Whose History? 

Cuba: July 3, 2011

As I write tonight, the hotel satellite station plays an A&E special on “The Kennedys,” translated into Spanish.

It is fitting, as I had planned on writing about our visit to the former Presidential Palace of Cuba, now the Museum of the Revolution, in Havana. Here the Castro government has assembled three floors of memorabilia surround the early year of the regime, from the late Batista reign to the 1970s. More exhibits are planned.

The museum does not disappoint. It tells the story of Ernesto Che Guevera, of Raul and Fidel Castro, leading the popular revolution to end the suffering of all Cubans and affirming a vision of equality and prosperity for all. Maps, newspaper clippings, inspirational letters, grenades, and even a frying pan are displayed with pride. Outside the boat which carried them to the island, the “Gran Ma,” is protectively sealed behind glass. The accounts reveal the presence of the Commander in Chief Fidel at nearly every noteworthy event, a fact confirmed by our guide.

That the history is lop-sided is almost too obvious to report. Significant chapters of the Cuban Missile Crisis are absent, the role of the Soviet Union is oddly neglected, and the failures of the early (and later) steps of forming a government are minimized. The United States is habitually referred to as an imperial enemy, its Republican presidents since Reagan are parodied as “cretins,” and bits of fallen US aircraft are trophied, including a turbine from the U-2 spy plane recovered during “the so-called October Crisis.”

That the stories are largely believed by the populace is made clear by the interpretations provided by our guide. And as I remarked to her and others at dinner this evening, one of the greatest challenges for educators is to help our students become critical examiners of the media we consume.

To be sure, our own reporting of the Cuban Five arrested in Miami ten years ago is all but absent from our discourse. Even the adoption scandal of Elian Gonzales captured our attention for only a few brief weeks. And yet this recent chapter of US-Cuban relations remains a significant part of Cuban nationalism, symbolism. The museum has donated an entire gallery to art around the issue. I would suspect that fewer than 1% of our Michiganders could even tell us in general who they are.

This, of course, is not an indictment of American knowledge of news events, but a fascinating anecdote—or perhaps more than that—about how perspective alters our worldviews. And it is this perspective shift that our visit to Cuba forces upon us in several ways.

I am also not suggesting that there are merely two sides to any US-Cuban story or that all of Cuba is rallied around this particular cause. However, each anecdote is a thread of story that weaves itself into a mythology, a national identity.

We were fortunate today, for instance, to travel to the outskirts of Havana to find the Community Project Muraleando, a neighborhood which has decided to elevate art for community identity, for growing children’s expressive skills, and for global peace. It receives visitors from around the world, these three impoverished blocks, and is an inspiring example of the skills and hearts at work here.

We walked the murals, touched the sculptures which may have seemed familiar with our own Heidelberg Project, and again danced to the music spontaneously created. A young boy explained to us how much the local teachers meant to him.

This is where we met Mario, a former convict who has now immersed himself in this community and become a Cuban hip-hop artist. He lamented to me that artists like 50 Cent have fallen away from the music and now send twisted messages for money. However, he was grateful for Eminem whose songs have taught him a great deal of English.

These people have little, yet their pride in their work and in their country is powerful. We did not hear much from them about the Cuban Missile Crisis, President George W. Bush’s removal of the US dollar from Cuba, or even the embargo. The United States holds a key space amongst dozens of other countries on the Muraleando peace pole. There is celebration here, there is work, and there is hope.

I do not know whether the turbine outside of the Museum of the Revolution came from our U-2 plane. I do not know how often the Cuban people are able to watch A&E, as I do now.

I do know that I have yet to meet anyone who seems truly unhappy. We have walked the dark streets of Havana late at night without trepidation. We have met people with a humble yet unassailable pride.

And nestled amongst the neighborhood sculptures for peace and happiness in Muraleando is one which remembers the Cuban Five.

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Tomorrow, the Fourth of July, we begin our meetings with the Ministry of Education and Cuba’s Pedagogy Association. Our introduction to Cuban culture ends, and our work begins in earnest.