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University Micrdfilms International 300 N. Z eeb Road Ann Arbor, Ml 48106 8305327

Franklin, Lillian Cleamons

THE IMAGE OF THE BLACK IN THE CUBAN THEATER: 1913-

The Ohio State University Pk.D. 1982

University Microfilms International300 N. Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, MI 48106 THE IMAGE OF THE BLACK

IN THE CUBAN THEATER:

1913-1965

DISSERTATION

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for

the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate

School of The Ohio State University

By Lillian Cleamons Franklin, B.A., A.M.

•a-**#****

The Ohio State University

1982

Reading Committee: Approved By

Grinor Rojo

Cynthia Steele AcTvislt Mary Ann Williams .rtmentTTji' ft om&nc e / Languages For Gary, a reservoir of

strength and patience ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my Committee, Professors Rojo,

Steele, and Williams, for their guidance and suggestions throughout the research and writing of this dissertation.

I am deeply indebted to Professor Grinor Rojo, my dissertation and graduate studies advisor at Ohio State, without whose continued support this study would have been impossible.

A special word of thanks goes to my family: my mother, who gave her time so that I could study; my uncle and aunt, whose moral support during these difficult years gave me the courage to go on; my brother and sister, whose personal achievements showed me that all things are pos­ sible; and my husband Gary, who always believed in me.

Finally, my sincere gratitude goes to the many scholars of black literature, both past and present, whose investigations have provided me with invaluable information and the inspiration to complete this study. Outstanding among the many recent studies are: The Black Image in

Latin American Literature, by Richard Jackson; Blacks in

Hispanic Literature, edited by Miriam DeCosta; and Harlem,

Haiti, and Havana, by Martha Cobb. VITA

February 19» 1951••••••••• Born - Lincolnton, North Carolina

1972...... B.A., College of Wooster, Wooster, Ohio

1972-197 3 ...... Graduate College Fellow, University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana

1973-197 ^ ...... Teaching Associate, Department of Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese, University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana

197^...... A.M., The University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana

1976-1980...... Teaching Associate , Department of Romance Languages, The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

DEDICATION...... ii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS...... iii

VITA...... iv

INTRODUCTION...... 1

PART I - PRE-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA...... 22

CHAPTER I. The Origins: History and Culture in West Africa...... 23

CHAPTER II. Slave Society in Cuba...... 32

CHAPTER III. Blacks in Pre-revolutionary Cuba...... 48

CHAPTER IV. Black Literature in Pre-revolutionary Cuba...... 72

PART II - POST-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA...... 105

CHAPTER I. Post-revolutionary Cuba: No Fidelism Without Fidel...... 106

CHAPTER II. Literature in Post-revolutionary Cuba... 128

PART III - TEXTUAL ANALYSES...... 151

CHAPTER I. The Republican Cuban Theater...... 152

CHAPTER II. The Post-revolutionary Theater: Is it Kuntu? ...... 208

CONCLUSIONS...... 277

NOTES...... 289

BIBLIOGRAPHY...... 320

v INTRODUCTION

Since the sixteenth century, black people have parti­ cipated in the history of Latin America. By means of the

institution of slavery, blacks have constituted much of

the region's labor force. Thus, in some areas, such as the economy, black participation has been significant. This

study focuses on one area in which black presence and participation have been passive. In the area of imaginative literature, the black image has been principally in the hands of white artists, who have been allowed to define

the terms in which the black sees himself and subsequently considers his own experience. These image makers, vis-a-vis

European language and imagery, traditionally have held fallacious theories about blacks, whom they depicted as animals, with a sub-human mentality. Although these images are not accurate, they do reflect the low status of blacks in the Americas. Furthermore, they reflect the view held by society at large, a society with European roots, with respect to black people. We can conclude that literature does not develop in isolation from the cultural climate that directly or indirectly guides people's lives. In particular, literature mirrors and interprets the society that produces

1 2 it. Therefore, the fact that "blacks have not been the interpreters of their own experience means that the black image is bound to be problematic.

Since the 1930s blacks worldwide have been engaged in literary activity, assuming personal responsibility for the preservation of black culture and the restoration of the black image. Such activity has seen the birth of Black

Aesthetics, which serves primarily as a corrective measure — a means of helping black people understand their own life 1 experiences. Consequently, Black Aesthetics provides a system for isolating and evaluating the artistic works of black people which reflects the spacial character and 2 imperatives of the black experience. Beginning in the late

1800s early black critics, such as Carter G. Woodson, founder of the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History;

W. E. B. DuBois; and George W. Williams, first black member of the Ohio legislature and founder of African Studies in the United States; laid much of the groundwork for research in this area. Those who followed, including Yalaurez B.

Spratlin and John Matheus, sought to present the black experience for a primarily white audience. These critics saw black literature as unique by virtue of its origins in black culture, a culture which is different from others due to the restrictions placed on its members because of their race. They further reasoned that this distinctness creates in its members psychological attitudes that are not charac­

teristic of the society as a whole.^ These writers recog­

nized that any analysis of black literature should include

an adequate method not only of identifying, but also of

analyzing the distinctive qualities of the literature,

without losing sight of those universal themes and structures ii present within the work. Yet these scholars were keenly

aware that any critical methodology is useless unless it is

capable of helping men become better than what they are. In

short, it must lead people to meaningful action, to the

identification and pursuit of positive values which are

articulated in terms of their experience and reality. This

is one of the most important aspects of Black Aesthetics.

Of the various genres of imaginative literature, the

theater particularly lends itself to discussions of the

black image. The theater is frequently called the most

public of all arts, because of the relationship between the

performance and the audience. Because of this special

artistic relationship, theater serves as a vehicle for

communication on a mass level, which further enables it to

serve as an effective didactic instrument, capable of

directing social change and reflecting public opinion.

Such is the case with Santa Camila de la Habana Vie.ja, by Jose Ramon Brene. This play is an excellent example of

post-revolutionary Cuba's use of the theater as an instrument 4 of social change. In Cuba, the Social Revolution of 1959 has seen the expansion of the theater into the political arena. Because of the leftist social and political charac­ ter of the present government, Marxist concepts of society and economy have been highly visible in the post-revolu­ tionary theater. As a result, the theater serves as a primary tool within the revolutionary cultural machinery.

It has been said that, unless drama develops in its own native soil, it is the child of social prosperity and of cultural maturity.^ During the Cuban Republic Period, these two factors were important and accounted for the slow development of black literature in general, and particularly that of the black theater. For a clearer picture of this process, we should look to the Cuban Colonial Period.

Early in the Colonial Period, by means of the "Nuevas

Leyes" of 15^2, Cuba sought to create a vertically divided dual society, in which the Spaniards and Indians would coexist separately but equally.^ This experiment was short­ lived and was soon replaced by a horizontal dividing line, with criollo descendants occupying the dominant position.

This horizontal bar has remained in place, witnessing the arrival of both black slaves from Africa and Oriental indentured servants. The arrival of these two groups served to create a multiracial society; however, it did not change the orioHo's favored position. During the middle of the nineteenth century, the black population, the result of a 1 thriving slave trade, outnumbered the white population.

Many liberals of that epoch feared a black rebellion similar

to the one which had occurred in Haiti. Jose Antonio Saco,

spokesperson for this group, advocated blanqueamiento' as a

solution to the racial unrest. The encouragement of inter­ racial relations among free blacks and whites in the urban

areas, together with the continuation of the widespread black concubinage among black female slaves and white masters

in the rural areas, produced the present racial composition

in Cuba, where miscengenation has been so extensive as to blur physical distinctions, making the criteria for group membership at least partly cultural, rather than purely racial.

The Cuban socioracial structure, a product of misce­

genation, distinguishes three groupings: whites, coloreds

(mulattos), and blacks. In countries in which there has been a colored group, black nationalist movements have g developed slowly, if they have developed at all. The main reason is that the colored group is not eager to change its perception of itself or of the socioracial structure which has traditionally assigned members of this group to an intermediate position, bestowing privileges and advantages denied to the black group. As a result, the socioracial structure, together with the lesser factors of linguistic 6

and religious unity, have worked against the emergence of a

black movement in Cuba. Into this discussion we need only . y add the figure of Jose Marti in order to understand Cuba's

present-day racial policy.

During the 1870s and 1880s Jose Marti advocated the

formation of a Confederation for Spanish-speaking Nations

of the Caribbean.^ When the Confederation failed to materialize, Marti readjusted his hopes in an effort to

create a unified Cuban Republic. The motto of this endeavor

clearly reflects Marti's personal attitude toward race: 10 "Cuba es mas que negro mas que bianco." The promise of racial equality was effectively used during the War of

Independence as an incentive to blacks to support the revolutionary cause.

Marti's position was expanded by Fernando Ortiz, an anthropologist, enthnographer, and cultural historian who

initiated research on the manifestations of African culture in Cuba. He, like Marti, emphasized that Cuban culture was the product of a cultural blending of European and African cultures. Ortiz' first work, Los negros brujos (1906), was an accumulation of notes in which he intended to show the relationship between black culture and criminal activity in

Cuba. The complete title of this work reflects this objective: Los negros brujos: Apuntes para un estudio de 11 etnologia criminal. Subsequent editions have deleted this 7 complete title. In later works, Ortiz made an about-face.

Rather than viewing the black in the context of criminology, he saw the black as a victim of Cuba's decadent and repres­ sive slave system. Ortiz directed all his energies toward correcting this misconception, while at the same time promoting cultural unity. At a conference in Madrid in

1928, Ortiz made the following statement: "La raza hispanica es una ficcion, generosa si se quiere, pero la cultura hispanica es una realidad positiva, que no puede ser negada ni suprimida en la influencia de la vida mundial.

La cultura une a todos, la raza solo a los elegidos o 12 malditos." In this statement, Ortiz explicitly describes culture as the single most important factor in uniting

Hispanic people. In order to realize this cultural unity,

Ortiz verbally attacked racial discrimination within the

Cuban system. In his 19^2 essay, "Por la integracion cubana de blancos y negros," Ortiz sought to legitimize the black experience to white Cuba. He later founded and directed

"Los Archivos del Folklore Cubano." It was through the medium of folklore that Ortiz was to put forth his most effective efforts in the presentation of black culture to the Cuban people.

The selection of folklore as a means to present and examine the black experience to a Western world has proved unfortunate for black culture. The term "folklore" was 8 coined around 18^6 by William John Thoms and is a product of the Romantic Movement. Since that time it has been used to describe the culture and life style of primitive, illiterate people. Folklore, unlike science, lacks preci­ sion, including denotative meaning and logical statements.

Munro S. Edmonson distinguishes science from lore by their respective preoccupation with analogic systems of thought 13 (science) and connotative semantics (lore). J According to

Janheinz Jahn, Europeans have generally regarded folk literature and folk poetry as a literary desert with

1 1l extremely modest blooms. Since lore must ultimately defer to European judgment, it appears to be an inadequate instru­ ment with which to examine black culture, and has therefore made only modest gains in the project of restoring the black image.

Negritude peaked during the 1930s in "the non-Hispanic

Caribbean, where it stands as an indictment against

European colonialism and Western civilization, explicitly attacking all forms of racism. The presence of a strong mulatto group both delayed and discouraged any racial awareness among blacks during the Republican Period. At the same time it encouraged cultural unity, which was already anticipated by Cuba's socioracial composition, a product of the Colonial Period. In an effort to maintain its inter­ mediary position, the colored group accepted its inferiority 9 to whites, while asserting its superiority over blacks.

This situation resulted in an etiquette of race relations, a ritual of racial conduct in which members of all three groups participated unthinkingly, reinforcing the realities of the social structure. The black "knew his place" and acted accordingly. Consequently, racial behavior and conduct became internalized in the personality of each group member. Sociologists note that the greater the internali­ zation, the greater the stability of the social system.

Racial harmony, as evidenced by a high degree of stability within the social system, does not imply an absence of racial prejudice. In the case of Duba, cultural unity, which was the goal of Jose Marti and the Independence Move­ ment and was further articulated by Fernando Ortiz, con­ siders acceptable certain cultural norms and standards of behavior which are racially determined. Thus, the movement toward cultural unity and the literature which it produced implicitly promoted racism.

The Social Revolution of 1959 listed as its priorities 15 three major areas of reform: classism, racism, and sexism.

When specifically addressing the question of racism, Castro is reported to have said, "Our thoughts are the thoughts 16 of Marti," thus suggesting that the resurrection of Marti's ideas regarding race would be part of his new program. 10

Marti's position is sympathetic with Marxist concepts, which view racism as linked exclusively with capitalism and

imperialism. In his analysis of Marti's ideas on race,

Fernando Ortiz writes: "Por la primera vez aprendi que el

absolutismo colonial, con falta de libertades y sobra de

opresiones, necesitaba del racismo como elemento ideologico 17 de su estructuracion social." ' In Capital III, Marx makes

the following comments with respect to race: "We regard

economic condition as the factor which ultimately determines

historical development. But race is itself an economic 18 factor." Marxist ideology sought to counter the American

influence within Cuba and all those "isms" associated with

American decadence. Many people in Cuba and in other

developing countries find Marx' instructions an effective

way to bridge the gap between traditional and modern

societies. As Cuba seeks to export her revolution, the con­

cept of a Caribbean Confederation is once again the goal of many Cubans. Miguel Barnet argues that Caribbean society, with Cuba leading the way, is moving toward a classless, 19 supraracial amalgamation. ^ The fact that Marxism imposes

a different perspective on the social, political, and

economic development of Cuban society has not changed the

goal of cultural unity as advocated by Jose Marti. Racial

awareness is once again discouraged, with revolutionary

solidarity being the primary goal of the Revolution. In his 11

essay "Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American,"

Harold Cruse explained, "Marxism has stripped the Negro

question of every theoretical concern for the class, color,

ethnic, economic, cultural, psychological and "national" complexities. They have no program apart from uttering the visionary call for "integration plus socialism" or "socialism 20 plus integration." He further observes that socialism plus integration does not guarantee racial equality any more

than does capitalist democracy. It does, however, require

the assimilation of the black into the dominant racial

group; in such a position, the black, as a minority, would 21 wield no political power. Thus, the black/white unity

promoted by Marxism does not eliminate white domination.

Carlos Moore offers an engaging analysis of Marxism

in his article "Were Marx and Engels White Racists?" Moore

seriously questions the universality of a doctrine which has European origins, noting that Marx’s and Engels' ideas

cannot be disassociated from their society and epoch. Recent

studies have convincingly demonstrated that the development

of nineteenth-century social science bore the imprint of white supremacy, and that scientific studies such as those

of Mendel and Darwin only served to legitimize these ideas.

It is equally true that the writings of Marx and Engels attribute Western history with the privilege of being the prototype of the general development of mankind, implicitly 12 excluding the histories of Asia and Africa from the analyt­ ical field. These facts lead to a compelling question:

Can blacks accept that a philosophy is universal and defini­ tive when it reflects a Euro-centric orientation? In Cuba, in order to achieve the classless, supraracial amalgamation prescribed by Marxism, black culture is being systematically removed from the analytical field. Thus, for blacks the goal of revolutionary solidarity and cultural unity implies physical or psychological elimination.

In the article "The Problem of Prejudice," Gordon W.

Allport lists five ways of acting out prejudice, ranging from the least to the most energetic. They are: anti­ locution, avoidance, discrimination, physical attack, and 22 extermination. Extermination, whether in the form of lynchings, massacres, or psychological elimination, i.e., the removal of black models, a distortion of black history with the abstraction of blacks from their proper historical context, represents the most violent expression of prejudice.

Therefore, the present racial policy in Cuba, with its goal of cultural homogeneity and, consequently, racial homo­ geneity, should be viewed with some concern by blacks.

Keeping in mind this historical overview of Cuban race relations and policies, this study seeks to analyze the image of the black within the Cuban theater as a reflection of the Cuban environment. It should be noted from the outset that Cuban theater traditionally has been and continues to

be a part of the Western literary tradition. This fact is

significant, given the fact that statistics as late as 19&5

estimated the black population to constitute between thirty 23 and forty-five percent of the total population of Cuba. J

Roberto Gonzalez Echevarria argues that, in spite of their

assimilation of certain neo-African values, Cuban writers have seen themselves and their historicity as a part of oh Western culture. Cuban literature, whether narrative,

poetic or dramatic, is cast in the literary molds of Europe.

Within this Western tradition, the black image has suffered

significant distortion; the incongruity of the white model

with black experience has led to a consistent caricature of

this experience. On the other hand, the black theater as

it has developed from its African origins and concepts,

challenges Western thought and aesthetics. One of its major

objectives is to create characters and experiences which

take into account the historical, economic, political,

and cultural (i.e., ideological and philosophic) milieu

from which the literature has emerged. J Without question,

the absence in Cuba of any black movement all but precludes

any serious discussion of black theater per se. Rather,

the black figure and the black experience have been carried

to the Cuban stage vis-a-vis the promotion of folklore. The 14

image of blacks within this Western/folkloric tradition is

the subject of this study.

Through an examination of the Republican Cuban theater

and the Post-Revolutionary theater, I will demonstrate that

the cultural direction, along with the political, social,

and economic patterns, of both periods have prevented the

development of a black theater. The absence of a black

theater has meant the absence of an authentic black voice 2 6 to serve as interpreter of the black experience. What

has surfaced in place of the black voice has been a stereo­

typed, distorted image of blacks by white artists. Their

works have resulted in a "theater of prejudice," defined by

a rigid set of negative perceptions of and feelings toward

blacks.

This study intends to be both descriptive and analytic,

taking into account issues of both content and form. Yet,

since my methodology is that defined by recent proponents

of black criticism, form is less important and is regulated

by content. As Ron Karenga explains, all black art, regard­

less of any technical requirements, must be functional, 27 within the black community, and committed to its survival. '

He further argues that the essence of black art lies in its

message. Therefore, the analytical procedure utilized in

this study begins with a descriptive examination of the 15 works themselves, according to the guidelines of black criticism in the United States as it is applied to the dramatic genre.

Richard Jackson notes four categories in literary criticism of the Afro-Spanish American author: black criticism; negristic or socio-negristic criticism; socialist, or Marxist or nationalist criticism; and universal criti- pQ cism. Black criticism, he explains, looks at blacks subjectively, from a black ethnic point of view, reevaluates the black man's image in literature and in criticism and points, if not toward the formulation of a black aesthetic in literature, at least toward recognition of the role 29 ethnicity plays in evaluating literature and criticism. 7

Hoyt W. Fuller argues that black criticism considers literature first and foremost as an activity which occurs within a given context and cannot be considered outside of it. By extension, black literature, i.e., all literature which attempts to discuss black culture; must reflect the 30 black historical experience. It further recognizes that art is created from cultural experiences, the proper evaluation of which requires adequate critical tools, i.e., knowledge of black history and culture and a critical framework for their analysis.

Although DuBois, Garvey, and Washington made significant early contributions to the rediscovery of black heritage 16 and culture, for the most part this effort can be traced to the Negritude Movement of the 1930s. Aime Cesaire, one of

the principal architects of both the concept and the move­ ment, viewed it as the decolonization of culture. In

"Orphee Noir" Jean Paul Sartre referred to Negritude as a struggle to overthrow the oppressive forces of cultural domination. ^ More recently, coinciding with the protest movement,student movement and black nationalist movement of the 1960s, the Black Arts Movement in the United States provided a forum for further discussion and development of black culture and aesthetics. This movement gave birth to the Black Arts Theater in Harlem in 1965» the Spirit House in Newark, the Black House in San Francisco, in New School of Afro-American Thought in Washington, D.C., the Institute for Black Studies in Los Angeles, Forum '66 in Detroit, and 32 the Organization of Black American Culture in Chicago.

All these groups hold as their primary objective a better understanding of black art and culture. As for the role of the black critic, Miriam DeCosta argues:

The Black critic must use the craft of Western scholarship to his own end, but he must control this Frankenstein monster (fabricated of bits and pieces of Platonic/Aristotelian aesthetics, Medieval/Renaissance worldviews, Hegelian/Marxist methodology and existentialist/structuralist criticism) by a thorough understanding of Black history and literature, a sensitive appreciation (built on fact and not 17

romantic fiction) of the race's contri­ butions, and an analytical approach which can he utilized in a collective effort to create new concepts, new definitions and new critical structures.33

Since the black critic is bound by no specific area of

Western scholarship, black criticism is not unique but rather is assembled from many differing perspectives which reflect the subjective preference of the critic. Although black criticism does attempt to examine works in terms of their socio-historical significance, it differs from socio- historical criticism in that it sets as its main priority the analysis of the role of black people in the development of Western civilization. Moreover, its objective is to expose the cultural and institutional biases wrought by racism in Western society, and to create a theoretical framework within which we may reexamine the facts and 34 circumstances of the black experience.

This study is divided into three parts. Part One provides a panoramic view of black life in both Africa and the Americas, beginning in the sixteenth century and extending through the Cuban Republican Period, ending in

1958. Most sources agree that the black population of Cuba is descended primarily from the Yorubas, who originated on

Africa's west coast.The second chapter of this section discusses the institution of slavery and the exigencies of the system which resulted in the disintegration and 18

dislocation of African culture, as well as in the creation

of Neo-African culture. In Chapter Three we see free blacks during the Republican Period reconstructing values

in the face of the transition from rural to urban life.

During the Republican Period Cuba's economic problems and

political entanglements, a result of her dependence on

imported skills and capital, took priority over the needs

of the black. Chapter Four discusses literary responses

to the changing Cuban environment.

Part Two follows the same basic pattern as Part One,

this time examining black culture and literature during

the Post-Revolutionary Period. Chapter One of this section

documents the legal gain's of blacks since 1959 and discusses

the role of blacks within the Marxist regime. Chapter Two

takes a panoramic view of literature as an instrument of

Revolutionary reform.

Part Three analyzes thirteen theatrical works from the

Republican and Revolutionary Periods. Chapter One of this

section concentrates on six works from the Republican Cuban

Theater that present, to varying degrees, elements of black culture. El traidor (1913) > "by Jose Antonio Ramos, is dedicated to the veterans of the War of Independence, of whom nearly forty-five percent were black. Un poema con ninos (19^3) was written by Nicolas Guillen, a leading exponent of the Afro-Cuban mode. El milagro de Anaquille 19

(1926), by Alejo Carpentier, also follows the tradition of the Afro-Cuban movement of the 1920s. The remaining plays,

FU-3001 (19^3) "by Jose Antonio Ramos, Lila, la mariposa

(1950) by Rolando Ferrer, and El Travieso Jimmy (19^9) by presenting the black Cuban prototype are representative of the treatment of blacks during the Republican Period.

All of the playwrights discussed in this chapter (who are white, with the exception of Nicolas Guillen) have in common a subordination of black characters and the black experience to a white, Western aesthetic. There are other artists who have used black themes and characters, such as Paco Alfonso,

Marcelo Salinas, and those who wrote within the tradition of the comic theater. Their works, however, are not represented in this study, due to the difficulties involved in acquiring copies of their works. In the case of the comic theater, many of these plays were never staged and many others exist only as scripts, never having been published.

The second and final chapter of this section looks at seven works from the Post-Revolutionary theater: Requiem nor Yarini (i960 ) by Carlos Felipe; Parque de la Fraternidad

(1962), Medea en el espe.jo (i960 ) , and La muerte del Neque

(1963) , by Jose Triana; Santa Camila de la Habana Vie.ja

(1963), by Jose Ramon Brene; Mamieo Omi Omo (19&5), ^y Jose

Milian; and Shango de Ima (1963), by Pepe Carril. In these works, the playwrights use extensively the Afro-Cuban religious framework of santeria or the cult of nanjguismo

The utilization of these two areas of black life reflects

the regime's commitment to restore Cuban folklore. The

artists of this period tend to utilize more fully black

structures, such as the African chorus, drums, music,

rhythms, and dance. Still, despite their more frequent

appearance, these elements continue to function in a

supplementary capacity, as have black elements in every

period of Cuban literature. In the Colonial Period blacks were offered civilization in the form of Christianity. In

the Republican Period they were again offered Western values,

this time sweetened by the promise of material gain. In the

Post-Revolutionary Period it was revolutionary solidarity,

under the aegis of Marxism. All of these philosophies,

Christianity, capitalism, and Marxism, were offered on

condition that blacks renounce their African heritage.

Black themes have traditionally been of minor concern

to both students and critics of Western literature. This has been particularly true in the Hispanic world, where the cultural heritage has suppressed racial awareness among blacks. In Cuba the black experience has been accessible via folklore and has been of interest mainly to anthro­ pologists and other social scientists. Even in those areas where black themes have been most thoroughly developed,

they are frequently dismissed as parochial, lacking those 21 universal values that are considered to he essential to good Western literature. This study looks at the problems in the treatment of the black character which are the result of his marginal status within Western culture. Hopefully, studies such as this one may help to stimulate students of

Hispanic literature and of black literature in other national traditions to further explore the area of Black Hispanic literature, and may encourage Spanish Departments to include such studies in their curricula. PART I

PRE-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA

. . .every culture is the result of the particular experiences of the population, past and present, who live in accordance with it. Melville Herskovits

History produces Literature, but, conversely, Literature creates History. Miriam DeCosta

22 CHAPTER I

THE ORIGINS: HISTORY AND CULTURE IN WEST AFRICA

The great markets for slaves in Africa were on the West Coast, but the old slave trails ran back from the coast far into the interior of the continent, and all peoples of Central Africa contributed to the stream of enforced emigration to the New World.1

The fifteenth century marks the beginning of the era of expanding chattel slavery from Africa to the New World.

For most of the Africans making the voyage, home was West- coast Africa. Senegal and the Guinea coast are two of the four principal areas which are most frequently mentioned in ships’ manifests and diaries, such as they exist. The regions around the mouth of the Niger, named Bonny and

Calabar, also appear in many documents.

The history of the black man in the New World does not begin with the study of slavery. Nor does it begin aboard ships and in the accounts of the African slave trade. The history of the New-World black begins in Africa, and for most slaves that is West Africa.

Yet this route has posed serious problems for both the experienced investigator and the general public as well.

Many of the most respected researchers in this field have

23 24 relied on the same sources for their material. Scholars such as Joseph A. Tillinghast, in The Negro in Africa and

America, (1902), Jerome Dowd, in The Negro Races, (1907-

191*0, W. D. Weatherford, in The Negro from Africa to

America, (1924), and Arthur Ramos, in 0 Negro Brasileiro,

(1936), are but a few who have written extensively on blacks and black culture in both Africa and the Americas. These writers, among others, have greatly influenced the concept and image of the black in the New World. Yet few of these investigators had first-hand contact or experience in their chosen field, and most went to the same sources for their

African materials. It is therefore not surprising that, even though they rarely quote one another, their works are strikingly similar in content — a content which greatly distorts the image, life and culture of the African.

Tillinghast, for example, provides us with the following description:

Previous to the appearance of Europeans, the extreme west coast of Africa was completely isolated from the outside world; its inhabitants lived in scattered villages buried in the forest, and remained in dense ignorance of any other desirable objects than the necessities of their own savage life . . . The appearance of Europeans with new and attractive commodities, produced a great effect. To get them in exchange for native products, thousands of negroes were moved to unwonted exertions, while foreigners taught them new and better 25

methods of production. All this, however, has been comparatively recent, and for ages the negroes were without such incitements to industry.2 (my emphasis)

Tillinghast's lack of objectivity is obvious. Yet he voices an attitude which is generally and readily accepted by those who have been reared within the European/Western

tradition. This bias is not a personal one; rather, it is

a cultural one. Yet it is one which must be resolved if the

threat of human divisiveness and interracial misunderstanding

is to be avoided. This bias encourages the public to accept

the inferiority of one group and the superiority of the

other. Projected into literature, the black/white symbolism has been effectively utilized to support these ethnocentric

feelings and attitudes.

One consequence of this is the notion that African civilizations and their heirs represent a low state .of

savagery, and by extention, the black in the Americas, whether of English, Spanish, Portuguese, or French origin, is this African "blemish" incarnate. This low state of savagery supposedly results from the black's insufficiency in mastering white culture in the United States, Europe, and the Caribbean.

J. M. Mecklin, in his book Democracy and Race Friction, assesses African culture along these’lines. Mecklin calls our attention to the low forms of social organization, the lack of industrial and political cooperation, the 26 intellectual inferiority, the uncivilized institutions of slavery and cannibalism, the low status of women, the inferiority of African art, both those which he refers to as "fine" and mechanical, and an intellectual and religious 3 life which consists of fetichism and sorcery. The

European presence in this backward and unholy scene could only improve the quality of life.

The economic base of fifteenth-century Africa was essentially agrarian, and most of its communities were highly specialized, which in turn allowed the exchange and barter of goods between different groups. In the pre-

European days the monetary system was based on the cowry shell as the expression of value. This economic system, which produced a surplus above and beyond its needs of subsistence, created a class structure with an economic base. In the field of production, the system operated a pattern of cooperative labor and created a mutual self-help program.

Women played an extremely important role in this system.

They frequently were sellers and price setters in the market, and it was not uncommon for them to become wealthy and quite independent. Women were also visible in the area of pro­ duction. The important role of women in the division of labor, in contrast to their role in most European societies at that time, led to the popular assumption that the black 27 male is lazy, requiring the female to do heavy agricultural labor. A more accurate account shows the African woman involved in the lighter tasks, caring for the growing plants and harvesting the crops; but it is the man who was responsible for the heavy work of preparing the fields.

Slavery existed throughout the region. Slaves were obtained through wars, and on the whole slaveholding was of the household variety, with slaves working in domestic service, the property of the chief. While the political units of king and/or chief existed in these societies, a king often had no greater dominion than his particular village, with only a few loyal followers. Stable dynasties were the rule. Courts and related institutions insured the operation of orderly processes of law, while specialists in warfare saw to it that the territory of the ruler was defended in case of attack. In war all males were eligible to serve in the army, and any member of the enemy society, man, woman, or child, was fair game. Although this system was viewed as ruthless by many European observers, it nonetheless assured a degree of regularity and security within the system itself.

The religion of West Africa has been described most frequently in terms of the word "fetish." In a broad sense the word refers to the existence of magical practices which 28 mysteriously preoccupy the mind of the devotee, rendering him in a constant state of fear and inactivity.

Although there are differences in religious practices among the areas of West Africa, there are also important similarities. The acceptance of a cosmic mana or universal force/energy is fundamental to all the religious perspec­ tives. This power or energy, which may he embodied either in objects or persons, was placed on earth by an all-powerful god who created the universe and then left. This ultimate force is frequently traced through a series of family groupings that represent the forces of nature and function as agencies for the enforcement of correct living. The resulting kinship group is the basis for the ancestral cult worship.

This perspective sees man coexisting with and per­ manently accessible to vital forces that infuse both animate and inanimate objects. This is the basis for the "magic" traces in African and Neo-African religions. From this perspective "man is a force, as all things are a force, place and time are forces, and the 'modalities' are h, forces." From this point of view, the Western opposition of life vs. death does not exist. The vital force can and does exist in the dead, as well as in the living. Thus, the dead ancestors never leave the living-. Man alone, man 29 the individual, does not exist. The most basic unit is not

I hut we:

Whatever happens to the individual happens to the whole group, and whatever happens to the whole group happens to the individual. The individual can only say, ' I am, because we are; and since we are, therefore I am’ .5

This is a cardinal point in the understanding of the

African view of man, which has been transplanted in black religions throughout the Americas. Despite the destructive nature of the slave system, this religious-social-psychic web, as it has been called, prepared the African to handle the concepts and mystery of the Judeo-Christian tradition.

The very nature of the African religions found few diffi­ culties in accommodating the religious concepts of a people who believe that a god in heaven punishes antisocial behavior on earth. Black people throughout the Americas, coming from a world of religious traditions, a world whose generic center is religious in nature, found few obstacles in recon­ structing the basic metaphors of the Bible. The slave would adopt the Catholic saint or Protestant angel to mediate his own suffering. He would endure the pain, love his enemy, turn the other cheek — in a word, follow the teachings of the New Testament.

In this respect, the black slave in the Americas clearly departs from the Jewish model. The enslaved Jew suffering from the cruelties of the Pharoah followed the Old Testament, which advocated a more violent and assertive response. The blacks, on the other hand, clearly reflect the influence of the New Testament, which encourages a passive and non-violent conduct as exemplified in the life of Jesus Christ. Black religion, closely following the New Testament, offered the slave the hope of freedom and a means for expressing that hope. Religion served not only as a link with the past, but also as a means of surviving the chaos of the present. That freedom for the slave would be found in heaven was a popular idea and the essence of so many black spirituals: "Swing low, sweet chariot,/Comin' fo to carry me home." Many have called the religious experience of the slave the beginning of the black aesthetic, one branch of which would become literature.

Denied the opportunity to learn to read and write, slaves again relied on a previous cultural pattern, an oral culture, for both entertainment and religious services. The concept of an oral literature is unfamiliar to most people from cultures that equate culture with written material.

The single most important feature of oral literature is its reliance on performance. Oral literature has no independent existence; it is by definition dependent on a performer who formulates it in words.^ Furthermore, oral literature implies the transmission of such material to an audience.

This characteristic corresponds to the African concept of 31 group existence as opposed to the individual unit. Oral literature thus closely parallels both music and dance, in which performance is necessary in order for the form to exist. One can write musical notes, but there is no music until there is sound.

The great masses of slaves, limited to the reality of the plantation, utilized old forms from their African past.

In this manner they were able to carve a new life and set of values from a new context and environment. The slave ships carried not only men, women, and children, but also their gods, beliefs, and customs. This cultural baggage was by no means left intact. Slavery tended to destroy many of the cultural imports from Africa and to reshape many others. These African forms which bent to the impact of slavery are the basis for the Neo-African culture which arose in its place. We can no longer speak of West African societies in the New World, except in the case of a few isolated communities: the Bush group of Guiana or the

Paramaribo, Bahia community are the exception, not the rule.

Black American (Neo-African) culture grew from a com­ bination of this African heritage and the slave system which was imposed upon black people. The old forms were absorbed into the new material, imagery, and symbols. We will explore the manner in which these new forms evolved under the slave system in Cuba in our next chapter. CHAPTER II

SLAVE SOCIETY IN CUBA

With twenty hours of unremitting toil, Twelve in the field, and eight indoors to boil, Or grind the cane— believe me few grow old, But life is cheap, and Sugar, Sir!— is gold. 1

In discussing the institution of slavery in the New

World, one inevitably encounters references to the humanitarian nature of the Iberian variant of that institu­ tion, as compared to the Anglo-Saxon. Although there were definite differences in slavery as practiced by the English as compared to the Spanish and the Portuguese, reports of a benevolent Iberian slave institution are, as one observer notes, a "flight of fantasy."^

Yet the idea of a humane slavery is indeed appealing.

Slavery is a moment of our common past which most of us would prefer to forget. Consequently, we tend to feel quite removed from the entire system. One author has captured this tendency toward evasion in the following manner:

For many of us slavery was a large and unsavoury business run by some very nasty characters who treated the poor blacks badly until a handful of white heroes organised the entire country against them, routed them after a long battle, gave liberty to the blacks, and cleansed

32 33

the nation for ever more of the taint of guilt and racism.3

This rather simplistic view of slavery is appealing, although, to say the least, it is not an accurate account.

Its appeal lies in its ability to absolve us from any guilt or complicity, by portraying slavery as an unfortunate but necessary part of Western expansionism, one which encouraged industrial and economic growth and progress. Consequently, we hold no individuals directly accountable, either as slave holders or victims.

Yet slavery, which thrived and peaked in the nineteenth century, was not confined to a "few nasty men" or even to a small segment of society. Slavery, in all its variations in the New World, was not a small, family-run business, con­ ducted by a few and easily identifiable individuals or groups. Slavery was a complete, all-encompassing system which excluded very few within a given society.

With regard to the notion of humane slavery, the basis of this myth lies in the different course of slavery as it was practiced in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

In the pre-plantation era of Cuban slavery, before the sugar boom of the nineteenth century, enslaved persons could live with few rigorous rules. In addition, large numbers of slaves were in domestic service, in households.

The eighteenth century, which was dominated by the cattle and coffee industries, supplemented by a small-scale 34 sugar operation, gave way to large-scale sugar production destined for the international market. Most sources con­ veniently locate this shift and the subsequent intensifi­ cation of Cuban argiculture in the latter part of the eighteenth century.

It is generally agreed that the English occupation of the port of Havana in 1763 introduced Havana to the world.

Cuba, which had previously been isolated, became more accessible to foreign ships, and consequently the number of slaves in Cuba slowly began to rise. With the additional capital from the English during and following their brief occupation, the Cuban railway system was conceived and began to be constructed.

The railway system, which was completed in the nine­ teenth century, reduced the costs of shipping sugar by Ll nearly seventy percent during the first year. In addition, the railroads encouraged the production of more than 800 tons of sugar from estates of about 300 acres, which had previously produced at a maximum capacity of 300 tons."*

The railway was a principal stimulant to the industrial revolution in Cuba. Railroads and steam power christened a new era in sugar production. This increased production required more slaves, larger plantations, and adherence to a more rigid life for the slave. The eighteenth-century formula for production was to prove obsolete. Sugar 35 production became big business and the slave population responded to the new demands of the system. By contrast, the area having less need for slaves, the eastern zone, was able to concede more freedom to blacks and exhibited a lesser degree of racism.^

As previously stated, increased sugar production required the large plantation. This naturally brought an end to the small, family-type ingenio common to the eigh­ teenth century. This new system required a greater degree of regimentation in the operation of the plantation and in the lives of the slaves. In short, the nineteenth-century slave system put an end to the small farming system, at least in the case of sugar, and at the same time put an end to the myth of a benevolent slave system.

The importance of the sugar revolution is apparent in its effect on the organization and structure of the Cuban economy and Cuban life. The revolution saw the creation of 7 a new class, which Franklin Knight calls the slavocracy.

This group replaced the existing elite group and had the further political effect of subordinating the bureaucracy and the old-line Spanish-born residents to a new, moneyed 8 class of planters and merchants. The sugar revolution destroyed the basis of the small farm operation, particularly in the western zone, while Cuban commerce became intrinsi­ cally linked to foreign capitalism. 36

The African slave literally carried this system on his hack, but found himself caught in the transition from a pre­ plantation society to an industrialized sugar-plantation economy. The Cuban slave trade responded to the ever- increasing demand for labor required by the sugar revolution, by acquiring more and more slaves. However, the slavocracy was on a collision course, as world sentiment grew in favor of the abolition of slavery.

By 181^ Denmark, Sweden, the United States, and Britain q had abolished the slave trade. Yet Cuba at this time was unable to survive without African manpower. Thus, slave trade continued to the island until the middle of the 1860s.

The sugar revolution and the need for a stable and reliable source of labor brought more and more Africans to the island, despite the attempts of British diplomacy and English and

Cuban abolitionists to stop such activity.

The British, however, proved relentless in their zeal to end slave trade to the island. In addition to diplomatic activity, naval interceptions off the coast of Africa and around Cuba were also employed. The trips to Africa con­ tinued, and Cuban vessels proved quite effective in their attempts to evade British cruisers or to elude them by flying foreign flags.

Slave traffic would prove to be a difficult and complex problem for all concerned. The Cuban population was divided 37 on the issue. While many governors discouraged such traf­ ficking, many did not. Although it is reported that some of the captains-generals had themselves invested in slave trade, few if any could seriously oppose the slavocracy, since the power of the large planters was so great. Even the threat of a British take-over could not end slave trade or slavery on the island.

Slave traffic proved to be the easiest solution to the labor problem in Cuba. European immigrants to the island arrived with the expectation of becoming landed proprietors.

They were unwilling to make a more serious investment toward realizing future goals. At the same time, the sugar revolu­ tion required manpower, and slavery was accepted as the best way that the Cubans could obtain and organize their laborers.

In the absence of a working class, the planters relied on slavery and slave trade as a means of stablizing their labor needs. This fact, coupled with ineffective and brutal handling by slave holders, resulted in the inability of slaves adequately to reproduce themselves; thus, the dependency on slave trade was acute.

The planters could have restructured the social and economic base of the society, but they were unwilling to do so. Thus slave trade, the sugar revolution, and the Cuban economy became interconnected. Clearly, slaves, who represented large numbers of unskilled and semi-skilled 38 workers, were unable to escape the economic demands of the sugar revolution.

The most effective factor which finally destroyed slave trade in Cuba was the abolition of slavery in the

United States. Most planters realized that the abolition of slavery in the United States signalled an eventual end to similar activity in Cuba as well. However, a gradual phasing out of slavery was viewed as the most desirable solution.

Cuban slave society created a class hierarchy consist­ ing of free persons of color, and slaves. Within the slave group there existed the further division between urban and rural slaves. Arriving Africans most frequently joined the rural class, since they lacked the skills required in the urban environment. A relatively small number of slaves lived in towns and were employed as domestic servants and in jobs that required minor skills. The majority of Africans that arrived during the nineteenth century ended up on the plantation. More than eighty percent of those brought in 10 between 18^0 and i860 became part of the rural class.

The nineteenth-century slave in Cuba was a rural slave; the urban slave was clearly the exception.

The urban slave enjoyed some advantages unknown to his rural counterpart. Franklin Knight cites three major areas of difference: in the method of labor and participation in 39 the cash economy; in social and sexual conduct; and in the 11 available legal resources.

Many urban slaves were domestic servants. Others could be placed in occupations requiring minor skills, such as: gardening, carpentry, and tailoring. As a rule, the urban slave established a different relationship with his master than did his rural counterpart. Probably the smaller ratio of slave to owner is responsible for this difference, but we cannot discount the less regimented life of the urban slave, as compared to that of the rural slave. In addition, the urban slave was given the opportunity to mix with the

"free people of color" living in the towns.

The urban slave generally had access to cash, was permitted to hire out, and accordingly could dress better and participate in various activities. For the urban slave this function was fulfilled by the cabildos, the secret societies or lodges founded by African slaves and their descendants in Cuba and all over Latin America.

Sexual union was facilitated by the presence of a larger proportion of black women in towns. Urban slaves also had legal rights and access to legal resources that were denied their rural counterparts. Irreconcilable differences between slave and master could lead to the sale of the slave. This

12 * was a course of action open to either party. The sindico 40

or protector of slaves had the right to oversee such action and protect the slave's right to seek a new master.

Unfortunately, the rural slave did not enjoy most of

these legal privileges. The law of the plantation was that

of the owner and, in many cases, of the mayoral.

Bozales were Africans who could not speak Spanish, since

they were the most recent arrivals to the island. These

slaves most frequently found their final destination on the plantation. Ladinos were slaves who were foreign-born but had been baptized as Roman Catholics. They generally spoke a venacular language, Spanish, Portuguese, or French.

Criollo slaves were those born in Cuba, and they were

generally the most expensive.

By the middle of the nineteenth century the tabacco­

farming industry had little need for slaves. It became an

industry for the small farmer, the free white, and a few

free colored farmers. But as the sugar industry grew, many

tabacco and coffee estates were converted into sugar plan­

tations. By the late 1860s nearly fifty percent of all 13 slaves in Cuba worked directly on the sugar plantation. ^

Life for the rural slave was extremely difficult. As

one author has observed, "Life on the sugar planta­ tions, . . . was seen in Hobbesian terms as nasty, brutish, 14 and short." On the plantation the small huts of the 41 eighteenth century gave way to harracones. In these

"barrack-type structures, males and females were kept apart.

