Editor’s Note: Black Cuban Revolutionaries, Socialism, and the Afterlife of Slavery

The theme of this Issue emerged along three critical tracks. Track one honors the twenty years that Souls has been in publication. Founded by the late radical historian Dr. Manning Marable in 1999 at Columbia University, its first issue was on Harlem, and its second, was on Cuba. This one-two punch was no coincidence. In Volume One, Issue Number Two, entitled Race and Revolution in Cuba: African-American Perspectives, Marable begins his introduction with this: “The historic Abyssinia Baptist Church of Harlem was packed to overflowing on Sunday night, October 22, 1995. …Reverend Calvin Butts welcomed his audience of 1,300 people and described Abyssinians guest of honor as ‘one of the great leaders in the world.” That leader was Fidel Castro. This was not Fidel’s first trip to New York, nor his second. His most renown visit occurred in September of 1960 to attend the 15^th Session of the General Assembly of the United Nations. According to most reports, Fidel and his eighty strong delegation felt snubbed at a midtown Manhattan hotel and so they took up residence at the Hotel Theresa in Harlem. While numerous international leaders traveled uptown to visit the revolutionaries, the most memorable meeting for those in Harlem was the one between Fidel Castro and Malcolm X on September 19, 1960.

Notably, Issue Number Two had a photograph of Assata Shakur, former New York Black Panther, on the cover. By 1999 Assata had been in Cuba for over ten years, where she had been granted political asylum after being a hunted, tortured and incarcerated in the 1970s as a result of the FBI’s Counter Intelligence Program.

The Harlem moment in September of 1960 was not lost on black Cubans. In my article entitled, “El Comandante Victor Dreke: The Making of a Cuban Revolutionary,” included in this issue, Victor Dreke shares the heretofore unknown history of a largely black neighborhood called Alegre in the city of Sagua la Grande that publicly declared that they were changing the name of their barrio to Harlem while Fidel was in New York. Concerned about their leader’s safety, given the deepening hostility of the US government, they also held a man that worked for a US company hostage in his residence until Fidel arrived home.

There was another Cuba-Harlem moment that occurred just one year after the 1999 publication. Fidel was in Harlem again in 2000 and spoke this time at the Riverside Church. This speech was historic. After many years of denying that racism remained a problem in Cuba, Fidel stated that:

I am not claiming that our country is a perfect model of equality and justice. At the beginning, we believed that when we established full equality before the law…. [sexist and racist phenomena] would vanish from our society. It was sometime before we discovered that marginalization and racial discrimination are not things that one gets rid of with a law or even with ten laws, we have not managed to eliminate them completely, even in 40 years.

While Fidel had called for more black representation at the Third Communist Party Congress in 1985, this was the first time since the early years of the revolution that racism within the revolution was internationally acknowledged. For years, the official position had been that racism had been eradicated. Indeed, if using a class-based analysis alone, this made sense. Cubans of color did gain equal access to healthcare, education, employment and housing unlike anywhere else in the Americas and they were proud. Moreover, the African heritage of the Island was publicly touted and the Island’s support for African Liberation Movements, especially in Angola, was argued as a sign of this. This kind of open state acceptance of the Americas tie to Africa was also a first in the hemisphere.

And yet, the ideological impact of hundreds of years of enslavement and colonial and neo-colonial racial capitalism was not easy to eradicate, especially when no targeted policies were deployed. In fact, the revolution worried that any talk of racial difference might disrupt the required unity that the Island needed to fend off United States aggression. But given the historic power and transnational agency of white supremacy, to not address the super structural tentacles of racism and anti-blackness, from colorism (lighter skin is better) to culture (black culture is less civilized) to beauty (straight hair is more attractive than nappy hair) to curricular frameworks (Europe contributed more to political and intellectual history than Africa) is actually to tacitly allow it to continue. Roberto Zurbano has termed this internalized colonialism, Eduardo Bonilla–Silva has called it colorblind racism, and Devyn Spence Benson has called it raceless nationalism.

It is important to note that while the revolution understood the necessity to continue the ideological fight for women, youth and workers through mass organizations, it chose not to have a mass (multi-racial) organization with which to fight racism and anti-blackness. Thus, many whites continued to circulate anti-black ideas that were never challenged.

The second track, then, marks the sixtieth anniversary of the 1959 Cuban Revolution, through the lens of race. To use Saidiya Hartman’s notion of an afterlife of slavery, what has been the afterlife of slavery in socialist Cuba? This is a vital question; for only in Cuba can we examine a multi-racial socialist society in which the domestic enslavement of African people was a founding corner stone.

