THE CUBAN REVOLUTION

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 THE CUBAN
REVOLUTION
Origins, Course, and Legacy
Second Edition

MARIFELI PEREZ-STABLE

New York Oxford

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
1999
 Oxford University Press
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Pérez-Stable, Marifeli, 1949—
The Cuban revolution : origins, course,
and legacy / Marifeli Pérez-Stable—2nd ed.
. p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-13 978-0-19-512749-2
ISBN 0-19-512749-8
]. Cuba—History—Revolution, 1959.
2. Cuba—History—Revolution, 1959—Causes.
3. Cuba—History—Revolution, 1959—Influence.
4. Cuba—Politics and government—1895-
I. Title. F1788.P455 1999
972.9106’4—dc21 98-20278

Printed in the United States of America

on acid-free paper
 In memoriam
Sergio Roca (1944-1995)
Enrique Baloyra (1942-1997)
José Prince (1940-1998)
Blank Page :
- Tables ix
Preface x
Preface to the First Edition xiii
Acronyms xvi
Introduction 3

1. Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development — 14

Classic Dependence in Crisis 15
Reformism in the Making, 1927-1958 — 17
State and Society 24
Standards of Living 27
Women in Prerevolutionary Cuba 32
The Cuba That Might Have Been = 33
2. Politics and Society, 1902-1958 36
Mediated Sovereignty and Fragile Hegemony = 37
Representative Democracy, the Working Class,
and the Emergent Logic 43
The Batista Dictatorship, the Working Class,
and Radical Nationalism 52
3. Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 = 61
Reformism, the Clases Econémicas, and the Revolution 62
The Working Class and the Revolutionary Government 67
Revolutionary Politics and the Clases Populares 74
4, Revolution and Inclusive Development = 82
Development Strategies and Economic Performance 83
Standards of Living after the Revolution 90
Socialist Visions and Inclusive Development 94
5. Politics and Society, 1961-1970 98
The Incipient Institutional Order, 1961-1965 99
The Formation of a Vanguard Party 100
Unions, Workers, and Conctencia 102
Vill | Contents
The Federation of Cuban Women 107
The Origins of the Radical Experiment 109
The Parallel Construction of Communism and Socialism 111
The Withering Away of Trade Unions 114
The Politics of Mobilization 116
The 1970 Watershed 118

6. Politics and Society, 1971-1986 = 121

Revolution and Institutionalization 122
The Trade Unions as Mass Organizations 127
Workers and the Economy — 130
Workers and Management =_131
The Federation of Cuban Women and Gender Equality 135
Women and Work = 139
The PCC as a Vanguard Party 142
Crossroads at Three Party Congresses 148
7. Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism = 153
The Process of Rectification 154
The Economics of Rectification 155 |
The Politics of Rectification 160
The Cuban Communist Party and the Future of
Cuban Socialism 166
The CTC and the FMC in the Rectification Process 166
The Fourth Party Congress 169
8. The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba =_:174
Mobilizational Politics and the Cuban Economy 176
Political Trends of the Special Period (1992-1998) 179
The Character of Cuban Elites 180
The Reform of Popular Power Assemblies 183
The Role of the Military 188
The Dynamics of Popular Support, Quiescence, and Opposition 19]
Transition, Transformation, and Democracy: Comparative
Perspectives 197
Three Settings: Latin America, Eastern Europe, and Asia 198
Conclusion 202
Notes 211
Select Bibliography 249
Index 268
 Tables

1.1 Employment, Unemployment, and Underemployment

in Cuba, 1950s 28
1.2 Educational Levels in Cuba, 1953 = 28
1.3 Selected Indicators: Province of Havana and the Rest
of Cuba, 1953 30
1.4 Selected Indicators: Men and Women in Cuba, 1950s 33
4.1 Monoculture and Dependence, Cuba, 1950s and 1980s = 88
4.2 Selected Indicators, Cuba, 1980s 92
6.1 Female Membership and Leadership in the Party,
Mass Organizations, and Popular Power Assemblies,
Cuba, 1975-1986 136
6.2 Distribution of Men and Women by Economic Sector,
Cuba, 1985 142
6.3 Central Committee (Full Membership), Cuba, 1965-1986 144
6.4 Social Composition of PCC Membership, Cuba 146
6.5 Occupational Distribution of State Civilian Labor Force,
Cuba, 1975, 1980, 1985 146
6.6 PCC Members as Percentage of Total in Occupational
Categories, Cuba, 1975, 1980, 1985 = 147
7.1 Central Committee Composition, Cuba, 1986, 1991 172
8.1 Central Committe Composition, Cuba, 1991, 1997 = 184
 Preface

Nearly twenty years passed from the time of this book’s first incarna-
tion as a doctoral dissertation to its appearance in 1993. Were I faced
with the task of writing The Cuban Revolution again, tabula rasa, I might
approach it somewhat differently. Yet I take some satisfaction in the
fact that I have had to make only minor changes in this edition to up-
date the original content, while adding a new chapter to broach more
fully the developments of the 1990s. In 1998, Madrid’s Editorial Coli-
bri published the updated book in Spanish.
For me, Cuba has never been an emotionally neutral topic. I re-
peat what I expressed in the first preface: this work is more than a
scholarly endeavor; it is a charge from the heart. Readers should know
the wellspring of my voice: from the early 1970s until the late 1980s, I
supported the Cuban Revolution. I am neither regretful nor apolo-
getic. On the contrary, because during those years I frequently trav-
eled to the island, I got to know Cuba quite well, and that knowledge
continues to be a source of enrichment and insight. Knowing Cuban
society firsthand also allowed me, gradually, to come to terms with the
waning of the revolutionary project and the conclusive failure of so-
cialism. Letting go of my illusions was hard, and IJ sometimes still catch
myself longing for a past where everything appeared so much simpler.
But, in fact, it was not.
I was first drawn to the Cuban Revolution by the noble ideals of
national sovereignty and social justice. Intellectually, I strove to find
the roots of that extraordinary year, 1959, in the contours of Cuban
history: indeed, the revolution burst from the seams of the old Cuba
with the promise of a new patria of dignity and equality, a promise
that touched the deepest chords in millions of Cubans. But intellectual
pursuits were only part of my search: I wanted to change things and
be a part of Cuba. With other progressive Cuban Americans, I raised
my voice in favor of the revolution and in opposition to the U.S. em-
bargo; for doing so, I immediately became a pariah among other
Cuban exiles.
Over the past decade, I have come to see the Cuban government
differently; because of my changed views, official Cuba considers me
persona non grata. Well before the cold war’s end, the revolution had
 Preface x1
receded into history. As in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, so-
cialism in Cuba had been giving signals of decay for quite some time;
the absence of democracy and economic efficiency slowly ground
away at its insides. My analysis of these processes is found in this
book, which, I hope, makes a contribution to rethinking the future of
Cuba. I personally look forward to a nation that is neither like the pre-
revolutionary ancien régime nor like the one that barely survives to-
day. The decades after 1959 are integral to our collective self-under-
Standing: it is my most cherished wish that the new Cuba that is yet to
be will not dismiss these decades as readily (and mistakenly) as the
revolution dismissed the republican era. We have had too many “great
divides” in our history, a major consequence of which is our inability
to learn from our mistakes or to consolidate our successes.
Nearing a new century, capitalism and democracy have won the
day—at least for now. History has not ended, though. Long-standing
arguments over the proper balance between social justice and eco-
nomic growth, or between individual rights and community needs,
will continue to define political cycles and economic policies for the
foreseeable future. Already the tenets of unbridled capitalism are be-
ing challenged in Latin America without illusions that socialism can
provide answers; fragile democracies are also slowly, if unevenly, con-
solidating, even in the face of corruption, violence, and some popular
apathy. The Cuban government has so far withstood the predominant
currents, and declares Cuba a guiding light, a ray of hope for the op-
pressed and the poor across the globe.
Cuba has been a highly charged symbol for too long. For those of
us who came of age during the 1960s, “Cuba” was the good cause
won. But that Cuba and the world that supported it are gone, and no
one has the right to expect the Cuban people to bear the burden of
past illusions. In the end, being a symbol has been too costly for ordi-
nary Cubans. My deepest hope is that Cuba will someday soon be-
come a normal country—perhaps for the first time ever. Normalcy
begins with a recognition that there is no greater good than the indi-
vidual rights of citizens, including of course, their social and economic
welfare. There is, moreover, no democracy without the right of oppo-
nents to challenge those in power, expressing their views freely and
acting on them without fear. Civil liberties are as essential as bread,
and the Cuban people deserve no less. National sovereignty must be-
gin with respect for the full integrity of individuals.
[ still want to change things and be a part of Cuba. Over the past
five years, I have been active in three Cuban projects in the diaspora.
During the 1990s, I became more involved in the work of the Institute
of Cuban Studies, serving as president from 1994 to 1998. The ICS
has long defended freedom of scholarly inquiry, welcoming the in-
evitable disagreements that emerge from different political perspec-
 Xi Preface
tives, professional approaches, and personal experiences. In 1993, I
was a founding member of the Cuban Committee for Democracy, an
organization of Cuban Americans who oppose the U.S. embargo, ad-
vocate negotiations between the U.S. and Cuban governments, and
support a peaceful transition to democracy in Cuba. The CCD has ,
brought together individuals like me with veterans of the Bay of Pigs
invasion; it is a microcosm of national reconciliation. Most recently
and from across the Atlantic, I am part of the Madrid-based journal
Encuentro de la cultura cubana. Encuentro rejects the notion that island
and diaspora are irreconcilably divided and throws down a gauntlet
that challenges us to reexamine our common nationhood. I am grate-
ful for the friendship and inspiration I have found in these three insti-
tutions, which are living examples of Cubans constructing a democra-
tic culture. Democracy is, after all, but an institutional myriad where
there are no pariahs or personae non grata. To reach this point, we |
Cubans have a long road ahead of us, both in Havana and in Miami.
Since 1993, I have continued to stockpile debts of gratitude to
family and friends. I especially want to acknowledge: Jesus Diaz,
Maria Cristina Herrera, Jay Kaplan, Ruth Kaplan, Eliseo C. Pérez- |
Stable, Yolanda Prieto, and Annabelle Rodriguez. I am likewise grate-
ful to Gioia Stevens at Oxford University Press for guiding the second
edition; Norine Baskin at the Old Westbury library for her patient
search for needed materials; and Laura Healey, secretary at Old West-
bury’s Program in Politics, Economics, and Society, for all the ways in
which she has supported my work over the years.
I dedicate this edition of The Cuban Revolution to the memory of
three friends who died suddenly and prematurely: Sergio Roca (1944—-
1995), a professor of economics at Adelphi University in Long Island,
New York; Enrique Baloyra (1942-1997), a professor of political sci-
ence and international relations at the University of Miami; and José
Prince (1940-1998), a sociologist, community activist, and lay Catho-
lic leader in New York City. They were caballeros criollos who deeply
loved their families and /a patria. Rest in peace, Sergio, Quique, and
Pepe: things will change, and when they do, it will become clear that
we, all of us, never stopped being a part of Cuba.

New York M.P.S.

April 1998
 Preface to the First Edition

For more than three decades, the Cuban Revolution has challenged
minds, engaged imaginations, and aroused passions. From a comfort-
able Havana suburb in January 1959, I well recall being swayed by the
bearded rebeldes and the singular euphoria of victory. Although only
ten years old, I was very much aware of the extraordinary times that
were just beginning. The revolution was a watershed for all Cubans,
and I too shared in the pride that the events of 1959 elicited. For my
family, however, as for thousands of others, the triumph of 1959 soon
lost its aura. We arrived in the United States in 1960 certain that our
stay would be temporary.
Growing into adolescence in Pittsburgh during the early 1960s did
not nurture my national identity. The civil rights and antiwar move-
ments later in the decade, however, awakened in me a commitment
to social justice that led me back to Cuba and the revolution—quite
naturally and with joy, but also painfully and with skepticism. I re-
turned to Cuba in 1975 to do research for my dissertation. As I walked
the streets of Havana, I strained to remember the city of my child-
hood. I have visited Cuba frequently since then, and I now have a
wealth of memories. Cuba is once again a part of me. This book is
more than scholarly endeavor: I have also written it from the heart.
Over nearly 20 years, I have stockpiled debts with family, friends,
and colleagues. Some read chapters or the entire book manuscript,
others the dissertation—an earlier, remote version. With love, forbear-
ance, and a sense of humor, still others were supportive of me through
hard times and encouraging in good times. With most, Cuba and the
revolution were constant and vital topics of discussion. In different
ways, I thank them all: Mercedes Almanzar, Mercedes Arce, Francisco
Aruca, Carollee Bengelsdori, Adriana Bosch, Lewis A. Coser, Jestis
Diaz, Maria Ignacia Diaz, Nenita Diaz, Jorge I. Dominguez, Mauricio
Font, Ambrosio Fornet, Armando Garcia, Mariana Gaston, Robert
Greenberg, Hortensia Grey, Rafael Hernandez, Maria Cristina Herrera,
Selby Hickey, Susana Lee, Vivian Otero, Louis A. Pérez, Jr., Jorge
Pérez-Ldopez, Alina Pérez-Stable, Carlos Pérez-Stable, Eliseo C. Pérez-
Stable, Eliseo J. Pérez-Stable, Yolanda Prieto, Edwin Reyes, Julia
Rodriguez, Albor Ruiz, Helen Safa, Michael Schwartz, Nenita Torres,
xiv Preface to the First Edition
Miren Uriarte, Juan Valdés, Nelson P. Valdés, Maria Vazquez, Gloria
Young-Sing, Oscar Zanetti, and Andrew Zimbalist. The members of
the Proseminar on State Formation and Collective Action at the New
School for Social Research coordinated by Charles Tilly and Richard
Bensel provided me with incisive criticism on a draft of Chapter 2.
Memories of my grandmother, Beba Moya de Diaz, comforted me
throughout the writing of this book. I am especially indebted to Jay
Kaplan for the happiness and intellectual companionship he has
brought into my life.
I am likewise grateful for the professional support I have received
from various quarters. The administration of the State University of
New York, College at Old Westbury and my colleagues in the Program
in Politics, Economics, and Society manifested uncommon under-
standing of the time it took me to finish my dissertation. Sarah M.
Tenen and Laura Healey, PES Program secretaries, were always re-
sponsive to my many requests. The Department of Sociology of the
State University of New York at Stony Brook afforded me a congenial
intellectual atmosphere to finish my doctorate. At the Old Westbury li-
brary, Noreen Ashby and Debra Randortf obtained materials for me
through interlibrary loan that proved invaluable in completing the
book. I am equally appreciative of the patient help I received from
the staffs at various research libraries: the New York Public Library, the
Hispanic Division at the Library of Congress, the University of Miami,
and the Biblioteca Nacional José Marti. I am thankful as well to the
Foreign Relations Ministry, the Central Organization of Cuban Trade
Unions, and the Federation of Cuban Women for sponsoring my trips
to Cuba and facilitating my research in its various stages. Without
Nota Bene and the helpful assistance from the Dragonfly Software
staff, the manuscript might at times have been lost. Michael Taves also
provided me with computer guidance at crucial moments. At Oxford
University Press, Nancy Lane, Edward Harcourt, and Ruth Sandweiss
ably assisted me in the final preparation of the manuscript.
The Ford Foundation supported my research trips to Cuba in 1975
and 1977. In 1987, I obtained a Graduate and Research Initiative
Award from the State University of New York to work in the Library of
Congress. I received a 1987 Recent Recipients of the Ph.D. Fellowship
from the American Council of Learned Societies, funded in part by
the National Endowment for the Humanities. In combination with a
1988-1989 sabbatical leave from Old Westbury, the ACLS fellowship
allowed me the time to revise the dissertation and begin the book. I
gratefully acknowledge all financial support. Parts of earlier versions
of Chapters 3 and 7, and of Chapters 6 and 7 were, respectively, pub-
lished as “Charismatic Authority, Vanguard Party Politics, and Popular
Mobilizations: Revolution and Socialism in Cuba,” in Cuban Studies/Es-
tudios Cubanos 22 (1992), and “‘We Are the Only Ones and There is No
 Preface to the First Edition xv
Alternative’: Vanguard Party Politics in Cuba, 1975-1991,” in Enrique
A. Baloyra and James A. Morris, eds., Contradiction and Change in Cuba
(Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1994).
The Cuban Revolution: Origins, Course, and Legacy is dedicated to five
friends. In April 1979, Carlos Muniz was assassinated in Puerto Rico at
the behest of Cuban-American terrorists bent upon undercutting the
rapprochement between the Cuban government and the Cuban-
American community. Carlos was president of Viajes Varadero, a
travel agency specializing in family reunification visits to Cuba. After
a long illness, Lourdes Casal died in Havana in January 1981. She was
a wiser and loving older sister to me: I will always miss her vulnerable
humanity, her jole de vivre, and her monumental intelligence. In Janu-
ary 1985, Margarita Lejarza passed away in Miami. I cherish the
memory of her smile and her voice as she sang and played the guitar.
Under incomprehensible circumstances, Ana Mendieta died in Sep-
tember 1985. She was strong-willed, fiercely proud of her cubania, and
well on the way to leaving her mark as an artist. Mauricio Gaston died
in September 1986. He too was un hombre sincero. The Puerto Rican
community in Boston and the Cuban Revolution motivated his com-
mitment to social justice and engaged his considerable intelligence.
With Carlos, Lourdes, Margarita, Ana, Mauricio, and dozens of
other progressive Cuban-Americans, I endeavored during the 1970s
and 1980s to support the Cuban Revolution and to ease the estrange-
ment between Cubans in Cuba and in the United States. I then looked
forward to the day when sanity and respect assumed their long over-
due dimension in relations between the Cuban and U.S. governments
and between Cubans abroad and on the island. I still do, but now the
terms of that rapprochement may well be very different from what I
had earlier anticipated. The violent downfall of the Cuban govern-
ment and the complete disavowal of the revolutionary legacy are
today distinct possibilities. Moderation and compromise in Havana,
Miami, and Washington may yet preempt that outcome. I hope so.

New York M.P.S.

March 1993
 Acronyms

AJR Association of Rebel Youths

ANAP National Association of Small Peasants
ANI National Association of Cuban Industrialists
CC Central Committee
CDR Committees for the Defense of the Revolution
CEPAL Economic Commission for Latin America
CMEA Council for Mutual Economic Assistance
CNOC_ National Confederation of Cuban Workers
CTC Central Organization of Cuban Trade Unions
DEU _ Directorate of University Students
DRE Revolutionary Student Directorate
EAP Economically Active Population
FAR Revolutionary Armed Forces
FEU Federation of University Students
FMC Federation of Cuban Women
FNTA National Federation of Sugar Workers
FOH Front of Humanist Workers
GNP Gross National Product
GSP Gross Social Product
INDER_ National Sports Institute
INRA National Institute for Agrarian Reform
JUCEI Local Commissions for Coordination, Implementation,
and Inspection
JUCEPLAN Central Planning Board
MININT Interior Ministry
OPP Organs of Popular Power
ORI Integrated Revolutionary Organizations
PCC Cuban Communist Party
PRC Cuban Revolutionary Party
PSP Popular Socialist Party
PURS United Party of the Socialist Revolution
SDPE Economic Management and Planning System
UJC Communist Youth Union
THE CUBAN REVOLUTION
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 Introduction

“This time the revolution is for real!’’ Fidel Castro declared upon enter-
ing Santiago de Cuba on January 1, 1959. Few Cubans then pondered
what a real revolution was and what its consequences would be. Almost
all were elated with the downfall of Fulgencio Batista. Cubans from all
walks of life exuberantly embraced the young Fidel and the rebeldes—
the bearded guerrillas who had led the insurrection against dictatorship
and now embodied renewed hope and rekindled pride. Two years later
none would doubt the revolution was, indeed, for real. The new govern-
ment had undertaken a radical transformation of Cuban society. On
April 16, 1961, Fidel Castro proclaimed the socialist character of the
revolution. A day later, a force of U.S.-supported Cuban exiles landed at
Playa Giron (Bay of Pigs). Within seventy-two hours, the invaders were
routed. The revolution was not only real; it would also survive.
The origins and development of social revolution in Cuba are the
subject of this study. In the late nineteenth-century struggles against
Spain, many Cubans forged a commitment to national independence
and social justice that served as the basis of their radical nationalism.
Between 1902 and 1958, the Cuban Republic disappointed the indepen-
dentista mandate: sugar monoculture and dependence on the United
States compromised it. Radical nationalism, however, did not dissipate.
Intermittently and in various ways, social forces and political groups
appealing to its tradition challenged the foundations of the republic and

,3
eventually succeeded in establishing themselves as a credible alternative.
Thus, The Cuban Revolution: Origins, Course, and Legacy subscribes to the
main proposition of contemporary Cuban historiography: the origins of
4 The Cuban Revolution , |
the revolution lie in the independence movement against Spain and the
frustration of its aspirations in the Cuban Republic. !
A radical interpretation of Cuban history is quite persuasive. Alter-
native interpretations have yet to be articulated with comparable coher-
ence and suggestiveness.2 Teleology, nonetheless, weakens its analysis:
it portrays the Cuban Revolution as the inevitable conclusion of a hal-
lowed destiny. Moreover, because of the revolution, the past acquires
the logic of radical nationalism and, consequently, contingencies are
eliminated. The past, however, was not mere prelude to the revolution;
it harbored alternatives that were never fulfilled. Cuban society allowed
the revolution to happen but did so after other paths were not taken.
This study is written with attention to emergent logic and frustrated
contingencies and, thus, seeks to modify the linearity of Cuban histo-
riography.
Nonetheless, the revolution highlights the forces of radicalism and
nationalism in the Cuban past. In 1868, the patrician Carlos Manuel de
Céspedes freed his slaves and took up arms for Cuba libre (free Cuba)
against Spain. Other landowners and slaveholders followed his lead.
Though poor whites and free blacks also joined the separatist effort,
creole propertied interests predominated in the leadership of the move-
ment. Ten years later Spain prevailed over the insurgents and peace
returned to Cuba. During the 1890s, José Marti resumed from the _
United States the cause of Cuban independence. In 1892, he founded
the Cuban Revolutionary Party (PRC) with the support of prosperous
creoles and working-class Cubans. A precursor of twentieth-century
national liberation movements, the PRC promoted unity among all
Cubans in order to achieve independence. Once the republic was estab-
lished, however, liberal visions of patria (homeland) coexisted uncom-
fortably with radical aspirations of social transformation.
In 1895, the PRC launched the second war of independence, and
shortly thereafter Marti died in battle. Within two years, the Ejército
Libertador (Liberation Army) had nearly defeated the Spanish forces: the
insurgents controlled the countryside and were preparing an assault on
the major cities. Dismayed by the prospect of a republic installed under
the aegis of the Liberation Army, some creole property owners encour-
aged the United States to intervene. Their interests coincided with those
of nascent U.S. imperialism; Marti and the popular sectors in the PRC
had adamantly opposed U.S. intervention, fearing Cuban independence
would be compromised. In 1898, the United States entered the war
against Spain and began a four-year occupation of Cuba. In 1899, the
Ejército Libertador was disbanded. On May 20, 1902, the republic was
proclaimed under a new constitution and the Platt Amendment, which
allowed the United States to intervene in Cuban affairs whenever order
was threatened. Indeed, Cuban independence was compromised.
The republic also thwarted the social justice aspirations of the inde-
 Introduction 5
pendence movement. Foreign capital, largely from the United States,
owned most of the national wealth and primarily benefited from the
rapid sugar expansion of the early twentieth century. Only when prof-
itability slackened after the 1920s did Cubans gradually acquire a major-
ity ownership of the sugar industry. Sugar production, however, stag-
nated: the population had doubled, but sugar output during the 1950s
barely surpassed that of the 1920s. Moreover, sugar still accounted for
the bulk of export earnings, and the United States continued to represent
its most important, if declining, market. The centrality of sugar rein-
forced a vicious circle: without sugar, there was no Cuba, and there was
no sugar without the U.S. market.
Trade reciprocity—preferential tariff treatment for Cuban sugar in
the United States in exchange for reduced customs duties on U.S. exports
to Cuba—further favored sugar at the expense of other products. Sugar
interests resisted efforts to protect the domestic market for national in-
dustry, fearing U.S. retaliation against them. Economic diversification
faced powerful obstacles. The sugar industry, moreover, used seasonal
labor and controlled the most fertile land, resulting in high unemploy-
ment and land concentration. Sugar preeminence reinforced depen-
dence on the United States, curtailed economic growth, and restrained
standards of living.
Thus, national sovereignty and the struggle for social justice were
the two pillars of radical nationalism. The nineteenth century forged its
tenor, the twentieth its intransigence. The republic frustrated its aspira-
tions, bolstered its contentions, and enhanced its credibility. By the
1950s, the nineteenth-century cry of independencia o muerte (indepen-
dence or death) had become /ibertad o muerte (liberty or death). After
1959, patria o muerte (homeland or death) would express the nearly one
hundred years of struggle for national sovereignty. Socialism would be-
come the conduit to realize social justice. That radical nationalism re-
tained relevance in the republic and emerged as a viable alternative in
1959 was due in no small measure to the complexion of Cuban society
and the crisis of political authority.

The year 1959 is the “great divide”’ in the study of Cuba. Numerous
scholars have variously analyzed the social revolution and Cuban social-
ism.4 The nature of Cuban society before 1959 is, however, a rather
neglected theme in the literature. Caricatured views of prerevolutionary
Cuba have too often sustained explanations for the origins of the revolu-
tion.
During the 1950s, Cuba ranked among the top five countries in Latin
America on a wide range of socioeconomic indicators such as urbaniza-
tion, literacy, per capita income, infant mortality, and life expectancy.
High levels of modernization, the active participation of the middle sec-
tors against the dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista, and the class origins of
6 The Cuban Revolution
the opposition leadership inspired the characterization of society and
the revolution as middle class. Political reform—the restoration of con-
stitutional government and the curtailment of corruption in public
administration—was necessary to realize the ‘‘take-off’’ of the Cuban
economy. Because the suppression of capitalism was never the stated
objective of the opposition movement, these interpretations attribute the
subsequent turn toward socialism to the machinations of Fidel Castro.?
A contrasting view emphasizes stagnation as the principal feature of
Cuban society before 1959. After the 1920s, sugar monoculture and the
concomitant dependence on the United States made it impossible to
sustain growth and promote diversification. Cuban modernity masked
profound inequalities between urban and rural areas and coexisted with
high levels of unemployment and underemployment. Widespread cor-
ruption and indecisive leadership, moreover, mired the political system.
Socialism was seen as inevitable in order to break the stranglehold of
economic stagnation, social backwardness, and political corruption. Ac-
cording to this view, the character of Cuban society—not the leadership
of Fidel Castro—was the decisive factor in understanding socialist trans-
formation after 1959.
The social forces interacting in the revolution and supporting the
subsequent radicalization were, however, a matter of debate. For some
scholars, peasants were the key to the revolutionary victory.’ For others,
radicalized sectors of the middle class mobilized the peasantry to bring
the revolution to power.® Some saw a coalition of the marginal and
rootless across classes as the spearhead of radical change.? Still others
argued that the Cuban Revolution was “‘declassé” and thus conducive to
a ‘‘left-Bonapartist’’ mediation among classes.!° Orthodox Marxists
contended that an alliance of workers and peasants sustained socialist
transformation.!! One author asserted that the working class, albeit rela-
tively insignificant in the anti-Batista movement, was decisive in consol-
idating the revolution.!? Implicit in these various propositions was the
question of the kind of society Cuba was before 1959.
That the literature proposes all of these answers and also argues for
the middle-class origins of the revolution is an indication of how impre-
cise the understanding of Cuba before 1959 is. Moreover, the research
for most of these analyses was conducted more than two decades ago.
Never fully investigated, the nature of the old Cuba seems to have been
long forgotten. Analyzing the outcomes of revolution has overwhelmed
the field of Cuban studies. The origins of revolution have been sidelined
or dismissed with broad generalizations. In 1974, Sidney Mintz noted
that the various roles attributed to peasants and rural workers in
the revolution required a clearer structural conceptualization of rural
Cuba.!3 His call has largely gone unheeded. Not just rural Cuba but
prerevolutionary Cuban society is uncharted terrain for sociological
analysis. Overcoming the dichotomous characterizations of the old Cuba
 Introduction 7
as either on the verge of ‘take-off’ or irreparably stagnant is imperative.
The ‘‘modern”’ profile of Cuba before 1959 needs to be integrated into a
structural analysis of the origins of the revolution.
Unlike other major social transformations, the Cuban Revolution
has not elicited systematic historical inquiry.!4 This study aims to bridge
the ‘‘great divide’: the social revolution of 1959 is analyzed in view of
the ‘‘emerging”’ crises in Cuban society over the six decades after the
inauguration of the republic in 1902.!> Social revolution and the ensuing
radical transformation of Cuban society were neither inevitable nor ab-
errational. The old Cuba sheltered these options as well as others that
were never or only partially realized. Sociopolitical dynamics, however,
explain how Cuban development eventually followed the paths of revo-
lution and socialism rather than some variant of dependent capitalism.
Cuban society provided the propitious context in which the revolution
was made and socialism became a viable option. Indeed, even if not
exactly at their discretion, people do make their own history. !°¢
During the twentieth century, six factors interacted to render Cuba
susceptible to radical revolution: mediated sovereignty, sugar-centered
development, uneven modernization, the crisis of political authority, the
weakness of the clases economicas (economic classes), and the relative
strength of the clases populares (popular sectors).!7 In crucial ways, sugar
production established the fundamental logic of Cuban politics. Sin
azucar, no hay pats (without sugar, there is no nation)—as José Manuel
Casanova of the Sugar Mill Owners Association frequently affirmed—
succinctly summarized it. The economy revolved around sugar and the
reciprocity agreements between Cuba and the United States that rein-
forced monoculture and prevented diversification. Nonetheless, the
capital-intensive sugar industry with its use of wage labor and the inti-
mate ties it engendered with the United States also sustained the relative,
if uneven, modernization of Cuba.
Sugar monoculture constituted the structural context that allowed
social revolution to happen. Sociopolitical dynamics explain how it was
actually made. Until 1934, when Franklin Delano Roosevelt abrogated
the Platt Amendment, political elites strove to satisfy the United States
just as often—in some instances, more often—as they did domestic con-
stituencies. After 1934, sugar, with its dependence on the U.S. market,
continued to define national parameters and limit development options.
During the 1930s, social upheavals engulfed Cuban society and brought
the political order of the early republic to an end. Their outcome was
neither social revolution nor government reaction. The Constitution
of 1940—-not unlike the constitutions of Mexico (1917) and Bolivia
(1938)—embodied a social compromise protecting private property,
sanctioning an interventionist state, endorsing agrarian reform, and pro-
moting a host of social rights. The 1940s, however, failed to consolidate
that compromise. In 1952, Fulgencio Batista overthrew Carlos Prio, end-
8 The Cuban Revolution
ing twelve years of constitutional government. Compounded over six
decades, a crisis of political authority marked the Cuban state. By the
end of the 1950s, this crisis was a crucial factor in explaining the relative
ease with which the anti-Batista movement gained power.
The Cuban Revolution highlights the importance of social classes in
the breakdown of the old Cuba and the making of the revolution. It
emphasizes the role of the clases populares, especially the unionized
working class, in the mounting crisis of Cuban society. It similarly un-
derscores the inability of the clases econdmicas, especially the nonsugar
sectors, to implement a development program to alleviate unemploy-
ment and redress the pervasive sense of insufficiency resulting from
uneven modernization. The dynamics of state power underscored the
political crisis. Between 1902 and 1958, the state responded to the im-
peratives of sugar. Until the 1950s, however, Cubans owned a minority
of the sugar mills.
After the 1930s, the Central Organization of Cuban Trade Unions
(CTC) constituted a powerful interest group whose demands the state
satisfied up to a point—the price exacted for social peace—resulting in a
relatively high cost of labor. Indeed, Cuban capitalists often faced rather
unfavorable conditions for the conduct of business. Organized in the
National Association of Cuban Industrialists (ANIC), the nonsugar sec-
tors were the most neglected by state policies: their interests were nearly
always subordinated to those of sugar. Moreover, the CTC was a more
influential organization with a larger constituency than ANIC and, con-
sequently, the state frequently favored labor in conflicts with capital.
By the 1950s, classic dependence on sugar was exhausted. Mono-
culture could no longer sustain economic growth, as it had until the
1920s and during wartime. This study argues that the transformation of
Cuban capitalism might have led to a missing model of Latin American
development. Obviously, this argument cannot be proven, since it is
about a history that never happened. Its usefulness lies in its power
to suggest and provoke. Caricatures—like those of ‘‘take-off’’ or stag-
nation—are, however, more misleading. The kind of society that Cuba
was is a crucial question in the field of Cuban studies, and Cubanists
need to answer it satisfactorily. This study argues that Cuba was on the
verge of a transition from classic dependence to a new form of dependent
capitalism. The interactions of the state, foreign capital, the dominant
classes, and sectors of unionized labor were pointing to what Iam calling
‘tropical dependent development.” The alliances that might have sus-
tained the transition, however, never coalesced.
During the 1950s, the politics of the old Cuba was likewise prac-
tically spent. Twenty years after the social upheavals of the 1930s and the
abrogation of the Platt Amendment, the Cuban political system had yet
to settle. The three administrations of the 1940s miscarried the consol-
idation of constitutional rule. Although elections regularly and with
 Introduction 9
relative honesty determined the political leadership, corruption and
malfeasance marred the process of governance. Political parties were
generally weak, responding more to personalities than platforms. Vio-
lence too often settled political scores as grupos de accion (action groups)
increasingly ruled the streets of Havana and other cities. When Batista
overthrew Prio in 1952, few mourned the passing of Prio’s government.
The Constitution of 1940, however, became the symbol of the highest
expectations of the citizenry, and its restoration soon developed into the
rallying cry of the opposition movement.
The character of the anti-Batista forces is a central element in under-
standing the breakdown of the old Cuba and the making of the social
revolution. This study contends that the opposition movement cannot |
be divorced from the underlying societal dynamics, that is, from the
emerging crises over the course of the twentieth century. The pledge to
restore the constitution needs to be seen in view of the significance of
1940 in relationship to the revolutionary upheavals of the 1930s and the
actual experience of representative democracy. The magna carta sym-
bolized social justice as well as formal democracy. Moreover, Batista’s
resistance to calling elections undermined the moderate opposition and
bolstered the July 26th Movement led by Fidel Castro. Because armed
insurrection rather than negotiations ended the dictatorship, institu-
tional processes were further debilitated. Even though it mobilized a
broad spectrum of Cuban society, the leadership of the anti-Batista
movement had, at best, tenuous bonds to the old Cuba. By January 1,
1959, when the rebeldes came to power, the forces that might have
contained the onslaught of revolution had been previously weakened.
Moreover, Fidel Castro was not predisposed to compromise the ‘‘real’’
revolution in order to appease the clases econdémicas and the United
States.

Radical nationalism guided Fidel Castro and the rebeldes throughout the
crucial year of 1959, when the social revolution was actually made. They
enjoyed overwhelming popular support. Cuba had never had a leader so
beloved: e/ pueblo cubano (the Cuban people) truly believed in him and
his visions. Castro exercised his extraordinary leadership to marshal the
popular ground swell and consolidate a radical revolution. Throughout
1959, three factors interacted to foster a process of radicalization. From
the outset, a dynamic developed that allowed the revolutionary govern-
ment to mobilize the clases populares and reinforce their newly acquired
sense of empowerment. Demands from below for higher wages, em-
ployment, and other benefits were often satisfied. Agrarian and urban
reforms symbolized the willingness of the government to fulfill popular
claims. The clases econdmicas and the United States became increasingly
alarmed. Fidel Castro emerged as the bulwark of the revolution—the
mediator between the people and the government. The first signs of U.S.
10 The Cuban Revolution
hostility, moreover, fueled radical nationalism and bolstered the central-
ity of Fidel Castro. During 1959-1960, popular empowerment, charis-
matic authority, and U.S. aggression crystallized revolutionary politics.
The dynamic of Fidel-patria-revolution was a consequence of the pro-
cesses of 1959 and has since remained at the heart of politics in Cuba.
The Cuban Revolution maintains that the impetus to radicalize the
revolution came from the interaction of social forces in the course of
1959, the willingness of the revolutionary government to respond in
favor of the clases populares, and the inability of the clases econdmicas to
mobilize a counterresponse. The process of radicalization also implied
some form of confrontation with the United States. The revolutionary
leadership chose to encourage popular pressures from below; make few
concessions to the industrialists who were initially considered allies;
resist all compromises with the dominant sectors of the clases econdmicas;
and defy the United States. They could have restrained popular de-
mands, appeased the clases econdmicas, and mollified the United States.
During the 1950s, the National Revolutionary Movement had followed
such a course in Bolivia. Had the Cuban leadership moderated its radi-
calism, the revolution would have had a different outcome. It did not
and, consequently, the imperative became survival in the face of opposi-
tion from the United States, the clases econdmicas, sectors of the middle
class, and even the more privileged among the clases populares.
The Cuban leadership focused on three crucial elements in consol-
idating its rule: developing the economy, seeking new international
allies, and constituting a new political authority. Redressing past in-
equalities and establishing social justice as the guide of economic devel-
opment have been central concerns of Cuban leaders. When economic
growth and social justice have been at odds, they—especially Fidel
Castro—have preferred the latter. Forging a new conciencia (conscious-
ness) based on collective well-being has been essential to their economic
development strategies. Moreover, they have considered that defending
the nation against the United States requires a steely national unity,

moted. ,
possible only if social justice, that is, equality among Cubans, is pro-

Affirming national sovereignty against the United States, however,

was possible only because of the support of Soviet Union. New ties of
dependence enabled the Cuban Revolution to survive the U.S. embargo,
achieve impressive gains in social welfare, and attain modest, if erratic,
rates of economic growth. Moreover, Soviet mentorship buttressed na-
tional security by supplying free armaments and training military per-
sonnel. Last, the Soviet Union offered Cuban leaders models of socialism
and one-party politics that in the early 1960s appeared to be feasible
alternatives to capitalism and representative democracy.
In 1959, the Cuban leadership rapidly established new patterns of
governance: Fidel-patria-revolution emerged as the logic of revolution-
 Introduction I]
ary politics. The Cuban Revolution examines the constitution of a new
political authority and its subsequent exercise in the relationship of the
Cuban Communist Party (PCC) to the trade unions and the Federation
of Cuban Women (FMC). It probes the tensions between institutional
politics and the underlying dynamic identifying the nation, the lead-
ership of Fidel Castro, and the revolution as inseparable. This study,
moreover, argues that, sociologically speaking, Cuba is no longer in
revolution because the social transformations that changed the basis of
political power occurred during the 1960s.
The end of the cold war, the downfall of the Eastern European
Communist parties, and the dissolution of the Soviet Union resulted in
a decidedly inauspicious international environment for the Cuban gov-
ernment. Moreover, the United States hoped that an embargo tight-
ened by the Cuban Democracy Act (1992) and the Cuban Liberty and
Democratic Solidarity Act (1996) would finally bring about the long-
frustrated goal of the regime’s demise. Undoubtedly, events of the
1990s triggered international circumstances that made survival the
Cuban government’s most intricate priority. Nonetheless, the domestic
roots of the current Cuban predicament need to be understood and un-
derscored: the year 1989 should not mark a second “great divide” in the
field of Cuban studies. A tripartite crisis besieges contemporary Cuban
society: the exhaustion of the political model born out of the revolu-
tion, the bankruptcy of the socialist economy, and the widespread
hopelessness of the population. Its causes are to be found mostly in the
course the Cuban government followed since 1959. Domestic and in-
ternational factors have thus combined to undermine the long-term
prospects of Cuban socialism.

Cuba is a Latin American country. That incontrovertible fact, however, is

not so evident in the field of Latin American studies. The revolution has
tended to isolate Cuba from the literature on Latin American develop-
ment. The reasons are understandable. When the Cuban Revolution
came to power, the fields of development and Latin American studies
were markedly different from what they are today. Thirty years ago,
modernization theories dictated notions of development, and Latin
American studies were an incipient field. The 1960s—shaped, in part,
by the experience of the Cuban Revolution—transformed the study
of development and launched interdisciplinary approaches to Latin
America.
Dependency and world-system theories successfully challenged the
modernization paradigm that had provided accurate descriptions of de-
velopment processes but had failed to explain them analytically.!8 The
new theories focused on the weight of external factors and the links
between core and periphery in the world economy to explain under-
development. Many dependentistas—initially of Latin American origins
12 The Cuban Revolution
or specialists on Latin America—advocated socialist transformation to
overcome underdevelopment.!? Because Cuba represented their pre-
scriptions, dependentistas spent little analytical attention on the origins
and outcome of the revolution. More recently, a “new comparative
political economy” has combined historical perspective, the compara-
tive method, and the interactions between states and markets to study
development processes.29° But Cuba is almost nowhere to be found in the
postmodernization literature.2!
Over the past 30 years, Latin American studies have significantly
contributed to broadening the field of development. The research of
sociologists and other social scientists specializing in Latin America has
been definitive in overcoming some of the shortcomings of depen-
dency and world-systems analyses. The study of Cuba has again re-
mained largely outside their purview. Cardoso and Faletto, for exam-
ple, barely mention Cuba in their seminal work on Latin American
development.22 Portes and Walton do not address processes of social
change in Cuba in their analysis of labor, class, and the international
system.23 De Janvry does not discuss Cuba in his study of agrarian re-
form in Latin America.24 Cuba was a “natural.” but was not included
in Bergquist’s book on labor and the export sectors.2>5 Similarly, Berins
Collier and Collier do not consider the Cuban experience in their com-
parative analysis of state policies toward the labor movement and the
consequences of those policies for the political systems of eight coun-
tries.2© Di Tella refers to Cuba only in passing in his theoretical discus-
sion of Latin American politics.27 Sheahan’s book on patterns of Latin
American development is the exception that proves the rule: it com-
pares Cuba since 1959 and Peru under Valasco Alvarado in terms of
economic strategies, repression, and social justice.28 There are no
works on Cuba comparable to those of Evans on dependent develop-
ment in Brazil, Becker on the Peruvian bourgeoisie, Gereffi on the
pharmaceutical industry in Mexico, Zeitlin on Chilean capitalists, Font
on the Brazilian coffee sector, and Gallo on fiscal policy and political
stability in Bolivia, to name but a few.29
Thus, the fields of Cuban studies and Latin American develop-
ment have mostly evolved parallel to each other. Most Cubanists have
implicitly adhered to the premises of modernization theory. In gen-
eral, ahistorical perspectives and unabashed empiricism have marked
Cuban studies. Specialists on Cuba almost seem to be saying the facts
speak for themselves. Explanations of change have too often been lim-
ited to a given conjuncture such as the failure of the 1970 sugar har-
vest and the current Cuban predicament in the post-cold war world,
or an emerging crisis in international relations such as the Missile Crisis
of 1962, Cuban support for the government of the Popular Movement
for the Liberation of Angola during the 1970s, and Havana’s assistance
to Central American revolutionary movements during the 1980s.
 Introduction 13
Elites are usually seen as the sole political actors; the actions of ordi-
nary Cubans are rarely identified. The links between society and poli-
tics are not prominently explored.3?°
The Cuban Revolution hopes to open new vistas in the study of
Cuba. I have attempted to integrate past and present through the
prism of postmodernization theories. I have likewise endeavored to
bring as much evidence as I had at the time of writing to sustain my
arguments. Much, I know, remains to be done: a historical sociology
of Cuba is still incipient. Nonetheless, I trust I have raised some of the
right questions. I also hope this study entices other social scientists, es-
pecially Latin Americanists, to take the Cuban experience more fully
into account in their exploration of social change. The chapters that
follow are almost exclusively about Cuba. Although the narrative is
theoretically and analytically informed, I have not engaged the liter-
aures on revolutions and Latin American development, nor have I
made systematic comparisons other than the evident one over time in
Cuba. Even so, I believe this study makes a modest contribution to
both literatures.
Chapter | overviews the patterns of Cuban development between
1902 and 1958, with special emphasis on sugar, relations with the
United States, the emergence of reformism, and the role of the state.
Chapter 2 analyzes politics in Cuba before the revolution. The dynamics
of the Plattist republic, the social upheavals of the 1930s, the compro-
mise of 1940, the years of constitutional government, the Batista dic-
tatorship, and the formation of the opposition movement are analyzed.
Chapter 3 focuses on the years 1959-1961 and the radicalization of the
revolution; it is the heart of the book. Chapter 4 presents a review of
development strategies and socioeconomic performance since 1959.
Chapter 5 deals with the formation of the Cuban Communist Party and
its relations with the CTC and the FMC in view of the revolutionary
leadership’s efforts to constitute new forms of political authority. Chap-
ter 6 continues the analysis of the PCC and the two mass organizations
during the period of institutionalization (1970-1986). Chapter 7 re-
views the process of rectification and the crisis of Cuban socialism in
the immediate post—cold war period. Chapter 8 analyzes the reconsti-
tution and resilience of the Cuban government amid the acute inter-
national and domestic conditions of the 1990s. The conclusion sum-
marizes the main themes and offers some perspectives for the future
of Cuba.
 Mediated S ignt
ediated Sovereignty,
Monoculture, and
Development
Without sugar, there is no nation.
José Manuel Casanova
Sugar Mill Owners’ Association
1940s

Because of sugar, there is no nation.

Raul Cepero Bonilla
Cuban economist
1940s

Cuba before the revolution was rather unique in Latin America. Sugar
monoculture appeared to cast Cuban society in the mold of a foreign-
dominated, enclave economy. Until the 1950s, U.S. capital held majority
interest in the sugar industry. Cuba-U.S. trade reciprocity, moreover,
undermined the diversification of the Cuban economy. Appearances,
however, were misleading. Cuba had a modest industrial class. Non-
sugar industry was making significant strides. Industrial workers were
relatively numerous. Cuba was, moreover, urbanized. Since the 1930s, a
majority of the population has lived in urban areas. During the 14 years
between World War II and the revolution, the middle class expanded
notably.
Nonetheless, sugar lay at the core of the problems that Cuba faced
during the 1950s. The industry was still the most important depository of
domestic and foreign capital investments. Sugar encumbered the cre-
ation of employment, and the harvest cycle accounted for high levels of
unemployment and underemployment. Without diversification, jobs
would not be created and living standards raised. During the 1950s, a
consensus was emerging on the need to overcome the centrality of

14 ,
sugar. Moving Cuba from classic dependence on sugar to a new form
of dependent capitalism, however, required a realignment of domestic
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 15

actors, a new role for the state, and a restructuring of Cuba-U.S.

relations.

Classic Dependence in Crisis

_ By the end of the nineteenth century, the United States was the principal
market for Cuban sugar exports. While still a colony of Spain, Cuba
became commercially dependent on the United States. During the early
1890s, Cuba-U.S. trade took place under terms of reciprocity. In 1894,
U.S. preferential tariffs propelled the production of a 1-million-ton har-
vest. The independence war of 1895-1898, however, devastated the
sugar industry: harvests averaged about 215,000 tons a year.! In 1898,
when U.S. intervention brought the war to an end, the countryside lay in
ruins. Most sugar mills were destroyed or inoperative, land lay fallow,
and a large segment of the rural population was displaced or decimated.
The planter class was bankrupt and lacked the capital to rebuild the mills
and replant the cane fields.
The Reciprocity Treaty of 1903 revived the ravaged sugar industry
and enabled a seventeenfold expansion between 1900 and 1925.2 Cuban
sugar received a 20 percent tariff reduction in the United States, and U.S.
, goods 20 to 40 percent in Cuba. The sugar industry attracted substantial
foreign investment. By 1925, U.S. capital totaled $750 million, owned 41
percent of all mills, and controlled 60 percent of the harvest. Reciprocity
consolidated a mode of development based on monoculture and large
landholdings. Prospective sugar profits deflected investment from other
sectors and promoted cane cultivation. Nonetheless, under the terms of
the 1903 treaty, the sugar industry recovered and, with it, the Cuban
economy. By the mid-1920s, Cuban capital was the junior partner, own-
ing less than one-third of all mills and producing less than one-fifth of
the harvest. Thus, sugar expansion did not primarily result in national
capital accumulation.
After 1925, when world sugar production exceeded demand and
prices fell, crisis overcame the sugar industry. The Great Depression
further deepened the sugar downturn. Between 1926 and 1940, Cuban
sugar output declined more than 50 percent. During the 1940s, higher
prices and growing demand resulted in production increases to the levels
of 1925 (about 5 million tons a year). During the 1950s, sugar harvests
increased slightly.4 By then, however, population growth had undercut
their value. During the 1920s, Cuba had produced about one ton of
sugar per person; by the 1950s, the proportion was .86 ton.> Not sur-
prisingly, annual per capita income reflected the vagaries of sugar: de-
clining 2.5 percent during the Great Depression, increasing approx-
imately 2.6 percent during the 1940s, and barely moving during the
1950s.© Moreover, market conditions for sugar exports were increasingly
unfavorable: Cuba was losing ground in the U.S. market and becoming
 16 The Cuban Revolution
more dependent on the stagnant international market.” Nonetheless,
throughout the post-1925 period, sugar accounted for about 80 percent
of all exports.®
The openness of the Cuban economy further aggravated the conse-
quences of sugar monoculture. Between 1945 and 1958, foreign trade
averaged 54.8 percent of Gross National Product (GNP).? Total trade per
capita was among the highest in the world.!° Relatively declining prices
and stagnant markets weakened Cuban terms of trade. Between 1916
and 1925, per capita exports and imports averaged 121 and 90 pesos a
year, respectively; during the 1950s, 113 and 103 current pesos. Between
1954 and 1958, the volume of exports and imports grew only 38 and 18
percent in comparison with their 1921-1925 levels.!! From the late :
1920s to the late 1940s, Cuban export prices rose 66 percent; import
prices, 85 percent. After World War II, Cuba imported nearly 5 percent
less in value and 15 percent less in volume than it had before the depres-
sion.!2 The continued primacy of sugar augured further deterioration in
the terms of trade.
By the 1950s, Cuba evidently had to turn elsewhere—not neces-
sarily abandoning sugar—in order to resume economic growth. In 1956,
the National Bank rendered an ominous report on the consequences for
living standards if dependence on sugar were to continue. In 1955, Cuba
would have needed a sugar harvest of more than 7 million tons to have
maintained 1947 standards of living. A 2 percent yearly increase would
have required nearly 9 million tons. The 1955 harvest was less than 5
million tons. By 1965, a harvest of more than 8 million tons would be
needed for standards of living to maintain their 1947 levels. To improve
them at the 2 percent rate, production would have to be almost 13
million tons.!3 Even if attainable, such harvests were unrealistic without
market outlets. The sugar sector had clearly ceased to be the motor for
growth.
The centrality of sugar underscored a structural crisis of economic
stagnation. Cuba depended on sugar for its export earnings. Sugar cane
was planted on well over 50 percent of the land under cultivation. !4 The
sugar sector produced about half of all agricultural output and one-third
that of industry.!> It employed 23 percent of the labor force and gener-
ated 28 percent of GNP.!® Since the late 1920s, however, an important
change had occurred. U.S. capital had partially withdrawn from the
slackening sugar sector and Cubans had gained majority interests. By the
early 1950s, Cuban capital controlled 71 percent of all mills and 56
percent of total production.!”? National ownership did not make the
movement toward diversification easier, however. Especially during
wartime, sugar still offered substantial—albeit relatively falling—profits.
Breaking the sugar conundrum required social initiative, political
action, and national vision. The reciprocity mentality was all-pervasive
among hacendados (mill owners) and most colonos (cane growers). Safe-
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 17

guarding the Cuban quota in the U.S. market was their priority. Sugar
interests resisted reforms aimed at protecting the Cuban market for na-
tional industry for fear that the United States would lessen the preferen-
tial treatment of sugar. Moreover, wars tempered the crisis that befell the
sugar industry after the 1920s. World War I, the Korean War, and the
Suez Canal crisis helped prolong the status quo. The evidence against
sugar was unassailable, but making an argument for diversification was
difficult.
Since the 1920s, the National Association of Cuban Industrialists
had, nonetheless, engaged in that task. ANIC had a vision for a Cuba
beyond sugar and pursued it relentlessly. The industrialists took the
initiative to address the mounting dilemma besieging the Cuban econ-
omy. ANIC, however, never quite mustered full state support nor forged
lasting alliances with other social forces to advance a program of diver-
sification. Political action was rarely concerted or sufficiently deter-
mined.

Reformism in the Making, 1927-1958

During the early twentieth century, the reconstruction of the sugar in-
dustry came to pass at the expense of Cuban ownership, the diversifica-
tion of agriculture, and the protection of domestic industry. There was,
nonetheless, no viable alternative to sugar. Domestic and international
circumstances underscored its importance. Cuban planters lacked the
capital to rebuild the sugar industry, let alone diversify the economy.
Other sectors paled in comparison to sugar and hence could not have
generated the resources to restore the economy. Moreover, the turn of
the century was a period of extraordinary export expansion in the world
economy. What else but sugar could Cuba produce at comparative ad-
vantage? Foreign investors—the only source of available capital—
naturally gravitated to the sugar industry, where the prospects of profits
were most promising. National capitalist development—an elusive pas-
sage in Latin America—did not find a track in early-twentieth-century
Cuba.
The consequences of restoring the sugar industry were not easily
minimized. U.S. capital promoted economic reconstruction but under-
mined national control of the economy. Trade reciprocity favored U.S.
imports, weakened existing industries, and discouraged new ones. More
than 350 Cuban-owned establishments closed their doors early in the
twentieth century. Expanded trade, moreover, benefited the Spanish-
controlled commercial sector. Unlike the rest of Latin America after
independence, Cuba did not expel the Spanish. In 1909, Manuel Rionda,
a member of the planter class, wrote: ‘‘So the Cubans, the real Cubans,
do not own much.’’!8&
Nonetheless, the early republic witnessed the formation of an indus-
18 The Cuban Revolution
trial class. Administration of the state allowed Cubans their only avenue
for social mobility. Political elites enriched themselves through corrup-
tion and graft. The expansion of public works and services, the promo-
tion of state-development projects, and the establishment of new gov-
ernment agencies also resulted in national capital accumulation.
Remnants of the planter class and the Cuban-born sons of Spanish im-
migrants likewise contributed to the formation of an industrial class.
World War I fostered an unprecedented sugar boom and some import-
substitution industrialization. Between 1914 and 1920, the value of ex-
ports increased four and a half times while that of imports nearly qua-
drupled.!? The sugar windfall generated some opportunities for local
capital to invest, borrow, and expand the nonsugar economy.?°
National industry modestly increased its share of the Cuban market.
In 1912, consumer goods represented 70 percent of total imports; by
1927, 65 percent.2! Between 1925 and 1929, local industry produced
around 40 to 45 percent of all consumer goods in the domestic market.22
Without doubt, imports had constituted a much larger proportion of
domestic consumption earlier in the century.2 By the mid-1920s, more
than one thousand enterprises were under Cuban ownership.24 The
growth of local industry was not wholly Cuban, however; nonexistent
in 1911, U.S. investments in manufacturing amounted to $40 million in
1924-1925.
In 1923, the National Association of Cuban Industrialists was
founded. Under the slogan ‘‘For the Regeneration of Cuba,”’ the indus-
trialists joined other groups in calling for protection of national industry,
repeal of the Platt Amendment, honesty in government, limited presi-
dential terms, and curtailment of foreign land ownership. The reform
agenda clearly countered the tenor of Cuba-U.S. relations and the free-
trade interests of the sugar industry. In 1925, the election of Gerardo
Machado gave reformers cause to rejoice. A general in the Liberation
Army and a member of the political elite, the new president was seen to
represent the interests of the industrial class. His wealth, considerable
and diverse, was a product of the structure of Cuban politics. Partially
and briefly, Machado addressed the reformist program. He raised the
possibility of revoking the Platt Amendment with the U.S. government
and suggested the desirability of revising the Reciprocity Treaty of 1903.
The United States responded firmly on the mutual benefits of the Platt
Amendment and evasively, if on balance negatively, on treaty review.
Machado obliquely circumvented the issue of sovereignty that had
prompted him to question the Platt Amendment. He acted, however, on
the matter of protectionism. In 1927, the Customs-Tariff Law established
unprecedented protection for national industry. Duties on capital and
raw materials imports were lowered and those on many consumer dura-
bles and nondurables raised. Existing Cuban industries such as shoe
manufacturing, toiletries, furniture, breweries, distilleries, tanneries,
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 19

dairy, and food processing were protected and new ones were encour-
aged.2° For the first time, the state supported economic interests outside
the sugar sector. The industrialists wholeheartedly applauded the efforts
of the Machado administration.
The reformist movement viewed the sugar industry with profound
ambivalence. That the mills were largely foreign-owned, had extensive
landholdings, paid colonos low cane prices and charged them high land
rents spurred the reformist call to regulate the sugar industry and enact
land reform.2” Although some reformers called for the abandonment of
sugar, most recognized that only sugar could generate the capital needed
for economic diversification.28 They were, nonetheless, unwilling to ac-
cept its immutability and emphasized market diversification for tradi-
tional exports as well as outreach to new markets for new products. The
industrialists identified Colombia, Panama, Honduras, and Guatemala
as prospective markets for Cuban exports such as paints, cordage, ready-
made clothing, shoes, and rum.2? In 1929, Gustavo Gutiérrez, a key
figure in the reform movement, succinctly expressed its leitmotif:
‘‘Cuba’s economic interests should be the basis of our foreign policy.’’3°
In 1936, Chamber of Commerce leader Luis Machado invoked its quin-
tessence:
Half a century ago, Cuba’s principal challenge was political. Three genera-
tions of Cubans struggled and died for the freedom, sovereignty, and inde-
pendence of our people. Our generation’s challenge is economic and social.
If our parents forged an independent Cuba, we have to make our country,
not only wealthy, but Cuban.?!
The Customs-Tariff Law of 1927 achieved measured success. Be-
tween 1925 and 1933, food products declined from 35 to 29 percent of
total imports. Coffee and corn imports were virtually eliminated; meat
and lard fell 84 percent; dairy products, 91 percent; potatoes, 86 percent;
and rice, 39 percent.32 Overall trade, however, decreased sharply: ex-
ports, 76 percent, imports, 86 percent.33 The Great Depression further
aggravated the deterioration of export earnings and import levels after
the mid-1920s sugar crisis. The 90 peso loss (45 percent) in national
income per capita, though, was not as steep as that in total trade.+4
Undoubtedly, lower consumption accounted for an important share in
import reduction, but had the Customs-Tariff Law not wrought modest
achievements, consumption levels would have been even more impov-
erished.
The Great Depression, nonetheless, undermined the efforts to diver-
sify. Stagnant markets and falling prices reinforced the sugar conun-
drum. The first step toward economic recovery was improving the situa-
tion of sugar. In 1934, Cuba and the United States signed a new
reciprocity treaty more favorable to Cuban sugar. The U.S. Sugar Act of
1934, moreover, established a quota system for domestic and foreign
20 The Cuban Revolution
producers that increased the share of Cuban sugar. Benefits, however,
were relative only to the early 1930s, when Cuba was losing an average
of 5 percent a year in the U.S. market and paying the steepest tariffs since
the 1890s.°
Between 1933 and 1940, Cuban exports to the United States rose 84
percent. The new treaty and a 1939 amendment, however, undermined
the Customs-Tariff Law. Broader tariff reductions on U.S. products
buoyed the already privileged U.S. position in the Cuban market. U.S.
exports to Cuba more than doubled, and the United States increased its
share of Cuban imports from 54 to 77 percent.*© Moreover, U.S. manu-
facturing investment continued to grow. Between 1929 and 1943, U.S.
industrial capital rose from $45 million to $65 million. During the same
period, total U.S. investment declined from $859 million to $567 mil-
lion.*7 Contracting sugar markets and the Great Depression had consid-
erably weakened Cuban export capabilities. The new treaty and the U.S.
quota system enabled Cuba to recover. Reciprocity and quotas, how-
ever, favored sugar against the reformist program of protectionism and
diversification.
The outbreak of World War II further enhanced the prospect of
sugar and encouraged a short-term vision. In 1950, the World Bank
noted that notwithstanding the shortages that should have encouraged
it, diversification ‘“‘appeared to regress’’ during the war.3® Overall do-
mestic consumption declined. Between the 1920s and the 1940s, the
value of consumer goods imports fell from 147 to 125 million pesos a
year. Domestic production—only 40 to 45 percent of total production—
would have had to grow at the unlikely pace of 108 to 123 percent to
cover the import deficit in relation to the 1920s.3? By the late 1940s, per
capita consumption of a variety of products declined in comparison with
the mid-1920s. While population grew 41 percent, consumption of rice
expanded 22 percent, wheat flour 38 percent, potatoes 5 percent, coffee
29 percent, legumes 40 percent, cotton textiles 8 percent.4° Moreover,
the average value of new capital goods was actually higher in the 1920s
at 37 million pesos than in the 1940s at 23 million pesos.*! The sugar
industry had ceased to expand and other sectors did not take up the slack
in capital investments. World War II did not advance economic diver-
sification.
The industrialists were well aware of missed opportunities. In 1944,
ANIC invited all major business associations and trade unions to an
economic conference. The meeting outlined a program of protection of
national industry, creation of a national bank and merchant marine,
revision of extant commercial agreements, and other measures to pro-
mote ‘‘a broader development of all our productive sectors in view of
Cuba’s foremost interests.’’42 The conference focused on the role of state
policy in promoting domestic industry and advocated duty, tax, and
other concessions for existing and new industries. The industrialists em-
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 21

phasized how illy prepared Cuba was to face the lower sugar prices of
the postwar period. Two years later, they continued to sound the confer-
ence’s knell:
In order to obtain our economic independence, it is imperative that we carry
out an integral reform of our economic system, which is a colonial one,
based on producing raw materials which we sell in only one market at a
price and conditions imposed by the buyer.*?
In 1948, ANIC and the Chamber of Commerce organized another
conference, which constituted an exhaustive expression of reformism
and covered a broad range of topics: labor-management relations, social
security, international trade, fiscal and monetary policies, credit institu-
tions, civil service, and merchant marine. Participants unanimously —
agreed on most matters, especially on the imperative of greater produc-
tivity. Not all, however, concurred on the focal issue of trade. The Sugar
Mill Owners’ Association and Sugar Cane Growers’ Association did not
sign the final document. Sugar producers adduced they could not en-
dorse it because their visit to Washington, D.C., for the Department of
Agriculture audiences on the 1949 sugar quotas had prevented them
from fully participating in the conference. Their procedural rationale
notwithstanding, hacendados and colonos failed to gloss over their dis-
agreement with nonsugar interests over trade policy.
The final document of the conference challenged the bilateral prem-
ise underpinning the island’s trade relations. Maintaining the Cuban
share of the U.S. market did not preempt seeking new markets for sugar.
Trade policy was a national endeavor that required private and public
coordination. The clases econdmicas as a whole had high stakes in the
sugar industry. All sectors, not just the sugar interests, were entitled to a
voice in foreign trade agreements, and the conference asserted:
Bilateralism in trade policy . . . is generally contrary to the national inter-
est and should be substituted by multilateralism. . . . The determination of
international commercial policy is a matter of national interest. As such, it
corresponds, in the first place, to the public sector, but its elaboration like-
wise requires input from all economic quarters. . . . Cuba’s international
trade policy has to be conceived and formulated as an organic whole which
harmoniously connects external and internal factors to promote the na-
tional interest.44

The 1948 conference recognized the primacy of sugar in the Cuban

economy. Unlike some reformers during the 1920s, none of the partici-
pants suggested phasing out sugar production. Two years before the
World Bank commission would note that the problem in Cuba was not
too much cane but too little of everything else; the reformers arrived at
the same conclusion.4° Furthermore, they advocated the modernization
of the sugar industry. National capital was needed to diversify the econ-
omy, and only sugar could generate it. Reformers in the 1940s also
22 The Cuban Revolution
aimed to expand markets for Cuban consumer goods in Central America
and the Caribbean. The final document noted:
Export industries are the basic element in the Cuban economy. Neverthe-
less, their present structure does not meet our needs. The development of a
strong economy to satisfy fully domestic consumption and diversify exports
is a national imperative if we are to provide full and stable employ-
ment. . . . We have so many underutilized resources that high export pro-
duction output is perfectly compatible with industrial and agricultural di-
versification.*°

By the 1950s, reformism had attained some successes. A consensus

on the interdependence of the sugar industry, agricultural diversifica-
tion, and import-substitution industrialization appeared to be emerging.
Inauspicious market conditions for Cuban sugar seemed to nudge hacen-
dados and colonos toward considering some degree of change. The real-
ization that Cuba would never again fully regain the lost ground in the
U.S. market was particularly persuasive.*’” In 1955, the government un-
veiled the National Program for Economic Action, which incorporated
three decades of reformist prescriptions. With a sense of urgency, the
program emphasized that the status quo had ended:
Cuba cannot continue to depend almost exclusively on sugar to sustain its
population, nor wait for solutions through preferential treatment from the
United States. . . . The equilibrium between the levels of sugar production
and population has been broken. . . . [I]f we do not structure and orient
our economy to secure a just and adequate standard of living for our people,
unfortunate days await us.*8
Nonsugar industry was growing at an annual rate of nearly 7 per-
cent.49 There were more than 2,300 nonsugar industrial enterprises, and
Cubans owned the majority. Since the 1930s, imports had undergone a
substantial transformation. By 1956, consumer goods had declined to 36
percent of total imports. Capital and intermediate imports had increased
to 64 percent.>*° Capital investments in the nonsugar sector were mount-
ing. After having risen during the 1940s, the proportion of food imports
to total imports fell in the 1950s.°! In 1950, the National Bank started
operations and other credit institutions were also established. Credit to
the nonsugar sector was increasing, sugar credit declining.®? While still
meager, public and private support for research and development was
modestly improving.
Progress was slow and uneven, however, Although rates rose
through the 1950s, the structure of investment had yet to change signifi-
cantly enough to support economic transformation. The clases econdémi-
cas enjoyed a favorable climate as wages fell in proportion to national
income.>3 Nonetheless, Cuban capital continued to prefer real estate,
U.S. bank deposits, U.S. stock and securities purchases, and idle bank
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 23

balances in Cuba over national industry and agriculture. Cuban na-

tionals had over $300 million in short-term assets and long-term invest-
ments in the United States.°4 Agriculture was especially neglected. Be-
tween 1951 and 1958, capital goods imports for the sugar industry,
nonsugar industry, and agriculture went up 73 percent, 90 percent, and
15 percent, respectively. When the 1953 recession forced a reduction in
total imports, agriculture suffered a steep 44 percent loss. In contrast,
capital goods imports for sugar and nonsugar industries declined about
20 percent.>°
Moreover, deficit spending depleted the reserves accumulated dur-
ing the 1940s. By 1958, monetary reserves had dwindled to 100 mil-
lion pesos from 571 million in 1952.°° An increasingly unfavorable bal-
ance of payments and international terms of exchange heightened the
crisis. During the 1950s, Cuba amassed a 400-million-peso deficit with
the United States.°” Terms of trade were, moreover, rapidly declining
relative to the late 1940s, when Cuba had accumulated nearly 1.4 bil-
lion pesos in trade surpluses. Between 1950 and 1958, surpluses plum-
meted to about 367 million pesos.>8 Indeed, the sugar equilibrium was
broken.
Nonetheless, the force of sugar still prevailed. The sugar sector was
extradordinarily reluctant to break the syndrome of reciprocity. Break-
ing from the trodden paths—even if increasingly dead-ended—would
not come naturally to the sugar industry. In 1955, hacendados and indus-
trialists engaged in a fierce public debate about trade with the United
States and protection of national industry.°? Mill owners remained ada-
mant on the safeguards required to secure the U.S. market for Cuban
sugar and balked at most efforts to protect the national market. Without
reciprocity, they contended, the United States would increase tariffs on
Cuban sugar. And where would Cuba be without sugar?
The industrialists argued vehemently that diversification would
change only the composition of Cuba-U.S. trade, not its overall amount.
The sugar sector continued to insist on the identity of its interests with
those of the nation. The Suez Canal crisis accentuated the flawed syn-
drome of sugar. Higher prices for raw sugar motivated mill owners to
reduce the production of molasses, alcohol, and other by-products that
were pivotal for the diversification drive. Raw sugar was more profitable,
but its by-products more ably promoted the long-term national interest.
The industrialists reiterated their long-standing position:
If the Cuban economy functioned without the limitations imposed on it by
foreign interests, it would be a clear sign that we have achieved our eco-
nomic sovereignty. . . . Everything that is contrary to our economic prog-
ress, to the industrialization and diversification of our economy, to the right
of all the citizens of this land to a job and sufficient income, that is the
enemy against which the industrialists struggle.©°
24 The Cuban Revolution
At the end of the 1950s, the sugar and nonsugar sectors of the clases
econdmicas were evidently at an impasse. What role had the state played
in relation to the central issues and actors in the Cuban economy?

