The Deluded / Regina Coyula

There are those who walk without watching who walks behind, if they seem mysterious speaking on the phone it is for the purpose of mortifying a little the listening elves, they take for granted that some neighbor(s) take(s) note of their movements and visits, but it does not interest them. They live with the decision to behave as free beings without allowing the government’s barriers, within which all that is not expressly authorized is prohibited, to constrain them in the least.

Others prefer a stealthy attitude, they communicate with signals, they have designed an alternative vocabulary and they live under the conspiracy theory in the category of major players.  They sleep with one eye open, they see ulterior motives in everything.

Not many of the first group are free, nor are many of those controlled by paranoia watched.

Translated by mlk.

18 June 2014

A Chronicle Owed / Regina Coyula

To Carlos and my traveling companions

To Carlos Ríos and Juan Carlos Linares, my entertaining and courteous travel companions, and to the people of Piura.

When someone asks me what I thought of Lima, I amswer that I was not in Lima but in Miraflores, an area of the city located along the seacoast where the green spaces are impeccable, and the traffic-filled streets are clean and crowded with the Toyotas and Kias. Even the dogs and cats are looked after by the local government. There are tall buildings, enormous stores and restaurants. That’s Miraflores, a district of Lima where anyone would enjoying living, even in spite of high walls and electrical fences.

I was invited by the Institute for Freedom to participate in a seminar on digital journalism and communication technology. These were luxurious conferences, attended by people highly-qualified in their fields. I went to learn and I learned a lot. I also had the opportunity to meet some wonderful people. It felt strange to be treated so cordially in the markets, restaurants, stores and when asking for directions on the street.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOne sees a different Lima in Gamarra, an impressive commercial perimeter whose counterpart — if there is one — might only be found in some Asian megalopolis. In Gamarra you can hear money growing. This pedestrian-oriented rectangle produces more wealth than many countries. All the activity can make you feel dizzy. Not far from here I can see a hill encrusted with little houses, which arouses my curiosity. It is a poor area where the police do not dare enter, where the recipe for material success goes unfulfilled. We have to leave Gamarra before nightfall.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I would have liked to check out the bar frequented by Zavalita and Ambrosio in Conversation in the Cathedral, or to walk through the University of San Marcos and see if there is a bust, at least a plaque, commemorating Vallejo’s time there.* I had to settle for a bridge and the Chabuca Granda shopping mall in Barranco — a beautiful old area — and a delicious ride on a double-decker tour bus to the city center.

We Cubans always end up talking about food, but to go to Peru and not talk about its food would be a crime. The seviche — which is also spelled with a c and a b — in the food market is unforgettable, as are the huancaína fries and the enormous sweet corn kernels.

mirafloresI must admit that I never dreamt that in a such busy week I would make new friends who will forever stay with me. And there was the city itself, which I pretended to recognize even when Miraflores did not resemble the opulent and modern residential area of Vargas Llosa’s novels.

 

Translator’s note: A reference to a novel, Conversation in the Cathedral, by Peruvian author Mario Vargas Llosa. The plot revolves around the lives of Santiago Zavala and Ambrosio — one the son of a government minister, the other his chauffeur. A chance meeting leads to a conversation between the two at a bar known as the Cathedral. Zavala is a student activist at the National University of San Marcos who opposes the Peruvian dictatorship of the 1950s.

13 June 2014

Brief Inventory of Personal Fears / Regina Coyula

As with almost everyone, as a girl darkness was a problem. I loved playing hide and seek, crouching in the bushes, but when evening came, the shadows became something dangerous, boogeymen coming to take me away, and I would run to the safety of adults and the light.

Another of my major fears at that time was that I would get sick on vacation, With chronic throat problems, tonsillitis threatened to rob me of the beach; and I had reasons to fear the colds all around me or a certain burning when I swallowed, or too strong a fan overnight.

Those fears gave way to others, trivial or important, but no less for this: the fear of failing an exam, losing a boyfriend, getting fat, of not sounding too combative in an era of ideological definitions given my petty bourgeois ballast.

Ultimately, the beach lost its charms for me years ago, because of the sun that pursues us everywhere on this little Caribbean island; I now had boyfriends and all it would take was for me to look at something to get fat. Coming from the bourgeoisie haunted me like a ghost in my youth, I couldn’t compete with those who maintained the discourse of the barricade, but they lived in the old houses and according to the manner of the overthrown bourgeoisie.

