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ILLiad Emilio Bejel
Strawberry and Chocolate: Coming Out of the Cuban Closet?
lhe Cuban film Fresa y chocolate/Strawberry and Chocolate, with screenplay by Sene1 Paz and di- rected by Tomas Gutierrez Alea and Juan Carlos Tabio, generated a great deal of excitement throughout '994 in many countries around the world, In addition to winning the prestigious Silver Bear prize in Berlin, Strawberry and Choco- late was the main attraction at film festivals in Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, Italy, Japan, Mexico, and Spain, and was released in other countries as well. Most surprising, however, was the film's monumental success in Socialist Cuba, where it won not only the country's Critics' and People's Choice Awards but also the Catholic Church's OCIC (Organizaci6n Cat6lica Internacional de Cine) Award for exemplary films. (Perhaps the Catholic Church's award recognized the film's implicit defense of religious freedom in Cuban society rather than its explicit defense of the rights of the homosexual.) So much interest was generated by the screening of Strawberry and Chocolate in Havana and throughout the prov- inces that crowds outside theaters pushed and shoved in competition for tickets. Finally,in Sep- tember '994, Strawberry and Chocolate arrived
The South Atlantic Quarterly 96:1, Winter 1997. Copyright © 1997 by Duke University Press. 66 Emilio Bejel in the United States, where, following its initial screening at the Latin American Film Festival in New York, it was distributed with English sub- titles throughout most of the country-the first Cuban film ever to reach mainstream U. S. audiences. The most extraordinary aspect of Strawberry and Chocolate was neither its cinematographic quality nor its theme of homosexuality per se, but rather that it was produced and released in Socialist Cuba and dealt with the rights of homosexuals in that society. Of course, had it been a poorly made film, the theme and country of origin by themselves would not have given rise to such success. Strawberry and Chocolate was well made, how- ever; the acting was excellent (with Mirta Ibarra truly exceptional in the role of Nancy), and, above all, the human warmth of certain scenes (espe- ciallythose where David and Diego communicate through an understand- ing that is progressive and complex) served to capture the attention and sensibilities of many audiences. There is little doubt, however, that within the context of r994 Cuba, the film offered a radical proposition by implying the acceptance and integra- tion of homosexuality in the concept of Cuban nationality. Such an idea would not have been so surprising if it had not been proposed by a Cuban writer committed to the Revolution. Sene! Paz is the son of peasantry, who, thanks to the Revolution, escaped his marginalized condition to achieve national and international acclaim as a fiction writer and screenwriter. But in Strawberry and Chocolate (as well as in his short story "El lobo, el bosque y e! hombre nuevo"/"The Wolf, the Woods and the New Man," on which the screenplay was based), this revolutionary implies that Cuban social- ism and nationalism must both fully integrate the homosexual.' Beyond a nominal treatment of the theme of homosexuality in Cuban Socialist society, the script invites interpretations that take into account the complex tension between heterosexuality and homosexuality, between nationalism and antinationalism (the latter signifying treason within the ideology of the film), between socialism and anti socialism [i.e., capitalism), and be- tween power and desire. To all of this must be added a religious aspect, inasmuch as the film's plot deals (although not centrally) with the topic of Diego's religious beliefs and David's atheist convictions. These relation- ships are further complicated not only by the historical period in which the action takes place (around '979, as indicated by a TV news broadcast that announces Anastasio Somoza's departure from Nicaragua-that is, at Strawberry and Chocolate 67 the culmination of the Sandinista Revolution), but also by Cuba's entire history up to the present. At the beginning of the film, David possesses all of the characteristics deemed positive by traditional, hardline Cuban socialism: he is hetero- sexual, an atheist, a Socialist, and a nationalist. Diego, on the contrary, possesses most of the negative characteristics, with the exception of anti- nationalism. (Diego insists that he is profoundly nationalistic.) From this point of view, the shared code that draws David and Diego together is nationalism, but of two types founded upon very different political prin- ciples: David is a Socialist who belongs to the proletariat, while Diego is anti-Socialist and has upper· class tastes and values-those that have at times been associated with an intellectual bourgeoisie, alienated and dis- possessed of power and prestige. Within the semantic context of the film, it is one thing to be a nationalist/Socialist (a revolutionary) and quite another to be a nationalist who not only opposes the Revolution (in spite of mo- mentary doubts), but