State and Society

Before the 1920s, the Cuban state had largely refrained from interven-
tion in the economy. Only during the Liberal administration of José
Miguel GOmez (1908-1912) did the state initiate development projects.
The collapse of international markets in the mid-1920s, however, im-
pelled the Machado administration to regulate the sugar industry. With
the Verdeja Act of 1926, the government restricted Cuban harvests in the
hope of raising sugar prices. Quotas were assigned to each mill based on
past production, acreage under cultivation, and the number of colonos
providing it with cane. The length of the harvest was shortened and new
plantings suspended.
Nonetheless, regulation did not arrest the drop of sugar prices. After
two restricted harvests in 1926 and 1927, the 1928 price of sugar fell
more than 40 percent relative to that of 1924. Moreover, while Cuba
reduced its harvest by more than | million tons, world production ex-
panded by more than 2 million.®! Even so, the policy of harvest restric-
tion signaled the modus operandi of state intervention in the face of
stagnant world demand and growing market competition. For more
than two decades, the state intermittently pursued a policy of restriction
even though the benefits to Cuba were dubious.
The Sugar Stabilization Institute (1931) and the Sugar Coordination
Act (1937) institutionalized state regulation of the sugar sector. The
institute incorporated representatives of mill owners, cane growers, the
government, and the unions, and was responsible for enforcing sugar
regulations and conducting international negotiations. The 1937 act es-
tablished a grinding quota so that crop restrictions would not unduly
burden colonos and the smaller mills. The act also secured the right of
colonos to permanent land tenure: as long as quotas were met and rental
payments made, cane growers could not be evicted. However, land ten-
ure was made contingent upon the fulfillment of cane quotas. Because
colonos had no incentive to cultivate other crops, the act actually deterred
agricultural diversification.®2 Sugar was too central to the national well-
being and its domestic constituencies too powerful for the state to ab-
stain from intervention in a crisis. Regulation, however, entrenched the
Status quo.
Only World War II helped Cuba to rebound from the throes of the
Great Depression. War prosperity poignantly underscored the vul-
nerability of the Cuban economy to a volatile market. War allowed Cuba
to prosper; peace augured shrinking international markets and reduced
quotas in the U.S. market. The industrialists notwithstanding, the Cuban
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 25

government continued to insist on the logic of reciprocity. During the

war, Cuba sold sugar to the United States below market prices. Subse-
quently, the Cuban government and the sugar sector expected the
United States to remember their wartime cooperation in curbing sugar
prices and expressed “hopes for equity and reciprocity” in the postwar
order.®? For a brief moment, it seemed such hopes might indeed be
realized.
In 1946, the United States proposed that Cuba sell the 1946 and 1947
harvests at three to four cents below the world market price. The Sugar
Mill Owners Association supported the U.S. proposal; the Cuban gov-
ernment, the colonos, the unions, nonsugar interests, and many
hacendados rejected it. Their demands included the sale of one harvest at
a time; a larger share for Cuban sugar in the U.S. market; larger quotas
for molasses, alcohol, and refined sugar; and, most important, a ‘‘guar-
antee clause” that sugar prices would rise in tandem with those of U.S.
exports to Cuba. Some hacendados and colonos even hinted sugar ship-
ments to the United States might be suspended if these demands were
not addressed. The immediate outcome of this uncharacteristic confron-
tation was the separate and more beneficial negotiation for Cuba of the
1946 and the 1947 harvests and the 1947 inclusion of the ‘‘guarantee
clause.’’64
Shortly thereafter, however, the Sugar Act of 1948 precipitated a
debate in the U.S. Congress that underscored the uniqueness of the 1946
encounter. One of its appended clauses stipulated the reduction of the
sugar quota of any country that did not treat U.S. citizens and their
interests ‘‘equitably,” a thinly veiled exigency against Cuba because Cu-
ban citizens owed U.S. concerns $8 million. Not coincidentally, the
clause followed upon the more assertive Cuban negotiations for the 1946
and 1947 harvests. In response, Cuba pursued the inclusion of a provi-
sion in the Rio Treaty of 1947 against economic coercion. The Rio con-
ference failed to pass the Cuban motion, the U.S. Congress eventually
repealed the disputed clause to the Sugar Act of 1948, and the Cuban
government subsequently refrained from such an assertive negotiating
stance with the United States.©* Cuba had, once more, learned the limits
of its sovereignty. The 1946 negotiations and the 1947 controversy over
the U.S. Sugar Act highlighted the magnitude of the obstacles that a
transition to a new form of dependent development faced in Cuba. It
was impossible without Cuba’s redefining its relationship to the United
States, yet, the United States insisted on a singular and intimate relation-
ship.
Defending the preferential treatment of sugar often undercut domes-
tic efforts to diversify the economy. Rice agriculture exemplified the
obstacles confronting the nonsugar sector. The Customs-Tariff Law of
1927 had established protective tariffs to stimulate rice cultivation. The
government had distributed seeds and disseminated technical informa-
26 The Cuban Revolution
tion in rural areas to encourage domestic production. At the time, Cuba
purchased almost all rice imports from the Far East. During the 1930s,
the revised reciprocity treaty accorded U.S. rice exports to Cuba a 50
percent tariff reduction over those from Asia. Subsequently, Far East
imports all but disappeared from the Cuban market. By the end of the
decade, the United States was supplying most Cuban rice imports.®
Nonetheless, between 1936 and 1941, total rice imports declined by 10
percent while domestic production nearly doubled. U.S. and Cuban rice
was now Satisfying domestic consumption®’ of the single most impor-
tant item in the Cuban aiet.©
Cuban producers fought an uphill and ultimately losing battle to
dominate their own market. Between 1941 and 1958, rice agriculture
expanded almost twentyfold and rice imports increased less than 2 per-
cent. A separate look at the 1940s and the 1950s reveals another story.
During the 1940s, rice imports actually grew about 50 percent. By 1955—
1956, domestic production had risen to satisfy 52 percent of consump-
tion, and imports fell below their 1941 level. U.S. rice growers system-
atically protested the decline in Cuban imports. The U.S. Department of
Agriculture conveyed their concern to the Cuban government and im- |
plied that the sugar quota might be reduced.
Cuban sugar and commercial interests lobbied to defend the bastion
of sugar. The newly constituted state banks failed to extend credits to
support the extension of rice cultivation. Unnecessary rice imports were
authorized to assuage U.S. rice exporters. Cuban rice growers protested
to no avail. Then, under the Sugar Act of 1956, the United States for-
mally secured a Cuban commitment to purchase rice in exchange for
continued preferential treatment of sugar. Cuba purchased about 75
percent of all U.S. rice exports. Between 1955 and 1959, domestic pro-
duction grew about 10 percent and rice imports more than 40 percent.
The proportion of national consumption satisfied by Cuban producers
receded to about 45 to 47 percent. After a substantial loss, U.S. exports
again surpassed their 1941 levels.©? The Cuban rice industry disclosed
the entrapment of the state in the imperatives of sugar production. Be-
cause of U.S. and domestic opposition, state banks did not support rice
production and, consequently, the state failed to promote national inter-
ests. Significantly, the controversy over sugar and rice happened after
the government had announced the reformist-oriented National Pro-
gram for Economic Action.
In many ways, the ambience of the 1950s was propitious to imple-
mentation of the reform program. The Batista administration enacted a
protective tariff that favored the purchase of raw materials and capital
goods and curtailed consumer goods imports more strictly than had the
Customs-Tariff Law of 1927.79 New measures to guarantee foreign in-
vestments such as tax exemptions and more liberal terms for capital
remittances were also passed.7! The rates of domestic and foreign invest-
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 27

ments were increasing. In 1957-1958, domestic investments had grown

nearly 50 percent relative to 1950—1951.72 Between 1956 and 1960, U.S.
capital had projected a $205 million influx of new, nonsugar invest-
ments, a 20 percent increase over its total in Cuba.73 Three of the constit-
uent factors of dependent development—a more activist state, national
capital, and foreign investments—were potentially available, but the
confrontation over the U.S. Sugar Act in 1956 underscored the chasm
between possibilities and reality.
Cuban society, nonetheless, harbored the social forces that might
have served the long-delayed program of reform. Among the clases eco-
nomicas, the industrialists were a growing voice for economic transfor-
mation. The relatively large middle class—perhaps about one-third of
the population—also represented a constituency against the status
quo.”4 The middle sectors included 179,571 professionals, managers,
and executives, nearly 10 percent of the economically active popula-
tion.7> The 203 professional associations were middle-class organiza-
tions.” The middle class, moreover, was expanding.’” Crucial sectors of
the unionized working class, especially in Havana and in the more mod-
ern industrial enterprises, were also potential supporters of renewing
dependent capitalism. During the 1950s, the contours for the transfor-
mation of classic dependence were present. There was a sense of urgency
about that transformation: the primacy of sugar preempted improve-
ments in standards of living. A growing sense of insufficiency permeated
Cuban society.

Standards of Living
The problem of employment lay at the core of the old Cuba (see Table
1.1). In the mid-1950s, one-third of the labor force did not hold full-time
jobs. During the dead season, overt unemployment rose to 20.7 percent;
underemployment averaged 13.8 percent throughout the year. About 20
percent of the economically active population (EAP) worked in industry,
40 percent in agriculture, and 30 percent in commerce and services.
Unemployment levels had remained unchanged since the early 1940s.78
Urban-rural disparities highlighted the magnitude of the problem: 71
percent of the urban labor force and 64.3 of the rural had full-time jobs
year-round.7? Interestingly, rural Cubans identified jobs—not access to
land—as their foremost need: in a 1956-1957 survey 75 percent re-
sponded employment opportunities were most important in improving
their living conditions. Nearly 69 percent looked to the state for solu-
tions.8°
Educational levels underscored the uneven modernization of Cuban
society (see Table 1.2). School enrollment among 5- to 14-year-olds
expanded rapidly until the mid-1920s, when it began to decline. In 1953,
the census registered significant improvement without yet matching the
28 The Cuban Revolution
Table 1.1. Employment, Unemployment, and Underemployment in
Cuba, 1950s (in percentages)
Urban Rural National
1953 1953 1953 1956-1957
Population 57.0 43.0 100.0 100.0
Unemployment 9.7 6.6 8.4 16.4
Underemployment? 17.1 16.5 16.9 13.8
Full-time employment? 71.0 64.3 68.4 65.3
Sources: Republica de Cuba, Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral: informe general (enero
28 de 1953) (Havana: P. Fernandez, 1955), pp. 153, 176; Informe de la Comisién Coor-
dinadora de la Investigacién del Empleo, Sub-Empleo y Desempleo, Resultados de la En-
cuesta sobre Empleo, Sub-Empleo y Desempleo en Cuba (mayo 1956—abril 1957) (Havana,
January 1958), pp. 41, 50.
21953 underemployment = 29 weeks or less a year; 1956-1957 underemployment = less
than 29 hours a week + without pay for a relative.
61953 full-time employment = more than 50 weeks a year; 1956-1957 full-time employ-
ment = 40 or more hours a week.

levels of the 1920s.8! Literacy rates revealed a similar pattern: improve-

ments through the 1920s, decline during the 1930s, and subsequent
recovery.®2 During the 1950s, Cuban literacy rates were the fourth high-
est in Latin America after Argentina, Chile, and Costa Rica. Cuba,
however, placed twelfth among Latin American countries in school en-
rollment among 5- to 24-year-olds, even though it had the highest
educational expenditures relative to national income.®? Urban-rural
differences highlighted the unevenness of these levels. Among rural
Cubans, illiteracy was nearly four times higher and school enrollment of
5- to 14-year-olds less than half. Overall, urban Cubans reached signifi-

Table 1.2. Educational Levels in Cuba, 1953 (in percentages)

Urban Rural National
Illiteracy? 11.6 41.7 23.6
School enrollment? 69.0 34.9 51.6
Third grade or less¢ 44.7 83.3 60.4
High school/vocational graduates‘ 5.8 0.4 3.5
University graduates* 1.8 0.06 1.1
Source: Republica de Cuba, Censo de poblacion, viviendas y electoral: informe general (enero
28 de 1953) (Havana: P. Fernandez, 1955), pp. 99, 131, 143.
4Population 10 years and older.
bPopulation 5 to 14 years old.
¢Population 6 years and older.
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 29

cantly higher educational attainments.84 After jobs, education was the

most common demand among rural workers.®>
The health profile of Cuba manifested similar inequalities. Life ex-
pectancy at 58.8 years, crude death rates at 6.4 per 1,000 persons, and
infant mortality at 37.6 per 1,000 were among the best in Latin America.
As in Argentina and Chile, two of the top three causes of death were
decidedly modern: cardiovascular diseases and malignant tumors. Dur-
ing the 1950s, most other Latin Americans succumbed to diseases of
poverty such as digestive-system complications, infancy-related ill-
nesses, and respiratory disorders. The doctor-to-population ratio was
second highest and the hospital beds-to-population ratio ranked among
the top ten in Latin America.®© Yet in 1950, the World Bank observed:
‘Disease is not a serious problem in Cuba, but health ts.’’ An over-
whelming majority of rural children suffered from intestinal parasites.
About half of all Cubans registered some degree of undernourishment.87
Rural workers had a 1,000-calorie daily deficit and were 16 percent
under average height and weight.88 Sixty percent of physicians, 62 per-
cent of dentists, and 80 percent of hospital beds were in Havana. There
was only one hospital in rural Cuba.®? In 1956-1957, four out of five
rural workers received medical attention only if they paid for it, and
hence most had no access to health care.?°
Marked urban-rural differences also characterized housing condi-
tions. Nationally, 43 percent of all housing units lacked running water,
23 percent an inside or outside toilet, 56 percent a bath or a shower, 75
percent a refrigerator, while nearly 60 percent had electricity. More than
50 percent of the units were constructed of solid materials; 15 percent
were classified in poor condition. Urban Cubans were more likely to live
in dwellings with electricity (87 percent), a refrigerator (38 percent),
running water (82 percent), an inside or outside toilet (95 percent).
Most of their homes were built of solid materials (86 percent) and rated
in good or fair condition (91 percent). Most rural Cubans lived in hous-
ing without running water (85 percent), an inside or outside toilet (54
percent), electricity (93 percent), a refrigerator (96 percent). Their
homes were more frequently in poor conditions (26 percent) and built
with inferior materials (91 percent). There were fewer than 150,000
radios and 4,000 television sets in rural areas; urban Cuba had nearly
475,000 and more than 75,000.?!
The chasm between Havana and the rest of the island was greater
than that between urban and rural Cubans. Twenty-six percent of the
population lived in Havana province, most in urban areas. Unemploy-
ment and underemployment afflicted habaneros less than other Cubans.
Havana was less dependent on agriculture and had nearly 50 percent of
all industries, including eight of the fourteen plants with more than five
hundred workers. At 9.2 percent, Havana illiteracy was well below the
national and urban averages. School enrollment for the 5- to 14-year-
30 The Cuban Revolution
old population was 74 percent. Habaneros were more likely to go be-
yond the third grade and attain some level of intermediate primary
education (52 percent). More graduates from high school (60 percent),
vocational school (50 percent), and higher education (70 percent) lived
in Havana.?2 (see Table 1.3).
Income distribution trends dramatically underscored the primacy of
Havana province. Between 1952 and 1958, total national wages barely
Table 1.3. Selected Indicators, Province of Havana and the Rest of
Cuba, 1953 (in percentages)
Havana Others
Total population 26.3 73.7
Urban 91.0 44.7
Total housing 32.0
Illiteracy 9.2 33.2—68.0
School enrollment 82.4 45.0
Third grade or less¢ 38.0 69.0
High school/vocational graduates* 6.9 2.2
University graduates‘ 2.7 0.4
1953 9.2
Unemployment
8.1
1956-1957 11.8 18.4
Agriculture
EAP?
10.414.8
Industry 20.6 55.4
Commerce/services 53.0 22.4
1952
1958 53.0
64.0 47.0
36.0
Total wage bill

1952
1958 379
463 337
260
Absolute wages®

Sources: Republica de Cuba, Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral: informe general (enero
28 de 1953) (Havana: P. Fernandez, 1955), pp. 21, 99-100, 131-32, 143-144, 153, 157,
185-186, 208; Informe de la Comisi6n Coordinadora de la Investigacion del Empleo, Sub-
Empleo y Desempleo, Resultados de la Encuesta sobre Empleo, Sub-Empleo y Desempleo en
Cuba (mayo 1956—abril 1957) (Havana: January 1958), pp. 41, 68; Banco Nacional de
Cuba, Memoria, 1958-1959 (Havana: Editorial Lex, 1960), pp. 151-153; Raul Cepero
Bonilla, Escritos econédmicos (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1983), pp. 416-417.
4Population 10 years and older.
bPopulation 5 to 14 years old.
¢Population 6 years and older.
4Economically Active Population.
€Million pesos. Excludes sugar agricultural workers and only partially includes other
agricultural workers.
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 3]

grew, yet Havana increased its share from 53 percent to 64 percent; that
of each of the other five provinces declined or remained the same. The
regression in Las Villas (from 10 percent to 8 percent), Camagtiey (from
13 percent to 8 percent), and Oriente (from 14 percent to 12 percent)
was especially onerous. Matanzas (5 percent) and Pinar del Rio (3 per-
cent) roughly maintained their shares of total wages.?? Construction
and nonsugar industry spurred Havana’s gains; the sugar-dominated
economies of Las Villas, Camaguey, and Oriente accounted for their
regression. The second-largest nonsugar industrial sector in Matanzas
and a more diversified agriculture in Pinar del Rio largely prevented
the erosion of their total wages.?4 Havana’s principal advantage lay
in its disproportionate share of wage earners whose monthly salaries
were 75 pesos or more. About 23 percent of all wage earners worked
in occupations in which at least half had wages of 75 pesos or more,
and 51 percent of those lived in Havana. In contrast, the province
had a commensurate share (26 percent) of persons in occupations in
which more than half earned less than 75 pesos a month. Intensifying
income inequalities accompanied Havana’s increasing proportion of to-
tal wages.?°
In 1961, the writer Lino Novas Calvo noted: ‘‘Anyone who had
known Havana in 1914 and saw it again in 1958 would have been
amazed at its progress. No other Latin American country had advanced
so far in so short a time.’ Havana, however, was not Cuba. The capital
was quite modern and habaneros enjoyed relatively high standards of
living. Most were literate, had achieved higher levels of education, had
more access to health care, were more likely to be permanently em-
ployed, and earned better wages than Cubans in the provinces. Havana,
moreover, was undergoing a consumer boom. During the 1950s, Cuba
imported an average of 30 million pesos in cars and 45 million pesos in
household durables a year. Between 1956 and 1958, the latter jumped to
63 million pesos.?7 While other urban areas received some of these
consumer goods, most made life in Havana a bit more comfortable.
Comprelo a plazos (buy it on the installment plan) became commonplace
in advertising. Some New York and California department stores ran
regular advertisements in Havana newspapers.?® Like the United States
during the 1950s, the Cuban capital was on the brink of mass consumer-
ism.
Most Cubans, however, were not habaneros. Their progress, espe-
cially in rural areas, had been considerably more erratic and uneven. In
1957, the Catholic University Association noted:
Havana is living an extraordinary prosperity while rural areas, espe-
cially wage workers, are living in unbelievably stagnant, miserable, and des-
perate conditions. . . . It is time that our country cease being the private
fiefdom of a few powerful interests. We firmly hope that, in a few years,
Cuba will not be the property of a few, but the true homeland of all
Cubans.??
 32 The Cuban Revolution

Women in Prerevolutionary Cuba

Early-twentieth-century Cuba saw the development of an impressive
feminist movement. More akin to the U.S. and British movements, Cu-
ban feminism was another expression of relative modernity before 1959.
The mostly privileged women who integrated the movement focused on
legal reform: the right to vote; laws on marriage, property, and divorce;
protection for out-of-wedlock children; and, secondarily, labor legisla-
tion.!°° During the 1940s and 1950s, some women’s organizations con-
tinued to be active, if not on explicitly feminist issues. In 1954, for
example, a congress of women focused on the economic problems be-
sieging Cuban families, the health care system, the educational crisis,
public morality, the restoration of democracy, and, less prominently, the
concerns of working women.!°! Nonetheless, after women gained the
right to vote in 1934 and the Constitution of 1940 incorporated most
feminist claims, the feminist movement dissipated.
The socioeconomic profile of women underscored the uneven mod-
ernization of Cuban society (see Table 1.4). Women constituted a lower
proportion (13 percent) of the economically active population in Cuba
than elsewhere in Latin America. The economy was not generating suffi-
cient employment for men, let alone women. Sugar cane, moreover, was
not based on the traditional forms of agriculture that in many other Latin
American countries engaged the labor of women. Still, working women
were more likely to have a full-time job than men: 75.9 percent as
opposed to 66.8 percent. Commerce and services employed most work-
ing women (72.5 percent). Household and personal services accounted
' for more than one-third of female employment; industry for less than a
fifth.!°2 Nearly half of the male labor force worked in agriculture.
Industry—a fast-growing source of male employment—employed 21
percent of working men.!93
The overall profile of men and women differed in other ways. Work-
ing women were more likely to live in urban areas (78 percent), espe-
cially Havana (40 percent). Only about 55 percent of the male labor
force worked in urban areas, 28 percent in Havana. Government repre-
sented a larger share of the EAP for women (25 percent) than for men (6
percent). Like women in general, working women had higher levels of
education than men: 20 percent of women were skilled workers and 16
percent professionals; 18 percent and 3 percent of working men had
respectively similar levels. Nonetheless, women earned less than men:
29 percent had monthly salaries of 75 pesos or more; 40 percent of the
men received such sums. More than 75 percent of all skilled women
earned less than 75 pesos a month, in contrast to less than half the men
in the same category. More than 20 percent of professional women had
monthly salaries below 75 pesos; about 15 percent of the men did.
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 33

Table 1.4. Selected Indicators: Men and Women in Cuba, 1950s

(in percentages)
Men Women
1953 9.0
Unemployment
5.8
1956-1957 17.1 11.8
1953 7.8 14.1]
Underemployment®

1956-1957 12.8 8.0

Agriculture
EAP®
46.9 5.7
Industry 21.0 19.7
Commerce/services 25.8 72.5
Illiteracy‘ 25.9 21.2
Earnings above 75 pesos a month 39.5 28.9
School enrollment¢ 51.5 51.6
Third grade or less 61.7 59.1
High school/vocational graduates¢ 3.4 3.6
University graduates® 1.4 0.7
Sources: Republica de Cuba, Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral: informe general (enero
28 de 1953) (Havana: P. Fernandez, 1955), pp. 99, 119, 143, 153-154, 185, 195; Informe de
la Comisién Coordinadora de la Investigaci6n del Empleo, Sub-Empleo y Desempleo,
Resultados de la Encuesta sobre Empleo, Sub-Empleo y Desempleo en Cuba (mayo 1956—abril
1957) (Havana: January 1958), pp. 41, 50.
21953 underemployment = 29 weeks or less a year; 1956-1957 underemployment = less
than 29 hours a week + without pay for a relative.
bEconomically Active Population; women were 13.0 percent of the EAP.
¢Population 10 years and older.
4dPopulation 5 to 14 years old.
€Population 6 years and older.

Although 96 percent of the women in services failed to command wages

of 75 pesos and above, only 64 percent of the men did. All women
engaged in agriculture made below the 75 pesos level, 84 percent of the
men did.!°4

The Cuba That Might Have Been

During the 1950s, classic dependence was coming to an end. Sugar still
dominated the economy and deterred significant diversification. None-
theless, the transformation of monoculture appeared to be a matter of
time. U.S. capital was once again beginning to flow into Cuba. The
34 The Cuban Revolution
government had issued a comprehensive program for economic devel-
opment. New avenues other than industrial production for the domestic
market were opening up. During the 1950s, tourism, especially to the
casinos in Havana and the beaches between the capital and Varadero,
Matanzas, considerably expanded. In Camagiiey, the King Ranch of
Texas was introducing modern cattle-raising methods that Cuban cattle-
men were beginning to incorporate in transforming the industry. They
would probably have claimed a niche in the soon-to-expand fast-food
market in the United States. Growing winter vegetables for the U.S.
market was also increasing. Cuban firms already excelled in mass media,
advertising, and entertainment, some of which linked the Latin Ameri-
can and the U.S. markets. During the 1960s, these industries would have
probably flourished in a Cuba not in revolution. Initial explorations had
resulted in optimistic expectations about Cuban petroleum deposits.
Broadening employment vistas in other sectors might have more easily
allowed the modernization of the sugar industry. Without the revolu-
tion, Cuba might have taken the path of tropical dependent devel-
opment—a missing model of dependent capitalist development in Latin
America.
The road not taken would have been unlikely to foster national
capitalist development and stable representative democracy. Elsewhere
in Latin America, dependent development did not turn out to be partic-
ularly nationalist nor especially democratic. Quite the contrary. During
the 1950s, the Economic Commission for Latin America inspired devel-
opment programs that, for a variety of reasons, would fail to attain their
objectives. Hence, it is unlikely that transformed dependence would
have led to national capitalist development in Cuba, as it did not in the
rest of Latin America. Tropical dependent development would not have
necessarily sustained democracy either. A capitalist take-off required a
more favorable business climate than the militance of the Cuban work-
ing class provided. Military governments harsher than that of Batista
during the 1950s could conceivably have been in the offing.
The Cuban economy, moreover, already presaged situations that
would later characterize much of Latin America. That during the 1950s
Cuba suffered from deteriorating terms of trade and an unfavorable
balance of payments pointed to mounting foreign debt. Migration from
Cuba to the United States increased from about 3,000 a year between
1950 and 1954 to over 12,000 between 1955 and 1958.!9° Development
patterns were already forcing increasing numbers of Cubans to seek their
fortunes elsewhere, largely in the United States; their intensification
would have in all likelihood resulted in even more significant migration.
Underworld operations proliferated in the decade before the revolution.
A 1958 law facilitated international transactions by Cuban banks. The
drug trade and a banking sector, not unlike that which later developed in
Panama, would likely have flourished in the Cuba that might have been.
 Mediated Sovereignty, Monoculture, and Development 35

That the transition from classic dependence toward some form of

dependent capitalist development never happened in Cuba was due in
no small part to political factors. The class and state alliances that might
have sustained such a transition never quite consolidated, and those that
supported the revolution and its radicalization in 1959 did. Structural
conditions underscored the impasse of the sugar status quo and pointed
to undercurrents of change. Uneven modernization had also created the
social forces to sustain movement toward tropical dependent develop-
ment. Neither proved sufficient to uphold capitalism in Cuba. Between
1902 and 1958, the functioning of politics—in the state and among
opposition movements—eventually provided the catalyst for the revolu-
tion and the basis for socialism as an option after 1959.
 Politi
olitics d
andSociet
Society,

Without workers, there is no sugar.

Lazaro Peria
Central Organization of Cuban Trade Unions
1940s

Political factors were crucial in the coming to power of the Cuban Revo-
lution. During the 1890s and 1930s, the United States helped Cuban
elites to defuse popular challenges. Immediate successes, however, were
not conducive to long-term political stability. Disbanding the Ejército
Libertador and inaugurating the Cuban Republic under the Platt Amend-
ment did not promote the order the United States and propertied creoles
had hoped. After 1902, there were two U.S. military interventions and
countless other civilian intromissions. Among Cuban politicos, retaining
or gaining access to the public treasury was the primary electoral con-
cern. Once in office, enrichment for themselves and their supporters
constituted their first consideration. With the emergence of new social
and political forces, the 1930s brought the Plattist republic to an end.
The Constitution of 1940 was the compromise that settled the revo-
lutionary struggles of the 1930s. It included the recognition of many
social and economic rights as well as protection of civil liberties and
private property. Under its charter, representative democracy was recon-
stituted and three presidents were elected, but new politicos and political
parties continued the tradition of corruption. In 1952, a military coup
preempted the constitution as Fulgencio Batista restored the army to
political preeminence. During the 1950s, an opposition movement mo-
bilized the polity and, after two years of armed struggle, succeeded in
toppling the dictatorship. By 1959, accumulated societal crises had con-
siderably weakened the forces that could have moderated the revolu-
tion. In addition, the dynamics between Batista and the opposition
movement enhanced the weight of Fidel Castro, the Rebel Army, and
the July 26th Movement in the victory of January 1. Thus, the long-term
crisis of political authority and its more immediate expression in the

36
 Politics and Soctety, 1902-1958 37
Batista regime rendered Cuba vulnerable to the possibility of social revo-
lution.

Mediated Sovereignty and Fragile Hegemony

On May 20, 1902, the Cuban flag was raised over Morro Castle at the
entrance of Havana harbor. Thirty-four years after the Ten Years’ War
first called for Cuba libre, the Cuban Republic came to pass with much
poignancy and no small bitterness. In 1898, U.S. intervention had frus-
trated the Ejército Libertador in the final onslaught against Spanish colo-
nialism. Between 1898 and 1902, the United States occupied the island
to safeguard order, property, and privilege. For a while, the inauguration
of an independent Cuba was very much in doubt. With the inclusion of
the Platt Amendment in the constitution, the United States finally agreed
to Cuban independence.
Cuba libre was born under circumstances different from those popu-
lar independentismo had anticipated. The organizations of the 1895 inde-
pendence movement had virtually no sway in the birth of the republic:
the Cuban Revolutionary Party no longer functioned and the U.S. Army
disbanded the Hjército Libertador in 1899. Two of the three leaders of
independence—José Marti and Antonio Maceo—were dead. The
thirda—Maximo G6mez—was old and alone, and had acquiesced in the
dissolution of the Liberation Army. In 1901, the constitutional conven-
tion faced a rending dilemma: accept the Platt Amendment that so fla-
grantly constrained national sovereignty or reject it, knowing that
without it there would be no Cuban Republic. By a single vote, the
conventionists rejected intransigence and settled for mediated sover-
elgnty.
Social disarticulation marked the early republic. The planter class
had little choice but to relinquish economic reconstruction to foreign
capital and bind its well-being to U.S. investments. The consolidation
and expansion of Spanish interests also limited Cuban opportunities in
commerce, industry, and the professions. National and racial differences
diffused the clases populares. Massive immigration—principally from
Spain, Haiti, and Jamaica—swelled the ranks of the working classes to
satisfy the labor demands of a rapidly expanding sugar industry.! Unem-
ployment, underemployment, and depressed wages accompanied the
expansion of foreign capital. Labor unrest threatened order, and main-
taining an auspicious ambience for capital was the litmus test early
republican governments had to pass in order to avoid U.S. intervention.
Containing the clases populares was the sine qua non of mediated sover-
elgnty.
Stable governments were imperative to safeguard a modicum of
independence. Nonetheless, the conditions under which the republic
was founded undermined the stability needed to sidestep U.S. interven-
38 The Cuban Revolution
tion. Although economic recovery rested on a favorable climate for for-
eign investments, economic expansion provoked the mobilization of
labor. The state, in turn, could not strike compromises with labor similar
to those achieved in other Latin American countries at the time.? Foreign
capital rejected concessions and demanded order. Because foreigners
controlled industry and commerce, public office became the exclusive
realm of Cubans. Control of the state bureaucracy provided access to
resources inaccessible elsewhere. Thus, presidential reelections became
the focus of contention as incumbents were loath to relinquish power.?
Politics in Plattist Cuba quickly acquired a pervasive logic. Losers
often charged fraud and contested electoral results. In 1906, U.S. inter-
vention led to a three-year occupation and the reorganization of the
Rural Guard into a regular army more effectively equipped to safeguard
order. The military had high stakes in the orderly conduct of elections
and tended to support whoever succeeded in establishing incumbency.
Prolonged contestation among opponents brought the threat of U.S.
intervention and a situation in which the army, however improbably,
might be called upon to defend the nation. The Cuban military clearly
lacked the disposition to challenge the United States.4
In principle, the political class likewise sought to stave off U.S. inter-
vention. Application of the Platt Amendment was a blatant reminder of
the limits of Cuban independence. Nonetheless, appealing to the United
States to settle electoral disputes became normal. Elections were not,
moreover, the only occasions of U.S. intromission. The United States, for
example, insisted there be honesty in public administration, but virtuous
management of the public treasury contravened the logic of early repub-
lican politics. For the political class, corruption was the unwritten condi-
tion of stability. To the United States, malfeasance in office was evidence
of the limited ability of Cubans for self-government. In 1921, the United
States sent General Enoch Crowder aboard the battleship Minnesota ona
mission to promote rectitude in the conduct of public affairs. The U.S.
delegation departed without much success. The underpinnings of Cuban
politics ran counter to the reforms the United States sought to implement
under the Platt Amendment.>
Movements from various quarters soon challenged the politics of
Plattist Cuba. During the 1910s, sugar, tobacco, construction, railroad,
and port workers went on strike with relative frequency. In 1914, the
Mario Garcia Menocal administration supported the celebration of a
labor congress but did not succeed in co-opting the nascent labor move-
ment.® The United States opposed two key labor demands: a minimum
wage and a Cuban-majority work force in all enterprises. The Cuban
legislature never acted on these demands,’ and repression of strikers and
union leaders increased. During World War I, U.S. marines stationed in
Oriente were often mobilized to areas of labor unrest. During the 1920s,
the Machado administration assassinated militant labor leaders while
 Politics and Society, 1902—1958 39
recognizing the right of maritime workers to unionize in the hope of
countering radical labor organizations. Like Menocal, Machado failed to
co-opt the union movement.’ A quiescent working class was increas-
ingly elusive.
During the 1920s, the United States found the terms of its relations
with Cuba progressively problematic. Continuous intervention did not
beget stable governments capable of maintaining order and defending
foreign capital. Presidential successions were almost always moments of
turmoil. Actual or threatened military intervention did not bring lasting
peace and tranquility. Constant U.S. interference exposed the political
class and provoked growing nationalist demands from labor and the
reformers. The Platt Amendment subverted the Cuban political elite. A
new Cuban policy would, moreover, help to assuage Latin American
discontent over U.S. interventions in Mexico and the Caribbean.?
The election of Gerardo Machado offered Washington the oppor-
tunity to establish a new mode of interaction with Cuban elites. The new
president favored Cuban interests without alarming the United States.
The Customs-Tariff Law of 1927 incorporated most of the reformist
agenda. The construction of the Central Highway impugned the monop-
oly of foreign-owned and sugar-centered railroads. The advancement of
education was significant as schools were built and enrollments in-
creased. At the same time, Machado unrelentingly repressed popular
unrest and thereby reassured the U.S. government of his commitment to
defend foreign capital. Cuba finally had a government capable of secur-
ing social peace without U.S. intervention. Nonetheless, the machadista
program unraveled.
The sugar crisis after 1925 bode ill for the Machado government.
Diversification was stunted, unemployment increased, standards of liv-
ing fell, and per capita income decreased. With declining revenues, pub-
lic works were suspended. Many state employees were laid off; others
saw their pay reduced 60 percent. Moreover, Machado sought reelection
contravening his electoral promise. In 1928, conservatives and liberals—
their three-decade rivalry notwithstanding—formed a coalition in sup-
port of extending Machado’s presidential term. The clases populares were
challenging the status quo and Machado seemed competent for the task
of containing them. Known as cooperativismo, the new arrangement
signaled a rupture in the pattern of Cuban politics.
Cooperativismo provoked widespread opposition. Demanding uni-
versity autonomy, students in Havana promoted antigovernment activ-
ity. As the economy deteriorated, the working class turned more mili-
tant. In March 1930, 200,000 workers went out on strike. As new
organizations contested the government, Machado responded with in-
timidation, harassment, and repression. The ABC Revolutionary Soci-
ety, the Directorate of University Students (DEU), the Cuban Commu-
nist Party (PCC), and the National Confederation of Cuban Workers
40 The Cuban Revolution ,
(CNOC) countered official repression with violence of their own. The
political class itself divided: dissenting members formed the Nationalist
Union and led an unsuccessful armed uprising against the machadato.
With the upsurge of opposition from all quarters, Machado turned more
intransigent in the exercise of power.
Until 1933, the United States did not actively intervene in the un-
folding crisis. The State Department welcomed cooperativismo and the
reelection of Machado. Initially, the repression of workers and students
did not arouse U.S. concern: Machado was using force to keep the
peace, and as long as he was successful, there was no need for U.S.
intervention. Nonetheless, the United States was drawn into the mael-
strom. Economic depression turned political conflict into social crisis.
Early republican politics was running its course, and U.S. intervention
seemed unavoidable.
In May 1933, Franklin Delano Roosevelt appointed Assistant Secre-
tary of State Sumner Welles ambassador to Cuba. For nearly seven
weeks, Welles mediated between the Machado government and the
‘responsible’ opposition sectors. The more radical anti- Machado orga-
nizations like the CNOC, the Communist party, and the Directorate of
University Students did not recognize the right of the ambassador to
arbitrate; the Nationalist Union and the ABC did. Welles pursued two
immediate objectives so as to avoid direct U.S. intervention: removing
Machado from office and forging a new consensus among members of
the political class, the army, and the “‘responsible’”’ opposition. In a last
attempt to remain in office, Machado resisted the mediation, denounced
the United States, and even implied that the Cuban army would fight the
marines. The officer corps winced at the prospect and turned against the
president. On August 12, 1933, Machado left for the Bahamas.
The mediation was not ultimately responsible for the fall of Ma-
chado. A general strike was. The government had met striking bus
drivers in Havana with violence. Sympathy strikes followed and over
200,000 workers paralyzed the capital and other cities as labor un-
rest also spread to the countryside. Allegedly to avoid U.S. intervention,
the communists who controlled the CNOC reached a last-minute com-
promise with Machado and called off the strike but the workers did
not respond. After Machado left, Welles ushered Carlos Manuel de
Céspedes into the presidency, but his government did not survive the
popular ground swell. Unlike the military intervention of 1898, the po-
litical mediation of 1933 did not initially succeed in curbing the popu-
lar challenge. The clases populares were organized and mobilized, and
de Céspedes was too transparently a U.S. pawn. The machadato and
more than three decades of Plattist politics had exhausted the political
class.
On September 4, noncommissioned officers demanding better pay
 Politics and Society, 1902-1958 4]
and quicker promotions revolted against the officer corps. The civilian
opposition movement turned their insubordination into a military coup.
With support from the insurgent officers and the Directorate of Univer-
sity Students, a five-member executive committee formed a govern-
ment.!° A week later, Ramon Grau was named president and Antonio
Guiteras—a young radical nationalist—minister of government. With-
out consulting the United States, the Grau-Guiteras administration re-
voked the Platt Amendment. The United States, the political class, and
the Cuban army had been defied.
For four months, the Grau-Guiteras government battled the odds
and espoused a nationalist, reformist program. Decrees were passed on
minimum wages, an eight-hour workday, utility rates reductions,
worker compensation, and collective bargaining. Women were granted
the right to vote, and university autonomy conferred. With the 50-
percent law, at least half of all employees in all workplaces were re-
quired to be Cuban. Bills promoting land reform and the rights of colonos
against the largely foreign-owned mills were announced. Cuba para los
cubanos (Cuba for Cubans) reverberated throughout the island. The gov-
ernment sought to establish Cuban control over economic and political
life. Nonetheless, after four months, Grau was forced to resign.
Opposition to the nationalist administration covered the political
spectrum. Reform did not satisfy the expectations of revolution of the
Communist party and the CNOC. The old political class and the new
groups that had accepted the Welles mediation feared their banishment
from political life, a threat of the Grau-Guiteras government. For the
deposed army officers, no compromise was tolerable with the sergeants
who had ousted them. Strikes and other working-class actions unnerved
U.S. and Cuban capital. Striking workers established soviets in sugar
mills that accounted for 25 percent of the harvest. Sugar and nonsugar
interests alike joined in opposition to a government seemingly incapable
of restoring social peace. The United States, moreover, could not accept
Cuban sovereignty. The Roosevelt administration withheld diplomatic
recognition and Welles maneuvered to secure an alternative more con-
genial to U.S. interests. Divisions within the Grau-Guiteras government
offered Welles a timely opportunity: Fulgencio Batista provided the
wedge to defuse the popular movement.
Having led the September 4 revolt against the army officialdom,
Sergeant Batista emerged as the power broker of the Cuban crisis. He
sided with the Grau-Guiteras government on two key occasions. In late
September, the government violently disbanded a communist-led dem-
onstration in Havana, and confrontations with already striking workers
subsequently increased islandwide. In early October, the deposed mili-
tary officers attempted a coup. Both times Batista reinforced the govern-
ment, isolating the Guiteras radical faction and increasing the depen-
42 The Cuban Revolution
dence of the moderates on the army. Ambassador Welles took notice
and initiated discussions with Batista, who collaborated with Welles in
easing Grau from office in January 1934.!! The anti-Machado revolution
and the four-month nationalist government had, nonetheless, trans-
formed Cuba. !2
Between 1934 and 1940, a new governing consensus was forged. Af-
ter 1934, when the Roosevelt administration abrogated the Platt Amend-
ment, the United States receded from constant intervention in Cuba.
Under Batista and the new officer corps, the army became an arbiter in
politics and would no longer be an appendage of incumbent administra-
tions. Cooperativismo had tainted the old political parties and even Na-
tionalist Union dissenters failed to gain a permanent place in post-
Machado Cuba. Unitl 1940, the anti-Machado faction of the old politicos
constituted interim civilian governments; Batista and the army, how-
ever, wielded the real power in Cuba. When Miguel Mariano Gémez
confronted the army on the issue of military control of the educational
system, the colonel had enough support in Congress to impeach the
president. After 1936, the old political class never again attempted to
regain power.
The Pax Batistiana, moreover, enlisted forces across the social spec-
trum. Until 1935, the communist-led CNOC continued to confront capi-
tal. In the year following the downfall of the Grau-Guiteras government,
more than one hundred strikes, including three general strikes of over
200,000 workers, took place. Batista responded with decisive force and
succeeded in retrenching the labor movement. In May 1935, the army
assassinated Antonio Guiteras as he was attempting to leave the country.
With his death as symbol and the effectiveness of repression, the revolu-
tion of 1933 came to an end. The working class, however, was now a
factor to take into consideration. During the 1930s, the state continued
to pass labor reforms, and Batista allowed the Communist party to re-
build the labor movement. In 1939, the Central Organization of Cuban
Trade Unions was founded under communist leadership.!? Labor was
set to play a central role in the emerging consensus.
Batista likewise addressed many reformist demands of the 1920s. In
1937, he announced a three-year social and economic program that
included plans for a national bank, support for agricultural diversifica-
tion, land-tenure guarantees, profit sharing between mill owners and
colonos, distributing public lands to peasant families, enacting labor leg-
islation, and reforming education and public health.'4¢ Moreover, in
1940, Batista organized a constitutional convention inclusive of all polit-
ical sectors and prepared for the restoration of representative democracy.
Under the Constitution of 1940, elections were held, and Fulgencio
Batista became president of Cuba. Cuban politics was on the threshold of
a new logic.
 Politics and Society, 1902-1958 43

Representative Democracy, the Working Class,

and the Emergent Logic
The Batista inauguration embodied both rupture and continuity. The
president himself was part of the new generation of political leaders.
New social groups—most notably the working class—were incorporated
into the mainstream of national politics. The Constitution of 1940 rees-
tablished democracy and reflected a social equilibrium: it legitimized the
rights of labor, proscribed latifundia, and assigned the state a central role
in the economy while proclaiming the sanctity of private property.
There were still significant continuities with pre-1933 Cuba. With-
out the Platt Amendment, the United States no longer meddled into
every facet of Cuban life. However, sugar quotas bolstered the ties of
dependence, and reciprocity continued to reinforce the centrality of an
increasingly stagnant sugar sector. Informal consultation supplanted for-
mal intervention. Cuban politicos invariably visited the U.S. ambassador
for his opinion on a wide range of topics. Hacendados and colonos rou-
tinely traveled to Washington for Department of Agriculture audiences
on U.S. sugar quotas. The old political class was marginal but not absent
from public life; its members participated in the 1940 constitutional
convention and entered electoral alliances with the new political parties.
During the late 1930s, Batista reinstated many deposed machadista offi-
cers. Corruption and graft survived the machadato and the upheavals of
the 1930s. Public officials continued to view the national treasury as
their private domain.
Civil service in public administration was a central tenet in the refor-
mist program. Although the impudence with which politicos handled the
national treasury injured the public’s sense of decency, corruption was
not principally a moral dilemma. A state so exclusively mired in a dy-
namic of enrichment for public officials could not easily implement a
program to address national development. As the cases of Mexico and
Brazil demonstrated, widespread graft was not incompatible with a de-
velopmentalist state. But in Cuba, government corruption did not sup-
port economic transformation and, on the contrary, further entrenched
the sugar status quo.
With the Sugar Stabilization Institute and the Sugar Coordination
Law, the state secured a more equitable distribution of sugar proceeds for
smaller mills, colonos, and workers. State regulation of the sugar sector,
especially the assignment of cane quotas to mills and colonos, also cre-
ated innumerable opportunities for speculation, bribery, and impropri-
ety. Nonsugar interests failed to secure from the state a similar inter-
action of reform and corruption to promote agricultural diversification
and import-substitution industrialization. State actors, moreover, never
 44 The Cuban Revolution
quite perceived pursuit of a reform program as essential to their interests.
The working class was a potential ally of reform. Agricultural diver-
sification and import-substitution industrialization promised an expan-
sion of employment and the domestic market, benefiting the clases popu-
lares and the nonsugar sectors of the clases econdmicas. Even so, the
reformist alliance faced nearly insurmountable obstacles. Sugar preemi-
nence and trade reciprocity constituted a vicious circle. Present exigen-
cies almost always subdued future prospects. Reinforcement of the status
~ quo took place amid a new balance of social forces, however. In contrast
to the early republic, post-1933 Cuba could not relegate the working
class to the sidelines.
Although workers had not won the struggles of the 1930s, they were
indispensable for establishing a new order. Because the communist-
controlled Central Organization of Cuban Trade Unions was included in
the consensus around the Constitution of 1940, a dilemma confronted
the Cuban state. The Great Depression and World War II bolstered the
significance of sugar, which clearly dimmed the outlook for employment
opportunities. Reform within the status quo offered the possibility of
redistribution but not the likelihood of sustained growth. Yet the work-
ing class was organized and militant, and demanded responsiveness.
During the 1940s, trade unions pursued a policy of militant reformism.
Organized labor provided an important constituency of support for
Fulgencio Batista, Ramon Grau, and Carlos Prio, the three presidents
elected between 1940 and 1952. The conundrum of employment illus-
trated well the interaction of militant unions, the clases econdmicas, and
the state in a monoculture economy.
The primary objective of the post-1933 union movement was to
safeguard employment. Union efforts generally proved effective. Al-
though unemployment and underemployment were never significantly
alleviated, job security for those who were employed was virtually guar-
anteed. Throughout the 1940s, organized labor prevented the modifica-
tion of a dismissals decree whereby workers could be fired only after
cumbersome procedures. During the 1940s, courts decided in favor of
labor in three out of five dismissal cases, and the executive regularly
decreed wage increases.!> Militant unions succeeded in maintaining the
position of unionized workers and, consequently, made it difficult for
capital to improve efficiency.
During World War II, German submarine activity in the Caribbean
forced the Cuban government to limit the embarcation of sugar to
Havana and Santiago. After the war, workers at other ports won back
their previous level of shipments even though it was cheaper to use the
larger and more modern facilities in Havana and Santiago. Sugar
workers obtained compensation for superproduccioén (surplus produc-
tion) when mill improvements reduced the number of harvest days.
Hacendados were obliged to pay workers for the same number of days
 Politics and Society, 1902-1958 45
the mill had operated the previous year. Workers resisted sugar industry
attempts to load bulk sugar because it would have reduced employment.
Rank-and-file opposition to tobacco industry modernization forced the
government to decree compensation for displaced workers after mecha-
nization was approved. One railroad company estimated that 40 percent
of its payroll consisted of subsidies and payment for make-work. The
clases economicas deplored the fact that concessions to labor translated
into 70 paid, work-free days a year: 30 vacation days, 11 sick and per-
sonal days, 4 holidays, and 27 days from 44-hour work weeks remune-
rated on the basis of 48 hours. '!¢
Many union leaders recognized that their actions were detrimental
to long-term development prospects. The memory of pre-1933 condi-
tions and the struggles of the 1930s were, however, fresh in the minds of
leaders and the rank and file. Therefore, the CTC took full advantage of
its political weight to defend the working-class share of the status quo.
Moreover, labor had little confidence that, even if concessions were
made, capital would invest in the Cuban economy to create jobs. Do-
mestic investment trends certainly substantiated CTC fears and mistrust.
In addition, although capital decried wage increases for their deleterious
impact on business, profits and savings increased significantly during the
1940s. In contrast, real wages rose 25 percent and inflation 60 percent
between 1941] and 1947.!7
Collective bargaining rarely settled labor-management disputes.
A 1934 decree allowed the state to take over enterprises when labor
and capital could not settle their conflicts. Intended as an exceptional
recourse, state interventions occurred frequently and often favored
workers. The clases econémicas repeatedly called for legislation and the
establishment of labor tribunals to regulate labor-management relations.
In effect, their demands ran counter to an executive-dominated political
system. Neither the president nor labor had any interest in seeing execu-
tive power curtailed. During the 1940s, Batista, Grau, and Prio maxi-
mized their rule-making power: the average ratios of congressional
legislation to executive decrees were 1:57, 1:70, and 1:26, and labor-
related decrees accounted for 13 percent, 18 percent, and 17 percent.!8
Unions preferred presidential decrees and arbitration to legislation and
judicial mediation because the executive was more susceptible to imme-
diate political pressure than Congress and the courts.
For the same reasons, the clases econdmicas extolled the virtues of
legislative and judicial processes. Cuban capitalists promoted but never
obtained the promulgation of a labor code to regulate labor-manage-
ment relations and minimize executive intromission. They strove to con-
tain the erratic application of Cuban social legislation that they deemed
‘somewhat quixotic’ for a monoculture economy. The clases econdmicas
viewed the state as ‘‘a major risk for business . . . trampling upon the
most basic economic principles.’’!? They regarded ‘‘interventionism
46 The Cuban Revolution
as . . . the professional illness of our public officials,’’ and blamed the
state for failure to restore ‘“‘peace and tranquility . . . to relations be-
tween capital and labor after 1933.’’2° Sugar and nonsugar interests alike
deplored what they perceived to be government partisanship toward
labor. Hacendados and colonos condemned executive-decreed salary in-
creases to sugar workers and were particularly outraged in 1948 when
the Grau administration froze wages rather than allow their decline in
tandem with sugar prices.2! Two years earlier the associations of sugar-
mill owners and cane growers had unsuccessfully sued the government
for seizing the diferencial—the difference in proceeds from higher sugar
prices at the end of the harvest than at its start—and using it for public
works and food price subsidies.22 The industrialists similarly denounced
state policies: ‘Agriculture, industry, and commerce are not charitable
activities . . . their reason for being lies in the profit system, and either
profits are produced, or all incentive disappears for these economic ac-
tivities.’’23 The clases economicas deplored the conduct of Cuban politics
and demanded a greater voice in public affairs.24
The industrialists, nonetheless, had a more nuanced position toward
the working class. In 1945, they sponsored a luncheon with the unions
to discuss labor-management relations. CTC general secretary and long-
time communist Lazaro Pena was the keynote speaker. Hacendados,
colonos, other representatives of the clases econdmicas, and the labor min-
ister attended.2> Pena highlighted four objectives shared by the unions
and the industrialists: protection of national industry, creation of a na-
tional bank, tax reform, and case-by-case modernization of produc-
tion.2© Labor and capital did not agree on the curtailment of state inter-
ventions and the liberalization of dismissals, however.?”7 The 1945
luncheon underscored ANIC’s openness to an alliance with the com-
munist-controlled union movement. Since the early 1940s, the CTC had
in fact been calling for cooperation between the industrialists and the
working class for the sake of ‘‘national unity and salvation.’’*8 ANIC
and CTC disposition notwithstanding, the reform alliance never came
together.
The overture of the industrialists aside, the clases econdmicas viewed
the union movement with profound hostility. Without success, they
encouraged the formation of a second confederation to divide the power
of labor. On occasion, however, the industrialists broke rank with the
sugar sector. During the 1946 controversy over the diferencial, they re-
mained conspicuously silent. Instead of denouncing the state for seizing
sugar industry profits, they called for national cooperation in ‘‘the eco-
nomic reconstruction of Cuba,”’ the formulation of a ‘‘truly national and
healthy economic program,”’ and change in ‘‘our colonial economic
organization.’’29 ANIC, however, could or would not pursue a social
pact with organized labor without consensus among the clases econdémti-
 Politics and Soctety, 1902-1958 47
cas and generally agreed that union strength and communist control
were major obstacles for the mobilization of capital.
The Communist party—renamed the Popular Socialist party (PSP)
in 1943—and the CTC were nonetheless central components of the
Batista-engineered social peace. And, the PSP and the CTC were—along
with the most conservative parties—part of the Batista coalition in the
1940 elections. In 1944, the PSP reached agreement with Grau shortly
after the Auténtico party victory. The new president staved off pressures
from. auténtico labor leaders Eusebio Mujal and Francisco Aguirre to oust
the communists from the CTC executive committee. Grau could not risk
dislodging the communist leadership from the unions without incurring
high political costs.
The memory of the 1933—1934 nationalist government stirred popu-
lar enthusiasm for the auténtico administration. The same memory,
however, instigated suspicions among the clases econdmicas and sectors
of the armed forces. The administration, moreover, did not have a ma-
jority in Congress. A factional struggle over leadership of the union
movement would have opened an unnecessary flank. Grau set aside his
mistrust of the communists who had not supported his 1933-1934 gov-
ernment and confirmed their hold of the CTC. The PSP had little choice
but to accommodate to Grau to maintain its influence in Cuban politics:
labor was its principal power base. The 1944 Grau-CTC alliance consoli-
dated the practice of close association between unions and the state that
Batista and the communists had initiated during the late 1930s. In 1945,
the president awarded the CTC 800,000 pesos for a ‘‘Workers’ Palace”
and banned organization of a second union any place where labor was
already organized.
The 1946 election results undermined the rationale for the Grau-PSP
alliance. The Auténtico party now had a congressional majority and
controlled most provincial and municipal governments. Moreover, two
years in power had allowed the party to expand the state bureaucracy
and reward supporters with the sinecures of public office. Vanquishing
the communist labor leadership would enable the auténticos to exercise
full control over the union movement and gain favor with the clases
economicas as well as assuage U.S. concerns over communist influence.
The emergent cold war was transforming the international context, and
the U.S. government no longer looked unperturbed at PSP domination
of Cuban labor. Although a 1945 Office of Strategic Services report em-
phasized that the communist-controlled CTC did not ‘attack foreign
investments or domestic capital and private property,” the State Depart-
ment expressed apprehension.?° That same year American Federation of
Labor representatives met in Miami with auténtico labor leaders to dis-
cuss strategies to curb communist influence in the Cuban and Latin
American labor movements.?!
48 The Cuban Revolution
In 1947, the CTC congress provided the occasion for displacing the
communists from the labor leadership. The auténtico labor commission
challenged the credentials of communist delegates who represented lo-
cal unions recently created by the PSP in order to control the congress
and reelect Lazaro Pena to the post of general secretary. Communists
rejected these charges and responded with similar allegations against
auténtico delegates. Auténtico labor leaders requested that the Labor Min-
istry postpone the congress and arbitrate the dispute. Even though will-
ing to seek a compromise with the communists, unaffiliated union lead-
ers like Angel Cofino and Vicente Rubiera leaned toward the auténticos.
Initially, the Grau administration attempted to mediate the dispute
and proposed the communists remain in the CTC leadership while turn-
ing over majority control to the auténticos. In response, Lazaro Pena
declared communist support for an independent candidate as general
secretary. Auténtico labor leaders also acquiesced to a compromise candi-
date, but refused to accept the communists under any conditions. As a
result, communist leaders withdrew from the negotiations, convened
their own CTC congress in May 1947, and reelected Pena to CTC stew-
ardship with the support of dissident auténticos and some independents.
In July, auténtico and most independent labor leaders celebrated a sepa-
rate union congress and elected Angel Cofino as general secretary. In
September, Labor Minister Carlos Prio recognized the July congress and
the noncommunist CTC, and the communists lost control of the labor
movement. A month later, the PSP withdrew support of the Grau ad-
ministration.
Purging the communists from the CTC brought an array of conse-
quences—some intended, others quite unanticipated. Leadership strug-
gles and divisions weakened the CTC. The expulsion of the communists
did not totally eliminate their influence among rank-and-file workers,
especially in sugar, tobacco, and transportation. The auténtico-inde-
pendent coalition, moreover, proved to be short-lived. In 1949, a new
CTC congress elected Eusebio Mujal general secretary and consolidated
auténtico command over the union bureaucracy. Cofino and other inde-
pendents formed a separate labor confederation. Removing the commu-
nist labor leadership also diminished the weight of the PSP in Cuban
politics. Without the unions, the party was rudderless. Militant reform-
ism had run its course.
Expelling the communists did not immediately reduce union mili-
tancy and state interventionism, however. Compared to the communists
who had led labor struggles for two decades, auténtico leaders lacked
legitimacy with rank-and-file workers. Consequently, auténtico govern-
ments continued the policy of intervention and decree rule to strengthen
the grass-roots base of their labor leaders. The Prio administration de-
creed sixty-one interventions—double the number under Grau.?? Be-
tween 1948 and 1952, the wage share of national income climbed stead-
 Politics and Society, 1902-1958 49
ily from about 60 percent to 69 percent.33 The 1948 conference on
national economic progress noted:
When the Grau San Martin government decided to break with the commu-
nists, the Cuban labor movement was forced to improvise anticommu-
nist leaders without much experience and support among workers. .. .
[T]hese leaders have generally sought government concessions that are
more radical, costly, and unreasonable than those previously demanded by
communist leaders.34

More significantly, auténtico control of the CTC undermined a cru-

cial contribution the labor movement could have made to a new logic of
politics in Cuba. Closely associated with the Batista and Grau adminis-
trations, the CTC under communist leadership nonetheless owed its
primary party allegiance to the PSP. Never a major party, the PSP did
exercise considerable influence in Cuban politics. During the 1940s,
about 7 percent of the electorate voted for the communists. Communist
deputies and senators distinguished themselves for their discipline, hard
work, and honesty. They were only 5 percent of congress, but submitted
over 15 percent of all bills.*> More important, the PSP was not the party
in power. The communist-led CTC was more autonomous from the
government than the auténtico CTC could be. Moreover, Lazaro Pena
and other CTC communists had greater weight within the PSP than
Eusebio Mujal and other CTC auténticos did within their party because
the CTC was more important to the PSP than it was to auténticos.
The PSP added a new element to Cuban politics: communists were
generally honest and collective-oriented. They sought to enhance their
power in order to defend what they understood to be working-class
interests. Nonetheless, Cuban communists were also realists; in practice,
they espoused militant reform, not revolution. From their CTC power
base, communists operated in the political mainstream while challeng-
ing the predominant logic of corruption. The PSP often switched alli-
ances to retain access to power, and its opportunism undoubtedly blem-
ished its radical credentials. However, PSP effectiveness within the
political process strengthened constitutional democracy as the emergent
logic of Cuban politics. Communists and the CTC under their control
accepted the new consensus while rejecting the tradition of graft and
corruption. The PSP-led CTC constituted an essential component for
political reform. The auténtico CTC did not resist the legacy of the old
politicos: the new leadership appropriated the union bureaucracy as
stepping-stone to public office and fountainhead of personal enrich-
ment. In 1950, an independent leader noted: ‘‘The only labor leaders
today with integrity and ability are the communists.”’ Similarly, an au-
téntico sugar leader asserted: ‘‘We used to get fed up contributing a day’s
pay to all of the different communist causes, but at least we knew it
didn’t go into their pockets.’’ Writing in 1952, Charles A. Page noted:
50 The Cuban Revolution
In the fall of 1947, following the pattern of other Latin American labor
movements, Cuban labor had become irrevocably split; but the ousting of
communist leadership had been . . . accomplished by opportunistic and
demagogic chauvinist rivals. . . . Leadership had changed; organization
had been broken. The days of the caciques have returned.?°¢
During the 1940s, auténtico administrations failed to consolidate
representative democracy and diversify the economy. Their tenure rein-
forced the old logic of corruption without instituting parallel economic
and political reforms. The auténticos emerged in the revolution of
1933, and their coming to power initially signaled hope. The former
revolutionaries, however, succumbed to the temptation of rapid self-
enrichment and sidetracked their erstwhile visions and ideals. Cuba was
still a nation of limited economic opportunities, and the next electoral
round could drive incumbents from power. The Grau administration
expanded the budget to consolidate auténtico rule and enhanced discre-
tionary spending. In 1943, for example, the Education Ministry was
allotted 15,000 pesos a month to pay the salaries of teachers temporarily
without appointment. Three years later the same purpose ostensibly
required more than | million pesos.?”7 When Grau left office in 1948, the
Education Ministry handled nearly 2 million pesos a month in discre-
tionary spending.?8 These funds clearly covered more than the salaries of
unemployed teachers.
Rampant corruption and widespread disillusionment led to the for-
mation of a new political party. Led by Eduardo Chibas, the Ortodoxo
party broke with the auténticos in 1947 over the issue of corruption. The
new party mobilized a largely middle-class constituency and espoused a
program of political and economic reform. Within representative de-
mocracy, the ortodoxos expressed the sentiments of radical nationalism.
Chibas, whose weekly radio broadcasts denounced corruption with in-
cendiary intensity, almost exclusively defined the new party. The slogan
verguenza contra dinero (honor against money) more readily identified
the ortodoxos than programmatic calls for diversification, industrializa-
tion, and defense of national sovereignty. Like the PSP and the CTC
under communist leadership, the Ortodoxo party defied the old logic.
Personalismo made an indelible mark on the ortodoxos, however. Like
most other political parties in Cuba, the Ortodoxo party failed to move
beyond a leading personality.
With the support of nearly 46 percent of the electorate, the auténticos
retained the presidency in 1948.39 Carlos Prio assumed office without
the enthusiasm or the fears that had greeted Grau in 1944. The auténticos
had passed popular measures such as rent control, protection against
land evictions, wage increases, and public works, but expansive misap-
propriations and the failure to relieve unemployment and inflation had
considerably tarnished their popular appeal. Moreover, the clases eco-
nomicas viewed Prio less suspiciously. His record as labor minister under
 Politics and Society, 1902-1958 51
Grau when the communists were purged from the CTC enhanced his
stature in the eyes of Cuban capitalists. Indeed, shortly after his inau-
guration, Prio addressed the ANIC-Chamber of Commerce conference
on national economic progress and assuaged the lingering fears of the
clases economicas: the new National Bank would decree neither foreign
exchange controls nor a currency devaluation. Prio was likewise reas-
suring that his policy on enterprise interventions and wage increases
would be more ‘‘reasonable.’’4° In an effort to dispel the image of a Cuba
inhospitable to U.S. capital, the president sounded the same themes in
New York a month later before the Cuban-American Sugar Council.*!
The increased number of interventions and the growing share of
wages in national income during the second auténtico administration
were somewhat deceptive of the direction that labor-capital relations
were in fact taking. The auténticos wanted to retain union control and
extended concessions to labor to strengthen the new union leadership.
But the more frequent recourse to intervention under Prio than under
Grau did not necessarily indicate a more favorable climate for labor. The
clases econodmicas began to welcome state interventions as a means to
convince the government that high labor costs were crippling the econ-
omy. Many businesses facing bankruptcy now saw interventions as an
opportunity to streamline operations without incurring social and politi-
cal costs. If the government wanted a company to continue in business,
state officials had to impose a compromise on workers.42 Under Prio,
while wages continued to increase, labor-related rule making declined
slightly and executive decrees abated significantly. Moreover, prolabor
judicial appeals on dismissal cases also dropped. Only one in two cases
was now decided in favor of unions.*#3
Prio forged closer ties with Cuban capitalists than Batista and Grau
had. His administration formulated policies more favorable to Cuban
and foreign capital. Yet the politics of corruption overshadowed state
developmental policies. Prio did not take kindly to the World Bank
assessment of the Cuban economy. The Report on Cuba sharply criticized
governmental performance and emphasized the imperative of leadership
in taking advantage of prosperity to diversify the economy. Progress was
possible only if there was “energetic, resolute, and united action by the
Government, by private groups, by individuals, and by the nation as a
whole.’’44 The auténtico government did not quite measure up to the
task.
During the late 1940s and early 1950s, increasing violence also
weakened the Prio administration and the functioning of representative
democracy. Rival grupos de accion operated with impunity. During the
1930s, when those responsible for repressing the Machado opposition
were not brought to justice, these action groups formed to pursue the
machadistas. By the 1940s, the grupos de accion had long abandoned their
political intent and had become gangs defending their turfs and settling
52 The Cuban Revolution
scores. Under Prio, the breadth and frequency of their actions grew
significantly. Not surprisingly, the early 1950s found a progressively cyn-
ical and fearful public. On March 10, 1952, when the military deposed
Carlos Prio and Fulgencio Batista once again became president of Cuba,
few Cubans bemoaned the demise of the second auténtico administra-
tion.

