Every morning at nine o’clock, at the Wimbledon Underground station, Lily waits for the train to central London. She will spend the morning caring for little John before returning to Wimbledon, where she will pick up Sebastian from school and stay with him until his parents come home at six. While eating a sandwich she buys on the way to the Underground station, she will once again head into London to prepare little Sophie for bed while her parents are out for dinner with friends.
This is the life of 22-year-old Lily, who moved to London from her native Cuba with her family eight years ago. She pays no mind to the common complaints about London—the grey skies, even on days when the calendar promises sunshine, the traffic congestion, and the high cost of living. Finally, she has a job that allows her to live more comfortably. Her hourly wage is fifteen pounds—almost the same amount her mother, a university professor in her hometown of Santiago de Cuba, would earn in an entire month. When asked what she loves most about life in London, she answers without hesitation: freedom.
Her last memory of Cuba is the fear that she would never be able to leave. Despite her family’s Spanish heritage, which entitled them to Spanish documents, every Cuban citizen wishing to leave the country at that time needed a written permit, the so-called Carta Blanca. “Government officials inquired in my neighborhood about whether I was a revolutionary, whether I did anything against the government. They visited my school, spoke to my teachers and the principal. Only after confirming that I was a ‘good girl’ did they allow me to leave.” Lily was thirteen years old. When asked to describe her childhood in an intellectual family—her mother, aunt, and grandmother are all esteemed university professors—Lily references Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Cubans, she says, are like the people in the cave, living in chains all their lives, staring at shadows and a meager version of what they believe to be reality. “When I was little, they made us believe that everywhere else was terrible except for Cuba. You can imagine my surprise when I first arrived in Europe,” she says.
If recent events are any indication, the Cuba of her childhood is fading. Change did not happen overnight. First came Raul, Fidel Castro’s younger brother, who in 2008 lifted the ban on mobile phones and computers. He later introduced economic liberalization, allowing Cubans to become entrepreneurs. More than half a million people left their state jobs to open small businesses. Then came the Pope, followed by Jay-Z and Beyoncé. Obama initiated diplomatic relations and removed Cuba from the list of state sponsors of terrorism. When he visited Cuba this spring, he became the first American president in 88 years to set foot on the island. And then came the Rolling Stones.
“Times are finally changing,” Mick Jagger told an ecstatic crowd of over half a million people in Havana during the Rolling Stones’ concert. European media characterized the event as historic. This wasn’t the first time music signaled the start of a revolution—or, in Cuba’s case, its conclusion. Mick Jagger, old enough to be remembered by past generations before Castro labeled him a symbol of capitalist decadence, yet cool enough to be adored by the younger ones, introduced his bandmates as “Revolutionary Ronnie Wood,” “Charlie ‘Che’ Watts,” and “Mi compadre Keith Richards.” The atmosphere was electric. Keith Richards even joked about moving to Cuba. Admission was free, and there were no stands selling snacks or band merchandise. It was all about good old rock ‘n’ roll, momentarily obscuring the fact that most in attendance couldn’t have afforded a ticket or a T-shirt even if they had been available. A cynic might have noted the less obvious details—like the fact that the average Cuban’s annual salary wouldn’t cover the usual price of a Rolling Stones concert ticket. Or that Warren Buffett sat in the VIP section, likely scouting investment opportunities in newly opened Cuba.
When I ask Lily about the Rolling Stones concert, I expect her eyes to light up. Music is embedded in Cubans’ DNA. But Lily remains serious. “For my friends in Cuba, the concert was a big event, especially for those who are musicians. For me, it was irrelevant. That’s not reality,” she says.
Neither was the Chanel fashion show held in Cuba that same week. When models showcasing Chanel’s new collection walked among people who had never been able to afford a nice piece of clothing, Lily rolled her eyes—just as she did at the Cuban government’s praise of Karl Lagerfeld, who had never been to Cuba before.
“Many people say that Cubans are ‘happily poor,’ and that personally offends me. Who can be happy in poverty? When people tell me that Cuba is one of the happiest places in the world, I have only one question: Have you ever lived in Cuba? Have you ever been in a situation where you have nothing to feed your baby? Have you ever gone without water?” says Maria, a computer science professor who left Cuba for good three months ago.
Her account bears little resemblance to the version presented by the new economic and diplomatic chapter between Cuba and the U.S. Maria comes from the island’s south, where a cholera epidemic has raged for five years. Those who don’t contract cholera almost certainly get dengue fever from mosquito bites. Her entire family has suffered from it, enduring severe symptoms of vomiting and diarrhea. Some cases end in death. Maria worked as a university lecturer and web administrator. The recent arrival of the internet in Cuba is a big deal, but for Maria, it’s also a source of frustration. Just before she left, an order from Havana restricted students’ Facebook access to two hours a day and provided a blacklist of banned websites—including BBC, The New York Times, and any site mentioning Cuba in a negative light. “On paper, Cuba is perfect,” she says bitterly.
As Cuba opens its market to the West and American companies look for investment opportunities, Cubans know that, regardless of the scale of investment, it is unlikely to significantly improve their lives. The complex regulatory system for foreign investors is designed to benefit government officials, not workers. Foreign investors cannot directly run businesses in Cuba; they must partner with the Cuban government. They have no control over hiring or salaries—Cuba’s government assigns workers and sets their wages. Investors pay salaries in convertible currency (CUC), equivalent to the U.S. dollar. The government then pays workers in local pesos, worth 25 times less. The generous exchange rate difference stays in government coffers.
A common sentiment about Cuba is the desire to visit “while Castro is still alive.” As if all the island’s frozen-in-time magic, with its vintage cars adding to the nostalgic scenery, will be bulldozed by capitalism disguised as McDonald’s golden arches. When the first American cruise ship, Adonia, docked in Havana on Monday carrying 750 enthusiastic Americans, many saw it as the beginning of the end for the ‘authentic’ Cuba promised in travel brochures. Maria, however, insists that “poverty tourism enthusiasts” can rest easy—she long ago stopped believing Cuba would change once the Castros were gone. “Fidel is practically dead, and his brother will soon step down. What remains is their monarchy, regardless of the successor. I don’t see major political changes happening in the next ten, maybe even twenty years,” she says.
Still, when discussing the future, many Cubans, including Maria and Lily, compare their hoped-for trajectory to China’s economic development. Deputy Minister of Industry Jose Gaspar Alvarez hinted at this in a recent Sunday Timesinterview, stating, “China is a socialist country and one of the world’s fastest-growing economies.” This suggests the government has no intention of relinquishing control. When I ask if local entrepreneurs can truly prosper in Cuba today, the response is unequivocal: “As soon as someone starts making too much money, they ensure their business is shut down.” Of course, this doesn’t apply to those at the top. Different rules have always applied to them—even in Fidel Castro’s time.
“Everything is a lie,” Maria repeats.
Cuba, as it is often portrayed, is an illusion.