who also wants to flee the country as a political exile. How, then, is it possible for these two characters to maintain a friendship that grows steadily in spite of their having such antithetical characteris- tics? I believe that one of the keys to their progressive friendship is the slow "conversion" that Diego brings about in David. Primarily ethical (but also political), this conversion enables a common point to be established between Diego's nationalism and David's. Diego constantly "preaches" an ethic to David that presents homosexuals as worthy of inclusion in the concept of Cuban nationalism and as dignified and capable of heroism. Diego's "sermon" could be called the ethic of the oppressed, which corre- sponds to the notion of resentment that Nietzsche applied to the ethic of primitive Christianity. Here, the oppressed try to convince the oppressor that it is imperative to be compassionate and generous toward them-that the oppressed must have the right to participate in the world-while ac- cepting that they are in the hands of the dominant ideology, which protects the privileged position of the oppressor.' It is important to remember that at the beginning of the film, and especially in his relationship with Diego, David is weak. and indecisive. From this perspective, one can infer a cer- tain envy on David's part with respect to Diego's strength and decisiveness. But, having assumed the ethic of the oppressed by means of what psycho- analysis calls transference, David is transformed, relatively speaking, into an activist for the rights of homosexuals. Moreover, although the relationship 68 Emilio Bejel of envy/resentment between David and Diego does not at first seem to be a class phenomenon, it could be argued that the film at least implies class conflict in an obscure or transformed manner, inasmuch as Diego's prepa- ration of fine foods and his social and political values can be associated with a certain sector of the Latin American intellectual bourgeoisie. Yet homosexuality is not, of course, a class phenomenon (however frequently it may be utilized in class struggles as a political weapon: "homosexualiz- ing of the enemy") because homosexuals, like women, have been discrimi- nated against throughout various historical periods and under different social systems! If this interpretation is correct, Strawberry and Chocolate presents a homosexual character from a social class inherently opposed to the film's basic ideology. Although it suggests an overture toward other social perspectives, the fact that the homosexual character is identified with a bourgeois class while the revolutionary is heterosexual implies a distanc- ing (although partial and subtle) from a more committed gay politics. As a result, one cannot help but consider the wealth of possibilities entailed by a work that included a homosexual of the Cuban proletariat and/or of cam· pesina origins (like some of the characters in Reinaldo Arenas's narratives, for example'). In spite of resentment's being, according to Nietzsche, an ideological trick by which the weak corrupt the strong in order to rob them of their properly aristocratic arrogance, vitality, and aggressiveness, in Strawberry and Chocolate something akin to an inversion of resentment's inversion takes place: this dialectic deals with a proletariat that, having been weak and oppressed under the former regime, is now in a position of power, so it is Davidwho has to undergo conversion to the ethic of the oppressed. On the other hand, in the specular plane of this relationship, Diego-the one with upper-class characteristics-must exercise the tactic of resentment with David (the proletariat). The solution offered by the film in the face of this dilemma is a mutual understanding that points toward a utopian view of society. An alliance between Diego and David- between the homo- sexual and the revolutionary-enables an interpretation based on a more global perspective. That is, if within the Cuban context of Strawb
Chicanos, which illustrates the relativity of these classifications. Moreover, the view of sexual "passivity" as degraded often stems from heterosexism in a society where women, supposedly "passive" in machista rhetoric, occupy an inferior social position. It is on these grounds that "effeminate" has been applied to homosexuals as an insult. Within this logic, the plight of homosexuals is frequently lumped with that of women; that is, the social status or condition of the homosexual is almost always related to gender- to the definitions and roles historically assigned to each (biological) sex. If women were in a position of absolute social equality, "effeminate" would not qualify as an insult to men and, perhaps, would not even make sense. Of the characters in Strawberry and Chocolate, the most interesting and complex, even contradictory, is Diego. As already indicated, Diego sue- ceeds in "converting" (or, as the film says, "winning") David to a greater understanding of the Cuban homosexual's condition by means of the strategy of resentment. That is, a member of the oppressed (Diego, in this case) implants in a member of the oppressor class (David, in