The Batista Dictatorship, the Working Class,

and Radical Nationalism
The early morning coup was carried out without much resistance. Prio,
his family, and closest associates sought asylum in the Mexican embassy
and left Cuba shortly thereafter. The auténticos were spineless in defend-
ing their constitutional claim to power. They had breached their legit-
imacy while in office, and because of it, representative democracy passed
away ingloriously. The coup preempted the elections of June 1952 in
which Batista was running a distant third. The ortodoxo candidate Ro-
berto Agramonte was favored to win; the auténtico Carlos Hevia might
have upset him. Neither was particularly inspiring; both were competent
and honest. Had those elections been held, reformism might have had
another chance. They would also have taken the political career of a
young ortodoxo lawyer running for Congress down a different path. The
candidate, Fidel Castro, was the likely winner in his Havana district.
The idea of a military coup originated with younger officers who
wanted to restore order and call new elections. Because during the 1930s
Batista had carried out a similar task, they turned to him for leadership.
Moreover, after becoming president in 1940, the general established
civilian control over the armed forces. In 1952, Batista sidetracked the
expectations of the younger officers. Contrary to the 1930s and 1940s,
Batista did not have much popular support. To remain in office, he had
to rely on the armed forces, especially the officers who had joined him in

politics.4> ,
the sergeants’ revolt on September 4, 1933, and who were now anxious
to reap the bounties of power after twelve years of civilian rule. The
March coup renewed the political preeminence of the military in Cuban

The clases econémicas generally welcomed the overthrow of the Prio

administration. General Batista promised to restore order, and his record
during the 1930s lent additional credibility to his words. Initially, how-
ever, most citizens reacted with indifference. Some students protested
and the union movement called a general strike without success. In early
1953, University of Havana professor Rafael Garcia Barcena conspired
with young ortodoxos, university students, and sectors of the officer corps
to engineer a coup against Batista. They were discovered and im-
prisoned. Opposition plans also flourished among mainstream ortodoxos
and auténticos. Without shared visions and concordant tactics, the older
 Politics and Soctety, 1902-1958 53
politocos quarreled among themselves. Former presidents Grau and Prio
vied for personal control of the Auténtico party. The issues of a united
front with auténticos and the efficacy of electoral politics to undermine
Batista divided ortodoxes. In mid-1953, some auténtico and ortodoxo lead-
ers met in Montreal and signed a ‘‘unity’”’ pact supporting negotiations
and elections. The Montreal Pact proved to be inconsequential, serving
only to underscore auténtico and ortodoxo disarray: they were incapable
of effective leadership, common purposes, and united action. Restoring
the Constitution of 1940 became the rallying cry of the slowly mounting
Batista opposition.*¢®
Like other ortodoxo youths, Fidel Castro was outraged at the news of
the military coup. He presented a legal brief in the Court of Appeals in
Havana demanding imprisonment for Batista and his collaborators for
violating the constitution. Not unexpectedly, the court disavowed the
request. Shortly thereafter Castro rejected negotiations with Batista as a
means to bring an end to the dictatorship and became a leading propo-
nent of armed insurrection. In 1953, the centenary of José Marti’s birth,
165 young Cubans heeded Castro’s call. For months, preparations pro-
ceeded with great secrecy and spartan dedication. Most participants
learned the details of the plan two days before the action: they were to
seize Moncada Barracks in Santiago de Cuba, distribute arms to the
population, and spark a national insurrection.
At dawn on July 26, after most santiagueros had reveled in a night of
carnival, the attack against Moncada Barracks took place. It was a re-
sounding fiasco. Dozens of youths were captured, tortured, and killed,
the rest imprisoned. The nation was horrified by governmental repres-
sion and moved by the daring, if reckless, action of the young Cubans.
Fidel Castro especially captured the popular imagination. When brought
to trial, he defended himself with integrity, compassion, and dignity, and
sketched a political program of nationalist reform. Although he and his
surviving comrades were sent to jail, Castro bowed only to the judgment
of history: ‘“Condemn me, it does not matter. History will absolve
me!’’47
In 1954, Batista called elections. Grau entered the contest but
withdrew when it became evident that the outcome was never in ques-
tion: Batista would remain in office. Though unopposed, the general
used the election to claim legitimacy for his rule. With a new sense of
stability, Batista made some concessions. He convened Congress and
allowed most political parties to resume their activities. In May 1955, the
government declared a general amnesty and released all political pris-
oners. Among those freed was Fidel Castro, who immediately resumed
his opposition activities, exploring the possibilities of peaceful struggle.
Less than two months later, however, he went into exile reaffirming his
belief in insurrection against the dictatorship. In August, the July 26th
Movement issued a manifesto to the people of Cuba:
54 The Cuban Revolution .
The Cuban Revolution does not compromise with groups or persons of any
sort. . . . [I]t will never regard the state as the booty of a triumphant
group. . . . [W]e assume before history responsibility for our actions. And
in making our declaration of faith in a happier world for the Cuban people,
we think like Marti that a sincere man does not seek where his advantage
lies but where his duty is, and that the only practical man is the one whose
present dream will be the law of tomorrow.48
The July 26th Movement was now separate and distinct from the Or-
todoxo party, and Fidel Castro was its central figure.
Alter the 1954 elections, the government took steps to spur the
transformation of the economy and issued the National Program for
Economic Action. State interventions to settle labor disputes virtually
stopped. Courts supported management against labor on dismissals ap-
peals in three out of four cases.4? Domestic and foreign capital found a
more auspicious climate, and business confidence increased. Gustavo
Gutiérrez, a long-standing reformer, prominent economist, and au-
thor of the new program earnestly hoped for the permanence of reform:
“Rulers pass on, the Republic continues.” >°
The batistato, however, decidedly accentuated the dynamics of
corruption. Between 1952 and 1956, government revenues totaled more
than 1.3 billion pesos; Grau and Prio had collected 1.9 billion in eight
years.>! During the 1950s, public works expenditures alone added up to
more than 1 billion pesos. Less than 50 percent covered actual costs; the
rest, commissions and profit margins.°2 The new development banks
granted Batista supporters generous loans and declined modest requests
from nonpartisans. Malfeasance and graft were even more widespread
in the regulation of the sugar industry. Hacendados and colonos who
condemned the new levels of corruption suffered reduced quotas and
fewer business opportunities. The Sugar Stabilization Institute became
nothing more than a forum to reward Batista supporters and punish
opponents.°* The military regime subordinated the incipient develop-
ment infrastructure to the logic of corruption.
After failing to mobilize the rank and file in a strike against the coup,
the union leadership reached an accommodation with Batista and thus
continued the CTC tradition of harmonizing with the government.
Workers had long developed an “opportunisitc tolerance” for the shift-
ing ideologies of their leaders.54 In supporting Batista, Eusebio Mujal
breached his auténtico affiliation. During the 1950s, the union movement
generally complied with state efforts to create a more favorable invest-
ment climate. Most significantly, the CTC agreed to a long-standing
demand of the clases econdmicas: the modification of dismissal pro-
cedures. In exchange, the government granted unions the right to com-
pulsory payroll deductions of dues, increasing the amount of cash at their
disposal. Wage demands were “generally not immoderate,” and the
CTC often overlooked the curtailment of vacations and other benefits.>5
 Politics and Soctety, 1902-1958 55
During the 1950s, although the wage share of national income declined
from 69 percent to 64 percent, it was still higher than in 1948.5¢ The
establishment of new labor relations more conducive to economic trans-
formation proceeded slowly.
Nonetheless, the mujalista CTC lacked the militance and relative
independence of the communist-controlled union movement during the
1940s. Accommodationism supplanted militant reformism. The CTC
leadership concurred in effect, if not always in rhetoric, with the con-
sensus of the clases econémicas that labor conditions partially obstructed
economic transformation. Yet unemployment and underemployment
persisted, and capital-intensive development did not promise relief. CTC
accommodation to the batistato further divided organized labor. High-
ranking union leaders opposed the revision of the dismissals policy.>7 In
1955, sugar workers went on strike to demand their share of the diferen-
cial. The CTC leadership ordered a return to work before reaching an
agreement with the government. Local union leaders and rank-and-file
workers, however, continued on strike until a compromise was attained.
Similarly, Havana bank workers’ leaders defied the mujalista bureau-
cracy in their actions for salary increases and other benefits. In both
instances, the CTC purged dissident union leaders.°8 In general, the CTC
reinforced its stronghold in Havana while provincial unions loosened
their ties to the national union bureaucracy. During the 1950s, national
trends pointed to widening disparities between Havana and the rest of
the country, and a similar polarization characterized the union move-
ment.
CTC support for the government notwithstanding, many workers
joined the ranks of the anti-Batista movement. Some strike leaders like
Conrado Bécquer, José Maria de la Aguilera, and Reynol Gonzalez sub-
sequently joined the July 26th Movement. The diferenctal strike, more-
over, demonstrated the potential of mobilizing widespread support for
worker actions against Batista. Small businesses and industries in dozens
of provincial towns and cities closed their doors in sympathy with the
demands of sugar workers. The diferencial represented additional pur-
chasing power that the private sector did not want to lose.>? In 1957,
workers paralyzed Santiago in protest against the assassination of Frank
Pais, second in command of the July 26th Movement. The PSP orga-
nized labor committees that rivaled official unions in nearly three hun-
dred enterprises.©° In 1958, however, the July 26th Movement called for
a general strike that succeeded in Santiago and other provincial cities but
failed in Havana, where the CTC and the government were clearly in
charge. Subsequently, communist and July 26th Movement labor lead-
ers formed a united front that would be instrumental in the general
strike of January 1, 1959. Like the mujalista CTC, however, the emergent
parallel union movement was not a militant organization akin to the
communist-led CTC during the 1940s.
56 The Cuban Revolution
In 1955, a series of developments marked the anti-Batista move-
ment. Auténticos, ortodoxos, and other politicos regrouped and seemed to
be better coordinated. University students elected new leadership and
expressed renewed discontent. Toward the end of the year, indepen-
dence war veteran Cosme de la Torriente formed the Friends of the
Republic Society and called for a civic dialogue and a new round of
elections. Except for the July 26th Movement, every other opposition
sector participated. Although Batista accepted the invitation, he would
not concede to elections before their scheduled date of 1958. His intran-
sigence bolstered those who argued that armed struggle was the only
way to challenge his rule.
After the civic dialogue failed, violence from within and from
without confronted the government. Colonel Ramon Barquin and other
professional military officers sympathetic to the ortodoxos conspired un-
successfully to depose the general. Hard-line officers also failed to ease
Batista from power. In May 1956, a group of auténticos attacked Goicuria
Barracks in Matanzas. On December 2, the Granma carrying Fidel Castro
and his followers landed in the southern coast of Oriente. The political
stability that Batista had thought he had achieved in 1955 would be
short-lived.
Against extraordinary odds, the Granma expeditionaries reached the
Sierra Maestra and survived the first encounters with the army. In urban
areas, the July 26th Movement stepped up actions and, along with other
urban-based groups, bore the brunt of widening repression. Throughout
1957 opposition mounted. In March, under the leadership of José An-
tonio Echevarria, the Revolutionary Student Directorate (DRE) attacked
the Presidential Palace with the objective of assassinating Batista. The
students came perilously close to success. Carlos Prio financed an
aborted landing of his men in Oriente to establish a site of armed resis-
tance independent from the Sierra Maestra. DRE members who had
disagreed with the Batista assassination attempt opened a minor guer-
rilla front in the Escambray mountains in central Cuba. Manifestos ema-
nated from all opposition quarters and pacts were forged to combat the
dictatorship. In the Sierra Maestra, Fidel Castro met Ratl Chibas,
brother of the founder of the Ortodoxo party, and Felipe Pazos, former
president of the National Bank. They issued a joint communiqué advo-
cating a civilian provisional government, restoration of civil liberties,
social and economic reforms, and abstention by other nations from in-
tervention in the Cuban crisis. In September, a naval mutiny in Cien-
fuegos unsettled the armed forces from within. Governing Cuba became
increasingly difficult for Batista.
During 1958, the general’s problems intensified. The United States
imposed an arms embargo against his government but at the same time
failed to encourage the moderate opposition.©! Under the auspices of the
Catholic church, moderates called for a coalition government and a new
 Politics and Society, 1902-1958 57
dialogue without much success. Like Gerardo Machado two decades
earlier, Batista became more intransigent as momentum gathered
against his rule. Nonetheless, there were moments when defusing the
opposition seemed a plausible prospect. In April, the general strike
failed, in part because the government had effectively contained the July
26th Movement.
The military could not follow up with similar achievements against
the Rebel Army, however. A summer offensive against the rebeldes did
not stall their ascendance. In July, opposition forces signed a new agree-
ment that recognized armed insurrection and a general strike as the
primary means to combat the dictatorship. Rati Castro consolidated a
second guerrilla front in Oriente. Ernesto Guevara and Camilo Cien-
fuegos marched toward the Escambray mountains in central Cuba.
PSP-supported guerrillas had earlier established themselves in the Es-
cambray. The DRE guerrillas, an independent July 26th outfit, and a
motley band of semibandit bands also operated in Las Villas.
During the 1930s, the Cuban armed forces had gained expertise in
combating urban insurrection. After 1956, Batista skillfully marshaled
that experience. But rural Cuba, especially Oriente, where land squatters
were more common and landlords more successful in evicting peasants,
was another matter.©2 The Rebel Army first gained the upper hand
merely by surviving and later by resisting the regular army. The Sierra
Maestra, however, provided the rebeldes with a skewed view of Cuba:
like Havana, the eastern mountains were not representative of Cuban
society. Moreover, their quick victory would lead them to emphasize
military over civilian skills. Military prowess, however, did not ulti-
mately defeat Batista.
A climate of collapse enveloped Cuban society. By 1958, multiple
crises—social, political, economic—besieged Cuba, and it was no small
irony that the maelstrom trapped Fulgencio Batista. During the 1930s,
Batista had forged a new governing consensus overcoming popular up-
heavals and elite dissension. During the 1950s, the general proved inca-
pable of mustering his past experience and enlisting a variety of social
and political sectors in preserving what would soon become the old
Cuba. Twenty years had passed and quite a few opportunities had been
missed. Nonetheless, by refusing to relinquish power, Batista ultimately
undermined the moderate opposition and braced the radical nationalism
of Fidel Castro, the Rebel Army, and the July 26th Movement.
In spite of the arms embargo, the United States vacillated in con-
demning the government and encouraging the opposition, especially
because Castro—a man the U.S. government never quite trusted—was
becoming the dominant figure.°? Moreover, with the Platt Amendment
long abrogated, the Eisenhower administration was not inclined to me-
diate between government and opposition as Roosevelt had done in
1933. In December 1958, the mission of William D. Pawley was only a
58 The Cuban Revolution
half-hearted attempt to replicate the Welles mediation. By then, even a
more concerted effort would probably have come to naught. The fide-
listas, who had never supported negotiations with Batista, were on the
verge of victory and would not have welcomed U.S. auspices.
The anti-Batista movement undoubtedly mobilized diverse social
and political forces. Moderate oppositionists twice sought negotiations
and elections. In October 1956, Fidel Castro and José Antonio Echeva-
ria signed a unity pact of mutual recognition of their organizations in
the struggle against Batista. The urban and sierra factions of the July
26th Movement coexisted tensely over matters of tactics and organiza-
tion. Frank Pais was working toward a more formal organization, with
shared leadership between the Rebel Army and the urban July 26th
Movement, when he was assassinated. Pais considered the general
strike—not guerrilla warfare—the catalyst for a national insurrection.
The July 1957 Sierra Maestra declaration was followed by a November
Miami manifesto reiterating a united opposition program of constitu-
tional restoration and socioeconomic reforms. The Miami pronounce-
ment, however, equivocated on denouncing foreign intervention in Cu-
ban internal affairs and proposed the integration of the Rebel Army with
the regular army after the downfall of Batista. Claiming improper Sierra
Maestra and July 26th Movement representation, Fidel Castro con-
demned the new manifesto.
By 1958, the Rebel Army and the July 26th Movement were undis-
putedly at the helm of the Batista opposition. A midsummer pact among
opposition forces recognized armed insurrection as the principal means
of struggle. The PSP also supported the Sierra Maestra guerrillas and
formed labor committees with the July 26th Movement. Although lib-
erals, radicals, and communists coexisted loosely within the opposition
movement, events had proven the advocates of armed insurrection right.
Without them, the struggle against the dictatorship would not have been
where it was. By then, too, design, chance, and talent had made Fidel
Castro the uncontested leader of the national insurrection.
It was far from inevitable that Fidel Castro and the Sierra Maestra
guerrillas would command the heights of the anti-Batista struggle. Au-
ténticos, ortodoxos, and the old politicos, for example, might have suc-
ceeded in forging a united front against Batista. The general might have
consented to free and honest elections and ushered in a provisional
government in late 1955 when Cosme de la Torriente led the civic dia-
logue movement or early in 1958 when the Catholic church revived it.
José Antonio Echevarria might have survived the March 13, 1957, Presi-
dential Palace attack, and the Revolutionary Student Directorate might
have then exacted a more equitable relationship with the fidelistas. Had
Frank Pais not been assassinated, the urban July 26th Movement might
have exercised greater direction of the struggle than the Sierra Maestra
guerrillas.
 Politics and Society, 1902-1958 59
Within the context of the Cuban 1950s, the July 26th Movement
was not a reformist movement. In his 1953 self-defense, Fidel Castro
outlined the program the moncadistas would have implemented had
they been successful: restoration of the Constitution of 1940, agrarian
reform, profit-sharing in industry, greater share of sugar industry profits
for colonos, and confiscation of misappropriated wealth. He defined the
Cuban people as the unemployed, rural workers, industrial laborers,
small farmers, teachers and professors, small merchants, and young pro-
fessionals. Hacendados, large landowners, and large commercial and in-
dustrial interests were conspicuously absent. The proscription of latifun-
dia and the promotion of full employment expressed objectives already
mandated in the Constitution of 1940.64 Other July 26th Movement
documents highlighted agrarian reform, industrialization, and the ex-
tension of education and health care.°> The July 26th Movement eco-
nomic thesis favored a program of active state intervention and pro-
tection of domestic capital over foreign investments.®® Indeed, the
substance of these proposals constituted the kernel of reform in other
Latin American countries. But not in the Cuba of the 1950s.
During the 1890s and the 1930s, Cuban elites with help from the
United States had derailed challenges from below. Longer-term political
stability had, however, proven much more elusive. The Platt Amend-
ment frustrated the first republican effort, and the record of the auténtico
administrations had debilitated representative democracy. Moreover,
the social and political dynamics of the 1950s did little to bolster the
forces that could have sustained reform in the wake of Batista. Ending
the dictatorship and restoring the constitution were the expressed oppo-
sition objectives, but Fidel Castro and the July 26th Movement insisted
more clearly on the tactics of insurrection than on the specifics of the
new Cuba. Although their programmatic statements were often vague
and contradictory, they were clear and explicit on the character of the
July 26th Movement as an organization that repudiated the past and
aimed to renovate Cuban politics.°7
The rallying cry of the Batista opposition—the restoration of the
Constitution of 1940—-was not a call for the status quo before the mili-
tary coup. The constitution symbolized the ideals of democracy, social
justice, and honest government that representative democracy during
the 1940s and dictatorship during the 1950s had traversed. The July 26th
Movement was unequivocal in rejecting foreign intervention and de-
manding that the Rebel Army be the sole guarantor of the new Cuba.
The fidelistas called for change in a society where political and economic
failures had considerably weakened the recourse to reform, and they
used radical means to secure power. That armed struggle provided the
final blow against the dictatorship further undermined the possibilities
of reform after the revolution came to power.
Fidel Castro and the July 26th Movement were intransigent in their
60 The Cuban Revolution
summons for national regeneration. José Marti was their mentor; con-
cluding the nineteenth-century quest for Cuba libre their purpose. By
January 1, 1959, the structures that could have restrained their intransi-
gence were barely in place, clearly fragile, and often discredited. The
overthrow of Batista brought radical nationalism to power, and Fidel
Castro and the rebeldes owed allegiance only to el pueblo cubano. Over
the next two years struggles between the clases populares and the clases
economicas as well as confrontations with the United States radicalized
the revolution. Remembering 1898 and 1933, the revolutionaries of
1959 refused to compromise; instead, they mobilized the working class
and the clases populares and forged a new consensus based on national
sovereignty and social justice.
 —_ @ @ ,
Revolution and Radical
Nationali 1959-1961
ationalism, 1959-196
This time Cuba is fortunate: the revolution will truly come to power.
It will not be as in 1895 when the Americans intervened at the last
minute and appropriated our country . . . It will not be as in 1933
when the people believed the revolution was in the making and
Batista . . . usurped power . . . It will not be as in 1944 when the
masses were exuberant in the belief that they had at last come to
power but thieves came to power instead. No thieves, no traitors, no
interventionists! This time the revolution is for real!
Fidel Castro
Santiago de Cuba
January 1, 1959

On New Year’s Eve, Fulgencio Batista fled Cuba. The Cuban people
jubilantly welcomed the revolution. ‘This is a decisive moment in our
history: tyranny has been defeated. Our happiness is immense, but we
have much yet to do,” Fidel Castro told the nation on January 8.! The
new government, however, did not have a clear blueprint for the future.
Fidel, the Rebel Army, and the July 26th Movement repudiated the past
and were committed to national regeneration. What was being repudi-
ated and what the process of renewal would entail was another matter.
The pursuit of social justice and national sovereignty took precedence
over the restoration of the Constitution of 1940. By 1961, the Cuban
economy was no longer capitalist and new forms of politics were emerg-
ing. After January 1, a new coalition of elites and social forces emerged
to consolidate the revolution.
With the revolutionary government committed to their interests, the
clases populares acquired a new sense of empowerment. Their support
galvanized the radicalization, which, in turn, alarmed the clases econo-
micas and the United States. Neither, however, proved capable of con-
taining the revolutionary onslaught; six decades of mediated sovereignty
and growing political crisis had undermined them, and e/ pueblo cubano

61
62 The Cuban Revolution
was willing to consider the making of a new Cuba without them. Thus,
the leadership of Fidel Castro, the mobilization of the clases populares,
and the defense of the nation against the United States were the catalysts
of revolutionary politics.

Reformism, the Clases Economicas, and the Revolution

On January 4, 1959, Fidel Castro named Judge Manuel Urrutia presi-
dent of the revolutionary government. The new cabinet assembled the
best of liberal Cuba: lawyers, judges, economists, ortodoxos, veterans of
the 1930s, participants in the Rafael Garcia Barcena movement and the
civic dialogue of the 1950s, social activists—Cubans who spoke their
nationalism reasonably and moderately. Their program was one of eco-
nomic growth, more equitable distribution of wealth, honest govern-
ment, due process of law, and the pursuit of national interests. They
were similar to the reformers of the 1920s who had initially supported
Gerardo Machado in the hopes of making Cuba wealthy and Cuban.
Unlike them, however, these liberal Cubans did not constitute a move-
ment: a general strike inaugurated their government and the Rebel
Army backed it. ‘“Power is not the fruit of politics, but the fruit of sacri-
fices by hundreds and thousands of our comrades. Our commitment is
only to the people and the Cuban nation,”’ Fidel Castro noted on Janu-
ary 1 in Santiago de Cuba.? Indeed, politics—the politiqueria (political
chicanery) that had perverted elections and undermined constitutional
rule—was not a source of legitimacy for the revolutionary government.
Those who had died in the struggle against Batista, el pueblo, and the
quest for Cuba libre were.
The Rebel Army and the July 26th Movement were not solely re-
sponsible for overthrowing Batista, but Fidel Castro and the rebeldes
commanded the opposition movement after the summer of 1958. AI-
though the July 26th Movement had benefited from the association with
the moderates, the latter had joined the fidelistas after attempts to oust
Batista on their terms had failed. Many wealthy Cubans, whose contri-
butions had totaled 5 to 10 million pesos, had also supported the insur-
rection.? Although the promises to respect capitalism and restore consti-
tutional government had partially assuaged their misgivings, they still
had lingering doubts. The rebeldes had been quick to burn cane fields and
extort supplies from large landowners. Known for his autocratic tenden-
cies, Fidel Castro was reluctant to share the mantle of leadership. More-
over, unswerving commitment to armed struggle and resolute repudia-
tion of the past were the only clear positions of the fidelistas. And yet, on
January 1, 1959, Fidel Castro, the Rebel Army, and the July 26th Move-
ment were incontestably the liberators of Cuba, and virtually all Cubans
supported them. Victory was not theirs alone, but the unfolding of the
anti-Batista struggle had rendered them—not others—indispensable.
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 63

Liberal Cuba had no claim on power independent from Fidel Castro.

How the rebeldes would compose the new Cuba was a different
matter. Their only statement on the economy was far from radical: it
merely advocated an activist state on behalf of economic development.
Authors Felipe Pazos and Regino Boti underscored the importance of
economic growth and social justice. Pazos and Boti—subsequently Na-
tional Bank president and economy minister—berated long-standing
beliefs about the Cuban economy. They rejected the immutability of
monoculture, the terms of Cuba-U.S. relations, the impossibility of in-
dustrialization, the scarcity of domestic capital, and the primacy of for-
eign investment. They called for agrarian reform, sugar industry mod-
ernization, import-substitution industrialization, and investments of
state and domestic capital. Their objectives were to foster full employ-
ment and economic growth, and to redistribute national income.4
The economic thesis of the July 26th Movement read like a program
for reform, yet it was different from the reformism that had gained
consensus among the clases economicas during the 1950s. The July 26th
Movement program was not antilabor; Pazos and Boti dismissed the
notion that labor legislation subverted economic development and de-
fended the compatibility of high wages with economic growth. They
faulted the lack of economic planning for the slow movement toward
industrialization, diversification, and job creation. Indeed, they sup-
ported a far greater degree of state intervention than the prevailing con-
sensus. Whereas the Batista program had been most interested in foreign
investment, Boti and Pazos called for the primacy of Cuban public and
private capital. The July 26th Movement thesis was committed to na-
tional control of the Cuban economy.
Had negotiations brought an end to the Batista regime, the con-
sensus of the 1950s might have led to ‘tropical dependent develop-
ment.’’ Armed struggle, however, had toppled the dictatorship. The July
26th Movement program espoused reformism, but the social forces that
were its natural constituency—the middle class, the industrialists, and
nonsugar agricultural interests, the more privileged sectors of the work-
ing class—lacked independent political leadership. During the 1940s, the
auténticos had compromised their claim to represent a Cuba of greater
sovereignty, economic progress, and social justice. The coup of 1952 had
prevented the Ortodoxo party from governing and the possibility that
radical nationalism might have unfolded under the Constitution of 1940.
In 1959, nationalist reformers had no leader other than Fidel Castro, no
movement but the July 26th, no army but the Rebel Army. They lacked
the resources to direct the popular ground swell that welcomed the
revolution toward a program of reform.
Nonetheless, the clases econémicas also joined in celebrating the rev-
olution. Hacendados, colonos, cattle ranchers, tobacco and rice growers,
industrialists, commercial establishments, individual businesses, and do-
64 The Cuban Revolution
mestic and foreign corporations extended their congratulations to the
new government in daily media advertisements. Indeed, the rebeldes,
their red-and-black flag, and Fidel so completely impacted the national
imagination that by March, the registry of industrial property was
swamped with petitions to patent products bearing the revolutionary
trademarks.* The symbols of revolution were deemed good for business.
Not all sectors of the clases econdmicas applauded the revolution with
equal enthusiasm nor welcomed its program wholesale. Hacendados and
cattle ranchers were especially wary of the promulgation of agrarian
reform, and importers opposed protectionism. The industrialists em-
braced the policies of industrialization, tax and agrarian reforms, and
tariff revisions but cautioned against spiraling wages. While supporting
agrarian reform, colonos balked at raising the minimum wages of rural
workers. Rice growers appreciated higher domestic quotas but requested
a one-year postponement of wage raises.© The revolution intensified the
historic divisions among the upper classes.” Their principal organiza-
tions were either riven by dissent, like those of the hHacendados and the
colonos, or beset by traditional weaknesses, like those of the industrial-
ists. The clases econdmicas proved as ineffectual against the revolution as
they had been defending national interests before 1959: their earlier
failures had decidedly undermined their rampart against radical nation-
alism.
The initial program of the revolutionary government was not excep-
tionally radical in form. Its central edict—agrarian reform—was based
on article 90 of the Constitution of 1940, which proscribed latifundios
and further foreign land ownership.’ The reform allowed landholdings
of up to 1,000 acres, as well as special allotments to 3,333 acres if
economically justifiable. Compensation would be in 20-year bonds at
4.5 percent interest. About 10 percent of all farms were affected. Foreign
and sugar-mill ownership of land was subsequently prohibited.? The
new law also built upon the Sugar Coordination Law of 1937, securing
the rights of colonos against hacendados. Moreover, its land-to-the tiller
motto clearly favored small colonos and peasants over agricultural
workers. Indeed, the agrarian reform virtually ignored the 500,000 Cu-
bans in the rural labor force.!° Its provisions for the establishment of
cooperatives rather than the redistribution of land and a strong role for
the state were, however, more suspect. The National Institute for Agrar-
ian Reform (INRA) absorbed the old sugar, rice, and coffee institutes and
became a powerful new state institution.
Other measures were likewise within the realm of reform. Progres-
sive tax policies favored Cuban over foreign investments, nonsugar over
sugar sectors, small over large businesses, the provinces over Havana.
State regulatory powers were exercised to benefit small producers:
smaller sugar mills and small rice growers were assigned larger quotas.
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 65

Rents were reduced 30 to 50 percent, but landlords earning less than 150
pesos in rent income a month were excluded.!! Although controversial,
stiff taxes on imports and foreign exchange controls were no more radi-
cal than the Economic Commission for Latin America recommendations
of Raul Prebisch. Indeed, in eight months, wage increases, new jobs, and
various other reforms generated an expansion of 200 million pesos in
domestic purchasing power.!2 New investment inquiries were up ten-
fold, license applications for small businesses increased 400 percent. As
national industries expanded their production of consumer goods, U.S.
exports to Cuba declined 35 percent. #3
From the start, the revolution distinguished between the industrial-
ists and the other sectors of the clases econémicas. Calls for national unity
in defense of popular interests included them.!4 Denunciations against
those who had supported the Platt Amendment and trade reciprocity
and forsaken national control of the economy abounded. But so did
praise for the Cubans of wealth who had invested in industry and agri-
cultural diversification. ‘‘Their interests coincide with those of the
nation,’”” noted an editorial in Revolucion, the July 26th Movement
newspaper.!> At a large industrial enterprise in Havana, Rat Castro
commended the ‘‘comrade owners’”’ for meeting worker demands and
making donations to the National Institute for Agrarian Reform.!° The
peasantry, the working class, and the progressive bourgeoisie were
identified as the three pillars of the revolution.!? Landowners and
importers—not workers—-were the enemies of the industrialists.!8 The
government applauded the initiative of workers and owners at Santiago
harbor to create a committee in defense of national sovereignty.!? In-
deed, workers and managers often expressed joint support of the revolu-
tion.29
The National Association of Cuban Industrialists welcomed inclu-
sion in the ranks of the revolution. While balking at wage increases,
ANIC supported industrialization and submitted its program to the revo-
lutionary government.?! The industrialists requested a meeting with the
CTC to coordinate efforts in support of the government and discuss
disagreements over labor-management relations.22 The industrialists
stressed that the monthly salary in industry averaged 2.5 times the mini-
mum wage. Industry, moreover, had no dead season.2? The CTC never
agreed to the meeting.24 In May, when agrarian reform alarmed other
sectors of the clases econémicas, the president of ANIC noted:
We avoided involvement in yesterday’s corrupt politics, but now we have to
cooperate with today’s good politics because in four months the revolution-
ary government has done more for Cuba than was done in all our previous
years of republican life. . . . We are under the obligation to contribute to
the government’s achievements. There is absolutely no excuse not to do
so.7?
66 The Cuban Revolution
On January 1, 1960, ANIC congratulated the revolutionary government
on its first anniversary and praised the industrialization program, admin-
istrative honesty, domestic market expansion, and import-export regu-
lations. The industrialists also volunteered to wage an international
campaign to improve the credit image of Cuba.2®
The effects of the revolutionary program were, however, profoundly
radical. More than Batista fell on January 1, 1959. As after the overthrow
of Machado, Cuban society confronted the threat of a radical transfor-
mation. Only now there was no Sumner Wells, no regular army, no full
spectrum of organizations vying for space in the new Cuba—no means,
in short, to contain radical nationalism. The revolution of 1933 sealed
the fate of early republican politics; the revolution of 1959 eventuated
from the failure to govern Cuba beyond the Platt Amendment and trade
reciprocity. The passage of agrarian reform galvanized a popular ground
swell that engulfed the nation and found support in Fidel and the Rebel
Army. When the new leadership rejected immediate elections as a brake
to the revolution, most Cubans were not concerned. The past had dem-
onstrated that politiqueria easily scuttled the integrity of electoral pro-
cesses and the interests of the clases populares. The revolutionary govern-
ment saw a new popular conciencia based on the attainment of social
justice and national sovereignty as the best guarantee of democracy.27
Moreover, many nationalist reformers supported the revolution and
went along with its early measures. They agreed to postpone elections;
the first cabinet of liberal citizens centralized enormous and unchecked
powers in the cabinet. They were generally silent when revolutionary
justice violated due process in the trials of Batista collaborators. Few
objected when Fidel Castro ordered the retrial of a group of air force
pilots who had been acquitted of war crimes and when the new trial
condemned them.?® Nationalist reformers supported the program of
agrarian reform, industrialization, and employment expansion because
it was also their program, and they were bereft of the leadership, the
organizations, the institutions, indeed, the historical resources to trans-
form Cuba on their terms.
Opposition to the revolution stirred in foreign and domestic quar-
ters. The United States sharply condemned the revolutionary trials, espe-
cially the retrial of the Batista pilots. The agrarian reform alienated the
sugar sector and U.S. interests. Hacendados and cattle ranchers launched
a media campaign against the reform.2? As the new power contours
emerged, the clases econémicas began to disinvest.*° They could not ac-
cept that ‘the radical transformation of social structures which has taken
place in Cuba . . . means that their opinions are no more valued than
those of ordinary citizens.’’3! In February 1959, Fidel made an affirma-
tion that did little to soothe the fears that the revolution awakened even
in the industrialists:
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 67

A truth needs to be stated and that is simply that workers are right. It must
be stated so that no one in our country has absolutely any doubts about it.
Workers, . . . the unemployed have paid the harshest consequences of
past failures. . . . Our economy has developed within a system of private
enterprise, . . . consequently, workers are not responsible for our desper-
ate straits. Only our immoral governments and the wealthy who opted for
unproductive investments are.??
Never before in Cuban history had a government so unabashedly fa-
vored the clases populares. The reorganization of the Central Organiza-
tion of Cuban Trade Unions became a central focus of revolutionary
politics.

The Working Class and the Revolutionary Government

Like Batista, Eusebio Mujal and most of his close associates fled Cuba;
exile was their only alternative to revolutionary justice. The recently
formed July 26th Movement—PSP labor committees immediately took
over the CTC. July 26th Movement labor leaders controlled the CTC
executive; the PSP assumed many rank-and-file positions. Many mu-
jalista labor leaders also retained control of local unions. July 26th
Movement labor leaders were generally younger and less experienced
than either the mujalistas or the communists. They were also less nu-
merous and could not completely fill the vacuum in the CTC after the
flight of many mujalistas. Thus, communists and mujalistas stepped in
where the July 26th Movement could not.
In early 1959, a torrent of demands for better wages and improved
working conditions underscored the extent of CTC concessions to the
emerging consensus of the 1950s that a more compliant labor movement
was necessary for economic development. Workers demanded 20 per-
cent across-the-board increases, an immediate renegotiation of labor
contracts, and the reinstatement of workers fired for political reasons.
In Santiago, workers called for an equalization of wages with Havana,
and soon labor assemblies in the provinces seconded the call.+4 The
National Federation of Sugar Workers (FNTA) called upon hacendados to
pay workers the diferencial of 1958 and for superproduccién—up to 50
million pesos in wages lost due to mechanization and innovations after
1953.35 The FNTA also demanded the institution of four work shifts in
the mills to alleviate unemployment.3¢ Numerous union assemblies de-
manded vacation payments that management had illegally retained.’
Strikes were relatively common, and strike threats even more so.3® At
the end of January, CTC General Secretary David Salvador observed:
“We prefer harmonious solutions to all conflicts, but where owners
close all possibilities for such resolutions, we will go on strike however
many times it is necessary. . . . [W]e will not make anti-revolution-
68 The Cuban Revolution
ary concessions to employers who conspire against the revolution.’’*?
The clases econdmicas resisted the renewal of working-class mili-
tancy. Hacendados and colonos slowed down the 1959 sugar harvest.4°
The industrialists opposed immediate salary increases and renegotiation
of labor contracts.4! Some union leaders and militant workers were
fired; management sometimes refused to meet union representatives.4
Many enterprises denied union activists the time needed to attend to
labor matters; management had regularly granted labor leaders time off
for the same purpose during the 1950s.43 Hacendados challenged the
legality of unions.4+ Some colonos closed food stores, limited credit, and
cut back jobs in protest over wage increases.*> Others publicized spu-
rious labor contracts with wages set below the daily minimum of 3.14
pesos.*¢ Enterprise lockouts were relatively common.*’” Many capitalists
purposively delayed or otherwise obstructed Labor Ministry mediations
with unions to settle new contracts.4® At least once, management en-
couraged workers to strike to subvert these mediations.4? One enterprise
established a company union.°®° The clases econdmicas experienced the
unraveling with unsettling swiftness of the more favorable ambience in
labor-management relations that had been emerging during the 1950s.
The revolutionary government wasted no time in seizing the initia-
tive. Hampering the economy in any way was considered to be unpatri-
otic. The Labor Ministry expected full cooperation between workers and
employers and often mediated conflicts to preempt strikes and lock-
outs.>! In early 1959, the ministry conducted more than 5,000 media-
tions, supported wage increases on a case-by-case basis rather than
across the board as the unions demanded, and proclaimed ‘‘equidis-
tance’ between the interests of labor and those of capital.°2 Nonetheless,
the Labor Ministry was not a neutral arbiter. Without granting all de-
mands, mediations generally settled conflicts in favor of workers. In ten
months, the revolutionary government decreed 66 million pesos in wage
increases to sugar workers and 20 million pesos to workers in other
sectors.°3 In 1956-1958, wage increases had averaged 4.2 percent; the
annual rise in 1959 was 14.3 percent.>* The cabinet ordered the rein-
statement with back pay of workers fired for political reasons during the
1950s and the disbursement of illegally retained vacation payments, and
awarded sugar workers retroactive superproduccion wages.>> Moreover,
the government revived the old practice of interventions to prevent plant
closures, settle labor conflicts, and enforce labor legislation.°© Between
1934 and 1952, the state had resorted to intervention 101 times,°” and
after 1952, Batista had virtually stopped the long-standing practice. In
eighteen months, the revolutionary government intervened more than
200 times, in most instances at the request of workers.*8
Indeed, the clases economicas had reason to doubt the Labor Minis-
try’s claim to equidistance. The tempo of daily events and the tenor of
revolutionary statements could not but shake their confidence. In an
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 69

address to Shell Oil Company workers who had threatened to strike if

wage increases and other demands were not satisfied, Fidel Castro,
while arguing that strikes were not appropriate under the revolution,
asserted:

Workers are the principal creators of wealth, not the capitalist in his com-
fortable Wall Street office. . . . The revolution is yours and for you. We are
going to wage large battles, not small battles. Larger, more useful and bene-
ficial than those we have discussed tonight. Now the people are in power.
We are a single entity. People and power are a single entity.*?

From the outset the Rebel Army supported the clases populares.
Provincial commanders often intervened in the conflicts of sugar work-
ers with hacendados and colonos and settled the differences in favor of
FNTA. The agrarian reform fueled the upsurge in rural Cuba and the
Rebel Army, INRA, and FNTA emerged as a powerful triumvirate on
behalf of rural workers. ‘‘For the first time, the army will not use its
weapons against the people,’’ Fidel Castro noted.©° His brother Raul
affirmed: ‘‘The Rebel Army is a political army whose purpose is to de-
fend the interests of the people.’’®! These were not uncertain words, and
the actions that followed them were even less equivocal. For the first
time in Cuban history, the clases econdmicas were without any army.
Nonetheless, more than the Rebel Army was needed to direct the popu-
lar ground swell. With the collapse of the mujalista hierarchy, CTC reor-
ganization became imperative. In the process, an amalgam of tensions,
issues, and contradictions between the July 26th Movement and the PSP
quickly surfaced.
The PSP had not played a major role in the anti-Batista struggle. The
party had condemned the Moncada Barracks attack as ‘‘putschist,’’ ‘‘ad-
venturist,’’ and ‘‘against the interests of the people.’’ In the mid-1950s,
the party had fomented the formation of parallel unions that turned out
to be important in the emergent antimujalista movement. In the summer
of 1958, Carlos Rafael Rodriguez had met with Fidel in the Sierra Ma-
estra. A small group of PSP-supported guerrillas in Las Villas had joined
the Rebel Army columns of Ernesto Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos
in their westward drive. In the fall, the July 26th Movement and
the PSP had constituted united labor committees. Nonetheless, the
communists—not unlike the moderate opposition—had endorsed the
armed rebellion when other avenues of struggle against Batista had all
but disappeared.
The party had had an uncanny record of survival. In 1939, when the
CTC was founded, communists had hailed Batista in spite of his earlier
repression of the popular movement. During the 1940s, they had sup-
ported the Batista and Grau administrations. After the 1947 CTC purge,
PSP relevance to national life had diminished considerably. Even had
the 1952 elections taken place and the ortodoxos won with PSP endorse-
70 The Cuban Revolution
ment, the party was unlikely to regain its pre-1947 prominence. Without
the labor movement, the communists had lost their platform in Cuban
politics. Indeed, the triumphant revolution whose origins communists
had dismissed as ‘‘putschist’’ and ‘‘adventurist’”’ thrust their party into
the mainstream. The PSP had an organization, able leaders, experienced
cadres, and international allies. None had been decisive in the anti-
Batista movement. All, however, would prove to be crucial in forming a
new governing coalition. The mujalista collapse created the opportunity
for communist labor leaders to reclaim their previous space in Cuban
society. The CTC vacuum also afforded July 26th Movement union lead-
ers the chance to establish their realm within the revolution.® For
twenty years, the CTC had represented a constituency whose interests
the state had to address. The revolutionary government was no different.
The July 26th Movement—PSP labor front was short-lived. At the
end of January, the July 26th expelled the PSP from the CTC executive
committee.3 The action might have been occasioned by the anticom-
munism of the July 26th Movement labor leaders. Like the purges of
remaining mujalista leaders, the communist ouster from the CTC lead-
ership, however, more likely was caused by the July 26th’s determina-
tion to gain exclusive control of the trade unions.®4 Revolutionary Stu-
dent Directorate labor cadres also joined the anti-PSP struggle. After
January, July 26th Movement labor leaders called for union elections
and the celebration of a CTC national congress.®
Local elections were held in April and May. The preelection period
was Often marked by turmoil. Rank-and-file demands for better wages
and working conditions prompted Labor Ministry mediations to prevent
strikes. The revolution insisted upon cooperation with capital for the
sake of the nation. In February, Fidel Castro unequivocally stated:
We have to defend the revolution with more than just a simple demand. The
revolution is the demand of today and that of the future, the salaries of
today and those of the future, the welfare of today and that of the fu-
ture. . . . Strikes are formidable weapons, but we cannot use them now.®

In April, CTC General Secretary David Salvador congratulated workers,

union leaders, and management at a Havana enterprise for resolving
their differences peacefully, and criticized trade unionists who
adopt extremist attitudes like declaring strikes and work slowdowns or
occupying factories. These are measures which do not contribute to the best
defense of workers’ interests. . . . [W]e have a revolutionary government
which guarantees the demands of Cuban workers. . . . No measure which
encumbers the revolutionary government .. . is good for the working
class. . . . [T]o the extent that the revolution consolidates its power to that
same extent workers will be strong and we will be guaranteeing... .
permanently and with a sense of history our present interests, our future
interests, our interests always.°7
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 71

That the revolutionary government favored workers in most mediations

bolstered July 26th Movement labor leadership: more than 90 percent of
all rank-and-file leaders elected belonged to the movement.’
The PSP often posited a leftist challenge to the CTC. PSP General
Secretary Blas Roca observed: ‘‘When strikes are necessary and just,
they are not harmful, but helpful to the revolution.’°? Communists
criticized the government for treating capital and labor on the same
terms.7° Before the union elections, PSP labor cadres took over the
leadership of many local unions in railroads, sugar, transportation,
shoes, graphic arts, and docks, among others.7! In some instances, com-
munists delayed the elections; in others, they refused to hand over
the unions to the new leadership.’2 PSP labor leaders accused many
July 26th Movement labor leaders of election irregularities, antidemo-
cratic practices, and mujalista connections.”7* Communists denounced
the CTC for remaining in the AFL-CIO-—sponsored Inter-American Labor
Organization.”* Although the PSP mustered considerable experience
and talent in the attempt to reclaim its old mainstay, its success was
limited.
The July 26th Movement parried the PSP offensive in the labor
movement. For months after the union elections, Revolucién published
scathing indictments of communist history: the compromise of the 1933
revolution, the collaboration with Batista during the late 1930s and the
early 1940s, the reformist transformation of the labor movement, the
participation in politiqueria and back-room deals, the inability to forge a
strategy against Batista, the opportunism at most turns in national poli-
tics, and the antinational dependence on a foreign power.’”> With con-
siderable reason, the July 26th Movement dismissed the PSP call for
unity as a strategy to retain relevance after a resounding electoral defeat.
Moreover, the past rendered the communists less than trustworthy al-
lies. Like the revolution, the CTC belonged to those who had led the
struggle against Batista. Workers, moreover, had turned down the PSP
bid for union leadership.
After Fidel Castro proclaimed ‘‘humanism’’—neither capitalism nor
socialism—as the ideology of the revolution, the July 26th Movement
labor leadership followed suit. The most anticommunist faction formed
the Front of Humanist Workers (FOH) to defend July 26th Movement
control of the labor movement. Twenty of the thirty-three federations
associated with the CTC subscribed the FOH. The CTC leadership
strongly supported agrarian reform, denounced incipient terrorism
against the revolutionary government, and underscored the social
functions of property.7© The July 26th Movement—dominated CTC in-
voked a six-month no-strike pledge.7”7 When workers and their local
unions grumbled in some sectors against it, the CTC censured them and
clamped down on dissent.78 In September, Fidel Castro stated that de-
mands for salary increases were no longer legitimate: the national econ-
72 The Cuban Revolution
omy, unemployment, and the welfare of los humildes (the poor) were
more important.’?
The conflict between the July 26th Movement and the PSP reached a
climax at the CTC congress in November. No more than 10 percent of the
3,200 congress delegates were communists.®° National events, however,
had taken a hectic turn in the weeks preceding the congress. In October, a
new labor minister was sworn into office. Former defense minister and
guerrilla commander Augusto Martinez Sanchez claimed the right to
regulate labor-management relations in whatever ways necessary.®!
With the entire country on the lookout for Camilo Cienfuegos, the popu-
lar comandante of the Rebel Army whose plane disappeared over the skies
of Camagiiey, Martinez Sanchez postponed delegate elections to the
upcoming congress. CTC leaders expressed concern that they had not
been consulted about the postponement.®? As counterrevolutionary ac-
tivities increased, national defense became the overriding imperative.
The Rebel Army faced internal dissent in Camagtiey when Huber Matos
resigned his post of provincial commander to protest growing communist
influence. Cienfuegos had gone to Camagiiey to arrest Matos. Likewise,
other personnel changes pointed to new directions. Ratil Castro became
defense minister, and Ernesto Guevara president of the National Bank;
both were known to be sympathetic to the communists. The CTC con-
gress opened in a sharply more polarized national ambience than that of
April-May when the local union elections were held.
The congress called on the working class to support the revolution-
ary government and the agrarian reform, contribute to industrialization
and the elimination of unemployment, defend national sovereignty, and
promote racial integration.23 While endorsing improvement in living
and working conditions, the agenda did not include demands for wage
increases and shorter workdays. Fidel Castro emphasized that defending
the nation and consolidating the revolution were now more important:
“The destinies of /a patria and of the revolution are in the hands of the
working class.’’84 Similarly, he implied that cooperation between the
July 26th Movement and the PSP was crucial to the struggle against
the enemies of the revolution. Nonetheless, an overwhelming majority
of the delegates voted down the PSP candidates to the executive commit-
tee. The issue, however, was not settled.
Some delegates continued to support a unity slate. Many insisted
that the PSP call for unity was a communist maneuver to gain a foothold
in the revolution. Discussions heated up and no consensus seemed pos-
sible. Then, Fidel Castro returned to the congress and chastised the
delegates for their near-riotous behavior. What would have happened
had the delegates been armed? The proceedings were undermining the
morale of the working class. Fidel said he also had a right to speak for the
July 26th Movement, and he was speaking on behalf of unity among
CTC leaders. Like the nationalist reformers, anticommunist labor leaders
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 73

lacked a base of popular support separate from that of Fidel Castro and
the revolution. Moreover, they had earlier eschewed an alliance with the
industrialists that might have bolstered their position within the CTC.
The delegates agreed to an executive committee that excluded the com-
munists as well as the most prominent members of the Front of Human-
ist Workers.8> The congress also created a committee to eradicate the
remnants of mujalismo. 8°
By the end of 1959, the revolutionary government had restrained
the trade unions. Well before the elimination of private property, de-
fending the revolution and contributing to economic development were
the primary goals of the labor movement. A united CTC was critical in
the mounting confrontation with the clases econémicas and the United
States. The commitment of workers to national goals rather than to
“economistic’’ demands was likewise vital. The communists were sea-
soned labor leaders, and their links with the Soviet Union enhanced the
value of the PSP as an ally in the radicalization of the revolution. Indeed,
the call for CTC unity served the purposes of the revolutionary govern-
ment well.
After the congress, the Labor Ministry used the anti-mujalista com-
missions to purge uncooperative union leaders. Undoubtedly, some mu-
jalistas still occupied posts in local unions throughout Cuba. As the
conflict with the communists intensified, many of them embraced the
July 26th Movement. Early in 1960, CTC General Secretary David Sal-
vador criticized the antimujalista campaign: because there were rela-
tively few mujalistas in local unions, the commissions were primarily
expelling independent union leaders.®” In fact, the antimujalista crusade
removed about 50 percent of the labor leaders elected in April and May
of 1959, and veteran PSP labor cadres took over many local unions. In
May, Salvador was no longer at the helm of the CTC. In 1960, Fidel
Castro and the revolution enjoyed such widespread support that the
mujalistas, independent local leaders, and Salvador could have easily
been removed from office by holding new elections: the slate of candi-
dates sanctioned by Fidel and the government would have easily won.
Nonetheless, the choice was to purge them.
Rank-and-file workers in construction, restaurants, tobacco, trans-
portation, and utilities resisted the curtailment of union autonomy and
their ‘“economistic’’ demands.8® Utility workers were especially reluc-
tant to forgo their privileges and briefly confronted the revolutionary
government.®? Although also manifesting some opposition, sugar work-
ers more readily consented to the new cooperation between labor and
the government.?° In June 1960, the CTC executive committee proposed
a wage freeze, suggested salary reductions if necessary for national de-
velopment, and discarded references to different sectors within the
working class. Henceforth, the ‘‘Cuban proletariat’’ would be the only
valid expression.?! Fidel Castro succinctly stated the need for a new
74 The Cuban Revolution
attitude among the working class: ‘‘We have to teach workers to think as
a class and not as asector. . . . We have to teach them to think not only
of those who are working, but also of those workers who do not have a
job.’’?2
The 1959 labor congress resembled the congress of 1947, which had
purged the communists and paved the way for the then-auténtico Mujal
to gain control of the trade unions. Both congresses witnessed fierce elite
struggles over CTC stewardship. Both also experienced substantial inter-
vention from the Labor Ministry. In both congresses, the state needed a
more docile labor organization to advance national development. Both
were also instances of the state’s exercising greater command of the _
labor movement to consolidate national power. Although in 1947 and
1959 sectors of the rank and file resisted the changes, most did not. In
1947, Cuban workers did not rally behind Lazaro Pena against Angel
Cofino and Eusebio Mujal. In 1959-1960, they similarly failed to support
the Front of Humanist Workers at the CTC congress and even David
Salvador when he was purged.
In 1959-1960, however, Cuba was radically different than in 1947.
The revolutionary government could legitimately claim to be the first in
Cuban history to uphold the interests of the clases populares. No other
government had done so much to improve popular living standards in so
short a time: indeed, el pueblo and the government appeared to be one.
By the end of 1960, moreover, the state commanded the major means of
production. Cuba no longer had a capitalist economy, and the clases
economicas were now history. Working-class support was everywhere
evident as workers safeguarded their work centers against sabotage and
readied to defend the nation against U.S. aggression. How trade unions
would function under socialism and how the new state would represent
the interests of the working class and the rest of the clases populares were
yet to be settled. In 1959-1960, Cuba was also radically different than in
1947 because the revolution was eliminating autonomous political ac-
tion. Unions—never too independent before 1959—-would now be sub-
mitted in toto to the logic of revolutionary politics.

Revolutionary Politics and the Clases Populares

Fidel Castro and the new Cuban leadership did not see their legitimacy
dependent on restoring the Constitution of 1940 and holding elections;
redeeming Cuba from a past of indignities and improving the welfare of
the clases populares sanctioned the revolutionary government. Before
1959, the clases econdmicas had accepted a state of affairs that had surren-
dered national sovereignty and contravened the interests of a majority of
Cubans. The revolution had subverted the old order and was creating a
Cuba of equality, full employment, agrarian reform, public health, uni-
versal education, real democracy. Cuba para los cubanos once again re-
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 75

verberated throughout the island, and e/ pueblo cubano had unbridled

hopes for the future.
Those calling for immediate elections had the most to lose by the
redistributive policies of the new government. When Batista had an-
nounced the National Program for Economic Action in 1955, the United
States had not responded by pressing democratic reforms on him. Like-
wise, most of the clases econdmicas had then been more interested in
maintaining order than in calling elections. No sooner had the revolu-
tionary government come to power than sectors of the clases econdémicas
and the United States started demanding immediate elections. Their
sudden appreciation of democracy too clearly belied their primary con-
cern that the new Cuba would not attend to their interests. Why hasten
elections when the revolution was rendering Cuba so much more demo-
cratic than ever? ‘‘Politiqueria is as odious as tyranny,”’ Fidel Castro
asserted in May 1959.93 Before holding elections, the new government
would promote employment, expand health care, extend education,
create a new popular conciencia about politics. Until then, elections
would only put a brake on radical transformation.
Nonetheless, new institutions were needed in order to govern; the
question was what kind and for what purposes. If elections were to be
held, political parties had to be organized. The postponement of elec-
tions, however, supposed continuing the revolution outside the bounds
of normal institutional processes. In 1959, some July 26th Movement
leaders sought to organize their movement into a political party.94 Fidel
Castro never encouraged those steps; even though it was then incon-
ceivable that the movement would or could have challenged him, he
probably resisted the creation of an organization that in the future could
have contested him. Still, the fact of the social revolution itself also
encouraged alternate forms of politics. Party building amid growing con-
frontations with the clases econémicas and the United States would have
further exacerbated the conflict with the communists, and the PSP was
crucial to the emerging coalition in support of the radicalization. Then,
too, without a new conctencia about politics, the premature transforma-
tion of the July 26th Movement into a party would have likely rein-
forced the political culture of politiqueria. Some movement offices—
casas del 26—were already becoming centers for the dispensation of
favors and the transaction of deals reminiscent of the old politicos.9> In
the spring of 1959, turning the July 26th Movement into a political party
would have been obligatory had elections been on the agenda. Elections,
however, had been postponed. Moreover, the support of the clases popu-
lares and most other Cubans for the revolutionary government was so
resounding that advocating elections seemed a formality.
Fidel Castro himself was the most powerful political resource of the
revolution. He had an exceptional ability to interpret and address the
reality of Cuba, as well as an extraordinary capacity to impress upon his
76 The Cuban Revolution
followers the magnitude of their mission. Fidel had proven his talents in
the opposition to Batista and did so once again in 1959-1961 as weather
vane to the revolution. The first few months of 1959 crafted what the
newspaper Revolucion called a ‘‘Fidel-pueblo binomial,’’ which became
the crux of revolutionary politics. One of the editorials noted that Fidel
used a clear and new language: he explained, the people understood.?°¢
The revolution was now the Sierra Maestra, el pueblo the Rebel Army,
the United States and Cubans without national dignity the enemy. Just
as the clases econdmicas witnessed the almost instant withering of their
domination in early 1959, so did the clases populares sense the birth of a
new power—inchoate, amorphous, unstructured, but nonetheless real.
And Fidel infused them with the purpose to conclude the task so often
frustrated: the constitution of Cuba as a nation.?7 Most Cubans would
then have hardly disagreed with the editorial stand of Revolucion.
The dynamics of revolution brought forth the new institutional or-
der. The Rebel Army, INRA, and the FNTA supervised the transforma-
tion of rural Cuba. The Labor Ministry, the CTC, and the popular militias
directed the mobilization in the cities. In June 1959, as colonos closed
stores and denied credit to rural workers, the government opened the
first string of tiendas del pueblo (people’s stores).?® In October 1959,
when a group of citizens cleaned and painted the Havana waterfront in
preparation for a convention of travel agents, volunteer work was
born.?? In February 1960, as relations with the clases econdmicas deterio-
rated, the central planning board JUCEPLAN was formed.!9° In March
1960, the Association of Rebel Youths (AJR) enlisted the considerable
energies and enthusiasm of Cuban young people.!°! In September 1960,
after the Organization of American States implicitly rebuked Cuba and
foreign intervention seemed imminent, Fidel Castro convened the Com-
mittees for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR).!92 Founded in August
1960, the Federation of Cuban Women was also an organization created
amid the social revolution.
In his first address to the nation on January 1, Fidel Castro men-
tioned the need to overcome discrimination against women, especially
in the labor force.!°3 Almost immediately, the Labor Ministry began to
enforce labor legislation regarding women more strictly. New regula-
tions were also enacted with respect to the right of pregnant women to
their jobs and the duty of employers to secure a safe environment for
women. Enterprises with more than fifty women workers had the obli-
gation to provide separate rest rooms and lounges.!°4 In April, Revolu-
tionary Feminine Unity, a July 26th Movement affiliate, convoked a
congress with the purpose of organizing women to defend the revolution
and their specific interests.!9> After the congress, many women became
more active in support of the agrarian reform, the distribution of school
lunches, the mobilization of peasants to Havana for the celebration of
July 26, 1959, and the organization of the AJR.!°¢ Like their male coun-
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 77

terparts, women workers were especially militant. The Labor Ministry

reported “‘significant increases” in the number of complaints concerning
violations of the rights of working women in the first five months of 1959
in comparison with the same period in 1958.!97 In October 1959, July
26th Movement women held another congress to organize a Christmas
toy campaign and continue their undertakings on behalf of young peo-
ple and the agrarian reform. !°8 In November 1959, Vilma Espin presided
over a delegation of Cuban women to a congress of Latin American
women in Chile, and the group formed the core of the future Federation
of Cuban Women.!99
Mobilizing the support of women did not generate internecine
struggles, as it had for the CTC. The feminist movement of the 1920s and
1930s had dissipated after women had been granted the suffrage in 1934
and the Constitution of 1940 had guaranteed legal equality. Subse-
quently, there was no feminist organization analogous to the CTC. After
1959, Cuban women joined the revolution without bringing with them
old organizational ties. Various organizations emerged without much
apparent conflict over leadership or ideology. The July 26th Movement—
PSP debate had little bearing among politically active women. They
seemed completely focused on issues of social justice and national de-
fense. Like most men, most Cuban women were not communists and,
- indeed, were anticommunists on January 1, 1959. Nonetheless, they
strongly supported the revolution and followed a similar course of radi-
calization. By the end of 1960, the call for unity that in 1959 had been
dismissed by some CTC leaders as PSP opportunism resounded with
veracity and urgency to most Cubans. Without unity, the revolution
would not survive. In August 1960, various organizations came together
in the Federation of Cuban Women. Among these were all July 26th
Movement women’s affiliates, various fronts of humanist women, PSP-
associated groups, and a Catholic organization Con la cruz y con la patria
(With the Cross and the Homeland).!!°
In May 1960, before a million Cubans in Havana, Fidel Castro offi-
cially announced that the government would not hold elections. His
audience shouted that the people had already voted, and they had voted
for Fidel.!!! The revolution polarized Cuba and disallowed neutrality.
Con Cuba o contra Cuba was the battle cry, and Fidel was the embodi-
ment of Cuba. Cuba was not Guatemala, Fidel no Jacobo Arbenz, the
Rebel Army indivisible.!!2 Anticommunists tended to be more con-
cerned over the conflict with the PSP than about the struggle against the
clases econdmicas and the United States.!!3 Though opportunists, the
communists did not own the national wealth nor were they promoting
aggression against /a patria. Moreover, the anticommunist alarm was
only partially sounded against the relative prominence of PSP cadres in
the revolution. During the 1940s, communists had controlled the unions
and held numerous public offices. Although the United States and the
78 The Cuban Revolution
clases econdmicas disapproved, PSP presence then had not precipitated a
crisis as it was now doing.!!+ More profoundly, the controversy over
communism masked the repudiation of radical change. A humanist ide-
ology against capitalism and communism so eloquently espoused in the
spring—summer of 1959 was a casualty of domestic and foreign confron-
tation. Had Cuba not been ninety miles from the United States, the
revolution might have found those elusive middle grounds. That near-
ness and the historic intimacy it had imposed between the two countries
had, indeed, contoured the radical nationalism that was now rendering
the revolution so intransigent.
Centralization of power quickly became a concomitant of the revo-
lution. The spectre of 1933 hovered ominously in the rebelde memory of
history. Then, the revolutionaries fragmented, the United States medi-
ated, and the Grau-Guiteras government vacillated in uniting supporters
and could not withstand opposition. Divisions and lack of resolve had
turned the revolution into a jugarreta (a bad play).!!> There was also
Guatemala during 1950-1954: a reformist government had encountered
fierce domestic and U.S. opposition and had failed to take steps to defend
itself. Not as prominent but no less relevant was Bolivia during 1952—
1956, when accommodation to local capitalists and foreign interests
compromised a social revolution. So that the Cuban revolution would
not be compromised, decisive and effective central authority was man-
datory. Fidel Castro never hesitated to exercise it.
When members of the Revolutionary Student Directorate retained
their weapons after January I, Fidel ably disarmed them. Why was there
a need for weapons independent of the Rebel Army? Was there not a
revolutionary government in power to guarantee order and popular
interests? Was the victorious revolution going to tolerate the emergence
of action groups like those of the 1940s?!!¢ The first cabinet of liberal
citizens soon discovered that the real loci of power in Cuba were Fidel
Castro and the Rebel Army. Throughout 1959, different circumstances
and various reasons occasioned the demise of the liberals within the
revolutionary government. Fidel became prime minister upon the resig-
nation of José Mird Cardona; Osvaldo Dorticés assumed the presidency
when Manuel Urrutia objected to mounting radicalization; Augusto
Martinez Sanchez replaced the social democrat Manuel Fernandez in the
Labor Ministry; Ernesto Guevara took over the National Bank from
Felipe Pazos. One after the other nationalist reformers fell as the revolu-
tion surged without patience for middle grounds or tolerance for dissent.
The organizations and associations of the old Cuba also fell before
the revolutionary onslaught. Most perished ingloriously as their history
and the force of the revolution prevented them from staking their claim
in the new Cuba. Some reorganized and became integrated into the
revolution: small colonos in the Cane Growers Association, for example,
formed the National Association of Small Peasants (ANAP). Like the
CTC, the Federation of University Students (FEU) yielded to revolution-
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 79

ary direction after considerable conflict. After the October 1960 national-
ization of industry and commerce, the revolution entered a new stage.
The PSP, the DRE, even some fractions of old auténticos and ortodoxos
joined the July 26th Movement in a loose coalition that in 1961 became
the Integrated Revolutionary Organizations (ORI). Cuban politics was
acquiring the contours of a one-party system and, in the process, the
revolutionary government was establishing a new authority. Because
the new politics was contrary to the long-standing basis of Cuba-U.S.
relations, the U.S. government was quite taken aback.
The United States welcomed the fidelista victory against Batista with
some reluctance.!!7 The composition of the new government was reas-
suring, but its character was almost immediately disquieting. No real
power was invested in the moderate cabinet that was the only potential
arena of U.S. influence. President Urrutia was indecisive and usually
waited for the opinion of Fidel Castro before making decisions. That ‘‘a
fully stable, organized, and responsible government’’ was not readily
emerging after the downfall of Batista was a central U.S. concern.!!8
Moreover, U.S. official and media condemnation of the trials of Batista
collaborators gave Fidel Castro cause to launch the first anti-American
campaign, further fueling U.S. mistrust. Like their Cuban counterparts,
U.S.-owned enterprises resisted wage demands and union reorganiza-
tion. Their resistance, however, inflamed nationalism and placed rank-
and-file demands in a highly charged context. In March, when the revo-
lutionary government took over the U.S.-owned Cuban Telephone
Company, the intervention became a symbol of nationalism and popular
defiance.
In April, Fidel Castro traveled to the United States on an unofficial
visit. Had the U.S. government offered aid, he might have accepted it;
had he requested it, the United States might have granted it. Neither side
took the initiative. Shortly thereafter, the State Department and the CIA
decided that it was “‘impossible to carry on friendly relations with the
Castro government” and started to ‘‘devise means to help bring about
his overthrow and replacement by a government friendly to the United
States.’’"1!9 In May, the agrarian reform elicited serious U.S. misgivings
concerning the stability of Cuban sugar supplies, the immediate com-
pensation of U.S. holdings, and the long-term ambience for U.S. firms in
Cuba. Although the United States recognized the right of the Cuban
government to enact the reform, the expressed misgivings underscored
the past tenor of Cuba-U.S. relations, which the revolutionary govern-
ment was adamantly intent on changing. That the first air raids against
cane fields and the initial acts of sabotage in urban Cuba were conducted
with tacit U.S. support no doubt contributed to the nationalist intransi-
gence of the revolutionaries.
The year 1960 opened with a crescendo of mutual confrontations. In
February, Anastas I. Mikoyan visited Havana to inaugurate a Soviet
trade exhibition. A five-year trade agreement for an annual delivery of 1
80 The Cuban Revolution
million tons of sugar and the extension of $100 million in credits to
purchase industrial equipment followed the Mikoyan visit. In March,
when the ship La Coubre, loaded with weapons that Cuba had acquired
in France, exploded in Havana harbor, the revolutionary government
blamed the CIA. In the memorial to the victims, Fidel displaced /ibertad o
muerte as the rallying cry of the revolution and proclaimed the more
radical stance of patria o muerte. The revolution was now struggling to
safeguard /a patria, without which freedom was unthinkable. In June,
when Texaco, Shell, and Standard Oil refused to refine Soviet crude
petroleum, the government confiscated their holdings. In August, after a
series of mounting economic measures against Cuba culminated in the
elimination of the sugar quota, U.S. properties were nationalized. In
September, the United States prompted the Organization of American
States to rebuke the Cuban government. The revolution reached out for
new allies against aggression; as ties with the Soviet Union and Eastern
Europe expanded, so did the importance of the PSP to the new govern-
ing coalition.
Before departing from office in January 1961, Dwight Eisenhower
severed diplomatic relations with Cuba. On April 17, when John F.
Kennedy dispatched an invasion force of Cuban exiles to overthrow
Fidel Castro, his administration expected to succeed, just as the U.S.-
inspired coup against Jacobo Arbenz in Guatemala had in 1954. Unlike
Guatemala, Cuba was experiencing a social revolution with profound
historical roots and extraordinary popular support. The United States,
moreover, never provided the air support necessary to establish a beach-
head. Two days later, the revolutionary forces repelled the invasion and
made prisoners of most of the invaders. When Cuba stood up against the
United States and won, on April 19, 1961, the Platt Amendment de facto
expired. On April 16, Fidel had declared the socialist character of the
Cuban Revolution.
After 1959, socialism became an alternative in the heat of the social
revolution. As confrontations between workers and capitalists prompted
state intervention, the structures of capitalism considerably weakened.
Workers and the rest of the clases populares did not explicitly clamor for
socialism. Their mobilization in the sociohistorical.context of Cuba in
1959 did, however, allow the revolutionary leadership the socialist alter-
native. Herein lay the internal dynamics of radicalization as the politics
of revolution centered on Fidel Castro and popular mobilizations. Once
these dynamics became dominant, survival was the central question.
How could radical revolution endure in Cuba when dependence on the
United States was so pervasive? Part of the answer was the centraliza-
tion of power and the elimination of independent political activity. The
cold-war world provided the other part: an alliance with the Soviet
Union.
The interaction of domestic and foreign factors in the radicalization
of the Cuban Revolution was complex. No single component deter-
 Revolution and Radical Nationalism, 1959-1961 81

mined the course of affirming Cuban independence from the United

States and pursuing social justice for the clases populares. By 1959, it was
perhaps too late for the United States to redefine its relations with Cuba
and for the revolutionary government to seek an acceptable compro-
mise: history conditioned their responses, and each had a diametrically
different reading of it. Fidel Castro and the rebeldes were committed to
Cuba libre, and the United States had never encountered such deter-
mination from a Cuban government. Consolidating a nationalist revolu-
tion led Cuba to socialism, an alliance with the Soviet Union, and per-
manent hostility from the United States.
After 1959, a social revolution momentously unfolded in Cuba.
“The 26th of July is the revolution of the humildes, for the humildes, and
by the Aumildes,’’ Fidel Castro affirmed in March of 1960.!29° Commit-
ment to remedying the social injustices of the past radicalized the Cuban
Revolution. Intransigence polarized the clases econdémicas and antago-
nized the United States. Never before in Cuban history had those in
power been so defiant and so insistent. ‘‘Cuba is not a simple geographi-
cal reference,”’ proclaimed a Revolucion editorial.!21 Con Cuba o contra
Cuba meant con Fidel o contra Fidel. 22 Indeed, in 1959-1961, radicaliza-
tion, polarization, and centralization consolidated the revolution around
Fidel Castro. The new Cuba embarked on a quest of historic proportions
with tangible rewards in rising standards of living for the clases popu-
lares, as well as with more ethereal bequests of dignity and honor. In
June 1960, Fidel exclaimed:
The revolution shows that ideals are more powerful than gold! If gold were
more powerful than ideals, those large foreign interests would have swept
us off the map; if gold had more power than ideals, our patria would be lost
because our enemies have plenty of gold to buy conciencia and yet all our
enemies’ gold is not enough to buy the conciencia of a revolutionary.
. . . Workers, peasants, Cubans of dignity have conquered their revolu-
tionary conciencia. . . . They will not trade their revolution, their patria for
gold. !*

Over the next three decades, the Cuban government would grapple
with the consequences of victory. Confronting the challenges of gover-
nance was now the question. National affirmation against the United
States would be the overriding consideration, and, therefore, survival
would subsume all other concerns. For the sake of Ja patria, ironhanded
unity behind Fidel Castro would be enforced. Thus, politics acquired a
sense of military discipline contrary to political diversity and indepen-
dent organizations. Centralization of power and curtailment of auton-
omy accompanied the politics of survival. Formal democracy—the pro-
cesses of contestation and rotation—had decidedly limited vistas. The
new politics did, however, allow the state to direct the national economy
and partially relieve the sense of insufficiency that had permeated the old
Cuba. Indeed, the revolution had much yet to do.
 Revolution and
Inclusive Development
What does Cuba expect to have in 1980? A per capita income of
$3,000, more than the United States has now. And if you don’t
believe us, that’s all right too: we’re here to compete. Leave us
alone, let us develop, and then we can meet again in twenty years,
to see if the siren song came from revolutionary Cuba or from some
other source.
Ernesto Guevara
Punta del Este, Uruguay
August 8, 1961

The victory of January 1 . . . turned the people into sole owners of

their wealth. . . . Revolutionary laws imparted them with material
benefits, but above all the Revolution bestowed upon them, for the
first time in their history, the conquest of their full dignity, conciencia
of their power and of their immense and inexhaustible energy.
Granma editorial
December 2, 1986

The revolution infused Cuban society with a new logic: the interests of
the clases populares were now at the center of national development. The
new government also disavowed the subordination of Cuba to the
United States. Cubans were more equal, the nation more sovereign.
However, success in satisfying basic needs raised popular expectations
for more comfortable living standards, and daily life in socialist Cuba
disappointed them. Relative equality amid austerity was the most prom-
inent socioeconomic achievement. In addition, the Cuban economy still
depended on sugar exports and a single market to earn foreign ex-
change. Thus, socialism did not sufficiently develop the economy to
secure national independence. Moreover, with the collapse of the Soviet
Union, the international conditions that had supported the consolida-
tion and survival of the Cuban government disappeared.
The revolution also aimed to foster a new conciencia. Without a

82
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 83
transformation of popular consciousness, Cuban leaders contended that
socialism was no better than capitalism. They argued that the exclusive
pursuit of individual, material well-being contravened the commitment
to equality and the imperative of national unity against the United
States. Although the revolution unearthed a valuable resource in the
will, energy, and passion of the Cuban people, the challenge was turning
them into an economic force in daily life and work. At the beginning of
the 1990s, the Cuban government continued to insist on the viability of
socialism and the imperative of conciencia in maintaining the social
achievements of revolution and independence from the United States.