I continued to be a scaredy-cat, just my fears changes. I had a panic attack they day they did a caesarean to get my son out. I remember dressing in white and walking with a gladiolus in my hand to honor Orlando Zapata Tamayo on the anniversary of this death, and when a car stopped to ask directions I almost had a heart attack. Last December 10 (Human Rights Day) was another good occasion to be afraid.

Very recently, happy on returning from a seminar on citizen journalism and social networks in Lima, Peru, I was taken to the “little room” by customs officials. My luggage wasn’t overweight, there was nothing illegal, but they did a detailed search of my luggage, and retained for “customs inspection” SCAN0000, a laptop with charger and mouse, a camcorder with two tripods and four memory cards, two external drives, all new in their original box, in addition to my camera, my tablet, a USB drive and my phone, the latter not even having a charger; articles that on leaving Cuba didn’t need to be declared for personal use.

The other suspicious articles were four books written by my husband, which also left with me, a book about social networks I was given, and the folder with the conference agenda and my handwritten notes.

I spoke to you of far. All these valuable articles often upsetting the balance of saving money, how not to feel a punch in the gut to see them disappear into a sack, no matter how much you’ve got all the right paperwork. At that time it came to mind the cases of theft in customs. But that wasn’t the greatest fear.

With my hands crossed over my knees so as not to show my nervousness, I saw how a piece of my privacy was handled with impunity. The little I said was to make clear the arbitrariness of which I was the object. I didn’t waste energy, because those officials face other officials; the political police who ordered the measure.

Then a strange fear is provoked, because I gave no thought to abandoning my openly critical stance towards the government. The fear that set my adrenaline flowing, confirmed for me the nefariousness of a regime which, far from serving its citizens, is allowed to ride roughshod over them, over their sovereignty.

It’s time to recover this sovereignty.

4 June 2014

Prosperous and Sustainable (2) / Regina Coyula

My troubles did not end with the molars. Thinking myself clever, a month ago I bought a combined ceiling fan and light fixture at the Plaza Carlos III shopping mall. From an initial price of 120.00 CUCs, it had been reduced to 35 because it was missing its shade. I did not think twice because the phallic bulbs they have been selling since the “energy revolution” will not fit inside any shade anyway. But to paraphrase a popular saying, when something seems too good to be true, it probably is. I should have thought twice and walked away.

The electrician installing the new appliance pointed out that the screws used to attach the blades were not original. There was also evidence it had been repainted, indicating that the fan had been installed and for some reason uninstalled. He recommended that I return it.

With the item still under warranty, I went back to Carlos III to ask for a refund. The same employee who had sold me the fan told me that, although it was Wednesday, the day they handle returns, I would first have to go to the studio several blocks away where they would give me the paperwork authorizing the return.

The box the fan came in was bulky and quite heavy. As everyone knows, I am a certified expert in public transport, so I had the foresight to call to my brother, who owns a car, to help with the transaction.

It exhausts me just thinking about all the neurons I wasted trying to explain this to the employee, more neurons than she ever had. Fearing I would have a heart attack, a young man, clearly someone of importance in the chain of command there, came to my assistance. He understood and simplified the issue:

“I don’t know why they told you to come here,” he said, “because the problem is with the store, not with us.”

Back again to Carlos III. The same employee reiterated that this was not her problem, pointing to a faintly printed piece paper on the wall behind the counter. Even with perfect vision a customer could still only guess that it had something to do with the store’s return policy. But I had my own plan. I put the fan in the middle of the counter and asked to speak to the floor manager. Since this was preventing her from attending to the other “users” — at this point you will have noticed that being a customer in Cuba is highly unusual and no doubt considered unpatriotic — the employee told a young man to go get Alain. Upon hearing my explanation, Alain told the employee, “Give her a refund.”

And with money in hand I could not help but blurt out a well-worn phrase:

“That is why this thing must fail.”

At a minimum I enjoyed the gestures and words of affirmation from the line of people behind me.