his initial role of homophobic revolutionary) an understanding, often with a strong burden of guilt, of the plight of the oppressed that leads to his actively supporting the latter's liberation. But Diego is not only a homosexual who demands the right to fully participate in his society; he also represents a complex ideology of class and personal characteristics that intertwine with his sexual orientation but that could never be reduced to sexual ori- entation alone. Moreover, Diego is both an oppressed homosexual and a character who has internalized some of the other prejudices of the society that discriminates against him (by which I mean long-standing attitudes of Cuban society rather than its Socialist orientation after the Revolution). For example, he expresses racist sentiments, such as when he amuses him- self by thinking about his superiority in drinking tea from French cups, while outside "the Blacks are shouting." He also says that tea is for civi- lized people, while coffee is for the unrefined-especially for Blackpeople. (Diego ironically sings a song called "Allof Us Blacks Drink Coffee" when arguing this point with David.) When David, repeating slogans from the Revolution rather mechanically, answers that Blacks and Whites are equal, that "we all came from Africa," Diego reacts strongly, retorting, "Not you and I." Here, Diego affirms the Spanish legacy while denying the African, which is truly contradictory for a character who claims to be a believer in the Afro-Cuban religion (a synthesis of Catholicism and some African reli- gions, especially Yoruban). Strawberry and Chocolate 75
In this already complex character nationalism also mixes with an in- tense Eurocentrism, which is established in several ways, but particularly through the opposition between tea and coffee, Sophisticated Europeans (Britons, in particular) drink tea, while vulgar Cubans drink coffee, This attitude conflicts with Diego's explicit endorsement of "Cubanness" (an exquisite "Cubanness," to be sure) and his assiduous study of Cuban cul- tural figures. (In fact, Diego instills in David a great appreciation of Cuban culture, especially of music, literature, and the architecture of Havana.) Diego's Eurocentrism is reminiscent of that of Sergio, the main charac- ter in Memories of Underdevelopment by Edmundo Desnoes. (The movie based on this work, as is well known, was directed by Gutierrez Alea, a codirector of Strawberry and Chocolate.") All of this indicates that, besides being a sophisticated homosexual who represents the struggle for inclu- sion of homosexuals and other marginalized groups disenfranchised by the Cuban Socialist system of that time, Diego exhibits a series of con- flicts typical of a Cuban homosexual from a certain class and with certain personality traits. The sexual politics that Diego represents, with their cor- responding illumination and alienation, are those of the class that, as I've already noted, could be called the "alienated nationalist bourgeoisie." One of Diego's characteristics that illustrates his ideology is his attitude toward art, that is, the implicit theory that informs his opinions on art and literature. His conversations with David at the beginning' of the film show that despite an impressive range of reading (from John Donne to Jose Lezama Lima), his attitude toward literature often suffers from a certain superficiality. For example, he is more interested in imagining that one of the chairs in his apartment is "the chair of John Donne" than in trying to understand the work of that great English writer who dared, in the seven- teenth century, to relate sex and sanctity. Likewise, Diego is more inclined to make a fetish of the figure of Lezama Lima, by means of a "Lezamian lunch" in the style of the latter's novel Paradiso, than to study his theory of image and metaphor or the "poetic system of the world" that this Cuban writer elaborated in his work. Indeed, Diego's "chair of fohn Donne" and "Lezamian lunch" exemplify his profoundly "fetishistic" perspective on art and literature. But Diego's reaction to an exhibit of German's sculpture and his indignation when Nancy says that the sculptures "do not transmit anything" reveal his aesthetic-a passionate conviction that art must not make any concessions or yield to any type of censorship or coercion. De- cidedly in favor of unconditional artistic freedom, Diego reacts negatively 76 Emilio Bejel to "propagandistic art" and art "that transmits" something. (While not necessarily the same thing, these principles seem to unite within Diego to form an overall ideology.) Art must not "transmit" ("Let the National Radio transmit:' Diego says), but rather should "incite thinking and feel- ing." However, it is not clear to Diego exactly what is to be thought and felt about art; in other words, what it means to "think" and "feel" in relation to art. (Are not thoughts and feelings, then, transmitted by art?) Although expressed in a very contradictory and confusing manner, Diego's attitude toward art seems to be one of "art for art's sake" (as opposed to an ex- plicit, sociallycommitted art) - an art sufficiently abstract that