Development Strategies and Economic Performance

The revolution generated an unbounded optimism about the future: at
last, Cuba would realize its potential. Diversification was the key to
economic growth, employment expansion, and income redistribution.
With proper leadership and relentless determination, national indepen-
dence and social justice would be more than lofty ideals. The revolution
mobilized the nation in ways unforeseen—though in intent not unlike
those hoped for—in the old Cuba. The revolutionary government turned
to strategies of economic diversification and sugar industry moderniza-
tion that the reformers had long advocated and other sectors of the clases
economicas had more recently subscribed.
That sugar alone no longer offered realistic prospects for develop-
ment was, indeed, part of the emerging consensus of the 1950s. No
significant progress had yet been registered, but the momentum away
from monoculture was mounting. In 1956, the U.S. Commerce Depart-
ment had noted the need for ‘‘a high degree of cooperation’’ among the
various social sectors and ‘‘sound and aggressive leadership” from the
government for Cuba to forge and implement an effective policy of
diversification.! The revolution impounded the social cooperation and
the state directives then in the making and instituted new directions.
After 1959, state policies reversed the trends in favor of Havana and
against the clases populares, prevented the restructuring of Cuban ties
with the United States, and preempted the renewal of dependent capital-
ism. Nonetheless, the rebeldes pursued policies that, in important ways,
did not differ from the frustrated reform program.
During the 1950s, there had been little appreciation in Cuba, or
elsewhere in the Third World, of the obstacles that stood in the way of
development. The Economic Commission for Latin America raised ex-
pectations that turned out to be unfounded; the world economy rapidly
moved in directions different from those it had anticipated. Globaliza-
tion took precedence over domestic market expansion in nations like
Mexico and Brazil. Caribbean and Central American countries partially
modernized their agricultural sectors while experiencing some industri-
84 The Cuban Revolution
alization for export and limited domestic consumption. Latin American
links to the international economy were transformed without apprecia-
ble improvements—often with notable deteriorations—in employment
and income distribution. The revolution happened just when Cuba was
on the brink of playing an important part in the incipient regional re-
structuring. On the eve of the 1960s, given its special relationship with
the United States, relative development, and regional prominence, Cuba
would surely have played a central role in these transformations.
By virtue of the revolution, however, Cuba embarked upon a mark-
edly distinct development path from the rest of Latin America. In princi-
ple, socialism allowed the state to pursue more rational economic poli-
cies responsive to Cuban interests. Satisfying the basic needs of the clases
populares was now the principal objective. Revolutionary leaders and
foreign observers alike predicted spectacular growth rates and rapid im-
provements in living standards.2 The 1950s had also witnessed growing
optimism about the prospects for Cuban development. Felipe Pazos had
often drawn parallels between Cuba and Norway and Denmark.? ‘‘Cuba
is not a typical underdeveloped country, but rather . . . an imperfectly
developed nation,” he had affirmed.4 In 1954, the U.S. economist Byron
White had written a book comparing Cuba and Denmark.? In 1956, the
U.S. Department of Commerce had noted that Cuba was not an under-
developed country in the usual sense.° The economic thesis of the July
26th Movement had likewise professed the belief that Cuba was poten-
tially wealthy and needed only appropriate policies to reap prosperity.”
These assessments, however, had never contemplated a break with cap-
italism.
Nonetheless, the revolution bore the burden of extraordinary expec-
tations. The elimination of capitalism was then thought to enhance eco-
nomic growth as well as social justice. Revolutionary leaders strongly
subscribed to the notion that the new directions were sufficient to over-
come the gap between Cuban potential and reality. As the 1960s began,
when worldwide assessments for development were inordinately opti-
mistic, Cuba appeared to be in a particularly favorable position. Social-
ism uncovered new vistas and seemed to foster the right directions. The
outcome of dependent socialist development, however, cast a shadow of
realism over the unbounded perspectives entertained by the rebeldes, the
Cuban people, and many foreign sympathizers more than three decades
ago.
The past—sugar monoculture and U.S. dependence—burdened the
new state more heavily than anticipated. The United States did not
accept Cuban self-determination and after 1962 imposed a steep over-
head by means of an embargo. Socialism—based on inclusive develop-
ment and close ties to the Soviet Union—constrained Cuban develop-
ment in ways unexpected during the heyday of revolution.® Moreover,
after 1989, the collapse of Eastern Europe and the disintegration of the
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 85
Soviet Union undermined the viability of Cuban socialism. Nonetheless,
Cuban development trends and the subsequent record of dependent
capitalism elsewhere in Latin America suggested capitalism might have
likewise—albeit costs and benefits would have accrued to different social
sectors—disappointed the glowing expectations of national prosperity
that had abounded during the 1950s.
During 1959-1960, the Cuban economy performed well. The end of
civil strife and the maturity of investments made during the 1950s con-
tributed to economic recovery. Growth rates were probably about 10
percent a year.’ In 1959-1961, sugar output averaged about 6.2 million
tons annually, an improvement over the 1950-1958 average of 5.4 mil-
lion.!° The 1954—1958 trade trends were reversed when slightly lower
deficits were recorded in 1959 and when a surplus of more than 28
million pesos was achieved in 1960.!! Thus, the revolutionary govern-
ment had the resources to grant immediate benefits to the clases popu-
lares and muster their support against the domestic opposition and the
United States. During the first eighteen months after January 1, 1959, no
less than 15 percent of national income shifted from property owners to
wage earners.!2 Socialism, moreover, promised to accelerate these gains.
An aura of rationality then enveloped economic planning and reinforced
the conviction that development would follow almost automatically.
The government forged the industrialization strategy of 1961-1963 in an
ambience of optimism.
The objectives of the 1961-1963 strategy were reasonable and their
rationale not unfamiliar to reformers in the old Cuba. Sugar production
was to expand to about 7 million tons annually. Although the volume
of sugar exports would be maintained, the sugar share of total exports
was expected to decline from 80 percent to 60 percent. Agricultural
diversification would allow for greater food self-sufficiency. Import-
substitution industrialization in metallurgy, transportation equipment,
chemical products, and machinery would provide the inputs to modern-
ize agriculture. The strategy also targeted the industrial development of
cane by-products. As during the 1950s, economic prospects depended
on finding and exploiting large petroleum reserves. Credits from the
Soviet Union and other socialist countries, funds from previously remit-
ted profits, and savings from luxury imports would finance investment.
Socialist aid was considered a transitory necessity to spur development
and attain a favorable trade balance.
The strategy of rapid industrialization failed. It did not fully consider
the costs and levels of imports needed to implement import-substitution.
In 1962-1963, partially because the amount of land used to grow cane
was reduced, sugar output declined precipitously to 4.8 and 3.8 million
tons.!3 Moreover, agricultural diversification did not satisfy domestic
demands for food or generate sufficient exports to cover the sugar short-
fall. Thus, the trade deficit seriously deteriorated: a deficit of 12.3 million
86 The Cuban Revolution
pesos in 1961 increased to 237 million in 1962 and 322.2 million in
1963.14 Contrary to expectations, central planning was often improvised
and chaotic and did not provide quick solutions to economic problems.
Emigration of professionals and skilled workers aggravated the relative
scarcity of technical and administrative personnel. The U.S. embargo
and the weather also hindered the initial strategy. In 1964, the revolu-
tionary government abandoned industrialization and adopted a ‘‘turn-
pike” strategy centered on sugar and agriculture. !°
The failure of rapid import-substitution industrialization under-
scored the difficulties in overcoming monoculture and external depen-
dence. Self-sustained, balanced development was now a long-term ob-
jective. Industrialization and diversification depended on _ foreign
exchange earnings that only the sugar sector could realistically com-
mand. The sugar agro-industrial complex was to be the fundamental
engine of growth. Establishing forward and backward linkages between
the sugar sector and other economic activities was pivotal to the new
strategy. Increasing production in other agricultural sectors such as cat-
tle, citrus fruits, tobacco, and coffee would complement the turnpike
strategy. Producing a sugar harvest of 10 million tons in 1970 became the
medium-term objective.1© The Soviet Union committed credits and
guaranteed markets at modestly preferential prices to underwrite the
sugar-centered drive.
Although the 1970 harvest did not produce 10 million tons, the
post-1964 strategy was not discarded. The state continued to emphasize
sugar as the principal source of foreign exchange and its modernization
as the center of backward and forward linkages. In 1972, Cuba became a
member of the then-socialist trading bloc Council for Mutual Economic
Assistance (CMEA) and obtained more favorable arrangements for its
sugar exports, preferential prices for nickel exports, loans at low interest
rates, a fifteen-year postponement of debt repayment, and below-world-
market prices for petroleum imports.!7 CMEA membership, however,
also reinforced the role of sugar in the Cuban economy. |
Athough the collapse of socialism in Eastern Europe and the disin-
tegration of the Soviet Union radically altered the international condi-
tions sustaining the Cuban economy, Cuban economic relations with
the then-socialist countries were changing and offered diminished per-
spectives even before 1989. During the early 1980s, the Soviet Union was
already reducing its special relationship with Cuba. CMEA countries
were emphasizing efficiency and cost-accounting in determining the
terms of trade.!® Total imports from the Soviet Union and Eastern Eu-
rope were fluctuating within declining rates of increases.!?
Dependent socialist development resulted in a mixed record. During
the 1960s, the economy registered a slight decline per capita. The 1970s
were the only period of sustained economic growth, about 5 percent per
capita. Although per capita growth was estimated at no less than 2.5
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 87
percent during the early 1980s, a downturn of more than — 4 percent per
capita in 1987 augured the calamitous contraction that was to follow. In
1988-1990, growth was negligible; in 1991-1992, economic decline was
said to have been no less than 35 percent.2° The state emphasis on
equity, however, partially protected the clases populares from the conse-
quences of inconsistent growth. Since 1959, the share of national in-
come going to the bottom 40 percent of the population had increased
from 6.5 percent to about 26 percent.2! Nonetheless, the centrality of
sugar continued to hamper economic growth and limit living standards.
During the 1980s, sugar averaged 76.6 percent value share of total
exports, only moderately lower than in the 1950s.22 Per capita sugar
output, however, revealed an enduring dilemma: Cuba was producing
about .7 ton of sugar per person—only 17 percent higher than the trough
of the 1930s, and 10 percent and 23 percent lower than in the 1940s and
1950s, respectively.23 Modest export diversification did not compensate
for a declining per capita sugar output, for which there was still a stag-
nant and even contracting international market.24 The impressive mod-
ernization of production poignantly underscored the dilemma. Among
sugar cane exporters, Cuba had the most advanced infrastructure. The
sugar industry had, moreover, established linkages to other economic
sectors: its modernization had created a small capital-goods sector and
the development of sugar by-products had also progressed modestly.?>
Sugar exports, however, were never going to sustain economic growth.
Moreover, the collapse of the preferential terms of trade between Cuba
and the former Soviet Union further underscored the definitively
doomed prospects of sugar as an engine for development.
A sugar-centered export sector, however, obscured the moderate
progress in diversifying the domestic economy after 1959. Although dur-
ing the 1950s total trade had averaged 55 percent of Gross National
Product (GNP) and exports 28.9 percent, the respective proportions of
Gross Social Product (GSP) in the 1980s were 48.5 percent and 21.1
percent.2© Sugar now accounted for 16.8 percent of industry; 29.6 per-
cent of agriculture; 9.5 percent of GSP; and 9.3 percent of the labor
force.27 The comparable figures in the 1950s had been 34.5 percent of
industry; 55.8 percent of agriculture; 28 percent of GNP; and 23 percent
of the labor force.28 The changed structure of imports was another indi-
cation of discreet transformation. During the 1980s, consumer goods
averaged 11.4 percent of imports; intermediate goods 65.6 percent; and
capital goods 23 percent.2? During the 1950s, consumer goods had been
41.0 percent of imports; intermediate goods, 34.8 percent; and capital
goods, 24.2 percent.?° As a proportion of total imports, moreover, food
imports had declined almost 50 percent (see Table 4.1).
Although three decades after the revolution Cuba appeared to be
more self-sufficient in food, the lower share of food imports was mis-
leading. Because of the post-1959 modernization, agriculture was more
88 The Cuban Revolution
Table 4.1. Monoculture and Dependence, Cuba, 1950s and 1980s
(in percentages)
1950s 1980s
Sugar exports/Total exports 83.0 76.6
Total trade
United States/USSR
68.2 66.2
GSP 48.5
Sugar exports (values) 54.8 75.8
GNP 55.0
Total Trade

GSP 21.1
GNP 28.9
Exports

Consumer goods
Imports

Intermediate goods41.0
34.8 11.4
65.6
Capital goods 24.2 23.0
Industry
Sugar Shares
34.5
Agriculture 55.816.8
29.6
GNP/GSP 28.0 9.5
Labor force 23.0 9.3
Sugar tonnage per capita .86 .70
Decade trade surplus/deficit per capita + 61.2 — 1300.0
in pesos
Sources: Oscar Zanetti, ‘‘El comercio exterior de la republica neocolonial,’’ Anuario de
estudios cubanos: la republica neocolonial (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1975), pp.
78, 115; Comité Estatal de Estadisticas, Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, pp. 192, 235, 297,
406-408, 422-425, 461-463, and Anuario estadistico, 1988, pp. 57, 99, 235, 243, 300,
410-412, 426-427, 429, 467; Hugh Thomas, Cuba: The Pursuit of Freedom (New York:
Harper & Row, 1971), pp. 1563-1564; William M. LeoGrande, ‘‘Cuban Dependency: A
Comparison of Pre-Revolutionary and Post-Revolutionary International Economic Rela-
tions,”” Cuban Studies/Estudios Cubanos 9 (July 1979): 6, 14; Carmelo Mesa-Lago, The
Labor Force, Employment, Unemployment and Underemployment in Cuba: 1899-1970 (Bev-
erly Hills: Sage, 1972), pp. 23, 29; Claes Brundenius, Revolutionary Cuba: The Challenge of
Economic Growth with Equity (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984), p. 147; Banco Nacional de
Cuba, Memoria, 1958-1959 (Havana: Editorial Lex, 1959), pp. 189-191.

dependent on imports, especially fuel. Moreover, the food plan of 1990

aiming for self-sufficiency only highlighted the past failure of the gov-
ernment in this basic economic task. The decline in the import of con-
sumer goods responded to the priority of satisfying basic needs and
directing national resources toward productive investment. The large
proportion of intermediate-goods imports underscored the trade-
dependent effort to industrialize and modernize agriculture in a country
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 89
with limited raw materials and energy resources. The similar import
share of capital goods highlighted strong dependence on external
sources of capital in both periods.
Sugar, then, continued to be the bulwark of Cuban dependence.
During the 1980s, the Soviet Union accounted for 66.2 percent of total
trade; during the 1950s, the United States, 68.2 percent. Because the
Soviet Union bought Cuban sugar at high preferential prices, its value
share of sugar exports was 75.8 percent; its volume share was 56.3
percent. During the 1950s, the United States had bought 54.8 percent of
Cuban sugar exports.?! That Cuba during the 1950s and 1980s traded
largely with a single partner that received a majority of sugar exports
underscored the openness of the Cuban economy. Moreover, the endur-
ing centrality of sugar aggravated the balance of trade. During the 1950s,
terms of trade had been rapidly declining relative to the late 1940s, when
Cuba had accumulated nearly 1.4 billion pesos in trade surpluses (280
pesos per capita). Between 1950 and 1958, trade surpluses plummeted to
about 367 million pesos (61 pesos per capita).32 After 1959, Cuba ob-
tained modest trade surpluses only in 1960 and 1974. Between 1959 and
1969, total deficits were about 2.7 billion pesos (432 pesos per capita).
The situation in the 1970s improved slightly: in current pesos, deficits
totaled a little over 3 billion pesos (326 pesos per capita). However,
deficits more than quadrupled, to about 13 billion pesos (1300 pesos per
capita), between 1980 and 1988.3?
During the 1980s, trade deficits with the socialist countries increased
but declined in relation to the total deficit. Between 1983 and 1985,
hard-currency deficits grew faster than those with the CMEA. In 1986,
Cuban deficits with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe again rose
relative to the total deficit.+4 In the mid- 1980s, hard-currency earnings
contracted more than 50 percent, and therefore trade with market econ-
omies declined.?° Total debt completed the sobering panorama of con-
tinued dependence. As of 1989, Cuba owed the Soviet Union (after
199], Russia) 15.5 billion rubles, and hard-currency creditors $7.3 bil-
lion.36 Hard-currency debt represented about $700 per capita, and pay-
ments absorbed nearly 60 percent of the value of convertible currency
exports.37 In May 1991, Cuba had hard-currency reserves of less than
$84 million.38
Often disappointing performance and the barely changed depen-
dence on sugar exports still defined the Cuban economy. Quantita-
tive measures, however, masked the different consequences that de-
pendence on the United States before 1959 and on the Soviet Union
subsequently brought to Cuban society. The domestic preeminence of
sugar had been modestly reduced. Moreover, in spite of lower per capita
sugar outputs and diminished prospects in the international market,
socialist Cuba attained significant advances in the satisfaction of basic
needs. Nonetheless, as the National Bank had so starkly forecasted in
90 The Cuban Revolution
1956, continued dependence on sugar exports was constraining living
standards. Relative equality was possible because of the radical transfor-
mation of class relations: the Cuban state was committed to the clases
populares, and dependent socialist development had facilitated meeting
their basic needs.
The collapse of state socialism in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe
forced the Cuban government to declare a “special period” as the economy
sharply contracted (35-50 percent between 1989 and 1993) and standards
of living fell precipitously. In the early 1990s, trade with Russia declined
more than 50 percent and was no longer conducted on preferential
terms.?? Sugar exports alone fell from 3.8 million tons in 1991 to 722,000
tons in 1995. In 1996-1997, though, Russia-Cuba commercial relations
improved considerably: in 1996, Russia imported 1.8 million tons, approx!-
mately 50 percent of Cuba’s sugar exports; Russian sale of petroleum
was also scheduled to double from 2.1 million tons in 1996 to 4.5 million
in 1998.40 Overall exports declined by 47 percent (65 percent in value
terms, due to the abrupt decrease in the terms of trade—that is, the price
of sugar in the international market in the 1990s was about a quarter
of what the Soviet Union had paid since the 1970s); imports fell an even
more marked 70 percent, a devastating blow to an economy as import-
dependent as Cuba’s. Although by 1997 tourism earnings ($850 million
gross) and family remittances ($800 million) expanded significantly, sugar
continued to determine the economy’s prospects. During the 1990s,
production per capita averaged less than .5 ton. Hard-currency foreign debt
mounted to more than $12 billion (about $1100 per capita), and external
financing was available only on a short-term, high-interest basis. By 1995,
the Cuban government had succeeded in attracting about $1 billion in
foreign investments.4! In brief, the island suffered a more severe depres-
sion than that of the 1930s, which is to say, the worst economic Crisis in its
history.
During the 1990s, Cuba had to restructure its international economic
relations as substantially as it had done during the early 1960s. Now, how- |
ever, the picture was far bleaker. Then, the promise of development had
seemed bright and socialist countries an alternative source of trade, cred-
its, and aid. Now the likelihood of sustained economic growth without
abandoning socialism was quite dim, and the only alternative was accep-
tance of the terms dictated by the world economy. The United States,
moreover, remained as staunch an opponent of the Cuban government as
ever. The Cuban Democracy (1992) and Helms-Burton (1996) acts further
tightened the U.S. embargo and certainly contributed to the island’s diffi-
culties, particularly in finding much-needed international financing for
the capital-starved Cuban economy.42 The unanticipated conditions of the
1990s likewise threatened the accomplishments that Cuba had made in
satisfying basic needs of the people. Living standards plummeted, mak-
ing the austere levels of the 1970s and 1980s seem plentiful by com-
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 9]
parison. Without the Soviet Union, Cuban socialism was rendered
economically untenable. .
Standards of Living after the Revolution
The problem of employment was an immediate priority for the revolu-
tionary government. During the 1960s, seasonal unemployment was
eliminated and almost all working-age Cubans found stable employ-
ment. Between 1962 and 1969, an unofficial estimate of unemployment
was 4.7 percent, well below the level of the 1950s.43 In 1970, annual
unemployment was 1.8 percent.44 Unofficial unemployment estimates
for the 1970s were between 2.4 percent and 3.8 percent.4> In 1981, the
census recorded a 3.4 percent unemployment rate. On average, unem-
ployment in the Oriente provinces was 4 percent, and lower than the
national average in the other five provincial groups.46 By the 1980s, the
significant changes in the EAP were in agriculture (down, from 41 to 20
percent) and services (up, from 20 and 30 percent).47
Low levels of unemployment, however, were not entirely salutary
because there were no official data on underemployment. Both censuses
after the revolution classified as “employed” all persons working full-
time, part-time for at least fifteen hours a week, and without pay for a
relative.48 During the 1950s, the latter two types of work had constituted
underemployment. Full employment masked considerable underem-
ployment (up to a third of the labor force), most tellingly evidenced by
chronically low labor productivity. The economic downturn forced
layoffs and plant shutdowns, resulting in an overt unemployment rate
of between 6 and 7 percent. Significantly, 60 percent of those who
were looking for a job were under 30 years of age, had above-average
education, and lived in urban areas.*?
During the 1950s, a majority of Cubans had lived in urban areas. In
1970, the urban population (60.3 percent) barely surpassed the levels of
1953. Stagnant urbanization, however, concealed an important transfor-
mation: between 1953 and 1970, the number of urban centers with over
20,000 persons grew and their inhabitants notably increased as a pro-
portion of the urban population. In 1981, the census revealed a some-
what different trend: overall urbanization (69 percent) increased more
significantly, but urban concentration did not. Slightly lower propor-
tions of the urban population then lived in centers of more than 20,000
persons. During the 1960s, urbanization stagnated while urban concen-
tration expanded. During the 1970s, Cuba registered significant urban
erowth from the bottom up. Both trends pointed to a markedly more
urban nation. Between 1953 and 1981, moreover, the city of Havana’s
slightly declining share of the total population (from 20.9 percent to 19.8
percent) underscored a pattern of less skewed urbanization.>9°
After 1959, educational levels improved markedly. By the 1980s,
92 The Cuban Revolution
literacy was almost universal and virtually uniform throughout the is-
land. School enrollment for 6- to 14-year-olds also registered remarkable
uniformity around the national average of more than 95 percent; those
for 6- to 24-year-olds were somewhat higher in urban areas.°! By 1981,
only 3 percent of the 6- to 49-year-old cohort reported no schooling, and
more than two-thirds were at or above the sixth-grade level.>2 About 6
percent of the population 6 years and older was either in high school or
had graduated from high school; students and graduates from univer-
sities were 3.3 percent. Generally, the population in urban areas, espe-
cially the Havana provinces, had higher educational attainments.>?
Thus, regional differences were significantly reduced (see Table 4.2).
Socialism also improved national health care. Before the revolution
Cuban agggregate health indices had been among the best in Latin Amer-
ica, but these ensconced profound urban-rura! differences, especially
between Havana and the rest of the country. After 1959, aggregate in-
dices more accurately reflected the state of public health and the dis-
tribution of health services. During the 1980s, Cubans died most often
of cardiovascular diseases, malignant tumors, and cerebrovascular dis-
eases.>4 The first two, however, had also accounted for two of the top
three causes of death before 1959. Life expectancy increased to about 75

Table 4.2. Selected indicators, Cuba, 1980s (in percentages)

Urban Rural Havana* National
School enrollment, 6- to 24-year- 75.4 67.2 73.7 72.6
olds
6- to 49-year-old cohort at or above n.a. n.a. 75.5 66.8
6th grade
Some university education> 4.4 2.0 6.0 3.0
Doctorsbeds
Health care‘

Hospital n.a.na.n.a. 46.4

n.a. 38.953.6
61.1
Health facilities n.a. na. 24.2 74.3
Housing units¢ n.a. n.a. 25.7 74.3
Total wages¢ na. n.a. 34.4 65.6
1981-1988 investments n.a. n.a. 32.9 67.1
State civilian construction n.a. n.a. 37.7 62.4
Sources: Republica de Cuba, Censo de poblacion y viviendas de 1981, vols. 2, 3, 16, pt. 2,
pp. 160, 169, 163, 150-153, 156; Comité Estatal de Estadisticas, Anuario estadistico de Cuba,
1982, p. 191, and Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 191, 197, 223, 279, 282, 563-564,
567, 571.
aCity of Havana and Havana provinces.
b1981,
¢1988. National = all other provinces.
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 93
years.°> Crude death rates remained basically unchanged over the three
decades since 1959.5° During the 1960s, infant mortality actually
increased—whether in fact or because of better reporting—and subse-
quently declined to 10.7 percent in 1990.57 Although the Havana prov-
inces continued their preferential status, provincial distribution of doc-
tors, hospital beds, and health care units registered substantial
improvements. About 46 percent of the more than 31,000 doctors
(1:333 persons), and nearly 40 percent of all hospital beds were in the
Havana provinces—a reflection of the vertical organization of the health
care system. Primary medical care was more evenly and widely available
in all provinces and regions.°8 Health care, moreover, constituted a point
of contact between the citizenry and the government that the leadership
accorded the utmost importance.>? The 1990s tended to undermine
health care achievements. In 1992-1993, for example, more than
50,000 people suffered from optic neuropathy, a condition largely
caused by poor nutrition. Food production declined by a third be-
tween 1989 and 1994. The percentage of the population living below
poverty level, though still comparatively low, also escalated from less
than 2 percent in 1988 to nearly 10 percent in 1996. Thus, the popula-
tion was more exposed than at any time since 1959 to the range of
health problems associated with poverty.©°
Housing presented a decidedly mixed performance.®! By the 1980s,
the housing deficit ranged between 1.2 to 1.5 million units. Housing
quality was also inadequate. In 1981, nearly two-thirds of all housing
was considered solidly constructed: about three-quarters of urban hous-
ing and over a fifth of rural.62 That only about 55 percent of post-
1959 housing was solidly constructed revealed the gravity of the
situation.©*? Housing construction, nonetheless, gave evidence of govern-
ment efforts to mitigate urban-rural differences: more than two-thirds
of all rural housing dated after 1959, and about two-fifths of urban
quarters did.64 Between 1982 and 1988, the distribution of completed
housing units generally corresponded to provincial shares of the total
population.©> Moreover, significant progress was made in the propor-
tions of all living quarters with inside plumbing (53 percent), an inside
toilet (45 percent), electricity (83 percent), and a shower (52 percent).
Urban areas retained their advantages over the countryside, albeit less
glaringly than before 1959.66 The distribution of some household
goods also increased. By 1981, four in five households had a radio.
Nearly three in four households in urban areas and one in four in the
countryside had a television set. About 65 percent of urban housing and
18 percent of rural housing had a refrigerator. More than half of urban
households and more than two-fifths of rural ones had a sewing
machine.©7
During the 1950s, development trends had aggravated provincial
inequalities, especially those between Havana and the rest of the island.
94 The Cuban Revolution
The revolution arrested these trends, but Havana continued to be pre-
eminent.©® During the 1980s, the distribution of total wages was much
more equitable. The Havana provinces accounted for about 35 percent.
Only the five Oriente provinces registered a wage share (about 27 per-
cent) significantly below their population share (about 36 percent). Be-
tween 1980 and 1988, the average annual salary was somewhat higher
than the national average in the Havana (3.4 percent) and Las Villas
provincial groups (1.5 percent); about the same in Matanzas and
Camagutey/Ciego de Avila; and aproximately 5 percent below in Pinar
del Rio and the Oriente provinces.®? |
If somewhat more equitably, average 1981-1988 investments
showed similar distributions. The Havana and Oriente provinces re-
ceived 32.9 percent and 27.7 percent of state investments. Matanzas (7.3
percent) and the Las Villas provinces (16.3 percent) followed Havana in
greater proportions of total investment relative to their share of total
population. Camaguey/Ciego de Avila (10.4 percent) received approxi-
mately their fair share, and Pinar del Rio (4.5 percent) was slightly un-
derrepresented in total investments.7° The value distribution of state civil-
ian construction again underscored progress toward bridging regional
differences. The Havana provinces represented 37.7 percent of all con-
struction, and the Oriente group accounted for 26.7 percent. Matanzas
(6.6 percent) and Las Villas (16.0 percent) received higher proportions
relative to their share of total population. Pinar del Rio (5.2 percent) and
Camaguey/Ciego Avila (8.3 percent) somewhat lower. The widest gap was
once again between the Havana and Oriente provincial groups.7!
At the beginning of the 1990s, Cuba had one of the most skilled
labor forces in Latin America. At least 35 percent had graduated from
high school, vocational training, teacher training, or higher education.
More persons in the labor force in Havana and Oriente were similarly
skilled: 41.6 percent and 38.8 percent, respectively.72 Thus, Cuba had a
considerable resource in human capital. More salient then were ques-
tions regarding the underutilization of these skills. Indeed, the Cuban
government had not met the challenge of translating these impressive
human capaital investments into sustained increases in labor productivity
and economic growth.

Socialist Vistons and Inclusive Development

Although socialism was an alternative that Cuban history and the social
revolution of 1959 made possible, the Cuban leadership emphasized the
role of subjective factors in making that possibility a reality. The fidelista
historical experience constituted a pivotal point of reference for the focus
on forging a new conciencia, and thus emphasis on human will—often
over structural realities—was one of the enduring trademarks of devel-
opment policies. In 1960, Fidel Castro had emphasized revolutionary
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 95
conciencia as more powerful than gold for the overwhelming majority of
Cubans who had affirmed their patria and upheld the interests of the
clases populares. Massive popular support was an immeasurable re-
source. Past memories, presemt reality, and future promises had ignited
the clases populares in 1959—1960 and mobilized them during Playa
GirOn and the Missile Crisis. For three decades, state development polli-
cies endeavored to balance economic and moral goals. Competing
visions of socialism buttressed different approaches to planning and in-
centives. Even so, the intransigence of radical nationalism on national
sovereignty and social justice ultimately proved to be the compass of
Cuban socialism.
The early 1960s were years of extraordinary euphoria and high ex-
pectations. Success against Batista and the old Cuba endowed the re-
beldes with a fanciful sense of their own possibilities for composing the
new Cuba. Failure to attain rapid growth rates and economic diversifica-
tion, however, dispelled the notion that socialism would be a quick
panacea. The popular dictum—Cuba pais rico, pueblo pobre (Cuba a
wealthy country whose people re poor)—that the revolution appropri-
ated in its early prognostications receded with the realization that Cuba
could overcome underdevelopment only in austerity. Indeed, the very
magnitude of the task challenged the leadership to battle. While rapid
industrialization had failed, socialism would succeed nonetheless. The
Great Debate of 1962-1965 addressed crucial issues on the structure of
planning and incentives. By then, Cuban leaders knew economic
prospects were limited and would be so for the foreseeable future.
Industry Minister Ernesto Guevara succinctly raised the question
that set the tenor of the debate: “How, in a country colonized by imperi-
alism, its basic industries underdeveloped, a mono-producer dependent
on a single market, can the transition to socialism be made?”7? The
central issue turned on the role of the law of value in the Cuban econ-
omy. The revolution had broadened the potential for consumption of all
sectors of society and, consequently, demand outstripped economic ca-
pacity. Because inclusive development precluded widening inequalities
and marginalizing the clases populares, how should socialism regulate
production, accumulation, and distribution? Under capitalism, profit
maximization guided investments. In underdeveloped countries, the en-
suing economic and social unevenness of dependent capitalism was
particularly marked. Classical Marxism identified the essence of commu-
nism to be the elimination of the law of value and market relations.
Socialism aimed to move in the direction of curtailing wage labor so that
people could progressively satisfy their needs on the basis of coopera-
tion. How Cuba could best advance socialist visions was the crux of the
Great Debate. Over a period of three years, two positions emerged.74
One response to Guevara’s question about the transition to social-
ism in Cuba adhered to an orthodox interpretation of the relationship
96 The Cuban Revolution
between material development and social consciousness. The mature
Marx unequivocally expressed determinist interaction:
In the social production of their existence, men Inevitably enter into defi-
nite relations, which are independent of their will, namely relations of pro-
duction appropriate to a given stage in the development of their material
forces of production. The totality of these relations constitutes the eco-
nomic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and
political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social
consciousness.7°

Hence, Cuban underdevelopment required a correspondence between

economic organization and the level of available technology and skills.
Recognition of the law of value was necessary to develop the economy.
Less centralized planning and moderate use of market relations and
material incentives could best regulate value, productivity, and effi-
ciency. Albeit limited by state ownership of the means of production,
profitability was the most viable criterion to guide production, accu-
mulation, and distribution. Alternate criteria would have to be defined
administratively, which carried the dangers of a bureaucratic morass,
economic inefficiency, and the breakdown of planning. Cuba lacked the
skills to enforce highly sophisticated central planning. Moreover, the
conciencia of daily lite differed from that of Playa Giron and the Missile
Crisis, and recompense for work had to recognize these differences.
Costly consequences could well follow the excessive curtailment of the
law of value in a small country like Cuba with limited natural resources
and extraordinary dependence on foreign trade. Conciencia could simply
not be divorced from the economy and the level of development. INRA
President Carlos Rafael Rodriguez and Foreign Trade Minister Alberto
Mora were the foremost proponents of this position.
Ernesto Guevara and others contended that Cuba could not allow
the law of value to determine investments without reneging on the
possibility of overcoming underdevelopment. Industry did not enjoy the
comparative advantage of agriculture and, therefore, was not as “profit-
able.” Seli-finance planning would tend to reinforce uneven develop-
ment and specialization. The budgetary system of centralized planning
allowed the state to plan for the economy as a whole, correct past in-
equalities, and promote more balanced development. The fact that Cuba
was a small country with limited wealth and an open economy com-
pelled the state to harness its most abundant resource: the will, energy,
and passion of the Cuban people. Self-finance planning advocated mate-
rial incentives on the grounds of efficiency and rationality. Yet material
incentives privatized conciencia, and inefficiency was not restricted to
economic resources. Moral incentives would develop conciencia as an

forcefully asserted:
economic lever and further the creation of new human beings. Guevara
 Revolution and Inclusive Development 97
Pursuing the chimera of achieving socialism with the aid of the blunted
weapons left to us by capitalism (the commodity as the economic cell,
profitability, and individual material incentives as levers, etc.), it is possible to
come to a blind alley. And the arrival there comes about after covering a long
distance where there are many crossroads and where it is difficult to realize
just where the wrong turn was taken. Meanwhile, the adapted economic
base has undermined the development of consciousness. To build commu-
nism, anew man must be created simultaneously with the material base.76
These two visions of socialism and their concomitant models of
economic organization guided state development policies in varying
ways and at different times. During the early 1960s, budgetary planning
operated in industry and self-financing in agriculture. During the late
1960s, a version of budgetary financing prevailed as Cuba launched a
radical strategy of centralization, moral incentives, and mass mobiliza-
tions. During the 1970s and early 1980s, a version of self-financing was
operant in the economic management and planning system (SDPE).
Alter 1986, a partial retrenchment from the SDPE and a renewal of the
moral dimension of socialism took place. At each turn, Cuba confronted
an assortment of domestic and international factors that influenced the
relationship between state and market. The availability of labor, the
economic teasibility of material incentives, the tension between growth
and equity, the weight of ideological perspectives, the flow of hard cur-
rency, the disposition of the Soviet Union and the other socialist coun-
tries to aid Cuba, and the continuing burden of the U.S. embargo were
among these factors.77
Post-1959 Cuban development was based on altered class relations —
and restructured international constellations. The consequences, costs,
and benefits of inclusive development were markedly different from
those that would have followed had the transformation of dependent
capitalism continued along the directions of the 1950s. The social revo-
lution extended the modern profile of the old Cuba and affirmed inde-
pendence from the United States. Nonetheless, after three decades, the
model of dependent socialist development that in many ways had
served Cuba well had run its course. International and domestic condi-
tions undermined the viability of Cuban socialism. During the 1990s,
the gap between official discourse, economic policies, and the expecta-
tions of the citizenry was rapidly widening.
Cuban leaders never viewed democracy independently from radical
transformation and national self-determination. For three decades, they
addressed questions of democracy within the vanguard party model of
politics. Each decade provided a different set of answers. Economic and
political organization followed a complementary, if often tense, develop-
ment. The trajectory of the Cuban Communist Party, the Central Orga-
nization of Cuban Trade Unions, and the Federation of Cuban Women
highlighted the interaction between politics and economics.
 Politi
oliticsd and
Societ
Society,
The institutionalization of the revolution has yet to be achieved. We
are seeking something new that will allow a perfect identification
between the government and the community as a whole, adapted to
the special conditions of socialist construction and avoiding to the
utmost the commonplaces of bourgeois democracy transplanted to
the society in formation. . . . We have been greatly restrained by
the fear that any formal aspect might make us lose sight of the
ultimate and most important revolutionary aspiration: to liberate
man from alienation.
Ernesto Guevara
March 1965

We shall seek our own revolutionary institutions, our own new

institutions, stemming from our conditions, from our idiosyncrasy,
from our customs, from our character, from our spirit, from our
thought, from our creative imagination. We shall not imitate.
Fidel Castro
September 1965

Charismatic authority and popular mobilizations crystallized the politics

of the new Cuba: Fidel Castro was fulcrum; el pueblo cubano, suste-
nance. Having rejected representative democracy, Cuban leaders con-
fronted the challenges of governance. Maintaining elite unity and mo-
bilizing popular support were their core concerns. Thus, the revolution
brought together the July 26th Movement, the Revolutionary Student
Directorate, and the Popular Socialist Party in a vanguard party. In 1965,
after considerable conflict between new and old communists, the Cuban
Communist Party was formed. The Central Organization of Cuban Trade
Unions and the Federation of Cuban Women were two of the mass
organizations involving ordinary Cubans in the tasks of socialism. The
early 1960s witnessed an incipient institutional order.
By middecade, Cuban leaders reconsidered the early process of in-
stitutionalization. Political and economic factors—both domestic and
98
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 99
international—convinced them that the models borrowed from the So-
viet Union and Eastern Europe were undermining the revolution. So-
cialism was not summoning the popular enthusiasm that the social revo-
lution had. Austerity—not standards of living comparable to Western
Europe—marked daily routines. The revolutionary leadership sought to
establish greater political and economic independence from the Soviet
Union. Between 1966 and 1970, Cuba attempted to pursue the parallel
construction of communism and socialism: a radical experiment to de-
velop conciencia and the economy simultaneously. Cuban leaders hoped
to generate sufficient resources to allow them a more balanced relation-
ship with the Soviet Union and to institutionalize the revolution using
their own models.

The Incipient Institutional Order, 1961-1965

Politics in the new Cuba required the mobilization of el pueblo cubano in
defending the nation and developing the economy. By 1961, popular
militias numbered more than 300,000; the Committees for the Defense
of the Revolution, nearly 800,000.! The Federation of Cuban Women
mobilized housewives for the chores of the revolution. The trade unions
sought a new profile—more subordinate, less ‘‘economistic’’—under
socialism. Born in urban Cuba, volunteer work spread to the country-
side. Thousands of city dwellers wielded machetes (cane knives), downed
the tall stalks of cane, and had their first encounters with the reality of
underdevelopment. The literacy campaign enlisted nearly 300,000 peo-
ple.2 The struggle to survive infused these mobilizations with a military
mission. Institutionalizing the revolution, however, supposed a civilian
understanding of participation or, at least, involvement and consulta-
tion. Tensions between military exigencies and civilian imperatives
punctuated the new politics.
Popular mobilizations supported charismatic authority. Ernesto
Guevara often praised the appearance of /as masas in the revolution: the
masses were a conscious people forged in the heat of the agrarian re-
form, Playa Girdn, the Literacy Campaign, the Missile Crisis, the daily
construction of socialism. Las masas followed Fidel without vacillations
but with convictions. Fidel was a maestro: the people trusted him be-
cause he expressed their wishes and needs. Communication between
Fidel and e/ pueblo was like ‘‘a dialogue of two tuning forks whose
vibrations summon forth new vibrations . . . of growing intensity .. .
crowned .. . by struggle and victory.’’* Together, they had defeated
the United States and the clases econdmicas. The nation was up in arms
under the leadership of the Comandante en Jefe (commander in chief).
The revolution was also socialist, and socialism supposed a central
role for the working class. Workers as members of las masas enthusi-
astically supported the revolution; as members of the working class, they
100 The Cuban Revolution
expressed more erratic allegiance. Defending /a patria was a matter of
national honor. Working under state management was not as heroic and
generated considerable more conflict. Daily life and work called for the
mediation of institutions; governing required a routine of decision mak-
ing. And more normal times did not easily incorporate the exhilaration
of a social revolution. Cuban leaders viewed the routinization of politics
with suspicion: institutions buffered communication with the people.
The early 1960s confirmed their misgivings and subsequently led them to
seek ways of retaining the effervescence of revolution.

The Formation of a Vanguard Party

During 1959-1960, the rebeldes proved to be quite adept in restraining
organizations against the revolution. Their experience in forging revolu-
tionary organizations was, however, more limited. The struggle against
Batista had emphasized military and clandestine skills. The first two
years in power had also underscored mobilization against enemies
rather than discourse in the give-and-take of politics. Uniting the three
organizations that continued to function at the end of 1960—the July
26th Movement, the Revolutionary Student Directorate, and the PSP—
became imperative as the revolution closed ranks against the domestic
opposition and the United States.
The model of a vanguard party was compelling for two reasons.
First, the experience of the socialist countries gave testimony to the
efficacy of vanguard parties in consolidating and retaining power. When
the revolution became socialist, the notion of a vanguard organization as
the cornerstone of the new politics was reinforced. Planned economies
and one-party polities seemed to be natural complements. Moreover,
severed ties with the United States necessitated finding new markets and
protection against aggression, and the Soviet Union provided them.
Without a vanguard organization, Cuba would not be recognized as a
bona fide member of the socialist community.* Second, the Cuban revo-
lutionary tradition offered precedent to underwrite the vanguard con-
cept. José Marti in the 1890s and Antonio Guiteras in the 1930s had
advocated a united vanguard to advance the popular cause.* More re-
cently, Fidel had demonstrated the value of unity in the overthrow of
Batista. Just as important, Cuban history offered numerous examples
of disunity undermining effective political action at crucial moments.
The independence movement against Spain and the short-lived Grau-
Guiteras government of 1933-1934 had been two crucial instances.
Thus, the revolution appropriated the then-socialist model of politics.
During the summer of 1961, the July 26th Movement, the DRE, and
the PSP dissolved and formed the Integrated Revolutionary Organiza-
tions. Nonetheless, only the PSP had the cadres needed to organize a
party. The July 26th Movement and the DRE were of recent founding,
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 101
lacked infrastructures, and had depended on the leadership of Fidel
Castro and José Antonio Echevarria. Moreover, the course of events
during 1959~1961 and the establishment of socialism had raised the
importance of the PSP for the revolution. After all, the PSP knew about
socialism, vanguard parties, and the Soviet Union. The July 26th Move-
ment and the Revolutionary Student Directorate did not.
When Anibal Escalante became organization secretary, the PSP as-
sumed control of the ORI. Escalante used the PSP infrastructure to orga-
nize the new party and therefore tended to favor the communists over
the July 26th Movement and the DRE. Because recruitment was based
on membership in the July 26th Movement, the DRE, and the PSP, mass
participation in the selection process was, moreover, precluded. Al-
though within a few months the ORI had about 15,000 members, party
formation was exacerbating deep-seated tensions among the three orga-
nizations and was divorced from el pueblo cubano.® Thus, the two objec-
tives the leadership hoped a vanguard party would meet—elite unity
and popular involvement—were being sidetracked.
In March 1962, Fidel Castro accused the ORI leadership of sectari-
anism, abuse of authority, and disdain for the people. Charging that the
new party was causing popular disenchantment, Fidel observed: ‘“We
were witnessing a veritable loss of faith in the revolutionary lead-
ership. . . . [T]he masses had more sense of what was going on than
the revolutionary cadre. . . . [W]e were living in an ivory tower...
actually we had lost contact with the masses.’’”
As styles and attitudes reminiscent of the past proliferated, the revo-
lutionary government was becoming a “‘parody.’”’ The motto jORI es la
candela! (ORI is the one!) sung to the tune of a conga unabashedly
evoked the demagoguery of the old politicos. Nonetheless, Fidel insisted
a party organized along ‘‘true Marxist-Leninist principles’’ was needed.8
One of these principles was a new recruitment method whereby worker
: assemblies selected party members. In 1963, the ORI became the United
Party of the Socialist Revolution (PURS). In October 1965, Fidel Castro
convened the Central Committee (CC) of the Cuban Communist Party.
Nearly 60 percent were military men. In comparison to the ORI National
Directorate, the PSP share of the CC declined.? Moreover, Anibal Esca-
lante was not included; he had gone to Czechoslavakia on a prolonged
vacation.
By 1965, the revolution thus had a vanguard organization. The
party, however, did not legitimate the revolution; rather, Fidel Castro
and the revolution bestowed legitimacy upon the PCC. The army, the
militias, mass mobilizations, income redistribution, the social achieve-
ments, and national dignity embodied the power of revolution. None-
theless, the organization of daily life under socialism often clashed with
the popular sense of empowerment. The trade unions were a case in
point.
102 The Cuban Revolution

Unions, Workers, and Conciencia

After November 1959, the revolutionary government and its supporters
in the CTC leadership proceeded to establish tight control of the unions.
Independent working-class activity—especially demands for higher
wages and other economic benefits—was deemed contrary to the call for
unity. Workers needed to develop conciencia of the new conditions: the
imperative of pursuing policies to eliminate unemployment and satisfy
the needs of the clases populares as a whole. Prior to the October 1960
nationalizations, the state had already demanded moderation from the
working class; afterward, it completely disavowed the right or the need
to strike. However, the new conciencia developed slowly.
In 1960, the establishment of technical advisory councils in nation-
alized enterprises was the first attempt to promote worker participation
in management. The councils were to be ‘‘the experimental laboratory
where the working class gains the experience for the future tasks of
organically conducting national affairs.’"1° Their objective was to edu-
cate workers about the production process and promote an awareness of
the need to develop long-term strategies. Guevara hoped participation in
the councils would lead workers to understand the necessity of ‘‘sacrific-
ing an easy demand today to achieve a greater and more solid progress
for the future.’’!! Collective decision making was never their preroga-
tive: the revolutionary government conferred exclusive power over en-
terprise matters to management. ‘Collective discussions, one-man
decision-making and responsibility,’” Guevara contended.!2 Carlos
Rafael Rodriguez seconded him: ‘‘We hear from many quarters the idea
that workers should decide by majority vote. . . . Collective manage-
ment is destructive. Administrators should have, have, and will have the
last word.’’!3 Upon the demise of the councils in 1962, Guevara com-
mented:
The technical advisory councils constituted a first effort to establish mean-
ingful links between workers and plant management. At that time, we
manifested great prejudices about the ability of the working class to elect
their membership adequately. . . . Mass participation in the elections was
poor. The elections were bureaucratic. !4

The Cuban leadership did not trust the working class to elect council
members with the proper understanding of the new conditions. Eco-
nomic demands had no place in the revolution. Cuban labor, however,
had had a long history of unions, even while collaborating with the
government, demanding wage increases and other benefits. The revolu-
tion decidedly revoked the tradition of militant reformism. The experi- ,
ence of the technical advisory councils reflected the problems of fashion-
ing links between the global reality of revolution and the immediate
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 103
circumstances of workers. Without doubt, the social revolution had
granted the working class unprecedented gains. Undoubtedly too, more
privileged workers stood less to gain—in some cases even to lose. At the
end of 1961, however, more than 200,000 Cubans were still unem-
ployed.!> Job creation was the priority, and the revolutionary govern-
ment would not contemplate sectorial demands.
In November 1961, a CTC congress—quite different from the one in
1959-—was held. PSP union cadres and pro-unity July 26th Movement
militants formed the new labor leadership. More than 9,000 delegates—
the most ever in attendance at any CTC congress before or since—elected
Lazaro Pena general secretary.!© In contrast to 1959, delegates voted by a
show of hands on a single slate of candidates. The unanimous acclama-
tion of all proposals further undermined the credibility of the congress.
Union conflicts in the recent past and continuing rumblings among
workers surely indicated a diversity that found no expression at the
congress. But socialism demanded a show of working-class support, and
nationalism required ironclad unity in the revolution. Unions, more-
over, would now be organized according to economic sectors: regardless
of occupation or trade, all workers in an enterprise would belong to the
same union. The organizational bases of the old union movement were
dissolved.
The CTC congress spelled out the tasks for unions and workers:
increasing production and productivity, saving raw materials, combat-
ing labor absenteeism, organizing volunteer work, safeguarding work-
ing conditions, preventing accidents, developing worker skills, pro-
moting a new consciousness. The imperative of economic planning
superseded the particular interests of workers. New wage scales and
output quotas were instituted. Historical wages were, nonetheless, re-
spected: salaries above the levels stipulated in the new wage scales
would not be reduced. However, other historical benefits such as year-
end bonuses and automatic sick-leave pay were rescinded. Strikes were
decidedly ruled out.!7 Earlier Guevara had unequivocally asserted: ‘“Cu-
ban workers have to get used to living in a collectivistic regime and
therefore cannot strike.’’!8
Notwithstanding, difficulties beset the trade unions. The revolution-
ary government defined their role narrowly: acquaint workers with the
point of view of the state, discipline workers for production, increase
productivity, arbitrate between workers and managers.!? Moreover,
managers rather than union leaders often presided at worker assemblies.
In union meetings, a ‘‘transparent wall’’ seemed to partition leaders
from rank-and-file workers.29 CTC General Secretary Lazaro Pena con-
ceded that some union leaders ‘“‘bureaucratically and with a truculent
air’ conveyed orders from above without adequate explanations, and
workers were understandably resentful.2! In 1963, Pena was himself the
object of rank-and-file derision: construction workers facing a work
104 The Cuban Revolution
stoppage heckled him when he suggested they accept substitute work at
lower pay while equipment was being repaired and spare parts being
purchased. Knowing full well an embargoed economy would not
quickly be able to buy the needed parts, the workers rejected the propo-
sition. Union leaders then proceeded to ‘‘educate’’ the workers and
prepared more favorable conditions for discussing the need to prevent
stoppages. A new assembly attended by fewer workers approved the
suggestion of doing temporary work at lower pay.?2 Even so, some
union leaders persisted in behavior reminiscent of the old Cuba. In 1963,
the CTC National Council implored: ‘“Our council callson . . . all trade
union leaders to rid themselves totally of the old concepts, limitations,
wotries, and language belonging to the capitalist past. Our tasks are new
under the banner of the new society we are building.’’23
The revolutionary government did not deny the possibility of con-
flicts between the immediate interests of workers and the demands of a
planned economy. Indeed, Guevara cautioned, ‘‘Should workers have
to go on strike because the state assumes an intransigent and absurd
position, it would be a signal that we have failed. . . . [I]t would be the
beginning of the end for our popular government . . . but the state will
ask for sacrifices from the working class.’’*4 He also noted: ‘“The estab-
lishment of the socialist system does not eliminate contradictions, but
rather modifies the way they are resolved.’’?°
Between 1961 and 1964, grievance commissions settled conflicts
between workers and managers. The commissions, however, backed
workers against management too often. ‘’The grievance commissions,”’
Guevara complained, ‘‘will be able to accomplish a very useful task only
provided they change their attitude. Production is the fundamental
task.’ Several months later, Fidel Castro conveyed his displeasure:
‘“‘Many members of the grievance commissions seem to be on the side of
absenteeism and vagrancy.’’2”7 The Labor Ministry frequently reversed
their decisions; in late 1964, the government abolished them and created
work councils to enforce labor discipline more strictly. The newspaper
Revolucion outlined official expectations: ,
The law will correct the mistakes and weaknesses of the former bodies of
labor justice, but not by way of forgiveness. The new law will strengthen
labor discipline and will increase production and productivity. . . . We
have to recognize that . . . there are still undisciplined workers and for
them we have to have discipline measures. . . . We still find workers who
have not taken a revolutionary step and tend to discuss and protest any
measure coming from the administration.®

Guevara recognized there were ‘‘deficiencies”’ in the relations of enter-

prise management, unions, and workers, and cautioned against ‘‘the old
mentality, the boss mentality among plant managers, the exploited
working class mentality among workers, fighting only for economic
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 105
demands through the trade unions.’’?° Similarly, Carlos Rafael
Rodriguez urged union leaders to combat ‘‘the contempt against man-
agers . . . which has flourished among broad strata of workers.’’3°
Educating the working class was the avenue to overcoming the old
mentalities. The revolution had instituted radical changes, and these
created the groundings for a new conciencia. When these accomplish-
ments were not persuasive enough on a daily basis, party and union
cadres were supposed to convince workers—educate them—so that they
understood the new conditions. The affirmation of national sovereignty,
the promulgation of social justice, and the integrity of the revolutionary
leadership—the dynamic of Fidel-patria-revolution—were the basis of
the new politics. Within the logic of the revolution, there was no legiti-
mate opposition to /a patria and socialism, and opponents suffered re-
pression or exile. The vanguard was charged with educating the workers
who were ‘“‘confused’’ and continued to insist on economic demands
and antiadministration stance.
Fidel-patria-revolution, however, was less adaptable to the conduct
of daily life. Although workers were said to be the owners of the means
of production, the establishment of socialism caused many tensions
among unions, enterprise management, and workers. Conciencia as
owners did not come about easily and until it did, workers could not be
fully trusted. Because the struggle for a new conciencia would go on for a
long time, vanguard cadres were charged with orienting the rank and
file and guaranteeing the loyalty of union leaders. Secret ballots and
multiple candidacies were thus discarded. From the outset, the friction
between a more general, future-oriented consciousness and one more
specific and immediate confronted the revolution. The former was ‘‘cor-
rect’ and congruent with national quests and socialist visions. Although
often conflicting with long-term perspectives, the latter was more com-
mon. Cuban workers had forged a militant, economistic conciencta in
their struggles against capitalism, and they did not quickly relinquish it.
The revolution, nonetheless, commanded the support of an over-
whelming majority of workers—across racial, generational, sectorial,
skill, and gender lines. The nationalization of the means of production
had a profound impact on working-class consciousness. Workers identi-
fied the elimination of private property as a crucial factor in their height-
ened work commitment. ‘‘Never before has there been such fellowship
between the workers and the administration and other Cubans,’’ ob-
served a cigar worker in 1962. More so than the citizens of the United
States, the United Kingdom, Germany, Italy, and Mexico, Cubans indi-
cated they expected fair treatment from their government. The affirma-
tion of national sovereignty likewise contributed to working-class sup-
port for the revolution. ‘‘“When a Cuban feels honor and pride in his
heart for his nation,’”’ a brewery worker declared, ‘‘this means more than
material benefits.’’3!
106 The Cuban Revolution
The individual honor, national pride, and collective consciousness ,
that ordinary Cubans manifested in the extraordinary times of Playa
Girdn, the Missile Crisis, the Literacy Campaign, and the first moments
of the social revolution had inspired the advocates of moral incentives in
the Great Debate. ‘‘One of our fundamental tasks is to find the way to
perpetuate such heroic attitudes in everyday life,’” Guevara noted.?2 The
radicals argued that new forms of economic organization and incentives
would forge new patterns of social relations and conciencia. The moder-
ates contended that material incentives were needed to buttress worker
awareness. Alternate forms of economic organization and incentives
would be feasible at a more advanced level of economic development.
The Great Debate, however, did not focus separately on problems of
political organization.
Only Foreign Trade Minister Alberto Mora, who was a proponent of
self-financing and material incentives, alluded to the more complex set-
ting in which a new conciencia developed. Mora emphasized the impor-
tance of politics:
The only real way to assure the evolution of . . . socialist—and progres-
sively communist—consciousness is to establish relationships of production
within the framework of the new society’s political organization (relation-
ship of the individual to the State, the role of the Party, etc.) and ideological
perception (of art, etc.). . . . Since the interrelationships in these areas are
so strict, we are probably unable to assure the evolution of conscious-
ness . . . by simply eliminating the desire for personal gain as a motive for
social behavior. . . . Rather, we must at the same time assure the super-
structure is so organized as to prevent the substitution of the money motive
by the power motive. ??

Weak institutions and organizations could not readily curb the arbitrari-
ness of power so concentrated and unchecked. Moreover, corruption—
one of the banes of the old Cuba—was on the increase. The masses wryly
noted the development of sociolismo—obtaining preferential treatment
for scarce material goods and other perquisites for and from socios (bud-
dies). La dolce vita swept away not a few public officials, including union
leaders. 34
Nonetheless, the early 1960s began to address the challenges of
consolidation. From the perspective of their fate after 1966, trade unions
did not fare so badly. In 1975, then-CTC Foreign Relations Secretary
Jesus Escandell observed:

The period from 1961 to 1965 was a rich one for the trade union movement
in Cuba. The CTC participated within its sphere. There were clashes with the
administration, that is undeniable; some were justified, others were not.
After the eleventh congress, which met in 1961, the trade unions partici-
pated in questions of salary, social security and other relevant tasks. The
trade union movement participated decisively in the mobilization of volun-
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 107
teer workers who guaranteed the labor force for the sugar harvests during
that period.*>

Without question, trade unions were not independent and often clashed
with workers who persisted in the old ways. Worker-union-manage-
ment relations were tracked on an upward spiral: union leaders and
managers ultimately depended on those above them for their jobs.
Nonetheless, unions existed and functioned ‘‘within their sphere.’’ Dur-
ing the late 1960s, when trade unions ‘‘withered away,” state and party
relations with rank-and-file workers would be even more precarious.
An organization with limited autonomy was certainly better than no
organization at all.

The Federation of Cuban Women

Unlike the CTC, the Federation of Cuban Women was relatively free of
conflicts. Cuban leaders did not consider gender to be central to the
revolution, as class was. The revolutionary government had to maneu-
ver to gain control of the long-standing CTC. Born with and for the
revolution, the FMC gave many women their first opportunity to have a
life outside the home. Women constituted a reservoir of support for the
revolution, and the FMC readily tapped it. While workers endorsed the
revolution, their everyday conciencia formed in union struggles before
1959 often clashed with the prerequisites of central planning. Starting
tabula rasa proved to be less problematic: the revolution would forge the
conciencia of women.
In 1962, over 4,000 delegates attended the FMC congress. At the
time, FMC membership totaled 376,000. The congress ratified the pur-
pose of mobilizing women on behalf of the revolution and took pride in
the record of the organization. More than 19,000 women who had been
household servants had graduated from special schools and were now
otherwise gainfully employed. The seamstress programs had trained
7,400 rural women in the use of sewing machines and now they were
instructors to 29,000 young peasant women. The FMC gave first-aid
training to nearly 11,000 women, mobilized 62,000 for volunteer work,
and managed over one hundred day-care centers. Having participated in
the Literacy Campaign, the federation was now helping the Education
Ministry to administer scholarship programs for 70,000 students. The
FMC likewise supported the Public Health Ministry in the promotion of
personal hygiene and pre- and postnatal care, especially in rural areas.
At the congress, FMC president Vilma Espin noted: ‘‘The ideal new
woman is a healthy woman, mother of the future generations who will
grow up under communism.’’37
The FMC also established chapters in factories. In 1963, the CTC
and the federation cosponsored the National Conference on Women
108 The Cuban Revolution
Workers, which emphasized the strides women had made in certain
sectors. More than 800 women were union leaders in the food industry,
where more than 10,000 women worked. Women held administrative
positions in 4,500 commercial enterprises. More than 900 former house-
hold servants were now employed as bank clerks. There were more than
1,100 women union leaders and more than 1,200 women workers with
vanguard status in public administration. There were 863 nurses, 2,377
aides, 1,250 student nurses, and 2,809 health activists in the public
health sector. About 83,000 women were employed in agriculture.
Because of differences in categories, pre-1959 comparisons are not exact
but the number of women in most of these sectors appears to have
increased.?? |
Nonetheless, the percentage of women working declined during the
early 1960s. In 1964, there were 282,069 working women (11.3 per-
cent), barely surpassing the number working during the 1950s.4° The
numbers, however, do not reveal the magnitude of the changes. Profes-
sional and executive women had accounted for nearly 20 percent of the
female labor force in 1953. By 1963-1964, many of them were probably
in the United States. The revolution, moreover, virtually eliminated
household service, a category that had employed over 25 percent of
women workers in 1953. A sizeable proportion of the 282,069 working
women in 1964 were, therefore, new entrants or were employed in jobs
different from those that they had held during the 1950s. The expansion
of employment during the early 1960s benefited men more than women.
Although not as seriously as the CTC, the FMC also experienced
problems as a mass organization. In 1963, the federation acknowledged
that cadres were mechanically carrying out their tasks and were gener-
ally inattentive to members of the rank and file, who were themselves
becoming apathetic. Cadres too frequently followed directions from
above without creative adaptation to their specific chapters, and com-
municated the directions to their members as orders. The FMC pointedly
noted:
It is not enough that directions be issued, a newsletter printed and sent to
the provincial chapters. We have to attend to how these orientations are
communicated to the base of our organization, how the masses interpret
them, what are their opinions. Their judgments and opinions enrich and
advance our revolutionary work.*!

There was thus a general loss of popular élan. Incipient institutionaliza-

tion was not incorporating the vitality of Fidel-patria-revolution. New
forms of alienation were becoming evident as the spirit of 1959, Playa
Girdn, the Literacy Campaign, and the Missile Crisis receded, and the
reality of socialism—the vanguard party, mass organizations, and a dis-
appointing economic performance—was looming larger in the popular
conciencia. Radical change was in the offing.
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 109

The Origins of the Radical Experiment

Under socialism, daily life did not generate the energy and enthusiasm
manifested in times of victory, aggression, or crisis. The revolution
brought down the old bastions of privilege, improved living standards,
and empowered ordinary Cubans to take up arms for national defense.
That was the substance of democracy. How to translate substance into
practice was another matter. Cuba adopted then-extant socialist models
of politics and economics because they complemented national needs
and were the only alternative to capitalism and representative democ-
racy. The experience of 1961-1965, however, fell short of expectations.
Central planning did not prove to be the highly touted panacea to
underdevelopment. By 1963, rapid import-substitution industrialization
had failed. With its emphasis on sugar and agriculture, the new develop-
ment strategy required the mobilization of labor to rural areas and the
promotion of high rates of capital accumulation. Between 1962 and
1965, however, rural labor declined from 38 percent to 32 percent of the
labor force.*? Poor economic performance, moreover, dampened expec-
tations for rapid increases in consumption. Initial improvements in stan-
dards of living would not be easily replicated. In 1962, rationing of food,
clothing, and most consumer items was established. Although /a libreta
(the ration book) guaranteed equality in the distribution of basic goods,
it did so in austerity, not in the prosperity first envisioned. With the
establishment of rationing, the state was implicitly acknowledging that
central planning generated its own irrationality and chaos. Further, the
priority given to investment and capital accumulation limited the re-
sources available for immediate consumption. Thus, the shift toward
agriculture necessitated a policy to address the rural labor shortage tem-
porarily because mechanization was the long-term solution. Although
mounting shortages and investment priorities preempted that mobiliza-
tion on the basis of wage differentials and other material rewards, the
revolution was also reluctant to breach its commitment to social justice.
The organization of politics had likewise highlighted that one-party
dynamics could not be allowed to unfold like a new “‘invisible hand’
without compromising the revolution. Sectarianism in the party un-
derscored the imperative of new recruitment methods to secure ‘‘con-
tact with the masses.’’ A vanguard party deserved its name only if it
maintained an organic relationship with a people in revolution. Party
militants—not party structures—were the crucial link in that relation-
ship. ‘“Cadres are the masterpieces, the ideological motor . . . creative
individuals. . . . [T]hey help in the development of the masses and in
keeping the leadership abreast,’’ Guevara forcefully asserted.42 People—
not a “‘correct’’ party line—were the key to the vanguard. Ideological
purity was not the grist of party militants; the crucible of day-to-day
110 The Cuban Revolution
struggle was. The ORI crisis reinforced in the revolutionary leadership a
mistrust of the formalization of political power. A party could be under-
written by the ‘‘letter’ of the Marxist-Leninist manuals—the new
catechisms—and extinguish the “‘spirit’’ of Cuban reality.44
The Cuban “‘spirit’’ was also dulled by another consequence of so-
cialism: an expanding state bureaucracy. Ministries, agencies, institutes,
committees, and meetings proliferated. In 1961, the JUCEI—local com-
missions of coordination, implementation, and inspection—were estab-
lished to regulate and supervise government offices. Party-appointed
JUCEI delegates were charged with mediating between the state, the
mass organizations, and the public. The commissions, however, were
quite hierarchical and were staffed by full-time personnel. Bureaucratic
expansion was dimming the prospects of popular control. Moreover,
unlike the vanguard and the workers with conctencia, functionaries were
more interested in pushing the “‘letter’’ of papers than in advancing the
‘spirit’ of national quests and socialist visions. In 1964, the party
launched a campaign against bureaucratism. Fidel explained:
It is necessary that we avoid the inception of a parasitic class living at the
expense of productive work. . . . If we fill buildings with employees, we
will be more expensive to the country than the old politicians were. . . .
We have accomplished nothing if we previously worked for the capitalist
and now we work for another type of person who is not a capitalist, but
who consumes much and produces nothing. . . . [T]he standards of living
of the people cannot be raised while what one produces must be divided by
three.?°
Thus, Cuban leaders believed that unchecked bureaucratic expansion
limited economic performance, and that curtailing it would increase
productivity. The government mobilized former bureaucrats to work in
agriculture; in rural Cuba, staid functionaries would confront the reality
of revolution and in the process develop a new conciencia.
International conditions also contributed to the origins of the radical
experiment. When import-substitution industrialization failed, one of
the reasons for returning to sugar was the need to generate hard cur-
rency. After 1970, when the strategy would supposedly tender its first
benefits, an expanded sugar sector would grant Cuba the resources to
diversify the economy, eliminate trade deficits, and lessen the new de-
pendence. Moreover, the Soviet Union seemed less powerful, reliable,
and respectful of Cuban sovereignty than Cuban leaders had first
thought would be the case. Indeed, the Missile Crisis revealed that the
Soviet Union was no match for the United States. In addition, the Soviets
had agreed to on-site inspection of Cuban territory without prior consul-
tation with the Cuban leadership. When the United States began over-
whelming air raids against Vietnam in 1965 and the Soviet Union failed
to respond forcefully, Cuban leaders became convinced that their na-
tional defense ultimately depended on Cuban resources. Thus, promot-
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 111
ing revolutionary change in Latin America became more critical. With
allies in the Western Hemisphere and more economic resources, Cuba
would lessen its dependence on the Soviet Union. The revolution would
then be able to mark its own road to socialism without concessions to
orthodoxy at home or abroad.

The Parallel Construction of Communism and Socialism

When Fidel Castro introduced the Central Committee of the Communist
party in October 1965, the foundations for the radical experiment were
in place. The old communists did not have the preeminence they had
had in the ORI. Although prominent PSP leaders like Blas Roca and
Carlos Rafael Rodriguez were members of the Secretariat, the Politburo
did not include a single old communist. The Central Committee incorpo-
rated no one who had been associated with Anibal Escalante. The PCC
was firmly in the hands of the new communists, especially those with
military or Sierra Maestra credentials. The party scheduled its first con-
gress for 1967.
The PCC rejected long-established dogmas of international commu-
nism. Cuban communists declined to recognize the leadership of the
Soviet Union and reserved the right to formulate their own foreign
policy. ‘‘We will never ask anyone’s permission to go anywhere,” Fidel
declared.#© After a brief courting of Latin American Communist parties
in 1963-1964, the Cuban leadership turned to other left organizations
and movements. The banner of Marxism-Leninism belonged to those
who actually made revolutions. ‘“‘The duty of every revolutionary is
to make revolution,’’ proclaimed Fidel in the Second Declaration of
Havana in 1962. Ernesto Guevara was not among the members of the
new Central Committee; he had gone to other lands to continue the
“struggle against imperialism.’”’*”7 Ché embodied the international and
domestic orientations of the radical experiment.
The revolution aimed to recover its initial impetus that the early
efforts at party building, mass mobilization, and economic planning had
partially stymied. The tasks now were to struggle against bureaucracy,
thwart petit-bourgeois values, improve the efficacy of state administra-
tion, attain a 10-million-ton harvest in 1970, and organize poder local
(local power). Under charismatic guidance and with the masses as
a ‘‘constant fiscal agent,’’ the revolution would ‘develop [its] own
revolutionary path . . . in creative ways, taking advantage of our peo-
ple’s rich imagination and great intelligence . . . with great self-con-
fidence.’’ Superseding the JUCEI, poder local—‘‘a school of govern-
ment’’-—was an attempt to incorporate ordinary citizens into state
administration ‘‘in a society where the masses exercise maximum, total
participation.”” Secret ballots and direct elections would not, however,
be the means to select local power delegates. The PCC would instead
 112 The Cuban Revolution
exercise close scrutiny over the selection process. A congress of poder
local was also scheduled for 1967.48
The ‘‘organic consolidation”’ of the PCC was at the center of institu-
tional renovation and state reorganization.4? Membership had grown
more than threefold since 1962, and cadres had stronger links with Jas
masas because of the new recruitment method. The party was the sole
and purest expression of the popular will and had the exclusive right to
educate the people.°° The Cuban revolutionary experience underscored
the role of dedicated individuals and the primacy of visionary leadership.
The sectarianism crisis had, moreover, reinforced the importance of hu-
man agency: without cadres, organizational structures and ‘‘correct’”’
directives were meaningless.>! Noted Fidel:
Undoubtedly, voices will be raised to appeal to people’s selfishness. But
those of us who consider ourselves revolutionaries will never cease to strug-
gle against individualistic tendencies and will always appeal to the gener-
osity and solidarity of our people.*
The antibureaucratic campaign was central to the radical experi-
ment. Because the bureaucracy had more control over the means of
production than the people, the revolution faced the danger of ‘‘a special
stratum of citizens’’ who ‘‘can convert bureaucratic positions into places
of complacency, stagnation, and privilege.’’>* Bureaucrats paid more
attention to their superiors in the central ministries than to the people
and local enterprises. Removed from the base where the revolution was |
taking place, they obstructed the effective administration of the econ-
omy. Reducing the numbers of people employed in nonproductive activ-
ities was therefore imperative. Many bureaucrats were transferred to
more productive tasks, particularly in the countryside. Between 1965
and 1967, about 1 percent of the labor force was ‘‘debureaucratized”’;
nearly half of those laid off lived in Havana.°*+ Combating the bureau-
cratic malaise also demanded massive investments in education. Cadres
and the people could not properly supervise the bureaucracy if they were
not educated.>°
The campaign, however, was against bureaucratism, not planning.
In 1965, the party consolidated the management of the economy in
JUCEPLAN and the National Bank. Noted President Osvaldo Dorticos:
“The theories of socialist construction and socialist planning are an in-
cipient science. . . . [T]he Cuban Revolution . . . should be capable
of contributing to their scientific development.’’>° A new style of
administration—simple, agile, rational—was needed: about 1,500 posi-
, tions were eliminated.>”? The consequences of the reorganization, how-
ever, were not salutary: JUCEPLAN and the National Bank saw their
ability to administer and plan severely constrained. Party directives abol-
ished enterprise payments and receipts, taxes, interests, cost accounting,
and other economic controls. Between 1967 and 1970, budgets and
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 113
plans were discarded in favor of fidelista-improvised miniplans. Wages
were divorced from productivity and quality of output, payment for
overtime eliminated. The revolution intended to ‘‘equalize incomes from
the bottom up, for all workers, regardless of the type of work they do.’’>8
Like Guevara and others in the Great Debate, Cuban leaders now
advocated moral incentives and the curtailment of market relations.
Guevara, however, had insisted on a system of planning: strict budgetary
controls, wage scales linked to output quotas, and a mixture of moral
and material incentives. Improvisation, extreme egalitarianism, eco-
nomic disorganization, and disregard for administrative procedures
were contrary to budgetary planning.>? Nonetheless, the moderates in
the Great Debate had admonished that overcentralization could result
in the breakdown of planning. Fidel Castro aptly summed up the spirit of
the radical experiment:
What is important is that we have a surplus of production and not of papers,
even though there might not be a single paper tallying those products.
. . . When we have surplus production, our problems will be of another
nature. What interests us, in any event, is to record our surplus and not to
accumulate files on the deficit.°°
Thus, the antibureaucratic campaign undermined planning and contrib-
uted to the economic chaos of the late 1960s.
The policies of the radical experiment shared with the radicals in the
Great Debate a paramount concern with the development of conciencia.
Fidel sounded a favorite Guevara theme when he said:
We will not create a socialist consciousness, much less a communist con-
sciousness, with the mentality of shopkeepers. We will not create a socialist
consciousness with a dollar sign in the minds and hearts . . . of our peo-
ple. . . . We will not reach communism by using a capitalist road. Using
capitalist methods no one will ever reach communism.°®!
Socialization of the means of production was not sufficient to secure the
transition to communism. A new culture based on collective needs was
also imperative. Thus, the radical experiment rejected the familiar paths
in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe and exalted Cuban ‘‘means,
procedures, and methods” to build socialism and communism.®
Neither Guevara during the early 1960s nor Fidel during the late
1960s, however, envisioned a link between conciencia and formal de-
mocracy. Both understood popular participation in terms of widespread
and enthusiastic involvement in the revolution under charismatic guid-
ance and vanguard party leadership. Guevara, however, did dwell on
the problems of working-class organization under socialism. By the
mid-1960s, though, the orthodox model of unions—like those of the
vanguard party and economic planning—had fallen into disrepute. After
1966, vanguardism overwhelmed the trade union movement, which in
effect ‘‘withered away.”’ Unions as a mass organization ceased to exist.
114 The Cuban Revolution

The Withering Away of Trade Unions

Thse CTC congress of 1966 met amid an unfolding radicalism. The strug-
gle against bureaucracy, the strategy of agro-centered development, and
the centrality of conciencia dominated the gathering. The congress attrib-
uted the difficulties of the early 1960s to bureaucratization and profes-
sionalization. Union leaders had become professionals and more respon-
sive to directives from above than to the people. Too many leaders and
directives ‘‘hindered the correct political orientation of the union move-
ment’ and ‘‘spawned a strong bureaucratic machinery,” Trade unions
were gripped by ‘’‘meeting-itis’ and ‘coordinating-itis’ . . . a rampant
pass-the-buck attitude” that thwarted ‘workers’ enthusiasm and active
participation.’’©? Nearly 75 percent of local union officers were turned
out in the precongress elections. CTC full-time personnel were reduced
53 percent; the number of cadres declined from 2,227 to 968.4 New
local leadership and a streamlined national administration were the key
to mobilize the rank and file in support of the new policies. Agricultural
development was to be the center of the union movement.
Unlike the congress of 1961, the 1966 congress did not provide a
framework for the role of unions under socialism. Issues such as worker
input in enterprise administration and the defense of workers’ rights
were not on the agenda. Questions of output quotas, wages, and work
organization were only generally addressed. However, the congress did
insist on the character of unions as a Mass organization distinct from the
party and the state administration and made a commitment to develop-
ing more responsive union structures. The CTC also implied that the
union movement—not the Labor Ministry—should have jurisdiction
over the work councils and the enforcement of labor discipline.®* The
old PSP labor chieftain Lazaro Pena left his post at the helm of the CTC
and assumed responsibility for a new commission on labor matters ad-
junct to the Central Committee.
‘The CTC congress was the forum for a fuller exposition on the
importance of moral incentives. Miguel Martin, the new CTC general
secretary, focused on the ‘“‘new man” as crucial in the transition to
communism. Living standards would improve primarily by the distribu-
tion of collective goods such as education and public health.°® Individual
incentives undermined conciencia and defeated the purpose of revolu-
tion. The most precious resource was the support of el pueblo cubano;
their will, energy, and passion had to be directed toward economic
development. If the strategy succeeded without resorting to material
incentives, popular conciencia would be enhanced. The CTC congress
also served as platform for Fidel Castro to reiterate the international
resonance of the radical experiment:
 Politics and Soctety, 1961-1970 115
Under socialism products should not be sold according to production costs,
but according to their social function. . . . We are capable of leaving the
manuals aside, we dare to exercise the right to think. . . . We do not
belong to a sect, we do not belong to an international masonry, we do not
belong to a church. We are heretics, well we are heretics: let them call us the
heretics.©7

During the late 1960s, emphasis on moral incentives and the reduc-
tion of union cadres contributed to the demise of the labor movement.
Union leaders tended to be party members and never lasted too long on
their jobs because they were transferred to other positions. That unions
provided cadres for other institutions was an indication that Cuban so-
cialism was drawing cadres from the working class. The turnover of local
union leaders, however, also underscored other realities. In practice,
there were no institutional boundaries between the party, management,
and the unions. Moreover, unions did not seem to be important. How
could mundane concerns over work organization and the rights of
workers compare with the mission of finding the Cuban road to social-
ism and communism? In fact, local unions became organizations of
vanguard workers who constituted no more than 20 percent of the labor
force. Ordinary workers with the wrong conciencia had no organization.
Undoubtedly, moral incentives moved vanguard workers to hero-
ism, sacrifice, and dedication. Vanguard workers manifested a ‘‘class-
for-itself consciousness’ and a “‘social perspective.’’©8 They understood
the need to subsume ‘‘particular interests”’ to the historical quests of the
revolution. Conciencia—not time cards, job dismissals, wage cuts, and
other economic sanctions—motivated their labor discipline.©? Average
workers, however, were progressively demoralized. Although austerity
and egalitarianism rendered their wages meaningless, national quests
and socialist visions failed to motivate them. On average, about fifteen
days of work provided the money needed to purchase rationed goods. In
1969-1970, absenteeism reached 20 percent of the labor force; some
areas in Oriente province registered an astounding 50 percent rate. A
1968 survey of two hundred enterprises indicated that 25 to 50 percent
of the workday was wasted. Volunteer work lost the original purpose of
mobilizing workers to do needed tasks beyond their regular work. In-
stead, the party called on workers to put in extra hours to complete what
should have been accomplished during the normal day. The process of
labor justice weakened considerably as grievances declined 50 percent.
Ordinary workers had no recourse to express their dissatisfaction except
absenting themselves from work.
Nonetheless, the newspaper Granma asserted that ‘‘our labor move-
ment is today at a superior stage of development’ and continued the
appeal to “revolutionary conciencia, our sense of honor.’’7° The
“strength” and ‘‘sweat” of the people were ‘capable of creating imcom-
116 The Cuban Revolution
parably superior riches” to the ‘‘adding and subtracting” of the ‘“‘pure
economists.’’”! The revolution itself motivated workers: immediate con-
cerns were secondary. “It is not a question of discussing all administra-
tive decisions with the workers,’”’ Politburo member Armando Hart
noted, ‘‘but of obtaining their enthusiasm to support the principal mea-
sures of the administration.’’?2 Some Cuban leaders, however, mani-
fested another understanding of the situation of the trade unions. In
1969, Carlos Rafael Rodriguez observed:
The unions are transmission belts for Party directives to the workers, but
they have insufficiently represented workers to the Party or the Revolution-
ary Government. ... They cannot be mere instruments of the Party
without losing their purpose. Administrators after all can also be hijos de
puta (sons of bitches), and if they are, workers have to be able to throw
them out and for that matter, do the same with any bureaucrat.7?
By comparisons to the CTC, the FMC fared rather well as a mass
organization during the radical experiment. In 1970, membership to-
taled 1.3 million.’74 The FMC continued mobilizing women for nu-
merous tasks. By 1968, 55,000 young peasant women had learned
seamstress skills. Over 700,000 women had received instruction in
health care and personal hygiene.”> In 1970, the FMC operated 433 day-
care centers with a total capacity for more than 47,000 children.76 When
the party disbanded FMC factory committees, the CTC assumed respon-
sibility for women workers. With the demise of unions, the needs of
working women also went unattended. Still, the mobilization of female
labor in urban Cuba to make up for male labor mobilized for agriculture
became one of the FMC’s central charges.
Although women increased their share of the labor force, they expe-
rienced a high turnover. In 1970, there were 482,257 women in the
labor force (18.3 percent).7”7 However, one in four women who entered
the labor force dropped out within a year. Nonetheless, the structure of
female employment continued to change. Two in five women were
employed in social services, one in five in industry, nearly one in four in
commerce, and about one in twelve in agriculture.’* Thus, the trends of
the early 1960s continued throughout the decade. In 1970, there were
23,064 cadres in political and mass organizations, 6,475 (28.1 percent)
of whom were women.’? During the late 1960s, the proportion of
women in leadership positions across Cuban society was around 9 per-
cent.8° The federation, however, did not express a feminist understand-
ing of gender inequality.®!