Most sugar plantations had as the center the casa de vivienda, the stone home of the owner or administrator.

Other "buildings would include a chapel, houses for white laborers and technicians, the infirmary, the slaves' quarters, the nursery, and the establishments of the cooper, 15 carpenter, and blacksmith.

The slaves were under the direct control of the mayoral.

In the eighteenth century this post frequently went to a mulatto or black. But in the nineteenth century, it was exclusively the post of a white man, most often a Canary

Islander

Cuba required the replacement of eight to ten percent of its slaves each year, making it totally dependent on slave-trade activity. Unlike their northern counterparts in Virginia, Cubans never established breeding farms. Addi­ tionally, an unnatural disproportion of men to women slaves, particularly in rural areas, has led to frequent suggestions that there was homosexuality among slaves. Those children who were born to slaves were frequently so badly mistreated and neglected that the infant mortality rate among slaves reached staggering figures.

Cuban slaves could still legally purchase their freedom under the coartacion system. Mothers could thus 1*2

purchase the freedom of their unborn children for twenty-five

dollars and any babies between birth and baptism for fifty

dollars. However, this method of achieving freedom was the

exception rather than the rule, particularly for the rural

slave, who had little opportunity to amass money. The

coartacion was further complicated by the local justice of

the mayoral, who could at his own discretion ignore the

petitions of slaves.

Slaves on sugar estates worked incredibly long, hard

hours. During the six months of the harvest, sleep was 17 limited to about four hours a day. ' The slaves would be

divided into gangs and put to work in groups of twenty-five

at a time. Those who began working at the mill at 8 p.m.

continued until 12 a.m. They then slept until k a.m., when

they would be sent to the field, where they would cut cane

all day until 8 p.m.

Ironically, slaves on "efficient," modern plantations

with steam-driven mills were treated more inhumanely than

those on the old oxen-driven mills. They were confined to menial and manual labor, and they were regarded and treated

as economic rather than human units; hence the greater number of slave revolts occurring on large and wealthy mills.•-i 18

By the 1850s and 1860s, several alternatives surfaced as new sources of labor. Gallegos or Andalusians were lured 43

to Cuba. Another attempt was made to bring the Chinese laborer to the island. The Chinese came as immigrants on an

eight-year contract. They were not to be regarded as slaves, but no one contracted the Chinese; they were bought.

According to one source, no Cuban going to the barracon to contract for the services of a Chinese coolie ever talked about "hiring"; he bluntly said that he was buying a 19 Chinese.

After the 1850s the character of the large sugar plantations were altered, reflecting these latest immigrants.

The mixed group of workers consisted of paid whites,

indentured Asians, and slaves. Franklin Knight notes that

the labor organization was hierarchical, corresponding to 20 the racial divisions. At the top were the whites, then came the Asians, and at the bottom were the blacks.

Those whites at the top of the social structure enjoyed equal political privileges, though not equal influence.

Whites could own as many slaves as they could afford, and could get rich in whatever manner they pleased. Knight again notes that the color of their skin was the badge of their elevated social position, and in the realm of economic 21 pursuit they suffered no overt individual handicap.

Ironically, the prosperity of these whites, and of the entire economic structure of Cuba, depended on slaves. 44

Spain's inability to supply adequate capital and the necessary technology for an- expanding market, along with her weakened political position, led many on the island to seek annexation to the United States. For others, Cuban autonomy was the solution. Yet fear that Spain would concede the demands of the British led to the strong white cohesion and threats of secession from Spain.

By 1840 the lines of the slavery controversy were clearly drawn. Cuba was divided into two camps: one group was led by planters and merchants, and the opposition was led by the "intellectuals." Jose Antonio Saco, spokesperson for the intellectuals, proposed an end to slave trade, as well as white immigration to the island to offset the black population. Although many of this group decried the slavery system, behind their opposition was the fear’of a black uprising and the creation of a black nation, as had occurred in Haiti in 1804.

By the mid 1860s, Spain suffered severer internal dissension along with her economic woes. She was eager to extend a policy of conciliation toward Cuba. In November,

1865, Spain offered a colonial reform program. This plan proposed suppression of slave trade, freedom for all slaves born after 1866, registration of all slaves, no emancipation without compensation, and no legislation on slavery without consulting slave owners. ^5

The reform program was not without its problems.

Spain was well aware that she could ill afford any plan which might require compensation to planters. In addition, the conservatives in Cuba feared any liberal reform which might ruin the sugar trade. As a result, the program did not meet the needs and requirements of the planters and merchants, a fact which resulted in the Ten Years War, begun in 1868.

With regard to the slavery issue, what did result from this conflict was a measure which became the Moret Law of 22 1870. This plan was to liberalize the system of vientre libre (free birth) but avoid the plan of indemnification which could bankrupt the Spanish government.

Article I of the. Ley Moret established the right of free birth to every child born of slave parents after publication of the law in 1873• Article II declared that all slaves born between September 17, 1868 and the date of publication would become the property of the state; masters were to be paid 125 Spanish pesetas for each slave. Article

III extended liberty to all slaves who had served under the

Spanish flag or had helped Spain in any capacity during the Ten Years conflict. Article IV declared all slaves over the age of sixty to be free without indemnity to their owners. Article V granted freedom to all slaves belonging 46 to the state. Other articles outlined the guidelines, obligations and codes of conduct between slaves and masters. 2 ^ 3

It should be noted that the Ley Moret had no real impact on the majority of slaves in Cuba. It freed the newborn slave, who would not be productive for at least eight to ten years. It freed the slave over sixty years of age, who also would prove to be unproductive and frequently useless to the plantation system. In addition, those slaves who supported Spain during the conflict were indeed few in number. It should also be noted that the Ley Moret was proposed in the midst of the Ten Years War and was viewed by both sides as a temporary measure. Final disposition would, of course, be determined by the "winner" of the conflict.

The Ley Moret serves as the official response of the

Spanish government to the slavery issue. Although neither conservatives nor liberals were happy with the law, it signals a new era for Cuba — the emancipation period.

The legal, social, and economic status of the black in this new era of emancipation did not drastically change the day-to-day life of the former slave. Unlike wars, changes in social views and attitudes do not begin or change with legislative proposals. In the aftermath of slavery, anti-black attitudes became transformed into economic and ^7 political weapons. Clearly, what did occur with the Ley

Moret was a reinforcement of white supremacy on all levels.

Songs, poems, plays, and the arts in general showed a superficial sympathy for blacks which disguised a contempt for blacks and black culture:

In these romantic regions man grows wild; Here dwells the negro, Nature's outcast child. Is he not Man, though knowledge never shed Her quickening beams on his neglected head? Is he not Man, by sin and suffering tried? Is he not Man for whom the Saviour died?2**-

Slavery in Cuba not only changed the landscape; it created a new economic class and restructured the existing social classes. Although slavery brought great wealth to many, the anti-black sentiment was strong on both sides, both those favoring and those opposing slavery. Jose

Antonio Saco perhaps expresses best the sentiments of Cuba:

Upon white immigration depend agricultural improvement, the perfection of the arts, in one word, the prosperity of Cuba in every sphere; The colonization of Cuba is necessary and urgently required to give the white population of Cuba a moral and numerical preponderance over its black inhabitants . . . it is necessary to counter the ambition of one million two hundred thousand Haitains and Jamaicans who seek her lonely beaches and unused lands; it is necessary to neutralize as far as possible the terrible influence of the three million blacks who surround us, the millions to come by natural increase and who will drag us down in the near future in a bitter, bloody holocaust.25 (my emphasis) CHAPTER III

BLACKS IN PRE-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA

From emancipation to revolution

Los negros cubanos ocuparon un lugar muy importante en la lucha por la independencia de la Isla. Una vez obtenida esta, los negros esperaban y exigian en Cuba Libre las mismas consideraciones que se habian ganadoconsu sangre durante la contienda. La espina dorsal del Ejercito Libertador fue el soldado negro. Los negros, que por entonces eran un tercio de la poblacion total del pals, representaban el 70 por ciento del ejercito cubano.

In the years following emancipation through the pre-revolutionary period (1871-1959)* black activity ranged from being highly visible in the early years of the Republic to being nearly non-existent toward the end. Three periods in the era provide a framework for analyzing black presence, contribution, and participation: the early years of the

Republic, which begins with the War of Independence and culminates with the "Race War" of 1912; the administration of Gerardo Machado, 1925-1936; and the Batista years, from the late 1930s through 1959*

Although exact figures are unavailable, some sources estimate that eighty-five percent of the Independence army

Jj-8 49

in 1895 was black. This figure, however, is offset by the

fact that less than two percent of the civil administration

was black. Black participation in the War of Independence

was not unexpected. The Separatists, a group which emerged

in I878 led by Maximo Gomez and Antonio Maceo, had a

number of ranking blacks among their leadership. Also,

Juan Gualberto Gomez, a black, was the voice of Jose Marti

during his exile. Gualberto Gomez was the chief of the

revolutionary conspiracy which was directed by Jose Marti

in the years prior to 1895* Specifically, Juan Gualberto

Gomez was an ideologist for the black and mulatto community.

He encouraged blacks to join the revolutionary forces,

promising them freedom and equality in exchange for their

support. With respect to race, Jose Marti made the following

statement:

. . . En Cuba no hay temor a la guerra de razas. Hombre es mas que bianco mas que mulato, mas que negro. En los campos de Cuba ha subido juntos por los aires, las almas de los blancos y de negros.2

The large number of blacks that were in favor of

independence and that actively participated in the army

left many whites uneasy and led them to oppose the entire movement. Additionally, many whites refused to take orders

from Brigadier General Antonio Maceq, a mulatto, accusing 3 him a favoratism toward blacks. 50

The intervention of the United States in the conflict was welcomed hy many whites. In 1898 the United States established a provisional military government in Cuba.

However, the presence of the North Americans was a step backwards in terms of social progress for blacks.

General Brooke only named whites to his cabinet, and made a general government policy of favoritism to whites.

In the 1906 administration of Estrada Palma, the first

Cuban administration of the Republic, the policies of the

American General Brooke continued, along with the growing discontent of the blacks.

The police force of Havana hired very few blacks as a matter of policy, and the few that were on the force found it impossible to achieve promotion. According to

Rafael Fermoselle, the Ministry of Public Works refused to k hire blacks in positions higher than foreman. The progress in the educational field was not much better than in the military. Despite the I879 law which permitted black children to attend public schools, blacks could not find employment. Even blacks who had been graduated from high school found great difficulty in securing jobs. Some schools, including some religious institutions, excluded black children, and discriminated in their hiring practices.

In effect, the 1879 law was negated.-^ The business world proved no different for blacks. The major part of business establishments were operated and owned by the Spanish, who as a policy also refused to hire blacks.^

Blacks charged the administration of Tomas Estrada

Palma with flagrant discrimination, not only in the govern­ ment, but also in the armed forces, the educational system,

industry, and foreign-controlled commerce. All of these conditions led to the August Revolution of 1906.

Black discontent also derived from the absence of blacks in the diplomatic corps. Moreover, Rafael Fermoselle makes what may be considered the saddest comment on black existence in the young Cuban Republic: "Quizas lo m^fs

triste de la situacion era que muchos altos oficiales negros, veteranos del Ejercito Libertador, estaban muriendose 7 de hambre."'

Cuban officials sought to rationalize the embarrassing

status of the blacks and their failure to fulfill the campaign promises of the first administration. Enrique

Jose Varona, a leader of the period, issued the following

statement: "El haber luchado por Cuba no les daba necesariamente derecho a un trabajo en el gobiemo, pues las necesidades de la paz son diferentes a las necesidades g de la guerra."

There was a great deal of tension between the govern­ ment of Estrada Palma and the black community. The black leaders charged the government with continued discrimination, 52 sowing the seeds of the insurrection which was to follow.

In an article in Outlook, "Saving a People from Themselves,"

Harold F. Howland expressed an opinion shared by many Cubans and Americans alike. According to Howland, blacks had filled the ranks as insurrectionists in order to sack, rob, o and feel powerful, and as a pretext for not working. The official Cuban response, which was given in an effort to forestall a new threat of American intervention, character­ ized the insurrectionists as "unos negros chumas dirigidos 10 por hombres blancos de peor calana que los mismos negros."

The violence was shortlived. The Palma administration was aided by Theodore Roosevelt, who called upon the people of Cuba to put aside their differences, preserve the independence of' the Republic, and avoid the anarchy of civil war. 11 New promises were made, and it was business as usual in Cuba.

According to the census of 1907, twenty-nine percent 1 2 of the Cuban population was black. Of 2,0^8,980 inha­ bitants, 27^,272 were black and 33^*695 were listed as mulatto.^ In addition, the data of this census reveal that, of nineteen cities which a population of more than

8,000 residents, only three cities had a majority of blacks:

Santiago de Cuba, Jovellanos, and Guantanamo.

In the area of employment, the census records that, of

205 government employees, eleven were black. It should be 53 noted that one of the principal demands of the black leaders was greater government employment.

The education statistics show that, in the age group of ten years and older, 5^*9 percent of the blacks were illiterate by Western standards, compared to 38 percent of the whites. Of 5,964 teachers (maestrcs .) , 4*1-0 were black; of 1,349 lawyers practicing at that time, four were 14 black; and of 1,243 physicians, none were black.

In other areas, we learn that, of 951 employees of the railway industry, 161 were black. Of the 5^7 people employed in the tramways, 24 were black. The majority of the blacks were still employed in agriculture, factories, and mechanical industries, in that order.

The area of personal service, domestic employment, was the greatest employer for black women. However, of the black male population between 15 and 64 years old, 20,726 were listed as unemployed. Of the black female population of the same age group, 149,352 were unemployed. This means that, since the total black population in 1907 was 33^,695, 15 over one-half of the black population was unemployed.

The politics of the era saw some minor changes. The conservative party was comprised of former members of the

Partido Autonomista (Autonomist Party) and the Partido

Moderado (Moderate Party). The Liberal Party was divided into two factions. One supported the candidacy of Jose 54

Miguel Gomez and was called the Historical Liberal Party.

The other faction supported the candidacy of Alfredo Zayas and kept the name of the Liberal Party. Juan Gualberto

Gomez was a member of this party.

In spite of the difficulties in the early years of the

Republic, this period did what no subsequent one has done; it produced black leaders. Two of the leaders prominent in the early Republic were Juan Gualberto Gomez and Martin

Morua Delgado.

Juan Gualberto Gomez was born in 1854 in Sabanilla del

Encomendador, a province of Matanzas. Gualberto Gomez became a journalist when he could not afford to complete his engineering education. Despite financial difficulties — his mother was a slave — Gualberto Gomez founded the journal La Fraternidad and was also responsible for founding a society of mutual aid for blacks. Por this action he was deported to Spain in 1879- Upon his return to Cuba, he continued his political activity. In 1892 Gualberto Gomez founded a new organization, the Central Directory of People of Color. The Directory, as it was known, was another organization dedicated to the social and intellectual pro­ gress of blacks on the island.

In 1895» during the beginning of the War of Indepen­ dence, Gualberto Gomez was captured by the Spanish and deported to a prison in North Africa. Aided by friends who 55

arranged his release, he once more returned to Cuba. In

1906 Juan Gualberto Gomez became a member of the Revolu­

tionary Committee. This fully integrated group became a base for those liberals dedicated to social justice through­

out the island.

Another outstanding black leader of this period was

Martin Morua Delgado. Martin Delgado was born in I856 to a black slave mother and a Spanish immigrant father. Unlike

Juan Gualberto Gomez, Delgado was not a member of the Liberal

Party. He, like many others, believed that the Liberal

Party had failed to keep the promises it had made during

the revolution. Considered a radical by the Liberals,

Martin Delgado was a member of the Conservative Party.

Martin Delgado was responsible for organizing a workers' union, and as a result was arrested in 1881 and deported to

Cayo Jueso.

Morua Delgado also worked as a journalist and founded several newspapers: El Pueblo (Matanzas, 1879)* La

Renublica (New York, I876), Revista Popular (Cayo Hueso,

1882), Nueva Era (La Habana, 1892), and La Libertad, I898.

The titles of these journals clearly state the political inclinations of their founder. Martin Delgado translated several books, among them Toussaint L'Ouverture, by John

Beard. In 1891 he published Sofia, a tragic novel which recounts the agony of slavery and racial discrimination. 56

Morua Delgado was elected to the Cuban Senate and

later was elected Senate president. In 1906, the year of

the August Revolution, he was arrested and charged with

suspicion of complicity in the attack on the barracks at

Guanabacoa, a charge of which he was later cleared.

After the Revolution of August, blacks once again became disenchanted with liberals and began to organize politically. It was at,this point that the name Evaristo

Estenoz began to surface.

Much of the life of Estenoz remains a mystery. It is recorded that Estenoz participated in the War of Independ­

ence. In 1905 Estenoz visited the United States in the company of writer Rafael Serra, in order to study the racial situation of that country. In 1907 the MID, the

Division of Military Information of the American Army, designated Estenoz the leader of the black movement and held him responsible for the racial problems and violence which had appeared on the island.

According to its manifesto (Manifesto al Pueblo de

Cuba y a la Raza de Color), published on July 3» 1907 in

Santa Clara, the black movement called for a unified front which would include all blacks from all parties and poli­ tical factions. The specific plan was to consolidate the black position in the fight for equal rights. According to the Preamble to the document, "estamos contentos con el 57 color que nos dio la naturaleza porque nos damos cuenta de que si no fueramos negros seriamos azules o verdes, asi que bendita sea la creacion que nos hizo fisica y moralmente fuertes para trabajar y amar a todos y para sacrificarnos mil veces por nuestra patria." 16 The tone of the document in general is conciliatory and boasts of black pride and black nationalism.

A rival manifesto, published in Lajas on August 2 7,

19071 presented a more militant position. This document made no attempt toward conciliation. It demanded the equality guaranteed in Article 11 of the Constitutions

"todos los cubanos son iguales ante la ley." Moreover, the

Manifesto of Lajas proposed the formation of an independent party for blacks: "Es necesario que nuestros hermanos que estan luchando asi como los que simpatizan con nuestra sagrada causa de independencia se unan en un gran partido independiente. The Partido Independiente de Color (PIC) was formed in 1908, after blacks failed to elect even one member in the August election.

The ideology of the PIC was uncomplicated and direct.

It reminded blacks that existing parties had maintained a continuous flow of rhetoric which had proved unproductive.

The leaders of the PIC believed that blacks had not only been excluded from the political life of Cuba, but also had been victims of an orchestrated program designed to 58

exterminate the black race. Specifically, the program of

the PIC demanded

1) participation in government;

2) an immigration policy which would permit black immigration;

3) reforms in the judicial system;

*0 the creation of a complete and free educational system which would offer vocational and university training;

5) the creation of a naval and military school to train blacks and whites for careers in the armed forces;

6) reforms in the labor force, including an eight- hour work day, laws for the protection of children, and insurance to protect workers against on-the-job injury;

7) the rights of nationals in preference to European immigrants;

8) the formation of tribunals which would mediate in disputes between workers and bosses;

9) the distribution of state lands to farmers and the protection of these lands against foreign interests.18

In 1909 the Cuban legislature was presented a bill which declared illegal all political parties and organiza­

tions which used race, class, profession, or place of birth as a means of membership. This piece of legislation, which became the "Ley Morua," passed the Cuban Congress on May 2,

1910. Regrettably, this bill was introduced by Senator

Martin Morua Delgado, who politically and philosophically

opposed the PIC. This law destroyed all hope of unity within 59 the black community and began a series of debates and clashes which, together with a stagnant political, social, and economic program in the hands of the liberals, culminated in the Race War of 1912.

Evaristo Estenoz and Pedro Ivonnet became the military leaders of the 1912 conflict. The insurrection was planned to begin on May 20, the tenth anniversary of Cuban Independ­ ence. Most of the conflict occured in the province of

Oriente, the area which contained the largest black popula­ tion.

The Gomez administration (Jose Miguel Gomez) had the support of most of the Cuban population. There was even support among the more moderate and conservative black leaders. There are no figures indicating how many blacks were killed during this insurrection. There were, of course, the standard reports of blacks in the rural areas attacking white women. In Havana gangs of white youths retaliated against these reports by attacking blacks in their homes. The historian Fernando Portuondo estimates the number of blacks who died during the insurrection at three thousand. 19'

The two principal leaders of the insurrection died in combat. Evaristo Estenoz was reported killed on June 27,

1912. On July I? Pedro Ivonnet was killed by Arsenio Ortiz.

It should be noted that Arsenio Ortiz became military 60 supervisor of the Oriente province under the Gerardo Machado administration (1926-1933)• As a result of a general protest, Ortiz was arrested, but was later released and presented with an award by Machado; he then occupied the position of Chief of Military Police in Havana.

The War of 1912 brought an end to the politically active black population in Cuba. During the years im­ mediately following the conflict, black culture turned inward. The black movement had lost its enthusiasm, its vitality, and its leaders.

The political party in power during the 1912 conflict was the Liberal Party, under the leadership of Jose Miguel

Gomez. Records of this administration report that the 20 black population was around 600,000. Yet in 1910 there were still only four black lawyers and nine doctors. The most noticeable change was an increase of blacks in the police force, a trend which was to continue. There were

1,700 black police officers in a total force of 6,^00.^

In realistic terms, however, the gains by blacks had been insignificant. There was very little mixing of the races, and the little that did exist was limited to cock fights and what are considered criminal activities — prostitution and gambling.

There is no doubt that the presence of the United

States contributed to segregation, though it cannot bear 61

total responsibility. During the American occupation, there

were illegal restrictions, such as barred entrance of blacks to certain schools, hotels, and restaurants. It

was also during the American occupation that many black

public ceremonies and religious celebrations were forbidden by the government. This, of course, was the official posi­

tion, which did not stop such activity, any more than the

laws of 1879> for example, assured equal access and oppor­

tunity to blacks.

The administration of Gerardo Machado could easily go

unmentioned with respect to black history in Cuba, were it not for the fact that, during the 1912 insurrection, Gerardo

Machado occupied the position of Minister of Government

and is reported to have been one of Evaristo Estenoz' worst enemies. However, during his presidency, Machado

gained the support of blacks, including that of Juan

Gualberto Gomez, who had himself become disenchanted with

Menocal.

Gerardo Machado came from the province of Las Villas.

He spent much of his time during the War of Independence in Santa Clara. Although his early political years brought him under the tutelage of Jose Miguel Gomez, he broke philosophically with Gomez in 1921. . He continued, however, to enjoy being photographed with Gomez after their politi­ cal estrangement. By 1924 the repression and brutality 62 which Machado had demonstrated during his role in the settle­ ment of a workers' strike in 1911 had been forgotten.

Machado had instead gained the reputation of being a "man of the people." His public image was rather romantic; it was that of an affable rogue: "un simpatico bribon, buen negociante, aficionado a los espectaculos teatrales de 22 matiz sexual." In contrast, many journalists of the period characterized Machado as a Cuban Machiavelli. The general opinion was that, as president, he could do no more, harm than Zayas; the public accepted pilfering and nepotism as part of the job. His childhood poverty made him very popular with the public. He also launched a better campaign than his opponent, Carlos Mendieta. His "down-home" approach

("Chico, anda y ven a verme") won him the election.

Machado's program promised a guarantee of civil liberties. To the business community he promised an end to strikes, and to the workers he guaranteed the right to strike. Unfortunately, Machado's program missed the careful scrutiny of most segments of the Cuban public. He became the hope of Cuba, the man for whom the young Republic had been waiting.

Machado announced an end to the Platt Amendment, a new trade package with the United States, as well as an end to the lottery, judicial reforms, and educational reforms, including autonomy for the university. Machado's power lay principally in his army. Along these lines he strategically

placed military personnel in schools, the civil government,

and local corporations. It was during the Machado adminis­

tration that the Communist Party of Havana and the CNOC,

Confederacion Nacional Obrera de Cuba, were founded. Yet

the CNOC grew in direct response to the chaotic labor

situation during the Machado presidency.

By August 1933 Cuba was the essence of discord. There

were strikes in all segments of Cuban society. The news­

papers were no longer publishing daily editions. Local

taverns and cafes were closed. There was a scarcity of

food.

The ABC became the official opposition to Machado.

This group, which appeared in 1931» had its base in the

white middle class. It was basically a secret society, a

sabotage unite whose sole objective was to overthrow Machado.

In his place, the ABC would establish a middle-class regime.

To achieve its goal, the ABC group was prepared to accept

the intervention of the United States. Moreover, the ABC

group had a strong fear of the black community. An ABC newspaper made the following observation: "si le sobra

comida, desela a un perro y no a un negro.

Many members of the Machado police force were black

or mulatto. Also, it was public knowledge that Machado and members of his administration had funneled money to various 6^

African cult groups and had attended many religious cere­ monies. This support had generally been misinterpreted.

Neither the money nor the attendance proved to be any more than a political move on the part of Machado designed to broaden his popular base. Substantial gains for blacks were nonexistent during the Machado era. In fact, Machado's economic program failed all of Cuba. The harvest of 1932 was the lowest since 1915*

On August 12, 1933 at 9 0 0 a.m. Machado left Havana for Nassau, after months of negotiations with the American trouble-shooter Sumner Welles. The transfer of power was not smooth, and violence erupted. The ABC green flag was raised in every part of the city. The presidential palace was sacked. Students attacked and killed policemen through­ out the city. "The "Machadato" had officially come to an end.

The middle-class government of Cespedes which replaced

Machado was a middle-of-the-road regime which pleased no one. In fact, the most ardent opponents of this regime had been its most ardent supporters, the non-commissioned officers of the army. This disenchantment eventually led to the sergeants' conspiracy of 1933* Led by Sergeants

Pablo Rodriguez, Jose Pedraza, Manuel Lopez Migoya, and

Fulgenio Batista, these men became known as the first Junta de Defensa or the Union Militar Revolucionaria. Their 65 complaints were mostly economic, although some enlisted men feared reprisals, having backed Machado.

Like Machado, Batista effectively used his personal charm to gain power and control over Cuba. With the success of the Campamento Columbia, Batista easily enlisted the support of student groups, the ABC radical faction, and other factions that had not been given any role in the

Cespedes government.

With the help of newspaper owner Sergio Carbo (La

Semana), the "Proclamation of the Revolutionaries" was issued. The proclamation called for a reorganization of the economic and political system of Cuba, the immediate punishment of the guilty from the previous regime, the acceptance of all past national debts, and taking "all steps not herein described leading to the creation of a new

Cuba, built on the solid foundations of justice and in ac- 2l^ cordance with the most modern conception of democracy."

A coalition between Dr. Grau San Martin and Antonio

Guiteras Holmes, a member of the Ala Izquierda Estudiantil, was formed on September 10, 1933* However, control of the army, the real source of power, remained with Batista. A revolt carried out in November of that same year brought to a sudden halt any lingering concerns that Batista was not in control of Cuba. An attack on a dissident ABC faction at the Miramar Yacht Club, a similar attack at the 66

Hotel Nacional, which had been headquarters for counter­ revolutionaries, the collapse of the rebel airport, and

the attack and defeat of the Atares fortress left Cuba in

the hands of Batista. As a postscript, Sumner Welles, the

American trouble-shooter, was named persona non grata. In

spite of the fact that Batista frequently filled the posi­ tion of president with men like Dr. Grau and Colonel

Mendieta, the line of succession that was sometimes called the Puppet Presidents, Batista remained in control of the army.

The years had changed Cuba very little. The Old

Liberal Party created by Jose Miguel Gomez had never re­ covered from the damage inflicted by Machado. Neither the old liberals nor the conservatives could rally support among the guar.jiras, or black masses. Black concerns had not been an issue since the early years of the Republic. According to Hugh Thomas, the black issue, whether real or false, was ignored. He states:

The colour bar was hardly a reality in Machado's Cuba; the army and the police were full of Negroes; but in a sense, the Negro community was ignored, held apart and holding itself apart, and really supporting Machado more than the 'better classes' surrounding Mendieta.25

Economically, the merchant class was still dominated by

Spaniards; in the sugar industry, all eyes were turned to

New York. 67

It is not clear whether Batista "courted" the

Communist Part or whether the Party courted him. In any

case, both sought to strengthen their positions. In 1939>

the Third National Congress of the Communist Party was held

openly in Santa Clara. Philosophically, the Communist

Party supported the people of Cuba in their efforts to

achieve a free and sovereign constituent assembly; to

establish democracy, with equal rights for blacks and women;

to aid the unemployed; to protect peasants against evictions; 26 to enact social laws; and to increase education.

The 1940 Constitution reflected the many concerns of

the Communist Party. Political rights included freedom to vote in elections and referendums, and freedom of associa­

tion. Political movements based on sex, race, or class were still forbidden. The new constitution addressed the

issue of unemployment and labor reforms. Article LXX of

the Constitution stated that the state should prevent un­

employment, provide social insurance, and enact labor re­

forms .

Like Machado, Batista never addressed the black issue.

He too appropriated money for Afro-Cuban cult groups and filled his army and police force with blacks, but this was the extent of his "black program." Nevertheless, Batista was very popular among blacks and mulattoes. 68

The class structure in Cuba at the end of the 1950s reflects the political upheavals of the previous periods.

The criollo aristocracy of the eighteenth century had been displaced by capitalists from northern Spain, who were themselves displaced by North Americans, who came to dominate the economic interests of the country.

The census of 1953 reports that 53»00° persons had earned a university degree or certificate; 86,000 were listed as professional or technical, half of them teachers. Some

90,000 were executives or companies, and there were 6,000 civil servants. Most of the executives lived in Havana, which enjoyed a wealth disproportionate to the country as 27 a whole. '

The bottom third or half of society was the world of the unintegrated black or mulatto. The economic opportuni­ ties for the black during this period repeated the story of half a century earlier. In 1899 there had been over 40,000 servants, most of whom were black. Over 6,000 of these 2g servants had been under fifteen. In 1943 the servant population was a little over 40,000, half being black or 29 mulatto. The average wage was under thirty dollars a 30 month. By 1953 the servant population rose above 70,000.

The 1950s also saw a decrease in the black population.

This was due, in part, to the repatriation of many Jamaican 69

and Haitian workers who had come to the island, as well as

to the inaccuracies in identifying "gente de color."

Statistics show an increase in the number of blacks

entering the professions. In 19^3 there were 560 black

lawyers, kZk doctors, and 3»500 black teachers. At the

same time statistics also reveal that there were 16,000

white teachers who worked less hours and received higher 31 pay than their black fellow teachers. In 19^3 white

workers earned more on the average than black workers. Only

2.5 percent of the black work force earned over one hundred

dollars a month.

Blacks did dominate certain professions, such as

shoemaking, tailoring, woodcutting, and laundering. Also,

as I mentioned previously, blacks constituted a majority

of the servant population. They also contributed greatly

to the unskilled labor force, representing twenty-six

percent of the workers in the construction and mining

industries .

Batista's program did not address any of the inequities

of the Cuban economic or social system. Yet the greatest

imbalance was apparent in the absence of black leadership

within the community. The black community had virtually

been silent since the unsuccessful revolution of 1912.

Locally, there were a few blacks who made successful bids

for office. Justo Salas became mayor of Santiago in the 70

19^-Os, with the aid of a white constituency. Aracelio

Igelsias and Jesus Menendez both rose to power via the trade unions; both were murdered.

Fulgenio Batista appealed to the blacks for various reasons, not the least of which was his charm and charis­ matic personality. Moreover, he identified himself as a mulatto of Chinese heritage and as an enemy of the political establishment. His rebellious image made him extremely popular with the lower classes. Batista personally supported and attended meetings of many of the Afro-Cuban cults, and his army, like Machado's, was full of blacks. In fact, the officer who arrested Castro in 1953 > after Moncada, was a black named Yanes Pelletier.

Hugh Thomas tells an enlightening story about the peculiar position of the blacks within the Batista regime.

A black bricklayer named Armando Mestre was mistreated by the police at Moncada after he informed them that he was part of the revolutionary force. His interrogators found it difficult to accept such a political alliance from a black. According to Thomas, Mestre was told that blacks were not revolutionaries; they were either thieves or 33 partisans of Batista. ^

The black population did not embrace the revolutionary movement of Castro. He appeared to be just another middle- class white radical, with nothing new to say to them. In fact, in reading the famous speech, "History will absolve me," one would think that Castro was addressing a racially

homogeneous nation, as he never mentioned the black issue.

In the next chapter we will see how these events did

indeed affect the literary product. CHAPTER IV

BLACK LITERATURE IN PRE-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA

El negro junto al Canaveral.

El yanqui ^ sobre el Canaveral.

La tierra bajo el Canaveral.

Sangre que se nos va!1

It has been noted that Hispanic Caribbean literature begins in the transition between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. According to Roberto Gonzalez

Echevarria, modern literature began in the Hispanic

Caribbean when its inhabitants began to write with an awareness of their own historicity, and with the conscious- 2 ness of being part of world historical forces. During the sixteenth, seventeenth, and first half of the eighteenth centuries, European literature flourished in the colonies, and few writers actively confronted American problems.

Therefore, most of the literature must be considered as manifestations of Spanish Golden Age literature.

The presence of blacks in the literature of the Golden

Age was much more substantial than that of previous periods,

72 73

such as the medieval period. In the genre of poetry we have only to look to the many works of Luis de Gongora to find examples: "En la Fiesta del Santisimo Sacramento," "El

Nacimiento de Cristo Nuestro Senor," "En la Fiesta de la

Adoracion de los Reyes." In these works, black characters figure prominently, although not in a favorable light. The perception of the black by the author of the Golden Age reflects the political, social, and economic highs and lows of black culture and history of the period.

The Moors arrived in Spain in 711 A.D., defeating the

Visigoths and initiating what was to be a long, bitter 3 struggle between Christianity and Islam. This struggle lasted until 1^92, with the triumph of Christianity, symbolized by the Catholic rulers, Ferdinand and Isabel.

During the period of Moorish domination, a somewhat favor­ able image of the black was popular. In Spanish literature the African cast as a Moor generally represented the upper or ruling class. He was a wealthy person, although flawed by his love of power or greed.

It is the sixteenth century that marks a turning point in this characterization. Historically, we can point to the defeat of the Moors in 1^92 and the subsequent triumph of Christianity in Europe as a major factor. The defeated

Moors were expelled from Spain and their power, both 74-

political and economic, suffered a tremendous blow even in

their native North Africa.

With the triumph of Christianity, the Moor was depicted

as a devilish savage. This perception, which was encouraged by the Moor's loss of wealth and prestige, together with

the increase in racial, national, and cultural pride for

the Spaniard during a period of economic expansionism, accounts to a large extent for the image of the black at the

time of his arrival in the New World. "In Western thought and literature, Africa became a cariacture for barbarism and backwardness, incapable of contributing to the ongoing 4 evolution of world civilizations."

The social and economic reality is that the black arrived in Cuba as a slave. The relationship between

culture and the history that produces the literary image

is implicit. The negative image of the black is inextri­ cably linked to the fact that he was a slave, an economic unit. This historical fact, in turn, produced certain black prototypes.

There were two classic black characters in colonial

Cuba. The "good" black was devoted, loyal, and meek. This black was most frequently a servant who would refuse freedom in order to remain with his master. Then, of course, there was the "bad" black, who was bad because he was rebellious.

In both cases, the black displayed great physical strength, 75 although he was intellectually deficient. He was always in tune with the rhythms of nature and was, of course, a great dancer. It was his black color, however, which ultimately limited the characterization of this figure. Because the black color is physically unattractive in the heroic tradition, it destroyed options for the black character which would have been perfectly acceptable for the white.

The colonial writers are not within the scope of this study. However, Juan Francisco Manzano, whose works were written before 1850, and Gabriel de la Concepcion Valdes, better known as Placido, deserve at least brief mention.

Writers of this group signal the beginning of the black literary movement in Cuba. The very few early black writers who had been given the advantage of education learned to write in English, French, or Spanish, so they formed part of the colonial literary tradition of the Americas. Un­ fortunately, they were not able to write or publish with enough freedom or regularity to establish themselves as writers. In the case of Juan Francisco Manzano, his auto­ biography, written in the 1840s, was not published until

1936, and then it was only published in Mexico. His only dramatic work, Zifira, was not published until 1962.

The slave period before I870 produced a number of black writers. Jose Antonio Fem&ndez de Castro, in his work Tema Negro,^ lists many of these writers. Most 76

noticeable in their writings is the nearly complete absence

of the theme of slavery as it applies either to them or to

Cuba. Antonio Medina y Cespedes, for example, authored

Lodiska or La Maldicion, which curiously takes place in

Poland and only casually mentions slaves, along with Tartans

and Poles. This trend continues in the works of Joaquin

Lorenzo Luaces, whose "political" sentiments were voiced by Greeks and Jews. Though locations varied, these black writers never directly presented their personal environment.

Their own existence was far too precarious for such a move.

Indeed, Placido was shot by the authorities, accused of

complicity in a conspiracy against the government.

Thus, the themes of injustice and oppression, the essence of the abolitionist movement, were primarily in

the hands of the white population, more specifically, or

the hands of the white middle class and intellectual groups.

In 1822 Father Varela proposed a plan in the Cortes de

C§.diz for the abolition of slavery. However, the anti­

slavery novel of Cuba produced far greater results than any political negotiations. The anti-slavery novel in Cuba has its roots in Anti-Spanish sentiment. As a result, the abolitionist was not automatically pro-slave. This is clearly the case with Jose Antonio Saco, who viewed blacks as an obstacle to progress and civilization. His solution 77 to slavery was blanqueamiento, which included exclusive white immigration and racial intermarriage:

Puede decirse que en Cuba al caer la esclavitud cae tambi§n Espana . . . Cuba no pudo adaptarse al nuevo clima politico del liberalismo economico que la Spoca exigia . . . llego el siglo XX sin ^ haberse formado ni en Cuba ni en Espana un fuerte burguesia propia.°

The anti-slavery movement produced a literature which was articulated by liberal intellectuals dissatisfied with the Spanish regime. As Richard Jackson observes, the abolitionist movement represents "false tears for the black man." In this context the black character was frequently used as an object of liberal propoganda against the colonial power. In addition to this primary function, however, these novels did attempt to bring the cruelty of slavery under the scrutiny of a white reading public. This was carried out in a highly emotional and romantic fashion.

These novels were designed to recreate the spectacle of the plantation and to enlist the sympathy of the reader.

They did not attempt a realistic and precise evaluation of the slavery system. Moreover, these novels overwhelm­ ingly accepted the white aesthetic. The color black symbolically remains unsightly, repulsive. It transmits negative and inferior signals. The color white, on the other hand, is aesthetically pleasing and, in spite of the taint of slavery, remains the social and cultural symbol 78

for Cuban society. Most noted among these slave novels

are the novel Sab, by Gertrudiz Gomez de Avellaneda,

Cecilia Valdes, by Cirilo Villaverde, and the two Francisco novels, by Anselmo Suarez y Romero and Antonio Zambrana.

Less known are Sofia by Martin Morua Delgado, Petrona y

Rosalia, by Felix Manuel Tanco y Bosmoniel, and a more

recent addition, Biografla de un cimarron, by Miguel Barnet.

Sab (1841), by Gomez de Avellaneda, definitely forms

part of the romantic tradition. In this novel the author

describes the tragedy of slavery while relating a story of

unrequited love. The frustrated love theme grows out of

the social taboo which would prevent the marriage between

a white woman and a black slave. Consequently, not even

the money which Sab eventually earns can provide remedy.

Those middle-class virtues which would have provided salva­

tion for a white character are wasted on Sab. His noble heart and unpretentious manner are no match for the greatest

obstacle of all -- blackness.

The novel Francisco: The Plantation or The Delights of

Country Life was written by Anselmo Su&rez Romero in 1839*

However, it was not published until 1880, in New York.

Like Sab, Francisco is a slave who is punished for seducing another slave on his master's plantation. There he is

subjected to even greater suffering at the hands of his master's son, who had also tried unsuccessfully to seduce 79 the same slave. In order to save Francisco, the woman slave consents to the demands of the son. Francisco, upon hearing this, hangs himself.

Once again the frustrated love theme is the "basis for this novel, along with the element of "black concubinage.

Sab and Francisco both represent the humble and docile,

"good" black. For them slavery is a personal enemy. It is abominable not as in institution, but because it stands in the way of their personal success.

Francisco, the Negro, by Antonio Mario Zambrana, was published in Chile in 1873* The themes and characters of this novel are basically the same as in the Su§.rez Romero version. The major difference lies in the characterization of Francisco. Without question the Zambrana creation reflects the paradox of being at once anti-slavery and anti-black. Zambrana's Francisco commands none of the qualities of "civilization." This Francisco is brute force, wild and savage. This is partly explained by the lack of contact that Zambrana had with black people. In any case,

Francisco is a barbarian who hates white people. G. R.

Coulthard, author of Race and Colour in Caribbean Literature, makes the following observation: Zambrana makes no attempt to idealise his Francisco by lending him the feeling and aspirations of a civilised man. He regards the Negroes as barbarians, and he eulogises the primitive life of 80

Africans, refusing to accept that they are better off for having been rescued from primitivism and brought to America.7

Francisco reflects the general contempt which Zambrana held with respect to blacks. In the following passage,Zambrana resurrects the civilization vs. barbarism opposition first articulated by Sarmiento:

The civilised man only understands a certain order of ideas and feelings, which are largely artificial and are very weak in those who depend exclusively on nature. As far as the slave is concerned, one should bear in mind the contrast between the idea of civilisation and the rough life of the jungle, and then judge whether the Negro has gained anything in the change.®

Zambrana's novel destroys the myth that being in favor of abolition meant being pro-black. The concept of "civiliza­ tion" as being exclusively white and European pervades the work.

Cecilia Valdes, by Cirilo Villaverde, is a novel of

Cuban customs, as the author himself describes it. The first part appeared in 1839* but the second was not published until 1882, in New York, where Cirilo Villaverde was living in exile.

The structure of this novel is more complex than that of the others. Villaverde presents a more detailed view of

Cuban culture, political and civil interests, in addition to treating the theme of abolition. As the author writes in the "Prologo," 81

Lejos de inventar o de fingir caracteres y escenas fantasiosas, e inverosimiles, he llevado el realismo, segfrn lo entiendo . . . las costumbres y pasiones de un pueblo de carne y hueso, sometido a especiales leyes politicas y civiles, imbuido en cierto orden de ideas y rodeado de influencias reales y positivas.9

Although slavery is indeed a major theme in this novel,

Cecilia Valdes is not intended to rally support against the

institution. Like the other novels of its class, the anti­

slavery novels, Cecilia Valdes reflects an anti-Spanish

sentiment. Villaverde's personal conflict with the Spanish

government and his subsequent exile account for the political

character of the novel. In addition to the political con­

tent, there is considerable focus on the relationships

between free mulattos and whites. The preoccupation with

color, social status, and class is voiced by the mulattos.

Although the mulatto class enjoys certain privileges not

shared by the black group, they are resentful of their

inferior status with respect to the white group.

The hierarchy of color in a society in which the social

stratification is based on color is evident in this novel.