its ideology is not seen, an art that emphatically promotes a sharp, if untenable, divi- sion between poetry and politics. This is an art that aspires to a pretended autonomy, resisting any definition in terms of other kinds of knowledge; the political, the social, the psychological. Diego's attitude toward art and literature leads him into a typical dilemma: on the one hand, he preaches (in his "sermons" to David) an activist politics of homosexual liberation, while, on the other, he defends an art that is apolitical. From this contradic- tion arises the logic of art as fetish, for if art cannot be political or allowed to "transmit" anything, it can at least pretend to be a lifestyle-an elegance of the spirit. Both the "chair of John Donne" and the "Lezamian lunch" are ideologically related to Diego's passion for French cups, Indian tea, and Japanese kimonos. (Some of Diego's attitudes, keeping an appropriate dis- tance, are reminiscent of the exoticism of the nineteenth-century Cuban poet Julian del Casal.) It is important to emphasize here (and thus put Diego's implied aes- thetic into perspective) what historical materialism has shown: so-called art for art's sake, in spite of its claim to be apolitical, does in fact entail an implicit ideology whose aesthetic rests precisely on a systematic separation of art and politics. Indeed, this aesthetic actively obscures the representa- tion of ideological conflicts within the system. Jameson has insisted that the modernism of the end of the nineteenth century, with its insistence on an apolitical art, was a symbolic solution to the conflict produced by the radical restructuring and expansion of the great powers during that period. One of the most important results of this restructuring (from a cultural perspective) was the great difficulty that the dominant ideology experienced in attempting to represent the new world order (or disorder); that is, the hegemonic ideology found itself in the difficult position of Strawberry and Chocolate 77 not being able to represent its "new otherness" -an emerging third world identity." In terms of Strawberry and Chocolate, Diego's implicit aesthetic not only has a very specific history and "ideology of form"" related to a dominant aesthetic of the late nineteenth century, but it also runs counter to the ideology of the film itself, which is a national allegory with an obvi- ous political position. Let us turn, then, to the hidden ideological struggles in Strawberry and Chocolate at the formalleve!.
Although neither the scriptwriter nor the directors of Strawberry and Choco- late may have known it, guarida, the word meaning "den" or "hideout" that Diego uses to refer to his apartment, has an interesting rhetorical connec- tion to Havana's homosexual subculture of the late nineteenth century. In 1888, Dr. Benjamin Cespedes published in Cuba a work entitled La prosti- tuci6n en La Habana, a chapter of which concerned what he called "mascu- line prostitution." According to Dr. Cespedes, "guarida" was then already used by homosexuals to denote a place where they lived or gathered." On the basis of this semantic coincidence, I propose as a point of departure for a possible theory of the homosexual subject in Cuba the hypothesis that Strawberry and Chocolate signifies, among other things, a "coming out of the closet" or "coming out of the guarida." In other words, Strawberry and Chocolate (and, to a lesser extent, "EI lobo") represents a "coming out" from private space into public space by the Cuban homosexual-and his progress from an extremely negative or obscured definition to a more ac- cepted or less hidden one.'? This "coming out" has potentially (and per- haps performatively) important consequences not only for the situation and definition of the homosexual in Cuba but also for Cuban society as a whole. In fact, the step taken toward political rectification in Cuba with the production and presentation of Strawberry and Chocolate, especially given the film's enormous popularity inside and outside the country, constituted a political and social phenomenon of much greater proportions than any- one could have imagined. The importance of this film can be put into historical perspective by recalling that the dominant discourse about homosexuality since the late nineteenth century (as represented by the treatise of Dr. Cespedes) was sustained by a pseudoscientific positivism and, therefore, by the rheto- ric of certain sectors of the criollo bourgeoisie. (In Mexico, for example, 78 Emilio Bejel this was the period of the Porfirio Diaz government.) Positivism, with extreme and persistent pseudoscientificity, attempted to classify and ana- lyze, "scientifically," all aspects of both society and the individual in ac- cordance with its prejudices not only against homosexuals (who thereby became subject to the "medicalization of homosexuality") but also against women, Blacks, and native peoples. This was an ideological strategy that pretended to demonstrate the "inferiority" and "degeneration" of margin- alized groups in order to maintain and even increase their oppression." In many ways, it is paradoxical that the