The Politics of Mobilization

During the late 1960s, the revolution aimed to imprint a Cuban face on
contemporary socialism. Cuban leaders wanted to develop organiza-
 Politics and Society, 1961-1970 117
tional models that better suited Cuban culture and history. They looked
to their own experience in the struggle against Batista and in the radical-
ization of the revolution. Visionary leadership, steely determination, and
popular support had been the keys to their success. The radical experi-
ment sought to capitalize on the most important resource: the will,
energy, and passion of el pueblo cubano. Producing 10 million tons of
sugar in 1970 was more than an economic goal: ‘‘a point of honor for
this revolution, a yardstick by which to judge the capability of the Revo-
lution.’”” Failure would mean the Cuban people would have to ‘‘draw in
our horns, be more calm, more docile, more submissive—in short, cease
being revolutionaries.’’8* The harvest, however, produced 8.5 million
tons—the largest ever, but well short of the honorable 10 million. The
challenge to orthodoxy had failed.
The radical experiment floundered almost from the start. Rallying
the Cuban people around national quests and socialist visions took pre-
cedence over institutions and organizations. The announced PCC and
poder local congresses never took place. Vanguard workers who were a
rninority loomed larger than ordinary workers. In 1968, Hector Ramos
Latour was appointed CTC general secretary without the formality of an
election at a national congress. After 1966, local union elections were
suspended even though CTC bylaws required them every two years.
Grievance procedures were virtually eliminated. The FMC lost its factory
chapters in detriment to the interests of women workers. The PCC itself
essentially stagnated. Until 1969, membership remained at about
50,000. By 1970, however, party members had more than doubled to
rnore than 100,000, about 1 percent of the population. Rank-and-file
workers, however, were not the basis of the new growth: the central
rninistries, the armed forces, and the Interior Ministry were.®?
In 1967, the radical experiment was dealt a serious blow. On Octo-
ber 7, Ernesto Guevara died in Bolivia. The Andes would not become the
Sierra Maestra of Latin America. Because Cuba would not soon benefit
from the support of other revolutions, success at home was the only
avenue left for the radical experiment. In January 1968, there was a
breach in the apparent consensus among Cuban leaders on the radical
policies. A group of old communists had formed a “‘microfaction” within
the party and were consulting Soviet embassy officials on changing the
foreign and domestic policies of the revolution. They were expelled for
agreeing with the ‘‘pseudorevolutionaries’” that Cuban policies were
“adventurist’” and ‘‘unrealistic.’’84 Within the logic of Fidel-patria-
revolution, dissent was intolerable. The microfaction members, more-
over, had behaved like the old politicos who had always consulted the
U.S. embassy. The Soviet Union had earlier announced a delay in petro-
leum shipments, and Cuba was once again reminded of its dependence.
Nonetheless, the radical experiment continued. In March and April
1968, the state nationalized more than 58,000 small business establish-
118 The Cuban Revolution
ments and banned self-employment. Ironically, more than half of the
nationalized businesses had started operations after 1961. Before the
nationalizations, the state had controlled less than 25 percent of retail
trade and sales. In Las Villas and Matanzas, an overwhelming majority
of these transactions were in private hands. Private ownership had even
extended to small industrial production. In 1967, for example, the state
purchased agricultural tools for 628,000 pesos from a private manufac-
turer who employed eighty-nine workers. These small entrepreneurs, |
moreover, constituted a focus of opposition to the revolution, supplied
the black market, and reinforced the values of capitalism.®?
On August 23, 1968, Soviet and Warsaw Pact forces invaded
Czechoslovakia. Under the leadership of Alexander Dubcek, the Czech
Communist Party had initiated a process of socialist renovation through
market-oriented reforms and political liberalization. Czechoslovakia
claimed the right to bestow a human face on contemporary socialism.
The old Soviet Union, however, could not tolerate diversity and inde-
pendence in Eastern Europe. Cuba extended qualified support to the
invasion. On the surface, Cuban support was surprising. Relations be-
tween Cuba and the Soviet Union were tense. Czechoslovakia was a
small country whose sovereignty had been preempted by a large and
powerful neighbor. Fidel deplored that Czech communists had so devi-
ated from socialism that such an infringement became necessary. The
Prague Spring had promoted a vision of socialism that ran counter to
that of the radical experiment. The invasion provided Cuban leaders
with the opportunity to assert their opposition to market socialism and
extend a conciliatory gesture to the Soviet Union.®¢
The year 1968 also marked the centennial of the nineteenth-century
wars against Spain. ‘‘Our revolution is one revolution,’’ asserted Fidel,
‘“‘and it began on October 10, 1868.’’8” After 1959, socialism had realized
the nineteenth-century quest for national independence and social jus-
tice that the revolution of 1933 had rekindled, the politicos had betrayed,
and el pueblo cubano had never forgotten. The assault on Moncada Bar-
racks redeemed the legacy of José Marti, and the revolution had subse-
quently rendered Cuba a sovereign nation. Had the fidelistas followed
the manuals, the revolution would not have come to power. In 1968,
Cuba was daring to leave its mark on contemporary socialism, and
orthodoxy would once again be proven wrong.

The 1970 Watershed

The radical policies of the late 1960s revealed a number of dramatic
pitfalls. As capitalist incentives and structures receded and socialist sub-
stitutes failed to emerge effectively, militarization filled the void. Mass
mobilizations, however voluntary for thousands of Cubans, passed un-
der a regimen of military discipline. Concitencita did not inspire people to
 Politics and Soctety, 1961-1970 119
work for the collective well-being. Instead, they chose to swell the ranks
of absenteeism, waste the working day, and start their own small busi-
nesses. Many young Cubans were seduced by the counterculture of the
1960s in the United States. The hippies—not the work ethic—were the
“American way.” Vandalism and theft flourished in Havana.
Daily life assumed increasingly baneful qualities. Bars were closed
and vacations postponed until after the heroic, decisive harvest. Al-
though petty retail trade offended revolutionary morality and under-
mined conciencia, it also provided goods and services that the state sector
could not. Corner stands offering coffee and a quick snack disappeared.
Family stores peddling toiletries, household goods, and other items van-
ished. Dry cleaning, appliance repairs, plumbing, and a host of other
services became unavailable or were mishandled by the state. Consump-
tion was at least 5 percent below 1962 levels.8? Indeed, the economy
nearly collapsed. Some Cuban leaders had earlier addressed the causes
of the mounting chaos and looked beyond the decisive harvest. Osvaldo
Dorticos, for example, had expressed concern about the ‘‘abuse’’ and
“deceit’’ of overtime, the breakdown of controls over production and
labor norms, and the promotion of revolutionaries lacking qualifications
to management positions.?° In 1969, Raul Castro and Carlos Rafael
Rodriguez had summoned separate groups of economists to make plans
for reorganizing the economy after 1970.?!
On July 26, 1970, Fidel Castro confronted the crisis: ‘“Our enemies
say we are faced with difficulties, and in fact our enemies are right.’’92
Yet there was no alternative to the revolution and socialism. However
discontent, the people were not about to choose counterrevolution and
capitalism. Fidel accepted responsibility for the debacle and implied he
would resign if the people willed it. But, he said, there were no magic
solutions. Even though the learning process of the leaders had been
costly, now that they had learned, changing them would not resolve the
crisis. Thus, there was also no alternative to Fidel. Chastened by their
mustakes, the same leaders would give the revolution new directions.
Fidel noted that low levels of education among cadres was one of the
foremost problems: nearly 80 percent of the party membership had less
than a sixth-grade education.?* Resorting to the people—their concien-
cla, their decisiveness, their commitment—was the only alternative,
Fidel emphasized. Factories needed more collective forms of manage-
ment, and the input of rank-and-file workers was imperative.?4
Indeed, workers had sent the leadership a powerful message: absen-
teeism was so extensive that they had, in a sense, staged an uncoordi-
nated strike.?> Consequently, the revitalization of the labor movement
was an immediate priority. There would be ‘‘absolutely free’ elections to
reconstitute local trade unions.?© Administrative fiat would now give
way to democratic procedures. The CTC would be strengthened and join
the FMC and the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution as pow-
120 The Cuban Revolution
erful mass organizations.?” ‘‘Without the masses, socialism loses the
battle,’’ affirmed Fidel, “‘it becomes bureaucratized . . . and has to re-
sort to capitalist methods.’’°8 Bureaucratic rule was not, however, en-
tirely dependent on the size of the bureaucracy. Reducing the number of
bureaucrats had not changed the nature of the bureaucracy. The concen-
tration of power in public officials who were not answerable to the
people was the essence of bureaucratization.9? Castro even suggested an
inverse relationship between the vanguard and the rank and file:
We speak of infusing a proletarian spirit, creating conciencia. It is a lie. We
are today in a situation in which we have to go to the factories where the
working class is . . . to learn from the workers. We do not take conciencia
to the workers. !°°

Nonetheless, Fidel argued that the party retained the right to rule be-
cause its cadres were not corrupt.
The unmet 10-million-ton harvest indeed represented more than a
failed economic goal. The revolution had miscarried the attempt to gen-
erate economic and political resources to imprint a Cuban face on con-
temporary socialism. And now, institutionalization could no longer be
postponed. There was no alternative but to turn to the models of the
Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. There was also no option but to
accept the new dependence and live with its consequences. Precedence
had to be given to civilian pursuits and economic development. By the
end of the 1960s, the Cuban people had manifested a ‘‘resignacion de
apoyo’’ (resigned support).!9! Indeed, the year 1970 poignantly marked
the end of the revolution. The social bases of political power had been
transformed, and the institutionalization that was about to begin would
impart a more settled dynamic on Cuban society. Charismatic authority,
vanguard politics, and mass mobilizations would subsequently acquire a
new context. The reality of socialism would slowly gain ascendance over
the effervescence of revolution.
 Politi
OHUICSd Societ
an Ociety,

Even without representative institutions, our revolutionary state is

and always was democratic. A state like ours which represents the
interest of the working class, no matter what its form and structure,
is more democratic than any other state in history.
Raul Castro
August 1974

The Cuban Revolution failed to take advantage of the rich experi-

ence of other peoples who had undertaken the construction of
socialism before we had. Had we been humbler, had we not over-
estimated ourselves, we would have been able to understand that
revolutionary theory was not sufficiently developed in our country
. . . to make any really significant contribution to the theory and
practice of socialist construction. . . . It was not a matter of mere
imitation, but of the correct application of many useful experiences.
Fidel Castro
December 1975

We have to avoid compromising our communist conciencia with

socialist formulas. . . . It is good that people work harder because
they earn more. . . . We produce more, but it is not a communist
attitude. . . . The development of communist society must go
hand in hand with increasing our wealth . . . otherwise it may be
that our wealth increases and our conciencias are weakened.
Fidel Castro
April 1982

Institutionalization imprinted Cuban socialism with a familiar face. The

Communist party expanded its membership, broadened its leadership,
and established a formal apparatus. Between 1975 and 1986, three con-
gresses were held. The Central Organization of Cuban Trade Unions and
the Federation of Cuban Women likewise held congresses on a regular

121
122 The Cuban Revolution
basis and fulfilled their role as ‘‘transmission belts’’ between the PCC and
the people. Vanguard party politics allowed for the limited expression of
sectorial interests. In 1976, the party adopted an economic management
and planning system of relative decentralization and material incentives.
In Popular Power assemblies, the citizenry had the means to exercise a
modicum of control and supervision over local matters. The delegates,
moreover, were elected by means of secret ballots and multiple can-
didacies. In a 1976 referendum, 97 percent of the electorate approved a
new constitution. Under Communist party control, voting secured a
place within Cuban socialism.
The Cuban government established closer ties with the Soviet Union
and Eastern Europe. Cuba joined the Council for Mutual Economic
Assistance and obtained new credits, debt postponement, and preferen-
tial terms of trade. New realities in Latin America and Africa provoked
transformations in Cuban foreign policy. State-to-state relations—not
guerrilla movements—characterized emerging links with Latin America.
With Soviet support, professional military expeditions marked Cuban
internationalism in Africa. Novel means guided the pursuit of original
purposes. Activism in world affairs gained the Cuban government a
measure of security and independence. For a time, even the outlook for
relations with the United States seemed optimistic.

Revolution and Institutionalization

The outcome of the radical experiment had underscored the importance
of institutions. Without them, there had been no check on public offi-
cials, the economy had gone into chaos, and workers had become de-
moralized. Mobilization had been no substitute for participation; cadres
with conciencia, no surrogate for organization. Drawing upon the legit-
imacy of Fidel Castro and the social revolution, the Communist party
pursued a process of institutionalization. As it had during the early 1960s
but more thoroughly and systematically, Cuba turned to the Soviet
Union for models of economic and political organization. Cuba was not
the Soviet Union, however.! The Cuban Revolution had come to power
only in 1959, and the government still commanded substantial popular
support. Although without quite the same fervor with which he had
promoted the radical experiment, Fidel Castro embraced the institu-
tionalization. The dynamic of Fidel-patria-revolution nonetheless con-
tinued at the center of Cuban politics.
The Cuban leadership never considered that pluralism and diver-
gence would mark the new directions. On the contrary, the purpose of
the institutionalization was to confirm socialism and the leading role of
the PCC. The citizenry did not have the right to opt out of socialism or to
challenge the party and the leadership. The social revolution itself con-
tinued to be the fount of legitimacy. Liberation from a past of national
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 123
subordination and social inequity validated the present. One of the prin-
cipal charges of institutionalization was the differentiation of political
leadership, administrative responsibility, and popular involvement: the
PCC was to rule, the state to administer, the mass organizations to
maintain ‘‘contact with the masses.’’ The armed forces played a crucial
role in the initial period of institutionalization. As the only institution to
survive the 1960s virtually intact, the military offered ‘‘civic soldiers,”
who assumed numerous and varied assignments in civilian life.2 A con-
stitution sanctioned the new order. During the 1970s, Cuba assembled a
socialist polity.
The Organs of Popular Power (OPP) embodied the process of institu-
tionalization. After a 1974 pilot in Matanzas, the OPP were structured
nationwide in 1976. Popular Power was similar to the old poder local that
the 1960s had never quite instituted. Municipal, provincial, and national
assemblies were constituted to supervise the state administration. Thus,
supervision of schools, clinics, grocery stores, garbage collection, main-
tenance shops, movie theaters, and small local industries was transferred
to municipal assemblies. By the early 1980s, more than a third of the
national economy was under local Popular Power intendance.* Between
1977 and 1983, local industries under OPP supervision tripled their out-
put in value.4
Unlike poder local, the party did not appoint delegates to municipal
assemblies. Although no campaigning was allowed, citizens elected their
local delegates through secret ballots and multiple candidacies every two
and a half years. Municipal assemblies elected the membership of pro-
vincial assemblies and the latter elected the delegates to the National
Assembly. At least 55 percent of the delegates to the National Assembly
were supposed to have been elected in the municipalities. The other 45
percent were selected from a list of candidates proposed by the party
leadership. One of the duties of the National Assembly was confirmation
of members of the Council of State and Council of Ministers submitted
by the Politburo. The councils and Popular Power were under tight party
control. Nearly 50 percent of the Council of State and about 25 percent
of the Council of Ministers were Politburo members. Over 80 percent of
the members of the Council of State and 65 percent of the members of
the Council of Ministers were members of the Central Committee. More
than 90 percent of National Assembly delegates were members of the
Communist party. About 75 percent of all local delegates were PCC or
Communist Youth militants.> The separation of political leadership,
popular supervision, and state administration was not achieved.
Municipal assemblies and local delegates constituted the most im-
portant link between the state and the citizenry. Three times a year,
delegates engaged their constituencies in assemblies of rendicién de cuen-
tas (rendering of accounts). Two years after the establishment of Popular
Power, the National Assembly heard a report that noted the local meet-
124 The Cuban Revolution
ings had become formalistic ‘‘to such an extreme that at times delegates
prepare their presentations beforehand and do not fully express their
opinions.’’® Too often delegates used the same rationale as ministers and
managers to justify problems. They were not doing their job, and atten-
dance to rendicién de cuentas had consequently declined. The National
Assembly did not receive the report well. National delegates argued that
local delegates were being held responsible for problems originating
with state functionaries. Ministries, government agencies, and enterprise
administrations refused to recognize the authority of local delegates,
who in turn had no power to force compliance with their requests for
information.
A “‘duality of centralization and decentralization’ characterized
Popular Power.’ Too often local meetings were no more than the “‘fulfill-
ment of a liturgy.’’8 At their best, they addressed immediate and concrete
issues: local Popular Power allowed the citizenry a voice in the conduct
of local affairs, a potential arena for self-government. At their worst,
local assemblies became rote events that did not empower the citizenry.
Moreover, the OPP were inaugurated amid growing economic con-
straints after a period of relative expansion during the mid-1970s. Popu-
lar expectations had closely identified the promise of democratization
with improvements in standards of living. Local assemblies, however,
did not have the power or the resources to enhance their legitimacy by
extending material benefits. Between 1976 and 1984, elections turned
over about 50 percent of the delegates. Some 5 to 10 percent of incum-
bents were recalled during their tenure.? High turnover rates could well
have been an indication of the vitality of Popular Power because more
ordinary Cubans were partaking in public responsibilities. Frequent ro-
tation, however, could also have been a signal that many local delegates
had declined renomination because their offices carried much frustra-
tion and no power.
Meeting briefly twice a year, the National Assembly had more for-
mal and symbolic purposes. Although it was not a permanent legislature
and consequently did not have an actual role in governing Cuba, the
assembly regularly heard reports on the provinces and national minis-
tries, and approved annual budgets, economic plans, and a myriad of
laws. Often there was debate among the delegates, especially among
those with pertinent expertise or historic revolutionary merits. The way
the agenda was worded, however, revealed the nature of the debate:
discussion and approval of the items at hand. Debate could modify but
never reject proposals. The assembly approved most matters unani-
mously, or nearly so. Yet, the number of delegates participating in dis-
cussions increased over time.!° Invariably, however, once President Cas-
tro spoke definitively on an issue, discussion stopped.
Nonetheless, the National Assembly provided a forum for widened
elite participation and an avenue for regular disclosure of information to
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 125
the public. The contrast with the 1960s was quite evident. Sometimes the
National Assembly heard singular discussions on the nature of socialism.
One of its 1980 sessions witnessed a debate on a proposition to revoke
the stipulation that provincial assemblies discuss and approve provincial
budgets. In practice, the executive committees discussed and approved
annual budgets, and thus the pragmatic solution was to designate them
as the appropriate level for presenting the budgets. No one agreed. Vice-
President of the Council of State Carlos Rafael Rodriguez voiced the
most forceful opposition:
Practical difficulties should in no way lead us to put principles aside... .
[T]he construction of socialism and communism lays upon us the maxi-
mum possible participation of all citizens in all aspects of state administra-
tion. And lays upon us, the maximum participation of all workers in elab-
orating and implementing the plan. We have to work in that direction and
whatever we fail to accomplish is a weakness in the functioning of social-
ism.!!

Rodriguez likewise warned that because the dictatorship of the prole-

tariat could easily degenerate into the ‘‘dictatorship of the secretariat,”
technical imperatives should not compromise democratic principles.
A year earlier, President Castro had addressed the National Assem-
bly in what became popularly known as the exigencia (exigency) speech.
The transportation minister had earlier suggested that ministers attend
local renderings of account of Popular Power to respond to popular
complaints. Castro contended that national government officials could
not participate in these local meetings without jeopardizing their na-
tional responsibilities. These proposed visits would compound, not re-
solve, problems:
We are not going to the heart of the matter. . . . We are not dealing with
our system’s—our socialism’s—deficiencies. . . . There is a problem of
conciencia. . . . To what extent do we really manifest political, revolution-
ary, social conciencia? We manifest it often . . . incredibly, admirably, ex-
traordinarily. . . . But, in day-to-day life we are lacking in conciencia. '?
Emphasis on conciencia notwithstanding, Castro manifested a concern
with procedure and order foreign to the late 1960s. Nonetheless, in his
view, the deficiencies of socialism required more conscious cadres at all
levels. Conciencia, not autonomous institutions and participation, was
the essence of good politics.
Popular Power exemplified the politics of Cuban socialism. Local
assemblies took public opinion into account more systematically than
the politics of mobilization had during the 1960s and thus enhanced
popular involvement in the administration of daily life. They did not,
however, bestow upon the population the opportunity—let alone the
power—to discuss and decide matters of substance. Their mandate was
to supervise the state, not to debate investment policies or resource
 126 The Cuban Revolution
allocation. Involvement—not substantive participation—was the key
characteristic of Popular Power at the local level. Moreover, involve-
ment was to be as individuals, not organized groups. Local assemblies
were, nonetheless, a significant institutional advance after the debacle of
the radical experiment. At the national level, Popular Power allowed for
broadened elite participation. Although the Communist party leadership
made all fundamental decisions, the National Assembly did discuss is-
sues of substance. Fidel Castro, however, decidedly marked the proceed-
ings: his word was always the last. The politics of ‘‘democratic central-
ism’’ under which higher institutional levels prevailed over lower ones
and the Communist party was the ultimate repository of power charac-
terized the functioning of Popular Power. Moreover, the reality of Cuban
socialism added the dimension of charismatic authority.
Institutionalization also entailed economic reorganization. In 1975,
the party congress approved the economic management and planning
system. JUCEPLAN president, Humberto Pérez—a technocrat without
significant credentials in the anti-Batista struggle—spearheaded the im-
plementation of SDPE. The antithesis of the experience of the late 1960s,
the new system was an attempt to introduce relative decentralization,
profitability criteria, material incentives, and self-financed enterprises.
The SDPE instituted financial controls and greater enterprise autonomy,
and recognized the role of the law of value—‘‘independently of our will
and desires’’—in the socialist economy.!? SDPE implementation, how-
ever, moved forward erratically. Making order out of chaos was not easy
in the face of continued economic uncertainties, insufficient numbers of
trained personnel, and limited political will to assume the full range of
consequences of market socialism. ,
During the late 1970s and early 1980s, the economy began to ac-
, quire a new face. With more variety, better quality, and higher prices,
the parallel market regularly supplemented rationing for people with
higher incomes and for most Cubans on special occasions. Between 1980
and 1986, peasant markets operated and offered a variety of fruits and
vegetables the public had not seen in years. By 1979, over 45 percent of
workers labored under output norms and quotas, albeit these were unre-
alistically low and their revisions slow.!4 In 1980-1981, the state imple-
mented wage and price reforms; except in the two Havana provinces,
enterprises were permitted to contract labor directly. In 1984, a new law
allowed the market to regulate the buying and selling of housing. Daily
life in socialist Cuba was assuming less baneful dimensions.
From the outset, the SDPE was in tension with the visions of the
1960s. Although in essence the system repudiated them, the revolution-
ary experience precluded their overt dismissal. Efficiency and rationality
had not inspired the Moncada, the Granma landing, the general strike of
January 1, the victory at Playa Giron, the Literacy Campaign, nor
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 127
Guevara and his comrades in Bolivia. The recognition that material
incentives were necessary to motivate a majority of workers was accom-
panied by the insistence that only moral incentives could counteract
individual selfishness. At the 1975 party congress, Fidel Castro warned
that the new “‘mechanisms’’ were not meant to solve all problems:
We can[not] do without moral incentives, we would be making a great
mistake, because it is absolutely impossible for economic mechanisms and
incentives to be as efficient under socialism as they are under capitalism, for
the only thing that functions under capitalism is incentive and economic
pressure brought to bear with full force, namely, hunger, unemployment,
and so on.!>

The SDPE was not to be a substitute for the party or the state. Politics and
ideology were still paramount, and the economy could not be divorced
from the legacy of the revolution.
The economic management and planning system undoubtedly op-
erated under special circumstances. A trade-dependent and embargoed
economy could not guarantee the flow of resources required by the
organization of planning and relative decentralization. Moreover, full
implementation of the SDPE carried the danger of broadening inequal-
ities in the population and among regions. Small pockets of unemploy-
ment developed as enterprises eliminated underemployment to meet
profitability criteria. In other ways, the Cuban experience was similar to
that of state socialism. Enterprise autonomy was, for example, resisted
by central ministries, and consequently neither self-financing nor im-
proved economic efficiency happened as anticipated. In 1983, an arbitra-
tion official in Pinar del Rio province succinctly described the SDPE
dilemma:
We evaluate enterprises by the system, but they do not operate according to
the system. . . . SDPE mechanisms and resorts are not used. . . . Weare
still implementing the compulsion mechanism of [material] stimulation.
There are no pressures on enterprise managers. They do not bear the conse-
quences of their actions. Nothing happens to them.!¢
JUCEPLAN echoed his complaints.!” The duality of centralization and
decentralization also plagued the SDPE. Although investment decisions
were never decentralized, control over the wage fund was. Like other
centrally planned economies, the state faced demands for greater invest-
ment flexibility from local enterprises and protest from central agencies
for excessive salaries.

The Trade Unions as Mass Organizations

The radical experiment had exacted a heavy toll on the trade union
movement and the working class. The late 1960s had turned the unions
128 The Cuban Revolution
into adjuncts of management and the party. Grass-roots organizations
had responded largely to vanguard workers. In 1970, Labor Minister
Jorge Risquet had acknowledged that |
theoretically, the administrator represents the interests of the worker-
peasant state. . . . Theory is one thing and practice another. . . . The
party is so involved with management that in many instances . . . it has
become somewhat insensitive to the problems of the masses. . . . If party
and administration are one, then there is nowhere the worker can take his

vanguard workers. '!®

problems. . . . The trade union does not exist or it has become a bureau for

The first step toward the revitalization of trade unions was their recon-
struction as mass organizations. ‘‘El sindicato es todos,’’ Lazaro Pena told
the CTC congress in 1973. Indeed, ‘‘the union belongs to all’’ was poten-
tially more democratic than the appeals to vanguardism and conciencia of
the late 1960s.
Following the call for democratization in 1970, local elections, con-
ducted by secret ballot rather than acclamation, resulted in a nearly
wholesale turnover of trade union incumbents; only 27 percent were
reelected. The party subsequently removed from office some leaders
“who did not have sufficient merits.’’19 By the early 1980s, trade unions
functioned in nearly 40,000 enterprises, and elections regularly selected
more than 280,000 local leaders.2° The CTC held congresses in 1973,
1978, and 1984. In 1973 and 1978, rank-and-file representatives ac-
counted for 50 percent and 68 percent of the delegates respectively. In
1973, local leadership turnover figures were not released; in 1978, 54
percent of local trade union leaders were newly elected.2! The 1984
congress’s grass-roots composition was again 68 percent; information
on electoral turnover was not available.22 Nonetheless, CTC General
Secretary Roberto Veiga reported that labor leaders with more than 10
years experience had increased from 28 percent to 47 percent between
1978 and 1983.23 Given the dismemberment of the labor movement
during the late 1960s, continuity and experience were notable accom-
plishments. By the mid-1980s, the CTC faced problems of a different
order: responsiveness and accountability to the nearly 50 percent of
workers who had been children in 1959 or had been born after the |
revolution.24
Institutionalization meant revitalizing the unions as mass organiza-
tions under party leadership. Cuban socialism followed the lead of state
socialism: the dictatorship of the proletariat was under the auspices of
the vanguard party. In 1973, Raul Castro underlined the rationale be-
hind party preeminence:
It is necessary to keep in mind that the working class considered as a
whole .. . cannot exercise its own dictatorship. . . . Originating in
 Politics and Soctety, 1971-1986 129
bourgeois society, the working class is marked by flaws and vices from the
past. The working class is heterogeneous in its consciousness and so-
cial behavior. . . . Only through a political party that brings together
its conscious minority can the working class . . . construct a socialist
society.??
Thus, the party guided and directed the unions. Trade unions were a
“vehicle for orientation, directives, and goals which the revolution must
convey to the working masses” and the ‘‘most powerful link’’ between
the party and the people.2© However, the Communist party was the sole
guarantor of socialism.
The 1973 CTC congress elaborated the functions of trade unions as
mass organizations marked by “‘fundamentally cooperative relationships
for a superior common objective’ with the party, the state, and enter-
prise management. Each component of socialist society had its own
“sphere” and ‘““method” of action. The late 1960s had revealed ‘grave
errors’ in the functioning of the unions.” Unions were a counterpart to
management, and union leaders were charged with defending the ‘‘le-
gitimate’”’ interests of workers. ‘A petit-bourgeois spirit still permeates
public administration,’’ Fidel Castro had cautioned in 1970. ‘An anti-
worker spirit, a bit of disdain for workers exists among some man-
agers.’’8 Although unions were responsible for keeping this antiworker
spirit in check, the ‘‘superior common objective’”’ of increasing produc-
tion compelled workers, unions, and management to cooperate. Indeed,
interviews with union leaders and rank-and-file workers in 1975 indi-
cated that most defined production as the most important union task.
Only 2 in 57 mentioned defense of worker interests. Eight workers
referred both to increasing production and defending workers.2?
Institutionalization similarly did not mean unions had the power to
control the economy. Determining plan priorities, the wage fund, and
personnel policies were not within union authority. The top echelons of
the party and the state decided these substantive matters, and manage-
ment was entrusted with their implementation. Unions, however, were
represented at all levels of the policy-making process. CTC Secretary
General Roberto Veiga became a Politburo alternate in 1980 and a full
member in 1986. Although trade union leaders accounted for 19 of 148
full Central Committee members in 1980, their numbers fell drastically
in 1986 to only 10 of 146 full members.#9 Veiga was also a member of the
Council of State and participated in meetings of the Council of Ministers.
Trade unions were likewise represented at the provincial and municipal
levels of the party and the state. Local union general secretaries were
members of enterprise councils. Workers did not elect or recall man-
agers, however. In conjunction with Popular Power, the ministries ap-
pointed and dismissed administrators. Although impressionistic evi-
dence suggested workers influenced the dismissal process, influence was
130 The Cuban Revolution
a far cry from an established procedure enabling workers to throw out
managers who were hijos de puta, as Carlos Rafael Rodriguez had ex-
pressed it in 1969.3!
The unequivocal and primary objective of unions was to increase
production. Without capitalist exploitation, improvements in living
standards depended on economic development. The fundamental activ-
ity of the labor movement was ‘fostering and consolidating the econ-
omy.’”” Cuban workers, “‘keenly aware that we own our national
wealth,’”’ were more than willing to ‘‘sacrifice immediate and particular
interests . . . for the benefit of the collective good.’’32 Strong unions
under vanguard guidance were a requisite for the pursuit of economic
development. The economic management and planning system defined
a ‘‘space’’ for local enterprises. The SDPE defined the rights and respon-
sibilities of management, workers, and unions.

Workers and the Economy |

During the early 1970s, stricter enforcement of labor discipline, estab-
lishment of output norms, linkage of wages to performance, and greater
availability of goods and services improved labor productivity and ren-
dered material incentives meaningful. In 1971, an antiloafing law con-
tributed to curbing absenteeism. Although the 1973 CTC congress fo-
cused largely on economic issues, its documents restored the trade
unions under vanguard party leadership. CTC theses and resolutions
constituted de facto condemnation of the radical experiment. ‘‘“From
each according to his ability, to each according to his work”’ clearly
departed from the goal of equalizing wages from the bottom up regard-
less of work performed. The CTC congress also eliminated the so-called
historical salaries and full-pay retirement in vanguard enterprises and
approved the use of volunteer work only after the normal work load was
finished.33 During the early 1970s, Cuban economic performance im-
proved markedly.
In 1976, the economy again began to slow down. After an all-time
high in 1974-1975, sugar prices plummeted and subsequently remained
generally low. Worsening hard-currency trade forced a readjustment of
development plans. Even though the supply of consumer goods de-
clined, wage raises soon equaled or surpassed productivity increases.
New wage policies could not be fully instituted because they were eco-
nomically ‘irrational.’ “Increasing money in circulation without pro-
viding an adequate supply of goods and services,’”’ Roberto Veiga told the
1978 CTC congress, ‘‘would have constituted a step backwards to the
situation we faced between 1967 and 1970.’’34 “Socialist inflation’’ and
fiscal constraints were, moreover, aggravated by the emergence of
unemployment—the disponibles (available ones). The state guaranteed
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 131]
laid-off workers 70 percent of their salaries until they found other em-
ployment.
Nevertheless, a general wage reform went into effect in 1980. By
November 1981, 94 percent of the labor force was benefiting from the
reform. The new wage scales widened the ratio from 4.33:1.00 to
5.29:1.00. Using 1977 as the base, salaries increased an average of 15
percent while productivity improved 35 percent. The wage reform stipu-
lated that 15 to 25 percent of salaries be ‘‘mobile,” that is, dependent on
bonuses and other incentive payments.3> By 1985, slightly more than
1,000 enterprises employing about 1 million workers were creating the
year-end bonus funds. In practice, incentive payments constituted only
around 10 percent of average basic wages.*© In 1981, reform of retail
prices raised the cost of more than 1,500 products. The average increase
on sixty-four sample items listed in the newspaper Granma was 60
percent.*” Ten days after the reform was announced, the internal com-
merce minister and the head of the State Committee on Prices were
dismissed. Students and workers had protested hikes in restaurant
prices. #8
The 1984 CTC congress gathered under what appeared to be rela-
tively auspicious economic circumstances. The economy was registering
reasonable growth rates; consumption was likewise experiencing im-
provement. Moving forward with the SDPE and its ‘undeniable’ ac-
complishments was the order of the day.3? As a party meeting on the
economy earlier in the year had done, the congress emphasized eco-
nomic efficiency and narrowing the gap between profitable and unprof-
itable enterprises. In 1983, unprofitable enterprises had increased their
losses, and profitable ones their gains.4° The delegates discussed the
particularly sensitive law granting laid-off workers 70 percent of their
salaries; the economy could not sustain these benefits and their future
reduction was augured.

Workers and Management

Improving production and defending worker interests were the twin
objectives of trade unions. The demise of capitalism allowed for ‘‘cooper-
ative relations’”’ between workers and managers. At the 1978 congress,
President Castro observed:
Today a manager does not belong to another class, he is not the workers’
enemy; he came forth from the workers’ ranks and is friend, relative, neigh-
bor of those who work with him. . . . We have to demand him to be
demanding . . . his job is to be demanding and to control.*!
The withering away of trade unions during the 1960s, however, required
that the terms of union-management relations be carefully delineated.
132 The Cuban Revolution
The SDPE, moreover, created the potential for significant tensions. The
organization of enterprises on the basis of profitability often resulted in
contradictions between workers and managers on work conditions and
other matters. The 1978 CTC congress noted:
Undoubtedly, we need to develop our economy in order to improve our
working and living conditions. But differences and even contradictions can
arise. In those cases, trade unions are obliged to seek an honest clarifica-
tion . . . on the basis that the rights of workers be respected. . . . The
defense of worker rights, correctly interpreted, strengthens proletarian
power.*2

After the 1973 congress, collective work agreements regulated

worker-management relations. Management was bound to enforce
safety regulations, maintain worker lounges, and establish vacation
timetables. Workers were supposed to be punctual and disciplined, and
to care for their work equipment. The implementation of collective
agreements was often lax. Vague commitments, weak procedures for
determining their breach, and poor publicity of their content among
workers were typical difficulties. Occasionally, managers refused to con-
tract the agreements. The 1984 congress was particularly sensitive to
violations of safety conditions because job-related accidents were on the
rise. The CTC partially attributed the increase to the use of safety funds to
meet more pressing production needs. Unions demanded and obtained
the nontransferability of funds earmarked for safety equipment.4? Most
accidents, however, were caused by reasons other than the lack of
proper equipment, such as ignorance about rules and regulations,
worker refusal to use the equipment, and generally indifferent attitudes
about enforcing safety regulations on the part of both trade unions and
management.*4
Monthly production and service assemblies were meant to promote
worker participation in “the struggle to improve economic efficiency”
and to advance their conciencia as owners.*° The assemblies were called
upon to check plan fulfillment, analyze production quality, and discuss
labor discipline. Trade unions were encouraged to seek worker criti-
cisms. At the same time, union leaders were also expected to educate
workers not to ‘pry into things which are not their concern’ and to
express ‘‘concrete” and ‘‘precise’’ suggestions for solving problems.*¢
The 1978 CTC congress noted that monthly assemblies often turned into
‘“meetings in which a mechanical rattling off of figures is presented and
where the analysis of fundamental problems is omitted.’’4”7 Two years
later, Roberto Veiga sounded a comparable theme: ,
There are work places in which workers express their concerns and dis-
agreements in these assemblies . . . and they are not heard by manage-
ment. . . . [A] climate of malaise and indifference is generated to the con-
siderable detriment of our economic endeavors.*®
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 133
Interviews conducted in 1975 among vanguard workers underscored
similar tendencies. Although forty-nine in fifty-seven workers said that
management was obliged to consult them about enterprise matters, only
thirty-three referred to their input as influential and thirty indicated
management had to respond to worker inquiries and suggestions.
Between 1974 and 1978, 85 percent of the labor force participated in
assemblies to discuss production plans. Like monthly assemblies, these
meetings were plagued with difficulties. Many ministries released only
partial information to enterprises. Management often failed to consider
worker input. In 1978, Roberto Veiga warned that such practices re-
sulted in the ‘‘mere formality of discussing plans with workers and their
unions.’’4? JUCEPLAN President Humberto Pérez subsequently dis-
closed salient information on plan discussions. In 1978, 35 percent of all
enterprises never held assemblies to discuss the 1979 plan, and only 42
percent revised it by incorporating worker suggestions.°° The 1980 plan
manifested some improvement: only 9 percent failed to discuss the plan
and 59 percent included rank-and-file input.°! Nonetheless, in his main
report to the 1986 party congress, Fidel Castro noted that worker partici-
pation in the elaboration of plans was just beginning to improve.>2
The CTC had no formal recourse to obligate management to con-
sider the input of unions and workers. Before an audience of managers,
Roberto Veiga noted in 1980: ‘To a true manager, reliance on the opin-
ions of workers is not just a question of work style . . . of attitude,
neither is it a matter of courtesy. It is an indispensable part of the mana-
gerial ability of socialist administrators.’’°3 Meaningful participation was
supposed to promote the conciencia of workers as owners as well as
advance enterprise performance. Good socialist managers needed to ac-
quire conciencia of the double function of participation. The 1984 con-
gress was especially critical of the absence of feedback to rank-and-file
suggestions that ‘‘irritates’’ workers and ‘‘conspires’’ against the objec-
tive of attaining their ‘‘active’’ and ‘‘conscious”’ participation.>4
The SDPE, however, also created a concurrence of immediate inter-
ests between management and unions. Self-financing underscored the
interest of workers and managers in enterprise profitability. Individual
bonuses and collective funds for social projects, for instance, depended
on the generation of ‘‘profit.’” Because bonuses were salary-based, man-
agers received larger stipends than workers. Nonetheless, the SDPE
structured a potential collusion of interests among workers, unions, and
management. Local control over the distribution of centrally allotted
wage funds and the creation of bonuses promoted cooperation between
management and labor in enterprise performance. Both had an interest
in defeating the resistance of central ministries to enterprise autonomy
and in maximizing the resources disbursed locally. Thus, the SDPE
reinforced the immediate conciencia of workers and managers without
also supporting conciencia about the national economy and /a patria.
134 The Cuban Revolution
During the late 1960s, procedures for arbitrating worker-manage-
ment disputes had weakened. Between 1974 and 1978, work councils
handled an average of 80,000 cases a year, 25 percent of which dealt
with worker grievances. Yearly numbers had nearly doubled from the
early 1970s.°> The revitalization of unions, the introduction of material
incentives, and the establishment of the SDPE caused the increases in
labor-management grievances. In 1977, the National Assembly placed
the councils under CTC jurisdiction. The 1978 CTC congress pledged to
strengthen them as instruments of arbitration and labor justice. Prob-
lems of indiscipline and low productivity persisted, however. Wage in-
creases, the disponibles, and work stoppages caused by shortages of raw
materials were undermining efforts to attain greater economic efficiency.
Labor discipline became a central focus of public discussion. In 1979,
Fidel Castro told the National Assembly: ‘‘Today our labor laws are
actually protecting delinquency . . . the lazy, absenteeist worker . . .
not the good worker.’’>®
In 1980, the Council of Ministers divested work councils of their
power to hear labor discipline cases because they were extremely slow
in settling disputes and were failing to improve discipline and produc-
tivity. Decree No. 32 granted management full authority to enforce labor
discipline: managers could now sanction and even dismiss workers.
Workers had the right to appeal management actions in municipal
courts. The Council of Ministers simultaneously enacted Decree No. 36
to regulate management. Managers, however, were sanctioned by their
ministries, not the workers. By 1984, these decrees were deemed highly
effective: productivity increases surpassed projected rates.°”? Not sur-
prisingly, Decree No. 32 was initially enforced with vigor and in excess.
Not infrequently, management resorted to dismissal as a first sanction
against a worker. Also not unexpectedly, Decree No. 36 was unevenly
enforced.
The unions, however, implemented some corrective measures.
Union inspections and worker appeals attained compensation out of
enterprise funds for workers who had been unfairly sanctioned. AI-
though some worker assemblies suggested that indemnification be taken
out of manager salaries, their suggestion was unequivocally dismissed.*®
Disciplinary rules and regulations were elaborated to curb management
arbitrariness in enforcing labor discipline. Decree No. 36 was more regu-
larly applied, especially against managers who exceeded their authority
under Decree No. 32. In 1984, nonetheless, the CTC congress took note
of continued worker dissatisfaction with the more lenient application of
discipline measures against managers.°? At no time, however, did the
CTC acknowledge that enactment of Decree No. 32 contravened stated
intentions of widening worker participation. Granting management full
authority over labor discipline did not contribute to empowering work-
ers and fostering in them conciencia as owners. On occasion, relations
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 135
between managers and workers turned less than cooperative as evi-
denced by the demand that managers pay unjustly disciplined workers
out of their salaries. Although it improved labor discipline, the decree
was incompatible with the call in 1970 for a collective body to manage
enterprises.
During the 1970s and early 1980s, the unions were revitalized under
the guidance of the Communist party. The working class bore the bur-
den of legitimating socialism, but workers did not have the power to
make national policies. Their charge was to work hard. The Communist
party exercised power on their behalf, and Fidel Castro was the premier
expositor of their welfare. The correct proletarian conciencia was to abide
by party directives and charismatic authority. In that sense, Cuban so-
cialism was like the other contemporary socialist experiences: the work-
ing class wielded power vicariously.

The Federation of Cuban Women and Gender Equality

Institutionalization brought significant changes to the FMC and Cuban
women. Like the CTC, the FMC also celebrated three congresses after
1970: 1974, 1980, 1985. At the 1974 congress, Fidel Castro succinctly
stated: ‘‘Women’s full equality does not yet exist.’©° A year later the
party congress formulated an affirmative action policy toward women,
pledged to ‘‘eliminate all vestiges of the past,”” and charged the FMC
with defending the interests of women.°!
A crosscut view of the party, mass organizations, and Popular Power
in the mid-1970s revealed a modest representation of women leaders.
Women constituted 13 percent of party membership; only 6 percent
occupied national cadre positions. Six of the 112 full members of the
Central Committee were women. No women sat on the Politburo or the
Secretariat. In the Communist Youth, women accounted for 10 percent
of the national leadership and 29 percent of the membership. Only 7
percent of national trade union leaders were women. With 50 percent of
the membership, women held 19 percent of the national leadership of
the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution. In Popular Power,
women delegates were 8 percent at the local level, 14 percent at the
provincial level, nearly 22 percent in the National Assembly. Except for |
the Communist Youth and the CTC, the policy of affirmative action
resulted in more women in national leadership positions than among
local cadres (see Table 6.1).
By 1979-1980, the number of women in leadership positions had
erown. Available data do not permit exact comparisons with the
mid-1970s, but adequate parallels can be drawn. In 1980, women ac-
counted for 19 percent of PCC membership. The party, however, had
pledged to match the share of women in the labor force, which was then
32.4 percent. Of 148 full members of the Central Committee, 18 (12.2
136 The Cuban Revolution
Table 6.1. Female Membership and Leadership in the Party, Mass
Organizations, and Popular Power Assemblies, Cuba, 1975-1986
(in percentages)
Time Period PCC UIC CTC
Members 13.2 29.0 24.0
1975-1976

Local
Leaders
2.9 22.0
Provincial6.0
6.310.024.0
7.0 15.0
National 7.0
Central Committee 5.4 ~~ —-
Members 19.1 41.8 32.4
1979-1980

Local
Leaders
16.5
Provincial n.a.
15.0 42.7
n.a. 17.8
National 9.0 14.3 16.1
Central Committee 12.2 26.4 7.7
Members 21.5 41.0 38.0
1984-1986

Local
Leaders
23.5
Provincial 16.947.6
28.9 45.1
14.7
National 12.8 19.5
Central Committee 17.7
12.3 27.1 2.4
Sources: Primer Congreso del Partido Comunista de Cuba, Tesis y resoluciones (Havana:
Departamento de Orientacién Revolucionaria, 1976), p. 585; Second Congress of the Com-
munist Party of Cuba: Documents and Speeches (Havana: Political Publishers, 1981), pp. 66,
74, 78, 415-421; Fidel Castro, Informe Central: Tercer Congreso del Partido Comunista de
Cuba (Havana: Editora Politica, 1986), p. 92; Cuban Women, 1975-1979 (Havana, 1980),
pp. 26, 29; XV Congreso de la CTC: Memorias (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1984),

percent) were women. FMC President Vilma Espin was promoted to

alternate status in the Politburo. Forty percent of Communist Youth
militants were female. More than 40 percent of local trade union leaders
were women. There were slightly more female delegates in the National
Assembly (22.6 percent) and slightly fewer in the local assemblies (7.2
percent). By the end of the 1970s, women were increasing their numbers
at all levels of these organizations and institutions.
By 1984-1986, women were continuing to make some inroads. At
the 1986 party congress, Vilma Espin became a full Politburo member.
Two other women were included as alternates. The share of women in
full Central Committee membership remained the same as in 1980. Fe-
male PCC members increased slightly to 21.5 percent. The proportion of
women party cadres rose to 23.5 percent, local Communist Youth lead-
ers to 47.6 percent. The share of women delegates to local (17.1 percent)
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 137
Table 6.1. (continued)
CDR Popular Power
Members 50.0 —
1975-1976

Local
Leaders
7.0
Provincial 3.0 8.0
14.0
National 19.0 21.8
Members 50.0 —
1979-1980

Local
Leaders
41.0
Provincial30.0
National
7.2
31.0 22.6
17.4
Members 49.4 --
1984—1986

Local
Leaders
37.5
Provincial 37.517.1
21.4
National 31.8 22.4
pp. 268-269; Vilma Espin, ‘‘La batalla por el ejercicio pleno de la igualdad de la mujer:
accién de los comunistas,’’ Cuba Socialista 20 (March—April 1986): 50, 54-55; Granma,
February 8, 1986, Supplement, and December 29, 1986, p.3; Granma Weekly Review,
January 4, 1976, p. 12, and November 16, 1986, p. 3; Bohemia, November 16, 1976, p. 48,
and September 17, 1985, p. 82.

and provincial (21.4 percent) Popular Power assemblies increased but

stagnated at the national level. More than 45 percent of local union
leaders and about 38 percent of local CDR leaders were women. The
relative success of affirmative action reflected party commitment and
FMC diligence in pursuing equality. Nonetheless, material and cultural
obstacles stood in the way of full equality.°
Educationally, as was the case before 1959, Cuban women did not
differ significantly from men. By the early 1980s, close to 5 percent of all
men and 4 percent of all women had achieved a university degree.
Moreover, educational trends pointed to an even greater leveling in the
potential pool of women available to assume positions of responsibility.
Careers such as economics and engineering had, respectively, 55 percent
and 27 percent female enrollment. Women constituted 81 percent of
philosophy majors, a politically selective field conducive to cadre posi-
tions.©? In 1986-1987, women accounted for 55.2 percent of total en-
rollment in higher education.°* Lack of education was thus not an obsta-
cle preventing women from attaining leadership positions.
There was some evidence, however, that in at least one career access
to women was being limited. After 1984, medical school enrollment was
138 The Cuban Revolution
subjected to a 52:48 ratio of women to men. Without it, women medical
students would outnumber men 3:2. Civilian medical aid was a crucial
component of Cuban foreign policy. Quotas were necessary, Castro ar-
gued, for two reasons. Women had greater family and personal respon-
sibilities and found it harder to go abroad for extended periods. Also, the
recipient countries had not undergone the changes with respect to the
position of women in society that Cuba was experiencing.©> When in
apparent conflict, national goals subordinated particular interests: Cu-
ban foreign policy required male doctors. The state did not allow individ-
ual women to make their own decisions about bearing the burden of
extended tours abroad or facing sexism in other societies. Medical school
quotas contradicted the commitment to equality and opened the possi-
bility that other careers could be limited if national imperatives so dic-
tated. The FMC did not challenge the quota policy. Establishing it had
been a matter of national concern that precluded the pursuit of gender
equality. Vanguard party politics allowed the FMC to defend the inter-
ests of women—like the CTC those of workers—only within its sphere.
In the mid-1970s, the party conducted a survey among 302 men and
333 women in Matanzas. The PCC sought to understand the reasons for
the small number of women elected as local Popular Power delegates.
When asked why women did not hold leadership positions, nearly 60
percent answered that a woman was responsible for taking care of
home, children, and husband. When women were asked about their
willingness to serve if elected, 54 percent answered they could not be-
cause of family responsibilities. When both men and women were asked
why fewer than 10 percent of the candidates had been women, one-third
once again pointed to household and child-care obligations. Finally, a
question was asked about the personal characteristics expected of a dele-
gate. About 45 percent responded ‘‘moral, serious, decent’’ for women;
20 percent alluded to the same virtues for men.®® By the mid-1980s, the
percentage of women elected as local Popular Power delegates had dou-
bled. Nonetheless, cultural and material factors surely limited women’s
fuller involvement in Popular Power and other aspects of public life. If
the average female worker was also enrolled in an adult education
course, was a party and/or trade union activist, and spent over four
hours a day on domestic chores, she would have been unlikely to have
the time or the disposition to assume additional responsibilities.®7
After the early 1970s, Cuban women made impressive advances in
their access to leadership positions; by the mid-1980s, women held ap-
proximately 25 percent of these posts. Between 1968 and 1974, the
average had been 6 percent. PCC affirmative action policies and FMC
advocacy yielded positive results. Women themselves assumed a more
activist stance, as indicated by their willingness to accept positions of
responsibility. Holding public office was not tantamount to the exercise
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 139
of power, however. If they were going to be more than a token presence,
women leaders needed to advance the interests of women. And the
institutions and organizations in which they were leaders needed to
have the power to articulate these interests. The broader issue was the
nature of vanguard party politics. During the 1970s and early 1980s, the
FMC succeeded in revising employment policies to favor the interests of
women workers. The dynamic between the party and the FMC seemed
to be more effective for women than that of the party and the CTC was
for workers.

Women and Work

After 1970, women significantly expanded their share of the labor force.
By 1986, women were 38 percent of the labor force and had attained a
notable degree of stability. For every hundred women entering the labor
force, fewer than four dropped out.°8 Nonetheless, the 1970s witnessed
tensions between national economic prerogatives and the expansion of
female employment. The Cuban leadership saw the incorporation of
women into the labor force as fundamental to overcoming gender in-
equalities. The SDPE, however, placed a premium on efficiency and
rationality. In the mid-1970s, women accounted for nearly 26 percent of
the labor force. The two 1968 resolutions regulating female employ-
ment, passed when Cuba faced a rural labor shortage, continued to
reserve some jobs for women and proscribe others. The 1974 FMC con-
egress criticized the restrictive resolution and demanded its revision, ar-
suing that prohibition implied discrimination and that women them-
selves should decide whether or not to perform these jobs.©? The PCC
thesis on full equality supported the FMC position; the SDPE emphasis
on efficiency that was creating some unemployment did not.
In 1976, the Labor Ministry passed a new resolution that, contrary to
FMC expectations, barred women from nearly three hundred job cate-
gories. The ministry allegedly based the selection on the health hazards
the jobs presented for women.” The resolution, however, had more to
do with the problem of unemployment than with the health of women.
Banning women from those job categories—in some of which women
were then working, and the resolution prescribed their transfer—opened
employment opportunities for surplus male workers. Women without
jobs did not constitute the same kind of social problem that unemployed
men did, or so the resolution seemed to imply. That female employment
would stagnate or even decrease was also implicit in the resolution. In
1977, Vilma Espin acknowledged the FMC was seeking its modifica-
tion.”! The share of women in the labor force continued to increase. New
women entrants, however, tended to have technical, skilled, or profes-
sional qualifications.’72 The employment of educated women comple-
140 The Cuban Revolution
mented the national interest. At a time of growing unemployment, how-
ever, the state deemed an unqualified policy of equality of employment
unsalutary for the economy.
By the mid-1980s, the original list of ‘‘off-limits’’ job categories had
been whittled down to about twenty-five.7* The FMC had generally
succeeded in the struggle against job discrimination. Espin, moreover,
reasserted the 1974 FMC position on job prohibitions for women: ‘‘The
establishment of prohibitions for women in general is indeed negative,
because they constitute a violation of the principle of equality.’’74 Recog-
nizing the controversy, Fidel Castro noted: ‘‘If we fall back with respect
to jobs, if we fall back in the economic field, we will start going back on
everything else we have gained.’’7> The practical denouement of the
1976 resolution established that women were necessary for the econ-
omy, and work was essential for full equality. The FMC successfully
defended the particular interests of women amid pressures to sidetrack
them for the sake of national development. The FMC, however, did not
succeed in having the resolution repealed; its discriminatory intent re-
mained in effect.
In contrast to the medical school quota, the FMC lobbied and won a
de facto victory on the 1976 resolution. In both cases, however, the issue
of gender equality was secondary to the national interest as understood
by the party and state leadership. The quota case affected a smaller
number of women and the very sensitive area of foreign policy that was
a sacrosanct reserve of the top PCC leadership. The FMC did not inter-
vene. More revealing of the potential mass organizations had under the
post-1970 institutionalization was the FMC lobby with respect to the
1976 resolution. The federation argued successfully for the expansion of
female employment—albeit at the skilled, technical, or professional
levels—in the face of increasing unemployment. The specific interests of
women and the SDPE were reconciled. In practice, nonetheless, the
principle of gender equality was not redeemed because even if severely
constrained, the resolution remained in effect.
In the mid-1980s, the question of employment appeared to be point-
ing in a different direction. The 1976 resolution had sought to allevi-
ate the SDPE-originated unemployment. Declining fertility, however,
pointed to a relative shortage of young workers during the 1990s.76
Demographic changes might thus augur a new area of concern for the
incorporation of women into the labor force. Fertility trends, however,
seemed to emphasize the importance of women as childbearers. Would
the state adopt a policy to encourage women to stay home and have
more children? Were that to be the case, how would the FMC react?
Without doubt, new challenges await the FMC. Addressing these chal-
lenges on whatever terrain they might arise will surely test the organiza-
tional efficacy of the FMC and the commitment to the principle of gender
equality.
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 14]
At the time, institutionalization highlighted attention to the interests
of working women. In coordination with the CTC and Popular Power
provincial assemblies, the FMC established commissions to analyze job
opportunities for women and supervise hiring practices under the eco-
nomic management and planning system. The SDPE increased the costs
of female employment and the likelihood of discrimination.”77 Women
were sometimes considered a hindrance to enterprise ‘‘profitability”’:
they were more likely to stay home to care for a sick child or an elderly
family member, or to be late because of children and family obligations.
Managers were sometimes reluctant to promote qualified women for
similar reasons. Although women managers were probably more sensi-
tive to the problems of female workers, they accounted for less than 23
percent of all management posts, and most were in junior positions.78 In
1981, there were only 246 women enterprise directors (8.7 percent) in a
total of 2,815.79 The 1984 CTC congress rejected a proposal to lower the
retirement age for women from 55 to 50. Managers would be all the
more hesitant to hire women workers if their retirement were allowed
even earlier,?° but early retirement for women would open up jobs for
unemployed men. Evidently, the tendency to increase employment at
the expense of women had not receded.
Between 1970 and 1985, the structure of female employment un-
derwent further transformations (see Table 6.2). The proportion of
women in agriculture and communications declined slightly and that in
commerce significantly. The share of women in industry remained ap-
proximately the same. Significantly more women were working in con-
struction and transportation. Nearly half of all working women were
employed in the nonproductive services. Women workers were gener-
ally better educated than men workers: 46 percent had at least a high
school education; only 34 percent of the men did. Women constituted
more than 45 percent of the labor force with a high school education or
above.®! Both indices were above their 38 percent share of the labor
force. Even so, women tended to earn significantly less than men: 62.6
percent of men were employed in sectors where wages were above the
national average of 2,252 pesos; only 38.6 percent of women were so
employed.®2
Women needed an infrastructure of support services in order to
work. Although a new conciencia in men would also alleviate the over-
load borne by women, such awareness developed slowly. The 1975
Family Code had stipulated equality between sexes at home and at
work, but nearly a decade later Vilma Espin was still emphasizing that
men and women were supposed to share child care and household
chores: “If we use the term ‘help’ we are accepting that these are
women’s responsibilities and such is not the case: we say ‘share’ because
they are a family responsibility.”’8? In 1986, Espin also asserted that
sharing was a party directive: men who evaded their responsibilities at
142 The Cuban Revolution
Table 6.2. Distribution of Men and Women by Economic Sector,
Cuba 1985

Sector Salary@ Men?” Women <

Culture 2,689 22,500 17,100
Transportation 2,589 161,800 35,900
Science 2,931
Other productive
14,400
2,454
13,300
7,40043,900
6,400
Construction 2,442 275,700
Administration 2,404 88,800 73,000
Industry 2,329 660,000 260,000
Other nonproductive 2,257 11,300 10,100
Finances 2,235 3,900 13,400
Education 2,178 127,900 260,300
Agriculture 2,155 249,300 70,300
Communications 2,137 14,400 12,600
Public health 2,124
Silviculture 2,120 62,200
24,300139,700
5,100
Commerce 2,023 190,800 179,100
Personal services 1,955 67,700 48,700
% Above average salary 62.6 38.6
Sources: Comité Estatal de Estadisticas, Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1986, pp. 196, 200.

CN = 1,189,500.
4 Average salary = 2,252 pesos.
SN = 1,983,800.

home were exploiting women and discriminating against them.’+ None-

theless, family and household obligations fell disproportionately on
women. One of the most important elements in the support infrastruc-
ture was the day-care program. Between 1970 and 1986, day-care en-
rollment more than doubled, from more than 47,000 to nearly 110,000
children.85 Demand, however, outstripped existing capacity, and the
economy had limited resources.

The PCC as a Vanguard Party

‘‘Men die, the party is immortal!’’ exclaimed Fidel Castro in 1974. ‘‘The
Party is the soul of the Cuban Revolution,” he told the party congress in
1975.86 The 1980 congress heard him say that the party was ‘‘the Revo-
lution’s finest expression and guarantee par excellence of its historic
continuity.’’87 At the 1986 gathering, he reiterated the centrality of the
party:
During these years of tense struggle, the party has continued its devel-
opment as the great force of leadership and coherence in our society. The
party represents with excellence the authority, the morale, and the princi-
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 143
ples of the watchful conciencia of the Revolution. . . . [The party] has ful-
filled with dignity its responsibility to give always the best example in orga-
nization, exigence, determination to improve, discipline, revolutionary
austerity, disposition to sacrifice, and close, permanent bonds with el
pueblo, 88

The process of institutionalization consolidated the idea of vanguardism

that had guided Fidel Castro and the rebeldes in the struggle against
Batista, empowered the social revolution against the domestic opposi-
tion and the United States during 1959-1961, supported the incipient
order of the early 1960s, and sustained the radical experiment of the late
1960s. Having failed to forge alternate forms of vanguard politics, the
Cuban leadership embraced the process of institutionalization.
Strengthening and broadening the Communist party became central
to the politics of the 1970s. The first step was the activation of party
leadership bodies. During the late 1960s, the Politburo, Secretariat, and
Central Committee had barely functioned. After the early 1970s, they
began to operate regularly and integrated a broadened Cuban lead-
ership. The split between old and new communists started to lose signifi-
cance. After the debacle of the late 1960s, all tendencies agreed on the
course Cuban socialism was taking: Cuba no longer had the political and
economic resources for advocating a sui generis model. Old communists
were reinstated to the Politburo and retained about a 20 percent share of
the Central Committee through the early 1980s. By the 1986 congress,
the historic split was no longer relevant. Old communists were dying,
and the issues that had divided Cuban elites had largely been surpassed.
The politics of socialism was now more important in determining elite
dynamics than the history of revolutionary struggle.
Central Committee composition was indicative of these changing
dynamics. Whereas in 1965 the armed forces and the Interior Ministry
had accounted for 58 percent of CC membership, their share declined
steadily to 17.8 percent between 1975 and 1986. Reduced military
presence—often more formal than substantive because of the transition
many officers made to civilian life—symbolized the emergence of a
broadened governing elite. Representatives of the party apparatus in-
creased from 10 percent to 28.6 percent between 1965 and 1975, declin-
ing sharply in 1980 (20.3 percent) and gaining again in 1986 (24.7
percent). State functionaries were about 17 percent of the Central Com-
mittee until 1986, when their share increased to 26 percent. The mass
organizations experienced marked fluctuations: about 6-7 percent in
the first two Central Committees, nearly 20 percent in 1980, and down
to 13 percent in 1986. After 1975, individuals working in other sectors—
most of whom were ordinary citizens—hovered around 15 percent (see
Table 6.3). In 1986, the category of member of the Comandante en Jefe’s
advisory commission was introduced. Under charismatic authority, the
process of institutionalization included innovative bodies in addition to
144 The Cuban Revolution
Table 6.3. Central Committee (Full Membership), Cuba, 1965—1986
(in percentages)
1965 1975 1980 1986
Total 100 112 148 146
PCC 10.0 28.6 20.3 24.7
State 17.0 17.9 16.9
Military 38.0 32.1 24.3 17.8
26.0
Mass Organizations 7.0 6.3 18.9 13.0 —
Other 8.0 15.] 19.6
Advisory Commission — —_ — 4.8
13.7
Sources: Jorge I. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1978), p. 312, and ‘“‘The New Demand for Orderliness,”’ in Jorge I. Dominguez, ed.,
Cuba—Internal and International Affairs (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1982), p. 24; 1986 figures
computed from Granma, Supplement, February 8, 1986.

the orthodox structures of vanguard parties. The more formal bodies did
not fully meet the needs of Fidel Castro for governing Cuba. Real elite
turnover did not occur until 1986, when approximately 50 percent of the
Central Committee was newly elected.8? Before then, the party had
expanded the size of the CC to accommodate new members.
Although the weight of the Central Committee in actual policy-
making was difficult to determine, the formal appearance of elite politics
in Cuba had changed significantly from the 1960s. If only symbolically,
varying CC composition was a recognition of the increasing complexity
that socialism was forging in Cuban society. That—even at the height of
Cuban internationalism—the share of the military continued to decline
was illustrative of the weight civilian and domestic imperatives had in
the conduct of daily affairs. In 1980, following the Mariel exodus and the
Polish Solidarity movement, Cuban leaders saw some reason to be con-
cerned with their relationship to the ‘‘masses’’ and, consequently, the
presence of the mass organizations and ordinary citizens in the Central
Committee grew. In 1986, however, when elite turnover happened, the
beneficiaries were the party and state apparatuses. Thus, the politics of
socialism accorded particular importance to PCC cadres and high-level
bureaucrats over other sectors. Nonetheless, Cuban socialism never fully
functioned like state socialism: the Comandante en Jefe’s advisory com-
mission was the foremost indication of its distinguishing characteristics.
The relationship between vanguard parties and the populations they
claimed to represent was always indirect. Popular elections did not me-
diate the selection of national leaders. Rather, the presence of the van-
guard throughout society and the profile of its members supposedly
constituted the guarantee of responsiveness to popular interests, espe-
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 145
cially those of the working class. Initially, the PCC experienced slow
growth and then stagnation. In 1969, the party began a period of rapid
expansion, and a year later membership totaled about 100,000 (1 per-
cent of the population). During the 1970s, the party underwent extraor-
dinary growth: membership more than quadrupled. In 1980, militants
numbered 434,943 (4.5 of the population). Like the Central Committee,
the number of members remained fairly stable between 1980 and 1985.
At 523,639, membership grew about 20 percent (5.2 percent of the
population). Rank-and-file turnover, however, was also significant. In
1985, 39 percent had been in the party for five years or less.?° After the
late 1960s, the educational levels of party members notably improved. In
1975, a majority of party cadres had achieved junior high school, but
more than 60 percent of the membership had only a primary educa-
tion.?! By 1985, nearly 75 percent of the membership had at a minimum
finished the ninth grade and most party cadres had some university
education.?2 Contrary to the 1960s, party cadres and members now had
the educational qualifications to govern.
After the sectarianism crisis in 1962, the party had adopted the
method of selecting members from among vanguard workers. Although
the vanguard-worker method remained a path to party militancy after
1975, the Communist Youth increasingly became the standard ave-
nue for PCC membership. In 1985, nearly 60 percent of the party mem-
bers entered through the Communist Youth. Final approval for party
and youth membership nonetheless required ‘consultation with the
masses.’"?3 Moreover, PCC policy emphasized growth among produc-
tion workers. Progress, however, was erratic. Production workers repre-
sented 30.2 percent (1975), 39.8 percent (1980), and 37.3 percent
(1985) of PCC militants. Service workers had a similarly variable record.
In contrast, professional/technical personnel and administrative workers
experienced steady increases in their share of PCC composition (see
Table 6.4). The relative decline of political and administrative cadres
from 42.1 percent in 1975 to 23.7 percent in 1986 was notable.
Comparisons between PCC social composition and presence among
the different groups in the state civilian labor force further underscored
the problem of remaining the vanguard of the working class while other
sectors were better represented in PCC ranks (see Table 6.5). Between
1975 and 1985, the share of production workers in the labor force de-
clined slightly. The number of party members among them nearly tripled
but PCC workers were still less than 13 percent of the labor force. Service
workers’ share of the labor force first declined and then increased; their
PCC proportion followed a pattern similar to that of production workers.
Professional/technical personnel and administrative workers experi-
enced increases in their share of the labor force, and more of them
entered the party. Although administrative workers moderately in-
 Table 6.4. Social Composition of PCC Membership
1975 1980 1985
Total membership 211,642 434,943 523,639
Production workers? (%) 30.2 39.8 37.3
Service workers? (%) 5.7 7.5 5.9
Professional and technical (%) 9.2 15.0 16.5
Administrative cadres’ (%) 33.4 23.6 20.7
Political cadres’ (%) 8.7 4.3 3.0
Administrative workers? (%) 4.1 4.3 7.2
Peasants> (%) 1.8 1.2 2.0
Others’ (%) 6.9 4.3 7.4
Sources: Primer Congreso del Partido Comunista de Cuba. Tesis y resoluciones (Havana:
Departamento do Orientaci6n Revolucionaria, 1976), p. 23; Isidro G6mez, ‘‘E] Partido
Comunista de Cuba” (Paper presented at the seminar of the Institute for Cuban Studies,
Washington, DC August 16-18, 1979, p. 28; Fidel Castro, Main Report: Second Congress of
the Communist Party of Cuba (New York: Center for Cuban Studies, 1981), p. 27; Massimo
Cavallini, ‘La revolucién es una obra de arte que debe perfeccionarse,’’ Pensamiento Propio ,
(May—June 1986): p. 42.
2In 1975 and 1980, production and service workers were reported jointly——35.9 percent

were given separately. |

and 47.3 percent respectively. I estimated the breakdown based on the 1985 figures which

bT estimated 1980 percentages of these categories based on the Gdmez 1978 figures.

Table 6.5. Occupational Distribution of State Civilian Labor Force,

Cuba, 1975, 1980, 1985
1975 1980 1985
Workers (%) 1,343,300 1,354,300 1,604,400
(56.7) (52.1) (50.6)
Services (%) 378,200 348,000 431,400
(16.0) (13.4) (13.6)
Professional and technical (%) 314,500 484,500 635,100
(13.3) (18.6) (20.0)
Administrative (%) 125,700 180,300 248,500
(5.3) (6.9) (7.8)
Cadres (%) 207,600 232,800 253,900
(8.8) (9.0) (8.0)
Total 2,369,300 2,299,900 3,173,300
Sources: Comité Estatal de Estadisticas, Anuario Estadistico de Cuba 1979, p. 58, and
Anuario Estadistico de Cuba 1986, p. 205.

146
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 147
creased their share of the labor force, their presence in the PCC advanced
fastest and steadiest to about 15 percent. Between 1975 and 1985, cadres
accounted for 8 to 9 percent of the labor force. At each party congress,
about half of all cadres were PCC militants; they had the highest pro-
portion of party members in relation to their group totals (see Table
6.6). The vanguard party of the working class was thus becoming more
representative of other sectors.
By the mid-1980s, the PCC had acquired the basic profile of the -
old Communist parties in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Party
membership had expanded significantly and, thus, more ordinary citi-
zens were involved in the daily conduct of PCC affairs in their work-
places and neighborhoods. During the 1970s and early 1980s, more-
over, the Cuban economy experienced modest growth, and living stan-
dards improved noticeably from their trough of the late 1960s. The
accomplishments of socialism were beginning to legitimate the rule of
the Communist party. The legacy of revolution, however, still weighed
significantly, and central to that legacy was the authority of Fidel
Castro.