11 May 2014

Prosperous and Sustainable (1) / Regina Coyula

My adolescence coincided with the era in which almost all Cuba’s dentists left the country. When I finally saw one, the most expeditious course of treatment was to remove two of my molars that in other circumstances would have been saved. But those battle-hardened dentists could not be bothered with such details as a teenager’s smile, no matter how cheerful it may have been. So as soon as I could, I had a permanent bridge made. My little bridge allowed me laugh without embarrassment until two years ago when old age began to move things around. Every time the bridge came loose, I — more stubborn than it — put it back in place. But by the end of last year it finally gave out.

In the judgement of the prosthetist a new permanent bridge was required because neither removable bridges nor dental implants were suitable in my case due to the shallowness of the occlusion. These bridges are metal but the clinic did not make them, which meant I would have to go to the School of Dentistry.

So off I went to see a Doctor Lorenzo, the only person authorized to treat patients at the school. I went on a Wednesday but Lorenzo only sees patients on Mondays. Come early, I was warned.

The following Monday I arrived at seven in the morning. At eight the doctor’s secretary appeared at the doorway and announced that the doctor had to deal with a personal matter and would not be coming to work. The following Monday I was unable to go and the Monday after that I found out, also at eight, that Lorenzo would not be seeing patients since the school was closed for a week-long break.

Last Monday the orbital paths of Dr. Lorenzo’s and myself were finally in alignment but it was for naught. Sitting behind his desk, Dr. Lorenzo was seeing patients while on auto-pilot. In my case that meant there was nothing that could be done since the metal fabricating machine had been broken since November.

Caramba! Considering how easy it is to post a little announcement, a note could have saved me three trips here.”

Whenever I asked Lorenzo where I could have the work done, he responded with the mantra, “Go to your healthcare provider.”

“But my healthcare provider told me to come here!” I said.

“Go to your healthcare provider.”

“And you can’t tell me where else to go?” I asked.

“Go to your healthcare provider.”

I went to my healthcare provider, the national reference center, and in my conversation with the prosthetist she described the conditions of her workplace. There had been no equipment in place since 2011, visitors spill out into the hallway and no journalist had looked into it.

She mentioned other places where it was possible to have the work done but I would have to go on a personal basis since the clinic only referred cases to the School of Dentistry. She did not say it but “on a personal basis” sounded to me like, for the right amount, I would be able to laugh out loud without any molars missing.

9 May 2014

News / Regina Coyula

Starting this month I will be on  BBC Mundo’s blog about Cuba. I still haven’t seen it, I don’t know what it’s called, but the project interests me because I will share it with Nórido, journalist from the newspaper Trabajadores (Workers); with the author of a blog called Alego33, which I’ve read and which seems excellent to me; and with Leonardo Padura, journalist and novelist who needs no introduction.

In the group, I am the woman, the only one who didn’t study journalism, and the dissident; several people approached me to object to the adjective in the introduction to the blog, but it’s not a lie, I dissent.

I will try to keep up, although this will continue to be the more personal space, a bit ignored lately, it’s true, because I have had work to do, but especially, study. I will also publish in 14ymedio. Not bad for someone at my age.

19 May 2014

Performance / Regina Coyula

I have nothing to say, I have nothing to say… were the lyrics of a song Mario Aguirre sang in all seriousness in the long ago play at the Studio Theater, Something Very Serious. When they asked him for an encore, with the same music, he changed the lyrics: I have nothing else to say, I have nothing else to say

So it is for me with the May Day celebration, so you can read my post from last year, and it’s all the same. I have a photo of a printed poster taped to the door at the Endocrinology Institute where I was two weeks ago, and I saved it for this date. But my phone has problems with Bluetooth and I couldn’t transfer it to my PC or another phone, and having wasted time trying to get the photo from my phone’s screen, I’ll explain it:

As medicine will be at the front of the May Day parade, the workers have to be at their workplaces at two in the morning. From there they will go to the assigned collection point at four-thirty, where the posters (which reference anything but the workers’ demands) will be handed out. They all have to wear their white coats, and should see the secretary of the Union (that is the secretary of the Institute) for assistance.

This method, extensively tested over the years, will ensure that they can easily fill a great number of plazas.

P.S. And if medicine is marching first because of their economic happiness*, how many are marching last?

*Translator’s note: Cuban medical workers were recently notified they would receive large raises.

2 May 2014