Self portrait in an old house in central Havana
Going to photograph a place like Cuba is not a simple exercise and it’s full of questions. As an American subject to the rules of the US government’s embargo against Cuba, one of the first questions is how do you get there, legally? There’s a variety of ways, including the person to person cultural exchanges such as the ones organized by Santa Fe Photographic Workshops. You could also go illegally via Canada, Mexico, or the Bahamas, but then you’re flying without much of a net. Europeans, of course, don’t have to deal with a prohibition on travel and are there in droves. In fact, my friends in Europe didn’t get what a big deal it was to go until I explained the situation in detail. And then they still look at me funny with a expression that says: “Really? Come on… You must be kidding.”
After simple logistics, however, the questions become nuanced and tend to group around motivation. Why even go? What are you hoping to get out of the experience? What do you hope that the locals will get out of meeting you? Will going support or defend those currently in power and how? Does going somehow increase the problems of the locals or might it actually help in some small way? These are all questions I’ve faced before in my travels—most notably when I went to Myanmar (Burma) over a year ago.
There aren’t simple answers, of course. For some—especially for those in the Cuban American community who are fairly unequivocal in their continued support of the embargo—there is absolutely no excuse for traveling to Cuba. It’s simply seen as encouraging the policies of the Castro regime by supporting them monetarily with the money made at the hotels and restaurants. It’s the same sort of argument that the Burmese opposition used to make in their call for travelers to boycott Myanmar—a stance they’ve since reversed with a new embrace a responsible form of tourism to encourage understanding between people.
Cuban photographer Ramsés H. Batista in action in the Cuban countryside
Speaking with Leysis Quesada Vera over coffee about being a photographer in Cuba
Our group had hundreds of small interactions with Cubans during our week. Sometimes, it was a simple exchange of a smile. Many times, it was part of an attempt to sell a taxi ride or a cigar, inevitably starting with a “Hello my friend, where are you from?” but which sometimes evolved into a discussion about current politics or even an occasional personal dissertation of a personal history. More than one of these evolved into a long discussion. The most striking of our interactions to me, however, were the longer term ones we had with the two local Cuban photographers who accompanied us for the week: Ramsés H. Batista and Leysis Quesada.
If there’s the start of a positive entrepreneur class in Cuba—one which builds a life based on creation instead of simply taking advantage of some non-renewable or agricultural resource that can be easily exploited—these two are definitely in it. Ramsés is in the process of opening a studio. Leysis has international exhibitions of her work. Both have made and published photographs documenting day to day life in Cuba. They work within the boundaries of the system—one of the ways they make money is by helping groups like ours—but they’re part of a group of people that is using each expansion of the boundaries to build for their future.
We learned a lot from them, and I’m grateful for what they taught me about Cuban culture and the realities of being a photographer there right now. I’m pretty sure it went both ways, too. Our group was composed of professional photographers and several brilliant technologists. This lead to many great discussions between Cubans and Americans over late night dinners that covered all sorts of topics worthy of continuing discussion.
Dancers in a studio in central Havana
Dancers checking out an iPhone after rehearsal
Of course, emerging entrepreneurs like Ramsés and Leysis are very much a super minority in Cuba. But almost every other Cuban with whom we interacted with was also looking forward to the future in one way or another—the younger generations being the most eager, as you might expect. We saw a surprising number of iPhones and other smart phones in use by Cubans, even though most didn’t seem to be actively online. I snuck a look at as many screens as I could and only one or two had any kind of data connectivity—and those only at GPRS speed. But people are managing to find their way and when data access does become more common place, they’re going to take full advantage of what it can do for them.
The more I travel the world, the more I believe that the most important lesson that comes from it is that the more people interact with each other, the better. Of course, not all of those interactions will be good ones. It’d be beyond naïve to expect that and certainly there’s a dark side to Cuba—just as there is in many countries. But when it’s done constructively, interaction can help tear down barriers and help people on both sides understand each other as humans instead of imagining them as what propaganda could lead you to believe.
Not to get too all philosophical here but, for me, I think one of the things that drives my travel to places like Cuba—and certainly something I became that much more aware of during this trip—is the process of tackling the “Otherness” that still drives much of the fundamentals of how our world operates. I might not be able to do much but showing up, having a few great interactions that hopefully help out a few Cubans as they build towards a different future, and then bringing home and sharing some stories—especially with everyone who sees them here on my blog—is my way of doing at least a little bit. Is it enough? Not hardly. But it’s a start.
Two young women walking along Paseo del Prado