The rejection of Cecilia, symbolically by the white group,

attests to the presence of a white model. Although Cecilia

is neither the first nor last character to be rejected on

the basis of color, the rejection of the mulatto tradition­

ally gains much more sympathy from the public than that of

the black. One can only assume that this happens because 82 the mulatto is closer to the white model. In any case, the mulatto’s psychology is characterized by paranoia. He sees himself as a victim, one who cannot attain the perfection of his society — whiteness.

In the Americas, the non-European suggests primitivism.

Toward the end of the nineteenth century the Western market was anxious for any item even remotely suggestive of the primitive. African sculpture, which had found no market place in the preceding centuries, was now in vogue.

European attempts to reflect this demand resulted in cubist and surrealist forms which signalled a break with the

European mold. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s the interest of the white intellectuals in black culture caused black musicians, dancers, and writers to be in demand in both

Europe and the Americas. However, it should be recognized that this brief love affair with the primitive was an effort to cure the ills of what many considered a decadent

Western culture. Primitive cultures throughout the world were viewed as an alternative model for a Western world in decline. This interest in the primitive led to numerous studies on black culture and history, and later produced the Afro-Cuban literary movement.

The result of this brief courtship of black culture was Negro Verse, which in Cuba was referred to as Afro-Cuban,

Mulatto, or Negroitic Poetry. At its best this poetry 83 perpetuated the one-dimensional, superficial images of

"black people as ruled by sex, rhythm, and instinct. The

first example of black poetry is "Bailadora de rumba" by

Ramon Guirao, published in 1928. This poem, like others

of its class, focuses on the picturesque, external and sensual elements of black culture, using two popular elements: dance and the mulatta. Black poetry written along these lines focused admiring attention on "las nalgas."

The mulatta represents a contrast to the classic ideal of the "fairer sex": "No es un erotismo comtemplativo, sugestivo, sutil, espiritualista, sino activo, impetuoso, dinamico, copulativo . . . No es deliquio de ideal sino de 10 orgasmo." The ten years after the publication of

"Bailadora de rumba" saw a plethora of negristas, mostly white, each one attempting to out-do the others in his skill at recreating the songs, dances, rhythms, and onomatopoeic sounds of black culture. The leading exponents of this poetry were: Ramon Guirao, Jose Tallet, Emilio

Ballagas, and Nicolas Guillen.

It is necessary to consider Nicolas Guillen apart from

Tallet, Guirao, and Ballagas, not because of his mulatto heritage, but in considering the evolution of his work.

There is no question that Guillen equals most negristas in his technical skill in capturing the sensual experience of the black man in the Americas. However, the tone of 8^

West Indies Ltd. (193^) is not that of his earlier works,

El son entero or Motivos de son. Despite a decisive turn to social themes, Guillen's works continue to reflect the traditional view of blacks and whites. In "Balada de los dos abuelos," the dualism is apparent. Guillen attributes his own dynamic physical characteristics to his black heritage, and his analytic qualities to his "white" blood.

This is no different from the classic oppositions of instinct versus intelligence, or civilization versus barbarism, that had been so popular in the nineteenth century. Still, the social consciousness which marks much of Guillen's poetry outdistances any of the other negristas, who were content with the caricatures of the negrista movement.

Despite the increase in black literature, the Negrist movement changed the image of the black very little. This art form, which imitated life, recreated what the world produced -- a figure without options. Although this period has been heralded as the apogee of black literature, it opened no new avenues for the black character. The Negrist movement focused on the superstitious, primitive, and exotic nature of the black man and his culture:

They depict the black as an inferior jungle beast, a comical provider of music. The black woman becomes a sexually uninhibited amoral animal full of sensual jungle rhythm, oozing sex through animal eyes, sensual voice and inviting flesh.1-*- 85

The jungle beast, the comedian and the over-sexed mulatta have become standard models for black characters. This trend has continued in twentieth-century literature, which continues to place an unnatural emphasis on certain elements of black culture, while completely omitting others.

Throughout the continent the black presence in litera­ ture has produced a racist literature which upholds the white aesthetic. Yet it is evident that these literary pro­ jections only mirror the color prejudice that exists in

Latin America. Many writers have attempted to downplay the significance of color prejudice by emphasizing in their works social, economic, or class prejudices, when essentially they are still referring to racial discrimination. Despite the use of certain "code words," the color of a person's skin is still a significant factor in the social structure of Latin America.

Just as the black in the anti-slavery novel was essen­ tially an instrument of propaganda against the Spanish regime, the role of the black in many twentieth-century works is that of protester, an anti-establishment symbol or an instrument of the anti-imperialist forces. Other elements remain basically intact.

In the short story by Alfonso Hernandez Cata entitled

"La piel," the author portrays a black who is rejected by both black and white groups. He is rejected by the whites 86 solely because he is black; he is rejected by blacks because they fear that he has acquired too much of the white culture. Clearly Eulogio, the protagonist of this story, has very few options. Like his literary predecessors, Sab and Francisco, he cannot escape his color. Death awaits him at every turn.

El negro que tenia el alma blanca (1922), by Alberto

Insfia, also uses the classic representation of black and white. Once again the reader confronts a black who tries unsuccessfully to escape his color. In this novel, Pedro

Vald§s, a dancer, flees to Spain, changes his name, and desperately attempts to lose his fatal flaw, his.blackness.

Peter, as he calls himself, hates his color and himself.

One can only assume that it is Alberto Insua, or the society at large, that indeed hates the color and, by extention, the person. Peter, in a desperate attempt to become civil­ ized by the only standards that he knows, appears absurd in his efforts to have his nose and lips massaged to remove their black characteristics. This course is futile, and

Peter, like many other black characters, dies with the emblem of the white aesthetic implanted in his mind.

Outside Cuba the image of the black is much the same.

One need only look to the novel Ebano (1955)i by the

Nicaraguan author Alberto Ordoftez Arguello. In this novel the black protagonist, Jonathan Brown, is characterized as 87 a worthless, savage ape. The author goes to great lengths to create a repulsive figure who quite predictably commits the greatest of sins by attacking a white woman. Jonathan

Brown, and by extension black people in general, are de­ picted as primitive, drunken dancers, unable to lose their jungle instincts.

The self-hatred which most of these characters exhibit finds its origin in the minds of the writers and the public at large. Yet we cannot underestimate the profound effect that these images had upon the black population. The extreme example in this area is perhaps the Mexican novel Roquedal, by Ramiro Torres Septien. In this story, the color black projects such a negative image that a white woman who has borne a black child allows the father, himself black, to kill the child so that she may be spared the shame of such an act. The father later commits suicide. There is no question as to the pervasive social attitudes which could make such a plot conceivable.

The mulatto fares only slightly better in his literary representation. Most frequently, any qualities which suggest more than animal impulse or instinct are embodied in the mulatto and are supposedly transmitted by his

European or white heritage. This trend is seen in various works: Las lanzas coloradas (1931)• by Arturo Uslar Pietri;

Matalache (1924-) , by Enrique Lopez Albujar; Pobre negro 88

(1937) and La trepadora (1925)» by Romulo Gallegos. In

these novels the protagonists are endowed with the qualities

of civilized man. Not since the anti-slavery novels had

such traits been applied to black people. In the case

of the anti-slavery novel, these qualities of civilization were employed to increase the level of catharsis. However,

in these novels, the mulatto frequently exhibits a rebellious

spirit, intelligence, and features that resemble white

features closely enough to be considered handsome. The

favored position of the mulatto over the black is well

established in the twentieth century. However, the mulatto

in this role is also stereotyped, and the theme of mis­ cegenation proved extremely popular. If the black is restricted by barbarism and sorcery, then the mulatto is

stereotyped by his/her libidinous nature.

Miscegenation, which was the solution suggested by

Jose Antonio Saco to the "black" problem, implicitly points

to the extinction or elimination of the black race as it presently exists.

Whether black or white, writers cannot avoid those

themes which distinguish black characters from white ones.

I do not suggest that artistic expression be retricted, but rather that it be controlled in order to avoid the

fragmentation and caricature of the characters. Nicolas 89

Guillen responded to the dilemma of the black caricature in the following manners

Blacks are, there is no need to deny it, ardent and sensual. Their dances share this characteristic. . . . However, blacks are far from being all dance, and dance does not represent the only contribution blacks have made in the development of our sensibility. We are not going to stop smiling, but we shall say now that we find it an exaggeration to attribute to the black the choreographic quality as his only spiritual one: always seeing his soul in his feet.12

Historically, the theater has occupied a place of importance in traditional African literature and culture.

Carter Woodson, author of The African Background Outlined, states, "... all writers on Africa delving in folklore, religion, and the like give the picture of the African theatre along with other manifestations." 13^ In Africa, as in many traditional societies, the study of theater is a means of entree into that particular culture. In the article "Le theatre africain," Bakary Traore concludes that

"le theatre africain a des fonctions sociales incontestables. IIl II est un miroir de la vie." The theater is a mirror of life; it is art imitating life. The significance of the theater is evident in its recourse for inspiration to the religion, literature, society, and history of Africa. All of African life converges in the theater, a theater which is notably different from theater in the West. Drama in 90

Africa is manifested not in European, "but in African fashion.

In Africa dance is theatre. Marcel Mauss supports this declaration with the following observation from his book

Manual d'Etnographie: "la danza es en todas partes un esfuerzo para ser otra cosa de lo que se es. Lo cual * 1 e equivale a decir que la danza es una representacion." J In the Americas, the neo-African transformed this special orientation toward music and dance, which originates in the oral tradition, into an effective teaching instrument and an instrument of all aspects of cultural transmission.

The neo-African, a slave in the Americas, was permitted limited freedom to exercise certain religious rites and secular activities. At the same time, however, he was clearly denied access to formal education in the Western tradition. This peculiar system forced upon the slave, or, perhaps more accurately, reinforced in the slave, an already familiar oral-aural structure which he adapted to plantation life for the purposes of learning and entertain­ ment. The social structure in which the slave found himself also made use of this structure. The invenciones of the Colonial period were dramatic pieces of a historical nature that were designed to teach Catholicism to the slave. "Las invenciones consistian en representaciones 16 vivas de episodios de la Historia Sagrada." They fre­ quently incorporated music and dance into their productions 91 and made extensive use of masks, representative of a medieval, European tradition, or of a more recent African theater. In either case, the invenciones were extremely popular, and such "festivals," as they became, were completely taken over by blacks.

The fact that theater activity found at least some outlet in the slave system would lead one to expect that an effective black theater developed in the Americas. One would logically expect the black theater in the New World to be a dynamic and vital force, disseminating the communal wisdom of that culture throughout the black population.

The black theater should be capable of creating and pro­ jecting the positive values of the culture. However, such is not the case, and this study in part attempts to follow the course of this errant theater. The black theater, meaning a theater produced by blacks for blacks, scarcely exists outside of the United States, black Africa, and

Brazil. Therefore, the black image in theaters is not con­ trolled by blacks; the impressions which bombard us are those of white artists. This situation raises the same question for the theater as it does for other genres: Can whites adequately portray blacks? Many black critics respond with a resounding "no": "To demand a realistic portrayal of blacks by whites is to demand the impossible, 92

for whites are neither mentally nor culturally equipped for

the task."^''17

In spite of this major obstacle confronting the accurate portrayal of the black image, the theater still remains an excellent area in which to explore black por­

trayal. According to Gonzalez Freire in Teatro cubano,

the theater is the literary art form which reflects most 1 8 closely the social environment. He further observes that

the theater provides the only authentic expression of Cuban

culture. If the assertions of Gonzalez Freire are correct,

then the theater is the branch of literature which will

first and most accurately reflect the image of the black.

Traditionally, the theater has always been a source of both

information and entertainment. It is the theater which

collects and then projects public opinion. "La primera cosa que cuenta en el teatro, es el pensamiento del autor

sin olvidar, ademas, las exigencias del publico al que van

dirigidas, exigencias formadas por las condiciones de nacionalidad y estado cultural del pftblico y su relacion 19 ^ actual con dicha obra." Gonzalez Freire in essence reiterates regarding the Cuban theater what Carter Woodson

said of the African theater; i.e., to know and study the

theater is to know and study a culture.

I therefore present the theater as a platform by which

to explore the image of the black in pre-revolutionary 93

Cuba, from emancipation through the social revolution, and

to contrast it to the image of the black as portrayed in

Cuba during the first fifteen years after the revolution.

I contend that a more precise image of Cuban social and

political attitudes and historical patterns regarding the

black cannot be found. The theater truly mirrors the society

which produces it.

As I mentioned earlier, in the 1840s Juan Francisco

Manzano, who was already distinguished as a poet, wrote his

only dramatic work, Zafira. Manzano, the slave/poet of

colonial Cuba, is primarily noted for his spiritual poetry

and his autobiography, considered a major historical docu­

ment of nineteenth-century slave life in Cuba. Unfortun­

ately, Zafira, his only play, was not published until 1962,

and to this date it has never been staged. It was published by the Consejo Nacional de Cultura so that future genera­

tions would have the complete works of Juan Francisco

Manzano.

In the I8^0s and 1850s, Bartolome Crespo y Borbon,

frequently referred to by his Africanized pseudonym, Creto

Ganga, introduced a different type of play into the Cuban

theater. As Janheinz Jahn observeis, this type of Afro-

American play made its entrance through the back door of 20 burlesque. Creto Ganga (1811-1871) wrote numerous

farces and rhymes which fall into the category of burlesque. 94

The plays of this dramatist typically spotlight black folklore in its comic treatment of theme and character.

Among these works are: El chasco (1838), Laborintos y trifucas de canava (1846), Un a.iiaco (1847). Deba.io del tamarindo (1864), and Los pelones (no date).

Francisco Fern&ndez also utilized the black element in his series, Los negros catedraticos (1868). The black characters in the works of Francisco Fernandez, unlike those of Creto Ganga, were exceedingly refined and displayed an exaggerated erudition. The plot, moreover, is a love triangle like those prevalent in Golden Age theater.

In historical terms, the first half of the twentieth century, 1902-1958, is referred to as the Republican period.

However, Spanish artists were still quite popular through­ out Cuba during this period; Spanish artists and repertory groups were widespread. Echegaray, Linares Rivas, the

Quintero brothers, and Benevente were still emulated. How- every, political unrest forced this rather complacent theater to expand its horizons and adopt a more nationalistic character. To this end, the "Sociedad de Fomento del

Teatro" was formed in 1910, and boasted such supporters as

Jose Antonio Ramos, Max Henriquez Urene, and Luis Baralt.

Through the efforts of these writers and others, the Teatro

Tacon opened its doors in 1910. 95

Two years later, in 1912, another theatrical society, the "Sociedad del Teatro Cubano," was formed. Influential within this group were Gustavo Sanchez Galarraga, Salvador

Salazar, and Lucilo de la Pena. In addition, the journal

Teatro cubano went to press during this period, with the hopes of bringing the dramatic arena to the people.

There indeed occured many changes in the years between

1910 and 1958. The literary approach which can best reflect the vicissitudes of this period is the generational method.

This approach permits an adequate presentation of the social/historical reality which structures the generation itself. "Las generactiones, por ser fieles a la estructura misma de la realidad historica, nos permiten reconstruirla 21 y revivirla, por tanto entenderla." Those elements which give form to the generation are: heritage, personal community, education, and the experiences of the genera- 22 tion. Yet these factors and others which are frequently used, such as birthdates, cannot and do not sustain a generation; they can only provide a vague indication. The most basic element of a generation is the "comunidad de relaciones vitales," shared experiences.

The first generation was partly modernist and post­ modernist, and evolved around the journal Cuba Contem-poranea, the "Sociedad de Conferencias," and the "Ateneo de La

Habana." The activities of this generation began around 96

1910 and lasted until the early 1920s. This initial moment proved to be regionalistic, producing a frequently antagon­ istic combination of genero chico, realism, and romanticism.

Remarkable in this generation is the rather weak social content of its works. The exception to this is the early theater of Jose Antonio Ramos, whose production reflects both the political and social unrest so prevalent in the early days of the Republic. This early theater of Ramos includes Almas rebeldes (1906) , Una bala perdida (1906) and

El traidor (1913)• The second generation, which appears at the end of the

1920s, was experimental in nature. Guided by the reform efforts of the university, this group, in particular, spearheaded the opposition to Machado. The generation rallied around the journals Social and Revista de avance.

The latter became the voice of the criollo.

This second generation of Cuban theater, because of its opposition to Machado, was both revolutionary and social in character. Other events that encouraged this course included the Russian revolution of 1917 and the economic crisis of 1920. "En el piano internacional, la gran revolucion mexicana brotada en 1910 y la revolucion rusa en 1917 afianzaron en su labor .insurrecional a los jovenes cubanos. Por todo esto la distingue el conceder un 23 sentido polemico, militante, a la cultura." J 97

During the second generation there was also consider­ able advancement in the techniques of scenery. Two groups were instrumental in this area. In 1936 "La Cueva" was formed, and in 19^0 "ADAD," the Academia de Artes Dram&ticas, appeared. Other journals that were instrumental in this second promotion were Revista Bimestre Cubana, Revista

Cubana, and Alma Cubana. Writers of this period who utilized black themes and/or black culture include: Marcelo

Salinas, Paco Alfonso, Nicolas Guillen, Carlos Montenegro, and Jose Antonio Ramos, whose theater spans both the first and second generations.

In general, the work of Marcelo Salinas (I889), most of which remains unpublished, is socio-political in content.

The best-known and only published work of Salinas is Alma guar.iira (1928), which is a land drama in the tradition of

Florencio S&nchez or fellow Cuban Jose Antonio Ramos, author of Tembladera. In the unpublished play El mulato

(19^0), the mulatto Daniel Cortes is involved in a denuncia­ tion of Cuban political life.

The works of Paco Alfonso (1906) are also of a socio­ political nature. His works include: Mambises y guerilleros

(1942), Hierba hedionda (1951)» Canaveral (1950)> and Yari-Yari mamS. Olua (I9 M ) . These plays, which draw heavily on black culture, reflect the romantic and poetic style of

Paco Alfonso. Alfonso is a master at creating elaborate scenes and metaphoric dialogue. As Gonzalez Freire explains

"Prefiere el autor expresar a sus personajes en sones y romances negros al estilo de NicolHs Guillen. Estos seran 24 entonados por masas corales. . ."

Carlos Montenegro (1900), who is best known for his

short-stories rather than his dramatic production, is the author of one work which utilizes a black theme,

Tururi nan nan (1939) • Gonzalez Freire had described this piece as a farce, one which requires an elaborate staging of one hundred blacks who represent the different tribes of

Africa. African music, instruments, and dance are used extensively. However, the plot of the play in a denounce­ ment of nazism.

Jose Antonio Ramos appears in this second generation with the play FU-3001 (19^3)- In this three-act piece, the author attempts to represent the frivolity of Cuban aristocracy: "Ironiza la vida de un representante cubano y su familia aristocratica, presentando a su vez la vida de gentes con dignidad personal y social como la del mulato

Remigio . . .

The third generation takes shape in the 1940s, reflecting the influence of Kafka, Herman Hesse, and

Pirandello. ”[L]a fuerte dramatica social norteamericana y aOn las comedias costumbristas y operetas de Broadway influyen determinantemente en el teatro de esta 99

generacion."^ In addition to these influences, national

politics, the Spanish Civil War, nazism, and Italian fascism have all contributed to the substance of this generation’s works.

Two distinct tendencies appeared in this third genera­

tion. One followed the criterion of the group ADAD and the

other, the lead of the Teatro -popular. The ADAD group

followed the principles of Rubia Burcia and maintained a more traditional line. This group was responsible for a revival of the theater of Garcia Lorca, bringing Dona

Rosita, la soltera to the stage in November of 19^.

The teatro popular was created in November of 19^2 and was comprised of intellectuals, artists, and representatives

of the CTC, the Federation of Workers of Havana. Paco

Alfonso served as the general director of this group, which reflected the political and social upheavels of Cuba and the world. One major goal of the teatro popular was to carry the theater to the poorer classes of Cuban society.

Members of this group included Tete Casuso, Carlos Felipe,

Virgilio Pirtera, and Rolando Ferrer.

Carlos Felipe (191*0 is one of the most familiar names of this generation and his career spans the fourth genera­ tion as well. Gonzalez Freire notes the following charac­ teristics of Felipe’s theater: "[U]no de los dramaturgos cubanos de mils garra dramatica, Felipe capta el ambiente 100

cubano con gran precision, pero siempre envuelto en esa

atmosfera de misterio y poesia que caracteriza a su

teatro

What is to become standard packaging in the theater of

Felipe is a predilection for picturesque characters, the

spectacle, and a poetic ambience in which the protagonist

is hopelessly unable to govern his existence. In essence,

Felipe creates the classic environment for the black

character. In perhaps his best-known play, El travieso

Jimmy (19^9)» Felipe creates an elaborate structure to

capture the Cuban society of the 1920s. Nueva Gerona is the

setting of this play, which profiles the customs and morals

of the inhabitants, who include both blacks and Jamaicans.

Rolando Ferrer (1925) presents a psychological dimension

in his theater, in addition to the social and political

one. Lila, la mariposa (1950) attempts both perspectives,

as it presents its view of Cuban life and its complexities.

In this play the author revives the chorus, which is used

in ritualistic fashion to symbolize death. The chorus, a

trio which represents the Cuban pueblo, is comprised of

one black, one mulatta, and one white. This technique,

together with the element of ritual, is later seen in the

post-revolutionary theater of JosS Triana.

The fourth generation, the last in pre-revolutionary

Cuba, made its appearance around 1952 or 1953* This new 101 generation prescribed a national theater to remedy what they considered to be a theater riddled with foreign influ­ ence and artificiality: "A los que mils dano les causo” la cultura artificial fue a los jovenes de la segunda promocion que huyeron de nuestra escena como si estuviera apestada de salvajismo, sin darse tiempo a la meditacion y al 29 encuentro con lo verdadero." Ironically, this fourth generation was very much influenced by the national theater of Jean Vilar, the neorealist movement in art, and the

Italian cinematographic industry. These trends manifested themselves in the neorealist production of such authors as Fermin Borges, Matias Montes Huidobro, and Jose A.

Montoro.

In the production of Matias Montes Huidobro (1931)» the earliest works reflect the tragic tendencies of the previous generation. His second, Sobre las mismas rocas

(1951)» introduces the social theme in its criticism of modern life and the superficiality of civilization.

Blacks themselves have not been totally absent from theatrical activity in Latin America. Outside of Cuba,

Victoria Santa Cruz of Peru is the founder and director of the "Teatro y Danzas Negras." In Brazil Abdias de Nasci- miento established the Experimental Black Theater of Brazil, and in Colombia during the 1950s, Manuel Zapata Olivella formed his Afro-Colombian troupe. 102

While this study is concerned with the lyric and comic theater, I would he remiss in my survey of the Cuba theater if I did not mention the commericial theater of Cuba. The evolution of this theater has parallelled that of the other theater and has produced three distinct forms: alta comedia, teatro lirico, and teatro bufo. In all of its manifesta­ tions it is directly inspired by the turn-of-the century

Spanish theater.

Those who produced this type of theater developed two genres which were typically Spanish in origin. These forms adapted to the Cuban scene characters who reflected the

Cuban environment. The result of this work was the Cuban zarzuela, a vaudeville-type production which utilized music rather extensively, and the sainete, a kind of farce or short dramatic composition which reflects the language, scenery, and popular characters of the Island Republic:

Traducidos estos generos cubanos, uno de la ^zarzuela espanola y el otro de los clasicos sainetes espanoles de Ramon de la Cruz, convergen, a pesar de esta maternidad, a una forma propia, "tomando los personajes negros, mulatos, o blancos y bufos or serios tales como se presentan en la vida del pueblo cubano que todos los comprende y entrelago.30

In spite of the fact that the black characters of the lyric and comic theaters also repres.ent caricatures, these works explore in a satiric manner the politics and social habits of the Cuban environment. "Si cumple con las 103 naturales exigencias de gracia popular, de Scitira aguda, de reflejo de la actualidad, como sucede en Cuba, discutirlo 31 es tonto."^ Among the writers of the commercial theater are: Eduardo Sanchez de Fuentes, the author of Dolorosa

(1910) and La dulce cana (no date); Gonzalo Roig, Agustin

Rodriguez, and Jose Sanchez Arcilia, who collaborated to produce the stage version of Cecilia Valdes (1932); and

Federico Villoch, the author of La mulata Maria and La isla de los cotorras (1927)• Federico Villoch introduced into the theater the popular duo of the gallego and the comic black sidekick.

Unfortunately, the comic and lyric plays were fre­ quently performed without formal scripts; actors and actresses often worked from the playwrights' notes. As a result, most of these plays were never published, so most of these plays are inaccessible to the general public.

Serious reviews and critical works on these plays are also lacking.

In spite of the span of years between emancipation and the revolution, black literature has maintained a rather consistent course in Latin America and Cuba, focusing on the themes of race prejudice and race mixture. While this literature is a result of historical, economic, social, and political values which have shaped the image of the 104 black, it communicates almost exclusively the artistic impression of white artists:

The association of the color black with ugliness, sin, darkness, immorality, Manichaean metaphor, with the inferior, the archetype of the lowest order, and the color white with the opposite of these qualities partly explains the racist preconceptions and negative images of the black man projected at times despite the author's good intentions — in much of the literature of the area.32

Historically, blacks have confronted two options: an imposed cultural fusion or the extreme of racial extinction.

Among the factors which have confused the question of the black image, the issue of racial amalgamation is prominent.

It is often implied that racial amalgamation produces racial harmony and that the black/white problem can be solved in the bedroom. Regardless of whether this solution is presented within the nineteenth-century context of the paradigm of civilization versus barbarism, or within the twentieth-century context of the paradigms of mis­ cegenation and racial tolerance, the result is the same — blanqueamiento, which signals extinction. In both cases the white model is imposed on the black, both biologically and culturally, until he ceases to exist. Although many modern writers have discarded the more overt ideology of white supremacy, they still readily accept the philosophy of racial amalgamation as a means of "improving the race." PART II

POST-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA

We, practical revolutionaries, initiating our struggle, merely fulfil laws foreseen by Marx the scientist.

Che Guevara Verde Olivo, i960

The Revolution, that irresistible movement of men and spirits toward Utopia, is made to resemble an African deity, whose needs, sometimes wayward and inscrutable, are interpreted by Castro as santero.

Hugh Thomas

105 CHAPTER I

POST-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA:

No Fidelism Without Fidel

Condenadme! No importa! La Historia me absolvera!l

There are few who will dispute the fact that the dominant figure of the Cuban Revolution is Fidel Castro, commander-in-chief. Jaime Suchlicki is one of many writers who has commented on Fidel's personalized and down-to-earth style of rule, which gives him absolute control of the 2 government. Yet the road to "maximum leader" has not been without its pitfalls and disappointments, Fidel Castro, the key to the Revolution, was born on August 13, 1926.

His father, Angel Castro, had immigrated to Cuba from

Galicia, Spain and had worked on the United Fruit Company railway in 1904. He is reported to have frequently voiced a fervent dislike for the North Americans, who he believed had cheated the Spainards out of victory over the Cuban rebels

Angel Castro accumulated sufficient money to become a landowner, and, as his son Fidel was later to admit, he L paid little or no taxes on his land and income. The

106 107

Castro farm was located at a village named Biran. The village and surrounding area of Biran was a United Fruit

Company town, and few places in Cuba were so thoroughly dominated by the North American presence. For the North

American a separate world existed, replete with all the advantages of foreign capitals polo clubs, swimming pools, and specialty shops with American goods, which were all off-limits to the Cuban population. Consequently, the resentment of the Cubans was particularly high in this area. Fidel and his brothers Ramon and Raul attended the

Colegio La Salle, a school directed by the Marianist brothers. Later Fidel attended the Colegio Dolores in

Santiago, and then Bel§n, the famous Jesuit school in

Havana. In school Fidel made a name for himself as a debater and athlete. His brother Raul recalls that Fidel's childhood heroes were Lenin, Hitler, Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera, Mussolini, and Peron, and that Fidel greatly admired the qualities of strength and perseverance.-^

The Castro family was by no means pauperized by

American presence in Cuba. Still, Fidel's early impressions were formed by conditions in the province of Oriente, which was, according to Hugh Thomas, "the most savage part of

Cuba, where gun-law often reigned; the area where the U.S. influence was strongest and most brutally exercised; where 108 the doctors, teachers, dentists and indeed all social pro­ fession were least numerous in proportion to the popula­ tion."^ In short, Castro's distrust of the United States certainly had its roots in his childhood experiences.

Castro's political development began at the university, where the political environment provided him with a forum for his political activities and aspirations. He joined

FEU, the Student Federation, UIR, the Union Insurrectional

Revolucionaria, and other "action groups." In addition,

Fidel was first exposed to the ideas of Marx, Engels, and

Lenin at the university. However, it was not until 1953 that Fidel's real talent for leadership emerged.

By the middle of 1953i Fidel was the center of a group of men and women whose aim was to overthrow Batista.

Many individuals in the group were members of the Orthodox

Youth Movement. Most, however, were not formally aligned with a political group. Those who followed Fidel in 1953 were almost entirely men of the lower-middle and/or working class. Of the one hundred and fifty people who participated in the assault on Moncada, most were factory workers, agricultural workers, and the like. They had little formal ideology, and what political formation they possessed con- 7 sisted in their common hostility toward Batista.'

Fidel's plan was to attack two barracks in Oriente, at Santiago and Bayamo. He had hopes of capturing the 109 arsenal and at the same time igniting the flames of insurrection throughout the country. Although during this period Fidel carried a hook of Lenin with him at all times, neither he nor his followers could he considered to he communists. In fact, after the failure of the attack, the

Communists dismissed the action as futile. More to the point, Fidel and his collaborators were followers of Marti:

The Revolution declares its respect for the workers. . . and. . . the establishment of total and definitive social justice, based on economic and industrial progress under a well-organised and time national plan. . . The Revolution recognises and bases itself on the ideals of Marti. . . The Revolution declares its absolute and reverent respect for the Constitution which was given to the people in 19^0 . . . In the name of the martyrs, in the name of the sacred rights of the fatherlands. . .°

The program that the Moncada group proposed to institute, had,the venture succeeded, included the following:

1) The 19^0 Constitution would be restored.

2) All property "not mortgageable and not transferable" would be handed over to planters, sub-planters, squatters or others who had less than 150 acres.

3) Workers and employers would have been able to share a third of the profits of all sugar mills and other large ’non-agricultural' concerns.

*0 Sugar colonos would henceforth receive a minimum quota of about tons of cane a year. (This was known as the Sugar Reform Plan). 110

5) All land illegally obtained and all other property or cash obtained by fraud would be confiscated.

These laws would be followed by further laws for agrarian, educational, and housing reform.

The reform program of Moncada closely followed the ideas of Eduardo (Eddy) Chibas. It focused primarily on the areas of farming, education, housing, and social con­ ditions. It was in no sense radical, involving no nationali­ zation of the sugar industry, for example. In October following the failure of the attack, however, Fidel and his followers were tried. Fidel war- sentenced to fifteen years' imprisonment, his brother Raul to thirteen, and the others to lesser terms.

Fidel resumed his assault from prison. What began as a letter blossomed into a pamphlet. The document itself began as an effort in self-defense, attacking the mockery of the trial, the moral character of Batista, the plight of the Cuban masses, and the intolerable economic state of the country. He launched an attack on the educational system, housing, health and welfare, and rampant illiteracy.

Fidel noted the absurdity of a system which exported sugar only to import sweets, or exported hides to import shoes.

The rebuttal of Fidel addressed nearly every issue pertinent to the Cuban question, with one major exception: there was no mention of the Cuban racial issue. As has been Ill observed frequently, one could read History Will Absolve

Me without knowing there were any blacks in Cuba at all.

One possible reason for this omission was that Batista was very popular among blacks and mulattos, supporting many of their cultural activities. Still, the fact remains that the Moncada program made no special provisions for blacks.

In 1955 there was a growing appeal for amnesty for political prisoners in all segments of public opinion.

Batista could ill afford to ignore this sentiment; moreover, he felt less threatened by Fidel, since Cuba was experi­ encing a wave of prosperity. In April Batista declared an amnesty; all political prisoners would be released in

May. On May 15, 1955 Fidel and his brother, accompanied by eighteen followers, left the Isle of Pines under the amnesty law. From Cuba, Fidel moved to Mexico to establish headquarters there and to launch the next important stages of the Revolution, the Granma expedition and the legendary

Sierra Maestra campaign.

The Granma left Mexico November 2b, 1956 with eighty- two men on board. As at Moncada, the majority were white; twenty were former participants at Moncada. There were four non-Cubans, including Ernesto Guevara from Argentina.

Fidel, of course, was in command, and under him were three captains: Raul Castro, Juan Almeida, and Jose Smith. The group began their assault with a series of commando raids. 112

When their numbers had swelled to three hundred, they donned the olive green uniforms with the 26th of July, red-and- black armbands. The group continued their previous strategy, attacking police headquarters, harbor headquarters, and prisons. Either confusion and/or betrayal beset the group, and Fidel and his followers found themselves on the defensive in the mountains. From this location Fidel launched his famous Sierra Maestra offensive.

During this stage of the revolutionary process, many priests, Catholics, and other religious segments were active members of the Twenty-sixth of July Movement, a faction of Fidelistas who broke with the Chibas/Orthodox supporters. In the United States the public watched the events with great interest. Fidel had quickly become the champion of the underdog, and American hero. The Sierra

Maestra offensive proved decisive and a triumphant Fidel

Castro arrived in Havana on January 8, 1959- The Cuban Revolution was conceived and evolved as a rebellion against a dictator. Consequently, Fidel's initial program sought to restore all those civil liberties lost under Batista. Most observers both at home and abroad assumed that the new regime would continue the reform pack­ age of land reform, educational reform, improved housing and health care from the Moncada program. During the first two years of the Revolution the new revolutionary elite 113 undertook the systematic liquidation or control of the most powerful pre-revolutionary pressure groups: the army, political parties, unions, and professional associations5 in essence, any structure with the potential for power.

These structures were, in turn, replaced by the rebel army, the militia, and the Defense Committee. All the replacements were quite noticeably military in nature.

The Revolution then sought to separate former managers and technicians from their jobs and replace them with loyal revolutionaries. Although there were other changes, the most salient feature of the new regime during this period was the presence and role of the military. Military officers were appointed to important civilian posts; the armed forces training director was named Minister of

Education.^ Without question the armed forces became a superagency, supplying administrators for both the central and the local organizations dealing with political, economic, and educational matters. This trend was not reversed during the second decade of the Revolution. Suchlicki reports that the Party is controlled by Castroites rather than pro-Soviet Communists. Moreover, the Political Bureau that heads the Central Committee is made up of six rebel 10 army majors and only two civilians.

Cuba's commitment to export revolution to Latin America led to frequent speeches by Fidel, many of which lasted 114 three or four hours. Socialism was marketed with as much zeal as any product on Madison Avenue. Yet in 1961 internal problems curtailed much of Cuba's guerrilla campaign.

Spiraling inflation generated by the widening gap between the demand for and the supply of consumer goods was the culprit. This condition resulted in rationing, which was instituted in 1962 and was expanded to include all consumer goods. The black market flourished. By 1973 the price of unrationed cigarettes was $2.40 a pack, compared with thirty cents a rationed pack. 11 Without question the early

1960s in Cuba was characterized by chaos. At the time of the missile crisis (I96I-I962) there was a full economic crisis, characterized by confusion in both industry and agriculture. Total economic breakdown and collapse was avoided only by the confrontation with the United States during the missile crisis. Despite all her troubles, Cuba was no longer an economic appendage of the United States, a fact which was sufficient to rally the Cuban people.

The public was bombarded with a constant attack on the

United States and all non-Communist forces. Fidel predicted an apocalyptic future for the United States, and for the moment attention was diverted from Cuba's economic woes.

With the missile crisis resolved, Cuba once again confronted her sagging economy. "Che" Guevara turned toward a Maoist philosophy with three major objectives: 115

1) total elimination of the market or commodity production, which entailed a highly centra­ lized planning system, and the gradual eradi­ cation of money and material incentive;

2) raising mass consciousness, a process marked by volunteer labor and moral incentives; and

3) exportation of the Cuban revolutionary model to Latin America.

Guevara viewed the substitution of moral incentives for material ones as the solution to Cuba's decreasing pro­ ductivity and increasing worker absenteeism. He demanded sacrifice and discipline in order to build the new socialist man. Thus the years 1965-1968 saw the adoption and radi- calization of the idealistic Sino-Guevarist system.

Prompted by political and economic considerations,

Cuba has departed from the Sino-Guevarist system in support of the Soviet model. One reason was the poor sugar harvests of 1967 and 1968, which increased the need for more Soviet economic aid. Another factor was the failure of Castro's guerrilla activities, which led to the death of Guevara in Bolivia. Suchlicki believes that Castro feared that

President Nixon would turn on Cuba once the Vietnam crisis ended; he therefore sought greater protection through 12 membership in the Soviet bloc.

The close collaboration between Cuban and Soviet governments has continued into the 1970s. Since 1970 there has been a return to pragmatism and the more 116

conventional post-reform Soviet system, with the U.S.S.R.

playing an increasing role in Cuban affairs. Castro has

delegated most economic power to President Osvaldo Dorticos,

a moderate whom the Soviets trust, and Carlos Rafael

Rodriguez, a former member of the PSP (Socialist Popular

Party) who is the head of foreign relations.

Through an intergovernmental Cuban-Soviet Commission

controlled by Rodriguez, the Soviet government has institu­

tionalized its supervision over the use of its economic

and military aid to the island. The Cuban economy and its

planning have become even more fully integrated into the

Soviet bloc through Cuba's entrance into Comecon or CMEA;

the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance. In 1970»

Rodriguez established the Cuban-Soviet Commission of

Economic, Scientific and Technical Collaboration. Moreover,

a new trade agreement for 1972-1975 replaced the 1965-1970

agreement, which had been extended only provisionally.

According to a speech given by Raul Casto in January

of 1972, the Cuban navy received several Soviet missile- carrying launches that doubled its missile and anti-aircraft equipment. In April of the same year the air force received a flotilla of MIG-21s, the most technologically advanced

Soviet aircraft.

Cuban dependence on the Soviets seemed to have reached a point of no return in 1972. By that point some 60 percent 117

of Cuban trade was with the Soviets, and seventy percent with Comecon. This is approximately the same proportion

of Cuban trade with the United States during the 1950s. ^

The desire to escape monoculture is still present.

However, Cuba needs money in order to diversify the sugar

industry, and at present the best way of getting capital

is to increase sugar production. To this end Cuba has

systematically failed to meet her sugar export commitments with the Soviets, thereby building in 1965-1972 a cumulative

deficit of ten million tons of sugar, the equivalent of ih. three "healthy" sugar crops.

In 1972 Castro issued a recommendation from Moscow

that "the Soviet single multinational state become a model 15 for a Latin American socialist community." ^ For that

endorsement Castro and Brezhnev signed five economic

agreements which will extend Cuban dependency on the Soviets

into the twenty-first century.

An important area of concern for the Revolution has been the development of the new socialist man and the

institutionalization of the revolutionary role. This process of institutionalization has required the reorganiza­

tion of certain institutions and the complete elimination

of others. In short, leaders are committed to changing

the values and attitudes of most of its citizens. Sucklicki reports that the process calls for a transference of 118

allegiance from the family in the Republican period to the 16 Party and the fatherland in the post-revolutionary period.

Moreover, with respect to religion, he believes that the

"faltering influence of the Church has to be eliminated

completely.With regard to the issue of religion,

a declaration issued by the First National Congress of

Education and Culture, delivered on April 30» 1971» stated:

Se preciso que la actividad de las distintas religiones no significa un fenomeno de peso en el desarrollo ideologico de nuestro pueblo, ni en el ambito de nuestra sociedad, monolxti- camente activa en el proposito de la construccion del socialismo.18

Religion has no official place in the formation of the New

Society. Religious schools and universities were con­

fiscated and many priests were expelled shortly after Castro

declared Cuba a socialist state. However, since the Catholic

Church had ceased to play a major role even prior to the

Revolution, this dismantling practically went unnoticed.

The Catholic Church had lost ground when it supported

the Spanish during the War of Indpendence; since that time

the Church's control had been insignificant. Consequently,

the Church was not a force with which the regime had to deal.

In Cuba today, while no one actively prevents any citizen from entering a church or temple, such action can cause one to be permanently labelled as a 119 counterrevolutionary. The official position is that one cannot be a Communist and a Catholic at the same time, and quite frequently being a Communist signals the differ­ ence between survival and non-survival in Cuban society.

The following recommendations regarding religion were made by the First National Congress of Education and

Culture:

1) Absolute separation between Church and State; and

2) No stimulation or support of any religious group, including the culto. °

A closing statement of the Declaration reaffirming the ideals and position of the government with respect to religion states the following: "Finalmente, se preciso que siendo materialistas, marxista-leninistas, nuestro camino no debe ser la antireligiosidad burda, sino la ensenanza cientifica, la elevacion cultural del pueblo y el ofrecimiento a los maestros de materiales educativos al 20 respecto."

The educational system is one of the areas in which a major reorganization has taken place. The goals of the government are clear in this area: "La formacion plena del hombre exige el desarrollo de todas las capacidades 21 que la sociedad pueda promover en el." In addition to the official separation of schools and the State, Castro militarized the public, organizing brigades and battalions 120 of citizens in his war against illiteracy. As a result of the literacy campaign, the regime raised the level of education of the population and implicitly raised the level of social consciousness and nationalism. This new focus hopes to expand politically the disenfranchized Cuban masses through new channels of identification, loyalties, and commitments. The regime has taken away from the Church and the family the obligation and responsibility of'educa­ tion, and has given it to the State. Thus, through the educational system the transference of allegiance from family to fatherland is achieved.

The creation of the New Society has also meant a new role for Cuban women. Sexism is an area that has been target by the Revolution and, as a result, major efforts have been made to integrate woman into the Revolution. The organization charged with this objective is the FMC, the

Federacion de Mujeres Cubanas. This organization was established in i960 and initiated programs in the following year, with 90,000 women participating in the drive against illiteracy. Although the director states that the Federa­ tion prepares women educationally, politically, and socially to participate in the Revolution, its main functions are the incorporation of women into the .workplace and raising the educational level, including the political consciousness, 22 of women. The FMC has been successful in organizing 121 volunteer work by women. However, as of 1966, only an

estimated 150,000 women had become regular wage-earners

since the Revolution. Most of them, furthermore, were not in production, but rather in service work, teaching, 23 staffing nurseries, and the like. J

Progress in this area has been slow. In spite of the

support given to women's rights groups worldwide, women constitute only 13% of the Party and 6$ of the leadership in Cuba. As of 1975» among the one hundred members of the

Central Committee of the Communist Party, only a few women figured prominently: Haydee Santamaria, the wife of the

Party leader, Armando Hart Davalos; Vilma Espin, the head of the FMC and the wife of Raul Castro; Elena Gil; and

Comandante Celia Sanchez, the administrative secretary to

Castro.