Crossroads at Three Party Congresses

The first congress of the Communist party adopted a political and eco-
nomic program very different from the radical experiment. With insti-
tutionalization, the PCC had acquired all the trappings of a vanguard
party. Popular Power assemblies were about to be constituted, and a
referendum would shortly approve the new constitution. The eco-
nomic management and planning system of relative decentralization
and material incentives most clearly embodied the retreat from the late
1960s. The 1975 congress also underscored a broadened unity among
elites: old and new communists came together in what turned out to be
the demise of their historic split. Cuban leaders likewise felt satisfied

Table 6.6. PCC Members as Percentage of Total in Occupational

Categories, 1975, 1980, 1985
1975 19SO 1985
Workers 5.0 12.8 12.2
Services 3.2 9.4 7.2
Professional and technical 6.2 13.5 13.6
Administrative workers 6.9 10.4 15.2
Cadres 42.9 52.1 48.9
Computed from Tables 6.4 and 6.5.
148 The Cuban Revolution
about their relationship to el pueblo cubano. Mass organizations were at-
taining their “proper” level of functioning in a vanguard-led political
system. Popular Power assemblies would give citizens the opportunity
to voice their immediate concerns. Moreover, the economy had at last
registered respectable growth. The year 1975 was a good one. ,
The Cuban leadership could also look outward with satisfaction.
Guerrilla movements in Latin America had faltered, and in 1970 the
Chilean electorate—not force of arms—had finally broken Cuban isola-
tion. In 1971, Salvador Allende had warmly welcomed Fidel Castro on
an extended visit to Chile—his first to Latin America in more than a
decade. Between 1970 and 1975, eight countries in Latin America and
the Caribbean established diplomatic relations with Cuba. While shun-
ning the organization of American States, Cuba became active in other
regional organizations. The impact of the U.S. embargo appeared to
be lessening. The Cuban government also became more active in the
Non-Aligned Movement, and Fidel Castro promoted the idea of conflu-
ent interests between the Soviet Union and the Third World. In 1975,
with Soviet logistical support, Cuban and Angolan government troops
scored an extraordinary victory against the forces of rival Angolan

stronger. :
groups and South Africa. In 1977, with even greater Soviet support,
the Cuban armed forces came to the aid of Ethiopia when Somalia in-
vaded the Ogaden Desert. Cuban prestige in the Third World was never

After 1968, relations with the Soviet Union and the other socialist
countries improved noticeably, and a year later Soviet economic aid be-
gan to increase. CMEA membership secured long-term commitment to
Cuban development. The Cuban leadership accepted the new depen-
dence as the price for maintaining socialism ninety miles from the
United States. The Soviet Union, moreover, renewed its assurances on
Cuban defense, increased the supply of armaments, and upgraded the
quality of military aid. In 1972, all the capitals in Eastern Europe wel-
comed Fidel Castro. Between 1972 and 1975, Castro reciprocated by
hosting his fellow communist leaders. In early 1974, Leonid Brezhnev
visited Cuba and addressed a large congregation of citizens in the Plaza
of the Revolution. The Soviet leader emphasized the soundness of the
new course in Cuban domestic and foreign policies. In symbolic recog-
nition of the broadened Cuban leadership, Brezhnev concluded by
jointly raising the arms of Fidel and Raul Castro.
The Cuban-Soviet rapprochement was complete. Although under
terms radically different from those anticipated during the late 1960s,
Cuban economic and security needs were apparently satisfied. The So-
viet Union saw in Cuba a valuable link to Latin America and the Third
World. Growing relations between Cuba and Latin America, the defeat
of the United States in Vietnam, and the demise of the Nixon presidency
also helped to convince the Soviet Union of Cuban commitment to the
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 149
emerging détente between the two superpowers. In 1973, Cuba and the
United States signed an antihijacking agreement. Although prospects
for improved relations dimmed with the Angolan expedition, the
United States did not pose the same threat to a more consolidated
Cuban government that it had during the early years of the revolution.
Indeed, the 1975 party congress gathered in good times. Whatever
qualms some Cuban leaders—especially perhaps Fidel Castro—might
have had about the new course, the promise of success at home and
abroad probably assuaged them.
Sending troops to Angola underscored a series of characteristics of
Cuban politics after 1959. Named Operation Carlota after a rebellious
slave in the nineteenth century, the Angolan expedition was a Cuban
initiative possibly only because of Soviet support. To a significant de-
gree, Cuban foreign policy attained an extraordinary triumph because
the Vietnam War and Watergate had left the United States in a relatively
weakened position. Ultimately, Fidel Castro and his closest associates
made the decision to send troops to Angola. Elite opposition was highly
unlikely; popular support was assumed and probably materialized after
the fact. After so many setbacks in Latin America, victory in Angola re-
plenished national pride. No other leader except an audacious visionary
like Fidel Castro would have been likely to take advantage of the op-
portunity that the special circumstances of the mid-1970s afforded. Be-
cause of him, Cuba enjoyed the prestige and security that—at least fora
time—resulted from an activist foreign policy.
Involvement in Angola also highlighted the primacy of political
over economic considerations in Cuban politics since 1959. The eco-
nomic costs of Operation Carlota and what turned out to be a fifteen-
year stay in Angola were secondary to the goals of internationalism
and greater maneuverability for Cuba in world affairs. Similarly, these
higher national objectives obscured the multiple tolls support for the
Angolan government would take on ordinary citizens. By all accounts,
nonetheless, most Cubans who served in Angola did so voluntarily,
with great distinction, and notable valor. The Angolan chapter of Cuban
foreign policy focused once again on the ability of the leadership to mo-
bilize the population to answer extraordinary challenges. More notable
was thus the failure of Fidel Castro and the PCC to engage the citizenry
to meet the exigencies of daily life and work.
When the second congress met in 1980, the outlook was considera-
bly less auspicious. After 1976, the economy fell into recession, and ex-
pectations for rapid improvements in living standards were disappoint-
ing. Implementing the SDPE was more complex than anticipated. The
trade-dependent economy—particularly when sugar prices fell—limited
the imports needed to support more autonomous enterprises. The po-
litical will to assume the consequences of the SDPE was also weak. The
problem of the disponibles and the relative decentralization of authority
150 The Cuban Revolution
ran counter to the Cuban experience. Unemployment before 1959 and
the social revolution had rendered full employment and centralized au-
thority two of the principal mainstays of Cuban socialism. The answer
to waning efficiency and growing corruption was, thus, to exercise
greater conciencia. In troubled times, Cuban leaders, especially Fidel
Castro, resorted to the recourse that their own experience had nur-
tured. The material incentives and market mechanisms of the SDPE
were not an easy appeal within that experience.
The year 1980 tested the Cuban government like no other since
1970. In April, 10,000 Cubans flocked to the Peruvian Embassy. Be-
tween April and September, 125,000 Cubans left Cuba via the Mariel
boatlift. The unrealized prospects of the 1970s and the visit of more
than 100,000 Cuban-Americans in 1979 had fueled a tense situation.
The government labeled those wanting to leave “scum” who re-
nounced the ideals of /a patria for the lures of consumerism. The PCC
organized mitines de repudio—meetings to repudiate the “scum”—in
front of the homes of those intending to leave. Two decades after the
revolution, there was still no room for dissent: Con Cuba o contra Cuba
continued to define Cuban politics. Ninety miles away from the United
States and the prosperous Cuban-American communities, the Cuban
government surely had to contend with unreasonable comparisons and
inordinate expectations. Still, the challenge for Cuban leaders lay in
satisfying basic needs—especially in the supply, diversity, and quality of
food and other consumer nondurables—more efficiently, and they had
barely met it. Happening at the same time as the Solidarity movement
in Poland, the Mariel exodus impressed upon the Cuban leadership the
need to reinforce its links with el pueblo cubano.
Internationally, Cuba also faced mixed prospects. Relations with
the Soviet Union continued on terms largely beneficial to the Cuban
government. The election of Jimmy Carter in 1976 created new oppor-
tunities for dialogue with the United States. In 1977, interests sections
opened in Havana and Washington, and rapprochement proceeded
slowly but significantly. Regular communications on varied topics, the
end of the U.S. ban on travel to Cuba, and the release of 3,000 political
prisoners were among the most notable accomplishments. In 1979,
when Cuba hosted the summit of the Non-Aligned Movement, Fidel |
Castro became its president. By then, Cuba had an impressive network
of military advisors and civilian missions in numerous Third World |
countries. In September, President Castro addressed the United Nations
on behalf of the non-aligned nations. Cuba, however, was not elected
to the UN Security Council, as would have been expected because of its
presidency of the Non-Aligned Movement. In December, the Soviet
Union invaded Afghanistan, and Cuba joined the minority of the
United Nations against Soviet censure. In Latin America, relations with
 Politics and Society, 1971-1986 151
Venezuela, Colombia, and Peru deteriorated while they grew with the
revolutionary governments of Grenada and Nicaragua. In Maurice
Bishop and the Sandinistas, the Cuban government at last had truly
kindred allies in the Western Hemisphere.
With the 1980 inauguration of Ronald Reagan, a hostile U.S. ad- —
ministration again confronted Cuba. Although the interests sections re-
mained open, much of the progress made during the Carter presidency
was lost. The Reagan administration reinstated the travel ban thereby
prohibiting U.S. citizens’ travel to Cuba at a time when tourism was
emerging as an important source of hard currency. The threat of mili-
tary aggression also loomed large. The U.S. obsession with Central
America included frequent references about going to the “source” of
outside intervention, and the Cuban government turned to the organi-
zation of popular militias. Institutionalization notwithstanding, Cuban
politics could not remain “normal” for long: the United States con-
tributed to maintaining the politics of mobilization and charismatic au-
thority. In 1984, the two countries nonetheless reached an important
immigration agreement. Cuba, however, suspended it a few months
later when the Reagan administration began the transmissions of Radio
Marti.
On balance, relations with Latin America remained good. In 1982,
the Cuban government supported the Argentine generals in the war
over the Malvinas Islands: Latin American unity took precedence over
ideological differences. Cuba also launched a campaign against paying
the Latin American debt, which did not gain much official support but
gamered the endorsement of numerous opposition groups, intellectu-
als, social movements, and religious base communities throughout the
continent. In 1983, the overthrow of Maurice Bishop and the subse-
quent U.S. invasion of Grenada were setbacks for Cuban foreign policy.
An ally was gone, and Cuban military personnel stationed in Grenada
had not fought the U.S. invaders very forcefully. The response of Cuban
construction workers gave the Cuban leadership cause to reconsider
the established doctrine of national defense. A protessional military
alone would never suffice: national defense ultimately depended on e/
pueblo cubano, and thus the militias were its first rampart.
The early 1980s, saw greater economic liberalization in Cuba since
1968, when the revolutionary offensive had eliminated the last vestiges
of private enterprise. Peasant markets, arts and crafts fairs, self-employ-
ment, and a housing market gave the population opportunities to earn
and spend more. Outright corruption and what the Cuban leadership
deemed to be corrupt practices undoubtedly spread. Many functionar-
ies exploited the perquisites of office for personal gain. Ordinary citi-
zens took full advantage of the market to make money, and goods and
services were often sold at exorbitant profit. Many workers and man-
152 The Cuban Revolution
agers used factory inventories for private gain. As early as 1982, Fidel
Castro had begun to revive the idea of a communist conciencia in the
construction of socialism.
The Cuban economy, moreover, was once again facing deteriorat-
ing international conditions. Foreign exchange earnings were declin-
ing, trade deficits were growing, hard-currency debt was stringently _
renegotiated, and the prospects for the same levels of trade, credit, and
aid from the socialist countries were dim. When the Central Group was
created to supervise the economy in 1984 and Humberto Pérez was re-
moved from JUCEPLAN in 1985, the defeat of the economic reformers
was imminent The SDPE and its prescriptions of greater decentraliza-
tion and material incentives were running counter to the legacy of revo-
lution. Conciencia and charismatic authority did not. When the Commu- |
nist party congress met in 1986, winds of change were decidely stirring.
Although Fidel Castro told the February session that the SDPE encour-
aged capitalist solutions to the problems of socialism, he did not offer an
alternative.°* The concluding session in December, however, sanc-
tioned a new program of moral renewal and economic restructuring: a
process of rectification that Castro had launched in April. That the rec-
tification was his initiative and not the Communist party’s was testi-
mony to the relative weakness of the process of institutionalization. In
the Soviet Union, the reform program of Mikhail Gorbachev was then
in its incipient stages.
 © @ Fe 6
Revolution, Rectification,
and Contemporary Socialism
A communist spirit and conciencia, a revolutionary will and vocation
were, are, and always will be a thousand times more powerful than
money!
Fidel Castro
December 2, 1986

In these times of confusion in which our Revolution—so feared by

reactionaries all over the world, so feared by the empire—stands like
a beacon of light. . . . On this January 1... we are aware of the
enormous responsibility that our Revolution has with all the peo-
ples of the world, with all the workers of the world, and especially
with the peoples of the Third World. We will always meet our
responsibility. That is why today we say with more force than ever:
Socialism or death! Marxism-Leninism or death! which is now the
meaning of what we have repeated so many times over the years:
jPatria o Muerte! ;Venceremos!
Fidel Castro
January 1, 1989

Although the rectification process of Fidel Castro and the reform pro-
gram of Mikhail Gorbachev coincided in time, their differences were
profound. Whereas the Gorbachev reforms aimed—and ultimately
failed—to maintain central planning while gradually implementing far-
reaching market reforms and to institute an unprecedented political plu-
ralism in vanguard party politics, the rectification evoked the radical
experiment of the 1960s. Although Cuba was no longer in revolution,
and Cuban society manifested many of the same problems afflicting state
socialism elsewhere, Cuban conditions—particularly the leadership of
Fidel Castro and continued U.S. hostility—precluded a political opening
and economic decentralization.
After 1986, the Cuban government confronted mounting and multi-
ple crises. With the downfall of Eastern European communism and the

153
154 The Cuban Revolution
disintegration of the Soviet Union, it lost the economic lifeline that had
permitted survival against the U.S. embargo. In the aftermath of the cold
war, the Cuban government was without allies and facing an ever-more-
determined antagonist in the United States. Nonetheless, domestic prob-
lems prominently underscored the post-1986 crises. Daily life, partic-
ularly after 1990, when Soviet trade, credits, and aid dwindled, was
becoming extraordinarily burdensome. Moreover, the dynamic of Fidel-
patria-revolution was wearing down as el pueblo cubano was decidedly
more concerned about the mundane than about the responsibilities of
Cuban socialism before history and the world.

The Process of Rectification

During the mid-1980s, the crisis of socialism fully ripened in Cuba.
Socialism had brought the Cuban people national dignity and social
justice, but it had been considerably less successful in promoting eco-
nomic growth and formal democracy. Nonetheless, the Cuban govern-
ment was not like the governments of the Soviet Union and Eastern
Europe. It had come to power by virtue of a genuine social revolution
that was still more than a distant occurrence. U.S. hostility, moreover,
had sustained the vitality of radical nationalism: social justice and na-
tional sovereignty continued to sway significant sectors of the popula-
tion in support of the government. In contrast to Eastern Europe, the
forces of nationalism reinforced socialism. In addition, Fidel Castro re-
mained at the center of Cuban politics. The process of institutionaliza-
tion had not succeeded in routinizing the dynamic of Fidel-patria-
revolution.
Competing models of socialism had guided the organization of cen-
tral planning and one-party politics. More predominant during the
1960s, the first built upon the experience of the social revolution—
charismatic authority, popular mobilizations, moral incentives, national
independence—to strive for a sui generis socialism. Following the deba-
cle of 1970, the second model turned to the practice of state socialism in
the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Institutionalization, relatively less
centralized planning, material incentives, and dependence on the social-
ist countries characterized the 1970s and early 1980s. Because of U.S.
besiegement, the relative nearness of the social revolution, and the con-
tinued importance of charismatic authority, Cuban socialism never quite
fit the orthodox mold, however.
By the time the Communist party congress convened in February
1986, the second model was largely exhausted. Change—though not in
the direction of perestroika and glasnost—was, indeed, in the offing.
Under the leadership of Fidel Castro, the Cuban government did not
have the option to embark upon challenges to vanguardism and central
planning. Between April and the December session of the PCC congress,
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Soctalism 155

Fidel Castro launched the process of rectification.! Major policy initia-

tives were still his jurisdiction: the PCC lacked the institutional where-
withal to change the course of Cuban politics. To a significant degree, the
party still depended on Fidel Castro and thus could not challenge his
authority nor the logic of revolution that he sought to perpetuate. Nei-
ther was compatible with a political opening and market reforms.
Domestic and international factors, moreover, reinforced the turn
toward the rectification. The implementation of the SDPE had reached a
crossroads: broader and more meaningful application of market mecha-
nisms, or retrenchment. Growing inequalities, corruption, and a corro-
sion of conciencia at a time when Cuba faced the administration of
Ronald Reagan and the original revolutionary leadership was still at the
helm weighed decidedly in favor of retrenchment. The rectification
curbed the peasant markets and other modest market reforms and reaf-
firmed the centrality of the Communist party. The new directions disal-
lowed the institutionalization of the 1970s and early 1980s as ‘‘bad
copies’ of the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Moreover, hard-
currency debt, trade deficits, and a weakening relationship with the
socialist countries signaled the urgency of finding ways to improve eco-
nomic performance. Faced with the crisis of socialism, the Cuban gov-
ernment turned to the tenets of revolution.
The social dynamics of revolution were, however, largely in the past.
That Fidel Castro and the historic leadership still retained the reins of
power allowed the use of revolutionary rhetoric to attempt to mobilize
the citizenry. That the 1960s were sufficiently near in time and U.S.
hostility continued relentless infused the idea of the revolution with
passion and commitment for many citizens. Still, Cuba was no longer in
revolution, and the reality of socialism preeminently determined the
consciousness of daily living. Moreover, a rapidly changing world chal-
lenged the restoration of the old visions. Without the Soviet Union, the
future of socialism in Cuba was uncertain. The crucial question was
whether the resurrection of revolutionary visions would succeed in en-
gaging the citizenry of Cuba—an overwhelming majority of whom were
born or grew up after 1959—in renovating Cuban socialism. And the
rectification, indeed, aimed at nothing less.

The Economics of Rectification

That crisis beset the Cuban economy during the mid-1980s was indispu-
table. The Cuba-USSR relationship had reached a threshold. Mounting
hard-currency debt was rendering Cuba more vulnerable to the world
economy. Because of the U.S. embargo, the Cuban government did not
benefit from the devaluation of the dollar and was in fact hurt by it
because the costs of its hard-currency imports went up. Sugar prices in
the world market fell to the levels of the 1930s, and consequently hard-
156 The Cuban Revolution
currency earnings declined 50 to 60 percent. Moreover, Western credi-
tors exacted considerably harsher repayment terms from Cuba than from
other Third World countries. Without doubt, austerity policies were
needed to promote domestic savings and improve efficiency.
Quite clearly, rectification was not the only option open to the Cu-
ban government to confront the critical juncture of the mid-1980s. A
reform program of widening market relations and better enforcement of
economic controls might have been formulated to mitigate the problems
of the SDPE. Rather than closing the peasant markets, for example, the
government might have levied higher taxes on profits and more effec-
tively regulated the distribution of produce to urban areas. However,
Cuban leaders, especially Fidel Castro, considered that such measures
and the material incentives they implied compromised the ideal of so-
cialism. The logic of revolution emphasized reliance on conciencia and
mass mobilizations as levers to achieve savings and improve produc-
tivity. Cuban leaders assessed the consequences of the SDPE to have
been inimical to the popular resolve and national unity that had made
survival against the United States possible. At a time of growing auster-
ity, they could not fathom calling for the enrichment of some Cubans at
the expense of others.
In July 1986, the government issued a report on the problems that
the rectification aimed to correct. It documented widespread violations
of regulations and lack of control over the economy. Work norms were
outdated, salaries incommensurate to output. Marginal production—
originally meant to maximize use of residual materials—had superseded
primary production in many enterprises. Many workers received a full
day’s pay for half a day’s work for the state and spent the afternoons
pursuing their private gain at other jobs. Too often managers contracted
skilled labor at higher than prescribed wages without subsequently en-
forcing labor discipline to increase productivity. The investment process
was chaotic and wasteful. Frequently, many enterprises did not enforce
their budgets; sometimes, they never developed one. State inspections
were generally ineffective. Interenterprise contracts were underutilized
and loosely regulated. Management regularly inflated prices to meet
output in value without regard to the quality of production. The plan-
ning process demanded inordinate amounts of paperwork and little at-
tention to worker input.
The government report also highlighted the political consequences
of these problems. Economism was pervasive. The pursuit of individual
gain—excessive and often illegal—was the overriding concern of many
people. Economic mechanisms and material incentives were displacing
conciencia. Volunteer work had all but disappeared. Nepotism and socio-
lismo flourished. When transferred to new positions, cadres frequently
hired their friends and relatives. Workers who denounced corruption
often found themselves sidelined. When enforced, sanctions were more
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 157

common against people in lower levels of authority. Managemment

usually failed to involve workers in solving problems. State functionaries
manifested disdain and disregard for public opinion and too often used
state resources for private purposes. Too many enterprises showed dis-
crepancies in cash transactions.
Most of these problems were not new. Investments had never been
efficient and orderly. Planning had always tended to be bureaucratic,
worker participation quite modest, and labor discipline problematic. The
radical experiment had especially disregarded the conduct of day-to-day
affairs and the input of ordinary workers. How much respect and regard
the Cuban government had had for public opinion was a matter of some
contention. Sociolismo and the private use of state resources had likewise
been commonplace. Other problems were more directly the conse-
quence of the SDPE. Local control over the wage funds had created the
possibility of excessive salaries. Greater availability of goods and services
had enhanced the value of money and the likelihood that people would
seek ways to earn more. The state never fully defined SDPE mechanisms
for budgets, contracts, financing, and other measures of enterprise per-
formance. Between 1979 and 1985, JUCEPLAN had emphasized most of
these problems in four reports on the SDPE. Indeed, the rectification
assumed ongoing criticisms of the SDPE while rejecting the prescription
of further decentralization.
After 1984, the party began to curtail the powers of JUCEPLAN. The
Central Group took over many of its functions, and Humberto Pérez was
demoted. In late 1984, Castro had first emphasized the need to engage
the people in the struggle for the economy. Conctencia had made possible
renewed mobilizations for national defense in response to a threatening
Reagan administration. The revitalized militias gave testimony to the
popular involvement that had marked the best years of the revolution.
Conciencia, the Cuban leadership once again contended, was also an
economic recourse. ?
Not until 1986, however, did the 1984 emphasis become policy. The
rectification disregarded further market reforms and restricted the opera-
tion of the SDPE. Curbing salaries, revising norms, and other measures
aimed to improve enterprise profitability and save up to 500 million
pesos a year.* The microbrigades absorbed surplus labor and constructed
day-care centers and housing worth 300 million pesos in 1988.° In
December 1986, the government announced an austerity program under
the banner of equality. While the prices of public transportation, utilities,
and parallel market goods increased, the program cut back more heavily
on the perquisites of state functionaries.© Shortly thereafter, workers
whose wages ranked them in the lowest 10 percent of the labor force
received salary increases of 10 to 18 percent.”
Until 1989, the rectification process sought to improve the efficiency
of the Cuban economy under international conditions that had not yet
 158 The Cuban Revolution
radically changed. The new directions aimed to mobilize conciencia in
pursuit of economic objectives and regain the national imprimatur for
socialism in Cuba. While praising the radical experiment of the 1960s
over the institutionalization of the 1970s and 1980s, the Cuban lead-
ership underscored the importance of avoiding the “‘idealistic’’ mistakes
of the past. Nonetheless, the policies of promoting efficiency by curbing
market mechanisms and appealing to conciencia raised serious questions.
These policies had not worked when the effervescence of revolution was
: a more recent experience, and there was little reason to expect that they
would work when the reality of socialism had already marked popular
awareness. Moreover, after 1989, the Cuban government suffered a
drastic reduction of the network of trade, credits, and aid with the Soviet

omies. ,
Union and Eastern Europe. In addition, the collapse of state socialism
discredited the model of one-party politics and centrally planned econ-

In the early 1990s, Cuban leaders were increasingly facing a situa-

tion not unlike the one they would have faced in the early 1960s had the
Soviet Union not been willing to become their mentor. How to survive
when the international infrastructure of the past three decades was rap-
idly disintegrating and the United States now more than ever persisted
with the embargo in a final effort to force them to capitulate? More
starkly than in 1986 when the rectification was launched, the choices
after 1989 were between accepting the need for widespread market re-
forms or insisting on policies aimed at forging a rather elusive “efficient
socialist organization.’’® Generally speaking, the latter was the option.
In August 1990, when the government declared the special period in
peacetime, it signaled a commitment to socialism against all odds.? The
special period was an attempt to reinsert the Cuban economy into the
world economy without relinquishing socialism and compromising na-
tional sovereignty to the United States. If successful, such a transition
would, indeed, be as extraordinary as that which Cuba had achieved
during the early 1960s, when the erstwhile socialist countries had sup-
planted the United States. To succeed, the socialist economy had to
sustain levels of efficiency that, even under more amenable international
circumstances, it had never attained. Labor productivity and the incen-
tives to work under socialism were crucial questions.
When launched in 1986, the rectification confronted the long-
standing dilemma of the working class under socialism. The experience
of state socialism indicated that governing in the name of the proletariat
did not truly empower workers. Party and state interests were clearly not
the same as those of the working class. Moreover, workers customarily
manifested an awareness of their interests much more bound by the
here-and-now than the historically minded (in the best of cases) leaders
of vanguard parties. Quotidian concerns were much more likely to moti-
vate the working class than the inevitable march of history. The dis-
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 159

tinctiveness of Cuban socialism notwithstanding, the government had

always confronted that intractable dilemma. After 1961, the problem of
motivating workers while promoting social justice and economic devel-
opment had confounded the Cuban leadership. Three decades later, they
were no closer to forging a substitute set of work incentives to sustain
socialism in Cuba.
One of the primary targets of the rectification was curbing salaries
paid out regardless of work performance and production output.
Workers in two key economic sectors—sugar and capital goods—had
most often benefited from excessive salaries.!° As state controls over
enterprises tightened, the average salary quickly decreased. Workers in
industry and construction suffered salary reductions of about 2 percent.
However, although overall average wages in the productive sphere de-
clined about .5 percent, they increased nearly 2 percent in the non-
productive sectors. Workers in public administration experienced the
highest increase, about 3 percent.!! Not surprisingly, many workers
viewed the rectification as a drive to reduce their salaries. In June 1987,
Castro affirmed that the rectification was not primarily about salary
reductions. He had also previously noted: ‘‘The state does not steal, the
state collects for the people. . . . The state is not a capitalist boss.’’!2
Most workers, however, continued to manifest an immediate conciencia
of their interests, and many failed to see how the state collected for the
people. Consequently, the leadership was forced to reiterate the nominal
raison d'étre of the state in socialism.
Calls for stricter labor discipline also underscored the predicament of
state socialism. Over the long run, Decree No. 32 on labor discipline had
not proven to be as effective as expected; the unions successfully de-
fended workers against management sanctions. In 1985, for example,
somewhat under 1 percent of the labor force appealed discipline sanc-
tions in municipal courts. Of approximately 32,000 appeals, only 38
percent confirmed administrative decisions. Unions tended to argue
their cases more effectively than management, and municipal courts
ruled in favor of workers in three out of five cases.!3 History had come
full circle. During the 1940s, Cuban capitalists had expressed dismay at
the 3:5 ratio in favor of workers on judicial appeals and had similarly
argued that economic growth depended on improving labor discipline
and productivity. At the outset of rectification, the Central Committee
chastised the unions for their ‘“‘indolence and tolerance’’ of indiscipline
and payment of excessive salaries.!4 The task for unions was to secure a
full-day’s work from workers and not to be so preoccupied with end-of-
the-year bonuses.!> In 1988, Castro created a bit of a stir when he noted
that highly productive Japanese workers had only six paid vacation days
a year while Cubans enjoyed thirty. Shortly thereafter, Castro explained
that he did not mean to suggest that vacations be shortened but, rather,
that workers ‘‘work hard’’ to improve productivity.!6 Cuban leaders
160 The Cuban Revolution
called for the elimination of ‘‘paternalism” from an ‘excessively protec-
tive, generous, benevolent, magnanimous” state.!7 They also asserted

growth. !§
that extant labor laws undermined labor discipline and economic

The Cuban government was entangled in a web of conciencia and

efficiency. Indeed, improved labor productivity was critical for economic
growth. Salaries incommensurate with work performed undermined
productivity as well as conciencia of national interests. Upgrading norms
and linking salaries to actual output made economic sense. The immedi-
ate consequence was the reduction of salaries in the productive sphere,
however. As the spirited insistence on conciencia, the reduction of sal-
aries, and the ever-increasing shortages took their toll, workers had
decreasing incentives to work. The ideal of upholding social justice in the
face of austerity resulted in salary increases for the lowest paid workers
who were not likely to lead the drive to improve productivity. In con-
trast, the workers who suffered salary reductions were more likely to
contribute to economic development. Motivating workers with more
productive potential required linking conciencta of their immediate inter-
ests with those of the nation. The rectification largely rejected the propo-
sition that material incentives were the primary means to make that link.
With the special period, the tensions between efficiency and conciencia .
were further aggravated. Under the conditions of the early 1990s, success
at renewing socialism increasingly appeared to be a chimera.

The Politics of Rectification

The politics of rectification also emerged in two stages. Between 1986
and 1989, Cuban leaders emphasized the political importance of the
Communist party, which in their view the SDPE had sidelined. With the
goal of enterprise profitability as a new ‘‘invisible hand,’’ the economic
management and planning system had defined largely ‘‘economistic’”’
functions for the PCC. Party tasks revolved mostly around the imple-
mentation of economic directives. Communists, the rectification
claimed, had to exercise political leadership by placing ‘‘man’’—not
profitability—at the center of their work. And, politics meant appealing
to higher ideals to motivate people to work, reasons that went beyond
satisfying their immediate concerns. Material inducements alone had
not led the Cuban people to make the revolution. Commitments to la
patria and social justice had been more central inspirations. The rec-
tification intended to rescue that élan and incorporate it into the politics
of socialism.
The new politics was first evident in the restitution of old forms of
labor mobilization. Microbrigades, construction contingents, and volun-
teer work exemplified the reinforcement of politics to attain economic
results. During the early 1970s, microbrigades had been used mainly to
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 161

build apartment houses. Enterprises formed microbrigades with their

own workers and then distributed the apartments in local assemblies.
With the establishment of the SDPE, planners and managers had mini-
mized their importance. JUCEPLAN had asserted the Construction Min-
istry would be more efficient at building more and better quality hous-
ing. And, in fact, housing construction expanded from nearly 28,000
units in 1981 to about 42,000 a year during the mid-1980s. In the peak
year of 1984, moreover, private construction accounted for 32 percent of
the total.!9 Nonetheless, the SDPE had not emphasized socially useful
construction like day-care centers and clinics. The microbrigades did and
mobilized workers to promote collective well-being.
Although construction contingents had purposes similar to those of
microbrigades, they mobilized construction workers, the unemployed,
and many Angolan veterans. The leadership and the media often hailed
contingent workers who normally worked overtime.2° Work in con-
struction microbrigades and contingents was paid; volunteer work,
which the SDPE had also disregarded, was not. In 1987, more than
400,000 people volunteered at least forty hours each to meet various
social and economic tasks.2! After 1990, when the government pro-
claimed the food plan, thousands of city dwellers went once again to the
countryside to do agricultural tasks. Whether paid or voluntary, these
forms of work emphasized collective conciencia and collective needs. The
SDPE had instead enhanced individual interests and private gain.
Conciencia, however, was a problem. Undoubtedly, the revolution
had awakened national pride and a sense of empowerment in the Cuban
people. Indeed, conciencia was in the streets when Ernesto Guevara
wrote about the creation of new human beings. The rectification was
trying to revitalize that original spirit, which the SDPE had allegedly
weakened. The Cuban leadership did not accept that—with or without
the SDPE—the enthusiasm of the early years could not possibly have
been the same after three decades. Appeals to conciencia and mass mobi-
lizations were, nonetheless, the hallmark of the Cuban Revolution, and
the rectification resorted to them, but compulsion often appeared to be a
more effective lever than conciencia.
Stricter labor laws were believed to be the means to attain better
labor discipline. Penalties were levied against those who persisted in
their ‘‘mercantile habits.’”22 When many enterprises continued to pay
excessive salaries, the government created special groups to enforce the
policy on wages.?? People violated the law so extensively that in 1986
the National Assembly president asserted that all laws would from then
on be respected.24 The rectification had evidently not curbed the misuse
and neglect of state resources, and the black market continued to flour-
ish. The party ordered the dismissal of all political cadres, state function-
aries, and mass organization leaders who bought stolen merchandise.?°
At the same time, the National Assembly passed a new code that decrim-
162 The Cuban Revolution
inalized many illicit activities and reduced jail sentences for numerous
crimes, and a regulation for deleting past sanctions from the dossiers of
workers who improved their labor discipline.
The Communist party was central to the rectification process. The
SDPE had tended to substitute ‘““mechanisms” for political direction. The
party had been more concerned with its own internal affairs than with
exercising vanguard leadership. A ‘‘new style’ was therefore needed to
reinforce ‘‘contact with the masses.’’ The PCC mandated that provincial
and municipal cadres visit enterprises, schools, and neighborhoods to
identify problems, provide solutions, and convey explanations. Regular
institutional channels often failed to feel the popular pulse. A vanguard
party had to listen to ordinary Cubans, establish a dialogue with them,
and gain their confidence. As in the early 1970s, the leadership called
upon party cadres to “‘lead,’”’ not to “‘administer.’’27
The first session of the 1986 congress did not, however, dwell on
PCC deficiencies. Fidel Castro noted, ‘‘With profound satisfaction the
party arrives at its third congress stronger, more united and better orga-
nized than ever, with ever increasing links to the working class and the
rest of the popular masses.’’2® Like its assessment of the SDPE, the Feb-
ruary self-evaluation did not fully correspond with the view the rectifica-
tion would emphasize shortly thereafter. In July, the plan of action listed
numerous economic and administrative problems that surely had been
known but not analyzed in February. As the rectification took shape, the
need for a ‘‘new style’’ of work for the party likewise assumed great
significance. Castro initiated the rectification; the party had to imple- ,
ment it. In December, the closing session of the congress endorsed the
new call to strengthen the party. Castro stressed the centrality of the
party, and the origins of rectification highlighted the continued preemi-
nence of charismatic leadership.
The rectification had a populist undercurrent. The party called upon
workers to be inspectors at their work centers. The lowest paid workers
received salary increases. Austerity measures reduced perquisites for
functionaries and cadres. Citizens like a Santiago woman who was fired
from her accounting job for denouncing bookkeeping and payroll incon-
sistencies were exalted in the media. After reviewing her case, the na-
tional party reinstated her with back pay and dismissed those who had
fired her.29 Cuban leaders emphasized themes reminiscent of the cam-
paign against bureaucracy during the 1960s. They lambasted the ‘‘abso-
lutely reactionary’”’ bureaucrats and technocrats who were incapable of
understanding popular needs.2° Managers tended to be ‘‘indifferent,
negligent, irresponsible,’’” and somewhat resistant to change.?! Political
and administrative cadres—not the working class—were principally to
blame for the state of affairs that had led to the rectification. By the end
of 1988, the government had laid off or transferred to productive work
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 163

more than 6,300 administrative workers and 16,400 administrative

cadres. 3?
Nonetheless, the rectification was not confronting another crucial
conundrum of socialism: the dilemma of formal democracy. In Cuba
and elsewhere, the downfall of capitalism had not resulted in new forms
of democracy. Although the revolution had notably expanded popular
involvement in public affairs, one-party politics severely constrained the
right to dissent. The ‘‘power motive,” as Alberto Mora had warned in
1965, frequently replaced the ‘‘money motive.’” An overblown bureau-
cracy was not the only obstacle to maintaining popular support. In the
past, the Cuban leadership had repeatedly issued calls for strengthening
the party, reinforcing “contact with the masses,” and broadening
worker participation without sustained success. Political democracy re-
quired separation of powers. Democratization in the workplace de-
pended on greater enterprise autonomy, effective material incentives,
and worker supervision over labor discipline. More meaningful partici-
pation demanded systematic worker input into the appointment and
recall of managers. Ultimately, democracy meant political contestation,
and the Cuban leadership was as resistant as ever to the formalities of
democratic politics.
The rectification, moreover, was emphasizing the higher callings of
la patria and the revolution to reaffirm national unity during increas-
ingly adverse times. Claiming legitimacy on the basis of their history,
Cuban leaders contended that they were the repository of the national
honor and the popular well-being. They seemed implicitly to be arguing
that only history could pass judgment upon their exercise of power.
Consequently, the Communist party could not be subjected to the super-
vision of elections. The party in ‘‘contact with the masses”’ was its own
check and balance. The Central Committee had, for example, approved
the Granma article on the Santiago accountant. Castro had unequivo-
cally stated:
Nobody should imagine that somebody on his own can write an article
judging the state, the party, the laws, but especially the party. We want
broad information, but . . . nobody can assume the prerogative of judging
the party. This should be very clear. Ours is not a liberal-bourgeois regime. 34

The rectification relied primarily on moral principles to safeguard

the exercise of power. Charismatic leadership had initiated the new
policies, and cadres were the primary link between the party and the
masses. Institutional channels frequently obstructed the ‘‘correct’’ exe-
cution of political orientations. Only when the Santiago woman had
appealed to the national party had she obtained a review of her case. All
other intermediate structures had failed her. Castro had a special advi-
sory commission to keep fully abreast of domestic developments. The
164 The Cuban Revolution
Central Committee and the Council of Ministers were not sufficient. The
rectification, therefore, was remiss in providing guidelines for governing
Cuba after Fidel Castro. Moreover, only charismatic authority rendered
the discourse of moral exhortations, revolutionary sacrifice, and radical
nationalism possible. Whatever the international circumstances of the
late 1980s and early 1990s, the Cuban government would have had to _
face the prospect of the transition from the historic leadership. The end
of the cold war imparted that eventual transition with ominous pros-
pects. For the first time since the rout of the U.S.-sponsored Bay of Pigs
invasion in 1961, the downfall of the government was a real possibility.
The rectification was, nonetheless, resorting to the politics of revolution
at a time when the viability of socialism was quite uncertain.
In 1989, a new stage began in the politics of rectification. Domestic
developments first underscored the urgency of revising the status quo.
The summer of 1989 notoriously highlighted the pitfalls of charismatic
authority and the weaknesses of Cuban institutions, especially the Com-
munist party. In June, the government arrested Division General Ar-
naldo Ochoa, Hero of the Republic of Cuba, veteran of the wars in
Ethiopia and Angola, and commander-designate of the Western Army;
the Interior Ministry’s Colonel Antonio de la Guardia; and twelve other
high-ranking military and security officers. Their arrests became a crisis
of scandalous proportions. The fourteen—individuals of high prestige,
singular valor, and impeccable credentials—faced accusations of drug
trafficking and endangering national security. Their actions lent cre-
dence to long-standing U.S. charges and had given the United States
cause to take preemptive strikes against Cuba. Because world opinion
justly repudiated the drug trade, the Cuban government would have had
little recourse against the United States.
After a military court found the defendants guilty, Ochoa, de la
Guardia, and their two top aides were put to death before a firing squad.
The others received jail sentences ranging from 10 to 30 years.*° The
party also discharged Interior Minister José Abrantes and the top com-
manders of the security establishment. Widespread dismissals in the
security apparatus, other ministries, and the network of agencies dealing
with tourism and foreign trade were likewise reported.3© Abrantes was
eventually arrested, brought to trial, and sentenced to a 20-year prison
term for dereliction of duty. He was, however, absolved from having
known about or partaken in drug trafficking.3”7 Even though Ochoa was
an army general, Armed Forces Minister Raul Castro and other high-
level military officers did not suffer the same treatment.
The trials of 1989 might have had a political script. General Ochoa
might have been involved in an incipient movement for reform within
the armed forces, especially among Angolan veterans. Had that been the
case and the drug scandal not eliminated him, Ochoa might have been
well positioned to advance their cause as the commander-designate of
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 165

the powerful Western Army. His actions and those of Antonio de la

Guardia and the other officers might have been authorized, or at least
known and overlooked, at the highest levels of the Cuban government.
Whether or not there was a conspiracy or high-ranking complicity was,
in important ways, secondary. The crisis underscored a crucial dimen-
sion of Cuban politics. The exercise of charismatic authority depended
on a special relationship with the ‘‘masses’”’ as well as steadfast elite
loyalty. Although after 1970 institutions had increasingly mediated be-
tween the government and the citizenry, they had not overridden the
dynamics of charismatic authority.
The summer of 1989 bared the central predicament of the leadership
of Fidel Castro. The need for elite allegiance resulted in the tolerance of
wide-ranging behavior among high-ranking officials. The government
had long faced the problem that many among the leadership lived well
beyond the means of the average citizen.*8 Privileged lives in the face of
an ideology of equality and an economy of austerity had undoubtedly
eroded state legitimacy. The scandals of 1989, moreover, had originated
in the armed forces and the Interior Ministry, the two pillars of the
government. In addition, the history of graft and malfeasance in Cuba
before 1959 rendered the issue of corruption particularly sensitive.
Nonetheless, corruption had to reach truly brazen proportions for action
to be taken against the culprits. Whether or not he knew about the
Ochoa—de la Guardia undertakings, Fidel Castro was ultimately respon-
sible for the events of 1989. The crisis was primarily about the patterns of
governance that had failed to monitor such behavior and about a politi-
cal system whose institutions did not function, or functioned weakly.
Internationally, the year 1989 likewise underscored the imperative
of political change. Crisis in the Soviet Union and the demise of Eastern
European socialism signaled the end of the socialist camp and belied the
premise of irreversability of socialism. One-party politics and command
economies had run their course: socialist democracy and sustained eco-
nomic development had proven to be beyond their means. The people—
workers, peasants, the intelligentsia—repudiated state socialism. The
collapse of communism in Eastern Europe confronted the Cuban gov-
ernment with the international shambles of the political model that had
consolidated the revolution. Emphasizing the roots of the revolution and
socialism in Cuban history, the rectification now aimed to renew the
political system and renovate popular adherence to the current lead-
ership.
In a September 1989 editorial in Granma, the party called for an
institutional perfeccionamiento (improvement), denied that the recent
trials had constituted a crisis, and declared cases like those of Ochoa and
the Interior Ministry officers to be exceptional.3? Granma argued that the
political system had dealt efficaciously with these unusual cases. None-
theless, the party implicitly recognized that the summer of 1989 had
166 The Cuban Revolution
strained political legitimacy. “We must say it clearly: what has just hap-
pened has revealed a series of flaws which, in one way or another,
involve all the institutions of the Revolution.” The party became the
central component of the perfeccionamiento. The PCC congress—initially
slated for 1990, then scheduled for the first semester of 1991, and finally
held October 10-15, 1991-—-and its preparatory process offered the lead-
ership the opportunity to renew legitimacy and regain credibility. In
February 1990, the Central Committee issued a call for the congress and,
a month later, Rati Castro delivered the /lamamiento (convocation) .4°

The Cuban Communist Party and the Future

of Cuban Socialism
The document calling the congress of the Communist party constituted
the Cuban leadership’s answer to the double crisis of 1989. The /lama-
miento reaffirmed the national origins of revolution and socialism in
Cuba, the benefits and dignity that the past three decades had brought
the Cuban people, and the enduring legitimacy of the mandate of 1959.
Claiming once again the mantle of the independence struggles that the
Ten Years’ War had begun in 1868, the PCC declared that only the
present leadership had the wherewithal to uphold that heritage. The
Baragua Protest of 1878, when Antonio Maceo had refused to lay down
his arms against the Spanish army, was the symbol par excellence of
Cuban resistance against foreign impositions and one that the party
wholeheartedly appropriated.
Contrary to the prevailing international consensus, the Cuban lead-
ership emphasized the paramount importance of revolutionary ideol-
ogy, social property, and economic planning. The /Jlamamiento reiterated
the primacy of the PCC: “The Cuban Communist Party is now and
always the party of the Revolution, the party of socialism, and the party
of the Cuban nation.” That assertion notwithstanding, the document
emphasized the need to avoid Ja doble moral (duplicity) and el afan de
unanimidad (unrealistic eagerness to achieve unanimity) and to refrain
from political discrimination, especially against religious believers.
These differences, however, were possible only within what the Cuban
leadership understood to be the national unity necessary to safeguard
national independence, socialism, and the revolutionary heritage. Con-
sequently, the party moved away from the politics of sectorial interests
of the 1970s and early 1980s. Held in January and March of 1990, the
CTC and FMC congresses gave evidence of the new political turn.

The CTC and the FMC in the Rectification Process

Since 1986, when the rectification began to curtail the economic man-
agement and planning system, the CTC had experienced a relative re-
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 167

trenchment. The SDPE had allowed a partial coincidence of interests

between managers and workers. The unions had also proven to be effec-
tive in defending workers against management-imposed sanctions. Un-
der the rectification, the Cuban leadership criticized the CTC for abetting
practices that were contrary to national interests and socialist objectives.
The actual conciencia of the working class was undermining historical
visions, and the unions were not combating the many manifestations of
widening economism. The challenge was to promote the correct concien-
cia, and thus the party charged the CTC with reining in economistic
tendencies, fostering labor discipline, improving enterprise efficiency,
and curtailing the persistent problem of stolen goods and off-schedule
services that fueled the black market. In 1989, the party removed Gen-
eral Secretary Roberto Veiga and appointed Pedro Ross to preside over
the preparations for the CTC congress in January 1990.4! Thus, the PCC
once again violated CTC statutes whereby the recall of leaders was a
union prerogative.
Within the limits of vanguard politics, the relative institutionaliza-
tion of the 1970s and early 1980s had strengthened the unions to act on
behalf of workers and opened the possibility of greater rank-and-file
involvement in enterprise affairs. After 1986, the rectification curbed the
SDPE, and the question of the proper role of trade unions resurfaced.
The CTC congress addressed it under circumstances that were already
inauspicious. Unlike the congresses of the 1970s and early 1980s, the
congress in 1990 did not have the ‘‘space’’ for union activity that the
SDPE had defined. The compass of the rectification was more difficult to
adjust for the daily conduct of union affairs. Promoting correct conciencia
was a more abstract task than securing larger wage funds, bonuses, and
other material rewards. In addition, an economic recession that would
soon become a near-collapse further constrained the unions. National
prerogatives took precedence over sectorial interests. Symbolic of the
predominant ambience was the attendance of congress delegates in mili-
tia uniforms.
The CTC report to the congress highlighted the central charge of
developing conciencia among workers. New forms of labor mobilization
and renewed efforts to enhance worker participation in enterprise man-
agement received particular emphasis. Delegates again considered mat-
ters of labor discipline. The CTC insisted on greater worker control over
the process of labor justice and the need for some degree of collective
supervision of enterprise management. The primary concern, however,
was to promote conciencia of the legitimate interests of workers within
the purview of national priorities. Although the congress emphasized
moral and collective incentives, the labor leadership did not dismiss the
significance of individual, material rewards for high-quality, efficient
work. Like the party, the CTC advocated a ‘‘new style” of leadership and
special attention to ordinary workers and their needs. The congress un-
168 The Cuban Revolution
derscored the importance of keeping “‘contact’’ with the rank and file
and echoed critiques of bureaucratic methods similar to those of the
rectification.43
Like the radical experiment and the institutionalization, the rec-
tification failed to acknowledge that workers and unions might have
cause to challenge the government and the national leadership. How-
ever dissimilar the two earlier periods had been, both had, nonetheless,
found support in then-prevailing domestic and international conditions.
The rectification stood on much less certain grounds. Moreover, the
themes raised at the CTC congress of 1990 were not novel. Since 1961,
the role of unions in a centrally planned economy, the tensions between
central supervision and local autonomy, the relationship between
workers and managers, and the problems of wages, discipline, and effi-
ciency had been constant elements. Most important, the CTC congress
still grappled with the question of how to make workers behave like the
owners of the national wealth that socialism proclaimed them to be. The
Cuban leadership continued to assume workers would manifest new
work attitudes and national perspectives once they acquired the right
conciencia. Neither the radical experiment nor the institutionalization
had promoted that elusive conctencia. The early 1990s were did not
augur success to the rectification.
The FMC congress in March likewise differed from previous gather-
ings of the organization during the 1970s and early 1980s. The congress
document echoed many of the themes that the party and the federation
had promoted since the mid-1970s. The FMC highlighted persistent ob-
stacles to gender equality such as the double burden of work and home,
continued discrimination in job promotions, and the enduring lag in
promoting women to leadership positions. The federation especially em-
phasized the problems of working women and the need to work more
closely with the CTC. The FMC document underscored the new stage the
organization was entering because of membership changes. During the
early 1960s, federadas were largely housewives without previous politi-
cal experience. Three decades later, FMC members covered the full spec-
trum of Cuban women—professionals, students, housewives, workers,
retirees—with a long record of political and social activities.44
Nonetheless, the FMC congress did not fully discuss the document.
More so than the earlier CTC gathering, the FMC meeting focused on the
national situation. In February, the electoral defeat of the Sandinistas
had. stunned the Cuban leadership. Although in his address Fidel Castro
reiterated the importance of equality between women and men, the
emphasis was on the reaffirmation of socialism, the imperative of na-
tional defense, and the pursuit of new economic strategies. Although the
priority the congress placed on the need to recruit young women was
one of the few inklings to the crisis of purpose confronting the organiza-
tion, there was little else that anticipated the criticisms that the party
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 169

assemblies in the summer of 1990 would express.4° Neither could an

observer of the congress have anticipated that FMC President Vilma
Espin would be excluded from the Politburo in October 1991. The down-
turn of the FMC from functioning relatively well until the mid-1980s to
having its existence questioned and its president marginalized during the
early 1990s has yet to be fully documented.*¢

The Fourth Party Congress

Mass discussions of the /lamamiento for the party congress constituted
the first step in what Cuban leaders hoped would be a process of reno-
vating popular consent. In April, the PCC suspended the first round. The
discussions were being carried out in rote fashion with an “‘unrealistic
eagerness to achieve unanimity.’ Calling for a ‘‘conscious and active
participation” and a culture of debate, the party reconvened the assem-
blies in the summer.47 In June, however, Granma published a Politburo
note establishing the debate boundaries: the one-party system, the so-
cialist economy, and, implicitly, the leadership of Fidel Castro.48 The
PCC said the precongress process was one of ‘‘meaningful consultation”
and ‘‘political clarification.’’4? In the second round, the citizenry took up
the summons to debate and express critical opinions like never before
since 1959. Nonetheless, the party could take solace that the substantial
turnout also represented a manifestation of popular confidence. The
assemblies overwhelmingly favored reforms within socialism: reopening
peasant markets, legalizing self-employment, and holding direct elec-
tions to the National Assembly of Popular Power.>*°
The congress preliminaries also included an internal PCC process of
elections and restructuring. Between January and April 1990, militants
voted for their local leaders using secret ballots rather than raising their
hands.>! Throughout 1990 and early 1991, municipal and provincial
assemblies similarly selected their leaderships. The intraparty elections
turned over up to 50 percent of the municipal leaders and two of the
fourteen provincial secretaries and that of the Isle of Youth.°2 The turn-
over, however, did not result from competitive elections but, rather,
from the failure of party commissions to renominate the incumbents.
Moreover, the electoral procedure of a single list of candidates was not
modified. The significant change was listing 20 to 25 percent more can-
didates than those required to fill the positions. Militants marked two Xs
beside the name of their choice for first secretary.
In October 1990, the PCC announced the restructuring of party
committees, cut back the number of professional cadres, eliminated ten
of the nineteen Central Committee departments, and reduced the Secre-
tariat from ten to five members.?* Cuban leaders had always equated
bureaucratic retrenchment with more effective governance, and they
were thus following their long-held beliefs in streamlining the party
170 The Cuban Revolution
apparatus. However limited, elections also had an unprecedented im-
portance in the precongress preparations: local party committees elected
one-third of the delegates and suggested candidates for the Central Com-
mittee. The party hierarchy selected the remaining two-thirds and drew
up the final list of CC nominees.*4
Cuban leaders had never entertained democracy to mean the right
to dissent from the ideals of national independence and social justice as
they understood them. They claimed the legacy of Cuban history as their
mantle and denied the possibility of alternate ways of defending /a patria
and promoting social justice. They had always considered central plan-
ning and vanguard politics to be the bulwark of state power. The //ama-
miento discussions and the October 1991 congress were never charged—
as the Politburo note well made clear—with questioning the one-party
system, the socialist economy, and Fidel Castro. In January 1991, the
party leadership concluded:
There was unanimous, unqualified support for the Revolution, for the Party,
for its policies. . . . What is significant and far reaching about this process
is its positive balance sheet in favor of the Party, the Revolution, and the
First Secretary of our Party, comrade Fidel. It was . . . a plebiscite in favor
of socialism with the right to debate.°>

The uncontested unity of revolutionary politics was therefore constrain-

ing the scope of the changes that Cuban society so eminently required.
On October 10, 1991, the Communist party convened its fourth
congress in Santiago de Cuba. Less than two months had passed since
the failed coup against Mikhail Gorbachev. During the uncertain days of
late August, the Cuban government had issued a subdued statement
about noninterference in Soviet internal affairs.°© Nonetheless, the pros-
pect of a successful coup surely raised the hopes of Cuban leaders for a
modest stabilization of trade with the Soviet Union. Had the coup suc-
ceeded, they would have, more importantly, recovered a_ politico-
ideological ally. When the PCC congress convened, the Cuban lead-
ership knew that all hopes of reinstating the status quo ante in the
rapidly decomposing Soviet Union had definitively vanished. Cuba was
decidedly alone. The congress emphasized the historic roots of the revo-
lution and socialism in Cuba and declared the PCC to be “sole party of
the Cuban nation, martiano, Marxist, and Leninist.’°7 On the 123d
anniversary of the start of the Ten Years’ War, the PCC met near the
Moncada Barracks and the Sierra Maestra. The parallels between the
Cubans who had taken up arms against Spain and those who now defied
all odds to preserve the nation abounded. A substantial contingent of
military and security officers, including Armed Forces Minister Raul
Castro and Interior Minister Abelardo Colomé, were absent from the
initial sessions: they were safeguarding Ja patria from their command
posts so that the congress could take place. About one-third of the dele-
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 171

gates were veterans from internationalist missions. Nearly 1,700 Cuban

communists were charged with saving ‘‘Ja patria, the revolution, and
socialism.’’>8 ,
Unlike previous congresses, this congress did not feature Fidel Cas-
tro reading a main report that reviewed past economic performance, the
mass organizations, the state administration, the party itself, and other
matters. Instead, Castro made a long opening speech concentrating on
ideological issues, the disappearance of the socialist countries, the disin-
tegration of the Soviet Communist Party, the uniqueness of Cuban so-
cialism, and the place of foreign investment in national development. In
an effort to explain an increasingly pressing economic situation, he de-
tailed the significant shortfalls in Soviet deliveries of oil, raw materials,
and food products during the first nine months of 1991.59 However
unintentionally, Castro also rendered a thorough inventory of Cuban
dependence on the Soviet Union: its extent seriously undermined the
claim to independence so central to the revolutionary heritage. During
the 1970s and early 1980s, Cuban leaders had accepted the terms of the
relationship with the Soviet Union without incorporating into their de-
velopment strategies a reduction of dependence. They had forsaken the
ideal of a more balanced relationship with the world economy that had
inspired their efforts during the 1960s. Undoubtedly, the Cuban govern-
ment had faced exceptionally contrary odds because of the United
States. Nonetheless, the shortfall in Soviet deliveries laboriously tallied
to the party congress was also an indictment: the Cuban leadership had
failed to achieve a more balanced economy to sustain the nation.
Congress delegates considered resolutions on PCC statutes, the party
program, foreign policy, Popular Power assemblies, and the granting of
special powers to the Central Committee. Their substance did not depart
from the course that the rectification had taken, especially after 1989.
The resolutions, nonetheless, contained changes and ideas of some note.
The party eliminated the Secretariat and alternate-member status to the
Central Committee. Discrimination against religious believers was
banned. Direct elections to the National Assembly and provincial assem-
blies of Popular Power were approved. The PCC recognized the need to
increase popular participation—“‘in organized and constructive ways’’—
to attain ‘‘the necessary consensus.’’©° In spite of popular demand, the
congress did not approve the reopening of peasant markets but con-
sented to limited forms of self-employment. The party emphasized polit-
ical and economic integration into Latin America and promised Latin
American investors preferential treatment under the new policy of at-
tracting foreign capital. Finally, the congress conferred upon the Central
Committee ‘special powers” in the event of situations endangering ‘‘/a
patria, the revolution, and socialism.’’6! The declaration of a state of
emergency was, thus, a possibility the Communist party evidently con-
templated.
172 The Cuban Revolution
Nonetheless, the most significant outcome of the PCC congress was
continued elite turnover: 67.1 percent of the 225 members of the Central
Committee were either newly elected or promoted to full membership
(see Table 7.1). The shares of the state administration, the mass organi-
zations, and the military declined. Most pointed were the losses of the
state administration and the mass organizations: the first symbolized the
demise of the institutionalization; the second, the relative decline of
the historic organizations of the Cuban Revolution. Additional military
decreases constituted continued recognition of the imperatives of civil-
ian domestic concerns and the need to give those who represented them
at least symbolic presence in the leadership. Among the traditional cate-
gories, only the PCC increased its share of CC membership, a good
indication of the importance the rectification accorded politics over ad-
ministration. The number of individuals in other activities increased
prominently from 13.7 percent to 35.1 percent. Being an ordinary Cuban
in production, research institutes, and social services was now the most
important avenue to the Central Committee. Civilian and domestic im-
peratives received recognition individually; in 1986, the party had recog-
nized their importance institutionally. Current CC members were also
more representative of the provinces: in 1986, 17.1 percent had worked
in the provinces; in 1991, 34.2 percent of the membership did so. The
average age of the 1991 CC was 47 years; that of the 1986 CC had been
52. The Politburo expanded to twenty-five members and excluded his-
torical figures like FMC President Vilma Espin and Culture Minister
Armando Hart.®
The October 1991 party meeting confirmed the capacity of the Cu-
ban leadership to renovate elites, maintain consensus among them, and
prevent significant ruling group divisions. The controversies over the
pace and extent of reform that undoubtedly existed were not evident at

Table 7.1. Central Committee Composition, Cuba, 1986, 1991

(in percentages)

| (N = 146) 1986
(N = 199]
225)
PCC
State 24.7
26.0 28.9
14.2
Military 17.8 13.8
Other 13.7 35.1
Mass organizations 13.0 5.8 ,
Advisory Commission 4.8 2.2
Provinces 17.1 34.2
Sources: Granma, Supplement, February 8, 1986, and Pablo Alfonso, Los fieles de Castro
(Miami: Ediciones Cambio, 1991).
 Revolution, Rectification, and Contemporary Socialism 173

the congress. No individual or group seemed to have the convictions or

the resources to challenge Fidel Castro; most in the Cuban elite probably
agreed that they still needed him to remain in power, even if the rec-
tification and the special period were not the policies they would advo-
cate without him. Cuban leaders, moreover, had no self-doubts about
their right to govern Cuba. ‘‘We are the only ones and there is no
alternative,’ Fidel Castro told the party congress.°* Nonetheless, a cen-
tral question was how long Cuban elites would remain united behind
Fidel Castro and a course that seemed to be compromising their viability
once he passed from the scene. For the time being, they were, however,
united and had yet to face a credible opposition with a significant follow-
ing. The character of elites and the absence of a tenable alternative
appeared to indicate that a transition to a new government would be
slower than the mounting crisis suggested.
At the end of 1991, the hardest question confronting the Cuban
government was how long the Cuban people would continue to con-
sent—out of conviction, fear, or passivity—to be governed in the same,
or almost the same, ways as in the past. The party congress forcefully
insisted on one-party politics and central planning. The Cuban Revolu-
tion had mobilized extraordinary popular support and had offered the
Cuban government a long-standing source of legitimacy. During the
1980s and early 1990s, domestic and international conditions had par-
tially eroded that legitimacy and undermined the viability of Cuban
socialism. Indeed, popular discontent was widespread.°* Young people
were especially resisting the old ways. Intellectuals were more freely
expressing criticism of official cultural policy. Ordinary Cubans were
increasingly unreceptive to the appeals to /a patria, the revolution, and
socialism. More than ever, their conciencia focused on the excruciating
difficulties of their daily lives. Even if they could not or did not want to
imagine an alternative, too many citizens no longer had hope in the
future. Although the will, energy, and passion of the Cuban people had
long supported the government, their fear, apathy, and sense of impo-
tence now played an important part in its stability.
 6 ® e © oy @
The Invisible Crisis: Stability
and Change in 1990s Cuba
Cuba is not changing. Cuba is reaffirming its position, its
ideals, its objectives. The world is the one changing.
Fidel Castro
January 11, 1998

After Berliners tore down the wall, a new world was born: the societies
that had hoped to construct a socialist alternative to a market economy
and liberal democracy lay in shambles. But it was not only in Eastern
Europe that the old order was swept away. After the late 1970s, Latin
Americans gradually elected presidents, the generals mostly returned to
the barracks, and states ceded much terrain to markets in the realm
of the economy. In capitalist Asia during the 1980s, citizens disabused
authoritarian governments of the notion that economic progress and
social order sufficed. The Communist parties of China and Vietnam un-
dertook far-reaching reforms that decisively undermined central plan-
ning, even if capitalism had not yet fully dawned there. Cuba largely
defied the winds of change that proved irresistible elsewhere. Against
seemingly insurmountable odds, Fidel Castro’s government failed to
oblige the world’s expectations of a quick demise.
Well before the disintegration of the Soviet Union, recession befell
the Cuban economy. The sudden disappearance of Soviet trade, credit,
and aid hastened an economic collapse that was rooted in the short-
comings of central planning that were apparent by the mid-1980s. Be-
tween 1989 and 1993, Cuba’s economy shrunk 35 to 50 percent; al-
ready austere living standards plummeted.! Although redressing this
crisis required at least a partial retrenchment from socialist ideals, the
Cuban leadership could deny the gravity of the situation only at its
own peril, and thus reluctantly adopted modestly successful, piece-
meal reforms. By the mid-1990s, the economy had stopped contract-
ing, though a much bolder and comprehensive restructuring was cer-

174
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 175

tainly in order for the island to sustain economic growth and improve
the welfare of its people.
But Cuba also found itself in the grip of a political crisis—invisible,
or not yet fully manifested, as ordinary citizens did not overtly chal-
lenge the government—but no less real than the economic crisis. By
drawing heavily on the reserves of goodwill and popular fear of the
unknown, the government maintained an appearance of normalcy.
Just below the surface, however, the foundations of the regime were
largely depleted by nearly forty years of revolutionary appeals, and
corroded by widespread cynicism.
Since 1959, Cuban leaders had relied on Fidel Castro, one-party |
politics, and mass mobilizations to govern the country. In the after-
math of the cold war, they continued to act in almost the same way as
in the past, claiming to be the sole standard-bearer of national sover-
eignty and social justice. Out of conviction, fear, or helplessness, the
Cuban people acquiesced to the leadership’s self-reaffirmation. That
the government in the early 1990s, under markedly inauspicious cir-
cumstances, avoided the fate of its former allies in the Soviet Union
and Eastern Europe demonstrated an impressive political resilience.
That it relied so heavily on the presence of Fidel Castro, the monopoly
of the Cuban Communist Party, and the rituals of mass mobiliza-
tion was, however, symptomatic of the latent political crisis. In the
long run, Cuba would simply not be governed on the basis of this pat-
tern. The spectre of Castro’s mortality loomed large over the Cuban
government.
Cuban leaders nonetheless refused to recognize that politics lay at
the heart of their predicament. To acknowledge the political dimen-
sion of the crisis would edge them toward pluralist democracy.2 But
truly free elections entailed the possibility of turning over power to a
different constellation of elites, an option that Castro in particular
seemed unwilling to entertain. Instead, the leaders stayed the course,
continuing the perfecctonamiento of the political system without re-
drawing its long-established margins. In 1992, the National Assembly
of Popular Power unanimously approved modifications to the Consti-
tution of 1976. The most salient revisions affirmed nationalism as the
guiding canon (not primarily Marxism-Leninism), declared the state
to be secular (as opposed to atheist), and recognized multiple forms
of property (not just state ownership).2 Cuban leaders sought to re-
constitute their power by reinforcing political control and applying
modest economic reforms. Nearing the end of the century, the strategy
had yet to fail. Unlike undemocratic regimes in Latin America and
Eastern Europe, Cuba’s had not faced negative responses to the fol-
lowing questions: Could those who govern persist in governing in the
same way as in the past? Did the governed continue to “consent”
to those ways? During the 1990s Cuban leaders, in fact, managed to
 176 The Cuban Revolution |
craft positive, if by no means permanent, responses to these crucial
questions.

Mobilizational Politics and the Cuban Economy

In 1990, Cuba proclaimed a “special period in peacetime.” With the
collapse of European communism and the cutback of trade with the
Soviet Union, the Cuban government gradually devised an alternative ,
framework for economic survival. Although the new strategy included
some structural reforms, mostly in the foreign-trade sector, at its heart
was a food-production program to promote self-sufficiency through
state agriculture and voluntary-labor mobilizations. It included a pack-
age of state-propelled, nonmarket austerity measures, such as reduc-
ing electricity consumption and oil deliveries, further rationing food
products and consumer goods, and cutting back on bureaucratic per-
sonnel. Although the government accepted decentralization in the
economy’s external sector, it continued to insist on state-centered and
mobilizational responses on the domestic front. At its 1991 congress, ,
the Communist party resisted the reopening of the peasant markets
and—its decidedly mixed results notwithstanding—persisted with the
food plan. Cuba’s first response, therefore, was largely to resort to fa-
miliar approaches that had always failed in the past.
Not until 1993 did the government begin to take steps to address
the profound economic crisis by implementing some market reforms—
making the dollar legal tender, liberalizing agricultural cooperatives,
and legalizing self-employment in a limited number of activities.4
Afterwards the leadership stayed the course of reform only within the
politics of mobilization. The government’s hesitation to adopt compre-

standing political dynamic. ,

hensive market reforms illustrated the contradictions of the long-

Cuban leaders remained committed to keeping politics in the

economy. In contrast to China and Vietnam, where the Communist
parties boldly embraced economic restructuring, Cuba’s leaders would
not declare the economy off-limits to mobilizational campaigns. After
the first round of reform measures in 1993, the government should
have moved to a more comprehensive program aimed at broadening
the role of the market in resource allocation and promoting the pri-
vate sector (foreign and national). Instead, in December 1993, Castro
railed against capitalism and the “excesses” of the profit motive and
called for parlamentos obreros (workers’ parliaments) to discuss the next
round of measures. Held in early 1994, these assemblies predictably
yielded the support of e/ pueblo for Castro’s position: reforms had to be
“politically correct” and could “never” compromise socialism. Subse-
quently, there was cautious movement forward with selected price in-
creases, a new tax system, and free markets for agricultural products
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 177

and light consumer durables; these measures helped to reduce state

budget deficits, lower inflation pressures somewhat, and stabilize the
peso. In the summer of 1995, however, Castro noted: “All openings
have entailed risks. If we have to carry out more reforms, we will do
so. For the time being they are unnecessary.”> Political priorities had
clearly overtaken the process of economic reforms, though those al-
ready in place were not retrenched and others, such as restructuring
the banking system and opening duty-free zones, advanced.°®
Unlike the governments of China and Vietnam, Cuba’s govern-
ment had not formulated a more comprehensive program for eco-
nomic transformation.? A more reliable economic recovery—since
1994 the economy had stopped contracting but growth was erratic—
hinged on two key measures: cutting back subsidies for state enter-
prises and fully liberalizing Cuban entrepreneurship. The first carried
two obvious dangers: massive unemployment and a reduced state sec-
tor; the second, an imperative to alleviate unemployment, was an un-
avoidable complement to downsizing the state. Although in 1995 the
government authorized additional activities for self-employment, it
continued to dampen private initiatives by sporadically confiscating
“illicit gains,” harassing “profiteers,” and imposing stiff taxes payable
in hard currency; it had, for the time being, disabused any expectation
of full legalization of Cuban entrepreneurship. Upon reporting a 1994
closing of a paladar (home-based restaurant) and its owner’s arrest,
the newspaper Tribuna de La Habana summed up the crux of the offi-
cial dilemma: “The owners’ profits went solely into their own pock-
ets.”8 The state, which in principle “worked for the people,” had, how-
ever, consistently proven to be inefficacious in the conduct of the
economy. How else but by granting the citizenry the right to make
profits could the government hope to break the vicious circle of low or
no growth? Official resistance clearly constituted a major obstacle to
instituting the appropriate state—market mix needed for economic
recovery.
After the revolutionary offensive of 1968 when 58,000 small busi-
nesses were confiscated, the state exercised near total control of the
Cuban economy. Citizens had practically no recourse but state em-
ployment for their livelihood; before the 1990s the state, in fact, had
provided austere living standards amid relative equality, while main-
taining an all-inclusive safety net in health care, public education, and
social security. The “special period” forced the government to relin-
quish some legal control over the economy, to accept grudgingly a sec-
ond economy where citizens often made a living beyond the law, and
to witness the rapid fraying of a still-impressive safety net. For every
citizen who received an official license to become self-employed, at
least another one worked on his own without official sanction. The
average household purchased about 50 percent of its daily consump-
 178 The Cuban Revolution
tion in agricultural markets, from the self-employed, or in the black
market—not with the state’s [ibreta. Up to half of the Cuban popula-
tion had dollars—from their relatives abroad, from their services in the
tourist and other dollar-based sectors, or from partial payment of their
salaries in convertible pesos. For most, access to hard currency allevi-
ated the excruciating pursuit of daily necessities; for some, dollars
were a source of enrichment and a portent of their incipient power.
The privileged lifestyle of Cuban elites had long contrasted with the
humble conditions of average Cubans; yet relatively few enjoyed these
privileges, which were dispensed and withdrawn by the state. In con-
, trast, privilege in contemporary Cuban society could just as easily be
state-sanctioned as not, and it certainly was more widespread than it
had ever been since 1959. Citizens had resources other than the state,
and that reality threatened the mobilizational paradigm so central to
the government’s political control. If sufficient numbers of citizens
became economically independent, how could they be compelled to
listen? Would they even feel the need to pretend to listen to Cuban
leaders?
Whenever possible, the government reinforced state control of the
economy. Politics was still (or tried to be) very much in command on
the island. True economic restructuring required a new discourse from
the political leadership, one designed to appeal to new constituencies
and goad old ones in new directions; there was no evidence of such a
change in contemporary Cuba. On the contrary, in March 1996, Vice-
President Carlos Lage noted, in no uncertain terms, that “political
criteria” guided the reform process.? After the crushed revolution of
1956, Janos Kadar summoned Hungarians to a new social pact: Put
politics aside, be productive, and “eat sausage.” In the 1990s, Deng
Xiaoping issued a simple precept: “To get rich is glorious!” Both
charges were as laden with political as with economic import. Castro
would be unlikely to include “eating chorizos” and “getting rich” in his
repertoire of images to rouse the masses. The Cuban economy did not
hinge on a consensus around a program of reform like the New Eco-
nomic Mechanism in Hungary, doi moi in Vietnam, or the post-1978
restructuring in China; rather, it was precariously balanced between
market imperatives and mobilizational politics, the latter, thus far, ulti-
mately determinant. Consequently, the political dynamics of eco-
nomic reforms in Cuba were quite different from those in pre-1989
Eastern Europe or in contemporary China today. To the extent that
there was decentralization in Cuba, for example, it was primarily nei-
ther market nor fiscal but rather administrative, and consequently,
State and party institutions had not generated the type of intra-regime
interactions that provoked the transformation of Communist party
rule in Hungary and were creating a sort of new federalism in
China.!° In 1995, an incident involving the cities of Havana and Santa
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 179

Clara provided an inkling as to what these interactions might entail if

an ongoing reform process truly settled in Cuban society: A local retail
enterprise in Santa Clara purchased 10,000 bottles of wine at nine pe-
sos a bottle directly from a private winemaker in Havana. That the
Santa Clara enterprise was satisfying local consumers through the ef-
forts of an (illegal) small business and without the intervention of the
national state constituted a political warning flag to Cuban leaders,
and consequently all parties involved became the object of a strongly
worded reprimand at the National Assembly. The winemaker, of
course, lost his business and the santaclarenos their wine.!!
Although the Cuban leadership remained more open to liberaliza-
tion in the external sector, the foreign investment law of 1995 embod-
ied the official ambivalence. On the one hand, it allowed for wholly
foreign-owned ventures, it sanctioned foreign ownership of real es-
tate, and it generally improved the climate for foreign investment. On
the other hand, the state retained full control of labor, as foreign in-
vestors still could not hire and pay workers directly. Foreign direct
investment was, at any rate, quite modest: during the 1990s, the gov-
ernment received commitments of $2.1 billion, which, in effect, prob-
ably meant under $1 billion in actual investments.!2 More thorough
and comprehensive economic restructuring would, no doubt, help
ease the international financial and capital markets’ lack of confidence
and consequently facilitate refinancing of foreign debt and access to
long-term, less onerous loans.