What we have learned is that the national narrative chosen by early revolutionaries was problematic. It was coined by 19^th Century Cuban independence leader José Marti who argued that Cuba was neither black nor white but Cuban. This colorblind nationalism has led to a minimizing of Cuban (as opposed to US) racism during the neo-colonial period and a de-centering of the role of blacks within the revolution itself. A belief hovers as if a ghost that blacks should be grateful to their white comrades for making the revolution. Sara Kozameh argues in her essay, in this Issue, “Black, Radical, and Campesino in Revolutionary Cuba,” that “although the Cuban Revolution was multi-racial, multi-class …, it has been [largely] read as a ‘white project’…” Moreover, “for historians, the discourse of the raceless nation poses a particular challenge: as mentions of race-evaporated from popular and official spaces.”

In many ways, this Issue is a provocation. Kozameh upends this narrative to reveal the centrality of Black farmers in the eastern Cuban province of Oriente in fighting the landlords, radicalizing the countryside, and bringing about agrarian reform as one of the foundational laws of the revolution. She also points to the fact that many of the rural black farmers were communists. This is important, because many observers of the revolution do not realize that the pre-revolutionary Socialist/Communist Parties of Cuba were heavily black. This is mentioned in my article as well where the history of Jesus Menendez, a congressman and astute leader of the National Sugar Workers Union in the 1940s was a proud communist. Socialism, therefore, is not the product of middle-class white men who fought in the mountains, but a much deeper and historical outcome of many years of struggle of which blacks were central.

But to openly assert one’s blackness was frowned upon and viewed as divisive. There is a long history of this interposition where black people are required to give up their identity in order to be a part of the “modern” nation, especially in Latin America. Cuba inherited this notion and rather than rout it out, allowed it to embed itself inside a traditional Marxist view which argues that when the working class wins, racism disappears. Sadly, it is quite significant that, even in this revolutionary country, one can take a tour of old Havana today and never know that slaves built the structures and paved the streets and were very much part of the daily life of the four celebrated colonial plazas (squares).

Danielle Cleeland’s article, “Who Are the Black Revolutionaries?: Resistance in Cuba and the State Boundaries that Endure,” divulges that in the mid 1970s, young militants attempted to create a Cuban chapter of the Black Panther Party. According to one of her interviewees, the group was quickly detained and were mocked for even trying. Although they were quickly released, this must have seemed ironic if not hypocritical to them, as the Cuban State had embraced radical black movements, like the Panthers, from the United States. Sarah J. Seidman’s recent essay published in the Radical History Review, illustrates how the iconic image of Angela Davis with the big round afro was promoted by the Cuban State whereas afros for black Cubans were not. It is my belief that for the largely white Cuban leadership, it was the challenge to the US state that made these movements appealing, while for many young black Cubans, it was the black pride and rejection of whiteness that mattered.

The third track along which this Issue emerged is the exciting renaissance of black social movements today. Just recently, the Cuban president, Miguel Díaz-Canel announced that measures were going to be put in place to fight racism in Cuba. This is important and clearly in response to black-led grassroots movements that have expanded over the last twenty years. In fact, when a friend of intellectual and activist, Roberto Zurbano, heard of the announcement, he said ‘welcome to club’.¹ For he and many others have been fighting racism on the Island for many years, and some have suffered consequences. Therefore, countless black Cubans remain skeptical because the Aponte Commission, which was founded in 2010 and named after the 1812 black anti-slavery freedom fighter, Jose Aponte, had the same mission. They wonder what did it accomplish, what did it not and why? How will this new one be different? This is not yet clear. But to be fair, it is only a few months in the making.

We must also be careful not be ahistorical. It is impossible to consider the afterlife of slavery in socialist Cuba without considering the role of the United States and the economic violence it continues to unleash through a vicious blockade and international thuggery. Thus, while Cuba is the best model we have for an afterlife in a socialist society in which enslavement was central, it is not an ideal experiment. This particular socialist afterlife has existed and survived in a highly violent context and this matters.

It would also be ahistorical to say that the Cuban revolution has not succeeded. In spite of US aggression, it has managed to create a values driven socialist system in which black people, as a whole, have better life chances than anywhere in world. It does provide guaranteed employment, education, healthcare, food and shelter to all its citizens more or less equally. Thus, it should come as no surprise that new black movements in Cuba are not fighting for a minimum wage or an end homelessness as in the US but are struggling against their invisibility and the discrimination that comes along with that. Too often, the image of black people in Cuba is rendered stereotypical, anthropological or set in a slave past. Thus, the essays and images in this Issue reveal a robust set of interconnected demands and grassroots organizing happening on the ground today.

Norma R. Guillard, in her article “Afro-descendant Lesbians Strengthen Their Identity” writes about the desire for an inclusive feminism in Cuba in which black Cuban women, black lesbians and black transexuals are welcomed. She uses Alice Walker’s text in Search of Our Grandmother’s Gardens, to extrapolate on the connection among black women in the Diaspora, and on how black lesbian women bring a special and needed positionality to feminist struggles.

In addition, the three young women on the cover are founding members of the group Nosotrx, a black lesbian grassroots collective that create events and safe spaces for those who identify as queer in Havana, especially for the black, queer women and trans communities.