Part of the obstacle to integration may lie in the very rigid sex roles in Cuba, which the Revolution has not overcome and may indeed have reinforced. Machismo, a social pattern prevalent in many societies in which there has been generation after generation of patriarchy, is parti­ cularly visible in Cuba. Cuban children are taught to respect and emulate party leaders, most of whom are male.

Thus, integrating women into the Revolution is made much more difficult. Carlos Montaner believes that fully in­ volving women in the revolutionary process would tend to 122 desmachizar or emasculate the entire process. In any case, the regime must not only place women in jobs; it must also change the concept of womanhood.

The Revolution, which feels the need to establish new patterns in human relationships, has also tackled the issue of race. In addition to class and sex, race has been a primary area of concern in the formation of the new socialist man.

Before the Revolution, blacks were commonly forbidden entrance into certain clubs, restaurants, hotels, and schools. Without a domestic or servant's pass, blacks could not enter certain areas of Havana after dark. Since the Revolution, the Havana Libre, formally the Havana

Hilton, a spot which was restricted even to the majority of whites in pre-Castro days, is now open to blacks. How- every, offsetting this accomplishment stands the Restaurant

Floridita, which is reported to cater only to party members.

Yet, with the Revolution, some of the more overt forms of racism came to an end. The first and second Agrarian

Reform Laws changed life for thousands of black agricultural laborers and farmers. According to a 1931 census, black

Cuban farmers owned only 11% of all land holdings, compared to 7^%> for white Cubans.^ The Urban Reform Law put many blacks into decent housing for the first time. Educational opportunities expanded to reach the black and rural poor. 123

Venceremos, the compaign slogan against illiteracy, led

thousands into the villages to teach blacks, who had pre­ viously formed the largest group of illiterates, to read

and write. The Revolution established many centers for the study

of Afro-Cuban dances and music. Castro lifted the ban on

the Afro-Cuban religious ceremonies and sources in Swahili

and Bantu were started in the Art School; the ballet negro

was exported with great pride. The FAR (Revolutionary

Armed Forces) authored a history of the people of Cuba

which attempted to address the contribution of black people.

Verde Olivo published materials along these lines also.

On March 22, 1959. Fidel Castro issued "The Rights of the Black Man in Cuba." In this document Castro called for

an end to the racial discrimination in work centers. He

stated: "It should not be necessary to pass a lav/ to

establish a right which a person has by the simple fact

of being a human being and a member of society. It should

not be necessary to pass a law against prejudice. What must be legislated is anathema for and public condemnation

of everyone who is full of prejudices from the

past. ..." In spite of the inspiring words of Castro,

the subtleties of racism remain after the Revolution.

Interracial marriage is still regarded as somewhat taboo.

Juan Almeida continues to represent the token black in the 12k higher echelons of the Cuban government. Magazines continue to promote the white aesthetic. In the Summer, 19&7 issue of Mu.jeres, not a dark face appeared among the forty-eight pages of fashion photographs and drawings, which, according to Elizabeth Sutherland, appears to be an editorial trend and not an oversight.^'7 In addition, in January of 1967.

Aime Cesaire's play about King Christophe of Haiti was 28 produced in Cuba with white actors in blackface. Further­ more, sports delegations, which are always full of blacks, almost exclusively have white escorts. Black representation on the Central Committee of the Communist Party is unfavor- able, with seven black members out of one hundred; 29 ' a similar representation exists in the Council of Ministers.

Finally, el culto, the Afro-Cuban religion, is discouraged for being detrimental to the building of a modern socialist society.

The Revolution has provided blacks with access to certain jobs, entertainment, and educational opportunities which previously had been reserved for whites. However, as in the case of women's liberation, there lies a serious contradiction with respect to race. The Cuban public is asked to emulate party leaders, the majority of whom are white males. This remains a fact twenty years after the triumph of the Revolution. Castro's political style has led to a vertical structure of political power, with power 125

30 concentrated in the hands of a small elite.J This exclusion contradicts the Revolution's ambitious goal to end discrimination and elitism.

Carlos Montaner argues that social attitudes regarding blacks have changed very little in the post-revolutionary period.He observes that a black, in order to be a good revolutionary, must renounce his africanidad, since black identification weakens proletarian unity. In his book

Black Man in Red Cuba, John Clytus gives a firsthand account of his experiences in and confrontations with the Castro 32 regime and the systematic removal of black models. Con­

sequently, Cuba's support of black emancipatory movements worldwide conflicts with her policy toward black nationalism at home. In an attempt to resolve this dilemma, Cuba has adopted a policy of racial integration which will eventu­ ally lead to a classless, supraracial Cuban society. In advocating this position, the regime is drawing upon the ideas of Jose Marti: "Cubano es mas que bianco, mas que negro." What the present policy of integration fails to state is that, within the Marxist organization, blacks remain subordinated to the will of the white majority, a fact which undermines any further discussion of black nationalism.

Castro has attempted to rally the public around familiar, well-defined national heroes and symbols, such as 126

Jose Marti, who advocate racial integration and at the same time provide a new ideological identity — that of socialism.

Yet, according to sociologists, such racial and cultural homogeneity is only possible on paper. If this is the case, the pro-integration policy of the present regime can expect to achieve nothing more than the assimilation of the black group into the dominant racial group, which, in effect, signals no change in policy from the Republican period. As many have observed, blacks are asked to accept a white vision of the world, since the black element is being systematically removed. Frantz Fanon has commented that modern communism is a European invention, and as Cuba becomes communistic, she is becoming increasingly white and European. 33

Cuba's present course raises a number of concerns and questions with respect to race and culture. First, is there still a race problem in Cuba, and if so, how do we identify it? Hoetink states that a race problem exists where two or more racially different groups belong to one system and where one of these conceives of the other as a threat on any level or in any social or political context. 3^

According to this definition, then, there is a race problem in Cuba. The next logical question .is: can Castro achieve a racially homogeneous society, even.with the aid of Marti and Marx? In a word, the answer is no. A racially 127 homogeneous society is characterized by the absence of any 35 influence of somatic traits on the social ranking order. ^

As most sociologists concur, a racially homogeneous society does not exist in reality. One of the groups will by nature be perceived and will perceive itself as dominant.

According to Hoetink, in every society somatic modalities have some influence upon selection and on the allocation of position. These modalities are determined by ideals and norms, closely linked to the dominant physical type, that regulate the aesthetic appreciation of physical traits within a society. They will additionally regulate that which is culturally and socially attractive and fashion­ able.-^ The same obstacles prevent the achievement of cultural homogeneity. In every society cultural modalities influence selection and the allocation of position. Neither

Marti, Castro, socialism nor communism can prevent this from occurring. In the final analysis, a supraracial

Cuban society suggests the full implementation of the pre­ sent pro-integration policy, involving black assimilation into the white (criollo) group. This fact has prompted one black writer to comment, "Ahora somos negros blancos."

(Now we are white black people.) CHAPTER II

LITERATURE IN POST-REVOLUTIONARY CUBA

La escuela socialista, junto a las demas fuerzas organizadas de la sociedad, es el principal factor para la formacion multi­ lateral del hombre. La actividad artis- tica constituye uno de sus elementos esenciales desde los primeros grados escolares.1 (my emphasis)

In light of the above statement, found in the Declara­

tion of the First National Congress of Education and

Culture, the discussion of any area of artistic activity in

isolation from political considerations is both artifical

and anachronistic. In his speech to the National Congress

of Education on April 30, 1971» Fidel Castro elaborated

on the long-standing policy, in effect since 1961, that

established Marxism as the official creative instrument

within the regime. Castro's words were formally adopted

by the Congress and presented in the Declaration issued

by that body on April 30, 1971* The essence of that state­ ment reads as follows:

El socialismo crea las condiciones objetivas y subjetivas que hacen factible la autentica libertad de creacion y por ende, resultan condenable e inadmisible aquellas tendencias que se basan en un criterio de libertinaje con la finalidad

128 129 de enmascarar el veneno contrarevolucionario de obras que conspiran contra la ideologia revolucionaria en que se fundamenta la construccion del socialismo y el comunismo, en que esta hoy irrevocablemente compromentido nuestro pueblo y en cuyo espiritu se educan las nuevas generaciones.2

This statement clearly signals an end to all literature which does not support the Revolution and openly embrace its ideals. Roberto F. Retamar and Jose Antonio Portuondo are two who advocate extending the withdrawal of support to include what previously might have been termed apolitical literature. Since 1970 the regime has taken the position that any work which is not pro-Revolution is counter­ revolutionary. In short, all human activity, literature not excepted, must reflect the ideology of the Revolution.

During the first phase of the Revolution (1959-1963)* the Cuban government actively enlisted the assistance of the artistic community in practicing a kind of revolutionary tourism, promoting the Revolution both at home and abroad.

This pact between the government and the intellectual community created a boom in Cuban artistic production at all levels. This love affair between the intellectuals and the government, however, was short-lived. What the government had overlooked was the fact that most of the recruited members were not Communists but rather liberals, many of whom had had previous experience with political reform movements. Their dissident behavior and critical observations of the government were not welcomed, and led 130 to an immediate response from Fidel Castro in the form of his now famous "Words to the Intellectuals," delivered in

June of 1961. In this document Castro attempted to define the role of the intellectual within the Revolution. His statement, "Dentro de la revolucion, todo; fuera de la revolucion, nada," established the parameters for all present and future conflicts between the artistic community and the regime. Castro's "Words" officially placed all artistic activity under the direct control of the govern­ ment. From that moment forward, the cultural revolution, as well as the political one, would be guided by Marxism-

Leninism. Party members were appointed to key positions:

Haydee Santamaria, a long-time friend of Castro, was named the first director of Casa de las Americas;^ and Carlos

Franqui, a journalist who had assisted Castro in drafting the document History Will Absolve Me, became the director of RevoluciSn.^

Despite the restrictions placed on the intellectual, the early 1960s were a liberal period within the Revolution.

Proclaiming herself the first free territory of the Americas, and hoping to export the Revolution, Cuba encouraged writers to elaborate on Ernesto "Che" Guevara's concept of the new man. The new socialist man, educated on the principles of Marxism-Leninism, would be instrumental in the building of the new socialist society. He would reflect a new set 131 of values, displaying devotion to the cause of Communism, and working for the welfare of Cuban society.

Following the guidelines outlined in Guevara's

Man and Socialism in Cuba, Castro's policy toward dissident members of the artistic community became less and less conciliatory. By the mid-1960s Cuba's liberalism had given way to a period of isolation in which strict adherence to Marxist ideology was required. This second phase of the Revolution stressed the education of the masses, for which the socialist school was recognized as the only legitimate instrument. As the Revolution advanced, Castro proved to be more militant, as he aggressively pursued all counterrevolutionaries, launching a series of purges within the political and intellectual communities. With the death of Che Guevara in 1967, Cuban policy retreated from its previous Sino-Guevarist position and openly embraced the Soviet model of Communism, thus marking the beginning of Phase Three of the Revolution.

During the initial period of the Revolution, the boom period, artists responded with works which glorified the

Revolution, its leaders and ideals. Cuban writers were encouraged to promote Cuban nationalism and to put aside the regional rivalries which had plagued the Republican

Period. They concentrated on producing works with an inter­ national worldview. Expanding on this subject, Alejo 132

Carpentier.has explained that the task of today's American novelist is to record the physiognomy of the cities, avoiding regionalisms This trend is reflected in the works of post-revolutionary novelists, who were intent upon surpassing the Republican narrative, a form which they characterized as excessively regionalistic in every respect. As a result of this trend, there was very little demand for the "rural novel," and most novelists directed their attention toward the metropolitan world and the £ universal implications that such a move suggests. In broadening her worldview, Cuba strengthens her membership within the Soviet bloc and as a member of the socialist system. The benefits from this improved status could increase Cuba's political influence in Latin America and insure her leadership in the area.

According to Julio Miranda, the contemporary Cuban narrative reflects a subordination of form to language, an interest in the dynamics of the creative process, a pre­ occupation with time, and a desire to examine the roles of chaos and order within existence."'7 A preoccupation with time is most visible in the works published immediately after the triumph of the revolutionary forces. Many of these works serve as chronicles, documenting the course of the Revolution, which represents both an historical and a social landmark and provides the means for 133 contrasting the writings of the two periods. By contrast­ ing the chaos and violence of the Republican Period with the order of the new regime, the Revolution converts all literature into a literature of denunciation.

With respect to language, dialects made popular during the Republican Period, such as the gua.jiro and nafligo, have been displaced in this period by what has been called O universal expression. As vague as this phrase seems, it appears to reaffirm what Carpentier cited as a trend in the new Cuban narrative, a departure from the use of regionalisms. This tendency toward universal expression has eliminated the need for regional peculiarities, i.e., dialects, in Cuban literature.

The general disorder of the Republican Period is reflected in the literature, which consistently perpetuated through its works classism, materialism, elitism, sexism, and racism. The very nature of the Revolution calls for a condemnation of the previous period, a purging of all those negative structures which had subscribed to and reflected intellectual tutelage and cultural colonialism.

At conflict has been the reluctance of writers to present the Cuban environment and to respond by way of their works 9 to problems unique to Cuba. According to many observers,

Latin American literature in general has been dominated by the bourgeoisie, which aspires to an intellectual model 13^

lo that originates in New York, Paris, and London. Revolu­ tionary writers agree that the new literature of Cuba must reflect the historial and experiential realities of

Cuba. According to the Declaration issued by the National

Congress of Education and Culture, ideological coexistence within the regime is permitted only "with the spiritural creation of the revolutionary peoples, socialist culture, 11 and the forms of expression of Marxist-Leninist ideology."

In short, culture, like education, cannot be apolitical.

Cuba's transformation from a dependent of the United

States to a socialist state has been documented most successfully in the narrative. The early years of the

Revolution gave rise to numerous accounts of the military action. An abbreviated list of these works includes the following: El sol a -plomo (1959) » by Humberto Arenal;

La novena estacion (1959)» by Jose Becerra Ortega;

Marfona es 26 (i960 ), by Hilda Perera Soto; and Bertillon

166 (i960 ), by Jose Soler Puig. In ritualistic fashion, the authors of these works reconstruct to some degree the

Republican era. The frequent sermon-like structure of these works includes regular breaks in the action which are marked by discursive and didactic digressions consist­ ing of Marxist doctrine. The novels are further charac­ terized by a tension between content and form, in which one notes two different time sequences and two different 135 levels of experience — that of the regenerate narrator and that of the unregenerate life he records. An example of this tension is found in Bertillon 166, hy Jose Soler

Puig.

Bertillon 166 explores the sociological basis of

Cuban nationalism as part of the revolutionary process.

This novel takes place in Santiago de Cuba during the last months of the Batista regime. The title of the novel, according to Ernesto Mendez y Soto in Panorama de la novela cubana de la revolucion (1959-1970), means asesinato 12 con arma de fuego, and refers to the manner in which revolutionaries were killed during this period. The objective of this work is to present the Revolution as the result of a collective effort on the part of the Cuban people. Specifically, Soler Puig responds to an embarras­ sing lack of participation in military action by the black population, which some have claimed accounts for the poor representation of blacks (constituting only seven percent) IS on the Central Committee of the Cuban Communist Party.

In Bertillon 166 we find two distinct episodes in which black participation in the Revolution is exemplary.

In the first, a black Communist arrives in Santiago and aids the revolutionary forces which are operating there. He is killed by government agents, but not before he completes his mission. In the second episode a mulatto named Quico performs his duty by helping a Communist party member to escape from the police. For his efforts, both he and his wife are killed by the police. Both incidents demonstrate the loyalty and dedication, not just of the individuals presented, but of the entire black population. In its treatment of black characters, Bertillon 166 stands apart from many other works that share this novel's objective of fostering national unity. In Manana es 26, for example, the author does not specifically mention black participa­ tion in the Revolution, but rather that of two different groups, the bourgeoisie and the students.

By 1962 the liberalism of the first phase had already begun to fade. Those artists who were not fully integrated into the Revolution, as indicated by their continued use of neocolonialist forms, were warned against such imprudent 14 behavior. At conflict were the aesthetic freedom initially granted to the artistic community at the onset of the institutalization process, and the socialist realism now required by the regime, encouraged by the missile crisis.

This controversy had already begun a year earlier. In 1961 the literary magazine Lunes de Revolucion suspended print and all those writers and editors connected with the publication were named revolutionary outlaws and removed from any sensitive, i.e., governmental, positions which 15 they held. J Coinciding with the suspension was the 137 creation of UNEAC, the National Union of Cuban Writers and

Artists. This organization continues to regulate all

Cuban artistic production in accordance with Marxist ideology. Given the power of UNEAC, the enthusiastic support of the Revolution from members of the artistic community is hardly surprising, and encourages the notion that the primary criterion for publication is political militancy.

During the second phase of the Revolution (I963-I967), the mandate for socialist realism brought about a decrease in the number of works that sought exclusively to reenact the fighting. Searching for other ways to present socialist culture, writers launched a series of attacks on one of the most vulnerable groups in Cuban society, the middle class. Among these novels we find: El caseron del cerro

(1961) and Detras del muro (1963)1 by Marcelo Pogolotti;

La situacion (1963)» by Lisandro Otero; and Los muertos andan solos (1963). by Juan Arcocha.

These novels characteristically moralize against and socially condemn the middle class. Mendez y Soto describes this tendency: "El compromiso social e ideologico de algunos de estos escritores va aun mas allS.: presentan a esta clase como corrumpida y disoluta, ociosa e indolente, saciando sus mas bajos apetitos a costa de la miseria y 16 las necesidades de las clases humildes." In Los muertos andan solos (1963)» we find a decadent middle class, represented by a group of idle and uncommitted

teenagers. Their lack of revolutionary consciousness is

considered exemplary of their class. In condemning them,

Arcocha was responding to a specific political situation,

i.e., the collapse of the Urrutia administration seven months after its inauguration.^ The failure of this

administration, which had been supported by the middle class, signalled the end of that group's participation in

the post-revolutionary government and paved the way for

the formal announcement that Cuba was a socialist state.

Within the government, many members of the 26 of July

Movement were replaced; some were accused of being traitors.

At the same time, members of the PSP (Partido Socialista

Popular) were appointed to key positions within the govern­ ment. These events undoubtedly account for the discrediting

of the bourgeoisie and the creation of what Mendez y Soto calls the post-revolutionary middle-class novel.

The young people in Los muertos andan solos reflect

the moral perversion of the bourgeoisie. Prominent among their many negative qualities is their racial prejudice.

Rosa, who is white, engages in a condemnable relationship with Luis, who is black. Her hostile feelings toward

Luis and blacks in general has no basis other than that of class prejudice, which will allow her to sleep with Luis 139 but requires that she keep the relationship hidden from her peers. The relationship of Rosa and Luis, portrayed as the continuation of a master-slave mentality, is resolved

only by his conversion to Communism. Los muertos andan

solos is clearly an instrument of propaganda in support

of Che Guevara's theory of the new man, whose spiritual recreation is not possible without the Marxist structure.

Alejo Carpentier is one of the few Cuban novelists who has been prolific in both the pre- and post-Revolutionary periods. He also has frequently drawn on black culture as

the subject matter for his works. In 1962 Alejo Carpentier published El siglo de las luces, which does not directly discuss the Cuban Revolution, but rather deals with revolu­ tion in general. In this novel Carpentier views Antillian life during the Enlightenment Period and, specifically, in the face of the French Revolution. He explores the impact of the ideas of the French Revolution on the Caribbean region. As Mendez y Soto observes, "La novela no es solo una saga antiliana, sino un profundo analisis de las 18 causas y las consecuencias de las revoluciones." In El siglo de las luces Carpentier looks at the manner in which the period of the Enlightenment directly affects the lives of the black slaves in Haiti. Transcending the boundaries of Cuban regionalism, this work is an example of what 14-0

Carpentier described as the priority of the American novelist, which requires a more international worldview. 19

Severo Sarduy is another Cuban novelist who has fre­ quently portrayed black characters in his works. In 19&3

Seix Barral of Barcelona published Gestos, Sarduy's first novel. In this novel we follow the action through the eyes of a black female singer. The story unfolds during the waning years of the batistato, and thus reflects the chaos and confusion of that period. The singer, who is known only as ella, leads a dual life; she is a terrorist by night and a laundress by day. Sarduy evokes sirens, exploding bombs, and domestic arguments with but one purpose: to reproduce the chaos and complete disorder of

Havana during that period. The emptiness and despair of the protagonist, her personal crisis and alienation symbolize the purposelessness of the Cuban people, which finally disintegrates into a series of incoherent and mindless gestures.

In 1967 Sarduy published his second novel, De donde son los cantantes. Like Guillen's Poema con ninos, this work traces the origins of Cuba’s multiracial society.

However, in contrast to the optimism of Guillen, Sarduy is openly cynical in his treatment of the subject. In a

"Nota" at the end of the work which serves as an epilogue,

Sarduy explains the sequence of events. The opening line M of this section reads as follows: "Tres culturas se han superpuesto para constituir la cubana — espanola, africana y china — ; tres ficciones que aluden a ellas constituyen 20 este libro." The individual stories, "Junto al Rio de

Cenizas de Rosa," "La Dolores Rondon," and La Entrada de

Cristo en La Habana," reflect Sarduy's vision of Cuban life as characterized by political corruption and sexual obsession.

An integral part of Cuba's political and social reorganization has been the emphasis on a new national social ethic of work, and the concomitant formation of the new man, a project which until his death was spearheaded by Ernesto "Che" Guevara. The key values of this ethic include work, unity, struggle, dignity, and commitment to

Cuban development. Fidel Castro echoed these values in a speech delivered on July 26, 1967. He stated that "... the most difficult task of the Revolution was not the overthrow of the tyranny [Batista] and the conquest of revolutionary power. . . The most difficult was the task in which we are engaged today: the task of building a new country on the foundation of an underdeveloped economy, the task of creating a new consciousness, a new man on the ideas which had prevailed practically for centuries in our society. . .

Our country is ruled by the spirit of work, and the virtues Ik2 of its citizens of this country, their revolutionary spirit, 21 are measured by their spirit of work." (my emphasis)

In Man and Socialism in Cuba, "Che" Guevara wrote that the new man should not only possess cultural and technical 22 skills, but should also be politically responsible.

He should be motivated not by the profit motive, but rather by a new moral consciousness and commitment to Cuban development. Like the phoenix, Che's new man rises from the ashes of pre-revolutionary Cuba to communicate a new national social ethic to the world.

The rebirth of the new man is the subject of Manuel

Granado's novel, Adire y el tiempo roto (1967). The events of this novel, which take the form of flashbacks, are recorded through the eyes of the black protagonist, Julian.

Julian describes his humiliating and frustrating past experiences, the result of the racially discriminatory practices of the pre-Castro era. His story, however, does not end there; JuliSn's dignity and self-esteem, interlocked with class struggle and socialist unity, is recovered with the triumph of the Revolution. Julian's flashbacks serve two basic purposes. They permit the author and reader to explore the world of African (Yoruban) rites and cere­ monies. More importantly, they form a striking contrast to the values of the new social ethic. The Yoruban cere­ monies which constitute Julian's past are inextricably 143 linked to Julian’s and Cuba's political and social depend­ ence. They represent the black world of submission, corruption, and enslavement. Given such an extreme con­ trast, Julian can arrive at only one conclusion: he must reject the past in its entirety in order to gain the freedom and equality promised by the Revolution. As Julian emerges a new man, free and independent, his black past, his black identity is but a memory. Black ethos is dis­ placed by the new social ethic.

In the area of poetry, the promotion of black verse has given way to the displacement of the black idiom, which characterized nearly all of what has been called poesia negra or Afro-Cuban poetry. By 193^» with the publication of West Indies Ltd. by Nicolas Guillen, negrismo^ as an element in Cuban poetry had been nearly exhausted. Nicolas

Guillen has stated on several occasions that he abandoned the black mode to concentrate on what he considered more - 24 pressing social issues. With the departure of the bembon by the 1940s, black poetry in Cuba had become a neglected form until the arrival of the Social Revolution with its new priorities which call for the preservation, development, and utilization of Cuban folklore, with particular emphasis on black contributions.

In an article published in Casa de las Americas (1964),

Jose Triana lists and describes briefly the poets whom l£|4

he considers to best reflect the current concerns of the

Revolution.2^ Among those whom he discusses are: Jose

A. Baragano, Poesia revolucion del ser (i960 ); Herberto

Padilla, El .justo tiempo humano (1962); Pablo Armando

FernSndez, Toda la poesia (I96I); and Fayad Jamis, Por esta

libertad (1962).

The works of these poets reflect the revolutionary

conception of poetry, which rejects the modernist view of

art for art's sake. Triana cites statements by Johannes 2 & Pfeiffer, who sees in poetry the subordination of form

("forma bella") to content ("forma significativa"). In

Triana's comments one point surfaces with respect to all

the poets: Revolutionary poetry must surpass the poetry

of the Cuban Republic. In doing this it must reflect a

universal character, which will reject the picturesque and

regionalistic peculiaries of the previous period. Of

"Himno a la muerte" by Baragano, he explains: "... este

poema traspasa los limites de nuestra poesia hasta ese momento (1959) y se situa en el Smbito universal. El pro- * 27 vincionalismo de la revista Origenes ' y la escuela de

rumores anestesiados o metafisicos queda practicamente

aplastado por la presencia del hombre furioso,

contradictorio, rebelde, en funcion .de su vida cotidiana y 28 de una improbable trascendencia." 145

Although Triana mentions other poets, such as Jose

Lezama Lima, Manuel Navarro Luna, Felix Pita Rodriguez, and

Nicol&s Guillen, he does not specifically discuss them or any of their works in this article, since he considers

their major contributions to have occurred before 1959-

In the case of Nicolas Guillen, however, the year 1959 did not signal his retirement. In 1964 he published Tengo, a very personalized vision of the Revolution. In the poem

"Tengo" Guillen credits his rebirth and new awareness

directly to the Revolution. He states:

Cuando me veo y toco, yo, Juan sin Nada no mas ayer, y hoy Juan con Todo, vuelvo los ojos, miro, me veo y toco y me pregunto como ha podido ser . . .

Tengo, vamos a ver, que siendo un negro nadie me puede detener a la puerta de un dancing o de un bar. 0 bien en la carpeta de un hotel gritarme que no hay pieza, una minima pieza y no una pieza colosal, una pequena pieza donde yo pueda descansar. . .

Tengo que ya tengo donde trabajar y ganar lo que me tengo que comer.

Tengo, vamos a ver, Tengo lo que tenia que tener.^9

Guillen's brief reference to his blackness is presented within the context of his newly acquired racial equality, which was made possible by the Revolution. In short, 146 everything that he has and/or needs has been provided by the Revolution: "Tengo, vamos a ver/Tengo lo que tenia que tener."

Generally, the trends in contemporary Cuban poetry reveal a departure from the regionalism, provincialism, excessive sentimentality, and baroque style of the

Republican Period. The content is political, voicing strong support of the Revolution, and condemning Yankee domination.

As with the narrative and poetic genres, the function of the theater vis-li-vis the Social Revolution has been to reflect the "realidad actual revolucionaria." Adolfo

Cruz-Luis discusses the Cuban theater as follows:

El movimiento teatral cubano tiene entre sus superobjetivos capitales reflejar la realidad actual, revolucionaria, del pais de manera dinamica, objetiva, directa, sin dejar por ello de prestar atencion a los acontecimientos cimeros, esenciales, de nuestra historia pasada. Ademas de recrear, el movimiento teatral cubano se propone educar y cumplir la funcion social de concientizacion ideologica para la cual fue creado el teatro hace mas de veinticinco siglos; asimismo, intenta. . . ser fiel exponente de los nuevos valores eticos, sociales, politicos, ideologicos, culturales, en fin humanos, de la sociedad socialista que estamos construyendo. Por todo ello, nuestro teatro es^ a la vez, un instrumento cultural e ideologico al servicio de los intereses del pueblo cubano.30 (my emphasis)

Rine Leal, a Cuban theater critic, has also sought to summarize and describe the historical change in the post-revolutionary theater. He notes four distinct stages: 147

1) "the professionalization of theatrical personnel, now paid from the national budget; 2) the decentralization of good theater (performed in Havana or other cities before the Revolution) by sending amateur and professional groups, along with instructors of theatrical arts (drama, music, dance), all over the island; 3) the rise of new authors, surpassing in number and quality playwrights of the pre­ revolutionary era; and 4) the promotion of modern and folk music, dance, and theater, returning in some cases to forms 31 of drama popular in the past."

In an effort to realize this program, Teatro Estudio was founded in 1958 to bring works of Bertolt Brecht to the Cuban stage. With the specific purpose of promoting musicals and folkloric productions, Teatro Nacional was created. The organization of these groups responded to the need to professionalize the Cuban theater.

Pursuing efforts to decentralize Cuban theater, many theatrical groups were established in the provinces outside

Havana. Among these we find: The Conjunto Dramatico de

Camaguey, formed in I960; Grupo Maximo Gorki of Pinar del

Rio (1961); Conjunto Dramatico de Oriente (1961); Grupo '

Gerard Philippe of Mantanzas (1962); and Centro Dramatico of Las Villas (1963)*32 The areas of modern dance, children's theater, and puppet theater had been ignored during the pre-revolutionary 148

period. With the help of government funding, a special

study was launched which eventually led to the formation

of a children's theater. In 1963 efforts in this area

culminated in the creation of the Teatro Nacional de

Guinol.-^ It was this group which was responsible for the production of Shango de Ima by Pepe Carril. This play represents one of the few attempts to bring material from

the African oral tradition to the Western stage.

Between 1965 and 1970 the Cuban theater began to

experiment. Cruz-Luis notes: "La busqueda de nuevas postuladas esteticas y metodos de trabajo que estuvieran mas acordes con las grandes transformaciones sociopoliticas que se habian ido sucediendo en el pais, determino que un buen numero de teatristas profesionales fijara otros horizontes a sus actividades. . . It should be noted that, for similar reasons, the Cuban narrative underwent a similar transformation. In the case of the theater, however, the reorganization led to the dissolution of nearly all the groups created before 1964. Among the new groups which appeared during this period are: Teatro Libro of

Havana and the Grupo Jorge Ankerman (1965); Grupo Taller

Dramatico and La Rueda in 1966; Teatro Juvenil of Havana in 1967; Joven Teatro of Gerona and Conjunto Dramatico de

Ciego of Avila in 1968; Teatro Escambray, Teatro de Ensayo 149

Ocuje, and Teatro del Tercer Mundo in 1969; and Los Doce in

1970.

Of these groups, the Teatro Escamhray is perhaps the hest known. In May of 1969 this group began its activities

in the region from which it takes its name, Escambray. This mountanous region located in the central zone had been

the scene of intense fighting between revolutionary and

counterrevolutionary forces during the 1960s. Fulfilling

its role as educator, the theater group Escambray was

established in this area in 1969*

In an effort to remain current, many of the above

groups created after 1965 were dissolved in 1970 and others were organized. This reorganization resulted in the

formation of Teatro Popular Latinoamericano (1973)> Teatro

Politico Bertolt (1973)1 Teatro de Participacion Popular

(1971)» Teatro de La Yaya (1972), and Teatrova (1974).

Of these groups, La Yaya is not a professional group; its material and staffing is provided by volunteers and in­

terested amateur actors and actresses. The Teatro de

Participacion Popular has evolved in the urban areas and counts factory workers as its main contributors and audience.

Finally, Teatrova seeks to integrate music and dance into its dramatic production.

The frequency of the reorganization of these many theatrical groups, with the expressed purpose of faithfully 150 interpreting the Cuban environment, reflects the belief that the theater is one of the most effective artistic instruments by which to examine Cuban society. It is our contention that the images of black culture presented in the theater, while they are not totally accurate, do indeed reflect the manner in which black culture is generally perceived by the dominant culture.

Despite the claims of the Social Revolution to have liberated blacks and to have legally banned racial discri­ mination, black culture has not been able to divorce itself from the stereotypes which it popularized in the Afro-

Cuban movement of the 1920s and 1930s. The new images of the black depart only minimally from the picturesque figure of half a century earlier, who lived primarily through his senses in a black world characterized by frenetic dancing and drumming and spiritual possession. The promotion of folkloric theater along these lines has been the Revolu­ tion's attempt to restore a culture"wrested away by colonial­ ists and imperialists."

Post-Revolutionary theater continues to identify African tradition exclusively with santerla and/or naniguismo. This and other currents of the post-revolutionary theater will be discussed in Part Three, Chapter .Two. PART III

TEXTUAL ANALYSES

The real value of criticism lies in what it tells about the critic.

Gerald Graff

151 CHAPTER I

THE REPUBLICAN CUBAN THEATER

The six theatrical representations under discussion in this chapter represent works from the pre-revolutionary period, between 1913 and 1950. These works present to varying degrees images of black characters and black culture found within the Cuban context. Yet, these images, whether they are of dancers, musicians, laborers, or nanigos, have one common characteristic; that is their subordination. Black characters rarely influence the development or movement of the play. Their appearances provide comic relief, and add an atmosphere and an exotic flavor which the public, particularly the European public, had come to expect and demand.

However, for the Cuban audience, the major preoccupa­ tion and subsequent literary theme par excellence during the Republic Years was that of national identity. Black characters and culture were therefore forced to take a back seat to this primary concern. In addition, as late as 1938 blacks did not appear on the national stage in Cuba.^"

The reason for this absence, according to Fernando Ortiz,

152 153 was cultural; the Cuban public was unable to accept or 2 identify with the black images.

Cuba's preoccupation with a national identity is not unique. It has long been a factor in Latin American culture and literature. Consequently, the possibility of a black theater, whether performed exclusively by blacks or intended for an exclusively black audience, would be unthinkable within this context. To quote Fernando Ortiz, it would be an "unpatriotic whim." According to Ortiz, the solution to the problem of the absence of black figures on stage lie in a revival from the repetoire of the classic Spanish theater, those types and scenic pictures where the black was a "person" in the most historical and proper sense, from a theatrical point of view.-^ Unfortunately, Ortiz was not successful in his endeavors.

Those who choose to write drama implicitly adopt a group mentality, a group perspective. During the years of the Republic, the Cuban public exerted certain pressures on playwrights, encouraging them to write "national" works.

Hence, the Cuban theater during these years was bound to the political and social issues of its time. The Cuban theater became an instrument for inculcating a national spirit, and organism of community spirit. An exclusively black theater, then, was out of the question. 154

Given this public mandate, Cuban playwrights confronted an unstable political structure and responded in several ways: with rural folklore, urban mythology, and political and social works.

Struggling for existence within this environment, and losing, the black voice was totally subservient to that of the Cuban voice, the national voice. The promotion of the Cuban voice, with its major components, white, black, and red, underscores the idea that black nationalism is, in

Cuba, a result of mestizo affirmation rather than of black consciousness or identification. The mestizo affirmation implies acceptance by both black and white elements of a common national history and mythology. It is this same affirmation which prompted Nicolas Guillen to write, "Dice Jamaica que ella esta contenta de ser negra, y Cuba ya sabe que es mulata.”^ (my emphasis)

The use of the word mulatto implies a cultural and social synthesis. In fact, the Cuban culture provides us with many such examples. The son,-* for example, is a synthesis of the Spanish, African, and Taino cultures. The rumba, typically Cuban, is a Westernized, commercialized version of the rumba guaguana, an African ceremony which was to symbolize the dance of the hen and the cock.^ Cuba accepts herself as a cultural synthesis with three primary components: Spanish, Indian, and African. We are reminded, 155

7 however, that it is the criollo,' the Spanish element,

which has been promoted and marketed in literature. Also,

it is the criollo that most frequently embodies the ideals

and essence of Cuba in this multicolored society.

The task of the Republican playwright was to isolate

and elaborate those elements which best portray Cuban

life, thus presenting a synthesis of the country's reality.

Black people, like the region's flora and fauna, contribute

to Cuba's rich flavor and uniqueness, but are not the

leading exponent of cubania, the essence of Cuba. This

fact is evident in El traidor (1913)» by Jose Antonio Ramos.

El traidor was first published in Cuba Contemporanea,

a liberal journal whose content reflected the ideas of a

group of artists whom critics called the first generation

of Republican writers. An active member of this group was

Jose Antonio Ramos y Aguirre (1885-19^6)• El traidor was

later published in a collection, along with La leyenda de

las estrellas and La recurva, in 19^1•

It has been said that to follow the work of Jose

Antonio Ramos is to witness an ideological growth which

began in the early moments of the Republic and culminated

in the 19^0s, with his adherence to Marxism. This is

evidenced by the literary production of Ramos, which repre­

sents a fusion of the cultural, economic, and socio­

political struggles of Cuba against imperialism. Ramos' 156 works are marked by a constant search for authentic Cuban values.

Ramos’ frequent digressions, which are didactic in their scope, are intended to convert the Cuban public.

Form, therefore, is always subordinate to the planting of ideas and the subsequent search for solutions which reflect the Cuban content. It is this element that connects the theater of Ramos with that of Ibsen and the theater of ideas.

Without question Ramos is an "escritor de tesis," focusing on the exposition of ideas. These ideas attempt to inject a certain modernity, technical progress, social sensibility, and economic responsibility into the Cuban system. This position is fundamental in the works of Ramos.

Commenting on Ramos' works, Manuel Pedro Gonzalez said the followings "Sus libros son casi actos, invitaciones a la accion fecunda, al trabajo honrado, disciplinado y * 8 provechoso, a la revision de valores in todas las ordenes."

In the article "El contenido politico y social de las obras de Jose Antonio Ramos," Jose Antonio Portuondo cites three essential themes of Ramos' work:

1) el estudio de los elementos integrantes del organismo social cubano y su comportamiento;

2) rectificacion de la politica al uso y del desorden administrativo por medio de medidas practicas de aplicacion inmediata; 157

3) creacion de una conciencia nacional por medio de la educacion y de la propaganda.9

These elements clearly identify Ramos' works with the goals

and objectives of the Republican period. This play,

El traidor, synthesizes the revolutionary spirit of the

criollos, with the theme of social and national conscious­ ness playing a critical part.

El traidor is dedicated to the veterans of the War of

Independence, a war in which blacks assumed more than their

share of responsibility, with some sources reporting that between 4-0 and 65 percent of the revolutionary forces were 10 black. Nonetheless, there are no on-stage appearances

of blacks in this play. This fact would appear to confirm

Fernando Ortiz' statement regarding the absence of blacks

on the national stage in Cuba. A poem by Jose Marti, which prefaces the work, outlines the entire tragedy:

Por la tumba del cortijo donde est§. el padre enterrado pasa el hijo, de soldado del invasor: pasa el hi jo . . .

El padre, un bravo en la guerra envuelto en su pabellon, alzase, y de un bofeton lo tiende muerto por tierra.

El rayo reluce, zumba el viento por el cortijo . . . El padre recoge al hijo, y se lo lleva a la tumba.

As the poem indicates, this play gives an account of one tragic episode during the War of Independence. The 158 action takes place in the midst of a battle in rural Cuba.

The characters are generally grouped so as to represent the differing sides of the conflicts Spanish versus Cubans.

However, the dramatic tension lies in the conflict between those Cubans who fight for independence and those "traitors" who side with Spain. Those Cubans fighting for independence are represented by the Capitan; those opposing, by the traidor. Quite predictably, the Capitan, a criollo, is, presented in much greater detail than the other characters.

Epitomizing the spirit of freedom, he is distinguished from the others by his superior character, high virtues, and superior performance in battle. The Capitan is unmistakably the spokesman for Cuban nationalism and also, not coinci­ dentally, the mouthpiece for Jose Antonio Ramos:

Soldado 2 /Que hombre mas extrano este hombre!

Soldado 1 /' Es un valiente!

Soldado 2 / Es una fiera!

Soldado 1 El general lo distingue como nadie.^-2

This valiant soldier is the father in the poem by Marti.

Revered by his men, he is destroyed from within by a trai­ torous son. This, very simply, is the essence of the con­ flict, a personal conflict which is also a national one.

Man’s quest for freedom, as seen in the struggle for Cuban 159 autonomy, has not only national implications, but universal

ones as well.

The father, following the plan of Ramos himself,

"creacion de una conciencia nacional por medio de la propaganda," arouses in the public those ideals necessary to achieve this level of consciousness. His unassailable character and virtuous behavior are the very standards around which the Cuban community must first rally and later emulate. Ironically, the Capit&n's love of freedom and patriotism has cost him all that he holds dear. This ultimate test of loyalty and devotion to country has cost the criollo his conuco (land) , his bo.iio (home) , and ella, his wife.

Capitan /El arado! C Ya pa cudndo? Pa sembrar muertos, si acaso; y los muertos . . . no dan na. Se acabo! Se acabo de pensar y pensar en el conuco, y en el bojio y en ella. (p. 23)

The Capitan proves that he is willing to make the ultimate sacrifices to give his life for freedom. As he lay dying, he reminds the reader of the dear price of freedoms "... que he dado mi tierra y mi pan y mi sangre por llarmarme cubano, na mas que pS. llamarme cuban . . . Soy cubano!"

(p. 26) In death the Capitan recovers that which has eluded him in lifes freedom. This metaphor of freedom in death is, of course, not unique to Cuban literature; it 160

is particularly common in slave literature, spirituals and

gospels.

The Spanish soldiers appear on stage just prior to

the death of the Capitan. The CapitSn makes one final

request of the enemy, that he be buried on his land. The

soldiers are at first hesistant, but show compassion. One

cannot miss the obvious attempt at reconciliation between

Spain and Cuba in the treatment of these two characters:

Soldado 1 ^ Somos soldados espanoles, no asesinos. Si alguno de los nuestros olvido esto, peor para el . . . (p. 38)

Ramos makes a clear distinction between the Spanish soldiers

and the traitorous son. The Spaniards are the enemy but

they are not traitors. Their integrity, unlike the *

traitor’s, remains intact, and is reflected in their humane

treatment of the Capitan:

Soldado 1 Este hombre ha sido un valiente y un hombre de honor. Y yo peleo contra esta gente, pero no la odio . . . Al cabo lo que quieren es libertad . . . Lo que hicimos nosotros con los franceses! (p. 44)

The play approaches its climax with the introduction of

the son who is described as the stranger. He, like his

father, is compelled to return home. Despite his brief

appearance, one fact is clear. A traitor is a pariah, hated by his family and mistrusted by the world. His death serves 161 but one function: to show the indomitable resolve of the

Cuban revolutionary forces.

In the final scene, the body of the Capitan stands up.

Under a brillant light, the Capitan, the symbol of Cuban freedom, raises up and carries the traitor to his death.

The miraculous resurrection of the father can only be viewed as an act of divine intervention; the hand of God is undeniably present in this quest for human dignity and freedom.

After having read the play, one may ask where the black image appears. The fact is that blacks are mentioned briefly, almost in passing, in this play. Yet, it is significant that, despite the taboo of their appearance on stage, blacks are not totally excluded from this work about an important moment in Cuban history. The reference views blacks at a distance, far removed from the Cuba of the 1890s, the period of independence. The Cuban soldiers speak:

Soldado 1 Mi abuelo tambien hablaba solo. Pero era muy viejo.

Soldado 2 ^ Tu abuelo era espanol?