Socialist/nationalist regime of Cuba would later endorse (and often exacerbate) prejudicial "explanations" of homosexuality that largely originated during one of Latin America's most reactionary bourgeois moments. Positivism not only initiated an era of extreme discrimination toward people who were believed to have "homo- sexual tendencies," but also (paradoxically and counter to its true motiva- tion) made it possible to identify the homosexual as a separate entity-and homosexuality as a defining difference-an identity that could not have occurred before then." As of that period, homoerotic relationships began to acquire such a marked character that they defined the personal identity of those who engaged in them. According to Foucault, in the nineteenth century the homosexual became a species." If today there exists in some societies anything akin to a "homosexual subject" with a personal and col- lective identity (and therefore with the capacity to organize into liberation movements), then it is at least partly due to the obsessive classifications of positivism. Any theory of the homosexual condition in Cuba would have to take that knowledge or insight into account. Moreover, it could be argued that the Cuban Revolution, precisely due to its marked intensification of the "homosexual problem" (especially during the '965-67 UMAP [Uni. dades Militares de Ayuda a la Producci6nJ extreme period), contributed to a greater oppression of the country's homosexuals. (In fairness, however, it must be said that this oppression had considerably eased by the mid-reyes, with the most recent sign of radical change being the production and reo lease of Strawberry and Chocolate itself.) On the other hand, perhaps the Revolution's very oppression of homosexuals led to a stronger definition and sense of identity on the part of the homosexual in Cuba." Accord- ingly, Strawberry and Chocolate must be seen as a product of that complex, discontinuous, and tortuous history. Diego, like other homosexuals (especially those in Cuba), experiences Strawberry and Chocolate 79 oppression in the context of a dominant and institutionalized machismo. As happens with class, race, national identity, and even with gender, homo- sexuality becomes an identity by means of oppression based on difference or otherness. However, personal identity also needs to participate in a cul- ture, or subculture, if a sense of collective identity is to develop, and this has not occurred in Socialist Cuba. Were the system of oppression to dis- appear completely, the need for a subaltern identity would also disappear, at least in theory. The irony of all liberation politics is that affirmation is achieved through difference but with the implicit hope of sameness, or universality. The fact is, however, that as soon as homosexuality "comes out of the closet" (moves from the private to the public space), it becomes visible in the sociopolitical realm. In the film, this "coming out" is repre- sented by a similar movement: Diego and David initially interact only in Diego's apartment, or "guarida." (At one point, David even pretends not to recognize Diego in a Havana bookstore.) But at the end of the film, the two appear together in the Coppelia ice cream shop, by which time David feels sufficiently comfortable to imitate Diego's mannerisms in pub- lic. Of course, the most significant "coming out" is that of Strawberry and Chocolate itself, in Cuba and elsewhere. For this film, despite its limiting ideological positions, marked a true coming out of the Cuban closet- one that gave free rein to a discussion of homosexuality and the rights (or lack of them) of the homosexual in Cuban Socialist society. But what, spe- cifically, are the implications or meanings of the phenomenon of coming out of the closet? With respect to Strawberry and Chocolate, some of these are suggested by Diego's mixed feelings about going into exile, his sad- ness over his imminent separation both from David and from Havana, the city he dearly loves. Yet he also seems to anticipate with some excite- ment (especially in earlier conversations with Nancy) his final exit from the island. And, prior to the closing scenes, Diego expresses to David his intense desire to leave the country-a desire fueled by hope for liberation from the pressures and humiliations he has experienced in the society of Socialist Cuba, especially for the freedom "to be himself" in terms of his sexual orientation. Diego's exile thus represents a strong form of coming out of the closet and, as such, gives rise to new questions: Is exile a path to freedom, or to a new form of limitation? Or is it both? Many Cuban homosexuals who have left their country for sexual/political reasons would probably say that their exile has given them a newfound freedom. How- 80 Emilio Bejel ever, the issue is not a simple one. Failing to question such a dramatic and profound experience would be tantamount to a simplistic ideological closure." The multiple challenges of a new language (in the case of exile in a non-Spanish-speaking country), a new culture, and different forms of oppression and discrimination cannot be underestimated.
