A capitalist in Cuba

Kiplinger's Personal Finance Magazine, March, 1998 by Manuel Schriffres

The billboards that dot Havana's streets and the surrounding countryside still spout political slogans: "Cuba--ninos con escuelas" (Cuba--children with schools); "En mi casa mando yo" (In my house I am in charge); "Socialismo o muerte" (socialism or death). But on this warm, starry evening, as I dine at a private, for-profit restaurant, they seem oddly out of date.

The fare in the paladar is plentiful. I and the dozen other Americans in my group are offered mounds of black beans and rice, fried plantains and a choice of pork or chicken. I can wash down my meal with Cuban beer or a cubalibre, a popular rum-and-cola drink.

Named after a popular Brazilian soap opera, paladares are restaurants set up in Cubans' homes. Although the state limits paladares to 12 seats, this restaurant hosts not only our group, but also another containing a half-dozen more people. Paladares may not serve shrimp or lobster--the government wants no competition for these high-profit-margin items--but my chicken dinner is more than satisfactory.

Unshackled free enterprise it obviously isn't. Still, Cuba, one of the last bastions of communism, is taking its first tentative steps toward a free-market economy. And it's doing it without the help of its giant neighbor 90 miles to the north. The U.S. has not had diplomatic relations with Cuba for 37 years, and a tough trade embargo generally prevents U.S. companies from doing business in Cuba.

The embargo also prevents most Americans from traveling to Cuba, so I didn't hesitate when given the opportunity to visit the mostly forbidden Caribbean island. What I found was a country of contradictions. It is a place of majestic beauty, both natural and constructed by human hands. Yet the city of Havana is filled with buildings that look as if they've just been strafed by machine guns. Hunger is nowhere to be found in Cuba and citizens are guaranteed free medical care, but cubanos admit that they want something better, and in particular they crave U.S. dollars. The government proclaims the joys of socialism while it encourages foreign investment and permits Cubans to engage in free enterprise. And though Cuba's people bear the brunt of the U.S. boycott, they seem to bear no ill will toward Americans and are friendly toward all foreigners.

Although our government bans most Americans from traveling to Cuba, journalists, scholars and those with approved religious and humanitarian organizations are free to do so. Though I could have gone as a journalist, I chose to visit Cuba with a humanitarian group called Jewish Solidarity. Its mission is to deliver food, medicine and religious supplies--not to mention moral support--to the 1,500 Jews of Cuba. (For information on traveling to Cuba, see the box on the facing page.)

Actually, I could have entered via yet a third route. I was born in Cuba, and I will always be considered one of its citizens. But it had been 44 years since I had last set foot on Cuban soil. My Spanish, I'm ashamed to say, is nonexistent. So I decided that it would be wiser--and perhaps safer--to travel on my U.S. passport.

It's 7 o'clock on a Sunday morning, and Miami International Airport is bursting with activity. Scores of people are checking in for our chartered flight to Havana. Almost everyone, it seems, with the exception of the Jewish Solidarity contingent of 15, is checking two, three or four enormous suitcases or duffel bags filled with food, clothing, toiletries and medicine. These are Cuban Americans, many of whom arrived during the 1980 Mariel boatlift or during the 1994 raft exodus and are returning with bounty for the relatives they left behind. The gifts are not subject to the U.S. embargo, which applies to business contacts. Meanwhile, almost everyone spends several dollars to shrink-wrap each case for security purposes. We don't know any better, so we follow suit.

Despite the excess poundage, our Airbus A-310 manages to lift off. Since President Clinton banned direct travel between the U.S. and Cuba in the wake of the shoot down by Cuba of two U.S. civilian planes in 1996, our chartered flight engages in a minor subterfuge. We stop first in Nassau, where no one is permitted to deplane. After a 20-minute layover, we're back in the air for the brief flight to Jose Marti International Airport, named for the Cuban national hero who fought for independence from Spain in the 19th century. With the stop in Nassau, the whole trip takes less than two hours.

My visit gets off to a poor start when the number on my passport doesn't match the number on my visa application. Shortly before leaving Washington, I learned that passports must be valid for at least six months beyond the time of your stay in Cuba. Mine was scheduled to expire in just a few weeks. I scurried over to the passport office, applied for expedited approval and got my new passport just three days before departure. My Spanish-speaking father and stepmother, who accompany me on the trip, relay my explanation to the immigration officer. Nevertheless, he orders me to stay in the drab holding area for new arrivals. After a 25-minute wait that seems much longer, I am allowed to pass through.