Soldado 1 Si, vino a Cuba muy joven. Cuando yo era chiquito siempre me hacia cuentos de combates y de ajusticiados; creo que estuvo en la guerra carlista, allS. en Esparza. Una negra vieja, criada de casa, me dijo un dia que habia sido muy malo con los esclavos. 162

Soldado 2 Tambi§n a mi me han hecho cuentos de esos.

Soldado 1 Dicen que les mandaba sacar los ojos y despues los hacia caminar sobre carbones encendidos. Algunas veces se divertia — dicen — soltando detras de los negritos unos perros muy fieros que tenia. (my emphasis)

Soldado 2 En las fuerzas del general Rabi conoci yo a un negro que habia sido esclavo. Un dia me conto que despues que le dieron componte hasta dejarlo como muerto, le echaron un acido muy fuerte encima, para despertarlo . . . (p. 19) These three stories have much in common. First, they all

take place in the past. The attribution of the actions

to the grandfather means that at least two generations have passed. Secondly, the grandfather is Spanish, not Cuban;

this fact again removes the taint of brutality from the

Cubans and places it directly with the Spaniards, the enemy. The use of the word dicen, "they say," is crucial.

Once again the Cuban soldier is absolved of all direct participation, since his information and knowledge are second-hand. He has neither witnessed nor had any direct complicity in the aforementioned actions.

The audience is asked to relive for a moment the black experience of slavery. But, at the same time, they are carefully guided through this past moment. Ramos eases out of what could be considered a potential problem by reminding the audience that blacks were not the only ones to suffer at the hands of the Spanish. This is where the 163

switch is made; black suffering is skillfully substituted

by white (criollo) suffering:

Soldado 1 ^ En la guerra de los diez anos, dicen que mi abuelo fue tambien muy malo con los cubanos. Yo oia de chiquito contar en casa unas cosas terribles. Ya . . . ni me acuerdo.

Soldado 2 Ya la estara pagando. (p. 20)

With the recognition of criollo suffering, a common histori­

cal link is established between blacks and whites. The

presentation of criollo suffering is thus effectively used

to express the suffering of an entire nation.

It is ironic that the proximity of this play to the 13 racial conflict of 1912 did not bring about a more

accurate account of the role of black people in Cuba's War

of Independence. One can only assume that the creation

and demand for a "national" theater was greater than any

other partisan concerns present in the country at the time.

To most audiences outside Cuba, Nicol&s Guillen is best-known for his Afro-Cuban poetry of the 1920s and 1930s.

In 1961 Guillen was proclaimed Poeta nacional of Cuba.

During the same year he became President of the Union of

Cuban Writers and Artists (UNEAC). He also edits La gaceta

de Cuba, and serves on the editorial board of the literary review, Union. Most of Guillen's achievements have been in

the area of poetry. However, in 19^3» he experimented in 164 the theater, and produced a little-known work with the misleading title of Poema con ninos. The word "poem" in the title of this work leads to the assumption that this is another poem "by Guillen. However, according to Gonzalez

Freire in Teatro Cubano, Poema con ninos is a didactic work which explores the roots of racial prejudice in Cuban 1 h. children.

In this work, four children argue about the essence of their being, their color. Each of these children repre­ sents one of the principal, or at least the most visible, elements of Cuban culture: the Spanish, Chinese, Jewish, and African components. The resolution which Guillen supplies leads to a reconciliation of the four elements.

These four -unite, forming one Cuban identity. In the words of the poem which resolves the children's conflict, "Blood is an immense sea in which all are united:" ("La sangre es un mar inmenso que bana todas las playas . . . ") ^

The message of Poema con ninos is similar to that of 1 Guillen's poem "Balada de los dos abuelos." In this poem

Guillen strives for a sense of equilibrium in his allegiance 17 and identity. ' He contrasts his two experiences, one black and the other white. His vision of their convergence is one of his repeated poetic motifs, and appears as the central theme in this work. Having resolved the question of identity and allegiance on a personal level in "Balada 165

de los dos abuelos," he extends that response to include

all of Cuba in Poema con ninos.

In this work there are no bozales, nanigos, or other

characters made popular in Guillen's poetry. One need not

concern oneself with rituals or drums; there are no secret

rites or ceremonies. The language is simple and direct,

as one might expect from children. There is no broken

dialect, not even from the black child. Since this work

is void of all those exotic trappings that are so appealing

to foreign audiences, it would appear that this work is

for Cuban consumption, that it is directed to the Cuban

people. The principal theme of Cuban identity supports

this hypothesis.

In 1938 Guillen had attended the Association of Anti-

Fascist Intellectuals in Madrid. However, the Jewish component had not figured prominently in his work prior to

this play. Its presence was prompted by the events of

World War II.

The play takes place in the home of a white mother

and her son. Black, Jewish, and Chinese children have been invited into the home. The children begin to play

with toy soldiers, which symbolize disharmony and the

potential for conflict which is realized in the children's

play. 166

The mother, the only adult, directs the action in the opening scene, posing questions to each of the children.

The other children live far away in very different circum­ stances, so their reality is not the same as her son's; poverty is all that they know. The Jewish boy is the son of a cobbler, but he aspires to be a doctor. His sister plays the piano, but must practice in the home of a friend, since her family does not own a piano. The father of the

Chinese child previously owned a restaurant, but was forced to sell it. There is no information given concerning the black child, except for his name and an indication of his poor background.

The mother directs the children to play without argu­ ments and further instructs her son to share with the others.

She then exits. The mother's Spanish ancestry and her presence as an authority figure suggest that she symbolizes

Mother Spain.

The children play and talk, but the discussion takes a more serious turn. The black child mentions that in school he has been taught that blacks are inferior to whites: "Mi maestro dijo en la clase el otro dia que los 18 negros son menos que los blancos." The Jewish boy has also confronted prejudice. A German whom neither he nor his family knows called him a dog: "Tambien un aleman que tiene una botica en la calle de Compostela me dijo que era un perro, y que a todos los de mi raza los debian matar."

(p. 106) The Chinese child has also confronted racial prejudices "A mi me dijo tambien la maestra, que la raza amarilla era menos que la blanca . . . La blanca es la mejor . . . " (p. 106) The educational system which is responsible for encouraging racial bias is under attack in this work. It provides access to the Cuban government, since it represents an influential and conspicuous arm of the government.

In each instance, the prejudice which the children have experienced in outside society influences their behavior within the home. The hositility which they have encountered turns their play into conflict. Although these three profess their Cubanness, the insecurity from without threatens each child's sense of identity:

El negro

Tu tambien eres, cubano, y tienes los ojos prendidos como los chinos . . .

El chino

( Porque mi padre era chino, animal!

El negro

} Pues Entonces tfi. no eres cubano! Vete para Canton! (p. 107)

The verbal abuse escalates and the children, like the toy soldiers, are enemies, pitted against each other. The violence touches all the children but one; the white boy 168 remains apart from the fighting. Perhaps he already knows that, in any dispute regarding Cuban identity, he has the best credentials, his Spanish heritage. Historically, there has been no need for the white majority to take to the streets and openly attack blacks and other minorities.

A well-established legal and cultural system has built-in customs and practices which bestow privileges on the whites.

The other children must prove their Cubanness: "No senora: mi padre es chino pero yo no soy chino. Yo soy cubano, y mi mama tambien." (p. 104)

The mother appears again to establish order and to arbitrate the dispute. It is not surprising that a female figure would be the instrument for resolution, since it has frequently been suggested that the search for Cuba's 19 roots is related to the elusive mother figure. 7 The mother resolves the conflict with the recitation of a poem, a device that provides the title of the work, Poem with the children. The essence of this poem lies in the first stanza:

La sangre es un mar inmenso que bafia to das las playas . . . Sobre sangre van los hombres, navegando en sus barcazas: reman, que reman, que reman, / nunca de remar descansan! (p. 109 )

This poem brings the fragmented elements of Cuban society together into one voice. The black element, there­ fore, is only significant insofar as it represents one 169 part of Cuba's identity. The idea of national solidarity

(allegiance) transcends the concerns of ethnic or racial identity.

The final message of the play reads as if it were lifted directly from Jose Marti: "Hombre es mas que bianco, 20 mas que negro." The stage directions at the end of the work add a visual dimension to the theme of the play: The children encircle the mother; each embraces one another, forming one, inseparable group. The African, Jewish,

Chinese, and Spanish components form one Cuban voice. This is Guillen's response to the question of Cuban identity.

The weight and influence of the research conducted by

Fernando Ortiz in the area of Afro-Cuban culture has mani­ fested itself in many ways in Cuban society. The arts have especially reflected this tendency. Ale jo Carpentier is one of many writers who have incorporated much of Ortiz' material into his own works. In 1927 Carpentier wrote an

Afro-Cuban ballet which, in the author's own words, reflects the attitudes of Fernando Ortiz. Carpentier states that

El milagro de anaquille "trata de ofrecer, desde adentro, una vision del mundo americano a traves de pupilas americanas, . . . de acuerdo con la afortunada imagen 21 culinaria de don Fernando Ortiz." El milagro de anaquille is one of just three works, two ballets and an opera, which

Carpentier wrote for the theater. These works were, in 170 the author's own words, "concehidos para musica y en 22 funcion de la musica."

This "ballet makes use of Afro-Cuban religion and attempts to artistically reproduce an Afro-Cuban ceremony.

An outgrowth of African religions as practiced in this part of the Americas is the Caribbean liturgy. A distinct part of the process, the liturgy has the militant flavor that inspired its formation. The liturgy was the blacks' defense against the white man's destructiveness; religion had the immediate function of protecting them while on earth.

Translated to this ballet, Afro-Cuban religion now serves as Cuba's defense against foreign, i.e., American, intrusion.

The fact that The Miracle of Anaquille is a ballet eliminates the need to discuss issues such as dialogue, language, and character development. Yet the decision to create an Afro-Cuban ballet and cast of characters is, in itself, significant.

This ballet has never been performed, since it has never been choreographed. However, in commenting on the subject, Carpentier explained, "Yo escribi dos ballets,

La Rebambaramba y El milagro de anaquille con musica de

Rold&n que no llegaron a estrenarse porque tenian que salir negros a la escena." 23J If Carpentier created this ballet with the full knowledge that his work could not be presented, as his comment suggests, then the choice of an Afro-Cuban 171 theme clearly lies not in its aesthetic potential, but rather in its propagandists potential. Use of the black theme during this period was equivalent to adopting a nonconformist or revolutionary prosture. Afro-Cubanism held no real mystique for Cuban audiences, who either altogether rejected it or feigned ignorance at the very existence of African customs. It was also losing ground with blacks and mulattos who desired to climb the social ladder. Since blacks were expected to embrace Christianity and Western values, they were forced to renounce their own ancestral customs and beliefs.

The resource material for this ballet relies on the research efforts of Fernando Ortiz, who, in the course of his studies, had extensively documented traditional African drama. Consequently, The Miracle of Anaquille has much in common with the traditional African drama. Basically, we are presented with a series of plots or choreographic gestures. There is a noticeable absence of a continuous, narrated story. The sketches rely upon action rather than words and alternate this action with music and dance.

The cast of characters includes a businessman, a flapper, and a sailor, all American. These three represent the worst aspects of the American presence in Cuba. The businessman appears as a grotesquely masked character. The flapper and sailor are not masked, but dress and perform 172 various dances which are lewd and grotesque in their appear­ ance and performance.

The businessman enters the scene and inflates a sky­ scraper in the midst of a sugar-cane field. His actions leave little to the imagination; he is the ugly American: disruptive, abusive, and destructive. By erecting commercial signs throughout the countryside, he destroys the essence and disrupts the continuity of Cuban life.

Other black characters in this ballet are the Iyamba, the Christ figure, diabolitos, characters who perform ritual dances, and cane cutters. The cast also includes peasants (gua.iiros) , all of whom are white. The peasants are paralyzed by the presence and actions of the Americans.

As a result, it is left to the black characters, armed with their primitive powers, to destroy the unwelcome, uninvited guests. The need to rid Cuba of these intruders leads to the presentation of a play within a play. An Afro-Cuban ritual is presented, and in the course of the ritual the

Americans are exorcised.

Carpentier's message in this play is not uncommon, particularly during the 1920s, when Afro-Cubanism was at its peak: The power of primitive innocence and energy is sufficient to cleanse and redirect the course of a decadent

Western society, symbolized by the Americans, which has been judged to be morally bankrupt. 173

The theme of this play conforms to the nationalistic sentiment of the Grupo minorista of which Carpentier was a member. The utilization of nanlguismo and all expressions of Afro-Cuban religion suggests primitive heathenism, supersitition, and idolatry, traits which in the play are attributed to all black people in Cuba. During this period, naniguismo became an artistic device, a standard aesthetic treatment of black characters that is visible in their dress, their speech, their manner, and their world view.

During this period, Carpentier combined the techniques of the European vanguard movement with those expressions of

Cuban nationalism. These two currents, surrealism and nationalism, converge, forming the basis of Carpentier's literary production during the decades of the twenties and thirties. His first novel, Ecue-Yambo 0 (1933)» continues this pattern.

Leaving the more ostensive elements of the Afro-Cuban culture behind, Rolando Ferrer created what some critics 24 have called a poetic or psychological theater. Greatly influenced by Garcia Lorca, Lila, la mariposa, by Rolando

Ferrer, was written in 195° and was performed in 1954 by the Company "Las Mascaras."

The reviews of this work have not been particularly kind. Matias Montes Huidobro, for example, wrote the 1 ? ^ followings "Lila, la mariposa nos parece un absoluto desacierto , . ." J Yet, despite this general assessment,

Ferrer has managed to integrate into this play elements from black culture which are of particular interest to this study.

The plot centers around a mother and her son, and the mother's efforts to retard, if not completely stop, the social and sexual development of her child. This play reminds us of Guillermo Gentile's Hablemos a calzon quitado.

In the Gentile play, the father, who plays both father and mother, maintains his/her son in an oppressive state of ignorance. In both these plays, one cannot miss the obvious symbolism of the son for el -pueblo. The parent is unques­ tionably the government, gobierno paternalista or madre patria, and the child is symbolically the pueblo, struggling to grow and free itself from the oppressive control.

In the Ferrer play we experience a magical ambience with the artistic device of a chorus that operates in ritualistic fashion. This chorus is composed of three women (costureras) who represent the major racial components of Cuban society. Lola is black, Clara, mulatta, and

Meche, white. These three, who function as one, recite for the audience riddles which prefigure the course of the action: 175

% Lola. Adivina, adivinador . . . ^cual es el §.rbol que no echa flor?

Clara. El que no se riega.

Lola. Si . . . puede ser. Meche. El que no le abonan la tierra.^6

The conflict of the play is maintained in the two characters, Lila, the mother, and Marino, the son. Through the eyes of the mother, the enemy is metaphorically embodied in the sea. The mother is constantly closing door and shutters and thus restricting her son's contact with the outside world. This metaphor, however, is not unique to this play. The sea or any outside force has traditionally been the enemy of mothers, representing what Montes

Huidobro calls un dolor materno. Lila defines her own life vis-a-vis her son. His growth, which would lead to his leaving home, would leave her without an identity. This play thus represents a basic struggle for survival.

From the first riddle of the chorus and those which later follow, Lila, the possessive mother, is the source of the conflict. The resolution of this conflict implicitly lies in the removal of this destructive character. The intentional murder of a mother figure, however necessary it may prove to be, is a difficult task in literature.

Although Ferrer does not use the device of transvestism that is employed in the Gentile play, he does create an antagonistic character, Hortensia, whose intervention aids 176 in the salvation of the son, and who makes the murder of

Lila more palatable.

Hortensia is the counterpart to Lila. Her presence helps destroy the almost ritualistic deprivation which Lila has imposed on her son. In fact, one could argue that we have not two distinct characters in Hortensia and Lila, but rather the multiple personality of one character. In this case, the weak, destructive personality is destroyed, leaving the strong, healthy one intact.

Within the play itself, the personalities of the two characters are very different. Lila is delicate and fragile, as the name implies. Unfortunately, her delicate nature has led to a physical and spiritual weakness which prevents Lila from functioning in the present. She is totally dependent upon others. As a result, she retreats into the past, a move which has crippled both her and her son.

A closer look into Lila's past shows two important events, each critical in shaping her personality. One reveals Lila rushing into a loveless marriage in order to escape her father. Another shows Lila pursued by a less than mediocre poet, Juan Alberto. It was this poet who christened Lila "la Mariposa":

Hortensia. Lila tenia un enamorado. . . Todavia viene por aqui . . . un poco poeta. Como Lila era muy alegre, el decia que Lila revoloteaba sobre las cosas 177

que queria como una mariposa alrededor de la luz. Le dedico un libro de versos con ese nombre. Cuando se publico el libro, la gente empezo a llamarle "La Mariposa". (p. 48)

Lila's emotional history seems to show a predisposition toward dependency, weakness, and instability. Her personal assessment confirms this fact:

Lila. No. tfi no sabes. Yo siempre he dependido de alguien. A mi, sola la vida me parece muy dificil. Pero tu si sabes que me fui de casa peleada con me padre . . . Cuando se iba y me quedaba sola, no sabia que hacer con la manana, con la tarde . . . (p. 55)

Hortensia, in contrast, is far from being a butterfly.

She is strong, practical, and hardworking:

i Cotorrona. . . . Y usted, 6no tiene usted tambien un libro?

Hortensia. No. Parece que soy demasiado seria. (p. 48)

In short, the two characters are antithetical figures:

Juan Alberto. Ella movil, tu fija . . . La luz y la sombra! | La vida y la muerte! (p. 5*0 The irony of the play is that Lila, who is perceived by most people as the lively, animated one, is in reality recalcitrant, the one who is decaying from within:

Lila. Un dia fuimos al medico, pero ya era tarde, empezaron los delirios, las malas noches ... . y a mi, a mi me empezo dolor aqui (se lleva las manos al pecho) que no me deja un momento. (p. 56) 178

Other characters in this play include La Cotorrona and her daughter, El energumeno. This mother-daughter pair are the playwright's example of the pervasiveness of social- climbing in Cuban society. As the name implies, the daughter is a wild, monstrous offspring of a woman whose total existence revolves around her husband's prestige and the acquisition of new clothing:

Cotorrona. Digale a Lila que la ser&ra de Estevez, el Administrador de la Comjania "All Sea Company" esta aqui. (Sonrie muy oronda) (pp. 46-47)

Mariana, the maid, completes Lila's household. She is the only character outside the chorus who has direct access to the magical circle, and who senses the impending tragedy.

In the absense of ostensibly black figures, lower-class whites frequently function in what might otherwise be

"black" roles. With this intent, Mariana is cast in a comic role. Religious zealousness and superstition define her character. Her behavior and beliefs lead to her ridicule by both Lila and Hortensia. Undaunted by their disbelief, Mariana is the only one who seeks protection against the evil spirits:

Hortensia. Mas brujerias?

Mariana. M&s. Al menos en mi cocina. (Senala a las operarias) Mientras esas esten aqui. Son tres, y las tres son malas. No me gusta como se rien. (p. 45) 179

Of course, Hortensia hasn't the slightest idea of what

Mariana means. In literature it is members of the lower economic strata, both black and white, who most frequently exhibit evidence of superstitution and belief in "black magic." In contrast, Hortensia, as a representative of

the hardworking, industrious white middle class, has little time or interest in the folly of superstition:

Hortensia. Dejate de supersticiones. La vida es mas seria. (p. 57)

Lila's obsession with time also contributes to her over-protective behavior. Her son's growth is evidence of time's passage. Her doting is but a desperate attempt to maintain and control her world, a world in which time is the enemy:

Cotorrona. Lila atendiendo a su hijo, tno?

Hortensia. Como siempre.

Lola. Dandole vueltas.

Meche. Hasta que se queme. (p. 47)

Lila's need to control her reality has dominated all her actions. She has consistently lied to her son. At age fifteen he behaves as if he were seven. She has refused him the companionship of other children and has interfered in his progress at school. None of her actions reflect motherly love and Lila is judged very harshly. Her death produces but a sigh of relief from her son. 180

The presence of Hortensia in the play compensates for

Lila's destruction. Although she has lived in Lila's shadow for many years, she finally asserts herself, in order to save the boy that she considers her son:

Hortensia. . . . pero Marino, que mas parece hijo mio, . . . tu madre te engana, tu madre es un egoista. (p. 61)

Unlike her sister-in-law, Hortensia is strong and self- reliant. These characteristics are admirable not only in her, but in madre patria as well. Since Hortensia is the mother-figure who survives the conflict, strength and self- reliance are presented as qualities which are sufficient to save both Marino and Cuba. Unlike her tortured counterpart,

Hortensia is whole and sound. She describes herself in the following manner:

Hortensia. Me han pasado los afros por la piel, pero dentro estoy entera. Un solo bloquedcomprendes?, un solo bloque. (p. 6 9 )

The chorus provides one of the most intriguing elements of the play. These three voices, representative of Cuban society, function as one entity. Their dialogue, which consists mainly of riddles, not only predicts Lila's death; it is also instrumental in bringing it about. Their mission in the play is a sacred one: the reconstruction of Cuban society. 181

Mariana. Lo que yo se es que esas mujeres atrasan.

Clara. Para adelantar.

Mariana. Que son destructoras.

Lola. Para construir. (p. 57)

One step in the reconstruction of Cuba is represented by

Lila's death. Toward this end, the three members ofthe chorus secretly plant the scissors, the murder weapon, in

Lila's bed:

Lola. Las pusiste . . .

Meche. En lugar visible

Clara. Sobre las sabanas

Lola. Sobre los panuelos. . .

Meche. Sobre la almohada!

Clara. Se tirara en la cama.

Lola. Las puntas, frlas, tocaran su cara. (p. 60)

The use of the chorus provides the reader with a link to

African drama. There are many areas in which traditional

African drama and ritual overlap. However, one clear distinction can be made between the two on the basis of purpose. A ritual is performed in order to produce specific results. This is clearly the case in the death of Lila; hers is not a gratuitous death. After her death, her son, with remarkable speed and recovery, ponders his future and his existence: Marino. ^Que es un hombre? . . . tu hermano dice que ser un hombre es jugar al billar y acostarse tarde, y en la escuela nos dicen: tienen que estudiar y trabajar para hacerse hombres de provecho. (p. 8 3)

The speed with which Marino recovers is remarkable, and,

in spite of the fact that he does not elaborate any further

on this subject, it is clear that such thoughts would not be possible if Lila were still alive. Therefore, the

repressive and authoritarian figure of Lila must be removed

so that useful men can survive.

There are no overt signs of black culture in this

play. What does exist is an ambito magico which Cuba un­ mistakably associates with black culture. The technical

device of the chorus intensifies this atmosphere. We can

also include in this context the short scene devoted to

the cabalita, supersititious divination, which amounts to no more than a momentary digression within the course of

the play.

With the exceptions of Lola and Clara, there are no black characters in this play. The Yerbero who sells herbs and potions to ward off evil spirits makes a great

effort to deny his blackness:

Yerbero. Tiene desconfianza porque soy negro. Y no soy negro. Tengo color de violin viejo. j Que no es igual! (p. 45) 183 There is one other reference to black people:

Adelfa. Dice Capitan que los negros bailan mejor que los blancos, y que son mas alegres. (p. 59)

This statement, however, does not add any significant information to the play, nor does it in any way advance the plot. It merely echoes popular ideas, however inaccurate, held by many whites.

The presence of blacks as members of the chorus represents no more than a superficial treatment, local color; the play could have been executed quite easily without it. The ritualism which the play incorporates may artistically enhance the production, but it does not in any way change the development and outcome of the action.

It does, however, leave a Cuban imprint on the work. Once again, the appearance of the black image is relegated to a

subordinate position, with priority being given to the resolution of the conflict between Lila and Marino.

The literary career of Jos§ Antonio Ramos spanned both 27 the first and second generations of Republican writers. 1

FU-3001 falls within the second generation and is the writer's last work. This play marks the culmination of

Ramos' lifelong search for authentic Cuban values and at the same time represents his personal view of the theater as social art in action. 184

In FU-3001 Ramos is a self-appointed guardian of Cuban morality and decency. He examines the nature of Cuban behavior and social attitudes as it compares with his own ideals of commitment and dedication, and finds it wanting.

In this play Ramos symbolically purges the system of those negative elements that would prevent Cuba from pursuing a more humane and moral course.

In the introductory remarks which preface the play,

Ramos is critical of certain support institutions,

("Academia de Artes Dramaticas," "Teatro Universitario,"

"Patronato de Teatro," and "Teatralia") which have failed the Cuban Theater and have prevented the theater from achieving its most basic objective: The exposition of the truth. He believes that playwrights have been diverted from their sacred mission by the lure of personal success and money. To this Ramos responds:

A ml me importa el teatro como arte social en accion, como creacion artlstica, como expresion en dialogo — forma platonica, universal e insuperable — de todo lo que siente y piensa un pueblo, a traves de sus m£.s amorosos y profundos exegetas.28

FU-3001 represents a transfusion of righteousness into an anemic Cuban theater.

The message of the play is uncompromisingly clear: truth is the hallmark of morality. The truth and only the truth leads to moral and social responsibility. 185

The characters of this play, in almost allegorical fashion, represent the different levels of moral and social behavior prevalent in the Cuban Republic. Through the mechanism of dialogue, they present and dispute their essence. The various conceptions of decency which the characters represent are carefully scrutinized by Ramos, who, allowing certain characters to repair their course, renders final judgment. As Ramos explains, ". . . e l verdadero conflicto que se plantea en ella no es la aventura del don Juan Tropical con la joven espanola, heroina de la

Republica, sino el choque de los tres o cuatro tipos de 29 decencia que en la obra dialogan."

The "don Juan Tropical" whom Ramos mentions is a politician. This fact gives Ramos the opportunity to look critically at the political arena, noting the vices and shortcomings of public life and conduct. He rejects the idea that there exists a different set of rules, one to govern public life and the other private life. Ramos con­ cludes that the only measure capable of affecting moral behavior is the truth. As Francisco Garzon Cespedes observes in reference to this play, "Cada ser humano es uno, y su vida privada y su vida social y politica son indivisibles, respondiendo la una por la otra y viceversa como dos ralces de un Gnico arbol."-^ This statement echoes

Ramos' ideas regarding truth and morality. 186

Those characters who are allowed to reform their behavior and are thus redeemed will undoubtedly become part of Cuba's future. The unsaved, those who do not reflect

Ramos' philosophy, are condemned to remain a part of Cuba's past. The selection of the saved and the unsaved forms the basis of the plot of the play.

It is this process of election and elimination that provides the audience with an example of social art in action. Ramos explains:

Porque esta comunion popular en el Arte social por excelencia, es lo que ha sido siempre, desde sus origenes, y tiene que •ser en Cuba, si su advocacion no es un ridlculo alarde de ignorancia o cinismo, el Teatro.31

Ricardo Paredes Diaz, alias don Juan Tropical, is the main figure, the politician. He is not without power and influence, having "married well.” On the negative side, el doctor, as he is called, is easily distracted by the ladies. He has become a regular don Juan, which had led him to neglect his work, his constituents, and his family.

As the play opens Ricardo Paredes is in serious jeopardy of losing his seat in the C&mara to an up-and-coming gua.iiro. He is advised of the challenge by a party worker:

"El tiene que saber que en Joseito Randin tiene ya un 32 aspirante — y fuerte — pa su acta."^ Ricardo Paredes has lost sight of his mission as a representative. He has become totally absorbed by his conquests and his possessions: 187

Quico. Dende que salio Representante no ha ido al pueblo mas que tres veces . . . La ultima vez que estuvo no vio a naiden. Su tierra, su cana y el ingenio- Lo suyo y na mas que lo suyo! (p. 21)

Clearly, this suggests that Paredes is on the path of ruin, a situation which is further compounded by his insincerity and irresponsibility. He has learned all too well the art of compromise; unfortunately, his willingness to compromise knows no limit:

Ricardo. . . . En realidad, yo personalmente, nada voy ganando en ello . . . Soy un hombre sin ambiciones personales. Quiero servir, sencillamente, a la Revolucion. . . (p. 30)

It is probably his insincerity which is most disquieting.

Still, we recognize that Ricardo Paredes is not a wicked man. He is, however, all too comfortable with his dual life as a don Juan by night and a representative by day.

Tula Almendrales, Ricardo Paredes' wife, is rich, beautiful, and intelligent. As one would expect in Ramos' works, it is her intelligence that proves most useful in solving her problems. Tula has analyzed the situation and has dedicated herself to the preservation of her marriage and her family.

Toward this end, Tula is prepared to break with the past and with those traditions that encourage deception and ignorance: 188

Tula. Lo que defiendo no es mi orgullo, sino mi felicidad, mi hogar . . . las pocas ilusiones que me quedan ya en la vida! mi hi jo . . . No es la primera vez que afronto la ingratitud y el menosprecio de un hombre. Pero a mi primer matrimonio yo fui como ciega, empujada por la tradiciones y el orgullo de casta de mi familia. . . Y con Ricardo me case sabiendo lo que hacia. (p. 39)

In this confession, the audience is aware that a growth has occurred in Tula. She has rejected the tenets of the past, a set of values which have proved false. The deceit which marked her past life is replaced by a new sense of aware­ ness, the truth. With the truth she is no longer a child; she has gained her independence:

Tula. . . . Mi unica condicion es la de saber de que se trata. La de jugar a cartas descubiertas, sin tapujos ridiculos. Tanto como eso creo que merezco de el . . . y de usted tambien, Remigio. (p. UO)

Tula enlists the assistance of her husband's personal secretary, Remigio. He reluctantly agrees, but one notes that his major concern is with not the truth but rather with his dignity:

Remigio. . . . Lo unico que le suplico es que me ayude usted a conservar mi dignidad. (p. 41) We can interpret "dignity" here to mean social appearances.

Although dignity is an admirable quality, it is certainly not comparable to the truth. Ramos' remarks which introduce 189 this play are quite explicit: the truth leads to moral and social responsibility. Remigio's subordination of the truth to social appearance is in direct conflict with

Ramos’ beliefs.

Elsa Rohmer, the most elusive figure of the play, is the embodiment of the Ramos dream. It is she who, as an outside element, injects into the Cuban environment a sense of moral and social responsibility. She is the catalyst that, never completely integrated into the play, inspires others and directs them toward the truth.

Elsa is not without credentials. She is a heroine of the Spanish Revolution, the last great liberal cause. She is a modern Superwoman and from this enviable position is able to withstand the advances of Ricardo Paredes and at the same time be the spokesperson for the poor and down­ trodden.

Elsa frequently appears to be haughty and condescending in her relationships with others. This, however, may be a device to further establish her distinctness and uniqueness within the play. Her high moral character surpasses that of all others. This fact, too, maintains her marginality, a characteristic essential to her identity and function within the play.

The reports of Elsa's deeds would easily identify her with the "third type of hero" according to the categories of 190

Northrop Fryes one in the high mimetic mode.-^ Elsa is superior in degree to other men but not to her natural environment. Unfortunately, for her, Elsa is a female.

As such, she must defer to Paredes. Moreover, she is a foreigner, a characteristic which further exempts her from taking a more active role.

Despite her recommendations, it is Paredes who will become the instrument for change and progress. Still, Elsa clearly stands as the force behind Ricardo's rededication to duty:

Ricardo. Una mujer que me ha conmovido a mi, aprendiz de revolucionario, pequeffo burgues con pujos de izquierdista, incapaz de renunciar a una sola de las ventajas materiales de que disfruto . . . Desde la primera vez que la 01 siento verguenza de todo lo que soy. (pp. 67-68)

Remigio Perez, secretary to Ricardo Paredes, plays a crucial but unflattering role in the play. Remigio, a mulatto, enjoys the confidence of the entire family.

However, the fact that he is a secretary, a position which implies an employer/employee relationship, does not mask the fact that he is still functioning both consciously and subconsciously as a slave.

In modern terms Remigio would best be described as a workaholic. His manner is stiff and he seems unnecessarily preoccupied with his dignity. In the end, the main obstacle to Remigio's salvation is in fact his dignity. 191

Remigio functions as a go-between. His duties require that he make excuses for his boss, excuses which are, in effect, lies. He becomes directly involved in Ricardo's intrigues — serving as liaison between Ricardo and his

"victim." His complicity makes him chief operator of a private telephone line, FU-3001, the instrument of decep­ tion. In this manner, the sins of the master are passed on to the slave.

Remigio is given several opportunities for redemption.

Tula enlists his assistance to save her home, the most noble of causes. Remigio agrees, but later fails to follow through. Moreover, he offers no resistence to his boss' demands:

Remigio. Al doctor Paredes no le gusta que le llamen la atencion sobre nada absolutamente. Y yo . . . imagine usted que puedo hacer . . . Para el soy . . . lo que soy, realmente. (p. 35) The simple fact is that, in spite of his ability and talent, Remigio recognizes the precariousness of his exist­ ence. Sociologists suggest that part of the psychology of the mulatto is determined by the recognition of this tenuous status. Although the mulatto group enjoys certain privileges above and beyond those of the black group, these privileges are subject to the constant scrutiny and whim of the white group. 192

Remigio is frequently reminded of his personal debt to

the family. His wife even owes her teaching position to

their influence. In view of this, it is impossible to

envision Remigio's being sufficiently free and independent

to oppose his master's demands.

If Remigio is still operating according to a slave

mentality, it is because the social structure has not

progressed sufficiently to change that reality. Remigio

expresses this dilemma: "Mi deber mas elemental me prohibe

hacer critica de la conducta de mi jefe." (p. 119) In this

case, Ramos' requirement of the truth did not properly

consider the peculiar circumstance of the mulatto.

Remigio's sense of decency does not go unnoticed by

others who can understand neither it nor him. Ricardo, for

example, interprets it as false pride, a reflection of

Remigio's inferiority. He finds Remigio's attitude annoy­

ing. His censure of Remigio's behavior, ironically, only

reinforces it, since Remigio interprets decency as social

appearance:

Ricardo. Sera su orgullo, su racismo, su sentimiento de inferioridad . . . o lo que sea! Pero a veces me parece que esta un poco equivocado, Remigio . . . A veces me hace usted sentir demasiado su discrecion, su honradez . . . su decencia! (p. 65)

Remigio's special needs of social acceptance go unattended. 193

If Remigio is preoccupied with appearances, this posture does not seem odd from one whose past history has been void of the most rudimentary elements of human dignity

and self-esteem. His dignity, unlike that of the other

characters, is not a forgone conclusion and he does not

take it for granted. If Remigio can count on nothing else, he demands self-respect. Therefore, to judge him guilty

for his preoccupation with dignity is to judge him by

standards which do not take into account his peculiar place within the Cuban social structure.

Remigio's actions do not award him a place among the redeemed and he is "written out" of the final scene. He is replaced by Ravacho Rojo, a part-time revolutionary and

journalist who repents his sins, and in the process becomes

Inocencio Blanco, a far more worthy secretary for the reformed Ricardo Paredes. Remigio's absence in the final

scene suggests that his frequent compromises with the truth have made him an undesirable element, a misfit in Cuba's future.

At the same time, because it is Remigio who finally decides to leave, his departure can be viewed as an act of defiance. Although it is notably weak, his method of freeing himself from the Paredes family, which includes a cleansing in a liter of Epsom salts, is but the beginning of a new, fresh start; it is his own peculiar method for 194 self-purification. Because Remigio's remedy requires his departure, it suggests that his path to independence will differ from that of the others. It further suggests that the interests of the mulatto and of Cuban society in general are not identical. Ramos leaves intact the hierarchy of authority which has caused Remigio's tendency to compromise the truth.

The resolution of the conflict and the reuniting of the Cuban family includes the reconciliation of the two female characters, Tula and Elsa. The conversation between these two figures leads to a mutual admiration which affords

Ramos the opportunity to extol the virtues of womanhood and motherhood, and to christen the beginning of a new era.

Elsa and Tula are not polarized, as their earlier conversations would seem to suggest. Elsa rejects the total sacrifice which tradition would have women make in order to preserve marriage and the home. She proposes a redefinition of the role of women:

Elsa. , . . Y no se deje veneer por ningun sentimiento de inferioridad . . . aportar§. su granito de arena a ese mundo mejor, a esa decencia nueva, con que sonamos hoy, cada uno a su modo . . . (p. 148)

This play provides an introspective new of those crucial institutions and social attitudes which had, during 195

Ramos' lifetime, defined Cuban society. The solution sug­ gested here reflects Ramos' personal views regarding truth and morality. He denounces materialism, sexism, and elitism. However, he does not challenge the prevailing social attitudes regarding racism.

The precision with which Carlos Felipe captures the

Cuban environment is duly noted by Gonzalez Freire in rth. Teatro Cubano. Felipe, distinguished as one of the most popular Cuban playwrights of both the third and fourth generations of Cuban dramatists, explores the essence of

Cuban identity in the play El travieso Jimmy (19^9)•

This play presents the story of Leonelo, who, on his death bed, relives his youth and other important moments in his life. The flashbacks proceed chronologically and are framed with scenes between the old Leonelo and his nurse.

Leonelo's childhood memory returns him to Nueva Gerona,

Isle of Pines, at the turn of the century. There we find him orphaned, roaming the streets and selling fruit.

Leonelo recalls those persons who have been most influential in his life. Principal among these is Jimmy, who mysterious­ ly arrives at the isle and alters the lives of the primary characters. He later disappears and is never seen or heard from again.

It is Jimmy's presence and impact on the lives of the characters that forms the basis of the play's argument. 196

Although his stage appearance is brief, Jimmy's influence is such that he clearly rivals Leonelo as protagonist.

The interpretation of certain facts and events, such as location, time, and character, indicate a political perspective and motive. The action takes place around 1901 on the Isle of Pines, which is located to the south of

Cuba, and is recognized as a bastion of North American influence. Montes Huidobro has effectively described the situation as follows:

Felipe no situa la obra en la isla de Cuba, sino en Isla de Pinos, al sur de Cuba, territorio sobre el cual pesaba con mayor fuerza la presencia norteamericana, ya que los Estados Unidos pareclan tener dudosas intenciones con respecto a la independencia de la isla. Eran los anos en que la Enmienda. Platt estaba en efecto y en que la politica interveneionista norteamericana se puso en practica con mayor evidencia.35

Significantly, Jimmy, the mysterious stranger, is an

American. He arrives by sea, like the Marines. Moreover, his blonde hair and blue eyes form a striking contrast to the physical appearance of the inhabitants of the isle.

Jimmy's arrival is unsettling but at the same time hypnotic.

"Mire ute que ojo . . . Azule como e cielo d'un dla claro."-^

Leonelo vividly recalls the initial meeting, the prophetic nature of which he regretfully acknowledges. The orphaned

Leonelo had anticipated the arrival of someone who might be able to shed some light on the whereabout of his mother: 197

" Cree usted posible que algun dxa venga de fuera alguien que no esta en la isla, y que no conozco, que pueda decirme lo que quiero saber? . . . " (p. 174)

The source of the conflict between Jimmy and the residents is a clash of values. Jimmy is worldly, an opportunist. His view of the world conflicts with that held by the people of Nueva Gerona. Nevertheless, it is the inability of all parties to compensate for thos dif­ ferences that leads to the series of misunderstandings and the loss of life. The natives of Nueva Gerona accept

Jimmy's counsel without question, and Jimmy gives it without hesitation:

J immy. | Que tonto eres! <^Que vas a aprender en una escuela? . . . Que eres un tonto si quieres dedicar tus noches al estudio. Las noches se han hecho para otra cosa. (p. 184)

Jimmy's intervention produces marital discord, death, disillusionment, and bitterness. His method is direct and uncomplicated, consisting of the exploitation of personal weaknesses: "Tesis o antitesis, buscale la debilidad, ponle all! el dedo y no te importa que grite." (p. 198)

Jimmy skillfully manipulates the other characters, who offer him no resistence. Their passive complicity in the events does not vindicate Jimmy, but it makes it impossible to establish a good-evil dichotomy. Sixto and Estefania, Nueva Gerona's leading citizens,

fall prey to their own folly. Sixto's enormous ego and

fear of public censure are principal factors in the dis­ agreement which follows. His claim of defending honor and

the home is thoroughly unconvincing; rather, he is motivated by the fear of public embarrassment: "Se trata de nuestra

felicidad." (p. 1?6) Sixto, who heretofore has been manipulated by his wife Estefania, is a caricature of the henpecked husband. Nor does Estefania escape caricature;

she is the not-so-young coquette whose gravest offense is her flirtation with the custom's officer Quesada. Sixto

fears injury to his prestige and follows the advice of

Jimmy, which results in the couple's alienation.

The shallowness of their characters, their preoccupa­

tion with social appearances and their lack of social consciousness, leave little doubt that Sixto and Estefania represent a moral decline that was prevalent in Western

societies at the turn of the century and continued into the first two decades of the twentieth century. The events

of this period, which includes World War I, found many intellectuals disenchanted with Western civilization, which in Cuba is represented by the criollo group. In El travieso Jimmy this moral decline is symbolized by Estefania and Sixto, members of this group. Later Leonelo, the young man, recalls this couple in Havana. As time has changed 199 very little in the couple's relationship, Estefania planned

Sixto's career in politics or academia: "Nada tenemos que discutir, Sixto. Ya te lo he dicho. Catedratico de

Farmacia en la Universidad o Senador." (p. 23^)

Serving as antithetical characters to Estefania, Sixto, and Quesada are the ill-fated lovers, Lila and Raimundo.

Raimundo's positive image is established upon his initial stage appearance: "Entra Raimundo . . . su indumentaria es pobre, pero muy cuidado, comode quien procura causar buena impresion con pocos medios." (p. 175) He is both physically and spiritually an effective contrast to Sixto.

In both Lila and Raimundo, one notes a definite effort to idealize their characters. This process begins by establishing their innocence and culminates in the ideali­ zation of their love: "... Creo que tenemos en Lila una futura gloria de Cuba." (p. 178)

When Raimundo speaks of love Jimmy interprets it as passion. Guided by the adage, "all's fair in love and war," Jimmy devises a scheme to insure Lila's prompt seduction. Raimundo is to tell Lila that he is leaving

Nueva Gerona aboard ship, on a long journey that will take him far away and from which he may never return. Under

Jimmy's tutelage, Raimundo pursues this course, which

"wins" him Lila, but his method of doing so produces an unreconcilable conflict in him. His sense of honor will 200 not allow him to live with the lie which he has told Lila.

He joins the crew and, shortly after leaving port, is killed in a shipwrech. Lila later dies of a broken heart.

Dolly, the black maid, is a caricature like Estafania,

Quesada, and Sixto. From the moment of her appearance on stage, she functions within well-established guidelines for black characters. Physically, Dolly is equipped with what must be termed standard equipment for the mammy figure: a multicolored scarf covering her hair, a bright, loose-fitting skirt, a fruit basket on her head and a flower behind her ear. Although Dolly's speech does not totally disintegrate into .iitan.i§.foras, 3 7' it does reflect a conscious effort to reproduce black dialect:

Dolly. ^ No piense ma, nino. Que t'importa a ti sabe quien e tu mam&? To el mundo te quie a ti. (p. I67) Personal information about Dolly is kept to a minimum.