Notes
Another version of this article, "Fresa y chocolate 0 la salida de la guarida: Hada una tecria del sujeto homosexual en Cuba," was published in Casa de las Americas 196 (1994): 10-22. 1 Senel Paz, Ellobo, el bosque}' el hombre nuevo (Mexico City, 1991); see also Senel Paz, Strawberry Uz. Chocolate, ed. and trans. Peter Bush (London, 1995). For an analysis of the title story, see Emilio Bejel, "Senel Paz: Homosexualidad, nacionalismo y utopia:' Plural 2691'994): \8-6\. 2 Here I follow Fredric Jameson's adaptation of Nietzsche's notion of resentment in The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (London, 1981). 3 Although there are many works on different aspects and situations of the "homosexual- izing of the enemy," one of the most compelling and interesting is Richard Plant's Pink Triangle: The Nazi War against Homosexuals {Edinburgh, 1987). One of the more heavily debated issues regarding the history of homosexuality today is the number of diverse definitions and perceptions of same-sex relationships in different historical periods. My purpose here is not to take sides in this debate, but just to point out that, however de- fined (as act or type or identity), same-sex relationships have been the target of virulent attacks by institutions of power throughout most historical periods in many cultures (including, of course, so-called Western culture). For a detailed and ambitious history of this question, see David F. Greenberg, The Construction oj Homosf:xuality (Chicago, 1988). Also, I want to clarify here my use throughout this work of the term homo· sexual rather than gay: like many other critics, I use the term gay only to refer to those homosexuals who feel part of or are sympathetic to the Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual libera- tion movement. It seems to me that this is not the case with most Cuban homosexuals residing on the island, not even those who are outspoken about their homosexuality. 4 Many of Arenas's writings are autobiographical, so the main character of his narratives is often a Cuban homosexual of humble peasantry origins. What I mean by utopia here is a social order free of conflicts. This utopian impulse is associated with the limits of the ideology implicit in cultural artifacts. 6 See [ameson. Political Unconscious, esp. chap. 6. My definition of ideology here is Louis Althusser's; see "Ideology and Ideological Apparatuses," in Essays on Ideology (London, '984), J+ 7 See Norman Holland, The Dynamics oj Literary Response (NewYork, 1968), 243-61. 8 Interview with Senel Paz, 27 March 1994, Boulder, Colorado. 9 Doris Sommer uses the term national romance as a variation on national allegory in her book on Latin American narrative, Foundational Fictions: The Natiot'lal Romana oj Latin America (Berkeley/Los Angeles/Oxford, 1991). The national romance is an adaptation of Strawberry and Chocolate 81
the Freudian family romance; that is, its plot utilizes the forces of sexual desire, with its attractions and conflicts, as symbolic acts of political and ideological struggle in the social subtext. 10 On Ismael, see my "Senel Paz," 65. In his interview with me, Senel acknowledged Miguel's stereotypical shortcomings. II For an excellent conceptualization of the proximate in relation to homophobia, see Jonathan Dcllimore. Sexual Dissidence: Augustine to Wilde, Freud to Foucault (New York, 1991). I2 Foucault believed that desire is far from being a polymorphous flux whose only obstacle to expression comes from institutionalized power. Desire, for Foucault, is expressed only through power, which continually molds and remolds desire. 