Political Trends of the Spectal Period (1992-1998)

The 1990s reaffirmed the entrenched political pattern, but did not per-
mit politics as usual in Cuba. Just as the economic collapse of 1989-
1993 had its origins in the downturn of the mid-1980s, political events
prior to the cold war’s conclusion forced the leadership to take a mea-
sure of its political foundation. The Ochoa-—de la Guardia affaire had in-
deed bared the central quandary of Castro’s leadership and the weak-
ness of Cuban institutions. Although loyalty to el comandante was the
integument of elite unity, such fealty fell far short of assuring elite ac-
countability. Though emphasizing a “new style” for the Communist
party and the exemplary behavior of cadres, the rectification process
had not prevented the astounding domestic crisis of 1989. At the same
time, as the revolution retreated further into the realm of history and
socialism’s failings saturated popular conciencia, ordinary Cubans in-
creasingly turned their attention to the multiple and excruciating de-
mands of daily life.
Even prior to the final discredit of Communist parties and Marx-
ism-Leninism in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, Castro had ap-
pealed to the symbols and history of /a patria as the principal source of
180 The Cuban Revolution
ideological legitimation. Just when liberal communists under Gor-
bachev attempted to refurbish socialism by sanctioning political diver-
sity and implementing market reforms, Cuban leaders reaffirmed the
principles of unity and equality. The 1990s further underscored their
steely determination to remain in power and to renew the political
system exclusively within its well-established bounds. Only the PCC as
“the sole party of the Cuban nation” and the current leadership as
contemporary mambises (nineteenth-century independence fighters)
had the wherewithal to safeguard Cuba. Or so they claimed. Cuban
leaders had, thus far, left little room for political compromise.

The Character of Cuban Elites

Under Castro’s leadership, the Cuban government has proven particu-
larly adept at keeping a united front and promoting mobility within its
ranks. After 1959, Castro forged a ruling coalition from the often dis-
parate and contentious ranks of the July 26th Movement, the Revolu-
tionary Student Directorate, and the Popular Socialist Party. Between
the 1960s and the 1980s, the zigzags of revolution and socialism did
not undermine the unity of this ever-changing coalition of elites, a fact
that no doubt contributed to its ability to remain in power. Even the
worst elite crisis since 1959—the drug-related trials which shook the
armed forces and particularly the Interior Ministry, the two institu-
tions at the medulla of the regime—did not open unbridgeable fis-
sures. In fact, the leadership enforced extensive turnover of high- and
middle-level state security officers without incurring apparent political
costs.43 Similarly, the fourth PCC congress, which met in 1991 amid
the direst of international circumstances, renovated the Central Com-
mittee and forcefully reaffirmed the leadership’s claim to the mantle of
la patria. Inordinately inhospitabie conditions might have provoked a
schism in the leadership; that they did not was an important measure
of its adaptability and endurance.
Throughout the 1990s, Cuban elites succeeded in reconfiguring
themselves without changing the ingrained bounds of charismatic
authority, Communist party dominance, and mass mobilizations. The
profile of National Assembly deputies elected in 1993 showed a trend
similar to that reflected in the composition of the 1991 Central com-
mittee—a representation of ordinary citizens (as opposed to cadres) and
the under-fifty generations. In 1994 the party replaced seven of the
fourteen provincial secretaries with younger cadres; in 1995 three addi-
tional provinces received new PCC secretaries.!4 In January 1995, the
Council of State announced a major cabinet reshuffle, in which seven
younger, presumably more reform-oriented individuals assumed the
economic ministries.1> Rotation also took place at lower levels of the
PCC, the ministries, the mass organizations, and Popular Power. 1/6
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 181

The government emphasized the routine nature of these person-

nel changes. Normalization of staffing alterations reached the point, in
fact, that following the early-1995 cabinet reshuffle, the ministries in-
troduced “transition ceremonies” in which the old team passed the
torch to the new. Similarly, at the assemblies presenting the new party
secretaries, high-ranking officials made laudatory comments about the
outgoing ones.!7 Raul Castro observed that, as a rule, cadres should
not remain in office more than five years.!8 Thus, the stigma of per-
sona non grata associated with the old-fashioned purges of communist
regimes was, in most instances, virtually eliminated. The party, how-
ever, remained concerned about the quality of political cadres. In
1997, a supervisory commission was charged with redressing the
“stagnation, immobility, and aging of cadres on the job.”!9 Corruption
and privilege also became more widespread as state administrators,
party cadres, and military officers found opportunities for enrichment
in their dealings with foreign investors and commercial enterprises.
Cadres with “irreproachable conduct” were an essential cog in the pol-
itics of mobilization, and the emerging economic contours clearly
posed novel dangers.2°
Over the course of the 1990s, the Cuban leadership also conveyed
its unbending resolve to remain in power—a crucial signal to would-
be dissident elites and the citizenry at large of the high costs of opposi-
tion. The leadership outlined a governance blueprint in case of a
national emergency that boldly underscored its praetorian under-
standing of the nature of politics. A national emergency, of course,
could entail a variety of scenarios ranging from U.S. aggression to do-
mestic chaos. The 199] PCC congress gave the first portent when it
passed a resolution empowering the Central Committee to take all
necessary steps to uphold the government, including the suspension
of civilian institutions. In 1992, when the constitution was modified,
three new security-related articles were included: the establishment of
a National Defense Council, a provision for the declaration of a state of
emergency, and the recognition of the “people’s” right to resort to
armed struggle in defense of the “revolution.” The government also
announced the formation of the Association of Combatants of the
Cuban Revolution, a veterans’ organization, which paralleled civilian
organizations at all levels and was charged with the “unconditional
defense of the Revolution.”2! In 1994, the National Assembly passed a
defense and national security law.
Feasible or not, this blueprint for a national-emergency govern-
ment revealed a deeply seated siege mentality, which from the earliest
moments of the revolution impeded the leadership from laying an
institutional foundation that could grapple with the inescapable diver-
sity of political life. In 1993 General Sixto Batista, then general secre-
tary of the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution, tersely sum-
182 The Cuban Revolution
marized the official mentality: “We are going to smash skulls.”22
Cuban leaders bad made unequivocally clear what their attitude
would be if a situation a la Tiananmen Square developed in Cuba.
During the 1990s, the most notorious repression took place in the
context of illegal migration. In October 1993, the citizens of Regla,
across the bay from Havana, defied the police during the funeral
procession for a neighbor who had been killed while attempting to
leave on a raft. Unspecified numbers of people were hurt and arrested
in the confrontation.23 In July 1994, forty-one people drowned when
the government sank the tugboat they had hijacked to travel across
the Florida Straits.24 In August 1994, in the context of the growing
rafter crisis, thousands of habaneros gathered on the Malecon, Havana’s
waterfront. Official sources claimed 35 people were injured and 700
detained. The government also mobilized Interior Ministry special
troops, although they were not called upon to dispel the gathering.?5
By the mid-1990s, the Cuban leadership had found renewed di-
rection. The winds keeping the economic reforms at bay during 1995-
1997 carried a political message to PCC cadres and members: the
worst was over. The times called for rallying around /a patria and pro-
fessing revolutionary ideology.26 The PCC again denied the existence
of a political crisis; Cuban institutions were “in full capacity for self-re-
flection and self-renovation.” Changes had taken place and would
continue, but only under PCC control, with Cuban characteristics, and
under Castro’s guidance. An August 1996 document asserted that the
party relied more effectively on state institutions, mass organizations,
and individual militants than ever before and that it was exercising
greater authority in the municipalities and enterprises.27 Indeed, the
PCC seemed to be regrouping and expanding among the rank and file
as well: between 1992 and 1997, membership grew at the rate of
46,000 persons a year (the previous decade the rate had been 27,000); ,
by 1997, 30 percent had entered PCC ranks since 1991.28 The Cuban
leadership had not been as attentive to the PCC as an institution since
the initial period of institutionalization in the 1970s.
The October 1997 congress disclosed few surprises. Documents
and resolutions relayed the anti-market, nationalist rhetoric that ac-
quired heightened determination in 1995, as well as the new-found
bravado for having survived the early 1990s. The composition of the
new Central Committee, however, allowed a symbolic gaze into the
top party leadership. In 1991 the CC had expanded to 225 members;
in 1997 the body was reduced to 150. Though the official explanation
emphasized the benefits of less cumbersome and expensive CC meet-
ings, an analysis of the reduction yielded some interesting insights.
Nearly half of the members dropped came from the ordinary citizens,
whose incorporation into the CC in 1991 had been a notable innova-
tion. By reducing their ranks in 1997, the party gave up the symbol-
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 183

ism of including representatives of e/ pueblo at its highest levels: ordi-

nary citizens declined from a little over 35 percent to less than 13 per-
cent. Party cadres increased their share from less than 29 percent to
nearly 39 percent, the single largest group in the CC; they also ac-
counted for 30 of the 50 new members in 1997 (100 of the 150 mem-
bers in 1997 belonged to the 1991 CC of 225 members). Well over half
the party cadres in the old CC did not return; in contrast, almost all
the military officers who were there in 199] returned in 1997. The
armed forces maintained a more stable presence in the top leadership;
for the first time since 1965, they slightly increased their share in the
CC (see Tables 6.3 and 7.1). Continuity and greater numbers of mili-
tary cadres certainly enhanced military influence within the party rel-
ative to newcomers or members from declining sectors such as the
mass organizations. State administrators, however, notably reversed
the trends against them, going from about 14 percent in 1991 to al-
most a quarter. CC composition thus revealed the importance that the
top leadership accorded to party cadres, the armed forces, and state
administrators (see Table 8.1). The innovation of 1991, which had em-
bodied the long-standing official preoccupation with involving ordi-
nary Cubans in public affairs, was discarded in favor of a leadership
profile more typical of the old Communist parties in the Soviet Union
and Eastern Europe.
Within steadfast parameters, Cuban leaders promoted elite rota-
tion within their ranks and refurbished the Communist party. Al-
though these changes fell well short of supporting the decisive form of
elite rotation—giving the opposition the opportunity to become the
government via free and open elections—their impact has been far
from inconsequential. That Cuban elites weathered what seemed to be
insurmountable difficulties underscored their mettle and bolstered
their self-confidence. Nonetheless, Cuban leaders also knew that Fidel
Castro was mortal and that without him they might not prevail. Resis-
tance to political reform was not preparing them well for that in-
escapable day of reckoning.

The Reform of Popular Power Assemblies?

Popular Power assemblies constituted a special focus of the perfec-
clonamiento of the political system. Created in the mid-1970s, the OPP
had long lost their impetus. In 1990-199], the party engaged its ranks
and the public in a critical review of the OPP. Criticism covered a
broad range of topics. The assemblies had to be true counterparts to
the state administration; local delegates had to have the authority to
better represent their constituencies. Deputies and delegates were not
simple “messengers”: their power emanated from the people, and they
had to be treated accordingly.3° The OPP should be empowered to dis-
184 _ The Cuban Revolution
Table 8.1. Central Committee Composition, Cuba, 1991, 1997
(in percentages)
199] 1997
(N=225) (N=150)
PCC
State 28.9
14.2 38.6
24.7
Military 13.8 18.0
Other 35.1 12.7
Mass Organizations 5.8 4.7
Advisory Commission 2.2 1.3
Provinces 34.2 33.3
Sources: 1991 figures are from Table 7.1; 1997 figures computed from Prensa Latina,
October 10, 1997, and Juventud Rebelde (Digital Edition), October 15, 1997.

cuss topics of national interest, not just local matters. The National As-
sembly should meet more frequently.3! Only a limited number of
deputies should be ministers and other high government officials, so
that the National Assembly could truly exercise its constitutional
charge to oversee the state. Reports from deputies and delegates
should address the resolution of substantive issues and steer away
from the practice of rendering a quantitative summary of the number
of constituent inquiries they had answered.?2 Although these observa-
tions in part harked back to the critique of the OPP expressed in the

renewal.
late 1970s (see Chapter 6), the 1990s provided a markedly different
context. In combination with the mass discussions of the 1991 PCC
llamamiento, the review of Popular Power constituted an opportunity
for the Cuban government to call upon e/ pueblo to join in a political

Certainly, deliberations on OPP stayed well within the accepted

bounds; notwithstanding, their not infrequent straightforwardness
was refreshing. In a letter to the newspaper Trabajadores, a reader
questioned the wisdom of giving local delegates more responsibilities
since they lacked the power to act against negligent and inefficient ad-
ministrators and doubted that they would actually be so empow-
ered.33 Then—National Assembly president Juan Escalona noted: “We
have the responsibility to work hard to avoid making mistakes. We
cannot go down the wrong road again, and the improvements we
make have to benefit the people.”34 In a Cuba Internacional roundtable,
journalist Lazaro Barredo characterized Popular Power assemblies as
“events of tedious concordance.”3> A National Assembly deputy from
Holguin passed the strongest judgment:
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 185

The National Assembly is monotonous. There are hardly any objections;

deputies hardly ever oppose anything. There is widespread conformism.
Deputies are aware of the problems but say nothing about them out of
fear. We really don’t practice democracy. It’s not really a matter of more
freedom, but of greater political courage.?¢
Not all, however, felt that Popular Power required profound changes.
Some PCC officials contended that the Cuban political system was al-
ready “profoundly democratic” because the state worked to benefit
the people.?7 They also noted a principal task of the assemblies was to
help the public understand the gravity of the economic difficulties fac-
ing the nation; they emphasized the OPP as forums to communicate
government directives rather than arenas for the citizenry to make
meaningful inputs.38
Popular Power assemblies had emulated the old Soviet system of
holding direct elections only at the local level. The 1991 party congress
decreed the direct election of national and provincial assemblies, a
change that evidently constituted an effort to put forward a more
democratic visage; a 1992 modification of the electoral law codified
the procedures for these elections. Since then, Cuba has held elections
in 1992-1993 (all levels), 1995 (local assemblies), and 1997-1998 (all
levels). As in the past, however, no one but an official candidate could
aspire to a seat in the assemblies. In 1992, 1995, and 1997, delegates
for the municipal assemblies were chosen for two-and-a-half-year
terms in races featuring at least two candidates, standard practice since
the inception of Popular Power in 1976. In 1993 and 1998, deputies to
the National Assembly and delegates to the provincial assemblies were
elected to five-year terms. In these instances, there was only one
nominee per seat, and candidates needed more than 50 percent of the
validly cast ballots to be elected. Thus, at the national and provincial
levels citizens had only a negative choice: they could withhold their
vote for particular candidates, register a blank ballot, or abstain from
voting altogether. Only the first set of elections in 1992-1993 proved
to be politically significant. In convoking them, the government had
an opportunity to signal a willingness to compromise. Instead, the
elections reinforced the mobilizational paradigm and thus under-
mined the prospects of gradual reform within the existing political sys-
tem. Subsequently, in 1995 and 1997-1998, the government merely
extended the experience of 1992-1993.
In October 1992, the National Assembly met to modify the elec-
toral law. Once the party accepted the idea of direct elections, the
main question was whether or not to allow the participation of inde-
pendent candidates and organizations. Sanctioning some measure of
electoral competition and therefore entertaining the possibility of po-
litical diversity in the Cuban parliament might well have released a
dynamic of transition within the existing political system. In March
186 The Cuban Revolution |
1992, then-PCC ideological secretary Carlos Aldana suggested that
dissidents and those who opposed socialism might be nominated,
though as individuals and not as representatives of a group or a party
and only if they abided by socialist legality. He also mentioned that the
National Assembly could be pluralist “in ideas, opinions, and points of
view.”3? This position proved short-lived, as did Aldana, who suffered
a precipitous fall from power in September. Shortly thereafter, Na-
tional Assembly President Escalona virtually discarded the election of
anyone outside official circles: “Knowing the idiosyncrasies of our
country, I think some of these figures could hardly be nominated. A
candidacy commission would have to evaluate their nomination, and
the municipal assembly is responsible to the country to nominate the
most suitable candidates.”4°
Thus, by the time the National Assembly met, the Cuban leader-
ship had already settled against political diversity; the electoral law
rendered it almost impossible for dissidents or citizens known to be
unsympathetic to the government to be nominated, let alone elected.
The enduring dilemma of effecting a separation of functions (let alone,
of powers) in a single-party political system belied the claims of PCC
uninvolvement in the nomination and electoral processes. Electoral
commissions were, in fact, PCC-subordinated. Castro succinctly sum-
marized the spirit of the new electoral law enacted unanimously by
the National Assembly:
We will never make the mistake of accepting multiple parties because we
would then be fragmenting into a thousand pieces a society which can re-
sist only with the level of unity it has. The democratic principle is that the
people nominate and elect; the party does not draw up electoral lists. We
have the majority, and it is our sacred duty to retain it no matter how dif-
ficult conditions might be. We have to mobilize the people, appealing
to their resources, their best values, their dignity, patriotism, conciencia,
courage, and heroism.#!

The Cuban leadership flatly rejected modifying the nature of the Na-
tional Assembly from a symbolic forum of widened elite involvement
to a legislature holding regular sessions and entertaining contentious
perspectives. In December 1993, Castro bluntly expressed his frustra-
tion at an exceptionally lively meeting of the assembly, which was dis-
cussing the ways in which economic reforms might be broadened:
“Every time something is said here, we have to wait for filty-five peo-
ple to talk before we even have a chance to at least explain some
ideas. I ask myself if I will have to wait until the filty-sixth deputy
speaks to explain that is not the purpose of this meeting.”42
The first-time, two-step electoral process in 1992-1993 resulted in
distinctively different outcomes. In December, as had been and would
remain the norm, the electorate turned out to vote en masse. Govern-
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 187

ment officials claimed that the near 100 percent voter turnout in these
elections measured popular support; they seemed oblivious to the
warning against “the mirage of mass participation” uttered in a sym-
posium on Popular Power in 1990.43 Various sources estimated that
up to one-third cast invalid ballots (blank or defaced), an act tanta-
mount to an antigovernment vote in politically uncompetitive elec-
tions.44 Initially, the government neither refuted these estimates nor |
gave its own figure. Two months later, it admitted to less than 15 per-
cent null or void votes; the final official figure was 10 percent.4> Un-
doubtedly, the much-delayed and amended official reaction lent credi-
bility to the unofficial estimates.
Cuban leaders were obviously surprised: up to one-third of the
electorate had sent them a strong and unexpected message. Business
could not be allowed to proceed as usual in February, and it did not.
The party prepared for the second round as it had not for the first: in-
deed, like the two-month official silence on the percentage of invalid
ballots, the intensity of the February “campaigning” supported the un-
official estimates of the December outcome. The government’s over-
riding objective was to demonstrate an indisputable popular mandate,
or at least project the impression of one. First, Castro made a patriotic
appeal to vote in favor of all the candidates: la patria demanded a
demonstration of unity rather than a selective vote. In October 1992,
however, Castro himself had argued: “The decision should be up to
people’s conscience. If we say that people should vote for all the candi-
dates, it might give credence to the idea that the outcome of these
elections is foreordained. It is not, precisely because people have the |
choice to vote for the candidates they want or for none at all.”46 Con-
veniently, the U.S. enactment of the Cuban Democracy Act of 1992
lent credibility to the call to rally once again around Fidel-patria-revo-
lution. Second, the government exerted pressure and intimidation to
bring the stray one-third back into the fold and to dissuade other citi-
zens from invalidating their ballots or voting selectively. It updated
voter registration lists, increased the number of polling places, and
sent the CDR leadership to visit every home to instruct the citizenry
on the allegedly complex voting procedures.
On February 24, more than 99 percent of the electorate went to
the polls: 88.5 percent voted the straight ticket and 7.2 percent cast in-
valid ballots; in Havana, nullified ballots totaled 14.3 percent. No
deputy received less than 87 percent of the votes. Unofficial sources
placed the proportion of invalid ballots in Havana between 10 and 20
percent and the percentage of its residents voting selectively at 30 per-
cent.47 Officially, then, about 18 percent of the voters did not do what
the government had asked them to do: vote for the entire slate. Castro
dubbed the outcome an “Olympic victory.”
What did the 1992-1993 elections demonstrate? First, in Febru-
188 The Cuban Revolution
ary, the Cuban government displayed a certain strength in mobilizing
the population, which out of conviction, fear, or a sense of helpless-
ness, complied with its demands for a show of unity. The election also
revealed a glaring weakness: the outcome was gained on the basis of
mobilizational politics, a formula that hardly translated into effective
long-term governance. Second, the December outcome was especially
telling: when the government did not mount an incessant campaign,
up to one-third of the electorate cast a protest vote. Would it not be
reasonable to expect that many more citizens would express their
opposition in a freely contested election or plebiscite? Third, the gov-
ernment’s deception regarding the proportion of invalid ballots in De-
cember and its “campaign” for the February election confirmed the in-
ability of Cuban leaders to accept less than near-unanimity as a
mandate for governance and their intractable dependence on mobi-
lizational politics. The political system plainly lacked the wherewithal
to gauge and abide by the popular will. When the electorate sent
a strong message in December, the government resorted to the seltf-
fulfilling formula of mass mobilization, which succeeded in preventing
citizens from voting No but failed to infuse their Yes vote with mean-
ing. If in the late 1960s the Cuban people had evinced, in the words of
Carlos Rafael Rodriguez, a resignacion de apoyo (resigned support), they
had now expressed a resignacion de votar por todos (resignation to vote
for all). The “Olympic victory” also had a Pyrrhic aura.

The Role of the Military

Civil-military relations in Cuba defied simple portrayal. By virtue of its
victorious struggle against the Batista dictatorship, the Rebel Army
formed the core of the revolutionary government. National defense
against the United States and suppression of domestic opponents, the
raison d’étre of the social revolution then enveloping Cuban society,
also became the army’s cardinal mission. From the outset, the leader-
ship governed with praetorian imperatives that still endured and that
largely accounted for its entrenched intolerance of civic diversity: only
if elites and el pueblo united behind el comandante en jefe could national
sovereignty and social equality be preserved. Consequently, tasks
normally falling to civilians—the enactment of agrarian reform in
1959, the mobilization of the labor force in the 1960s, the reorganiza-
tion of the state administration in the 1970s, the implementation
of rectification in the 1980s, and the initiation of economic reforms
in the 1990s—depended vitally on the military for their realization.
“Civic soldiers” had, indeed, been integral actors in the politics of
mobilization.48
Unlike the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, where the military
had largely been under civilian control, the Cuban Communist Party
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 189

has never clearly established its preéminence. Neither, however, could

one say that the Revolutionary Armed Forces (FAR) fully dictated
civilian politics. The political system, in fact, often blurred jurisdic-
tional boundaries, even if military intromission in civilian matters was
rather common, and the reverse was unthinkable.4? The praetorian
framework of Cuban politics privileged the virtues of military disci-
pline and downplayed the merits of civilian prerogatives, especially if
these appeared to threaten the premise of iron-fisted national unity as
did market socialism in the mid-1980s. Moreover, the armed forces
were a stronger, more stable, and more cohesive institution than the
PCC, as the oscillations of Cuban state socialism between the 1960s
and the 1980s did not reverberate in the armed forces as they did in
the Communist party.
In the 1990s, two factors spurred the military’s renewed impor-
tance: the end of the Angolan war and the collapse of the communist
world. With overseas engagement no longer possible, FAR turned its
sights inward; with the support network from the Soviet Union and
Eastern Europe no longer available, the economy became, more than
ever, a pressing concern for the military. Raul Castro and other high-
ranking officers defined a four-fold mission: national defense, food
production, crime prevention, and economic efficiency.5° The guiding
motto of the armed forces became: “Beans are as important as can-
nons, or even more so.”>! The younger Castro acknowledged civilian
discontent with FAR’s high profile: “No one has to worry that we offi-
cers, guardias as they call us on the street, are involved in all these
matters. Before we were guardias, we were communists, and we will
continue to be communists.”52 The military played an inordinate role
in the reconstitution of the political system during the 1990s in at least
three ways.
First, early in the decade when doubts about the durability of the
Cuban government beset many in the population at large and among
the elites, officers joined civilians in affirming a vision of a future
without the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. In preparation for the
1991 party congress, Raul Castro and other senior officers traveled the
country, meeting with civilian and military leaders. Their message was
simple: “There is a way out. All questions have answers.” Interest-
ingly, the PCC seemed as prominent as FAR in the initial stages of po-
litical regrouping. At the time, ideology secretary Aldana (albeit his
provenance was the military) quite actively visited the provinces, giv-
ing orientation to the pre-congress assemblies and proposing that the
PCC become a more inclusive “sole party of the Cuban nation.” After
his demise in September 1992 and with the worsening economic cri-
sis, the military held the political reins more decisively.
Second, alter the 1991 congress, the armed forces minister and
other high-level military personnel continued to make the national
190 The Cuban Revolution
rounds, tending to political and economic matters as well as to their ,
institution’s affairs. The visits followed a common pattern: Raul Castro
or his officers visited civilian centers such as factories, schools, and
hospitals, inspected the troops, and met with local civilian and military
leaders. While civilians of national and local renown always took part
in these rounds, the initiative and presence of the military was re-
markable. FAR became an indispensable barometer for the leadership
to gauge the country’s political mood and to take stock of the state of
the economy; the PCC on its own did not appear to be up to the task.
Since late 1992, no single civilian party official has stood out the way
Aldana did before his political demise. The military also exercised un-
common influence in the already-noted rotation of elites, especially
that of the provincial PCC secretaries in 1994-1995,
Third, the armed forces were the motor behind the post-1993 eco-
nomic reforms. While the military had long participated in the con-
duct of the economy, the most recent intervention happened under
particularly strenuous circumstances. Never before had the Cuban
government faced such a threat of collapse; never before had Cuba
had to confront such a dire situation without outside support; never
before had the leadership been forced to make decisions that so evi-
dently undermined its long-standing commitment to socialism. And
under these circumstances the leadership turned first to the armed
forces, not to the party. Although Fidel Castro remained the visionary
of Cuban politics, the military emerged as its CEO.>3 There was, how-
ever, no rift between e/ comandante and the armed forces: when the
former momentarily relented on his opposition, the latter advanced
the reforms with the expertise of civilian technocrats; when Castro re-
trenched, the military did as well. The reopening of the peasant mar-
kets in October 1994 was a case in point. In 1981, Raul Castro and the
chiefs of staff wholeheartedly supported the inauguration of the mar-
kets as part of the modest package of market-socialist measures then
being implemented. When the elder Castro closed them in 1986, the
military moved to the vanguard of rectification. Similarly, in 1990, it
went along with the food plan and pushed for reinstating the markets
only after the plan’s failure to increase agricultural output was ir-
refutable. In 1996, when reforms ran against strong political currents,
the younger Castro reaffirmed the “correctness” of agricultural mar-
kets, while emphasizing the importance of the participation of the
state and the cooperative sector and criticizing the peasantry for its in-
ability to forge a socialist consciousness.
The composition of the party’s Central Committee or the distribu-
tion of the state budget might have indicated a declining political clout
by the Cuban military: officer membership in the CC went from 58
percent in 1965 to just under 14 percent in 1991, rising slightly in
1997 to 18 percent; military expenditures, which ranged between 8
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 19]

and 13 percent of the budget during the 1980s, declined to 6 percent

in 1996.54 In reality, the opposite was true. Military shares of CC slots
or of state budgets did not accurately measure the praetorian premises
upon which Cuban leaders had governed since 1959. Between 1975
and 1985, the government moved toward market socialism, which,
had it been fully implemented, might have undermined these pre-
mises and bolstered civilian prerogatives. But in 1986 Castro arrested
the decade-long movement and reinstated the logic of mobilizational
politics. Although the armed forces had always been held up as a
model for the rest of society, military virtues were particularly extolled
during the radical experiment of the 1960s and from 1986 on. In
1994, General Senén Casas, who had just been named transportation
minister, reacted sharply to the lax discipline he found in the ministry:
“Step by step we will do what we do in FAR.”5> A few months later,
Raul Castro echoed a similar sentiment: “FAR is the vanguard of the
state.”56 After the PCC congress in October 1997, two crucial civilian
activities were handed over to the military: a general took over the
sugar ministry and a colonel, the national sports institute, INDER. Was
praetorian discipline the key to harvesting cane and batting home
runs? Unlikely, but Cuban leaders still entertained the illusion.

The Dynamics of Popular Support, Quiescence, and Opposition

In 1959, the Cuban Revolution elicited extraordinary popular support.
That it left no options to its opponents but jail, death, exile, or silence
seemed less compelling then to most Cubans than its promise of a
Cuba para los cubanos. Even when, at the height of the cold war, the
revolutionary government turned to the Soviet Union and embraced
communism, its nationalist and egalitarian appeals proved stronger for
most Cubans than the anticommunism to which they had long sub-
scribed. Rejecting representative democracy, the Cuban leadership es-
tablished an alternative basis upon which to govern by adopting the
model of a single party and combining it with the authority of Fidel
Castro and a then-widespread popular support for the revolution. The
leadership’s challenge lay in translating that remarkable effervescence
into institutions capable of addressing the prosaic endeavors of daily
life. Four decades later, the government was farther from meeting that
challenge than it was when the revolution was vital. Fidel-patria-revo-
lution became an increasingly hollow formula.>7
During the preparations for the 1991 party congress, Cuban lead-
ers succinctly recognized a crucial failing of the political system. Al-
though they claimed that precongress assemblies yielded unanimous
support for “the Party, the Revolution, and comrade Fidel,” they si-
multaneously underscored the need to overcome the pernicious pit-
falls of la doble moral and el afan de unanimidad. Three years after the
192 The Cuban Revolution
1991 party congress, Raul Castro still observed: “We all know we don’t
say anything in meetings while we talk incessantly in the hallways.”>8
The political system was simply bereft of the institutions and guaran-
tees to overcome these pitfalls. Cuban politics was “absolutist”: that is,
it allowed no quarter for compromise on the vision of patria conse-
crated by the revolution. Iron-clad unity was the sine qua non of na-
tional sovereignty; the expression of individual or sectorial interests
was regarded as contrary to the national interest; acceptance of e/
comandante’s incontestable primacy was an inviolable imperative.
Thus, only masses, not citizens, were compatible with absolutist
politics.>9 To overcome duplicity and conformism, the political system
would need to promote an integrative politics, supportive of the diver-
sity in Cuban society and respectful of the expression of individualism,
values clearly in conflict with charismatic authority, a vanguard party,
and mass mobilizations. Yet the Cuban leadership could not fathom
other ways of rallying the support, or at least the acquiescence, of the
“masses.” Even the relative institutionalization of the 1970s and 1980s
had gone against the grain of the dominant strands in Cuban politics.
From the outset, the leadership faced the daunting chasm between
revolutionary ebullience and quotidian exigencies. Though mani-
fested in different ways since 1959, the tension between institutional-
ization and mobilization was a constant; at its core lay the question of
channeling the “spirit” of the revolution into the “flesh” of life. At no
time did the political system create the institutions to renovate elites
and forge a standard of citizenship requiring something less than full
mobilization. Fidel-patria-revolution simply could not provide an in-
stitutional compass.
Indeed, this was the crux of the political crisis. In its origins, the
Cuban government drew support and legitimacy from the noble ideals
of nationalism and egalitarianism. Subsequently, it failed to create the
institutional foundations for the Cuban people to renew their commit-
ment to these ideals. In fact, Cuban politics left no room for the natu-
ral cycles of support and disaffection that all polities experience. The
absolutist politics of /a patria penalized or ostracized citizens known to
harbor even the most trivial reservations. Forty years after the revolu-
tion, Cubans still had no options but to support (or pretend to sup-
port) the government unconditionally or face jail, death, exile, or si-
lence; the political system provided no space for partial or halfhearted ,
support, let alone peaceful opposition. Even if with diminishing re-
turns, /as masas continued to dominate the political purview of Cuban
leaders. La doble moral gripped the conscience of citizens whose only
recourse was talking in the hallways.
Though common in other Communist-party regimes, mass orga-
nizations in post-1959 Cuba occupied a special place in the leader-
ship’s ideological repertoire. At its best, mobilizational politics thrived
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 193

on “contact with the masses,” and mass organizations provided at least

a symbolic venue for popular involvement. The Constitution of 1976
contained an article listing these organizations by name as well as the
right of the CTC general secretary to participate in Council of Minis-
ters’ meetings; the revision enforced in 1992 eliminated the specific
list and the CTC presence at ministerial councils. During the 1970s,
representatives of the mass organizations increased their share of the
Central Committee, but faced a slow decline after 1980, reaching an
all-time low of less than 5 percent in 1997; representation among Na-
tional Assembly deputies similarly diminished. Though mass organiza-
tions like the CTC and the FMC never functioned autonomously, the
relative institutionalization of the 1970s and 1980s allowed them
to pursue their sectorial interests under PCC aegis. Mobilizational
politics—whether of the late 1960s genre or the post-1986 variety—
clearly needed the masses, but found addressing their sectorial inter-
ests problematic. During the 1990s, the FMC and the CTC experienced
different fates: the FMC descent relative to the previous two decades
continued; in contrast, the CTC seemed to find a tenuous space in the
uncertain terrain of economic reforms.
Unlike other mass organizations, the FMC lacked a powertul pa-
tron willing to give priority to the idea of gender equality in the 1990s
as had been the case in the 1970s and 1980s. Workers were essential
for political legitimacy; peasants and members of agricultural coopera-
tives produced food; the CDRs were neighborhood watchdogs; FEU
and other student organizations mobilized young people. The party,
the ministries, and the security apparatus each had vested, vital inter-
ests in one or more of these mass organizations; not so with the FMC.
Early in the special period, party assemblies questioned the organiza-
tion’s purpose and subsequently the FMC drifted like a rudderless
ship.©° Women, moreover, bore the brunt of the economic crisis and
thus most needed an organization capable of expressing their con-
cerns. In March 1995, Castro noted at the FMC congress:
It would be extremely unjust if we didn’t always keep in mind that, under
these special circumstances, women bear the brunt of the sacrifices. . . .
The Revolution stands by women .. . is aware that women now have
to struggle and work under more difficult conditions, and that they need
more support.¢!
The FMC, though, seemed bereft of a concrete program to redress the
more onerous conditions of las cubanas during the “special period.”
Moral support and ideological affirmations were simply not enough. A
Bohemia article captured women’s dilemma much more acutely:
We Cuban women have gained little when our needs and aspirations are
subsumed in the programs and the laws that benefit society as a whole,
when statistics do not take us into account, or when the brutalizing work
194 The Cuban Revolution
(in Lenin’s words) of domestic chores is lost in its “apparent” invisibility,
without tallying what it contributes to the national economy. . .. The
message or the speech is not addressed to women, news reports ignore us,
economic planning includes us globally, but our incalculable potential is
not mobilized; our specific contribution is not requested.° ,
Indeed, the journalist made an eloquent case in favor of a truly femi-
nist organization that could, independently, put women’s issues before
the government and the public.
The “special period” did, nonetheless, focus on social problems ,
that were of particular concern to women. The media covered a gamut
of topics that had not previously received much attention. Articles ap-
peared on rising divorce rates and deadbeat fathers; female-headed
households; teenage pregnancy; tensions between working outside
the home and maintaining a loving family; machismo and gender dis- ,
crimination; domestic violence; and relationships with spouses, par-
ents, and children. The government opened community-based institu-
tions for abandoned children and counseling centers for couples
and adolescents.®? Yet, the most sensationalist social problem of the
1990s—the spread of prostitution, or jineterismo, that accompanied the
expansion of tourism—did not appear to muster the same kind of offi-
cial attention. The interior and public health ministries dealt with the
jineteras (prostitutes) routinely; there was, however, no public reflec-
tion of the social, moral, and generational consequences stemming
from so many young women (and men) making a living by selling
themselves to foreigners.
The “special period” did not change Cuban leaders’ view of the
CTC: trade unions were still the party’s “transmission belts,” not inde-
pendent organizations that could contravene the government. But the
economic collapse did impress upon them the urgency of reforms,
even if they vacillated on enacting comprehensive ones. As the work-
ers’ Mass organization, the CTC provided the government with a piv-
otal sprocket in the strategy of partial restructuring. While Cuban soci-
ety would eventually have to confront the costs (and benefits) of
fundamental economic reforms, the PCC postponed the inevitable and
opted for a haphazard gradualism less immediately threatening to the
political status quo. Like all politicians, Cuba’s had to invoke an ideo-
logical mandate in support of their strategy; they again appealed to the
noble ideals of sovereignty and justice. Cuba, they argued, needed to
chart its own path to economic reforms without compromising the
safety net of social rights. Workers had been the revolution’s primary
constituency and could, perhaps, still be counted on. The parlamentos
obreros, held in the first quarter of 1994 after Castro derailed the Na-
tional Assembly’s efforts to move forward with the next round oi re-
structuring measures, furnished the government with an appropriate
occasion to rally the “understanding” and the “consensus” of the
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 195

masses.©4 In short, Cuban leaders carved a space for the CTC in the
context of their gradualist, haphazard approach toward economic re-
forms and in their reinforcement of mobilizational politics as an anti-
dote to a political opening.
The PCC used the parlamentos to convey the official reading of the
gamut of problems afflicting the Cuban economy: external factors had
caused Cuba’s trade to plummet which, in turn, triggered falling living
Standards, rising prices, and spiraling budget deficits; without contra-
vening the “social contract” of equity and justice, the government
had to consider imposing taxes, reducing gratuities, and strictly en-
forcing the law against black marketeers. Though the prospect of
eventually eliminating subsidies to state enterprises was raised, the
parlamentos reiterated the possibility of attaining “efficiency and effi-
cacy” in the state sector without massive layoffs.©> “There is no room
for pessimism,” noted Trabajadores in an editorial on these assemblies.
“Our just and realistic position is that we all should be saved, thinking
of the country and the people as a single entity,” affirmed another
one.©¢
At the same time, the parlamentos put in evidence an array of diffi-
culties long persistent in Cuban enterprises, such as absenteeism, un-
warranted sick leaves, and the theft of state goods, all of which the
“special period” had no doubt aggravated. They also underscored
a new phenomenon: workers quitting their jobs to become self-
employed and depriving state enterprises of much-needed skilled la-
bor. Regarding union leaders, a Trabajadores editorial’s blunt criticism
also confirmed a long-standing, seemingly intractable situation: “We
lose all patience when we hear the ritualistic and repetitive rhetoric of
those who constantly rely on empty slogans without addressing the
specific and objective reality upon which they should act.”®7 Though
some trade unionists were surely demagogues, their vacuous rhetoric
may well have been a consequence of unions’ inability to affect enter-
prise matters and the party’s expectation of their being more respon-
sive to its directives than to workers’ interests.
Finally, these worker assemblies, like the earlier island-wide dis-
cussions before the 1991 party congress or the more limited forums on
Popular Power, evidently breached the official limits on public ex-
changes. Again, Trabajadores editorialized:
In the preparatory meetings, we have observed the tendency to focus on
enterprise matters less intensely and more briefly, and instead, to dwell
with greater interest on the debate of what should be done nationally. It
would be a mistake to believe that the second topic is of primary impor-
tance, while the first is a ritual without practical consequences.68

The PCC insisted on a conciencia attentive only to enterprise matters;

workers, in turn, seemed fully aware of their impotence regarding
196 The Cuban Revolution
these matters and well understood that real change had to start _
elsewhere.
Although massive demonstrations had been trademarks of Cuban
politics, the government resorted to them less frequently in the 1990s.
During the summer of 1994, when 32,000 people left on rafts, there
was only one such expression of “popular support,” organized to
mourn a young black policeman who died in an attempt to stop a boat
hijacking. After the government stopped patrolling Cuban coasts, the
would-be rafters openly paraded to the points of departure, carrying
their boats or the materials to build them, without interference or de-
nunciation. In contrast to the Mariel exodus of 1980, the government
never resorted to e/ pueblo to repudiate those who were abandoning
the island. On August 5, 1995, the first anniversary of antigovernment
congregation on the Malecén, the leadership convened a mass demon-
stration of “revolutionary affirmation”; tens of thousands responded
while the government mobilized a large security contingent for their
protection.©? Only with such careful controls could the government
rely on the once-genuine expression of popular support. Significantly,
after the Cuban air force shot down two U.S. civilian planes in Febru-
ary 1996, and President Bill Clinton signed the Cuban Liberty and
Democratic Solidarity Act in March, the Cuban government did not
immediately mobilize the “masses” to support the downing and repu-
diate the new law.7° Shortly thereafter, on May 1, hundreds of thou-
sands of people rallied under nationalist banners in Havana’s Plaza of
the Revolution, but the gathering was perhaps most significant for its
rarity and its carefully orchestrated character. Mobilizational politics
could no longer deliver the powerful images—and indeed the reality—
of political strength it once did.
What was the true range of public opinion in contemporary
Cuba? Without competitive elections, a credible plebiscite, or the pos-
sibility of conducting scientific surveys, no one had an accurate an-
swer. A suggestive, partial profile, though, could be drawn from a vari-
ety of sources. Varying degrees of disaffection found expression among
Cuban youth: in Santiago de Cuba, 28 percent had thought about
leaving Cuba, almost all supported some change, and most were not
motivated to join or to remain in the party’s youth section.7! At a Na-
tional Assembly meeting in 1995, several deputies recognized the exis-
tence of an unprecedented moral crisis among sectors of Cuban
youth.72 Although Cuban history was crucial to official ideology, uni-
versity students had a limited knowledge of it.73 Some children, more-
over, were learning too well the lessons of the modest economic re-
forms: they were renting their toys and videos to their less privileged
friends.74
At the end of 1995, the Miami Herald engaged the services of a
Costa Rican firm associated with the Gallup organization to conduct a
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 197

public opinion survey in Cuba.7> Among the more interesting results

were the following. In the month prior to the survey, 64 percent of the
respondents had not attended a political meeting. Only 21 percent de-
scribed themselves as communist or socialist, although an additional
48 percent considered themselves revolutionaries. When asked who
could aid or guide citizens who disagreed with the government, a
combined 46 percent answered “nobody” or “don’t know” or left the
question blank. Regarding the trade-offs between equality and free-
dom, 50 percent favored the promotion of equality, 38 percent, free-
dom. More than 53 percent expressed an interest in setting up their
own businesses. Although the overwhelming majority agreed with the
opening toward foreign investment, 39 percent thought the govern-
ment—not Cuban workers—was the primary beneficiary. Nearly hali
refused to specify what the revolution’s principal failure was, and
most considered that achievements outweighed failures. Eighty-eight
percent said they were “very proud” to be Cuban.
If Cuban leaders at one time mustered overwhelming active sup-
port, and later a combination of such support and a more passive dis-
position to listen to their directives, they were now mired in a conun-
drum. They continued to have a core of adherents, which allowed
them the option to resort to their long-standing pattern of gover-
nance; at the same time, they apparently lacked the majority’s acqui-
escence, and mobilizational politics did not afford them the means to
renew popular confidence. Indeed, la doble moral and el afan de unan-
imidad were unbridgeable pitfalls within the jagged terrain of Cuban
politics. Even without the goodwill, let alone the endorsement, of the
majority, the government could survive if the population remained in-
different, fearful, or paralyzed by a sense of helplessness. What, from
their vantage point, Cuban leaders had to thwart was the coalescing of
this discontent into an opposition movement that could jeopardize
their rule, or into mass disturbances that would result in the decision
to shoot. Battered legitimacy was not a lethal threat; the organization
of alternatives was.

Transition, Transformation, and Democracy:

Comparative Perspectives
Nearing the new century, the Cuban government appeared stable: its
leadership was united and the population far from a state of revolt
that would augur its imminent demise. Nonetheless, a political transi-
tion from the long-standing pattern of governance would eventually
take place, even if only when Fidel Castro passed from the scene. The
outcome of this transition in Cuba was likely to share some common
ground with the experiences of Latin America and Eastern Europe
that generally promoted pluralist democracy. Once this happened,
198 The Cuban Revolution
these countries confronted the complexities of consolidating and insti-
tutionalizing democracy. Before this could occur, however, Cuba had
to first depart from dictatorship, a process which, while setting the
stage for democratization, was itself distinctive. The starting point ol
this “first transition” was the political crisis besetting the Cuban gov-
ernment. Its present stability apart, the regime suffered from a termi-
nal condition: Cuban leaders would not be able to govern indefinitely
within the familiar parameters. Thus, the first step for moving away
from autocratic government was evident, if not yet mature. A quick
review of recent transitions in Latin America and Eastern Europe and
of the dynamics of stability in China, Vietnam, and North Korea, how-
ever, limned possible contours of transformation in Cuba.76

Three Settings: Latin America, Eastern Europe, and Asia

Latin America offered attractive scenarios of transition. Culturally and
historically, it was Cuba’s natural context. Although, unlike all the
other undemocratic regimes that until recently prevailed in Latin
America, Cuba’s was rooted in a radical, nationalist revolution that
eliminated capitalism, the Latin American experiences valuably high-
lighted three issues. These were: the need to calm the fears of capital-
ists regarding the economy; the imperative of placating the military’s
concern for its institutional integrity, while officers returned (more or
less) to the barracks; and the importance of moderates reigning in
radicals in the opposition. To a Cuba in transition, the Latin American
experience recommended offering limited guarantees to those who
benefited from the Communist-party government or who perpetrated
crimes and injustices on behalf of the regime; strengthening civilian
elites who could form parties and coalitions capable of bringing about
and consolidating democracy; and observing a spirit of moderation,
which meant looking mostly forward in a spirit of compromise, rather
than primarily backward with a thirst for retribution. The entrenched
polarization of Cuban politics—on the island, in exile, and in Cuba-
U.S. relations—no doubt dimmed the prospects for moderation and
compromise.
Although negotiations among contesting elites were essential for
ending authoritarianism elsewhere, Cuba’s elites had not yet shown
any such inclination. Under Fidel Castro, the government adamantly
dismissed the need for political reform; the opposition on the island
had not yet demonstrated the capacity to constitute an alternative.
That the United States was the inveterate antagonist of the Cuban
government and the ally of exile hardliners made the idea of these ne-
gotiations unacceptable to would-be reformers in official circles.77 The
renewed preéminence of the Cuban military, while a certain guaran-
tee of order in a situation potentially fraught with chaos, underlined
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 199

the imperative of civilian control over national affairs for the eventual
consolidation and institutionalization of democracy. The military might
well prove instrumental in the transition, but democracy unequivo-
cally demanded that afterwards officers and soldiers submit to the pre-
rogatives of civilian politics and civil society. National reconciliation
was more than an emotional slogan: it was the indispensable platform
from which a new coalition of elites could extricate Cuban society
from the present state of affairs and mobilize the anti-authoritarian
sentiments of the citizenry in favor of democracy. The establishment
of rule of law was the only feasible context for national reconciliation.
Although culturally and historically quite foreign to Cuba, Eastern
Europe had state socialism in common with the island.78 In Eastern
Europe, the transition from Stalinism to “normal” state socialism took
place before the definitive crisis of 1989. After the 1960s, elites lost
faith in the promise of socialism (particularly given the stark, dispirit-
ing contrast with Western Europe) and their conviction about their
right to wield power. This demoralization made all the regimes, except
Romania’s, unwilling to give the decisive order to shoot when thou-
sands of citizens took to the streets.
To varying degrees, Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia experi-
enced the emergence of a second society even within the framework
of authoritarianism. In the 1970s and 1980s, Adam Michnik had
called on Polish dissidents to live “as if” they were living in a free soci-
ety, unmindful to the extent possible of the official reality. In so doing,
citizens and their alternative associations exercised, in Vaclav Havel’s
words, “the power of the powerless.”7? Moreover, in Poland and Hun-
gary, economic reforms had advanced considerably; in Czechoslova-
kia, the economic crisis never reached the levels it did elsewhere. In
Romania, Bulgaria, and Albania, where neither economic reforms nor
a second, or civil, society had quite jelled, the ruling Communist par-
ties called elections amid the regional revolutionary wave of 1989-
1990. Although they won the first round, they also established a new
basis for the political system, one that did not invest the vanguard
party with an inviolable right to rule and paved the way for the alter-
nation of power.8° Under Eastern European communism, civilians
generally exercised control of the armed forces and state security.
Eastern European experience suggested important distinctions.
State socialism in Cuba never acquired the “normal” dynamics it did
elsewhere. Economically, when compared especially to Poland and
Hungary, the old model of market socialism barely flourished on the
island. Politically, the presence of Fidel Castro prevented the full insti-
tutionalization of one-party politics. A measure of the weak institu-
tional basis of the Cuban Communist Party was its inability to do what
the parties in Romania, Bulgaria, and Albania did under comparable
circumstances of fledgling civil societies: call and win a first round of
200 The Cuban Revolution
open elections. A second society had decidedly emerged in Cuba after
1989, even if not yet fully manifested in the ways envisioned by Mich-
nik and Havel. Cuba’s second society had yet to articulate a collective
“we,” which could snowball into a challenge to the “they” who were
in power. Although the collapse of communism in Europe, the crisis of
the domestic economy, and the erosion of Fidel-patria-revolution had
considerably discredited the regime, the citizenry had opted for private
solutions like leaving the country or doing whatever was necessary to
put food on the table.
China, Vietnam, and North Korea had, like Cuba, thus far averted
the fate of Soviet and Eastern European communism. Not coinciden-
tally, these regimes had originated in genuine revolutions, propelled
largely by their national histories, not extraneous impositions. Ini-
tially, their leadership commanded significant popular support, which
helped them to retain a measure of legitimacy, even amid domestic
crisis and the collapse of communism elsewhere. Consequently, with
the disintegration of Marxism-Leninism as a credible ideology, their
leaders placed nationalism in the forefront of justifying their rule.
State socialism in these three countries, however, revealed varied
dynamics of stasis and change: North Korea, a hermetic status quo;
China, aggressive economic reform; Vietnam, economic liberalization
and also, though more timidly, political reform. In 1997, for example,
three independent candidates won seats in Vietnam’s National Assem-
bly: a veteran of South Vietnam’s army and now a respected doctor,
a charismatic lawyer, and a Catholic bishop.8! China, Vietnam, and
North Korea had three important points in common: their govern-
ments had survived the death of charismatic leaders; their societies
were at relatively low levels of modernization; and their regional con-
text was one where political authoritarianism and economic progress
had until recently successfully coexisted.82
The present stability of Asia’s communist regimes also pointed to
important considerations for Cuba. Nationalism remained vigorous in
spite of the exhaustion of many Cubans with incessant patriotic
rhetoric and, until 1994, the willingness of thousands to risk their lives
to leave the island. Waving the flag and invoking the past still galva-
nized significant numbers of Cubans behind their government. Oppo-
nents at home and abroad would not weaken the government until
they truly grappled with the intolerable one-sidedness of the U.S.-
Cuban relationship before 1959. A new vision of Cuba was urgently
needed to overcome the present and to forge a future without repeat-
ing the past.
Cuban leaders looked toward China and Vietnam as examples of
Communist parties managing economic reform without conceding
their monopoly on power. But did the Cuban government have the
disposition to carry out a coherent reform program? Would Cuban so-
 The Invisible Crisis: Stability and Change in 1990s Cuba 201

ciety, with much higher levels of modernization than China and Viet-
nam, tolerate full-fledged economic reform without a concomitant po-
litical transformation of one sort or another? The evidence pointed to-
ward negative answers. Finally, the regional context of Cuba was
much less propitious: not only was the United States set on a collision
course with the Cuban government, but Latin America did not present
the “pull” that Western Europe did for Eastern Europe and that East
Asia did for China and Vietnam. Since the late 1980s, neoliberalism
had promoted economic growth in Latin America without redressing
long-entrenched, glaring social inequalities; these inequalities and the
widespread corruption that had long plagued Latin American societies
threatened the continent’s new and still fragile democracies. Two
trends became salient during the 1990s, however: on the one hand,
the United States appeared—for the first time ever—to be truly sup-
portive of political democracy in Latin America; on the other, most of
the Latin American left had clearly abandoned the hope of revolution
and was fully committed to making pluralist democracy work. These
trends might eventually aid the birth of a new Cuba.
 Conclusion

During the 1990s, Cuban socialism became increasingly untenable.

The international conditions that had buttressed it rapidly disap-
peared. After 1989, the Cuban economy no longer could count on a
network of trade, credit, and aid with the Soviet Union and Eastern
Europe. The end of the cold war also posed new threats to Cuban na-
tional security. The Soviet Union had provided a partial shield against
the United States. In a bipolar world, the Cuban government had been
able to formulate an activist foreign policy that likewise earned it a
modicum of security. In contrast, the post-cold war era was not recep-
tive to the tenets of one-party politics and a state-directed economy
that Cuban leaders so insistently defended. The world that had al-
lowed the Cuban Revolution to consolidate and Cuban socialism to
subsist had come to an end.
The new order did not, however, abate U.S. hostility. The United
States had never looked kindly upon Cuban independence, nor had it
ever had normal relations with Cuba. Except for the Carter adminis-
tration, U.S. governments had never articulated an enlightened policy
toward Cuba—before or after 1959. With the demise of the Soviet
Union and the practically null prospects for revolution in Latin Amer-
ica, Cuba could no longer be construed as a threat to U.S. strategic and
geopolitical interests. Notwithstanding, Washington reinforced the
thirty-seven-year-old embargo. In the election year of 1992, President
George Bush signed the Cuban Democracy Act after candidate Bill
Clinton supported the then—Torricelli bill in an effort to win favor with

202
 Conclusion 203
Cuban Miami. Four years later, President Clinton reluctantly endorsed
the Helms-Burton bill (Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity Act)
after the Cuban air force shot down two U.S.-owned planes (Brothers
to the Rescue) over international waters. These laws essentially pre-
cluded any form of rapprochement with the Cuban government until
it, in effect, capitulated. The United States was wagering that a harder
line would finally bring the downfall of Fidel Castro. Indeed, the
words of John Quincy Adams, written in 1823, echoed with contem-
porary resonance: “If an apple severed by the tempest from its native
tree cannot choose but fall to the ground, Cuba, forcibly disjoined
from its own unnatural connection with Spain, and incapable of self
support, can gravitate only towards the North American Union.”!
Although Washington always had a historic concern with Cuban
political stability, U.S. efforts to promote it before 1959 were singularly
unsuccessful. Under the Platt Amendment, the U.S. government twice
intervened militarily, and otherwise oversaw many aspects of Cu-
ban domestic affairs. Cuba’s mediated sovereignty contributed to the
revolutionary upheavals of the 1930s. During the 1950s, the United
States supported Fulgencio Batista because he promised order after
the mounting chaos of the late 1940s and early 1950s. When, twice,
the moderate opposition sought to negotiate an electoral transition,
the Eisenhower administration refrained from pressuring General
Batista to accede. Had Batista negotiated, the weight of Fidel Castro,
the Rebel Army, and the July 26th Movement in the opposition move-
ment would not have been as pronounced.
During the 1990s, the United States was similarly undermining
the future prospects for political stability in Cuba. Confrontation had
not moderated Cuban leaders in the past, nor was it mitigating their
present intransigence. On the contrary. By giving Fidel Castro legiti-
mate cause to appeal to the patriotism of millions of Cubans, the
United States continued to fuel radical nationalism. Because of U.S.
hostility, the Cuban leadership had a credible pretext for refusing to
implement meaningful political changes, and consequently, the pros-
pects for a peaceful transformation were being imperiled. The United
States, moreover, was not likely to be as tolerant of a Tiananmen
Square—like massacre in Havana as it had been in Beijing. Were the
U.S. military to mediate a governmental transition, the long-term po-
litical stability of Cuba would inexorably suffer.
U.S. domestic considerations drove Washington’s policy toward
the Cuban government. Cuban-American clout in the key electoral
state of Florida largely accounted for the persistence of the anachro-
nistic embargo: dominant exile sectors cared deeply about not ceding
(or seeming to cede) an inch to Fidel Castro, and they effectively lob-
bied for their cause. In contrast, lobbying Washington to end the em-
bargo did not mobilize comparable zeal and resources from any other
204 The Cuban Revolution
constituency. Though pro—free trade Wall Street opposed embargoes
as a matter of principle, the stakes in Cuba were evidently not of the
same order as in Vietnam, where U.S. corporations did effectively
pressure the Clinton administration to end economic sanctions. Nel-
ther did international opinion sway Washington: Canada, Europe, and
Latin America denounced the embargo and refused U.S. entreaties to
make the punitive measure a true international economic blockade. In
January 1998, Pope John Paul II also urged the United States “to
change, to change” and condemned the embargo as “unjust and ethi-
cally unacceptable.”
Change, however, was not on the horizon. U.S. policy toward
Cuba seemed impervious to rational decision-making. In 1997, Presi-
dent Clinton characterized U.S.-Cuba relations as a “terrible family
feud” as he tried to explain to a European audience why the United
States persisted with the embargo. “It’s like we invited you over for
dinner, you walked in and the people that invited you were half
drunk throwing bottles at each other.”2 Nearly four decades earlier in
the context of the Missile Crisis, the most serious confrontation of the
cold war, John F. Kennedy feared the U.S. “fixation on the subject of
Cuba” would hamper European understanding of his administration’s
handling of the crisis. By the 1990s, Cuba’s international significance
had diminished considerably, and the rest of the world was more than
ever baffled by the enduring fixation. The Clinton administration,
though, did see beyond the “family feud” regarding illegal migration,
an issue of explosive domestic repercussions. After 32,000 rafters left
Cuba in 1994, Washington and Havana signed an agreement regulat-
ing immigration, and a few months later the president ended Cubans’
right to automatic political asylum in the United States. U.S. domestic
concerns, therefore, motivated the administration to normalize one
crucial aspect of U.S. relations with Cuba. ,
Cuba’s domestic circumstances had also changed. Cuban society
was no longer in revolution, and socialism had long dulled popular etf-
fervescence. Ernesto Guevara had argued that the challenge was to in-
corporate into daily life the conctencia of the conirontations with the
clases econdmicas and the United States, and the “spirits” of Playa Giron,
the literacy campaign, and the Missile Crisis. Although Cuban leaders
had attempted to forge a sui generis socialism during the radical ex-
periment, the outcome had been economic chaos and popular demor-
alization. After the debacle of 1970, they had no choice but to turn to
the models of state socialism to organize the economy and institution-
alize the political system. While the policies of the 1970s and early
1980s had brought relative success, Cuban leaders repudiated them
when some of their consequences contravened the social equality and
the sense of justice that they deemed necessary to maintain national
unity against the United States. The rectification of the 1980s and the
 Conclusion 205
“special period” of the 1990s constituted efforts to return to the fount
of revolution in order to make socialism work.
The probabilities of success were dim. The economy needed for-
eign capital, international loans, and a new network of trade that did
not appear to be forthcoming at the levels required to support recov-
ery. Over four decades and using different models of economic organi-
zation, Cuba had not solved a major dilemma of state socialism: Cuban
workers still had no incentives to produce efficiently. Amid the dire
conditions of the 1990s, the government was unlikely, finally, to de-
vise the formula to motivate labor and renovate socialism. Socialism,
moreover, was already breaking down. The second economy was en-
trenched and expanding. With deepening crisis in the state sector, or-
dinary Cubans were more frequently participating in the black market
as buyers, producers, and sellers. Socialism had simply failed to de-
velop an economy capable of sustaining the nation.
Similarly, a new conciencia had generally not developed. Ordinary
Cubans had often been capable of extraordinary heroism, courage,
and dedication. Guevara’s examples of Playa Giron, the literacy cam-
paign, and the Missile Crisis were authentic. So were the mobilizations
for volunteer work during the 1960s: that these were not completely
voluntary did not diminish the fact that millions of citizens partici-
pated in them with commitment and in the hope of building a better
future. During the 1970s and early 1980s, more than 300,000 Cubans
served in Angola and Ethiopia with great valor and efficacy. Thou-
sands more also rendered their services in medicine, education, and
other civilian professions throughout the Third World. Thus, during
extraordinary times and circumstances, many Cuban citizens—some-
times millions—performed well and quite selflessly. Incorporating that
conciencia into the daily life of state socialism had, however, turned out
to be a chimera. Ironically, in the sunset of Cuban socialism, Ernesto
Guevara’s remains were found in Bolivia and returned to Cuba. A gi-
gantic sculpture of him stands over his tomb in the heartland city of
Santa Clara, its stone eyes fixed on a society the real Ché would have
scarcely recognized.4
kK OX

Political factors also intervened in the untenable future of Cuban so-

cialism. Although Cuba was no longer in revolution, Cuban politics
retained the logic of Fidel-patria-revolution. Fidel Castro believed that
he had the right to govern Cuba because of the social revolution and
the achievements of socialism. The memory of the overwhelming
popular support that he had mustered and maintained for so long
nurtured this belief in the face of the adverse current of domestic and
international events. Fidel Castro and other Cuban leaders were,
moreover, convinced that the Cuban nation could exist only under the
 206 The Cuban Revolution
terms of the past four decades and that, therefore, only their rule
could safeguard /a patria. Under charismatic authority, Cuban politics
was unlikely to achieve the level of institutionalization necessary to
promote a peaceful transformation.
The anticipated transition from the leadership of Fidel Castro was
a crucial dimension of the political crisis that confronted the Cuban
government. Had Castro passed away in the late 1970s or early 1980s,
the Communist party might have engineered a transition without mo-
mentous consequences. Whatever the domestic and international
conditions, the party would have had to face the prospect of governing
on its own sometime in the 1990s or at the turn of the century. Under
actual circumstances, the crisis was graver because charismatic au-
thority was itself in question, and Fidel Castro was very much alive.
Moreover, the long-run viability of the party—especially when Castro
passed from the scene—was uncertain.
How much strength the Communist party had independently of
Fidel Castro was one of the principal questions besetting Cuban poli- -
tics after 1959. One measure of its institutional strength lay in its
ability to handle the transition under the inauspicious conditions of
the 1990s. If the party were able to do so peacefully, even if it lost
power while remaining a political force in Cuban society, the conclu-
sion about its strength would be positive. If the party were not able to
lead a peaceful transition and the result were a violent catastrophe,
its inability to negotiate and survive would be a testament to its insti-
tutional weakness. If the outcome in Cuba were one of complete
disavowal of the revolutionary legacy, it would partially be the conse-
quence of the frailties of the party. In its early stages, the perfec-
clonamiento had, in fact, dissipated the faint hints of reform that might
have fostered a transition from within the political system. Had a sym-
bolic number of opposition individuals been permitted to run in the
1992-1993 elections and won, the National Assembly might have ac-
quired the semblance of a legislature and steered a new political dy-
namic. The Cuban government simply could not follow the modest
steps the Vietnamese had taken in their own assembly.
Pope John Paul Il’s visit to Cuba in January 1998, however,
opened a possible, alternate scenario of transformation. Beginning in
the mid-1980s, the Catholic church slowly regained a foothold in
Cuban society: parish communities, numerous publications, some civic
institutions, and an incipient network of social services increasingly
engaged Catholics (who were more likely to come from all walks of |
life and come in different skin shades than before 1959) among them-
selves and with other Cubans. In preparing for the papal visit, church
representatives visited almost every Cuban household; outdoor
masses were also held throughout the island. For five days in January,
hundreds of thousands gathered to partake in religious celebrations;
 Conclusion 207
millions watched or listened to the live media broadcasts of the out-
door masses. In his homilies, John Paul repeatedly delivered a mes-
sage of inclusion, reconciliation, and respect for the dignity of individ-
uals. “Do not be afraid,” he said often. “You are and should be the
protagonists of your own personal and national history.” The crowds
responded enthusiastically: “Cuba, with the pope, renews her hope,” a
frequently heard chant, poignantly captured popular sentiments. San-
tiagueros paid him the highest of compliments: “John Paul, brother,
you are now a Cuban.” Cries of “Freedom! Freedom!” electrified hun-
dreds of thousands at the outdoor masses. The pope, like a beloved
grandfather, won the hearts of millions of Cubans. Whatever its future
impact, John Paul II’s visit unequivocally marked a historic moment:
the Cuban government was temporarily relegated to the background.
A new era awaited the Cuban Catholic Church in the aftermath of
the papal visit. No doubt prodigal Catholics and new converts would
increase the fold of the faithful. But the church’s pastoral mission now
bore more than ecclesiastical concerns: this mission included the un-
avoidable civic responsibility of advancing a more open society. How
else could priests preach the gospels and Catholics give testimony olf
their faith? A renewed Catholic church presented the Cuban govern-
ment with an unprecedented challenge: maintaining dialogue with an
institution that had its own, albeit fundamentally religious, agenda. In
a society as regimented as Cuba’s, though, concessions to the sacred—
like Pope John Paul II's five-day visit—had already profoundly rever-
berated in the world of the profane. Did the Cuban Communist Party
have the political wherewithal to sustain a new level of church-state
relations whereby the stature and scope of an independent, selt-
directed institution in Cuban society would inevitably be enhanced?
The Cuban leadership has forcefully resisted political diversity and the
full recognition of citizens’ economic rights; it might, perhaps, still
prove to be less unyielding regarding a religious institution without an
explicit political agenda. If so, the effects of the church-state dialogue
might gradually ripple throughout Cuban society.
The Cuban Revolution had initially been immensely popular. In
1961, when the revolution disallowed capitalism and representative
democracy, the overwhelming majority of e/ pueblo cubano supported
the government against the invaders at the Bay of Pigs. Widespread
hardships notwithstanding, most Cubans remained committed to the
revolution during the 1960s, or at least resigned to it. After the deba-
cle of 1970, Cuban leaders succeeded in engaging the citizenry in the
process of institutionalization. On July 26, 1970, Fidel Castro had in-
deed been able to stand in the Plaza of the Revolution and, however
rhetorically, say he would resign if the people so desired. At the time,
few Cubans could or wanted to conceive an alternative, and the gov-
ernment probably retained the support of the majority. The social
208 The Cuban Revolution
revolution was but a decade away and the will, energy, and passion
that it had generated could still be tapped.
Rejecting the politiqueria of the past, the revolution had embraced
the model of a vanguard party and mass organizations to establish a
new political authority. During the early 1960s, institutional politics
had not, however, complemented the imperatives of charismatic au-
thority and mass mobilizations. The radical experiment sought to re-
vive the revolutionary “spirit” but it failed dramatically. During the
1970s and early 1980s, the process of institutionalization created set-
tings for involving the citizenry in issues of immediate relevance.
Nonetheless, involvement—whether through mass mobilizations,
trade unions, the FMC, or local assemblies of Popular Power—was not
tantamount to meaningful participation. Moreover, at no time alter
1959 did the Cuban government recognize the right to dissent from
the revolution, socialism, and the leadership of Fidel Castro.
During the 1990s, the dynamic of Fidel-patria-revolution as a for-
mula for governance notably weakened. The fall of communism in the
Soviet Union and Eastern Europe cast a pall on the politics of van-
guard parties. In addition, the post-1959 social transformations—
which extended and advanced the relative modernity of the old
Cuba—were rendering obsolete the forms of political authority estab-
lished after 1959. New generations of healthier, better educated, more
urban Cubans were demanding the right to express their creativity,
their interests, and their political diversity. The Communist party,
however, was falling considerably short of their democratic expecta-
tions. Indeed, the nation urgently needed to hear multiple voices and
deliberate fresh visions in order to find new ways of defending sover-
eignty and upholding justice into the new century.
Cuban leaders responded to adversity by emphasizing military im-
peratives in the conduct of politics. They governed as if still presiding
over a social revolution and chose not to hear the words of José Marti
to Maximo Gomez: “You do not found a nation, General, the way you
command an army camp.” Because they continued to give praetorian
answers to the special kind of low-intensity wartare that the United
States waged against them, Cuban leaders were coming perilously
close to commanding the nation like an army camp. And, in so doing,
Fidel Castro and the Communist party were indubitably undermining
the revolutionary legacy.
Nonetheless, the Cuban government retained an undetermined
level of popular support. For many citizens, breaking with the govern-
ment meant breaking with their lives: they had grown up or were
young adults during the 1960s when the social revolution engulfed
Cuban society, and they had committed themselves to the new Cuba.
Many others—particularly poor and nonwhite Cubans—remembered
their plight before the revolution and feared a post-socialist Cuba that
 Conclusion 209
would disregard their welfare. Moreover, a majority of the citizenry—
even if not supportive of the government—took affront at the imperi-
ousness of the Torricelli and Helms-Burton acts: foreign dictates would
never be the motor of Cuban democracy. While the international
community opposed Helms-Burton on the grounds of extraterritori-
ality (refusal to accept Washington’s expectation that other nations
abide by a U.S. act), the law’s most egregious aspect for the future of
Cuba resided with the retroactive extension of the benefits of U.S. citi-
—zenship to individuals who were Cuban citizens at the time of the con-
fiscations. Helms-Burton decreed compensation of claims by Cuban
Americans, or restitution of their property, as a litmus test of the
democratic character of a future Cuban government. Cuban Ameri-
cans, citizens of Cuba when their properties were confiscated, would
thus be able to seek the auspices of the U.S. government to settle their
claims in a post-Castro Cuba. Sadly, the Cuban upper class and its
progeny seemed immune to the lessons of Cuban history. They were,
moreover, fueling the fears of many Cubans that exiles were primarily
interested in reclaiming their properties, fears the Cuban government
skillfully manipulated. Those who lost property in 1959 apparently
lacked confidence that, a democratic Cuba would give their claims (no
doubt, a legitimate issue) a just and fair hearing; seeking Washington’s
mantle brazenly reinforced the long-entrenched, vicious circle of plat-
tismo. Not surprisingly, nationalism remained a plank for the Cuban
government.
But there was also the Cuba of la doble moral that the party had
recognized as an obstacle in the efforts to renovate the political system
during the preparations for the October 1991 congress. Growing num-
bers of citizens were living in a second society: acquiescing in public
and dissenting in private. Uncontested unity around Fidel-patria-revo-
lution imposed a regimentation upon public discourse and exacted
a high toll on the expression of dissent: the political system lacked
the institutional wherewithal to address the pernicious pitfall of du-
plicity. The citizenry—out of conviction, fear, or helplessness—contin-
ued to accept the primacy of Fidel-patria-revolution, and therefore
rendered the government—if clearly not democratic—plausible. In
1998, though, Fidel Castro could not have stood before the nation and
offered to resign as he had in 1970: a majority of el pueblo cubano might
well have welcomed his departure. That, in and of itself, was emblem-
atic of the latent political crisis.
Nearing the new century, the Cuban Revolution was history. The
government confronted a bankrupt economy, the potential of political
collapse, and a dispirited population. Although aggravated by interna-
tional conditions, Cuba’s predicament was firmly rooted in domestic
circumstances, and therefore change was a national imperative. In-
deed, Fidel Castro’s blaming of the U.S. embargo for his government’s
210 The Cuban Revolution
failures and his conditioning meaningful change to its end betrayed an
ironic plattismo of his own. Like Gerardo Machado in the 1930s and
Fulgencio Batista in the 1950s, Castro was extraordinarily reluctant
to compromise his rule. Unlike them, Fidel the revolutionary had
consolidated a Cuba of greater equality and sovereignty. Castro the
caudillo, however, was undermining the legacy of the revolution. Un-
like the 1930s and the 1950s, an opposition movement with a credible
program to sway el pueblo cubano had not yet developed. From their ,
own experience against Batista, Cuban leaders well understood the
threat of such a movement. Consequently, they were redoubling their
emphasis on elite unity, insisting that their rule was the only safe-
guard for /a patria, and standing ready to do whatever was necessary
to prevent the mounting popular disaffection from acquiring an orga-
nized expression. If they persisted in their intransigence, the outcome
was likely to be a Cuba that completely abandoned the legacy of the
revolution.
 Notes

Introduction

1. Among Cuban historians, see Jorge Ibarra, Ideologia mambisa (Havana:

Instituto del Libro, 1972); Oscar Pino-Santos, El asalto a Cuba por ta oligarquta
financiera yanqui (Havana: Casa de las Américas, 1973); Ramon de Armas, La
revolucién pospuesta (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1975); and Fran-
cisco L6pez Segrera, Raices historicas de la revolucion cubana (1868~1959) (Ha-
vana: Ediciones Union, 1980). The Cuban leadership has also espoused the
“one-hundred-years-of-struggle” thesis. See . . . Porque en Cuba solo ha habido
una revolucion (Havana: Departamento de Orientaci6n Revolucionaria, 1975)
for speeches by Fidel Castro and Armando Hart. Among U.S. historians, see
Ramon Eduardo Ruiz, Cuba: The Making of a Revolution (Amherst: University of
Massachusetts Press, 1968); Sheldon B. Liss, The Roots of Revolution: Radical
Thought in Cuba (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1987); and Louis A.
Pérez, Jr., Cuba: Between Reform and Revolution (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1988).
2. Linearity and teleology often plague coherent and suggestive interpre-
tations of history. Nonetheless, because the revolution has emphasized the
“logic” of Cuban history, alternative assessments need to respond—intellectu-
ally and politically—to its challenges. The revolution turned history into a fac-
tor of politics that contending perspectives cannot ignore—but generally have.
3. For analyses of Marti and the PRC, see Jorge Ibarra, José Marti dirigente
politico e ideario revolucionario (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1980);
John M. Kirk, José Marti: Mentor of the Cuban Nation (Tampa: University Presses
of Florida, 1983); and Gerald E. Poyo, “With All, and for the Good of All”: The
Emergence of Popular Nationalism in the Cuban Communities in the United States,
1848-1898 (Durham: Duke University Press, 1989).
4. The following are representative of the vast post-1959 literature:

211
212 Notes to Pages 6-7
Richard Fagen, The Transformation of Political Culture in Cuba (Stanford: Stanford
University Press, 1969); James O’Connor, The Origins of Socialism in Cuba
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1970); Maurice Zeitlin, Revolutionary Poli-
tics and the Cuban Working Class (New York: Harper & Row, 1970); Edward
Gonzalez, Cuba Under Castro: The Limits of Charisma (Boston: Houghton Mifflin,
1974); Carmelo Mesa-Lago, Cuba in the 1970s: Pragmatism and Institutionaliza-
tion (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1974), and The Economy of
Socialist Cuba (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1981); Jorge I.
Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1978); Claes Brundenius, Revolutionary Cuba: The Challenge of Economic Growth
with Equity (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984; and Andrew Zimbalist and Claes
Brundenius, The Cuban Economy: Measurement and Analysis of Socialist Perfor-
mance (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989).
5. See Theodore Draper, Castro’s Revolution: Myths and Realities (New York:
Praeger, 1962), and Castroism: Theory and Practice (New York: Praeger, 1965);
Grupo Cubano de Investigaciones Econémicas, Un estudio sobre Cuba (Miami:
University of Miami Press, 1963); and Andrés Suarez, Cuba: Castroism and Com-
munism, 1959-1966 (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1967).
6. O’Connor is the foremost proponent of the stagnation thesis. Most
sympathetic accounts of the revolution, however, subscribe to it.
7. Leo Huberman and Paul Sweezy, Cuba: Anatomy of a Revolution (New
York: Monthly Review Press, 1961); and Eric Wolf, Peasant Wars of the Twentieth
Century (New York: Harper & Row, 1969).