We do learn, however, that at the time of Leonelo's first recollection of her, she had lived in Cuba for twenty years, having arrived from Jamaica. Dolly's philosophy reflects a fairly limited, religious world view:

Dolly. To el mundo e hijo de Dio. . . . Quien que ve una flo entre la piedra d'un camino se le occure pregunta que quien la hizo? Dio. Dio l'ace to. . . . cQuien hizo a la Dolly tan sandunguera y tan namora? Dio. Dio tiizo a ti tambien. . . (pp. 167-168) 201

In place of more traditional methods, music and dance are the outward expression of Dolly's character. Dolly is the essence of rhythm. Like a child, she becomes hypnotized by the sound of music or the beat of a drum. Her limbs begin to move involuntarily and Dolly becomes less and less human: "Na Dolly no pue aguantarse cuando 01 e ritmo d'un wa!" (p. 181) In this respect, Dolly becomes the model of unacceptable behavior for the Cuban community:

"Esas mujers jamaiquinas no tienen pudor . . ." (p. 180)

"No quiero creer que sufres ataques de risa como la negra

Dolly. . ." (p. 171)

Through this depiction of Dolly as a slave to rhythm, the dichotomy of logic versus instinct is maintained. She is clearly unable to suppress these "natural" urges or impulses. In this respect Dolly has barely transcended the bozal whose trademarks are physical distortion and linguistic inefficiencies.

The evocation of Jimmy and the other characters from

Leonelo's past would be futile were it not for Leonelo's obsession: his mother. Leonelo's entire life has been an unending search for the mother he never knew as a child.

As he faces death, this search becomes acute; the absence of a mother has left a void in this .life* "Alma de mi alma, madre mia . . . Mi nombre esta inedito: yo no he vivido, porque tu nunca lo pronunciaste." (p. 165) Motherhood 202 functions here as the "beginning of and giver of one's essence. In this respect, being and place coalesce; there is an inextricable link here between Mother and Cuba, madre patria. Leonelo is thus Cuba personified, a Cuba in search of her roots.

What apparently escapes Leonelo but seems obvious to the reader is that his essence lies in the covergence of all the characters of his past. Dolly, the black maid, has provided Leonelo with his most basic needs, care and nuturing. Estefania and Sixto have implanted in him the basis of materialism, namely the work ethic. Lila and

Raimundo have ignited within him the personal virturess integrity, honor, and self-esteem. Even Jimmy's contribu­ tion cannot be discounted; his lessons of over-dependence and responsibility are painful but yield a wiser, more worldly Leonelo.

Leonelo’s search, which is Cuba's search, clearly reflects the criollo, black, and American experience. He represents that elusive cultural synthesis that so many have searched for. He is by no means an orphan, but rather the child of all those components which make up

Cuban culture. Yet it is the theme of motherhood that unites these elements and molds them into one.

As myth or reality, Cuba's essence is perceived as a syncretic body whose components, as we have seen before, 203

are Spanish, African, and Taino. In literature, the salient

elements employed to express this essence traditionally

have been music, dance, and poetry. Clearly, these three

elements operate in El travieso Jimmy, where they converge

and achieve their highest level of expression in the

character Dolly. In her Felipe effects the highest level

of the syncretic social myth. Her being, constructed from

the music and rhythm of her environment, gives her a

sensual and poetic nature equalled by no other character

in the work.

Although Dolly is still a caricature, this image of

the black woman constitutes the prototype of the black

female character. As a caricature, Felipe has exaggerated

certain characteristics, producing a distorted image of

the black woman. Still, we recognize that this image has

been readily accepted by the society in general, and stands

as a model upon which other characters have been con­

structed .

Dolly is mother, surrogate mother, to the orphaned

Leonelo. Historically, Dolly was the black slave who nursed both black and white children on the plantation.

Her presence in the urban setting reflects a different era, but her basic role remains intact.

In his outline of Hispanic Caribbean Literature,-^®

Roberto Gonzalez Echevarria suggests that the literature 20^- of that region has traditionally sought legitimation through a return to a dark mother whose memory is in

Caribbean music. If this is true, Dolly is the evocation of that memory. She beckons others to Cuban shores, reminding them of the language of rhythm: "Ven tu aca, negra; tu, tu, . . . la de las nalgas grandotas, que vamos a bailar. . ." (p. 182)

Although the six works discussed in this chapter vary in content, their treatment of the black characters consistently falls within the framework of caricature and stereotype. The perception of the black in Hispanic literature is based on European perceptions dating from the sixteenth century. These ideas have given birth to the black comic hero, the one-dimensional character who is preeminently associated with sex and rhythm.

During the Republican period Cuban literature expended considerable time and energy developing the myth of racial harmony and cultural unity. In El traidor the theme of suffering and political oppression unites both blacks and whites. In Poema con ninos the question of Cuban identity is treated in the most simplistic terms, those of Cuban citizenship. Lila, la mariposa presents a multiracial chorus whose holy mission is the reconstruction of Cuban society. In the portrayal of black characters, the issues 205

of identity and allegiance have figured prominently. How­

ever, Cuban identity has been purchased at a high price;

its acquisition has required that blacks surrender their

history and most of their culture. Ironically, this course

of action has not prevented the artistic community's assault

on the black image. The docile, Christianized black has

fared no better than his militant, paganized counterpart.

Blacks, whether "good" (supportive of the status quo) or

"bad" (rebellious)., are distinguished by their picturesque

and sensual nature. Despite the multiracial character of

Cuban society, the aesthetic preference there is for the

physical characteristics of the dominant criollo group.

This fact leads to maximal racial discrimination against

those groups that deviate from the norm. 3 '9

In literature the physical distinctness of black people

as compared to whites, leads to caricature. The positive

image of black culture in Miracle of Anaquille, must be

viewed in light of certain world events, i.e., World War I, which burdened primitive cultures with the task of salvaging

a declining Western world. Unfortunately, the image of

the black as a hero was short-lived. There appears to be no physical or spiritual attribute bestowed upon the black which cannot be deprived of all meaning and importance by his black color. For all his talent and intelligence,

Remigio Perez is transformed into a comic character in 206

FU-3001. His diction, his impeccable use of the Spanish language, proves to be no asset and is turned against him as Remigio finds difficulty establishing an equilibrium between his African and Spanish experiences.

The portraits of the black characters found in these works are not exceptional; they represent the prototype, the model on which black figures are drawn. Yet there is no question that, with respect to these characters, proto­ type and caricature are one and the same. The Cuban writer's treatment of the black has resulted in a gross exaggeration of his distinctive features and qualities.

With respect to this tendency, William Stanley Braithwaite has made the following observation: "The white writer seems to stand baffled before the enigma, and so he expends all his energies on dialect and in general on the Negro's Ln minstrel characteristics ..."

The political and social exigencies of the Republican period created an environment in which both black and white artists perpetuated the stereotyped associations of sex and rhythm with the black figure. Blacks were called upon to do what they could do best, sing and dance:

"tal es la inclinacion que los negros tienen a ser ill musicos." During the pre-Revolutionary period the black image reflected the requisites of the white aesthetic. 207

Whether this tendency changed after the Social Revolution of 1959 is the subject of the next chapter. CHAPTER II

THE POST-REVOLUTIONARY THEATER: IS IT KUNTU?

The decade of the 1960s witnessed a level of develop­ ment in the area of theater arts which had been unknown

during the twentieth century. In Europe and the United

States, this activity was encouraged by a wave of liberal­

ism, of protest and of tension, whose release resulted in

this twentieth-century literary renaissance. Cuba, on the

other hand, under a self-imposed ideological isolation,

owes her literary revitalization directly to the Social

Revolution and its implementation during the 1960s.

In the area of the arts, the Revolution initially

granted freedom of expression, economic support, and

increased distribution to this artistic sector, producing

a climate which clearly stimulated literary production in

all areas. One product of this increased activity has been the new theater. Under the Revolutionary government,

the new theater is funded by and is directly responsible

to the "National Council of Culture." The phrase "new

theater" functions as a generic term describing the new political and aesthetic lines along which the theater and

208 209 all literary activity has evolved in accordance with the revolutionary regime.

In the article "Cuba's Teatro Nuevo: First National

Festival," Judith Weiss sheds some light on the phrase:

. . . the term "new theatre" is valid in that it defines a movement in search of its audience, by theatre troupes which no longer wait for their constituency in the theatre houses. . . the main objective of which is communication and maximum contact with the community, its con­ stituency as audience and as a source of material.^

The principle which guides this and all human activity is Marxism-Leninism. This principle, as extended to drama, sees the theater as an instrument to raise the social, political, and aesthetic consciousness of the people. The theater is placed at the service of social development and the formation of a national consciousness. Toward this end, one of the primary goals of drama has been the recovery and development of certain areas of Cuban tradition which had been wrested away by colonialists and imperialists.

Specifically targeted has been the area of Cuban folklore.

The Revolution has charged itself with the preservation and utilization of this folklore; and it is within this general area of folklore that we find the black theater.

With or without a revolution, the concept of a black theater is revolutionary in itself. In Cuba, as in Latin

America in general, the black theater is a theater of an 210 oppressed people subjugated by a people who are themselves exploited. Still, the examination of the black theater in Cuba requires an immediate response, given the much touted improved status of the black, a direct result of the Revolution, and in light of the regime's frequent and incendiary attacks on the racial situation of the United

States and the regime's position that racism is directly associated with capitalism and imperialism. The concept of a black theater poses many serious questions, yet none is so basic as that of definition. What, then, constitutes black theater or black literature in general? This question is of primary concern, as reflected in the marked increase of works which can be classified as folkloric or in those works which have to varying degrees incorporated elements traditionally viewed as folkloric, including African religion, music, and dance. We must question the signi­ ficance of this increase in the number of such works and the inclusion of such elements in Cuban theater. Clearly, the question here is whether we can consider the presence of such elements to be identifiers of black literature.

The answer is no; for if this were the case, slave litera­ ture could be classified as black literature, and this is surely neither its intent nor its perspective. In our search for a definition, we must assume that black litera­ ture is not defined by elements themselves, but rather by 211 the way these elements are utilized. Consequently, our focus is turned to analyzing these elements rather than merely identifying or counting them.

In approaching this particular question of how these elements function, we must look to African philosophy for direction. There are many who object to any generalization regarding African culture, and, of course, there are those who claim that such a synthesis of philosophical principles gives a false representation. Yet to those critics we must respond that just such a synthesis, whether real or mythical, is the very basis of neo-African thought and literature. After all, Negritude, in its many variations, has been a search for the common denominator which links all African people. Regarding the relationship between history and myth, Egon Friedell explains: "Every age has a definite picture of all past events accessible to it, a picture peculiar to itself. All history is saga and myth, and as such the product of our own intellectual 3 powers at a particular time."v If this is the case, there can be no effective case made against the concept of an

African philosophy or component, as it is sometimes called.

The African component must be understood as part of the human component. This means that it is not in itself unique, but shares similarities with other human cultures.

Yet what distinguishes one culture from another is not 212

its elements, but rather the relationship and organization

of the elements to each other.

If I may be permitted, at this point, a brief digres­

sion, we may better see that African literature and neo-

African literature do not consist of a list of prescribed

elements, but rather of the manner in which these elements

are employed. If we look for a beginning to Western

literature, we need look no further than to two works by

Plato, The Symposium and The Re-public. In The Symposium

Plato divides the universe into two spheres: one lower

and one higher; implicitly, one superior, and one inferior.

This dichotomized view of the universe is fundamental to

Western thought and subsequently has been extended to

Western literature.

In The Republic Plato defines the role of the poet

as reflecting the heavenly beauty of the universe. These

images transmit a significance which is organic, inherent

to the image. Once received by the poet, these emissions

are thus transformed into language and linguistic structures.

Language evolves from the image; thus, the image is primary, and language secondary. Later platonic symbolism fused with Christianity, reinforcing the primacy of image over word. Images were good or evil, beautiful or ugly, black

or white. The poet was encouraged to elaborate these

truths, but language served only as a support system. As 213

Western man became more sophisticated, these simple symbols were made to encompass wider areas of the human and literary experience. In its practical application, this

ordering (image-word) would require of the colonialist the task of transforming persons and property into his own white, "good" image.

The African component changes the order of these two elements, making the word control the image. As Janheiz

Jahn has explained, "In all African art the meaning flows 14. plainly from the sign used to express it." In other words, all material is mute until man gives it a message.

One sees this in its practical application in the naming ceremony, a common African rite. The new-born child becomes a living creature only when the father or sorcerer

gives him a name and pronounces it. Until this is done, the body is but a thing. Clearly, the act of naming can be viewed as an incantation, a creative act.^

The primacy of words over image implicitly elevates man over images (things). The very act of naming sees man as the life-giving agent. African objects, on the other hand, are empty, neither good nor evil. The African philosophy does not view the world in such simplistic terms. It recognizes that all forces, even divine forces, have destructive and constructive possibilities. The very 214- concept of mankind (muntu)^ includes both the living and the non-living.

What has been the effect of this perspective on literature? First, it elevates man to a pre-eminent position within the universe. Man is not merely an imitator of the unverse in the platonic sense, but its creator.

Second, all human activity, all movement in nature rests upon the word, which is controlled by man. Consequently, there are-, and can be no noncommittal words. All words carry meaning.

The word is further fortified by another "force," rhythm. Rhythm, in the African sense, activates the word; it is its procreative component. Therefore, it is no longer valid to discuss rhythm as a technique that the artist may choose to employ. Rhythm is neither artistic nor elaborative; it transforms the word into living speech.

Rhythm, which has been viewed in the West as an external property, is, in the African context, an internal property.

Consequently, African or neo-African music and dance can be seen as part of African culture only as long as their meaning remains evident. Once this meaning has been abandoned or fragmented, we are left with only form, a form which in itself is insignificant and is doomed to further fragmentation and, ultimately, evaporation. 215

Paramount to any discussion of African literature is the relationship "between meaning, function, and form. In

African literature the meaning determines the form; words determine image. Form functioning alone carries no message.

An African dance, ceremony, word, or ritual is a frozen symbol until it is activated by the word.

This discussion of African art brings us to one undeniable conclusion: art lies not in the end product, the object, but rather in the process of creating that product. The proof of this statement lies in the relation­ ship of man to that product. For it is man, speaking the words, giving the meaning, who actually creates the art.

Another principle which can be seen through this process is that art lies not in the things which are created, but in the way they are created and in the very act of creating them. It is this perspective which distinguishes African and neo-African art. In this sense, art is people, people making art. This would also explain the popularity of certain art forms, such as drama, dance and music, within

African culture. For it is surely in these forms that art in the African sense can best be achieved. Yet, the basis of the African aesthetic requires a human activity which harmonizes meaning, rhythm, sense, and form.

If this is not achieved, then regardless of the number of black characters or structures, we do not have African 216 literature. As the object of a fragmented projection and incorporation into the Western tradition, black symbols serve only as raw material to be processed by a techno­ logical civilization. Their meaning and function is obliterated, along with the possibility of their under­ standing. Once these word/symbols are made whole and significant through this kind of distortion, they become meaningless, illogical, and unintelligible images, synonymous with primitivism, heathenism, and superstition. We have only to say the word Voodoo to conjure up a world of evil, devil worship, and black magic. Through this process, black symbols have secured a place in the Western literary tradition. Their degenerative forms are found in minstrelsy, ritualism, absurd literature, and surrealistic literature.

The black character is asked to assume the role of comedian or sorcerer/magician.

To question the artist's access to such material will surely yield cries of violation of artistic freedom and artistic license. Yet, in an age preoccupied with fiscal responsibility, the time has come for social and literary responsibility as well. To quote Ron Karenga on this point, "An artist may have any freedom to do what he wishes as long as it does not take the freedom from the people to be protected from those images, words, or sounds that 7 are negative to their life and development."' This stance 217 requires that form and content he mutually expressive of the whole.

Black art, as an extension of African art, is perish­ able. Its real value lies in its ability to become a part of the giver as well as of the receiver. Kuntu is the essence of African expression. It is the modality, the manner, the force itself in which African art is expressed.

Kuntu stands as the hallmark of African culture and represents the means in a world which measures its art and equates art with the end product. It is the how in a literary world which has become preoccupied with the what.

When we examine African or neo-African art, we do not look for any secret language; no black idiom, no African- sounding drums, no chanting tribesmen, no rumba dancers with swinging hips. We look for Kuntu. This will be our method to examine the proliferation of "folk" art in post-

Revolutionary Cuba.

Requiem por Yarini (i9 6 0 ), by Carlos Felipe, carries the following dedication: "A mi gente del barrio de San O Isidro." For those who know Havana, no further explana­ tion is necessary. San Isidro is the infamous red-light district of Havana. It is home to the lonely, to the dispossessed, to the outcasts, and to the underworld that rules it. This is the district which provides the setting for the play Requiem por Yarini. Yarini is the "rey de 218 los chulos," the King of the Pimps. The play, which takes place in 1910, attempts to recreate the legendary character

Alejandro Yarini.

As the play begins, Jaba, a mulatta, senses danger.

In her youth Jaba's beauty made her one of Yarini's "best" women, yielding him a substantial profit from their business activity. Now, in her forties, as chief admin­ istrator, she sees to his every need. Her fears lead her to consult Bebo la Reposa, a santero who, confirming her fears, reveals that Yarini is the object of a morality campaign. His position as chief pimp of the district means that he must die. Jaba, obsessed with Yarini, dedicates herself to his safety and survival. At the same time our attention is directed to Santiaguera, one of Yarini's white prostitutes. She finds herself pursued by Lotot, a rival pimp. In an effort to avoid a conflict, Lotot and

Yarini agree to play cards, thus deciding the ownership of

Santiaguera as "gentlemen." Yarini loses and surrenders

Santiaguera to Lotot. However, Santiaguera, overcome with passion for her former owner, escapes and returns to Yarini, who at this very moment is preparing to flee from the police, the agents of the morality campaign. Yarini becomes empassioned with Santiaguera, and fails to execute his escape. Lotot returns to claim his property and, in the fight which ensues, Yarini is killed. 219

Both Yarini and Santiguera break the rules which have long governed the relationship between pimp and prostitute.

To understand the reason why this misconduct occurs is to understand the objective of the dramatist, Carlos Felipe.

This breach of conduct which costs Yarini his life is caused by the spiritual possession of both Yarini and

Santiaguera. It is these spirits, personally motivated, who seek to manipulate and finally claim Alejandro Yarini.

An example of this possession is seen in the passion which overcomes both Yarini and Santiaguera at critical moments during the play. In the case of the latter, Santiaguera defied Yarini's rule and escapes from her new owner, Lotot.

For Yarini the possession is more costly; it prevents his escape. Consequently, his death is unavoidable, at the hands of either Lotot or the police.

This intervention, which Jaba fears from the beginning but refuses to recognize, is orchestrated by the Macorina, queen of the prostitutes. It is in the end the Macorina, unhappy, unsatisfied in life, who returns to claim as her eternal lover el rey de los chulos, Alejandro Yarini.

Uniting a king and a queen in not unique. Yet, what distinguishes this version of a familiar tale is the skill­ ful introduction and manipulation of santeria.^ Santeria is the structure which supports these superhuman activities 220 and makes us, the readers, believe and accept their verisimilitude.

It is through santeria that Yarini transcends the mortal and enters the realm of the spiritual. He is more 10 than "el chulo ideal"; he is the reincarnation of Shango.

His entrance in the early moments in the play is accorded all the respect and reverence of a gods

Se iluminan los faroles del patio. El ambito escenico se embellece. Una pausa. Por la derecha entra Yarini; lo siguen Ismael Prado y cuatro hombres jovenes de su grupo de accion, todos guapos, vestidos irreprochablemente. Ha salido el rey. Se hace en el patio un silencio respetuoso. Nadie se atrevera a romperlo. (p. 208)

The treatment of Yarini by Felipe signals an intent to idealize the character. Yet, this idealization of Yarini means a demystification and denigration of the very structure which makes the process possible.

It is made clear to us from the beginning that to enter the world of Yarini is to enter the black world. As

Matias Montes Huidobro observes, "En esta obra entramos 11 de lleno en el mundo negro de la magia ..." Yet, how are we to interpret this black world of magic? More than any other aspect of African culture, magic stands as a testament to the backwardness of Africa. It is this element which most clearly alienates the Western and African worlds. Within the play itself, we see the presentation of political corruption and the implantation of a social 221

reality as a pretext for developing the higher symbolic,

mystical reality which results in the idealization of

Yarini.'1'^

What results, however, is a distortion and misrepre­

sentation of the structure of santeria, which is treated

with less respect than a second-rate nightclub act. The black world of magic represents the underbelly of the white

world, the world of reality which is void of magic. There­

fore, the black world functions as a sponge for all the

activities which are unacceptable or perceived negatively

in the "real" world.

Thus, the first step in this process of demystifica­

tion^ lies in the presentation of two distinctive worlds:

one real, one magic. If the playwright's intent were to

accurately present the African perspective, this would be

impossible, for to the African there is only one world.

"Magic" exists within the world and not outside it. What many have chosen to call magic is the African religion in its practical application. All magic is word magic, incan­

tation and exorcism, blessing and curse. As such, African religion provides that the living can call upon, invoke the ancestors and the nonliving to hear complaints and wishes. These "forces," as they are called, are honored and revered. They represent a system of gods comparable to the Catholic saints and the Protestant Trinity, though 222

more extensive. A prayer to an ancestor is viewed in the

same light as one to St. Peter.

Jaba does not employ magic when faced with a "real,"

that is to say, non-magical crisis. Rather, Jaba turns to

Bebo la Reposa, because it would be unnatural for her to do

otherwise. Belief, faith and reason are one. It is

impossible to separate one's belief from the reasoning

process. Seen from this perspective, Jaba maintains

control over her world; it is the Western eye and the

Western artist who would divide it. The African philosophy

maintains a tight system from birth to burial; in the words

of one writer, to subtract one item from the whole is to lii paralyze the structure of the whole. Bebo the santero

merely reads the shells, confirming the danger. Neither

he nor the orisha (gods) create the conflict.

As a second step in this process of demystification,

the reader encounters the indiscriminate fusion of nani-

guismo and santeria within the play. In the stage direc­

tions, Carlos Felipe informs us that, in addition to the main characters, there are various nanigos. However, the

"magic" which is employed within the play is not that of nanlguismo, but of santeria. It is indeed possible that

the playwright is not aware of the difference between the

two, and it is almost a certainty that the audience will not be able to differentiate between them. This lack of 223 clarity once again underscores the subordinate nature of the black element. It is not necessary to be accurate in order to achieve the dramatist's objective. If an accurate representation of santeria or naniguismo is not important, then we can only assume that its presence in the play is secondary. At the service of Western literature, the meaning of santeria and naniguismo are placed in jeopardy.

The demystification process also leads to the exalta­ tion of sex and protitution within the play. The issue here is not love, but sex, the exposition of which has found a comfortable structure in santeria. As Montes

Huidobro argues, "La religion yoruba esta inundada de sexo.

El amor y el sexo forman parte de un ritual divino. De esta forma Yarini es el punto focal de un ritual erotico.

La obra tiende a la idealizacion y sublimacion de lo sexual.In this play the idealization of Yarini, King of the Pimps, is not complete without the exaltation of sex:

Yarini. . . . yo en la nobleza de la mision de souteneur. Poseemos el instinto de la belleza femenina y el de la capacidad de la mujer para el amor; buscamos los mas altos exponentes de estos dones de la naturaleza; los sustraemos del egoismo burgues del matrimonio, y dadivosamente, a cambio de una modico cuota indispensable, los ponemos al alcance de los hombres todos, para que calmen su hambre de amor y belleza. El souteneur tiene mucho de dios que sintiera compasion por los hombres. (p. 233) 224

Without question this play features the sublimation of sex, as is evidenced by Yarini's comparison of the souteneur with a compassionate god. Clearly, its connection with santeria makes the comparison acceptable, fixing it within a black context. The black element offers to the public and the artist a freedom unknown in their own world, repre­ senting a haven for all those areas that are off-limits to the status quo. It is in this light that we see that the red-light district is not San Isidro, but wherever the black community resides. As Montes Huidobro so clearly recognizes, this exaltation of sex vis-a-vis prostitution becomes inseparable and indistinguishable from the black religion, santeria, which hails as its supreme leader

(sacerdote) Alejandro Yarini.

However, there is not evidence to support Montes

Huidobro's first assumption, that the Yoruba religion is submerged in sex. We can discount the subjective observa­ tions made by missionaries and travelers, who took a narrow view of African culture, labeling most activities as obscene, seductive, and immoral. Even Fernando Ortiz, who promoted much of the Afro-Cuban myth, states that the dances of the ✓v*nanigos -v have nothing to do with eroticism. 1 6

Yet these dances have greatly added to the myth of African sexuality; many of those that have found their way into

Western culture have been the object of social and legal 225 persecution in both Spain and Colonial America. Anyone who sang or danced the sarabanda, which is believed to be of Cuban origin, was punished with two hundred stripes; in addition, men were subject to six years on the galleys and women were banished from the kingdom. 17 ' Even Cervantes referred to the "devilish noise" of the sarabanda. But these dances, the cha-cha-cha, the meringue, and the rumba, for example, are representative of the age-old game of courtship. In fact, dancing in couples, which is uncommon in traditional African societies, is usually conceivable only in the context of the fertility dance.

Where, then, can we find support for Montes Huidobro's earlier statement regarding the nature of the Yoruba * religion? Once again, the response lies in the misinter­ pretation of magic. The West has long interpreted the trance or possession, and integral part of the African religion, as a collective delirium or orgiastic frenzy.

Consequently, the Yoruba religion, seen as being submerged * in sex, supports the platonic-Christian view of the black man and his religion. It must represent whatever Western religion is not. It must be evil rather than good; it must be physical and sexual, rather than spiritual and celestial. If we subscribe to this .view of African religion, then Yarini, a pimp, is not only a logical god, but a most effective one. However, at this point, we should 226 recognize that it is not the Yoruba religion which requires this devotion to sex. It is not the Yoruba religion which demands erotic ritualism; it is Carlos Felipe who, in order to execute and develop his idealization of

Alejandro Yarini, imposes and broadens the distorted image of santeria.

The character of the play which has caused the most controversy is the Dama del Yelo. As one writer states, this character represents the insipidness of conventional 18 Christianity and the hypocrisy of the petite bourgeoisie.

Within the play, the Dama conducts an internal monologue in which she comments negatively and judges Yarini and his adherents to be wanting:

/ Como habra hombre que se acerquen a ellas con esa ropa horrible que usan! Si saben lo que es vestir elegante me envidiaran. (p. 20^)

The Dama comes to Yarini to discover the reason for the mysterious attraction of his cult. In this respect she is representative of her class, the bourgeoisie. Yet, this in itself is not hypocritical. Like all disbelievers, strangers to "San Isidro," the Dama comes to witness the spectacle, to be entertained, to pronounce its inferiority, and to leave. She fulfills this role. She thus subscribes to the philosophy which the play projects and, ironically, she is condemned for it. To condemn the Dama is to be misled by the number of black characters and black images, 227 believing that their presence identifies the play as black

literature. Still, what is most important is that the

Dama fulfills the same role within the play as the audience

does outside the play. She comes for a show, and after all,

it is she who persuades Yarini to dance. He does indeed

dismiss her later as fivolous, not "his kind," but he gives her the show she came for. The Dama is not to be dismissed;

she is Felipe's public.

Jaba is the character within the play who best repre­

sents the African philosophy. She is considered the "keeper

of the faith," exhibiting a high level of orthodoxy.

However, it is impossible to maintain a clear picture of her, given the play's distorted view of santeria. For,

indeed, Jaba's worship and devotion is directed to Yarini the pimp:

Yarini el politico nada significa; Yarini el tahur no es gran cosa, . . .Ah, pero Yarini el chulo. . . Yarini el chulo es el Rey! (p. 19*0 It is clear that without the structure of santeria,

Felipe would have a difficult time convincing us of the

"spiritual" nature of prostitution, since the West does not view it in this light. Promiscuity, as distinct from prostitution, typically has as its motive an emotional

craving.^ Prostitution occurs in any culture in which poverty and unemployment exist; its goal is the acquisition 228 of money and/or material goods. The general attitude of the prostitute toward the customers is emotional indiffer- 20 ence. This is the manner in which prostitution operates in Paris, New York, and Tokyo; it therefore seems highly unlikely that it should assume spiritual dimensions in

Havana. The spiritual element is an artistic elaboration, apparent in the idealization of Alejandro Yarini. Any other religion, given its hierarchical body of priests, community of believers, ceremony and organization, would have served the same purpose.

To bring this play to its resolution, the Macorina, queen of the prostitutes, returns from the dead to claim her lover, Yarini. The supernatural is accessible through magic, through santeria. Requiem por Yarini is a skillful manipulation of certain elements from black culture. It effectively reproduces the form but destroys the content, further perpetuating the myth of black sexuality. If the

African component requires that meaning determine form, then this play cannot be considered a part of black litera­ ture. Felipe relies on the misinterpretation and precon­ ceptions regarding black culture that are present within the society at large, and further extends them within the play. Black material serves as raw material, resource material, whose function is still subordinate to criollo interests. 229

The next three plays discussed in this section,

Medea en el espe.jo (I960), Parque de la Fraternidad (1962), ■A#' and La muerte del Neque (1963), were written hy Jose

Triana. These plays share a common setting, that of pre-Revolutionary Cuba. Consequently, these plays focus on fragmented and disoriented personalities, products of that oppressive political system. Roman V. de la Campa, in his study Jose Triana: Ritualizacion de la sociedad cubana, suggests that these three plays serve as dress rehearsals for Triana's most celebrated work, La noche de los asesinos (1965) •

Although de la Campa has not found a critical consensus on this point, his case is sufficiently demonstrated. The vision which Triana imposes on his works, as evidenced by the characters and the environment, is clearly that of pre-Revolutionary Cuba. As de la Campa notes, "La vision critica del pasado pre-revolucionario que Triana mantiene es vista como algo estatico, que no evoluciona y le impide reflejar la realidad social transformada por el nuevo 21 sisterna." He continues:

Su obra, descontinuada o terminada despues de 1965, nunca se desprende de un pasado enjuiciado esquematicamente, permaneciendo como un aporte que surge durante la etapa inicial del desarrollo cultural revolucionario y cuya valoracion parece ser indicada por uno de los lideres del gobierno: 230

"Resumiendo, la culpabilidad de muchos de nuestros intelectuales y artistas reside en su pecado original; no son autenticamente revolucionarios. . .22

De la Campa's observation is clear and direct: the Revolu­

tion provided a democratic climate for the arts. All were

equally encouraged, even those not fully integrated into

the Revolution.

In Triana's defense, the response from outside Cuba

suggests that censorship may be the cause of this artistic

hiatus. However, to date there exists no specific evidence

to support this claim. Other explanations of this issue

suggest that the post-Revolutionary environment has not

changed sufficiently to require the imposition of a new

perspective. The first years of the Revolution, marked by

severe shortages of consumer goods and frequent political

and cultural purges, did not signal a radical change of

course from the militarism and repression of the Batista

regime. Furthermore, we cannot overlook the fact that the

period of formation for Triana and his generation was the

decade of the fifties, the Republican Period.

This past perspective of Triana is in line with that

of the majority of writers during this initial period of

the Revolution. This transitional period relied greatly on

the pre-Revolutionary period as its historical mark. Still, we must bear in mind that this Revolution, any revolution, 231 cannot hope to change immediately its prevailing social and cultural patterns. We are reminded that Castro's appeals for the rights of the black man during the initial 23 moments of the Revolution were met with great resistance.

It is not my purpose to defend the revolutionary consciousness of Jose Triana. Still, acknowledgement of this perspective is a necessary part of any discussion of his works. In this study, this past perspective signals a continuation of the extremely negative and limiting image of the black that was characteristic of pre-Revolu­ tionary society. We note, however, that the lyricism and sentimentality that were so much a part of that image, as seen in the works of Carlos Felipe, for example, is replaced with the realistic depiction of squalor. Despite the dates of these works, the world which Triana creates is not that of the Revolution, with its improved status for the black man, but rather that of pre-Revolutionary Cuba and the misery prevalent under Batista.

De la Campa's criticism suggests that Triana's perma­ nence in the past impedes the imposition of a revolutionary, i.e., Marxist, perspective. The characters are conse- squently doomed to an inescapable world of disorientation, relying on meaningless forms, such as superstition and witchcraft, for orientation. He contends that a revolu­ tionary perspective would eliminate the need for such 232 useless forms and would at the same time lead the charac­ ters to more effective and acceptable forms of behavior.

I do not share de la Campa’s faith in this process. For, in describing the black characters, de la Campa utilizes what has been called European language, equating black movement and rhythm to sex, referring to such exhibitions as grotesque, and frequently applying the label of "orgias- tic" to such performances. Therefore, we cannot conclude that a revolutionary perspective would preclude the need for a black perspective and would impose an unbiased and distorted view of black culture.

Triana's plays, regardless of whether they enjoy the blessing of the present regime, present an unfavorable image of the black. Triana has selected black characters to reflect a high level of individual disorientation and disintegration which corresponds to that afflicting Cuban society as a whole. This deterioration is carried to such an extreme that the level of human content visible is many of these characters is limited to their ability to speak a human tongue. Yet, one can be assured that the selection of blacks was not gratuitous, given their marginal status within pre-Revolutionary society. Triana's attempt to present in naturalistic terms the decay and death of a society leads to his distortion of black culture. He 233 intends for the irrationality exhibited by these characters to be representative of the whole of Cuban society.

The action of Parque de la fraternidad begins during the dictatorship of Machado and extends through that of

Batista. The plot is simple and direct. A youth, a recent arrival to Havana from rural Cuba, arrives at the Park, a popular gathering place for the dispossessed. There he encounters two figures: an old man (Viejo.) and a black woman (Negra). Through a disjointed dialogue with these two, the youth reveals his past history and present condi­ tion. Hungry and alone, he solicits their help. Receiving none, he leaves the Park to begin his new life of mendi­ cancy.

The theme of mendicancy is neither new nor unique to

Cuba; neither is the phenomenon of rural exodus to the city. These are, however, effectively utilized as a vehicle to present thirty years of Cuban dependence and oppression.

This is achieved indirectly through the dialogue and directly through a series of visual images. Consequently, the message of the play is delivered principally by the form.

This form precedes all dialogue and begins with the scenery. Triana brings the reader to the Park, which is divided vertically into three planes. Residing in the highest plane are the Negra and a symbolic tree: 23^

Sentada, como en un magnifico trono, delante del enrejado, se encuentra la negra. Este personaje puede caraterizarse o debe hacerlo, recordando, un poco a ese personaje popular denominado: La Marquesa.25

On the middle plane we find the old man: "Lo mismo sucede

con el viejo, que esta sentado en el piano intermedio,

que, de alguna manera, debe recordarnos al "Caballero de

Paris." (p. 96) On the lowest level, the entry level, we

find the youth, el muchacho. According to Triana, the two

figures on the upper planes represent a synthesis of

individuals who themselves are well known to the Cuban

public. He further states, "No creo necesario acentuar

el parecido a los modelos vivos, porque solo he tratado de

dar una sintesis humana." (p. 96) For those of us who do not have prior knowledge of these types, Roman de la Campa notes the following:

La Marquesa era mendiga. Una mendiga negra, muy fea, que usaba ropas muy rumbosas obsejuio de gente de la posicion que se divertia a costa de la pasion de la pobre mujer por los trapos. Era, pues, un personaje muy ridiculo. El Caballero, en cambio, no pedia nada. Su medios de vida eran un misterio. El deambulaba con su melenon rubio-rojizo que nunca veia el peine, su tunica y capa negras y sus sandalias, sonando con castillos y palacios y pergaminos.26

Although this rather detailed description of these very prominent figures of the play is necessary for those of us who are outside of Cuban society, no such description is 235 necessary for Triana’s public. The image of the Marquesa and the Caballero are immediately recognizable and transparent. They stimulate a series of visual images and mental associations.

These two images represent, collectively, the decadence of Cuban society. Technically, they displace the need for extended dialogue. This non-verbal representation continues with the symbolic tree which is planted in the first plane, with the Negra. The tree was ceremoniously dedicated by Gerardo Machado, marking the occasion of the

Sixth International Conference of American States in 1928,^ which was convened to advocate the cause of regional autonomy. Machado betrayed the conference by refusing to condemn the Platt Amendment and thus surrendered Cuba to the domination of foreign interests, the United States in particular. Por Triana, this tree represents the begin­ ning of a process of oppression, broken promises, and personal and national disorientation. In this sense, the tree, like the Marquesa and the Caballero, are symbolic of an ailing society.

The old man, the black woman, and the youth are all victims of an oppressive society. As victims, they are imprisoned within a system from which there is no apparent escape. They are seen as ridiculous characters who rely on useless and meaningless forms for orientation. As such, 236

they are condemned to relive their misery-ridden lives in

ritual-like fashion. The youth becomes what the other two

characters already are: parasites, beggars, non-productive

members of a society who confront a hostile and destructive

world with meaningless weapons. The youth is thus

initiated into this world at its sacred shrine, the tree

of betrayal.

The characterization of the black woman depends upon her ability to evoke a series of visual images within

the viewer. Her dialogue is virtually non-existent. She 2 8 grunts, gestures, and mumbles incoherently in Lucumi.

Her response to the youth's plea for help is a series of

non-verbal actions. Like the old man, she too is unable

to respond. She, like the government, is hollow. As

victims, they are all unable to help themselves or others.

The action and dialogue, mostly monologue, is sustained

throughout the play by the youth, who, in an effort to

arouse compassion, relates the events of his past to the

two figures in the Park. From these fragmented pictures, we learn of two other characters from his past life: a mother and an uncle. These two characters are reincarnated

in the old man and the black woman. The uncle is a

cacique, the corrupt authority figure whose demands upon

the youth force him to leave home. He, like the old man

in the Park, is full of empty platitudes. The mother, 237

whose reputation is questionable, is reincarnated in the

black woman; both are portrayed as prostitutes:

La negra se pinta los labios. . . A1 muchacho que se queda abstraido. El muchacho mira a la negra, pero no la v e . Permanece sumergido en algun recuerdo. Se sonrie mecanicamente. (p. 101)

One notes that the entire play, and particularly the

treatment of the black character, relies on the primacy of

image over word, an image which is maintained by popular

myth. The black's elevated position atop this decaying

hierarchy attests not to her social status, but the

popularity of her type, a type which has become synonymous

with the region and has been exported worldwide. As

discussed earlier, the fact that the black character appears

in a prominent role does not alter the fact that this

play exists as a part of the Western literary tradition.

In Parque de la fraternidad the form of the play and the

images contained within it regulate all meaning. Within

pre-Revolutionary Cuba, the black figure proves to be the

most accessible to both author and public to typify a

high level of human degradation. It is her accessibility

which makes the Negra appropriate for the play. The black

woman is transformed into the youth's prostitute-mother because the society readily associates the black woman

(mulattas in particular) with illicit sexual activity. The

presentation of black culture within the play is limited 238 to the areas of superstition and witchcraft. This very limiting and biased perspective effectively serves Triana's purposes. Superstition, as it is popularly interpreted, is a meaningless and ineffective means with which Cuban society from Machado to Batista has confronted an inhospi­ table and hostile environment. To quote Roman de la Campa on this point, "El esquema ritual es manejado en esta pieza para dramatizar la tendencia hacia la supersticion como una forma de orientacion vital ante una realidad 29 inhospita." ' Superstition is thus popular, marketable, but nevertheless useless.

There is no attempt to correct this distorted vision of black culture. The maintenance of this mentality clearly indicates a nonblack perspective. The reliance on images to convey meaning further disqualifies Parque. . . as black theater. Therefore, Parque de la fraternidad is not black literature; it remains firmly within the tradition of

Western literature, avoiding the African component.

Medea en el espe.jo presents a modern version of the

Greek tragedy by Euripedes, and Triana follows the Greek model closely. There are, however, obvious changes which are made to accommodate the temporal and spacial environ­ ment of pre-Revolutionary Cuba. The plot of Euripedes'

Medea is as follows: After making their escape from

Iolcus, Medea and Jason are found living in exile in 239

Corinth. Their status as foreigners is unbearable for

Jason. He attempts to improve his social and economic

position by marrying the daughter of the Prince. Medea,

who is betrayed by this move, seeks revenge and achieves

it by murdering the bride, the father-in-law, and her own

children. Triana, in creating his Cuban version of the

tragedy, retains this basic story outline.

Euripedes' audience, unlike Triana's, knew Medea's history well. Prior to her appearance in this play,

Medea appeared in the Tale of the Argonauts, one of the most famous Greek legends. In this episode, it was Medea's

skill and cunning which ultimately secured for Jason the

golden fleece. To accomplish this, Medea used magic,

enabling Jason to perform the nearly impossible tasks required of him by her father Aeetes, King of Colchis.

Driven by her love for Jason, Medea betrayed her family and her home (her nation). She dismembered her brother

Absyrtus, and she and Jason escaped while her father was occupied in trying to assemble the dismembered corpse.

Upon their return to Iolcus, Medea sought revenge upon

Jason's uncle Pelias, who had intended to deny Jason his inheritance and had required the recovery of the golden fleece as a condition for receiving it. To execute her vengeance of Pelias, Medea resorts to magic. She rejuven­ ates an old ram by cutting it up and boiling it with magic 240 herbs. She then persuades the daughters of Pelias to try

the same procedures on their father, knowing that it will not yield the same results. For this act, Medea and

Jason are banished from Iolcus, and are found living in

Corinth as Medea opens.

This story was familiar to Euripedes' audience, who were well aware of Medea's violent temper and vengeful nature. She was known to them as a barbarian, a magician, and she reappeared in Cuba with the same attributes.

Triana's task was to transform this sultry witch into a credible Cuban "type." He must find a marginal character, reflecting Medea's immigrant status. She should addition­ ally be poor, a member of the oppressed class. She should display a violent, barbaric and irrational nature. Finally, this type should have access to the world of magic. In keeping with these requirements, Triana's Medea is a mulatta. In this play Triana evokes the fragmentation and disorientation characteristic of pre-Revolutionary Cuba.

He situates his characters in a solar, the Cuban version of public housing, which has a high concentration of poor and blacks. The inhabitants of the solar collectively represent Cuban society, that same oppressed sector dis­ cussed previously in the play Parque de la fraternidad. 241

Technically, the residents of the solar serve as an updated version of the Greek chorus.

To modern Western drama the presence of such a chorus has represented a fatal obstacle to realistic drama. Its presence, however, involves no such restrictions with respect to non-European literature. The chorus utilizes the technique of call and response which is a prominent feature within African culture and which was continued and reinforced by the slave system established in the

Americas. In the context of this drama, the chorus func­ tions as both witnesses to the events which unfold and as active participants. It serves to advance the plot and increase dramatic tension, providing both past and current information essential to the off-stage audience.

