracks, in particular, was a dismal failure. It’s
unclear exactly how many of the Movement’s men and women died directly as a
result of the combat and how many died later, during information-seeking torture
sessions and retaliatory executions. Batista proclaimed he would execute 10
rebels for every soldier killed in the attacks. Once he began doing so, though,
the public outcry was so strong that he had to back down. This may have saved
Fidel’s life.
The Castro brothers were
among the 26 imprisoned survivors of the original 160 rebel fighters. They had
escaped execution but they would have to stand trial, and would be facing life
in prison. During his trial, Fidel acted in his own defense and spoke fervently
for nearly four hours, concluding with: “Condemn me, it matters not. History
will absolve me.” The young lawyer’s historic speech was later published and
circulated to rally support for the Movement, which added July 26 to its
official name.
In 1954, U.S. Vice-president
Richard Nixon visited Cuba and urged Batista to step down. Instead, the
dictator staged a sham election and officially became the country’s president
once again. As CIA reports had predicted, Batista was willing to do anything necessary
to retain power. When riots and unrest continued to grow, though, it became judicious
for him to release the remaining rebels from prison.
While Fidel and his July 26th
Movement (or M-26-7) companions were still in jail, other rebels began taking
the lead in preparing for revolution, including numerous women. Celia Sánchez
Manduley was one of them, but she had her own intensely personal reason for
becoming a revolutionary fighter.
Celia was the daughter of a
prominent country doctor from Media Luna, a small town between Bayamo and Pilón.
With her father, she traveled throughout that rural area, now known as the
Granma province, and assisted him in his practice. On one of these occasions,
she helped him with a very difficult birth and is credited with keeping the
sickly baby alive during the tenuous hours following the birth. Because of her
connection with this child, María Ochoa, Celia remained close to the little
girl as she grew up.
In those days, under
Batista’s ruthless rule, young women and girls were often stolen by Mafia lackeys
and put to use as sex toys for clients in their posh Havana hotels. In 1953, when
10-year-old María was kidnapped, raped and murdered because a wealthy gambler
had requested a “young girl” for his pleasure, Celia’s world shifted. She vowed
to do whatever she could to help rid Cuba of Batista and his vile regime.
She walked away from her
genteel life in Pilón and began actively working to recruit and train guerilla
fighters in the surrounding Sierra Maestra Mountains. Since Celia knew the countryside
well, and the peasants knew and respected her, she proved quite adept at
rallying their support, as well as leading them in battle. Due to her exploits
during the next two years, she gained the attention of both Batista, who put a
price on her head, and Fidel Castro, who was languishing in prison.
In May 1955, Fidel and other
rebels were released in a general amnesty some say was forced on Batista by the
U.S. government. The following month, for his own safety, Fidel fled the
country. Although they had exchanged secret notes while he was imprisoned,
Fidel and Celia did not actually meet until he returned to Cuba in December 1956,
aboard an overloaded yacht named the Granma.
This 60-foot cabin cruiser
had been designed to comfortably accommodate a dozen or so people but, when it
left Tuxpan, Mexico, it had 82 men aboard and was loaded to the gills with
food, fuel and munitions. Besides the Castro brothers, passengers included fellow
Cuban rebel Camilo Cienfuegos and their new best friend Ernesto “Che” Guevara.
Their boat was registered in Florida, where it been purchased with funds raised,
in part, by former Cuban president Carlos Prío, who may have had a personal
interest in seeing Batista overthrown.
Crossing the Gulf of Mexico
took much longer than expected for the heavily laden, leaky craft and it ended
up virtually crash-landing in an isolated stretch of mangrove swamp, west of Pilón.
This was not quite where Celia Sánchez and her welcoming party had envisioned.
Batista’s forces quickly
learned of the landing and began hunting down the Granma crew. Most were killed within three days. The approximately
20 survivors dispersed into the mountains. With the assistance of local
peasants, they eventually regrouped and made their way east of Pilón to La
Plata, deep within the Sierra Maestra mountain range. This became Castro’s secret
official headquarters for the remainder of the revolutionary war.
Two years later, despite
their limited personnel and armaments, the rebels succeeded in defeating
Batista. By January 1, 1959, Fidel and his forces were marching triumphantly to
Havana.
That brings the story back to
me, and to the lovely, historic Cuban province of Granma. When I first visited
this magnificently scenic region, where two Cuban rebellions were born, I had
no idea of the area’s significance. I didn’t know that Granma’s capitol is
Bayamo, one of the country’s seven oldest and most important cities. I just
wanted to go to a sunny beach and briefly escape the Canadian winter. Cuba
wasn’t even on my bucket list, but the place was cheap and off the beaten track.
This was also the first time
I had ever been to an all-inclusive resort, and I was a bit apprehensive about
what to expect. I definitely did not
want to be confined to a tourist-only complex! I wanted to be able to explore
the surrounding community and interact with the local people. Fortunately, Club
Amigo Marea del Portillo, which is just down the road from Celia Sánchez’s home
in Pilón, is different from larger resorts. The beach is public and the fishing
village of Marea del Portillo is within walking distance, so it is easy to meet
people who live close to the resort. The accessibility of nearby communities and
the friendliness of the people are some of the main reasons I keep returning to
this remote part of southern Cuba.
In October of 2009, I ended
up visiting Marea del Portillo a second time, somewhat by fluke. On that trip,
I had some amazingly candid conversations with people there and began to
understand how important the resort is to the local economy, since it is the
area’s single largest employer. My mental wheels began turning.
The following year, I began
to offer group trips to this little out-of-the-way place and, every time I
visited, my love for the community and admiration of the Cuban people grew. I
now lead groups there twice a year and, with the help of those traveling with
me, have taken many bicycles and suitcases of clothing, shoes, toiletries and
other necessities that are hard to get in that area. Bikes are probably the
most important gifts we take, since they are essential modes of transportation
in Cuba. Thanks to the “bike shepherds” in my groups, we’ve been able to take
about 70 good-quality reconditioned bikes (as of 2016) and, in this simple way,
make daily life a little bit easier for many families.
The ideal bikes for Cuba are
basic 26” mountain bikes with sturdy frames, reasonably wide tires and simple
shift/brake mechanisms. North American manufacturers have begun shifting away
from the traditional 26” models but they’re still the norm on the island.
Classic bikes will probably ride the rugged roads of Cuba for decades, just
like the classic ‘50s cars!
My “JennicaCuba” Facebook
group and website (www.jennicacuba.com) have a wealth of information and photos
about my small-scale humanitarian work and my group trips. If you would like to
support what I’m doing to assist people in this isolated part of Cuba and/or want
travel with me, please don’t hesitate to send an email or call. I’m always
happy to talk about “Cubita bella” – beautiful little Cuba, as Celia Sánchez
called her country.
Muchas gracias, mis amigos!
~ Jenny
Thanks for your time!