That cover photo and the photo spread inside the Issue are the work of Amberly Alene Ellis, who lives in Havana and is documenting through photographs the amazing grassroots activities occurring there. The photo spread poignantly reveals two important movements: Hip Hop, which remains a powerful political voice for Cuba’s black community and the natural hair care movement. Natural Hair Care events which include hair shows, lectures, children’s programs and the visual and performance arts are addressing what in many ways were a thrust of black movements in the US in 1960s and 70s. In contrast though, while the Cuban state supports healthcare, education, and housing for all, a recognized sense of black consciousness it has not; whereas in the US, while Black people in the US fought for and achieved to a significant extent, a strong sense of black identity and pride, we have none of the life chance guarantees that Cubans have. Because of this latter fact, statistically, Black Cubans live longer than Black Americans.

There are also neighborhood projects centering black community empowerment. The essay by Geoffroy de Laforcade and Devyn Springer, included in this Issue, is about the Red Barrial Afrodescendiente (Afrodescendant Neighborhood Network or RBA) in the Havana neighborhood of La Lisa. With this group, like many in Cuba, there are teachers, academics, artists, scientist, workers, students, mothers, and community members, all who work in various institutions but live in these neighborhoods. Keep in mind that Cubans are a highly trained population. The goal of RBA is to create a space where generative discussions on race, racism, gender, and sexuality can occur. The RBA also has a black doll project used to teach pride, but also to serve as an entrepreneurial project for their community.

The Black Hair Care Movement is also interested in entrepreneurial activities. Because there are no natural kinky hair care products available on the Island, these change agents have been researching plants in order to create their own natural products, which they hope can be used in beauty shops, and sold in stores. A question was raised in a recent conversation I had with a founder in this movement. She asked: “how is that Cuban stores have hair relaxers and dyes to cover-up gray hair, but no products for natural black hair such as shae butter, carotene, or argan? I reminded her that it is largely because of capitalism that we have access to these products in the US. Though the push came from black communities themselves, it was the marketplace that responded.

When the Cuban government passed laws making it possible for small businesses to emerge, it did so because it had to. State-run enterprises like restaurants and government taxis, for instance, were not productive. More of both were needed, and service and morale were low. In addition, the depression of the 1990s known as the special period–brought about by the downfall of socialist countries in Central and Eastern Europe–triggered grave economic hardships, causing individuals to ask for the opportunity to use their own skills and talents to improve their lives. So today in Cuba one can start a small business but one cannot amass more than one. The socialist state does not want to encourage monopoly.

Very few black people had the capital to partake in this new initiative. In fact, in a recent presentation by historian Ada Ferrer, it was noted that of all the family owned restaurants in Havana, known as paladars, only 4-5 out of 700 are owned by blacks.² The major reason for this is that many more white Cubans have family in the US with resources to lend and invest. Black Cubans do not. Therefore, those whose family members fled because they were racist and despised the revolution are the very families benefitting from these changes. Black Cubans who stayed and supported the revolution find themselves left behind. In addition, many of the white-owned restaurants hire family and folks who look like them, and thus within many of these private sectors, racial discrimination is raising its ugly head.

This is significant. Cuba had a major revolution that changed everything, but it was unable to change the economic weight of hundreds of years of the super exploitation of black labor. Black Cubans, as a whole, began the revolution with fewer fortunes than those whose white families had benefited from enslavement and neo-colonial relations. Reparations might have leveled this playing field but this would have gone against the narrative of a raceless Cuba. One wonders: had Cuba not feared US aggression, would the State have been open to intentional reparations and a more nuanced narrative? If the US chooses a more socialist path, will white men dominate as in Cuba? Would Black Americans trade the fight for reparations for equal guarantees of healthcare, education, housing and food? What would an inventory of challenges include if we had a revolution in the US?

*******

Finally, this Issue is dedicated to Dr. Digna Castañeda Fuertes, who at the start of revolution was a student University of Havana. She went on to achieve her doctorate there and become a founder of its Departments of History and Caribbean Studies. She was a senior black professor when there were almost none and taught hundreds of students who are now themselves professionals. In 2014, she became the first black professor to achieve the rank of professor Emeritus in the 285-year history of the University of Havana. She passed away in 2019; she was my sister-friend and collaborator. We open with a prose-poem dedicated to her by renown Cuban poet Nancy Morejon.

Lisa Brock

About the Guest Editor

Lisa Brock, PhD is the Academic Director of the Arcus Center for Social Justice Leadership at Kalamazoo College, where she is also the founder and Senior Editor of Praxis Center, an online blog and resource site. She is also an historian of transnational black studies.

Notes

1 https://negracubanateniaqueser.com/2019/11/22/roberto-zurbano-bienvenido-el-permiso-para-ser-antirracista/.

2 Ada Ferrer on Cuba, An American History, National History Center in cooperation with the Woodrow Wilson Center’s History and Public Policy Program in Washington DC, May 17, 2016.