Like her predecessor, Marla, Triana's Medea has betrayed her family and home for Julian (Jason). She has seen her marriage to Julian, who incidentally is white, as a means to escape from the poverty and social imprison­ ment of the solar. This course has led her to reject

Erundina, her black surrogate mother and nurse to her children. This rejection of Erundina is necessary if Marla is to assume Julian's white identity. Marla's life, then, represents the process of blanqueamiento, the whitening process. It is in this manner that she has betrayed her home and family. In order to distance herself from all 242 elements of black culture, she severs the ties between

Erundina and her children. Instead, Marla entrusts the care and education of the children to Amparo, who is mestiza: "Ahora eso si, exijo, oigalo bien, exijo de su parte, una mayor puntualidad. Desde este instante, 30 excluyo a Erundina de la educacion de mis hijos."-^

The process of blanqueamiento is achieved when the racial composition of a given area is, for all purposes, white. To achieve this, Maria must implicitly reject black culture and acquire the somatic norm of white society.

Within the play, Julian serves this purpose; he serves as the physical component of this process. In this sense,

Maria, like Euripedes' Medea, has burned her bridges. She cannot return home. Her only option is to continue her present course toward self-annihilation:

Julian me ama. Julian es mi marido. Julian es el padre de mis.hijos. Mi destino es Julian. . . . ^Que me importa lo que soy y lo que era, que me importa la libertad, si soy la duena de tus brazos? . . . He comprendido que eres y solo tu la raz<5n de mi vida. (p. 30)

The prince, the authority figure of the Triana play, is Perico Piedra Fina. He is the local cacique, the

Batista regime personified. His rise to power reflects the corruption of the political and economic system:

. . . Sudores y sangre me ha costado. Los amigos de antes me miran con envidia. "Ahi va Perico-dicen-el que vendio su 243

alma al diabl.o." (Riendose) 6Qu§ cosa es el alma? { Quien es el diablo? (p. 44)

Piedra Fina has chosen Julian as heir to his empire, as his chief administrator of the solar. Julian's marriage to

Esperancita is his initiation into the world of the

oppressor.

The actions of Maria, which eventually cause the

death of Esperancita, her father and Maria's own children, reflect the violence and brutality so pervasive during this pre-Revolutionary period. Maria's plan of murder has been described by many critics as a form of instinctive rebellion.The use of the word instinctive, of course,

implies that her actions have no rational or logical basis.

Thus, Triana's Medea retains her barbaric status.

The interjection of rebellion into this discussion

suggests that Maria's actions might be interpreted as revolutionary, that the murder of Perico Piedra Fina

symbolizes a break in the cycle of dependency. I take

exception to this interpretation. Maria, in fact, does not rebel against the system; she never condemns the system.

Her violence, rather, reflects her fears, her failure to achieve her goal within the process of blanqueamiento.

Maria's entire life personifies that process. Consequently, we cannot separate the murders which Maria commits at the end of the play from her life, which has been a destructive process, a process of self-destruction. Maria does not 2kk rebel against the system; she rebels against herself. The loss of Julian symbolizes a loss of identity. This personal crisis is the immediate cause for the final violence. The violent pattern, however, is that of blanqueamiento.

She kills her children, not in an act of purification, but as a final step toward self-annihilation; the children are an extension of herself.

Given this perspective, Medea en el espe.jo operates as an agent of white supremacy. Maria's madness finds its roots in Julian's madness, i.e., in the society's enthnocentrism, which has invalidated her being. The last moments of the play crystalize this attitude, which refuses

Maria's claim for legitimacy. Maria'a death-in-life is a direct result of those values around which she has built her life. Thus, it only serves to reinforce the supremacy of Perico and Julidn.

In the play La muerte del Neque, Triana's return to the pre-Revolutionary period is again in operation, with the Republican Period, and, more specifically, the batistato functioning as both the historical and social framework for the play. Toward this end, the Triana world of oppressor/ oppressed, as previously seen in Medea en el espe.jo and

Parque de la fraternidad, is established. This time, however, the image of the oppressor is concentrated in a mulatto figure, Hilario Garcia. Hilario represents 2^-5 machismo in its most decadent state. He symbolizes the

collective brutality of his predecessors, the uncle in

Parque . . . and Perico Fina in Medea. . . . Hilario

Garcia is not just a member of the oppressor group; he is

the group personified. For that, he is condemned and

sentenced. Hilario's death must and indeed does carry

the implications of an act of purification; it is the reenactment of the Revolution. Therefore, it must be

executed by those whom he has oppressed. The fate of

Hilario is, thus, never in question; it is anticipated from

the opening lines of the play: "Matalo. Matalo. Tiene

que morir. . . ."^2 What the play intends is to present

the process by which the oppressed group arrives at this resolution.

In order to establish this collective environment,

Triana again stages the action in the vicinity of a

solar. The lives of the residents of the solar are open

to public inspection and comment. Among these residents is

Hilario Garcia, who was charged with the support of his mother and sister early in his life. From this beginning,

Hilario clawed his way into a very important position within the police force. His methods have been totally unscrupulous, reflecting a survivalist mentality. In addition, his climb up the ladder required that he engineer the murder of the man who had been instrumental in securing 24*6 him his job on the police force. As the play opens, it is this crime, the murder of Juvencio's father, that begins the course of Hilario's rapid descent throughout the play.

In order to avenge the death of his father, Juvencio has hired a street gang to kill Hilario. This gang, comprised of three members, one black, one white, and one mulatto, fulfills the contract, which transcends the character of a personal vendetta. This gang, representing the Cuban public by virtue of their racial composition, topples the old system, as symbolized by Hilario.

In addition to the gang's participation in the final crime, they technically serve as a chorus. In this capacity they provide the audience with the necessary background information, particularly as it relates to Hilario. When required, they both advance and delay the action; also they present a play within a play, with the employment of dice and billiard games. On stage, the chorus also func­ tions as an audience, witnessing and commenting on the action. Moreover, the chorus' collective presence suggests a public mandate. They function as an extension of the society, duly commissioned and authorized.

The ascent of Hilario extends over a period of forty- five years, a period which encompasses most of the Republi­ can Period. The events of the play, however, depict

Hilario at the moment of his descent. This perspective, 2^7 which in fact is a judgment, reflects the actual historical moment in which the play was written — the early years of the Revolution. This position provides Triana with the necessary aparatus and sufficient distance to comment on the pre-Revolutionary period in toto, the result of which is its condemnation, which is already an historical reality.

Cachita, Hilario's black maid, is among the first to withdraw her support of Hilario. As his employee, her dependency on him carries economic implications, in addition to the political ones deriving from his position. Under no circumstances is Cachita's defense of Hilario altruistic.

She hopes to improve her social and economic position by arranging a marriage between Pablo, Hilario's son, and

Berta, her granddaughter. With this marriage, not only would Cachita benefit from having as an ally someone as powerful as Hilario, but also, as a result, both she and

Berta would given entree into "polite society," since

Pablo is white. Berta, who is in classic fashion "beautiful but mulatta," is well aware of her options within the

Cuban structure. She can either improve her position by marrying someone white, for instance Pablo, or she can go to Havana and become a prostitute like her mother (p. ^5)•

Pablo, however, rejects all suggestions of the marriage.

His rejection leads to Cachita's attack and condemnation of Hilarios 2^8

Mas tarde o mas temprano tendras que saberlo y te horrorizaras. (Como si se transformara en un diablito o ireme.) He vivido y lo se todo. Tu padre no es lo que piensas. Tu padre es un asesino. Yo lo se. Yo lo conozco bien. Esa es la verdad. Tu padre trae la desgracia. Es una maldicion. Todo lo que toca lo desbarata. Nunca podra vivir en paz. Tu padre es una salacion y tiene que desaparecer. (p. 87)

Blanca Estrella, Hilario's wife, is also involved

in the conspiracy. Before her marriage to Hilario, she

resided in a brothel which was frequented by many high-

ranking government officials. Hilario's numerous promotions

within the police force placed Blanca within his reach.

Her beauty and reputation had earned her a modest amount

of fame, but even fame proved an ineffective commodity as

Blanca became the property of Hilario through a bet. This

detail conveniently explains Blanca's presence in the

Garcia household, but, what is more important, it reflects

the low regard for human life, which could be easily

bought and sold. Hilario's attempt to legitimize the

transaction through marriage was met with contempt. With

or without mar:?*age, for Blanca Hilario represents just

another owner. Her search for freedom leads her into

partnership with Juvencio.

Once Pablo is made aware of Blanca's infidelity and betrayal, he attempts to save his father from his enemies.

Hilario sees his son's attempts as a sign of weakness, and 2^9 he responds with violence and rage. He rejects Patio's help, thus sealing his own fate. Hilario rejects the possibility of change, including any suggestion that his way is not the only way. Hilario is a product of a corrupt system. Ironically, he is also its victim:

(Violento.) No quiero saber nada. e Me oyes? A1 diablo. (GolpeHndose el pecho. En un grito.) Yo soy un tipo importante. Yo soy un tipo importante: que reconozcan mis meritos. Que el mundo se ponga de rodillas cuando pase Hilario Garcia. . . . El hermano del Presidente es amigo mio, casi un hermano, nos criamos juntos. Yo perseguire a todos los cuantreros hasta el fin del mundo. Yo necesito un chofer y un Cadillac en la puerta para mi mujer. . . . Yo necesito un palacete con muchos jardines y piscina y criados en Vista Alegre. . . . (p. 106)

There is no hope for Hilario. His values cannot be accommodated into the new system, which, at the time the play was written in 1963, was already a reality. Thus, with the rejection of Pablo, the machinery is finally in place for the murder. At this point in the play, Hilario has lost public support, having been denied the promotion.

He is betrayed by wife and friends and he publicly rejects his son. His death is, consequently, anticlimatic; it is prefigured in the manner and by the values with which he has structured his life.

discussed separately. The first appearance of Cachita on

stage is accompanied by the cantos del Orile. Triana

provides his own explanation for these songs; yet what is more important is the function of these theatrical

properties. According to Triana, these songs should contain

and reflect a kind of violence and sorcery which the play

requires. He states, "Estos cantos deben poseer la violencia y el embrujo necessarios para que la escena por momentos adquiera una dimension de apoteosis sobrehumana."

(p. 18) This statement raises the following question: Is

this violence and witchcraft a characteristic of the cantos

or is it a requirement of the play? Triana believes so, and within the context of the play the cantos, violence, and sorcery become one.

In addition to the songs, and running parallel to the action in the solar, are the spiritualist meetings which take place in the home of Violet, a character who never appears on stage. The cantos del Orile and the spiritualist sessions evoke the demonic ambience which is cricial to

Triana's vision of the pre-Revolutionary period. The artistic elaboration of this particular aspect is kept to a minimum. Access into the world of magic relies not on detail or accuracy, but rather on its accessibility to the public. The cantos del Orile stimulate within the audience a series of visual images and associations. Triana 251 effectively utilizes this process to sustain the presence of the supernatural.

Blanca Estrella reveals to the audience that it was during one of the sessions that she finally decided to free herself from Hilario. Thus, el culto, the super­ natural, is at least indirectly involved in the conspiracy against Hilario. However, with the exception of the cantos which run in a series of crescendos throughout the course of the play, the presence of the Afro-Cuban cult is secon­ dary.

Hilario, the Neque, does not appear on stage until the third act. Yet, thanks to the comments of Cachita, and particularly those of the chorus regarding Hilario's race, which are intended as racial slurs, the audience is well prepared for the animal-like creature who finally emerges. He has one and only one emotion — rage. His gestures, which include beating his chest frequently, are clearly designed to reflect a bestial nature. In this sense we can compare the physical degeneration of his type with the social and political decomposition so perva­ sive within the society. Whether or not this was Triana's intention, it is not difficult to extend this comparison and view many of the social ills which plagued the Republi­ can Period as being directly related to the culto and the superstitious habits which it encourages. Specifically, 252

superstition overshadows reason, and in the case of this

play, Hilario's supernatural powers are responsible for

his crimes against the Cuban people. Because the play

makes no further scrutiny of the political system, this

orientation is ineffective in affecting political and social change.

Statistics will not dispute the fact that blacks and

mulattos filled Batista's army and police force. Yet,

despite this fact, blacks as a group only marginally

profited during this period, as compared with whites.

Triana's use of a mulatto to symbolize the batistato merits

some examination. The mulatto sees himself as the most

vulnerable element within the Cuban social structure. He

is manipulated by the white group and is frequently used

as a weapon against the black. The black group, in turn,

rejects the mulatto, seeing his manipulation as a major

obstacle toward black consciousness and independence. In

the hands of Triana, Hilario is manipulated in just such a manner, to reflect the popular myth that the mulatto is

predisposed to a high level of irrational behavior, violence and savagery. These qualities are used to repre­

sent an artistic explanation for the pervasive disorienta­

tion and fragmentation of an entire society. The success

of this play in 1963 is proof that the myth of the mulatto is alive and well in post-Revolutionary Cuba. 253

Santa Camila de la Habana Vie.ja (1963)1 by Jose Ramon

Brene, presents the Revolution's position with respect to el culto. As its spokesperson, Brene attempts to make a case for Cuban nationalism, which, since, 1959» has been defined by the Revolution. This process of nationalization implicitly requires a demystification of el culto, con­ verting its religious energies into revolutionary ones.

This is no simple task, given the fact that el culto has represented a haven for the groups that had been greatly oppressed during the Colonial and Republican Periods. Con­ sequently, it has been difficult to attack or challenge it directly, since historically el culto has been at variance with the "establishment," representing a kind of passive resistance to the forces of colonialism and imperialism.

Unlike Jose Triana, Brene seeks not to expurge this element from society, but rather to integrate it into society.

What is required is the indoctrination of the nan!go.

In order to promote its integration into the society,

Brene foregrounds el culto in the play. The conversion requires that it figure prominently; it must be confronted as a reality of the Revolutionary period. Consequently, the action of the play takes place during the early months of the Revolution, in May of 1959* Because the action is staged in a solar, Santa Camila has been classified as a sainete de solar, which is a kind of popular musical 25^ dramatic sketch which deals specifically with the life of 35 the lower classes.The play focuses on the story of

Camila, a santera, the guardian of the Afro-Cuban faith.

Her position as santera is crucial to a successful resolu­ tion to the conflict, for the conversion of Camila symbolizes that of the entire cult. The principals in the conflict which ensues are: Camila; Nico, her lover;

Leonor, her rival; and the Revolution. The conflict is reproduced by means of a love story which sees Camila ■V (el culto) converted (seduced) by Nico (the Revolution).

Thus, through a fairly nonpolitical vehicle, a very politi­ cal statement is made.

As a santera, Camila is portrayed as an apolitical member of the society. The Revolution has arrived without directly changing her life:

Camila. . . . No me interesa eso de "pan para todos" ni otras guanajadas por el estilo. Mi vida es vivir con mis santos y querer al hombre que me gusta. . . .3°

This position, which is at first glance harmless., under­ mines the goals and philosophy of the Revolution. Because el culto encourages counterrevolutionary activity and attitudes, Camila is considered a counterrevolutionary.

Suddenly, however, her life is changed when her relationship with Nico is threatened by the Revolution: "Estoy segura, segurisima de que no hay otra mujer. La culpa de todo la 255 tiene la Revolucion y los libros." (p. 27) The immediate •v^ conflict finds its resolution in reuniting Nico and Camila, which in broader terms can be seen as uniting Camila with the Revolution.

Camila's rather lucrative business as santera makes fK' it unnecessary for Nico to work, so he becomes a gigolo.

This life style, this non-productivity, also conflicts with the goals and ideals of Che Guevara and the nuevo hombre. Still, in spite of Nico's easy life, he is among the first to sense its emptiness. He is at a lost to explain it, but begins to question and eventually to reject his relationship with and dependency on Camila. As Nico explains, "Hay que cambiar segun cambia el tiempo y el viento." (p. 11) It is the Revolution which has enabled •V Nico to see himself as he "really is": "Lo que me hiciste fue un chulo indecente." (p. 11) With the realization of

-V who he is, Nico leaves Camila and finds employment. This step symbolically breaks the chain of dependency, the parasitic existence which characterized Triana's pre-

«"V Revolutionary world. Nico's job leads him further and further from Camila, a Camila who has remained in the past, in la Habana Vie.ja, He makes new friends, finds new interests, extending the distance between his old life and the new one. His new life includes Leonor, a gun-toting revolutionary who functions as Camila's immediate rival. 256

In spite of the fact that Leonor represents an immature level of revolutionary consciousness, she instructs Nico, providing him with books and other materials. Leonor's lack of complete understanding of the Revolution prevents the maturation of her relationship with Nico. Moreover,

Nico's revolutionary status is important as a model for

Camila to achieve a similar status. After all, the primary objective of the play is to convert Camila, not Nico. As

Montes Huidobro explains:

La contraparte de Camila es Leonor, la mijjiciana, que es la que da los libros a Nico y le hace ver los factores positivos de la revolucion. . . Leonor es la doctrina revolucionaria, un cliche, igual a cualquier cliche catolico. . .39

It is equally noticeable that, in her relationship with

Nico, Leonor assumes the same role as Camila. In both cases, the women are the aggressors, leaving Nico as dependent. Brene's resolution subtly but unmistakeably requires a reversal of these roles. The events of the

Revolution require Cuban independence, in other words,

Nico's independence. Consequently, Leonor or Camila must assume a subordinate role. Camila, el culto, must bow to the Revolution.

This reversal of roles is accomplished within the play as Nico volunteers for an expedition to rescue a ship which is being detained near the North Pole. The ship’s cargo is vital for the success of the Revolution. Yet the 257 women of the play are the only ones to voice an opposition to the venture. Camila is called on to prevent their attempting such an undertaking. Therefore, the women are viewed as too cautious, as obstacles to the revolutionary movement:

Nico. Ahora que habla del "Triumfador" . <^Que pasa con el? La gente dice que se hunde por ahl. Por eso todos se fueron del barco.

Teodoro. Chismes de corbardes y mujercitas. Ya no hay marinos. Acuerdate de lo que te digo: dentro de poco ver&s a los barcos tripulados por mujeres. ( Que porqueria! (p. 47) Camila's "magic" fails; el culto cannot withstand the power of the movement. The expedition, in the great tradition of the Sierra Maestra, is the turning point of the play. •V Nico's participation in the ship's rescue signals his manhood, his independence. The expedition is achieved by men, thus reenacting the Revolution. "Demostraemos que esta Revolucion es de hombres, y donde hay hombres no hay fantasmas!" (p. 48) Camila's failure to stop the venture is also the failure of el culto. In this manner, el culto is not attacked directly and its past role is not challenged.

Yet, Brene suggests that, in light of the Revolution, this role must indeed change. El culto's function in post-

Revolutionary Cuba is thus limited to its value as an historic artifact. These are the rules for peaceful coexistence between el culto and the Castro regime. This is the result of the reevaluation, the preservation and the utilization of folklore within the Cuban Marxist pro­ gram.

Camila is to some extent left out of this process.

Her only objective is Nico, as is revealed in this brief exchange between the two lovers: "Haz lo que tu quieras.

Yo no pido nada, nunca te ped£ nada. Yo solo quiero que te dejes querer." (p. 53) Camila's conversion is dependent A/ upon that of Nico. This accounts for Nico's claim that he does not care if Camila keeps her gods and continues to believe in el culto. Obviously, we cannot take this •'U' statement at face value. Nico, the Revolution, must indeed be concerned with the beliefs of the Cuban people.

At the heart of revolutionary consciousness lie the beliefs ✓V/ and the values of the people. Therefore, Nico's assertion is not quite correct:

Nada me importa lo que creas. Yo solo quiero romper con todo mi pasado y empezar una vida nueva contigo. (p. 53)

A break with the past and a new life implicitly mean the imposition of new values, along with a different ordering of those values. El culto's previous position within the society, as attested to by the negra's position in Parque de la fraternidad, must be modified. 259

The solution to this problem for Brene and for the

Revolution, as well, has not been radical. If the function

of el culto has been one of emotional and physical support,

then the solution lies in the ability to convincingly

substitute another system for el culto. As a result, the /V following lines of Nico are essential to the process:

"Confia en mi; te protegere." (p. 53) With this line, *\S Nico, a personification of the Revolution, promises eternal

love and support to Camila. In this sense, he will function

in the same manner in which el culto has previously operated.

Thus, el culto is replaced with a revolutionary ideology.

Destruction is the goal of neither Brene nor the Revolu-

tion; Nico has merely exchanged the traditional garb of

Shango for one of olive green.

Unlike Triana's characters, Brene's are not divided

into oppressed/oppressor or even black/white. For Brene

the opposition is between revolutionaries and counter­ revolutionaries. Whites are not the enemy; they are good, loyal Cubans as long as they are aligned with the Revolu­

tion. As Brene's characters demonstrate, machismo does not totally disappear in post-Revolutionary Cuba. The

corrupt authoritarian figure of Perico Fina has given way

to Nico, a fairly mild and amiable version by comparison.

Nico represents a new, acceptable form of machismo. His

goal is not to control Camila by force; rather he seduces 260 her: "Nada tienen que ver los santos con mi carino y con mis ideas. . . Eres tfi la que quiero, Camila!" (p. 53)

Nico's development of consciousness within the play is progressive. This, of course, is in direct opposition to the degeneration which marked Julian, Perico Fina, and

Hilario Garcia in Triana's works. Nico evolves from an animal to a human being, from a counterrevolutionary to a man with a revolutionary consciousness. In the early moments of the play he refers to himself and Camila as animals: "Porque eramos dos animales ciegos." (p. 19)

Their only means of communication has been sex: ". . . N o nos hemos dado mas que deseos." (p. 19) Invested with a “V new consciousness, Nico and Camila can now transcend their animal-like patterns of behavior; the Revolution enables them to share more than passion.

This play, then, represents the indoctrination of the nanigo. The Revolution quietly replaces the African religions, providing comparable physical and emotional support to its followers. Unfortunately, if independence is the goal of the Cuban Revolution, it has failed. Camila is still dependent, now not upon el culto, but upon Nico, the Revolution. The message from Brene, though sugar- coated, is clear: santeria holds the potential to disrupt and destroy the order established by the Revolution. It must bow to the new order. As we noted earlier, Carlos 261

Alberto Montaner stated that a good Communist cannot be a

good ndnigo; Santa Camila de la Habana Vieja is the artistic elaboration of this thought.

El culto, s a n t e n a , naniguismo, all variations of what is commonly termed Afro-Cubanism, are featured in

Jose Ramon Brene's Santa Camila de la Habana Vie.ja. This play dictated the course of compromise and conversion to which el culto was compelled, in order to insure its peace­ ful existence within the present revolutionary structure.

It was believed that failure to adopt this course would undermine the objectives of the Revolution. According to this point of view, those who would persist in pursuing el culto would once more be caught in the grips of barbar­ ism. There existed but two options: that of the revolu­ tionary, who is guided by the scientific precepts of Marx and Lenin, and that of the counterrevolutionary, who

subscribes to a variety of popular beliefs, implicitly inviting the return of imperialism and oppression. Mamieo

Omi Omo (1965)> by Jose Milian, presents the consequences of rejecting the ideals of the Revolution by practicing santeria. Mamieo Omi Omo is set in the interior of Cuba, deep in the mountains. The mountain creates an oppres­ sive environment for the couple, who feel imprisoned by it.

The play revolves around Mamieo, who is a santero.

As the work opens, Mamico is engaged in a conflict with a 262

white man named Dionisio, who is attempting to dispossess

Mamico and his wife Mercedes from their land. To combat

the actions of Dionisio, Mamico employs magic, invoking

the orishas-^ to assist him in destroying his enemy.

This conflict is sidetracked to some extent as Milian

introduces two additional characters: Brunito and Margot.

Margot brings her son Brunito to Mamico and Mercedes

for care, so that she can go to the city and look for

employment. Mamico and Mercedes agree to take the child

and care for him. Approximately eight years later, they

receive word that Margot has married and is coming to get

her child. Mercedes, who is anguished at the thought of

losing Brunito, poisons him. The death of Brunito ends

the play. What remains is an epilogue in which the reader

finds Mamico and Mercedes in jail, punished for the crime

of murder.

We enter the world of el culto by virtue of the fact

that Mamico is a santero, keeper of the orisha. In spite

of this position, Mamico and Mercedes are poor; they have nothing but their land, which has proved both a blessing

and a curse. It is the land which houses Eleggua, and

it is their devotion to Eleggua which ties them to the land:-^

Mamico. Oye Mercedes note atrevas a pensar en irte de aqui. I nunca! . . . Esto debe 263

conservarse corao lo dejo mi abueblo. . . nosotros viviremos para proteger su voluntad. . . .^°

Like zombies, Mamico and Mercedes live in total submission to Eleggua. They are imprisoned by their beliefs, by their faith. Their faith renders them impervious to "logical" considerations. The question of Elegg&a's effectiveness is not at issue; they quite simply hear and obey. The character of Mamico is proof that the presence and power of the orisha exist in the mind of the believer. Therefore,

Mamico sees the presence of Eleggua in nature because he chooses to see it. It is he, Mamico, who, in turn, inter­ prets these signs as divine. Thus, Mamico, the believer, must assume the ultimate responsibility for all actions which are carried out in the name of the orisha:

Mercedes. ^Has contado con Eleggua?

Mamico. Si, han caido las hojas. . . cayeron sobre mi, esa es la serial. (p. 12)

In this play the gods are accessible only to the faithful who believe that the gods use nature as a medium. In this play the medium is the sacred tree, el .jaguey.

This tree, like the one in Triana's Parque. . ., is a symbol of a people's betrayal and disorientation. For

Mamico and Mercedes, the .jaguey is responsible for the death of their own child. Their confused state prevents 26U- anything but a vague account of the event. Still, they accept it as the will of Eleggfia:

Mercedes. Yo tenia uno de tres anos. Pequenito y suave. . . un monito! . . .

Margot. ^

Mercedes. Se murio.

Margot. CSufria mucho?

Mercedes. No se. . . n o hablaba casi. . . muy pocas palabras. Le gustaba mucho irse de la casa para venir hasta el jaguey. . . queria mirarse en el tronco como en un espejo. Pero los jagueyes nunca estan limpios. (p. 13)

Thephysical presence of the jaguey increases in the course of the play. This growth signals an increase in the power and the control which it exerts over Mamico and Mercedes.

The jaguey represents the jungle, barbarism, which swallows up its inhabitants. In the final analysis, the mountain is a prison and the jaguey, the ruler, exerts its supremacy over all elements, forbidding even the light of the sun:

Mamico. Se pierde el sol.

Mercedes. Detras del jaguey!. . . asi hace siempre. . . (p. 21) 265

The .jaguey carries the stench of death. Mercedes recalls the sheets which covered her son, which were stained with blood and feces. Brunito also comments about the odor of the .j aguey:

Mamico. Toma mas. . . aun queda.

Brunito. Tiene mal olor.

Mamico. No es eso. . . eres tu. (p. 25)

The smell of Eleggua, his essence, has become a part of the believer. The act of possession is an assurance that

Eleggua and the believer are one; it also signals a degeneration of the human species. Mamico and Mercedes move from a human toward an animal-like existence. In addition, they both develop a sign of physical debilita­ tion, a cough, which increases as the plot to murder Brunito advances. Santeria has thus caused a reversal in the evolutionary process. However, even as an animal, Mamico has failed. He exists without the instincts for survival; he is helpless to end his hunger and that of his familyi

Mamico .

Mercedes. Hambre!

Mamico. Seis anos.

Mercedes. Hambre!. . . (p. 19) 266

Mamico’s .dependence upon Eleggua is so great that he

is unable to fulfill even his primary needs. His only activity lies in the performance of ritual sacrifices to

Eleggua: "Se quien puede abrirnos los caminos. . . Eleggua hara el milagro. . . / ten fe!" (p. 22) The non-productivity

of Mamico and, by extension, of all believers, is caused by Eleggua, by their dependence and faith in el culto. In fact, the only activity in which they actively participate is the murder of Brunito. Thus, all roads lead to death and destruction.

Milian effectively uses the technical device of doubles to create the phenomenon of ego/alter-ego and also that of spiritual possession. The reader is never certain if the Mamico-Eleggua figure which appears to Mercedes is

Mercedes' alter-ego, contemplating the unthinkable, the murder of Brunito, or if indeed it is a spiritual posses­

sion, demanding the sacrifice of the child. The only certainty is the confusion, which is deliberate. This con­ fusion represents the state of mind, the utter clutter, which afflicts Mamico and all believers. Mamico and

Mercedes are unable to respond rationally to the possibility of their losing Brunito. They lash out at the world, which they feel has dealt them one more blow. Margot, Brunito's natural mother, becomes the reincarnation of Dionisio, and the death of Brunito thus becomes a vindication for all 267

the injustices the couple suffers. Their departure from

the mountain coincides with the establishment of order, but ironically transports the couple from one form of

imprisonment to another. Even in jail, they are not free

from their former captor; Eleggua makes another visit:

Mamico. Es Eleggua que viene.

Mercedes. No. /* no,quiero verlo! . . . CQue quiere de mi? £a que vienes? . . . yo no tengo la culpa! (Fue tu voluntad!. . . (p. 40)

With the arrival of Eleggua in the jail cell, darkness

once more overpowers the scene. Mamico and Mercedes are left to confront the darkness and emptiness of their own minds. In the final analysis, Eleggua is a monster, a flesh- craving, blood sucking fiend who destroys both body and mind. All those associated with el culto are punished:

Mamico, Mercedes, Margot, and Brunito. Unlike Jose Ramon

Brene, Milian challenges the possibility of peaceful co­

existence with santeria. Eleggua (el culto) must be

expunged from Cuban society. Given the fact that Eleggua

exists in the mind of the believer, those who do not voluntarily convert must confront public order, the order

of the Revolution:

Mamieo-Eleggua. Yo existo en tu cerebro. . . vine por eso. . . porque estoy en ti. . .no me esperes afuera. (p. 41) 268

Montes Huidobro concludes his discussion of Mamico

Omi Omo with the following statement: "Mamico Omi Omo deja una extrana impresion para los no iniciados en el rito. . . se pasa a la magia confusa, autentica, en estado « 4-0 puro, ni artistico ni politico propiamente dicho. .

While Mamico Omi Omo may not be explicitly political, it is so implicitly. Art is not an abstraction; it receives its life through the meaning which first the writer and, later, the reader gives it. Consequently, all art reflects a value system. Santeria, within the post-Revolutionary system, is assigned a negative value. In this play, it has been stripped of all lyricism and serves as a testament to human savagery and degradation.

As I mentioned earlier, one of the chief goals of the Revolution was to reevaluate, preserve, and utilize

Cuban folklore. The results of this ongoing project are offered to the Cuban people as a reinterpretation of their own history. The message/content of this reevaluation in many ways restates the goals of the early Republican years, which were essentially that Cubans of all races, colors, and creeds share a common cultural heritage, which anticipates a common cultural future. Literature stands as one of the most important elements of this cultural monolith. The Afro-religious cultural heritage, including el culto, is not encouraged as a religion, as it clearly 269

undermines the Marxist direction in which the country is moving. However, it is most effective as part of the

revolutionary apparatus, which requires the reconstruction

of a national mythology. In this capacity el culto has been quite aggressive, allowing black participation within

the post-Revolutionary structure. It is in the context

of a new national mythology that Shango de Ima by Pepe Lo Carril was brought to the stage.

Shango de Ima is a product of the Teatro Guinol, which was initially created as a theater for children, in 1963*

This troupe’s production are distinguished by the use of JLi-3 a combination of people and puppets. J Shango de Ima is

a reinterpretation of the myth of the creation of man within

a purely African philosophical framework. This play presents a series of legends, the many versions of which are joined to illustrate one aspect of the orisha Shango.

The material upon which the play is based originated in

Nigeria, as part of the oral tradition. This play con­

stitutes one of the few attempts to collect this material and present it in written form. The information and rituals presented therein remain intact, permitting only those modifications necessary to its adaptation within the

Cuban literary tradition.

Shango typifies man's never-ending struggle in the LLl world to gain mastery of himself. For this reason, he 270 traditionally has been one of the most popular orishas.

In this version of his legend, Shango is the child of

ObatalS, the creator deity. He is sent out into the world to find his "father," which serves as a pretext for a personal quest for his own identity. In the world, Shango encounters three female orishas, Yemaya, Oya, and Oshun, who rear him. These sub-deities represent the forces of natural growth, change, and harmony. He later marries

Obba, an orisha associated with the world of trade and commerce. Conflict arises as Shango abuses his wife and seduces both Oya and Oshun. His actions anger Ogun, orisha of war and power, who engages Shango in battle.

Defeated, Shango appears before Olofi, the supreme god of judgment, and is sentenced to the recurring cycles of birth and death.

Shango is a most sympathetic figure, admired by his followers for his physical prowness and his generous nature. It is the intensity of life that attracts most followers to Shango. When they pray to him, they share in his life force and it, in turn, helps them to achieve a higher level of existence. According to Mircea Eliade, the man who understands a symbol not only "opens himself" to the objective world, but at the same time succeeds in emerging from his personal situation and reaching a compre- hension of the universal. 271

Shango is the typical tragic hero, who brings a calamity on himself which is out of proportion to his flaw.

In his own defense, Shango voices the dilemma which faces all mankind; he is guilty of being himself:

I am, Obatala, what I am. . . Obba is what she is. . . 1 want every woman in my kingdom to understand and experience this supreme and perfect gift that Olofi has given to man. If I was not the receptacle of this gift I would be someone else, not the Shango you know. The air would be different, the fire and the skies would remain dark eternally. This gift of light, of birth, of fire and flame is as it is and if Olofi orders my punishment for using what he himself has given me, then I reject that punish­ ment. . . (pp. 88-89) Shango is guilty of being Shango. He does not request forgiveness, but rather reasserts his own identity. As

Obatala states, his punishment lies in his own condition:

The joy which makes suffering possible, the birth which leads to death will be your punishment and the punishment of all men. . . You are, by the designation of Olofi, eternal keeper of fire, of the sun's ray, of thunder, of flame, but your followers must then also know the shadow that extinguishes these great lights. (p. 89)

Shango has been particularly popular because he represents man's never-ending struggle to overcome the adversities of life. His strength, arrogance, and ability have all been translated into his followers' language of survival.

With respect to the African philosophy, the orishas are forces which man takes into himself through the act of 272 possession, thus intensifying himself and the force as well. This act gives man access to the universal forces

of nature. For the black, slave or freed, the act of possession served as a means to transcend the immediate

environment, which was restrictive and oppressive. The

slave system contradicted the Yoruba religion, which made no distinction between the natural world and the human world of feelings and ideas.

Possession is the major source of criticism of

santeria. It is a part of the religious encounter which has been interpreted by most Westerners as a trance, the result of collective delirium or orgiastic frenzy. This

attitude is evident in all the plays I have discussed which have treated this subject. As Janheinz Jahn has

observed, the state of possession is not produced in the midst of a crowd excited by mystical enthusiasm. Rather,

the rite requires that the gods be present at precise and

specific moments during the course of the ceremony and

that they never fail to appear at the anticipated moment. 46 Thus, possession is a highly controlled phenomenon.

Criticism of possession focuses on the trance-like

state, in which the individual presumably relinquishes control of himself and his environment. Recent studies

of the phenomenon suggest that possession is similar to hypnosis in that consciousness is only narrowed, not 273 removed, so that the dancer still finds himself aware h.r7 of the external world. ' The result is that the dancer receives the orisha and embodies it in his movements and his speech. Still, the question arises as to why one would invite a possession. One reason for the willingness to receive the orisha is a desire for union with the creative source of life, which is essentially an affirmation of life itself.

Many observers have noted the utopian function of the phenomenon of possession, which would permit the slave, the lowest human commodity, to become a god, if only for a moment. Others have reflected on the political nature of the possession, which is controlled and regulated by blacks, free from the censuring hand of the white.

Moreover, during slavery, possession assumed spacial qualities, as it represented a "place" where slaves could go to be free. White suppression only served to increase the activity; prohibition led to secrecy, which in turn resulted in the religion's becoming a cult. Possession simultaneously personified all political, social, and economic resistance by the black. In any case, possession should not be viewed as a means to avoid responsibility; it is in its essence a reponsibility; it is in its essence a responsible act. This is evidenced first and foremost by the fact that possession does not simply take place. 274

One cannot will a possession onto another; the experience

is possible only if the believer accepts and invites the

possession. Therefore, the popular myth that people become "zombies" through spiritual possession is unfounded.

Properly seen, possession is man's manipulation of his

environment to achieve a desired goal. The word santero,

which describes the profession of Bebo la Reposa, Camila,

and Mamico, means "maker of saints, creator."

The santero1s task thus is to direct an individual

through his everyday life and to awaken him to spiritual

truth. He/she functions much in the same way as a modern-

day psychotherapist, social worker, or minister. As

guardian of the Faith, the resistance movement, it is

expected that the santero oppose many popular social values

and ethics, as these do not represent universal human

values, but rather reflect life styles which vary from

nation to nation, from person to person. Therefore, the

role of rebel is not at all at odds with the functions

and duties of the santero and the believers, who accept

their place as outcasts within the social structure. It

is not, however, the believer who is the servant of the

orisha; rather, it is the orisha who is the servant of man.

The orisha, like music and dance, is manipulated; it is

invoked by man, to serve him. Possession implies an opening

toward the spirit and, finally, an access to the universal. 275

Sacrifice is another essential component of the

Yoruba religion. It may adopt many forms; for instance, it may take the form of a personal commitment to refrain from undertaking a social act or eating an item of food.

It may assume the form of an attitude or of an offering to an orisha; in the case of the latter, it need not require the blood sacrifice of a human being. The act of sacrifice, when it does occur, is seen as necessary in order to maintain the African sense of balance; one must give up something in order to gain something. This give-and-take system is not considered a punishment; it is the essence of the life cycle, which requires a balance between man and nature. Man functions in this world; his actions and wishes must not alter any funcamental laws of the cosmos.

Shango and all those who follow him accept the will of Olofi. They have no choice but to accept and to struggle, as such is the destiny of man.

Carlos Felipe's return to Cuba's pre-World War I period, and his romanticized portrait of the underworld figure Alejandro Yarini account for the characterization of the black figures within the framework of sex and super­ stition. Similarly, Triana's return to the Republican

Period in Medea. . ., Parque. . ., and La Muerte del Neque assures those black characters of stereotyped portrayals too. By contrast, Jose Brene's Santa Camila confronts the 276

Revolution's transitional period of 1959• But like the plays of Felipe and Triana, he finds the lure of Afro-

Cuban occultism potent. Despite the fact that Brene does not launch an attack on santeria as does Jose Milian in

Mamieo Omi Omo, he does find el culto incompatible with the spirit and program of the Revolution.

It is only with the play Shango de Ima by Pepe Carril that el culto is neither directly or indirectly attacked.

However, consistent with the regime's withdrawal of support to any religious groups, the success of the Carril play is the result of the recognition and promotion of black culture within the folkloric tradition.

For all the changes brought forth by the Revolution, the image of the black in these seven plays has continued along the lines established during the Republican Period. CONCLUSION

Since the nineteenth century, an effort to develop its

own policy of assimilation, integration, and hispanization has led Cuba consciously to supress black awareness,

implicitly propagating a literature of tutelage with respect

to blacks. This circumstance has all but silenced black literature, modifying the black experience for presentation

to the white world. In Pre-revolutionary Cuba, during

the Colonial and Republican periods, the black was pre­

sented in a comic fashion, set in a false lyricism. From a socio-historical point of view, black culture exerted pressure from below on all levels of Cuban society. This pressure peaked in the 1920s, as part of the Afro-Cuban movement. Yet the Negroid poems of Guillen and his con­ temporaries constitute no more than individual expressions

of socially inspired themes which had already been antici­ pated by a syncretic culture, which calls for all races, colors, and creeds to share a common cultural heritage.

What it fails to state explicitly, yet communicates implicitly, is that there does exist a dominant culture in

Cuba. Since the sixteenth century the criollo, descendant of the Spaniards, has occupied the hegemonic position.

Despite the multiracial character of Cuba, a hierarchy has

277 278

remained in place, with the criollo representing the

dominant group. This peculiar situation has produced

numerous works which have dealt thematically with blacks, but very few works written by blacks or authentically

treating the black experience.

In the Post-revolutionary period, neither Marx nor

Marti, the two prophets of the Revolution, understood race

as it is apprehended in the second half of the twentieth

century. Their underdeveloped concept of race denied to both blacks and whites a true understanding of race and its

function within the cultural and social structure. Sociolo­

gists tell us that it is within the racial or ethnic

grouping that all individuals form their first relationships,

their deepest dependencies, and the most important bases 2 of emotional ambivalence. The removal of such a structure, whether conscious or unconscious, through legal or illegal means, invites emotional instability, insecurity, and

anxiety — in short, a severe identity crisis. Within the

Cuban environment, an accurate and realistic description

of blacks is nearly impossible for either blacks or whites.

Hispanization or cultural unity, which has been the goal

in both the Pre-revolutionary and Post-revolutionary periods, has consciously encouraged assimilation and

integration, and as a result, has threatened the very existence of the black group. 279

Marxism has not sufficiently demonstrated that prejudice and racism are linked solely to capitalistic structures. Although we concede that many pseudo-scientific theories of racial differences have attained their most thorough elaboration in the Western world, we recognize that exploitation based on racial distinction preceded the development of such theories. In fact, whenever pheno­ typical differences have occurred between groups of people, racial prejudices have arisen. The end of colonialism does not mean merely redrawing political maps, severing old ties, and establishing new ones. As one writer has observed, true independence is far from being merely a political phenomenon.-^ In the case of Post-revolutionary

Cuba, there has been no reappraisal of values with respect to black people.

Castroites argue that the introduction of Marxism into the Cuban system will eventually level out cultural life and do away with all separate traditions of style and thought. This position has led to the present racial policy of assimilation and integration. Yet, as Harold

Cruse points out, social and racial equality remain intangible goals unless they are related to the seizure and retention of objectives which can be used as levers to exert political, social, economic, and administrative Ll power in society. He further adds that such power cannot 280 be wielded from integrated lunch counters, waiting rooms, schools, housing, or baseball teams.^ The elimination of black identity is too high a price to pay for cultural unity or revolutionary solidarity. As Addison Gayle reminds us, it is one thing to accept the guiding principles on which a society is founded, and it is quite another to accept the prevailing practices which violate those principles.^ The racial "harmony" of Cuba since the Race

War of 1912 has not signaled an end to racism. The fact that certain modes of behavior are culturally and socially accepted does not imply an absence of racial prejudice.

The theater of the Cuban Revolution has utilized extensively several elements from black culture. It has not, however, overcome certain ethnocentric attitudes which argue for the rightness and superiority of the criollo group, judging all others by criollo standards and retaining a latent hostility toward all other groups. The utilization of black forms, which has increased during the present, Post-revolutionary period, does not signal the development of a black literature. Black literature is not simply the mechanical manipulation of black elements; it is first and foremost functional within the black com­ munity. As Leopold Senghor has argued, all African art is collective, functional,■ binding and committed to black 281

7 people.' It is not defined by its color or by external features, such as music, idiom, or dance.

This question of definition is a serious one for black literature. It has been restricted in the Americas by a tendency to separate the product from the source. The source of all black literature is Africa. Therefore, any definition of black literature must consider Africa and the

African philosophy. The Bantu use the word hantu to 0 categorize concepts with respect to both place and time.

This concept, as applied to African culture, means that time and place are indivisible. What has occurred in

European scholarship has been a separation of the temporal and spacial aspects of African culture. This separation views the whole black experience as a question of color, rather than of culture.

