When Fidel Castro was on his deathbed, I was wandering aimlessly around the streets of Havana. It was 2016, and I was 26 years old. My knowledge of Cuba was limited, to say the least. All I knew about Cuba was it had a reputation for good music and also that they had a little communism problem they couldn’t quite seem to shake.
On this particular day, I thought it would be a good idea to get drunk because it felt like everyone I had met so far was drunk anyway.
Why not? Do as the locals do, right?
On my way into the city, I walked past a billboard. In English, it translated to “The revolution is invincible.” I knew people were talking about what life would be like once Castro died.
How would things change? What did this mean for Cubans? The only lens through which to see this billboard was a not-so-subtle reminder of the powers that be who were still clinging to an idea like a sailor clinging desperately to a leaky raft in the middle of a stormy sea.
Later on that day, I met a guy with the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. He had a look in his eyes that said “Get me the fuck out of here”. He had been drinking rum with his friends by the water’s edge, and I was probably bimbling along looking like a tourist.
He was trying to sell me Cuban cigars.
I said no.
He asked to grab a drink instead.
Sure, why not? I was drunk already; why not keep going?
The Revolution is Invincible - the only thing this sign is missing is a question mark at the end
There was only one destination that conversation was headed, as two semi-intoxicated strangers from totally different worlds tried to find common ground. It didn’t take long…
“What do you think about Cuba?”
He explained it to me as if he had thought about his answer long and hard, perhaps even rehearsed it for this very moment. I felt it.
There was the answer I was looking for. I guess the revolution wasn’t as invincible as the billboard had suggested…
One thing you’ll notice about Havana is everyone is yelling at each other. Everywhere. People are yelling from three-story windows down to people on the street, who are also yelling at a person inside a shop who is also yelling at some kids somewhere. People are having full-blown conversations across the street with people hanging out their washing in the opposite building.
Walking down the street, I felt like I was rudely walking through the middle of a conversation.
As soon as I arrived at the house I was staying at, 4 generations of the family all sat down, drank coffee and talked over each other across a giant lounge. Everyone in the family was there to welcome the travellers into their home. Even the senile grandad in the corner was yelling something incoherently from his wheelchair.
Only when people share stories with each other can we all get some kind of grip on reality. Storytelling here was more than sharing information. It was the only weapon they had.
Honest storytelling is how we make sense of the world when we question the facts being handed to us.
Even though social media is filled with plenty of smoke and mirrors, real human stories are being told there. It is up to the users to listen, share, and ensure that any bad marketing or propaganda is called out and treated like the senile grandad yelling incoherently in the corner.
But this doesn't work without media literacy.
By the way, I bought the Cubans off him in the end.
I hope he found a way out.
From the camera roll