13 The deconstruction of traditional definitions of sex, gender, and sexuality has become known as "transgender theory" and "transgender politics." Among other recent works on this topic, see Leslie Feinberg, Transgender Liberation: A Movement Whose Time Has Come (New York, 1992); Kate Bornstein, Gender Outlaw: On Men, Women and the Rest of Us (New York, 1994); and Gordene Olga Mackenzie, Transgender Nation (Bowling Green, 1994). 14 Paz, El lobo, el bosque y el hombre nuevo, 12. 15 See Tomas Almaguer, "Chicano Men: A Cartography of Homosexual Identity and Be- havior," in The Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader, ed. Henry Abelove, Michele Aina Barale. and David M. Halperin (New York and London, 1993), 255-73- 16 On both the novel and the film, see Emilio Bejel, "Nacionalidad y exilic en 1a narrative cubana contemporanea (Reflexiones sobre la narrative cubana a partir de 1959)," Con- flu,",ia 9 (Spring 1994): 73-87, esp. 77- 17 See Fredric Jameson, "Modernism and Imperialism," in Nationalism, Colonialism, and Literature, ed. Terry Eagleton, Fredric Jameson, and Edward Said (Minneapolis, 1992 [199°11,43-66. 18 The term ideology offonn is Jameson's adaptation of Hjelmslev's content off ann. 19 Benjamin Cespedes, La prostituciOn en La Habana (Havana, 1888), 190. This work is cited by Oscar Montero in his interesting article "La periferia del deseo: Julian del Casal y el pederasta urbane," in Carnal Knowledge: Essays on the Flesh, Sex and Sexuality in His- panic Letters and Film, ed. Pamela Bacansse (Pittsburgh, 1991), 99-11I, esp. 108. 20 When talking about a "coming out of the closet" by the Cuban homosexual, it is im- perative to mention the life and work of Reinaldo Arenas, especially his autobiography, Antes que anochezca (Barcelona, 1992); trans. by Dolores Koch as Before Night Falls (New York, 1993). As is well known, Arenas's "coming out" is the political opposite of Paz's in Strawberry and Chocolate and "El Iobo." 21 On the relationship between homosexuality and nationalism, see George L. Mosse, Nationalism and Sexuality: Respectability and Abnormal Sexuality in Modern Europe (New York, 1985), esp. 23-47· 22 See John D'Emilio. "Capitalism and Gay Identity," in Abelove et al., eds., 467-76. 23 Michel Foucault, An Introduction, Vol. 1 of The History of Sexuality, trans. Robert Hurley (New York, 1980 {197811. 24 See Allen Young, Gays under the Cuban Revolution (San Francisco, 1981); and Lourdes 82 Emilio Bejel
Arguelles and B. Ruby Rich, "Homosexuality. Homophobia. and Revolution: Notes toward an Understanding of the Cuban Lesbian and Gay Male Experience, Part I," Signs 9 (1984): 683-98. 25 For an excellent study of the coming-out-of-the-closet experience. see Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, Epistunology of the Closet (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1990). '-,'1 Editorial Board Fredric Jameson, Chair Cathy N. Davidson A. Leigh DeNeef Stanley Fish Alice Kaplan Thomas Lahusen Frank Lentricchia Melissa Malouf Walter Mignolo Toril Moi Janice Radway Barbara Hermstein Smith Jane Tompkins
Candice Ward, Managing Editor Priscilla Lane and Alex Martin, Editorial Assistants
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ISBN for this issue: 0.822)-6441-7 Bridging Enigma: Cubans on Cuba
SPECIAL ISSUE EDITOR: AMBROSIO FORNET
Introduction I
AMBROSIO FORNET
Utopia Revisited 17
LISANDRO OTERO
New Playwrights, New Challenges: Current Cuban Theater 3'
ROSA ILEANA BOUDET
Theater as Conspiracy: An Interview with Alberto Pedro 53
VIVIAN MARTINEZ TABARES
Strawberry and Chocolate: Coming Out of the Cuban Closet? 65 EMILIO BEJEL
Writing Is a Sort of Shipwreck: An Interview with Senel Paz 83 MAGDA RESIK
Cuba Defended: Countering Another Black Legend 95 The ROBERTO FERNANDEZ RETAMAR South Atlantic To Write in Cuba, Today II7
Quarterly ARTURO ARANGO Winter 1997 Volume 96 "Happiness is a warm gun," Cary Says 129
Number 1 REINALDO MONTERO