The black is a soul without a cultural or historical base. Consequently, cultural traditions have been translated into racial traits. In Cuba and other countries within the

Western literary tradition, the presence of black characters, black music, or black idiom has been the sole basis for identifying black literature. However, since the difference between cultures does not lie in the elements themselves, but rather in the ordering of these elements and in their relationship to each other, the above criteria are unaccep­ table and unworkable. 282

To briefly restate a few of the basic principles of

African art, art is not an abstraction. It is functional

within the black community, reflecting the experience of

the people from which it emanates. The literature of

any people grows organically out of the experience of a that people. African art affirms that art lies not

exclusively in the end product, but in the process of

creation, in the very act of creating. This requirement

elevates man to a pre-eminent position with respect to art.

At the same time, it frees art from the museums and gal­

leries in which it is stored in Western society. It recog­

nizes that the value of art lies not in the object, but in

the mind and spirit which created it. By placing man

above art, art becomes real only when man gives it meaning.

Within the area of literature, this relationship between

man and art translates into a primacy of words over image.

Within the Western tradition, the color black has become

synonymous with evilness, ugliness, and inferiority. Black

is not inherently evil and ugly, nor is white inherently

good and beautiful. Finally, the African philosophy does

not support the theory that the world is governed by the

opposite forces of good and evil. It recognizes one

universal force, of which all things are a part. All

forces, even divine ones, have both destructive and con­

structive possibilities. Technically, African philosophy 283 places few restraints on art, avoiding any strictly methodological regulations? in general it considers that content determines and regulates form. Toward that end, the African aesthetic requires a human activity which harmonizes meaning, rhythm, sense, and form.

Neo-African art and literature is a part of the

African continuum and, as such, reflects much the same spirit as African art. It has, of course, made adjustments and modifications in response to its environment. However, these adjustments do not entail an abandonment of its primary objectives. The recent proliferation of black elements within the post-Revolutionary Cuban theater is, in essence, a reaffirmation of the folkloric tradition, which was established in the early years of the Cuban

Republic. The "new" folklore, like its predecessor, is an expression of syncretic culture and does not reflect black consciousness. Black culture and, specifically, black religion still are constantly under attack, both explicitly, as in Mamico Omi Omo, and implicitly, as in

Requiem nor Yarini. They are the object of negative associations with anti-social and counterrevolutionary activities. This literature transmits two sublimal messages, in which black culture is either romantically primitive or primitively destructive. It functions only within a historical context; it is exhibited on state occasions, 284 during folkloric festivals, and for propagandistic purposes, as a testament to Cuban racial harmony.

Therefore, I believe that, regardless of its origin or motive, this recent Cuban literature is offensive, presumptuous, and destructive material which tends to relegate black literature to the role of historical arti­ fact, suggesting that its value is outdated or obsolete.

Black art, in any context, is not predicated solely on the retrieval of an African cultural heritage; such a function would contradict the very basis of African art. Black art is not the exclusive property of governments, to regulate at will; it belongs to the people to whom it owes its very existence. Black art is first and foremost committed to the growth and development of black people.

While I recognize that c\ilture is not tied exclusively to race, it is equally true that black culture that is exclusively in the hands of whites cannot be authentic.

There can be no substitute for the black voice in black art.

Black artists and critics must view with concern attempts to manipulate black art as part of the East/West power struggle. They must view critically those structures and doctrines which promise equality in exchange for identity; in this case, the cure is worse than the disease.

If we understand art as the reflection of life, then 285 blacks must be involved in all phases of artistic produc­ tion. The black person need not become a black European,

American, or Cuban, or return to the bush to relive the past. To paraphrase Janheinz Jahn, black people can, to whatever extent they choose, integrate into modern life any and all things from the past which they consider valuable.

This process allows for the establishment of a tradition with values that are made explicit and are constantly 10 renewed. It may then assimilate any other elements which modern times demand. Toward this end, European elements can be transformed and adapted, so that a viable modern 11 African culture can arise out of the whole.

I believe that the human experience is best inter­ preted and preserved through literary art, since art seeks to give a comprehensive picture of human life. S. H.

Butcher's analysis of Aristotle's Poetics argues that it is the office of the poet to uncover the central meaning of the facts, to transform them into truths by supplying vital connections and causal links, "thus setting the 12 seal of reason upon the outward semblances of art."

Moreover, a work of art is not a semblance opposed to reality, but the image of reality which has been penetrated by the i d e a . this manner literature most adequately expresses the human element. 286

Therefore, the black writer cannot be detached; moral

opposition to injustice and prejudice is not a matter of choice, but is demanded by circumstance. This vigilance calls upon African citizens worldwide to actively participate

or to risk extinction. The absence of the black voice in

Cuba places the Cuban black in danger of extinction. The goals of cultural unity and revolutionary solidarity have not produced a peaceful meeting of blacks and whites.

Rather, these goals have required a surrender of black identity and an annihilation of black culture. The present regime in Cuba has confronted racism solely within a socio­ economic context. Although we concede that racism can

indeed be a manifestation of economic exploitation, the continuing problem lies in the ethnocentric behavior and attitudes still prevalent in Cuba, which, seeing Western

Europe as the definitive model for all human development.

Promotes Western culture in an attempt to achieve cultural unity.

Black people do not cause racism. Rather, racism is the result of ethnocentric attitudes which hold oneself and one's way of life as superior to all others. Attacking only the economic manifestations of racism without addressing the superstructure or while implicitly encourag­ ing these attitudes is an illogical and ineffective course for combatting racism. Drama has had a long and illustrious development in both Western and African literatures. Like all art forms, it seeks to give a comprehensive picture of human life, aspiring toward the perfection of reality. In the Poetics

Aristotle praises and elevates drama above all the other arts, both "fine and useful," arguing that in drama the 1 Zj. poetic imitation of life attains its perfect form. By comparison he argues that music's expressive powers are weak, and that the plastic arts, such as painting and sculpture, fall short in attempting to reproduce life through inert material.'*'^ For Aristotle only dance rivals drama in terms of its expressive qualities, and, according

1 fi to Marcel Mauss, dance is drama. Drama transforms its facts into truths, surpassing history in its ability to 17 "exhibit a more rigorous connexion of events." ' Speci­ fically, drama observes a stricter and more logical order 1 8 than that of actual experience. Carter Woodson has commented that the way to understanding African culture is through the African theater. According to Woodson, traditional African drama is the unwritten literature of the African people, their philosophy and their history.

Therein one finds both their conscious and unconscious attitudes toward life, and the convergence of the African past and present. More recently Bakary Traore has made a similar observation in his book The Black African Theater 288 and Its Social Function, in which he refers to the theater IQ as a "resum§ of life and creatures and things." 7 More­ over, the myths, poems, and stories of African drama 20 constitute the totality of African wisdom.

In both the Western and African traditions drama seeks to present a coherent series of events which are bound together by the law of cause and effect. Together they represent a complete and typical action, the perfection of reality. It is this goal of representing reality to which black aesthetics aspires, and it is through the theater, this resume of African life, that the task of rebuilding the image of the black should rightly begin. Notes

Introduction

■^Addison Gayle, Jr., "Introduction," in The Black

Aesthetic, ed. Addison Gayle, Jr. (New York: Doubleday &

Company, Inc., 1971), p. xxiii. 2 Gayle, pp. xxii-iv.

•^For a more detailed explanation of black literature, see Darwin T. Turner, "Introductory Remarks about the

Black Literary Tradition In the United States of America," in Ethnic Literature Since 1776: The Many Voices of

America, Part I (Lubbock, Texas: Texas Tech Press, 1978, pp. 71-8 6.

Ll Any work of this nature must at some point address the question of black literature, seeking above all to establish a definition, Until very recently, "black literature" was identified by the presence of any number of external features, such as onomatopoeia, anaphora, alli­ teration, or a specialized idiom, creating what some critics have called a false black literature, which perpetuates one-dimensional, stereotyped figures. This study proposes a definition which looks beyond the presence of these

289 290

elements, believing that found in black literature there

can be a common denominator which transcends the barriers

of language or nationalities.

^Alain Locke, "The Negro and the American Theatre,"

in The Black Aesthetic, ed. Addison Gayle, Jr. p. 267.

^H. Hoetink, Slavery and Race Relations in the

Americas (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1973)> P* 1^7*

^Blanqueamiento is the whitening out or bleaching of

the black race in order to achieve the somatic preference

of the white race. O Hoetink, Chapter IV, "Culture, Race, and National

Identity."

^See Thomas G. Mathews, "The Project for a Confera-

tion of the Greater Antilles," Caribbean Historical Review,

III, iv (December 195*0 » PP* 70-107.

*°Jose Marti, "Mi Raza," Patria, April 16, 1893*

11 Salvador Bueno, "Aproximaciones a la vida y la obra

de Fernando Ortiz," Casa de las Americas, no. 113» 1979»

pp. 119-128.

12 Salvador Bueno, p. 125*

"^Munro S. Edmondson, Lore: An Introduction to the

Science of Folklore and Literature (New York: Holt,

Rinehart, & Winston, Inc., 1971)» PP* 1-2. 291

1 Zl Janheinz Jahn, Neo-African Literature: A History of

Black Writing (New Yorks Grove Press, Inc., 1968), p. 17•

* -’Elizabeth Sutherland, The Youngest Revolution

(New Yorks The Dial Press, Inc., 1969)1 p. 98. 1 f\ Expressed by Castro in a press conference on

January 23, 1959* in response to a North American journalist.

See Hugh Thomas, Cubas The Pursuit of Freedom (New Yorks

Harper & Row, 1971)» P« 1120.

■^Fernando Ortiz, Marti y las razas (La Habanas

Comision nacional organizadora de los Actos y Ediciones

del Centenario y del Monumento de Marti, 1953)* P* 7* 1 R Karl Marx, Capital III, ed. Frederick Engels

(New Yorks International Publishers, 1967), pp. 919-992.

■^See "Literature of the Hispanic Caribbean," Roberto

Gonz&lez Echevarria, Latin American Literary Review 8,

No. 16, 1980.

20 Harold Cruse, "Revolutionary Nationalism and the

Afro-American," in Black Fire, eds. Leroi Jones and Larry

Neal (New Yorks William Morrow & Company, Inc., 1968), p. 59-

^Cruse, p. 59-

22 While Alport does not specifically mention psycho­

logical elimination in his discussion of prejudice, it 292

does surface as an effective form of group extermina­

tion.

2^Echevarria, p. 11.

oh, Miriam DeCosta, "Introduction," in Blacks in Hispanic

Literature, ed. Miriam DeCosta (Port Washington, N.Y.:

Kennikat Press, 1977)> P* 3*

^Although this study is primarily concerned with the

theater, research into other areas has not revealed the

presence of a black voice in either the Cuban narrative

or poetic genres. See Part One, Chapter Four of this

study.

p f. Ron Karenga, "Black Cultural Nationalism," in The

Black Aesthetic, ed. Addison Gayle, Jr., p. 33*

^Richard Jackson, The Afro-Spanish American Authors

An Annotated Bibliography of Criticism (New York: Garland

Publishing, Inc., 1980), p. xiii. pO Richard Jackson, p. xiii.

2^DeCosta, p. 5*

-^Jean Paul Sartre, "Orphee Noir," in Anthologie de la nouvelle poesie negre et malgache, L.S. Senghor, Paris,

1952.

-^Hoyt W. Fuller, "Towards a Black Aesthetic," in

The Black Aesthetic, ed. Addison Gayle, Jr., p. 9- 293

•^DeCosta, p. 5*

■^Yvonne C. Williams, Lecture, "Introduction to Black

Studies," College of Wooster, Wooster, Ohio, Fall Quarter,

1980.

-^See Fernando Ortiz, Roger Bastide, and Melville

Herskovits. These sources and others discuss the origin of America's black population.

■^See Gonzalez Natividad Freire, Teatro Cubano (La

Habana: Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, 1961),

PP. 153-57.

•^Santeria is black religion centered in the worship of African deities and Christian saints, predominantly

Yoruba, from Nigeria or Lucumi. Naniguismo is a secret cult of blacks which originated among the Efiks of eastern

Nigeria.

PART I

Chapter I

(Pages 23-31)

1 "The Conflict and Fusion of Cultures with Special

Reference to the Negro," Journal of Negro History, p. 177, 294 in Myth of the Negro Past, Melville Herskovits, (Boston:

Beacon Press, 1941)* p. 36. 2 Joseph Tillinghast, The Negro in Africa and America in Myth of the Negro Past, p. 59-

^J.M. Mecklin, Democracy and Race Friction, A Study in Social Ethics in Myth of the Negro Past, p. 82.

Ll Martha Cohb, Harlem, Haiti and Havana: A Comparative

Critical Study of Langston Hughes, Jacque Roumain, and

Nicolas Guillen (Washington, D.C.: Three Continents Press,

Inc., 1979)» p. 21.

•'’John Mbiti, African Philosophy and Religions, in

Harlem, Haiti and Havana, p. 21.

Ruth Finnegan, Oral Literature in Africa (London:

Oxford University Press, 1970), p. 2.

Chapter II

(Pages 32-47)

R.R. Madden, Poems by a Slave, p. 45, in Slave Society in Cuba during the Nineteenth Century, Franklin W. Knight

(Madison, Wisconsin: University Press, 1974), p. 59*

^Knight, p. xiv. ■^Jack Gratus, The Great White Lie, Slavery, Emancipation and Changing Racial Attitudes (London: Hutchinson & Co.,

1973). p. 13.

^Knight, p. 39.

^Knight, p. 3 8.

^Knight, p. 43.

"^Knight, p. 4 3.

®Knight, p. 43.

^Knight, p. 50.

10Knight, p. 60 .

^Knight, p. 60 .

12Knight, p . 62.

1^Knight, p. 67.

^Knight, p . 64.

^ H u g h Thomas, Cuba: The Pursuit of Freedom (New York:

Harper & Row, 1971), p. 114. 1 fs Thomas, p. 114.

^Thomas, p. 170.

■^Thomas, p. 176.

■*"^Thomas, p. 187.

20Knight, p. 87. 296

21Knight, p. 88.

22 This was an anti-slavery bill introduced by Colonial

Minister Segismundo Moret y Prendergast and approved by the Spanish Cortes on July 1870.

2-^Ley Moret, Havana: Impr. del Govierno, 1873*

oh, James Montgomery, Description of Africa and the

Negro, in The Great White Lie, p. 110.

2-%ee Jose Antonio Saco y sus ideas cubanas, Fernando

Ortiz Fernandez (Havana: Universo, 1929)» PP* 73-7^ and

Franklin Knight, p. 99*

Chapter III

(Pages ^8-71)

Rafael Fermoselle, Politica y Color en Cuba

(Montevideo, Uruguay: Ediciones Geminis, 197^)* p* 9»

2Jose Marti, "Mi Raza," Patria, April 16, 1893•

-^Fermoselle, p. 17*

k . Fermoselle, p. 60.

-’Fermoselle, p. 60.

^Fermoselle, p. 70.

^Fermoselle, p. 60. o Fermoselle, p. 60.

^Harold F. Howland, "Saving a People from Themselves

Outlook, v. 84, p. 4-59* See Fermoselle, p. 68. I n "Detachment of 100 U.S. Sailors Lands at Havana. .

New York Times, 14 September 1906, p. 2. II "Taft and Bacon Going to Cuba," New York Times

15 of September 1906, p. 1.

12 United States Bureau of the Census, Censo de la

Republica de Cuba, bajo la administracion provisional de los Estados Unidos, 1908.

■^U.S. Bureau of the Census, 1908. 14 U.S. Bureau of the Census, 1908.

S. Bureau of the Census, 1908. 1 fi A copy of this Manifest is included in: Mayor W.E.

Beach, 15 Caballeria, in charge of the Secret Service in

Santa Clara, to Mayor General T.H. Barry, 16 of September

1907» C C , PgoC, National Archives Building, RG199» File

014/20. Cited in Fermoselle, p. 110.

17 1Fermoselle, p. 111.

1 fi Serafin Portuondo Linares, Los independientes de

Color: Historia del Partido Independiente de Color

(La Habana: Ministerio de Education, 1950), pp. 63-9 0 . *^Fernando Portuondo, Historia de Cuba (La Habana:

Minerva, 1950), p. 592. 20 Thomas P- 672. 21 Thomas, P* 672.

22Thomas, P- 746.

2^Thomas, P* 794. 2k Thomas, P- 637.

-'Thomas, P- 683. p Thomas, 713. P- * 27 'Thomas, P- 1120, using figures from census of

2®Census figures of 1899- See Thomas, p. 463. 2Q ^Census figures of 1943. See Thomas, p. 1114.

-^Census figures of 1953* See Thomas, p. 1120.

Thomas, P- 1119.

-^Thomas, P* 1120.

-'^Thomas, P* 851.

Chapter IV

(Pages 72-104)

A / V Nicolas Guillen, "Cana," Songoro Consongo, 4th ed.

(Buenos Aires: Editorial Losada, S.A., 1967)1 P« 31- 299

p Roberto Gonzalez Echevarria, "Hispanic Literature

of the Caribbean," LALR, Vol. VIII, No. 16, 1980, p. 4-.

-^The Moslems who dominated Spain were not a homo­

geneous people. A minority of Arabs, themselves an inter­ racial group, pushed the Moslem religion westward, con­ verting the people in their path to Islam. Their converts were Africans. h, Martha Cobb, "Afro-Arabs, Blackamoors and Blacks:

An Inquiry into Race Concepts Through Spanish Literature,"

in Blacks in Hispanic Literature, ed. Miriam DeCosta, p. 24.

-’This work by Jose Antonio Fernandez de Castro includes works which he defines as having a "tema negro," written between 1608 and 1935* It does not, however, prove to be exhaustive.

^Fernando Ortiz, "Prologo," Historia de la esclavitud de la raza africana en el nuevo mundo y en especial en los raises americo-hispanas (Havana: Cultural, S.A., 1938), p. x i . 7 'G. R. Coulthard, Race and Colour in Caribbean Liter­ ature (London: Oxford University Press, 1962), p. 13. Q Antonio Mario Zambrana, Francisco, p. 153» in Race and Colour in Caribbean Literature, p. 1 3. 300

^Cirilo Villaverde, "Prologo," Cecilia Valdes (La

Habana: P. Fernandez y Cia, 1941), p. v. 1 0 Fernando Ortiz, Los bailes y el teatro de los negros en el folklore de Cuba (La Habana: Publicaciones del ministerio de educacion, direccion de cultura, 1951)» p. 155.

1 1 Richard L. Jackson, The Black Image in Latin

American Literature (Albuquerque: University of New

Mexico Press, 1976), p. 46.

■^Nicolas Guillen, Prosa de Prisa, in The Black Image in Latin American Literature, p. 45.

■^Carter Woodson, African Background Outlined

(Washington, D.C.: The Association for the Study of Negro

Life and History, Inc., 1936), p. 453* *1 ^4* Bakary Traore, Le theatre africain (Paris: Presence

Africaine, 1970), p. 56.

^-^Marcel Mauss, Manual d 'Ethnographie, in Los bailes y el teatro de los negros, p. 179*

16 Yolanda Aguirre, Aountes sobre el teatro colonial

(1790-1833) (La Habana: Direccion de publicaciones empresora universitaria, 1968), p. 88.

^Addison Gayle, Jr. in The Black Image in Latin

American Literature, p. 3 6. 301

l8Natividad Gonzalez Freire, Teatro Cubano, (La Habana:

Ministerio de relaciones exteriores, 1961), P- 9*

19 - ^Gonzalez Freire, PP . 9-14.

20Jahn, p. 142.

21 Gonzalez Freire, PP . 9-14.

22Gonzalez Freire, PP . 13-14.

2-^Gonzalez Freire, P* 15.

2^Gonzalez Freire, P- 15.

2^Gonzalez Freire, P- 65.

28Gonzalez Freire, P* 78.

2^Gonzalez Freire, P* 80.

28Gonzalez Freire, P- 115. 29 - ^Gonzalez Freire, P- 130.

-^Gonzalez Freire, P- 154.

-^Gonz&lez Freire, P- 154.

-^2Jackson, The Black Image in p. Xlll 302

PART II

Chapter I

(Pages 106-127)

Fidel Castro, La Revolucifoi cubana; Escritos y

Discursos (Buenos Aires: Editorial Palestra, i960 ), p. 3. 2 Jaime Suchlicki, "Introduction," Cuba, Castro, and

Revolution (Coral Gables, Florida: University of Miami

Press, 1972), PP . 7-8. 3 -'Thomas, P* 803. k Thomas, P- 804.

^Thomas, P- 807.

^Thomas, P- 808. 7 'Thomas, P- 824. O Thomas, P- 829.

^Suchlicki, p. 10.

^°Suchlicki, p. 11.

11 Carmelo Mesa-Lago, Cuba in the 1970s: Pragmatism and Institutionalization (Albuquerque: University of

New Mexico, 197*0 » P* *K).

12Suchlicki, p. 2.

^^Carmelo Mesa-Lago, p. 17* 1 A Mesa-Lago, p. 20.

*^Mesa-Lago, p. 20.

■^Suchlicki, p. 4.

■^Suchlicki, p. 14-. 1 8 "Declaracion del Primer Congreso Nacional de

Educacion y Cultura," 3° de abril de 19711 cited in Informe secreto sobre la revolucion cubana, Carlos Alberto Montaner

(Madrid: Ediciones Sedmay, S.A., 1976), p. 95*

■*■9"Declaracion" in Informe secreto, p. 96.

^"Declaracion" in Informe secreto, p. 96.

^"Declaracion" in Informe secreto, p. 148.

?? Sutherland, p. 173*

^Sutherland, p. 174.

^Sutherland, p . 174.

^Sutherland, p. 138.

p Fidel Castro, "The Rights of the Black Man in Cuba,"

22 March 1959i in Sutherland, p. 145.

^Sutherland, p. 149.

^Sutherland, p. 149.

^Montaner, p. 107.

-^Suchlicki, p. 19* 30^

-^Montaner, pp. 99-100.

-*2John Clytus, Black Man in Red Cuba (Coral Gables:

University of Miami Press, 1970).

-^See Franz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks, translated by Charles Lam Markmann (New York: Grove Press, Inc.,

1967).

•^See H. Hoetink's discussion of culture, race and national identity, Chapter iv, Slavery and Race Relations

in the Americas, 1973-

•^Hoetink, pp. 92-95-

Chapter II

(Pages 128-150)

1 "Declaracion del Primer Congreso Nacional de

Educacion y Cultura," 30 de abril de 1971 > cited in Informe

secreto, Montaner, p. 1^-8.

2"Declaracion," p. 1^7-

-^Founded in i960 , Casa de las Americas is the revolu­

tionary center of Latin American culture, dedicated to the

education and development of Latin American people. A part

of Casa is the publication of the bi-monthly magazine Casa

de las Americas, the first issue of which appeared in June

of i960 . Casa de las Americas is responsible for organizing 305 festivals and conferences, publishing books, and, in general, directing the cultural/political activities endorsed by the Revolution both at home and abroad.

^Revolucion was the newspaper of the 26th July Movement.

It was an underground, outlawed newspaper until 1959-

Carlos Franqui, the director of Radio Rebelde in the

Sierra, was the editor of Revolucion.

^Alejo Carpentier, "Problematica de la actual novela latinoamericana," Tientos y Diferencias (Mexico: Universidad

Nacional Autonoma, 196^), p. 13*

^Julio Miranda, Antologia del nuevo cuento (Caracas:

Editorial Domingo Fuentes, 1969)» PP* 6-9*

"^Miranda, p . 9 • Q See "La poesia actual," Casa de las Americas, nos.

22-23, enero-abril, 196^, pp.

^See "Charla sobre teatro," Casa de las Americas, 2

No. 9 (nov-dic 1961). 1 0 Bellarmino Castilla Mas, "Speech Delivered at the

Opening of the National Congress on Education and Culture,"

Granma (English edition, Havana) , 9 May 1971 cited in

"Cultural Dimension of the New Cuba," Gemma R. Del Duca,

Cuba, Castro, and Revolution, ed. Jaime Suchlicki, p. 102. 306

11 "Declaracion de Primer Congreso Nacional de

Educacion y Cultura," Granina (English edition, Havana) in

"Cultural Dimension of the New Cuba," Gemma R. Del Duea, p. 103. 1 2 Ernesto Mendez y Soto, Panorama de la novela cubana de la revolucion (1959-1970) (Miami: Ediciones Universal,

1977), p. 17.

■^Montaner, p. 107. 1 A Mendez y Soto, p. 33*

■^Mendez y Soto, p. 3^* 1 fi Mendez y Soto, p. 3^»

^Manuel Urrutia, the President of Cuba in arms, was the first provisional president of the new revolutionary government. A political moderate, Judge Urrutia was the same magistrate who had found that the Granma expeditionaries had behaved constitutionally in trying to overthrow

Batista by force.

*®Mendez y Soto, p. 188.

■^See Carpentier's article in Tientos y Diferencias,

"Problematica de la actual novela latinoamericana."

Severo Sarduy, De donde son los cantantes (Mexico:

Editorial Joaquin Mortiz, S.A., 1967)» P* 151* 307

21 Speech by Fidel Castro in Santiago de Cuba on 26th

July 1967. Havana Domestic Radio Broadcast, 26 July 19^7* cited in "Nationalism in Cuban Politics," W. Raymond

Duncan, in Cuba, Castro, and Revolution, ed. Jaime Suchlicki, p. 40. 22 Ernesto "Che" Guevara, Man and Socialism m Cuba

(Havana: Guairas Book Institute, 1967), pp. 22-29.

^Negrismo, also known as afrocubanismo, refers to an artistic and literary movement that developed in Cuba between 1928 and 1940. In afrocubanismo, poetry, dance, and music seek to imitate African rhythms and verbal repetitions, following the pattern of traditional African folk ceremonies, in which sound reiteration is used to induce a trance-like state in the initiates. oh, A bembon is the stereotyped black with pronounced

■negroid features. 2 ^ ^ ^

(Havana: La Empresa Consolidada de las Artes Graficas, nos. 22-23, enero-abril, 1964), pp. 34-48. 2 ^ Johannes Sierich Pfeiffer (1902) German poet and critic.

^ Origenes was a prestigious literary journal of the

Republican Period and the center of a group of poets 308 considered to be the vanguard of Cuban poetry of the time.

It was edited from 1 9 ^ to 1957 by bhe poet Jose Mezama

Lima.

2®Triana, p. 37*

^Nicolas Guillen, "Tengo," Tengo (Uruguay: Editorial

El Siglo Ilustrado, 1967), pp. 7-9.

-^Adolfo Cruz-Luis, "El movimiento teatral cubano en la revolucion," Casa de las Americas (La Habana: Ministerio de Cultura, no. 113» marzo-abril, 1979)» P- ^0.

-^Gemma R. Del Duca, p. 105.

■^2Cruz-Luis, p. .

-^Cruz-Luis, p. ^2.

PART III

Chapter I

(Pages 152-207)

1 Fernando Ortiz, "The Negro in the Spanish Theatre,"

Phylon, k, No. 2 (19^3). Ik k -k 7 . p Fernando Ortiz, "The Negro in the Spanish Theatre," p. 1^5.

■^Ortiz, "The Negro in the Spanish Theatre," p. 1^7. 309

A l •' Nicolas Guillen, "Palabras en el Tropico," Songoro

Cosongo (Buenos Aires: Editorial Losada, S.A., 1967), p. 51.

^A son is a hybrid Spanish-African dance and song in syncopated rhythm.

^See Lemuel A. Johnson, "Nicolas Guillen and Afro-

Cubanism," in The Devil, The Gargoyle, and The Buffoon

(Port Washington, N.Y.: Kennikat Press, 1971)1 pp. 136-153*

^A criollo is an American-born person of Spanish blood, or of Spanish-Indian ancestry. O Manuel Pedro Gonzalez, "Razon de este homenaje,"

Revista Iberoamericana, 12, No. 2k (19^7)* 213*

^Jose Antonio Portuondo, "El contenido politico y social de las obras de Jose Antonio Ramos," Revista

Iberoamericana, 12, No. 2k (19k?), 215.

10 See Fermoselle, Politica y color en Cuba, Chapter III.

11 This poem known as XXVIII was written by Marti in the summer of 1890. It forms a part of Versos Sencillos and can be found in Versos (New York: Las Americas

Publishing Co., 1962), p. 181.

12 Jose Antonio Ramos, El traidor, La leyenda de las estrellas, La recurva (Havana: La Veronica, 19^1), p. 12. 310

All subsequent references to the play are from this edition

and will be cited in parentheses in the text.

^-^See Fermoselle for a detailed account of this

conflict.

1 Ll „ Gonzalez Freire, p. 105.

■^Nicolas Guillen, El son entero (Buenos Aires:

Editorial Losada, S.A., 1968), p. 103. All subsequent

references to this play are from this edition and will be

cited in parentheses in the text. 1 £> Nicolas Guill§n, "Balada de los dos abuelos,"

West Indies Ltd. in Songoro Consongo, 4th ed. (Buenos Aires:

Editorial Losada, S.A., 1967).

^Johnson, p. 147.

1 8 In translation this line reads: The other day in class my teacher said that blacks are inferior to whites.

^See Echevarria's discussion of this subject in

"Literature of the Hispanic Caribbean," LALR, 8, No. 16

(1980), pp. 4-21.

^°Jose Marti, "Mi Raza," Patria, April 16, 1893*

21 Jose Antonio Portuondo, "Alejo Carpentier: Creador y teorico de la literatura," RecopilaciSn de textos sobre

Alejo Carpentier (Havana: Casa de las Americas, 1975)» p. 8 7. 311

22 Alejo Carpentier, "Habla Alejo Carpentier,"

Recopilacion, p. M .

2-^Cesar Leante, "Confesiones sencillas de un escritor barroco," Recopilacion, p. 61.

oh, ^ See section on Rolando Ferrer in Gonzalez Freire's

Teatro Cubano.

2-*Matias Montes Huidobro, Persona vida y mascara en el teatro cubano (Miami: Ediciones Universal, 1973) > p. 203• 2 6 Rolando Ferrer, Teatro (La Habana: Ediciones

Union, 1963), p. ^3. All subsequent references to this play are from this edition and will be cited in parentheses in the text.

2^See Gonzalez Freire, Teatro Cubano. pO Jose Antonio Ramos, "Declamos ayer. . .," (La Habana:

Editorial Lex, 19^3)> P* 10.

2^Ramos, "Declamos ayer. . p. 11.

-^Francisco Garzon Cespedes, "Jose Antonio Ramos:

Una Llnea ascendente de rebeldia," Latin American Theatre

Review, 1^, No. 2(1981), p. 9»

•^Ramoe, "Deciamos ayer. . .," p. 13• 312

32Jos§ Antonio Ramos, FU-3001 (La Habana: Editorial

Lex, 19^3)» P* 21. All subsequent references to this play are from this edition and will be cited in parentheses in the text.

-^Northrup Frye, An Anatomy of Fiction (New York:

Atheneum, 1966), pp. 33-3^»

-^Gonzalez Freire, p. 11^.

■^Montes Huidobro, pp. 127-128.

-^Carlos Felipe, El travieso Jimmy (Madrid: Aguilar,

1959)* P* 179- All subsequent references to this play are from this edition and will be cited in parentheses in the text.

-^According to Lemuel Johnson, the word .jitan.jafora was coined independently of the Hispanic Negro poetry movement by Alfonso Reyes, in his discussion of the poetry of Mariano Brull. It has since been most frequently used in discussions of black expression. In this context

.iitan.jaforas represent the artistic attempt to reproduce the African language. These words are valued for their sound rather than their meaning.

•^Echevarria, pp. 3-18.

-^Jackson, The Black Image in Latin American Literature, p. 313

/in Addison Gayle, Jr., "Introduction," in The Black

Aesthetic, ed. Addison Gayle, Jr., p. xvii. ki The statement is taken from Cervantes in reference to the role of blacks in Spanish literature.

Chapter II

(Pages 208-276)

1 Judith A. Weiss, "Cuba's Teatro Nuevo: First

National Festival," LALR, 13» Fall (1980), p. 8 7. p The use of the word Africa, unless otherwise stated refers to Black Africa, south of the Sahara.

-^Egon Friedell, Kulturgeschichte der Neuzeit in

Muntu: An Outline of the New African Culture, Janheinz

Jahn, trans. Marjorie Grene (New York: Grove Press, Inc.,

1961), p. 17. k Jahn, Muntu, p. 8 5.

■^Jahn, Muntu, p. 8 5.

^See a more detailed explanation of this concept in

Muntu, p. 100.

7 'Karenga, p. 37* O Carlos Felipe, Teatro (La Habana: Ediciones Union,

1967), p. I8 9. All subsequent references to the play are 31^ from this edition and will be cited in parentheses in the text.

^Santeria is a religion centered in the workship of

Christian saints and African deities, predominantly Yoruba, from Nigeria or Lucumi. Its membership is mainly black and mulatto.

10 Shango is the male god of Nigerian origin who acts as the servant of the Ogun deities. He is the warrior- phallic deity. In Cuba, Shango is identified with thunder and lightning; he is thus the African counterpart to Santa

Barbara.

11Montes Huidobro, p. 285.

12 Flora Mancuso Edwards, The Theater of the Black

Diaspora, Diss. New York University 1976 (Ann Arbor,

Michigan: Xerox University Microfilms, 1976), p. 15^.

IB -^Mystification means the treatment or explanation of myths. The process frequently leads to the elevation and idealization of stories and legends within a given society and their general acceptance as its (the society's) basic truths and realities. Demystification whether intentional or not, is the dismantlement of such beliefs, a process which is followed by the substitution of a different code or system of beliefs. 315

1 Al Adebayo Adesanya, in Muntu, p. 97*

^^Montes Huidobro, p. 295*

1 f i Ortiz, Los bailes y el teatro de los negros en el

folklorica de Cuba, p. 330.

■^Jahn, Muntu, p. 8 7.

■^Edwards, p. 158.

■^Carlfred b. Broderick and Jessie Bernard, eds., The

Individual, Sex, & Society (Baltimore: The John Hopkins

Press, 1970), p. 3 6 3* pn Broderick and Bernard, eds., p. 3^3 • p 1 Roman V. de la Campa, Jose Triana: Ritualizacion

de la sociedad cubana (University -of Minnesota: Institute

for the Study of Ideologies and Literature, 1979)» P* 1^-

^^de la Campa, p. 1^.

^ S e e Sutherland, "Colony Within a Colony." Oh. de la Campa, p. 52.

^J o s e Triana, El Parque de la Fraternidad (La Habana:

Ediciones Union/Teatro, 1962), p. 96. All subsequent

references to the play are from this edition and will be

cited in parentheses within the text.

26 de la Campa, p. 70.

^ d e la Campa, p. 73* 316

P R See Triana’s opening statement to the reader.

29 7de la Campa, p. 27.

^°Jose Triana, El Parque de la Fraternidad (La Habana:

Ediciones Union/Teatro, 1962), p. 17. All subsequent

references to the play are from this edition and will be

cited in parentheses within the text.

•^In their discussions of Medea en el espe.jo, Montes

Huidobro and Roman de la Campa refer to Maria’s actions

as a form of instinctive rebellion.

•^Jose Triana, La muerte del neque (La Habana:

Ediciones Revolucion, 196^), p. 17* All subsequent

references to the play are from this edition and will be

cited in parentheses within the text.

-^According to the Standard Dictionary of Folklore,

"African and New World Negro Folklore," cantos de orile are songs or poems of praise which are not characteristically violent.

J Neque means the bewitched one, one who is under a

spell.

•^Del Duca, p. 106.

■^Jose Ramon Brene, Santa C ami la de la Habana Vie.ja y Pasado a la criolla (La Habana: Ediciones El Puente,

1963)> p* 19. All subsequent references to the play are 317 from this edition and will be cited in parentheses within the text.

-^Montes Huidobro, p. 325*

■^According to the Dictionary of Afro-Latin American

Civilization, by Benjamin Nunez, an orisha is a secondary deity in many African cults throughout the New World. The orisha personifies some natural phenomenon and is presumed, on occasion, to manifest himself in human form in order to speak his will.

•^Eleggua is an Afro-Cuban god, the guardian of the house doors, the roads and the highway.

^ J o s e Milian, Mamieo Omi Omo, in Teatro (La Habana:

Ediciones El Puente, 1965), p. 12. All subsequent refer­ ences to the play are from this edition and will be cited in parentheses within the text. Al Montes Huidobro, p. 355*

A 2 Pepe Carill, Shango de Ima, trans. Susan Sherman

(New York: Doubleday,1969 ). All subsequent references are from this edition and will be cited within the text in parentheses.

A3 •'Susan Sherman, "Introduction," Shango de Ima

(New York: Doubleday,1969 ), p. 1^.

AA 1 Edward James, "Introduction," Shango de Ima, p. A3. ^Mircea Eliade, Myths, Rites, and Symbols (New York:

Harper & Row, 1965)* P* 351- U.A Jahn, Muntu, p. 8 9.

^Jahn, Muntu, p. 8 9.

Conclusion

(Pages 277-288)

■^Thomas, p. 1^33-

2 Robin Williams, "Ethnocentrism," in Race and Ethnic

Relations, ed. Bernard E. Segal (New York: Thomas Y.

Crowell Company, Inc., 1969), p. ^6.

-^Jahn, Neo-African Literature, p. 17* L Cruse, p. 58.

^Cruse, pp. 58-59-

^Gayle, "Introduction," in The Black Aesthetic, p. xxiii.

^See Jahn, Muntu, pp. 118, 13^.

®Jahn, Muntu, p. 100.

^See Richard Wright's discussion of this subject in

The Black Aesthetic, ed. Addison Gayle, Jr., pp. 333-3^6. 319

10 Jahn, Muntu, p . 16.

1 1 Jahn, Muntui p. 16.

12 S. H. Butcher, Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and

Fine Art (Londons Macmillan and Co., 1895)* P- 169-

* -^Butcher, p. 153*

*^Butcher, p. 1^7-

^Butcher, pp. 125-130- 1 ft See Chapter IV, Part I, of this study for Marcel

Mauss' actual statements ". . . l a danza es una repre sentac i on."

^Butcher, p. 150.

■^Butcher, p. 150.

19 , ^Bakary Traore, The Black African Theatre and Its

Social Functions (Ibadan, Nigerias Ibadan University

Press, 1972), p. 17•

20 Traore, The Black African Theatre and Its Social

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______. Marti y las razas. La Habana:

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Historia del Partido Independiente de Color. La

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General References on African and Neo-African Societies

Bolaji, Idowu E. Olodumare: God in Yoruba Belief.

London: William Clowes and Sons, Ltd., 1962.

Clytus, John. Black Man in Red Cuba, Coral Gables:

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Courlander, Harold. Negro Folk Music, USA. New York:

Columbia University Press, 19 6 3.

Fanon, Franz. Black Skin, White Masks. Trans. Charles

Lam Markmann. New York: Grove Press, Inc., 1 9 6 7.

Franklin, John Hope, ed. Color and Race. Boston: Houghton

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_ . The Negro in 20th Century America.

New York: Vintage Books, 1967.

Gratus, Jack. The Great White Lie; Slavery, Emancipation

and Changing Racial Attitudes. London: Hutchinson

and C o ., 1973• Harris, Marvin. Patterns of Race in the Americas. New

York: Walker and Co., 1964.

Herskovits, Meville. The New World Negro. Ed. Frances S.

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_ . The Myth of the Negro Past. Boston:

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Jackson, Bruce, ed. Wake Up Dead Man. Cambridge: Harvard

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Jackson, Richard. "Black Phobia and the White Aesthetic

in Spanish American Literature." Hispania 58, No. 3

(September 1975)• Jahn, Janheinz. Muntu: An Outline of the New African

Culture. Trans. Marjorie Greene. New York:

Grove Press, Inc., 1961.

Junod, H.P. Bantu Heritage. Westport, Connecticut: Negro

Universities Press, 1970- Knight, Franklin. The African Dimension in Latin American

Societies. New York: MacMillan Publishing Co., 197^-

Manzano, Juan Francisco. "Autobiografia." In Cuademos

de Historia Habanera. Ed. Emilio Roig de Leuchsenring.

La Habana: Administracion del Alcalde, 1937*

Moreno Fraginals, M. "El problema megro en la poesia

cubana." Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, No. 3 (19^8).

Segal, Bernard E., ed. Racial and Ethnic Relations. New

York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, Inc., 19 6 6.

Van den Berghe, Pierre L. "Paternalistic versus Competitive

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Company, Inc., 1 9 6 6.

Woodson, Carter, Godwin. The African Background Outlined or

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Cuban Theater

Brene, Jos§ Ramon. Santa Camila de la Habana Vie.ia y

Pasado a la criolla. La Habana: Ediciones El

Puente, 1 9 6 3. Carill, Pepe. Shango de Ima. Trans. Susan Sherman.

New York: Doubleday, 1969* Carpentier, Alejo. El Milagro de Anaquille. In Latin

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Felipe, Carlos. El travieso Jimmy. Madrid: Aguilar,

1959. ______. Requiem nor Yarini. In Teatro. La

Habana: Ediciones Union, 196 7.

Ferrer, Rolando. Lila, la Mariposa. In Teatro. La

Habana: Ediciones Union, 1963.

Guillen, Nicolas. Poema para ninos. In El son entero.

Buenos Aires: Editorial Losada, S.A., 1968.

Milian, Jose. Mamieo Omi Omo. In Teatro. La Habana:

Ediciones El Puente, 1965*

Ramos, Jose Antonio. El traidor, La leyenda de las

estrellas, La recurva. Havana: La Veronica, 1941.

______. FU-3001. La Habana: Editorial Lex, 1943. Triana, Jose. El Parque de la Fraternidad. La Habana:

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Triana, Jose. Medea en el espe.io. In El Parque de la

Fraternidad. La Habana: Ediciones Union/Teatro, 1962.

______. La muerte del neque. La Habana: Ediciones

Revolucion, 1964.

Additional Cuban Works

Arcocha, Juan. Los muertos andan solos. La Habana:

Ediciones R., 1962,

Barnet, Miguel. Biografla de un cimarron. Havana:

Instituto de Etnologla y Folklore, 1966.

Carpentier, Alejo. Ecue Yamba 0 . Madrid: Editora

Espana, 1933* ______. El siglo de las luces. Mexico, D.F.:

Cia. General de Ediciones S.A., 1962.

Granados, Manuel. Adire y el tiempo roto. Havana: Casa

de las Americas, 19 6 7.

Guillen Nicolas. Obra poetica (1920-1972). Havana:

Instituto Cubano del Libro, 1972.

Pedroso, Regino. Poemas. Havana: Ediciones Union, 1 9 6 6.

Sarduy, Severo. De donde son los cantantes. Mexico, D.F.:

Joaquin Mortiz, 1967* p ______. Gestos. Barcelona: Seix Barral, 1963*

Soler Puig, Jose. Bertillon 166. Havana: Casa del las

Americas, i9 6 0 . 3^3

Villaverde, Cirilo. Cecilia Valdes. New York: Las

Americas Publishing Co., 196^.

•S