Praeger, 1965). ,
8. C. Wright Mills, Listen Yankee! (New York: Ballantine Books, 1960).
9. Boris Goldenberg, The Cuban Revolution and Latin America (New York:

10. Draper, Castroism; and Samuel Farber, Revolution and Reaction in Cuba,
1933-1960 (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1976).
11. Carlos Rafael Rodriguez, Cuba en el transito al socialismo (Havana: Edi-
tora Politica, 1979).
12. Zeitlin.
13. Sidney W. Mintz, “The Rural Proletariat and the Problem of Prole-
tarian Consciousness,” Journal of Peasant Studies (April 1974): 291-325.
14. Two important exceptions are Hugh Thomas, Cuba: The Pursuit of Free-
dom (New York: Harper & Row, 1971); and Dominguez.
15. Iam using emerge in the structural sense that Theda Skocpol, States
and Social Revolutions: A Comparative Analysis of France, Russia, and China (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), used it. This study, however, also
emphasizes political and ideological factors in the making of the Cuban Revo-
lution.
16. Quite obviously, Iam positioning myself in the controversy about the
relative weight of structural and political factors in the processes of revolution.
Although not wholly subscribing to the emphasis on structural explanations
of her early work, I am indebted to Theda Skocpol for her impressive work on
social revolutions. I am equally indebted to Charles Tilly and his work on col-
lective action, state formation, and social transformations. See, especially,
From Mobilization to Revolution (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1978), and |
“Does Modernization Breed Revolution?” in Jack A. Goldstone, ed., Revolu-
tions: Theoretical, Comparative, and Historical Studies (San Diego: Harcourt Brace
 Notes to Pages 7-12 213
Jovanovitch, 1986), pp. 47-57. The literature on revolutions is enormous and
varied. See Jeff Goodwin, ed., “A Symposium on Sociology of Revolutions,”
Theory and Society 23 (December 1994). Although I have refrained from engag-
ing the literature on revolutions, I have used its analytical categories in writ-
ing The Cuban Revolution.
17. Clases econdmicas and clases populares were commonly used terms in
the old Cuba for the bourgeoisie and the popular sectors, respectively. That the
bourgeoisie used the self-referent of “economic classes” raises the question of
whether they considered the working class to be noneconomic. That “popular
sectors” rather than the “proletariat” was in such common usage is explained
by widespread unemployment and underemployment.
18. André Gunder Frank, Capitalism and Underdevelopment in Latin America
(New York: Monthly Review Press, 1967); Immanuel Wallerstein, The Modern
World System, vol. 1 (New York: Academic Press, 1974); and Charles Tilly, Big
Structures, Large Processes, Huge Comparisons (New York: Russell Sage Founda-
tion, 1984). ,
19. Crist6bal Kay, Latin American Theories of Development and Underdevelop-
ment (London: Routledge, 1989).
20. Peter B. Evans and John D. Stephens, “Development and the World
Economy,” in Neil J. Smelser, ed., Handbook of Sociology (Newbury Park, CA:
Sage, 1988), pp. 739-773.
21. Susan Eckstein, “State and Market Dynamics in Castro’s Cuba,” in
Peter Evans, Dietrich Rueschemeyer, and Evelyne Huber Stephens, eds., States
versus Markets in the World-System (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1985), pp. 217-245, is an
important exception.
22. Fernando Henrique Cardoso and Enzo Faletto, Dependency and Devel-
opment in Latin America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1979).
23. Alejandro Portes and John Walton, Labor, Class and the International
System (Orlando: Academic Press, 1981).
24. Alain de Janvry, The Agrarian Question and Reformism in Latin America
(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981).
25. Charles Bergquist, Labor in Latin America (Stanford: Stanford Univer-
sity Press, 1986).
26. Ruth Berins Collier and David Collier, Shaping the Political Arena: Critt-
cal Junctures, the Labor Movement, and Regime Dynamics in Latin America (Prince-
ton: Princeton University Press, 1991).
27. Torcuato S. Di Tella, Latin American Politics: A Theoretical Framework
(Austin: University of Texas Press, 1990).
28. John Sheahan, Patterns of Development in Latin America: Poverty, Repres-
sion, and Economic Strategy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987).
29. Peter Evans, Dependent Development: The Alliance of Multinational, State,
and Local Capital in Brazil (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979); David
Becker, The New Bourgeoisie and the Limits of Dependency (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1983); Gary Gereffi, The Pharmaceutical Industry and Depen-
dency in the Third World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983); Maurice
Zeitlin, The Civil Wars in Chile (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983);
Maurice Zeitlin and Richard Earl Ratcliff, Landlords and Capitalists: The Domt-
nant Class of Chile (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988); Mauricio Font,
Coffee, Contention, and Change in the Making of Modern Brazil (Oxford and Cam-
1991). .
214 Notes to Pages 12-16
bridge: Basil Blackwell, 1990); and Carmenza Gallo, Taxes and State Power: Po-
litical Instability in Bolivia, 1900-1950 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press,

30. In Marifeli Pérez-Stable, “The Field of Cuban Studies,” Latin American

Research Review 1 (1991): 239-250, I argue that the study of Cuba should be
called “Cuban studies,” not “Cubanology,” and those who study Cuba
“Cubanists,” not “Cubanologists.” “Cubanology” and “Cubanologists” situate
Cuba within the old Soviet and Eastern European studies and derail the study
of Cuba from the Latin American context.
Chapter 1
1. Thomas, pp. 1562-1563.
2. Ibid., p. 1563. By 1925, the Cuban share of world sugar production
(cane and beet) had increased more than eightfold. Using the 1-million-ton
harvest of 1894 as the base, production increased fivefold, and the share of
world production 60 percent.
3. Estimated from Oscar Pino-Santos, E/ asalto a Cuba por la oligarquia
financiera yanqui (Havana: Casa de las Américas, 1973), p. 93; and Byron
White, Azucar amargo: un estudio de la economia cubana (Havana: Publicaciones
Cultural, 1954), p. 27.
4. Thomas, pp. 1563-564.
5. I calculated per capita sugar output using Thomas, pp. 1563-1564; and
Comité Estatal de Estadisticas, Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 59.
6. Computed from Julian Alienes Urosa, Caracteristicas fundamentales de la
economia cubana (Havana: Banco Nacional, 1950), p. 52; Banco Nacional de
Cuba, Memoria, 1949-1950 (Havana: Editorial Lex, 1951), p. 70; and Banco
Nacional de Cuba, Memoria 1958-1959 (Havana: Editorial Lex, 1960), pp. 95,
154,
7. Grupo Cubano de Investigaciones Econémicas; Raul Cepero Bonilla,
Politica azucarera (1952—1958) (Mexico: Editora Futuro, 1958); and Arnaldo
Silva Leon, Cuba y el mercado internacional azucarero (Havana: Editorial de Cien-
clas Sociales, 1975).
8. Oscar Zanetti, “El comercio exterior de la republica neocolonial,” in
Anuario de estudios cubanos: la republica neocolonial, vol. 1 (Havana: Editorial de
Ciencias Sociales, 1975), pp. 76-78.
9. Computed from Zanetti, p. 119.
10. José Antonio Guerra, “Necesidad de organizar sobre bases perma-
nentes y nacionales el estudio y determinacion de la politica comercial inter-
nacional de Cuba,” in Camara de Comercio de la Republica de Cuba and Aso-
ciacion Nacional de Industriales de Cuba, eds., Conferencia para el progreso de la
economia nacional (Havana, 1949), p. 212; and White, p. 76.
11. Zanetti, pp. 71-72.
12. Gustavo Gutiérrez, El desarrollo econdmico de Cuba (Havana: Junta Na-
cional de Economia, 1952), p. 76.
13. “El desarrollo econdmico de Cuba,” Revista del Banco Nacional 2

14. White, p. 43.

(March 1956): 273-276.

15. Ministerio de Agricultura, Memoria del Censo Agricola Nacional (Ha-

 Notes to Pages 16-21 215
vana: P. Fernandez, 1951), pp. 286-296; Gutiérrez, p. 23; and Brundenius,
Revolutionary Cuba, pp. 146-147.
16. Carmelo Mesa-Lago, The Labor Force, Employment, Unemployment and
Underemployment in Cuba: 1899-1970 (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1972), p. 23 for
sugar-sector employment, and p. 29 for GNP share.
17. White, p. 150.
18. Louis A. Pérez, Jr., Cuba Under the Platt Amendment, 1902-1934 (Pitts-
burgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1986), pp. 62-72, 76-77. The Rionda
quotation, p. 72.
19, Zanetti, pp. 93-94, 100-101.
20. Pérez, Cuba Under the Platt Amendment, pp. 230-231.
21. “La reforma arancelaria,” Revista del Banco Nacional | (enero 1958): 19.
22. Gutiérrez, p. 135.
23. “El desarrollo industrial de Cuba,” Cuba Socialista 6 (abril de 1966): 135.
24. Pérez, Cuba Under the Platt Amendment, p. 230.
25. Leland H. Jenks, Nuestra colonia de Cuba (Buenos Aires: Editorial
Palestra, 1959), p. 167; and Pino-Santos, p. 76.
26. Jorge I. Dominguez, “Seeking Permission to Build a Nation: Cuban
Nationalism and U.S. Response Under the First Machado Presidency,” Cuban
Studies/Estudios Cubanos 16 (1986): 33-48.
27. Ramiro Guerra, Azucar y poblacion en las Antillas (Havana: Editorial de
Ciencias Sociales, 1976), is the classic work on sugar-industry reform.
28. Luis Machado, “Necesidad de adoptar una politica de comercio exte-
rior,” in Gustavo Gutiérrez, ed., El problema econdmico de Cuba (Havana: Molina,
1931), pp. 35-80, proposed a policy of tariff wars, and leading reformers
Ramiro Guerra and Gustavo Gutiérrez denounced his proposal.
29. Gutierrez, El problema economico, pp. 97-108.
30. Gustavo Gutiérrez, “Necesidad de adoptar una politica exterior,” in
Gutiérrez, El problema economico, ~p. 24.
31. Luis Machado, La isla de corcho: ensayo de economia cubana (Havana:
Mazo, Caso, 1936), p. 28.
32. Jenks, pp. 58-63.
33. Zanetti, pp. 94, LOL.
34. Alienes Urosa, p. 52. Per capita income was estimated using 1937
prices.
35. Silva Leon, p. 74; and Jules Robert Benjamin, The United States and
Cuba: Hegemony and Dependent Development, 1880-1934 (Pittsburgh: University
of Pittsburgh Press, 1974), pp. 35-38.
36. Zanetti, p. 94, for the rise in Cuban exports to the United States, and
p. 101 for U.S. exports to Cuba.
37. International Bank for Reconstruction and Development (IBRD), Re-
port on Cuba (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1951), p. 733.
38. Ibid., p. 94.
39, Gutiérrez, H/ desarrollo econdmico de Cuba, p. 135, used 1937 prices.
40. Ibid., pp. 24, 135.
41. Ibid., p. 138; values are given in constant 1937 pesos.

1984), p. 104. |
42. Jacinto Torras, Obras escogidas, 1939-1945 (Havana: Editora Politica,

43. El Mundo, June 12, 1946, p. 19.

216 Notes to Pages 21-26
44, Camara de Comercio, pp. 80, 81-82 for the quotation; p. 71 for the
letter from sugar mill owners and cane growers explaining their abstention
from the final document; and pp. 79-83 for all recommendations on trade
policy.
45. IBRD, Report, p. 81; and Camara de Comercio, pp. 79-81.
46. Ibid., p. 79.
47. Marcos Winocour, Las clases olvidadas de la revolucién cubana
(Barcelona: Editorial Critica, 1979), pp. 37-64.
48. Consejo Nacional de Economia, E/ programa econdmico de Cuba (Ha-
vana, 1955), pp. 26, 24.
49. Jorge EF. Pérez-Lopez, “An Index of Cuban Industrial Output,
1930-1958,” in James W. Wilkie and Kenneth Riddle, eds., Quantitative Latin
American Studies: Methods and Findings—Statistical Abstract of Latin America (Los
Angeles: University of California, Los Angeles, Latin American Center Publica-
tions, 1977), p. 52.
50. “La reforma arancelaria,” p. 19.
51. Gutierrez, El desarrollo econémico de Cuba, p. 138; and Memoria,
1958~1959, pp. 98, 189.
52. U.S. Department of Commerce, Investment in Cuba (Washington, DC,
1955), p. 72.
53. Memoria, 1958~1959, p. 96.
54. IBRD, Report, p. 73; and U.S. Department of Commerce, pp. 12-15.
The latter reported that during the 1950s, Cuban nationals had over $300 mil-
lion in short-term assets and long-term investments in the United States.
55. Memoria, 1958-1959, p. 192.
56. Ismael Zuaznabar, La economia cubana en la década del 50 (Havana: Edi-
torial de Ciencias Sociales, 1986), p. 111.
57. Computed from Zanetti, pp. 95, 101-102. |
58. Computed from Grupo Cubano de Investigaciones Econémicas,
p. 1245; and Zanetti, p. 115.
59. Asociacion Nacional de Industriales de Cuba, Boletin, May 15, May
31, June 15, 1955,
60. Asociacién Nacional de Industriales de Cuba, Boletin, June 15, 1955,
p. 13.
61. Pérez, Cuba Under the Platt Amendment, p. 265; and Silva Leon,
pp. 31-32.
62. Boris C. Swerling, “Domestic Control of an Export Industry: Cuban
Sugar,” Journal of Farm Economics 3 (August 1951): 346-356.
63. Luis G. Mendoza, Revista Semanal Azucarera: Selecciones 1935-1945 (Ha-
vana: Editorial Lex, 1945), p. 26.
64. El Mundo, April—July 1946, July 1947.
65. El Mundo, July, August 1947.
66. Torras, pp. 499-502. I am grateful to Louis A. Pérez, Jr., for bringing
to my attention the story of rice agriculture in Cuba.
67. Republica de Cuba, Informe general del censo de 1943 (Havana: P. Fer-
nandez, 1945), p. 419.
68. Torras, p. 499.
69. For rice production and imports, see Grupo Cubano de Investiga-
clones Economicas, p. 1051, and Memoria, 1958-1959, p. 119. For a general
 Notes to Pages 26-27 217
overview of the rice story, see Torras, pp. 499-502, 524-528; and Raul Cepero
Bonilla, Escritos econémicos (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1971),
pp. 258-259, 297-302, 368-375, 384-386. White, p. 49, noted that rice grow-
ers were among the most modern entrepreneurs in Cuba. In contrast, U.S. De-
partment of Commerce, p. 5, concluded rather disingenuously that the failure
of rice in Cuba was due to faulty farming methods, soil depletion, and irriga-
tion misuse.
70. “La reforma arancelaria,” pp. 5-21.
71. U.S. Department of Commerce, pp. 155-162.
72. Memoria, 1958-1959, p. 101.
73. U.S. Department of Commerce, p. 11.
74. Carlos Manuel Raggi Ageo, “Contribucion al estudio de las clases me-
dias en Cuba,” in Theo R. Crevenna, ed., Materiales para el estudio de la clase me-
dia en América Latina, 6 vols. (Washington, DC: Panamerican Union, 1950-—
1951), p. 79. In the Cuban context, most of the 38 percent of the labor force
whose monthly earnings were 75 pesos or more could be considered middle
class. Informe de la Comision Coordinadora de la Investigacién del Empleo,
Sub-Empleo y Desempleo, Resultados de la Encuesta sobre Empleo, Sub-Empleo y
Desempleo en Cuba (mayo 1956—abril 1957) (Havana, January 1958), p. 52.
75. Republica de Cuba, Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral: informe gen-
eral (enero 28 de 1953) (Havana: P. Fernandez, 1955), p. 204.
76. U.S. Department of Labor, Foreign Labor Information: Labor in Cuba
(Washington, DC, 1957), p. 10.
77. Informe general del censo de 1943, p. 1043; and Censos de poblacion, vivien-
das y electoral, p. 195. Between 1943 and 1953, the growth of personal services
highlighted the increasing demand of the middle sectors. In 1943 and 1953,
the total persons in personal services were 73,963 and 178,504, respectively.
Their increase was nearly threefold, and their share of the economically active
population doubled, from 5 percent to 10 percent.
78. In 1953, unemployment was 8.2 percent during the harvest; only
68.4 percent of the labor force worked full-time throughout the year. In 1956-
1957, unemployment averaged 16.4 percent and peaked at 20.7 percent dur-
ing the dead season. In 1943, off-season unemployment was 21.1 percent; the
census did not include underemployment data. I included manufacturing,
mining, and construction in industry. In 1953, the partial breakdown of an
EAP of 1,972,266 was 327,208 manulacturing; 9,618 mining; 65,292 con-
struction; 818,706 agriculture; 395,904 services; and 232,323 commerce.
Computed from Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 153, 169, 176, 195;
Informe de la Comisi6n Coordinadora, pp. 41, 50; and Informe general del censo
de 1943, p. 1056.
79. Computed from Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 19-21,
153-154, 169, 176. Population centers of 150 people or more with a range of
services including electricity, health, legal, and entertainment were considered
urban. Fifty-seven percent of the population and 60.0 percent of the labor
force lived in urban areas. The 1931 and 1943 censuses considered “urban” all
localities where addresses were registered with street names. In 1899, 1907,
and 1919, the population living in centers of more than 1,000 inhabitants was
counted as “urban.” The urban population first outnumbered the rural popu-
lation in 1931.
218 Notes to Pages 27-29
80. AgrupaciOn Catoélica Universitaria, ?Por qué reforma agraria? (Havana,
1957), pp. 32, 34-35. The choice of institutions was government, church, ma-
sonry, bosses or landlords, trade unions. Seventeen percent responded they
expected patrones (bosses) to improve their living conditions; only 7 percent
identified the union.
81. The 1925-1926 school enrollment of 63.0 percent was cited by IBRD,
Report, p. 412. The 1943 and 1953 percentages—40.8 and 51.6—-were com-
puted from Informe general del censo de 1943, pp. 482-484; and Censos de pobla-
cion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 32, 99.
82. IBRD, Report, p. 406, reported the literacy rates in the census years as
follows: 43.2 percent (1899), 56.6 percent (1907), 61.6 percent (1919), 71.7
percent (1931), and 71.3 percent (1943). For the 1953 rate of 76.4 percent,
see Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, p. 143.
83. I used the data in Grupo Cubano de Investigaciones Econdémicas and
América en Cifras, 8 vols. (Washington, DC: Panamerican Union, 1960), for all
comparisons between Cuba and the rest of Latin America.
84. Educational data were drawn or computed from Censos de poblacion,
viviendas y electoral, pp. 99, 131. The illiteracy rate in urban and rural areas was
11.6 percent and 41.7 percent, respectively. School enrollment among 5- to
14-year olds was 69.0 percent (urban) and 34.9 percent (rural). Although
60.4 percent of the total population 6 years and older had up to a third-grade
level, 55 percent of urban Cubans had beyond that level, and 80 percent of
rural below. Less than 3 percent of university graduates and 5 percent of sec-
ondary, vocational, and technical school graduates lived in rural areas. In
1953, there were 52,172 university graduates, 84,716 high school graduates,
and 82,374 vocational and technical school graduates in Cuba.
85. Agrupacion Catolica Universitaria, p. 33.
86. For 1953 life expectancy, see Sergio Diaz-Briquets, The Health Revolu-
tion in Cuba (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1983), p. 161. For 1952 crude
annual death rate, see Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, p. 318. Caution
should be exercised in taking the 6.4 death rate at face value. From the data
reported in the 1953 census, the death rate for the province of Havana was
higher, at 8.3, than for the rest of the country. The Havana figures were
probably higher because of better death registration. Diaz-Briquets, p. 191,
ranked cardiovascular diseases, malignant and benign tumors, and diarrhea,
gastritis, and enteritis as the top-three causes of death in 1953. On p. 320 of
the 1953 census, the top-three causes of death in 1951 were cardiovascular
diseases, digestive system diseases, and malignant tumors. See Dominguez,
Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 76, for 1953 infant mortality; and Nelson P.
Valdés, “Cuba: Social Rights and Basic Needs” (Paper presented to the Inter-
American Commission on Human Rights, Washington, DC, February 25,
1983), pp. 25-27, for ratios of doctor and hospital beds to population.
87. IBRD, Report p. 441 for the quotation (italics in original), and pp.
441-— 443 for its observations on health. The World Bank mission did not do
an in-depth study of public health, as it did with the economy.
88. Agrupaci6n Catdélica Universitaria, pp. 21-28. The survey also re-
ported extensive malnutrition among rural workers (91 percent); most never
ate meat, fish, eggs, and bread or drank milk. Fourteen percent had had or
had tuberculosis, 13 percent typhoid fever, and 31 percent malaria.
 Notes to Pages 29-37 219
89. Valdés.
90. AgrupaciOn Catolica Universitaria, p. 29.
91. Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 208-213, 253. I considered
cement walls with stone, cement, or wood floors or wood walls with stone or
cement floors to be solid materials.
92. Computed from Ibid., pp. 19, 21, 100, 120, 185-188. Of habaneros,
74.3 percent worked full-time and 14.6 percent were underemployed; 65.8
percent of the labor force in the other five provinces had full-time jobs and
17.8 percent were underemployed. For the distribution of plants with more
than five hundred workers, see U.S. Department of Commerce, pp. 73-74.
93. Data drawn from Cepero Bonilla, Escritos econdmicos, pp. 416-417; and
Memoria, 1958-1959, pp. 151-153. Total wages were 716 million pesos in 1952
and 723 million in 1958. Havana’s wage bill increased by 84 million pesos;
that of Camag\uuey, Las Villas, and Oriente by 33, 14, and 13 million pesos,
respectively. Total wages in Matanzas (35-36 million) and Pinar del Rio
(21-22 million) were basically stagnant over the decade. The total wage bill
excluded the salaries of sugar agricultural workers and only partially included
other agricultural salaries.
94. Memoria, 1949-1950, pp. 173-181; Memoria, 1958-1959, pp. 140,
151-153; U.S. Department of Commerce, pp. 73~74; Censos de poblacion, vivien-
das y electoral, p. 186; and Cepero Bonilla, Escritos econdémicos, pp. 416-417.
95. Computed from Informe de la Comisi6n Coordinadora, pp. 58-60;
and Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 153, 200-201, 204-205. The
1956-1957 employment survey published the distribution of the labor force
by occupation and income (monthly wages of 75 pesos and more or below 75
pesos) but not the provincial breakdown. Using the 1953 census, I approxi-
mated the 1956-1957 income distribution by occupation and province.
96. Lino Novas Calvo, “La tragedia de la clase media cubana,” Bohemia Li-
bre 13 (January 1, 1961): 76.
97. Memoria, 1958-1959, p. 190.
98. White, p. 87.
99. Agrupacion Catolica Universitaria, pp. 6, 63.
100. Kk. Lynn Stoner, From the House to the Streets: The Cuban Women’s Move-
ment for Legal Reform, 1898-1940 (Durham: Duke University Press, 1991).
101. #/ Mundo, February 11, 1954, p. AQ.
102. Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 195, 205.
103. Computed from ibid., pp. 153-154, 176, 195, 202; and Informe de la
Comision Coordinadora, pp. 41, 50.
104. Computed from Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 153-154,
157-158, 200; and Informe de la Comision Coordinadora, p. 58.
105. Susan Schroeder, Cuba: A Handbook of Historical Statistics (Boston:
G. K. Hall, 1982), p. 112.

Chapter 2
1. Juan Pérez de la Riva, “Los recursos humanos de Cuba al comenzar el
siglo: inmigracion, economia y nacionalidad (1899-1906),” in Anuario de estu-
dios cubanos: la republica neocolonial, vol. 1 (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias So-
ciales, 1975), pp. 11-44; and Pérez de la Riva, “Cuba y la migracion antillana,
 220 Notes to Pages 37-46
1900-1931,” in Anuario de estudios cubanos la republica neocolontial, vol. 2 (Ha-
vana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1979), pp. 5-75.
2. Hobart A. Spalding, Jr., Organized Labor in Latin America: Historical Case
Studies of Workers in Dependent Societies (New York: New York University Press,
1977).
3. Pérez, Cuba Under the Platt Amendment is a compelling analysis of the
dynamics of early republican politics.
4. Louis A. Pérez, Jr., Army Politics in Cuba, 1898-1958 (Pittsburgh: Univer-
sity of Pittsburgh Press, 1976).
5. Pérez, Cuba Under the Platt Amendment, pp. 171-181, 189-213.
6. Instituto de Historia del Movimiento Comunista y de Ja Revolucion So-
cialista de Cuba, Historia del movimiento obrero cubano, 1865-1958, vol. 1,
1865-1935 (Havana: Editora Politica, 1985), pp. 168-177.
7. Louis A. Pérez, Jr., “Aspects of Hegemony: Labor, State, and Capital in
Plattist Cuba,” Cuban Studies/Estudios Cubanos 16 (1986): 49-69.
8. Instituto de Historia del Movimiento Comunista, 1:116-185, 244-248,
257-261.
9, Dana G. Munro, The United States and the Caribbean Republics, 1921-1933
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1974).
10. Justo Carrillo, Cuba 1933: estudiantes, yanquis y soldados (Coral Gables:
University of Miami, 1985).
11. Lionel Soto, La revolucion del 33, 3 vols. (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias
Sociales, 1977).
12. Foreign Policy Association, Problemas de la nueva Cuba (New York:
J. J. Little and Ives, 1935); Charles A. Thomson, “The Cuban Revolution: Fall
of Machado,” Foreign Policy Reports 11 (December 18, 1935): 250~260, and
“The Cuban Revolution: Reform and Reaction,” Foreign Policy Reports 11 (Jan-
uary 1, 1936): 262-276.
13. Instituto de Historia del Movimiento Comunista y de la Revolucién
Socialista de Cuba, Historia del movimiento obrero cubano, 1865-1958, vol. 2, (Ha-
vana: Editora Politica, 1985), pp. 3-57.
14. Plan Trienal de Cuba (Havana: Cultural, 1938).
15. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution p. 89.
16. Enrique J. Guiral, “Orientacién de la legislacidn social para el desa-
rrollo de la economia cubana: proyecciones de la reglamentacion estatal del ,
trabajo en una economia basada en la empresa libre,” in Camara de Comercio
and AsociaciOn Nacional de Industriales de Cuba, eds., Conferencia para el pro-
greso de la economia nacional (Havana, 1949), p. 128.
17. Cepero Bonilla, Escritos econdmicos p. 45.
18. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, pp. 81, 88.
19. Guiral, pp. 124-125.
20. Francisco Fernandez Pla, “Politica social apropriada para el fomento
de la produccion nacional,” in Conferencia para el progreso de la economia na-
clonal, p. 158; and Guiral, p. 126.
| 21. Charles A. Page, “The Development of Organized Labor in Cuba”
(Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1952), p. 279.

23. Ibid., May 20, 1947, p. 25. :

22. El Mundo, February—June, 1946.

24. Ibid., May 7, 1946, p. 20.

 Notes to Pages 46-55 221
25. Diario de la Marina, February 13, 1945, p. 11.
26. Blas Roca and Lazaro Pe\tna, La colaboracién entre obreros y patronos
(Havana: Ediciones Sociales, 1945).
27. Office of Strategic Services, The Political Significance and Influence of the
Labor Movement in Latin America. A Preliminary Survey. Cuba (Washington, DC,
1945), pp. 29-30.
28. Torras, pp. 57-68, 103-107, 447-535, 583-586, 696-706.
29. El Mundo, February 5, April 9, April 30, May 14, and May 28, 1946,
pp. 10, 19, 21, 19, and 19-21, respectively.
30. Office of Strategic Services, p. 16; Page, p. 114.
31. Hl Mundo, February 3, 1946, p. 1.
32. U.S. Department of Commerce, p. 19.
33. Computed from Memoria, 1949-1950, pp. 64, 68, and Memoria,
1958-1959, pp. 95-96.
34. Guiral, p. 126.
35. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, pp. 102, 107.
36. Page, p. 129 for the long quotation; p. 112 for the two labor leaders’
quotations; and pp. 215-224 for how the auténtico labor leadership used the
CTC for other purposes.
37. El Mundo, March 13, 1946, p. 10.
38. Instituto de Historia del Movimiento Comunista, 2:173.
39. William S. Stokes, “The ‘Cuban Revolution’ and the Presidential Elec-
tions of 1948,” Hispanic American Historical Review 31 (February 1951): 74.
40. Camara de Comercio, pp. 47-54.
41. Cepero Bonilla, p. 100.
42. IBRD Report, pp. 143, 181.
43, Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, pp. 81, 88-89.
44. IBRD, Report, p. 4.
45. Pérez, Army Politics, pp. 116-136.
46. For narratives of the anti-Batista movement, see Rolando E. Bona-
chea and Nelson P. Valdés, eds., Revolutionary Struggle (1947-1958), Vol. 1 of Se-
lected Works of Fidel Castro (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1972), pp. 1-119; Carlos
Franqui, Diary of the Cuban Revolution (New York: Viking Press, 1980); Ramon
L. Bonachea and Marta San Martin, The Cuban Insurrection: 1952-1959 (New
Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1974); and Thomas, pp. 789-1034.
47. Bonachea and Valdés, p. 221.
48. Ibid., pp. 270-271.
49, Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 89.
50. Consejo Nacional de Economia, p. 24.
51. Cepero Bonilla, Escritos economicos, 406.
52. Cepero Bonilla, Politica azucarera, p. 10.
53. Ibid.
54. Page, p. 174.
55. U.S. Department of Commerce, p. 22.
56. Memoria, 1949-1950, pp. 64, 68; Memoria, 1958-1959, pp. 95-96.
57. Cepero Bonilla, Escritos economicos, pp. 267-268.
58. Ibid., pp. 381-382; Instituto de Historia del Movimiento Comunista,
2:288-294; and Evelio Telleria, Los congresos obreros en Cuba (Havana: Instituto
Cubano del Libro, 1973), pp. 414—415.
222 Notes to Pages 55-65
59. Cepero Bonilla, Escritos econdmicos, pp. 382; and Instituto de Historia ,
del Movimiento Comunista, 2:290-294.
60. Ibid., 2:319.
61. U.S. Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States, Cuba,
1958-1960, vol. 6 (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1991),
pp. 1-116.
62. See Timothy P. Wickham-Crowley, Guerrillas and Revolution in Latin
America: A Comparative Study of Insurgents and Regimes Since 1956 (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1992), for interesting comparisons with other
guerrilla movements in Latin America. ,
63. See Foreign Relations of the United States, Cuba, pp. 158-250.
64. Bonachea and Valdés, pp. 183-186.
65. Ibid., pp. 269-270, 364-367.
66. Regino Boti and Felipe Pazos, Algunos aspectos del desarrollo econémico de
Cuba. Tésis del M-26-7 (Havana: Delegacién del Gobierno en el Capitolio Na-
cional, 1959),
67. Bonachea and Valdés, pp. 341-449.

Chapter 3
1. Adolfo Sanchez Rebolledo, ed., La Revolucién Cubana (Mexico: Edi-
clones Era, 1972), p. 139.
2. Revolucion, January 4, 1959, p. 2.
3. Alfred L. Padula, Jr., “The Fall of the Bourgeoisie: Cuba, 1959-1961”
(Ph.D. diss. University of New Mexico, 1974), p. 77.
4. Boti and Pazos.
5. Revolucion, March 2, 1959, p. 19. On page 1 of its March 4 edition,
Revolucion printed the July 26th Movement’s notice that no trademarks would
be granted to revolutionary symbols.
6. Revolucion, March 7, 1959, p. 4. ,
7. Padula.
8. Leonel-Antonio de la Cuesta, ed., Constituciones cubanas: Desde 1812
hasta nuestros dias (New York: Ediciones Exilio, 1974), p. 260.
9. Thomas, pp. 1215-1218.
10. Juan and Verena Martinez-Alier, Cuba: economia y sociedad (Paris:
Ruedo Ibérico, 1972), pp. 109-208.
11. Revolucion, March 7, 1959, p. 1.
12. Ibid., August 19, 1959, p. 1.
13. Padula, pp. 270, 284.
14. Revolucion, February 11, 1959, p. 14.
15. Ibid., March 16, 1959, pp. 1, 23.
16. Ibid., March 31, 1959, p. 14.
17. Ibid., June 2, 1959, p. 1.
18. See, for example, ibid., March 31, June 8, 10, 15, and September 21,
1959,
19. Ibid., November 19, 1959, p. 3.
20. Ibid., June 4, 1959, p. 2.
21. Ibid., January 30, p. 11; February 6, p. 11; February 19, pp. 1-2; and
May 7, 1959, p. 13.
 Notes to Pages 65-68 223
22. Ibid., May 16, 1959, p. LI.
23. Ibid., May 7, p. 13; and May 13, 1959, p. 14.
24. Reynol Gonzalez, a July 26th Movement labor leader in 1959, told
me the meeting never took place because the CTC had a “demagogic attitude”
against the industrialists. He believes that an alliance between the union
movement and the industrialists might have deterred the communists’ control
of the CTC and steered the revolution in more moderate directions. Interview
in Miami, Florida, January 8, 1990.
25. Revolucion, May 13, 1959, p. 2.
26. Ibid., January 6, 1960, pp. 1-2.
27. Ibid., April 10, 1959, pp. 1, 2.
28. Thomas, pp. 1074-1075, 1196-1197, 1202-1203.
29, Padula, pp. 137-138.
30. Ibid., pp. 152-158, 225.
31. Revolucion, June 2, 1959, pp. 1, 16.
32. Ibid., February 10, 1959, p. 2.
33. Ibid., January 16, p. 5; January 27, p. 7; and January 30, 1959,
pp. 1, 16.
34. Ibid., January 28, p. 8; and January 31, 1959, p. 8.
35. Ibid., February 6, p. 5; and May 15, 1959, pp. 1-2.
36. Ibid., January 30, 1959, pp. 1, 16.
37. Ibid., January 23, 1959, p. 3.
38. Ibid., January 23, p. 7; January 28, p. 8; January 30, pp. 5, 11; Janu-
ary 31, p. 8; February 4, p. 8; February 5, p. 4; February 6, pp. 1-2; February
7, pp. 1, 16; March 4, p. 5; March 6, p. 6; April 4, p. 4; April 15, p. 1; April 22,
p. 5; May 14, p. 6; June 3, p. 4; June 4, p. 6; July 13, pp. 1-2; July 17, p. 5;
and July 20, 1959, p. 4.
39. Ibid., January 28, 1959, p. 8.
40. Ibid., January 10, p. 11; January 15, p. 5; and January 19, 1959, p. 5.
41. Ibid., January 30, p. 11; February 6; and July 30, 1959, p. 18.
42. Ibid., January 30, p. 8; March 15, p. 5; April 7, p. 7; May 14, p. 4; and
June 4, 1959, p. 4.
43. Ibid., May 15, 1959, p. 5.
44. Ibid., January 31, 1959, p. 8.
45. Ibid., February 27, p. 4; and April 18, 1959, p. 6.
46. Ibid., July 29, 1959, p. 4.
47. Ibid., February 3, p. 5; February 7, p. 2; February 27, p. 4; March 23,
p. 4; March 25, p. 4; May 22, p. 4; June 13, p. 4; July 29, p. 5; and August 25,
1959, p. 4.
48. Ibid., February 4, p. 8; February 14, p. 5; March 2, p. 7; March 3, p. 4;
March 15, p. 5; and April 18, 1959, p. 4.
49. Ibid., April 25, 1959, p. 4.
50. Ibid., June 13, 1959, p. 5.
51. Ibid., January 24, p. 7; February 6, p. 5; February 12, p. 6; February
16, p. 7; March 2, p. 4; March 13, p. 4; April 1, p. 1; July 29, p. 5; and August
25, 1959, p. 4.
52. Ibid., June 3, 1959, p. 4.
53. Ibid., November 18, 1959, p. 12.
54. Computed from data in Memoria, 1958-1959, pp. 151-153.
224 Notes to Pages 68~—72
55. Revolucion, January 21, p. 16; January 23, p. 3; and June 13, 1959,
pp. I, 16.
56. Héctor Ayala Castro, “Transformaciones de propiedad, control obrero
e intervencion de empresas en Cuba (1959-1960),” Economia y Desarrollo 47
(May-June 1978): 44-69.
57. U.S. Department of Commerce, p. 15.
58. Revolucion, February 1, p. 6; February 7, p. 2; March 4, pp. 1, 14; ,
March 5, pp. 1, 15; March 18, p. 4; April 6, p. 7; April 16, 1959, p. 4, for ex-
amples of enterprises intervened at the request of workers; and Ibid., June 22,
1960, pp. 1-8, for interventions in 1959-1960.
59. Ibid., February 10, 1959, p. 2.
60. Ibid.
61. Ibid., February 11, 1959, p. 11.
62. Reynol Gonzalez recognized that support for July 26th Movement la-
bor leaders in the 1959 struggles over CTC control depended on the prestige of
the revolution and Fidel Castro. Interview in Miami, Florida, January 8, 1990.
Roberto Simeon, a labor leader in the oil industry and member of the Revolu-
tionary Student Directorate, likewise told me the July 26th Movement vied
for CTC control on the basis of the “olive green.” Simeon was referring to the
olive-green fatigues of the Rebel Army. Interview in Miami, Florida, Decem-
ber 26, 1988.
63. Revolucion, January 26, 1959, p. 23.
64. Ibid., January 19, p. 5; January 27, p. 7; January 31, p. 3; February 1,
p. 18; February Ll, p. 14; March 2, p. 6; April 1, pp. 4-5; and April 2, 1959,
p. l.
65. Ibid., January 8, p. 8; January 15, p. 5; January 17, p. 5; January 21,
p. 7; January 30, p. 5; February 3, p. 5; February 5, p. 11; February 9, pp. 1, 5,
23; February 16, p. 4; March 24, p. 1; and April 18, 1959, p. 4.
66. Ibid., February 10, 1959, p. 2.
67. Ibid., April 1, 1959, p. 7.
68. Ibid., April 27, pp. 1, 18; May 4, p. 1; May 5, p. 5; May 7, pp. 1-2, 5;
May 13, p. 4; May 18, 1959, pp. 9, 11.
69. Blas Roca, 29 articulos sobre la revolucién cubana (Havana: Tipografia
Ideas, 1960), p. 203.
70. Ibid., pp. 201—204.
71. Revolucion, January 24, p. 13; February 1, p. 21; February 3, p. 8; Feb-
ruary 10, 1959, p. 6.
72. Ibid., April 22, p. 5; May 4, p. 7; May 12, p. 4; May 14, p. 6; May 18,
pp. 3, 9, 11; and May 23, 1959, p. 7.
73. Ibid., May 19, p. 15; and May 22, 1959, p. 6.
74. Ibid., September 2, 1959, p. 4.
75. Ibid., May 7, pp. 1-2; May 8, pp. 1-2; May 16, pp. 1, 15; July 26,
pp. 5-6; July 31, p. 4; August 26, pp. 1, 19; September 2, p. 4; September 3,
p. 2; September 7, pp. 1, 4; and September 10, 1959, pp. 1, 17.
76. Ibid., June 16, p. 4; June 17, p. 4; and July 8, 1959, p. 4.
77. Ibid., August 20, 1959, pp. 1, 16.
78. Ibid., July 17, p. 5; July 23, p. 4; July 23, p. 5; August 10, p. 6; and
August 14, 1959, p. 4.
79. Ibid., September 14, pp. 1, 6; and September 15, 1959, pp. I, 2, 5.
 Notes to Pages 72-79 225
80. Carlos Franqui, Retrato de familia con Fidel (Barcelona: Editorial Seix
Barral, 1981), p. 121; Thomas, p. 1250; and Maurice Zeitlin and Robert
Scheer, Cuba: Tragedy in Our Hemisphere (New York: Grove Press, 1963), p. 121.
81. Revolucion, November 7, 1959, pp. 1, 6.
82. Ibid., November 3, 1959, pp. I, 8, 9.
83. Ibid., November 17, 1959, p. 4.
84. Ibid., November 19, 1959, pp. 1, 2, 15.
85. Ibid., November 21, 1959, p. 4.
86. Ibid., December 3, 1959, pp. 1, 19.
87. Ibid., January 2, p. 8; February 29, 1960, p. 5.
88. Ralph Lee Woodward, Jr., “Urban Labor and Communism: Cuba,”
Caribbean Studies 3 (October 1963): 17-50.
89. Revolucién, October 5, pp. 1, 13; December 10, p. 1; and December 14,
1960, pp. 1, 8; and Padula, pp. 411-417.
90. Revolucion, March 11, 1960, p. 4.
91. Ibid., June 4, 1960, pp. 1, 10.
92. Ibid., June 1, 1960, p. 4.
93. Ibid., May 11, 1959, p. 1.
94. Ibid., February 16, 1959, p. 1.
95. Ibid., April 15, p. 1; and September 26, 1959, p. 2.
96. Ibid., April 11, 1959, pp. 1, 14.
97. Ibid., July 6, 1959, pp. 2, 19.
98. Ibid., June 6, 1959, p. 16.
99. Ibid., October 10, 1959, p. 1.
100. Ibid., February 20, 1960, p. 1.
101. Ibid., March 22, 1960, p. 4.
102. Ibid., September 10, 1960, p. I.
103. Ibid., January 5, 1959, p. 4.
104. Ibid., March 9, 1959, p. 5.
105. Ibid., March 15, p. 3; March 27, p. 13; and May 4, 1959, p. 27.
106. Ibid., April 4, p. 14; June 15, p. 13; July 7, p. 6; July 29, p. 3; and
August 1, 1959, p. 4.
107. Ibid., June 4, 1959, p. 6,
108. Ibid., October 13, 1959, p. 6.
109. Ibid., September 14, p. 19; November 20, 1959, p. 5; February 5,
p. 3; March 5, 1960, p. 10.
110. Ibid., August 26, 1960, p. 7.
111. Ibid., May 2, 1960, p. 1.
112. Ibid., November 10, 1959, p. 10.
113. Ibid., May 29, 1959, pp. 1, 4.
114. Ibid., July 15, 1959, pp. 1, 19.
115. Ibid., January 2, 1959, p. 3.
116. Sanchez Rebolledo, pp. 139-149.
117. For overviews of Cuba-U.S. relations between 1959 and 1961, see
Thomas, pp. 1255-1271, 1300-1311; Richard E. Welch, Jr., Response to Revolu-
tion: The United States and the Cuban Revolution, 1959-1961 (Chapel Hill: Univer-
sity of North Carolina Press, 1985); and Wayne S. Smith, The Closest of Enemies
(New York: Norton, 1987), pp. 42-67. Foreign Relations of the United States, Cuba,
pp. 334-1191 provides a selection of official communications between the
226 Notes to Pages 79-86
U.S. State Department and the U.S. Embassy in Havana on the first two years
of the revolutionary government.
118. Foreign Relations of the United States, Cuba, p. 395.
119. Ibid., p. 955.
120. Revolucion, March 29, 1960, p. 1.
121. Ibid., September 1, 1960, pp. 1-2.
122. Ibid., March 4, 1960, p. 13.
123. Ibid., June 9, 1960, p. 1.

Chapter 4 |
1. U.S. Department of Commerce, p. 7.
2. For example, Regino Boti, “El plan de desarrollo econdmico de 1962,”
Cuba Socialista 4 (December 1961): 19-32; Edward Boorstein, The Economic
Transformation of Cuba (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1968); Ernesto Gue-
vara, “The Alliance for Progress,” in Rolando E. Bonachea and Nelson P.
Valdés, eds., Ché: Selected Works of Ernesto Guevara (Cambridge: MIT Press,
1969), pp. 265-296; Juan F. Noyola, La economia cubana en los primeros anos de
la revolucién y otros ensayos (Mexico: Siglo XXI Editores, 1978); and Dudley
Seers, Cuba: The Economic and Social Revolution (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press,
1975).
3. Felipe Pazos, “Lineamientos de una politica de desarrollo econdémico,”
Selva Habanera 579 (August 13, 1955): 1, 6-7, 9-11).
4. Felipe Pazos, Influencia de la escuela de ciencias econémicas en el desarrollo
economico del pais. (Santiago de Cuba: Universidad de Oriente, 1955), p. 12.
5. White.
6. U.S. Department of Commerce, p. 5.
7. Boti and Pazos.
8. I am using the term inclusive development to mean development from
the bottom up, that is, a more equitable distribution of the benefits and costs
of development.
9, Noyola, p. 124; Archibald R. M. Ritter, The Economic Development of
Revolutionary Cuba: Strategy and Economic Performance (New. York: Praeger,
1974), pp. 111-116; Brundenius, Revolutionary Cuba, pp. 23-25.
10. Ritter, p. 113.
11. Zanetti, pp. 95, 101-102; Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 406. Be-
tween 1954 and 1957, surpluses were respectively 51.1, 19.1, 17.2, and 35.5
million pesos. The last represented the upsurge in sugar prices during the Suez
Canal crisis. Deficits in 1958 and 1959 were 43.6 and 38.8 million pesos. In

since then was in 1974.

1961, Cuba again registered a slight deficit of 12.3 million. The only surplus

12. Felipe Pazos, “Comentarios a dos articulos sobre la revoluci6n cu-

bana,” El Trimestre Economico 29 (January—March, 1962): 9,
13. Ritter, p. 113.
14. Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 406.
15. David P. Barkin, “Cuban Agriculture: A Strategy of Economic Devel-
opment,” in David P. Barkin and Nita Rous Manitzas, eds., Cuba: The Logic of the
Revolution (Andover, MA: Warner Modular Publications, 1973).
16. For analyses of the 1970 sugar drive, see Heinrich Brunner, Cuban
 Notes to Pages 86-87 227
Sugar Policy from 1963 to 1970 (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977);
and Sergio Roca, Cuban Economic Policy and Ideology: The Ten Million Ton Sugar
Harvest (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1976).
17. Cole Blasier, “COMECON in Cuban Development,” in Cole Blasier
and Carmelo Mesa-Lago, eds., Cuba in the World (Pittsburgh: University of
Pittsburgh Press, 1979), pp. 225-255.
18. Jorge I. Dominguez, To Make a World Safe for Revolution: Cuba’s Foreign
Policy (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989), pp. 92-99.
19. Rates for imports from the Soviet Union were 1980-1981, +10.3 per-
cent; 1981-1982, +15.6 percent; 1982-1983, +13.5 percent; 1983-1984,
+14.2 percent; 1984-1985, +12.5 percent; 1985-1986, —1.8 percent; 1987,
+1.8 percent; and 1987-1988, —2.7 percent. Rates for imports from Bulgaria,
Czechoslovakia, Hungary, Poland, and the German Democratic Republic were
1980-1981, +12.0 percent; 1981-1982, +21.3 percent; 1982-1983, +17.6 per-
cent; 1983-1984, -1.8 percent; 1984-1985, +9.7 percent; 1985-1986, —8.0
percent; 1986-1987, +4.2 percent; and 1987-1988, —1.1 percent. Computed
from Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, pp. 418-419, and Comité Estatal de
Estadisticas, Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988 p. 423.
20. Well before the post-1989 crisis, controversy mired the evaluation of
Cuban economic performance. Major technical questions arise with respect to
the two systems used by market economies (System of National Accounts, or
SNA) and by the former centrally planned economies (Material Product Sys-
tems, or MPS) to measure total output: Gross Domestic Product (GDP) and
Gross Social Product (GSP). Comparing the two measures is troublesome.
First, GDP and GSP derive value differently. GSP tends to inflate value because
it is based on gross value, e.g., a shoe factory includes the value of leather and
other inputs in its total output. GDP is computed on value added, e.g., only
value added at the shoe factory is counted in its output. Second, nonproduc-
tive services are included in GDP but not in GSP. For the two measures to be
comparable, a common denominator in value and nonproductive services is
necessary. The use of different methodologies to measure value of output by
the Cuban government since 1959 complicates the evaluation of Cuban eco-
nomic performance. There is no continuous series of macroeconomic indica-
tors. Moreover, while improving over time, the availability and quality of sta-
tistical data on the Cuban economy are less than optimal. These issues were
debated in Comparative Economic Studies. Claes Brundenius and Andrew Zim-
balist, “Recent Studies on Cuban Economic Growth: A Review,” and Carmelo
Mesa-Lago and Jorge F. Pérez-L6pez, “Imbroglios on the Cuban Economy: A
Reply to Brundenius and Zimbalist,” Comparative Economic Studies 27 (Spring
1985): 22-46 and 47-83, respectively; Brundenius and Zimbalist, “Cuban Eco-
nomic Growth One More Time: A Response to ‘Imbroglios,’” Comparative
Economic Studies 27 (Fall 1985): 115-131; Mesa-Lago and Pérez-Lépez, “The
Endless Cuban Economy Saga: A Terminal Rebuttal,” and Brundenius and
Zimbalist, “Cuban Growth: A Final Word,” Comparative Economic Studies 27
(Winter 1985): 67-82 and 83-84, respectively. I culled trends in Cuban eco-
nomic performance and approximate growth rates from Dominguez, Cuba:
Order and Revolution, pp. 173-180; Mesa-Lago, The Economy of Socialist Cuba,
pp. 33-36; Jorge FE. Pérez-Lopez, Measuring Cuban Economic Performance
(Austin: University of Texas Press, 1987), pp. 117-126; Andrew Zimbalist and
228 Notes to Page 87
Claes Brundenius, The Cuban Economy: Structure and Performance After Three
Decades (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989); and Jorge Pérez-
Lopez and Carmelo Mesa-Lago, “Cuba: Counter Reform Accelerates Crisis,”
ASCE Newsletter (March 1991): 3—5. Growth rates for 1987 and 1988 were
published in José Luis Rodriguez, “The Cuban Economy Today,” Cuba Business
3 (April 1989): 11, 12, and Granma, December 26, 1988, p. 4. Estimates for the
1991-1992 decline are from John Paul Rathbone, “Cuba: Current Economic
Situation and Short-Term Prospects,” La Sociedad Econdémica, Bulletin 20
(1992): 3.
21. Brundenius, Revolutionary Cuba, p. 124, and Andrew Zimbalist and
Claes Brundenius, “Growth with Equity: Cuban Development in Comparative
Perspective” (unpublished paper, n.d.), p. 9.
22. Computed from William LeoGrande, “Cuban Dependency: A Com-
parison of Pre-Revolutionary and Post-Revolutionary International Economic
Relations,” Cuban Studies/Estudios Cubanos 9 (July 1979): 9, Anuario estadistico de
Cuba, 1986, p. 422, and Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, p. 426. Zimbalist and
Brundenius, The Cuban Economy, pp. 145-147, argue, however, that by the
1980s the sugar share of total exports at constant 1965 prices had declined to
about 60-65 percent.
23. Computed from Thomas, pp. 1563-1564, and Anuario estadistico de
Cuba, 1988, pp. 57, 243.
24. See James G. Brown, The International Sugar Industry: Developments and
Prospects, World Bank Staff Commodity Working Papers Number 18 (Washing-
ton, DC: World Bank, 1987), for a rather somber overview of sugar prospects.
Marcelo Fernandez Font, Cuba y la economia azucarera mundial (Havana: Insti-
tuto Superior de Relaciones Internacionales, 1986), offered a similar assess-
ment of world market prospects while contending that Cuba could continue
to expand sugar production because of the markets in the Soviet Union and
Rastern Europe.
25. Charles Edquist, Capitalism, Socialism and Technology (London: Zed
Books, 1985); Claes Brundenius, “Development and Prospects of Capital
Goods Production in Revolutionary Cuba,” and Carl Henry Feuer, “The Per-
formance of the Cuban Sugar Industry, 1981-1985,” in Andrew Zimbalist, ed.,
Cuba’s Socialist Economy Toward the 1990s (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1987), pp.
97-114, 69-83.
26. LeoGrande, p. 6; and computed from Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986,
p. 100, and Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 99, 410.
27. Sugar shares of industry, agriculture, and GSP computed from Anuario
estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 297, and Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 99, |
235, 300. I used the sugar shares of industry and agriculture to estimate the per- |
centage of sugar workers in the industrial and agricultural labor force trom
Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 192, and Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988,
pp. 235, 300.
28. Percentages of industry and agriculture computed from Brundenius,
Revolutionary Cuba, p. 147, and Carmelo Mesa-Lago, The Labor Force, p. 23 for
sugar sector employment, and p. 29 for GNP share.
29. Computed from Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, pp. 423, 425, and
Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 427, 429.
30. Memoria, 1958-1959, pp. 189, 191.
 Notes to Pages 89-9] 229
31. Computed from Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, pp. 407-408,
461-463, and Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 410-412, 467; LeoGrande,
p. 14.
32. Computed from Grupo Cubano de Investigaciones Econdmicas,
p. 1245, and Zanetti, pp. 78, 115.
33. Computed from Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 57, 410.
34. Computed from Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, pp. 415, 419, and
Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 419-423.
35. Rodriguez, “The Cuban Economy,” p. 12; Granma Weekly Review, Au-
gust 27, 1989, p. 12. Between 1987 and 1988, however, Cuban trade with
market economies increased 183.3 million pesos while hard-currency trade
deficits declined 114.5 million pesos.
36. Cuba’s debt to the Soviet Union/Russia is difficult to quantify. In
1989, the 15.5 billion rubles translated into $24.5 billion at the official Soviet
exchange rate; in 1990, that official rate yielded a Cuban debt of $27.5 billion;
yet the ruble—dollar commercial rate in 1990 resulted in Cuba owing Russia
less than $9 billion. In 1989-1990, Cuba’s total debt (including the $7.3 billion
in hard currency) totaled between $17.4 billion and $37.6 billion, depending
on which ruble—dollar exchange rate was used. See Carmelo Mesa-Lago, “The
Economic Effects on Cuba of the Downfall of Socialism in the USSR and East-
ern Europe,” in Carmelo Mesa-Lago, ed., Cuba After the Cold War (Pittsburgh:
University of Pittsburgh Press, 1993), p. 152.
37. Rodriguez, “The Cuban Economy,” p. 11.
38. El Nuevo Herald, May 4, 1991, p. 1.
39, Rathbone, p. 2.
40. Félix B. Godinez, “Cuba-Russia Sugar Trade Relations: Disputes and
the Market Struggle,” ASCE Newsletter (November 1997), pp. 31-38.
41. See Comision Economica para América Latina y el Caribe (CEPAL),
Evolucion reciente de la economia cubana (edited version), July 8, 1997, p. 114,
for export-import figures and p. 133 for family remittances. See The Economist,
October 19, 1996, p. 49, for investment estimates. Tourism earning are from E/
Nuevo Herald, January 7, 1998. | computed per-capita sugar tonnage between
1990 and 1997 using CEPAL’s summary (1990-1996) on page 237 and
CubaINFO 9 (June 12, 1997), p. 6, for that of 1997.
42, CEPAL’s report convincingly argues that blocking access to interna-
tional financial markets is probably the single most important impact of the
U.S. embargo on the Cuban economy. At the same time, it should be noted
that the Cuban government is also responsible for its predicament since the
government suspended payments on hard-currency debt in 1986 and has
moved slowly to implement the full gamut of reforms that would make the
economy more attractive to foreign capital.
43. Mesa-Lago, The Labor Force, p. 40.
44, Republica de Cuba. Censo de poblacion y viviendas 1970 (Havana: Edito-
rial Orbe, 1975), p. 427.
45. Mesa-Lago, The Economy of Socialist Cuba, p. 122, for 1970-1978, and
Brundenius, Revolutionary Cuba, p. 135, for 1970-1980.
46. Republica de Cuba, Censo de poblacion y viviendas de 1981, vol. 16, pt. 1
(Havana: Comité Estatal de Estadisticas, 1983), p. cciv. In 1976, the Cuban
government reorganized the six provinces into fourteen: Pinar del Rio, La Ha-
230 Notes to Pages 91-93
bana, Ciudad de La Habana, Matanzas, Villa Clara, Sancti Spiritus, Cienfuegos,
Camagtiey, Ciego de Avila, Las Tunas, Holguin, Granma, Santiago de Cuba,
and Guantanamo. The new provinces roughly corresponded to the old ones:
Pinar del Rio, La Habana (La Habana, Ciudad de La Habana), Matanzas, Las
Villas (Villa Clara, Sancti Spiritus, Cienfuegos), Camaguey (Camagtiey, Ciego
de Avila), and Oriente (Las Tunas, Holguin, Granma, Santiago de Cuba, Guan-
tanamo). I grouped the new provinces according to the old divisions to facili-
tate approximate comparisons.
47. Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1988, p. 192.
48. Censo de poblacion y viviendas, 1970, p. xvii, and Censo de poblacion y
viviendas de 19&1, p. xl.
49. See CEPAL, p. 145, for unemployment rates, and Proyecto “Efectos
de las politicas macroeconémicas y sociales sobre la pobreza,” (draft), (Ha-
vana: June 1997), p. 53, for the profile of the unemployed.
50. Computed from Censo de poblacion y viviendas 1970, p. 258, and Censo de
poblacion y viviendas de 1981, vol. 16, pt. 1, p. cxv. In 1970, all centers with
2,000 or more persons and with 500—2,000 residents with no fewer than four
of the following—street lights, paved streets, aqueduct, sewerage, medical ser-
vices, educational center—were considered urban. In 1981, the urban defini-
tion was somewhat looser: all centers with at least 2,000 persons; those with
500-2,000 persons with three or more of the listed characteristics, and those
with 200-500 persons with all six. In 1953, there were twenty-six centers
with more than 20,000 persons representing 61.6 percent of the urban popu-
lation; in 1970 and 1981, there were thirty-one (71.4 percent) and forty-two
(69.8 percent).
51. Computed from Censo de poblacion y viviendas de 1981, vol. 16, pt. 2,
pp. 149, 181-184, 187. The enrollment of 6- to 24-year-olds was 75.4 percent
(urban), 67.2 percent (rural), and 72.6 percent (national).
52. Computed from Ibid., vol. 16, pt. 2, p. 168.
53. Computed from Ibid., vols. 2, 3, and 16, pt. 2, pp. 150-153, 156, 160,
163, 166, 169, 178. The percentage of the population 6 years or older in high
school or graduated from high school was 8 percent in urban areas, including
Havana, and 2.9 percent in the countryside. The percentage of university stu-
dents and graduates was 4.4 percent (urban), 6 percent (Havana), and less
than 2 percent rural.
54. Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 584.
55. Ibid., p. 78.
56. Ibid., p. 624.
57. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 186; Granma, January 7,
1991, p. 4.
58. Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, pp. 563-564, 567, 571.
59. See Sarah M. Santana, “The Cuban Health Care System: Responsive-
ness to Changing Needs and Demands,” in Zimbalist, pp. 115-127.
60. See CEPAL, p. 165, for decline in food production; Proyecto “Efectos
de las politicas macroeconémicas y sociales sobre la pobreza,” p. 28, for
poverty levels; Rosanne M. Philen, M.D. et al., “Epidemic Optic Neuropathy in
Cuba—Clinical Characterization and Risk Factors,” New England Journal of
Medicine (November 2, 1995), pp. 1176-1182.
61. See José L. Luzé6n, “Housing in Socialist Cuba: An Analysis Using
 Notes to Pages 93-95 231
Cuban Censuses of Population and Housing,” Cuban Studies (University of
Pittsburgh Press) 18 (1988): 65-83; Jill Hamburg, “Housing Policy in Revolu-
tionary Cuba,” in Rachel Bratt, Chester Hartman, and Ann Meyerson, eds.,
Critical Perspectives on Housing (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1986),
pp. 586-624; Sergio Roca, “Housing in Socialist Cuba,” in Oktay Ural, ed.,
Housing: Planning, Financing, Construction, vol. 1 (New York: Pergamon Press,
1979), pp. 62-74.
62. Censo de poblacion y viviendas de 1981, vol. 16, pt. 2, pp. 430-432. I clas-
sified as “solid construction” all housing with masonry walls.
63. Ibid., pp. 418-424.
64. Ibid., pp. 406-429.
65. See the section on “Completed Housing per Provinces” in Comité Es-
tatal de Estadisticas, Anuario estadistico de Cuba for the years 1982-1988. The
figures are not fully comparable because in some years the Anuario reports
completed housing regardless of condition and in others only those with a
habitable certificate. The trends, however, are revealing. The Oriente provin-
cial groups appeared to be losing their share of total completed housing while
the Havana provinces were gaining. The trend might have been due to the
relative decline of private construction, which seemed more prevalent in Ori-
ente, and the relative priority the state accorded to housing construction in
Havana alter 1986.
66. Censo de poblacion y viviendas de 1981, vol. 16, pt. 2, pp. 438-450.
67. Ibid., pp. 451-453.
68. Sergio Diaz-Briquets, “Regional Differences in Development and
Living Standards in Revolutionary Cuba,” Cuban Studies/Estudios Cubanos 18
(1988): 45-63.
69. Computed from Anuario estadistico de Cuba, 1988, p. 197. After 1985,
there seemed to be a trend toward diminishing the gaps between Pinar del Rio
and the Oriente provinces and the national average and reducing the slightly
more privileged position of the Havana provinces.
70. Computed from ibid., p. 223.
71. Computed from ibid., p. 279, and Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1982,
p. 191. The value of construction is given at current prices. Although poverty
increased at a faster rate in Havana (1.6 to 6.9 percent) than in Oriente during
the 1990s, the latter’s more than tripling of the percentage living below
poverty levels (4.6 to 14.3 percent) was astounding and goes a long way to-
ward explaining the eastern provinces’ outward migration, mostly to Havana.
These provinces had a net migration loss of 188,047 between 1986 and 1995;
the city of Havana gained 140,819. CEPAL ranks Cuba’s provinces in three
tiers according to their overall economic situation. Only one eastern province,
Holguin, is in the “good” category; the other four eastern provinces fall in the
worst, or “adverse,” tier. These are, of course, relative evaluations within the
general condition of economic crisis. See Proyecto “Efectos de las politicas
macroeconomicas y sociales sobre la pobreza,” p. 29, for poverty levels and
CEPAL, p. 83, for Oriente’s outward migration.
72. Computed from Anuyario estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 204.
73. Ernesto Guevara, “The Meaning of Socialist Planning,” in Bertram
Silverman, ed., Man and Socialism in Cuba: The Great Debate (New York:
Atheneum Press, 1971), p. 101.
232 Notes to Pages 95-103
74. For a compilation of the main exchanges in the Great Debate, see Sil-
verman.
75. Karl Marx, A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy (New York:
International Publishers, 1981), p. 20.
76. Ernesto Ché Guevara, “El socialismo y el hombre en Cuba,” in Escritos
y Discursos (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1977) 8:259.
77. See Andrew Zimbalist and Susan Eckstein, “Patterns of Cuban Devel-
opment: The First Twenty-Five Years,” in Zimbalist, pp. 7-24; Andrew Zimbal-
ist, “Incentives and Planning in Cuba,” Latin American Research Review 24
(1989): 65-93; Carmelo Mesa-Lago, “The Cuban Economy in the 1980s: The
Return of Ideology,” in Sergio G. Roca, ed., Socialist Cuba: Past Interpretations
and Future Challenges (Boulder: Westview Press, 1988), pp. 59-100.

Chapter 5
1. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, pp. 208, 262.
2. Fagen, pp. 47, 50.

4. Suarez. ,
3. Guevara, “El socialismo y el hombre en Cuba,” pp. 253-272, quotation
at p. 256.

5. Ibarra, José Marti; José A. Tabares del Real, Guiteras (Havana: Editorial
de Ciencias Sociales, 1973).
6. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 321.
7. Fidel Castro, “Discurso del Primer Ministro en el Comité Provincial de
Matanzas,” Cuba Soctalista 2 (May 1962): 11.
8. Ibid., pp. 1-27.
9. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 311. PSP members consti-
tuted 40 percent of the ORI National Directorate and 23 percent of the new
Central Committee.
10. Ernesto Ché Guevara, “Discusi6n colectiva: decisién y responsabili-
dad unicas,” in Hscritos y discursos (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales,
1977), 5:200.
11. Ernesto Ché Guevara, “Discurso en la Convencion Nacional de los
Consejos Técnicos Asesores,” in Escritos y discursos, 5:38.
12. Guevara, “Discusién colectiva.”
13. Revolucion, September 7, 1962, p. 1.
14. Ernesto Ché Guevara, “Discurso clausura del Consejo Nacional de la
CTC, 15 de abril de 1962,” in Escritos y discursos (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias
Sociales, 1977), 6:133.
15. Telleria, p. 508.
16. Ibid., p. 494.
17. Revolucion, November 27, 1961, pp. 3-4.
18. Quoted in Roberto E. Hernandez and Carmelo Mesa-Lago, “Labor
Organization and Wages,” in Carmelo Mesa-Lago, ed., Revolutionary Change in
Cuba (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1971), p. 220.
19. Adolto Gilly, “Inside the Cuban Revolution,” Monthly Review 16 (Oc-
tober 1964): 13-20; Carmelo Mesa-Lago, The Labor Sector and Socialist Distribu-
tion (New York: Praeger, 1968); and Joan Robinson, “Cuba: 1965,” Monthly Re-
view 18 (February 1966): 10-18.
 Notes to Pages 103-110 233
20. Gilly, p. 17.
21. Cuban Economic Research Project, Labor Conditions in Communist Cuba
(Miani: University of Miami Press, 1963), p. 101.
22. Gilly, pp. 18-19.
23. Revolucion, September 3, 1962, p. 5.
24. Ernesto Ché Guevara, “Discurso a la clase obrera, 14 de junio de
1960,” Escritos y discursos (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1977),
4:131-132.
25. Guevara, “Discusion colectiva,” p. 196.
26. Revolucién, February 2, 1963, p. 3.
27. Quoted in Hernandez and Mesa-Lago, p. 220.
28. Revolucion, October 27, 1964, pp. 7—10.
29. Guevara, “Discurso clausura del Consejo Nacional de la CTC,” p. 129.
30. Revolucion, September 7, 1962, p. 1.
31. Zeitlin, Revolutionary Politics, quotations at pp. 284, 293. In the sum-
mer of 1962, Zeitlin interviewed a random sample of 210 industrial workers in
twenty-one plants scattered throughout Cuba. This paragraph is based on his
findings.
32. Guevara, “El socialismo y el hombre en Cuba,” p. 254.
33. Alberto Mora, “On Certain Problems of Building Socialism,” in
Bertram Silverman, ed., Man and Socialism in Cuba: The Great Debate (New York:
Atheneum, 1971), p. 334.
34. Interview with Jesus Escandell, CTC foreign relations secretary, Janu-
ary 8, 1975, in Havana.
35. Ibid.
36. Revolucion, September 26, p. 4, and September 28, 1962, p. 2. For
the number of day-care centers, see Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution,
p. 269.
37. Revolucion, September 28, 1962, p. 2.
38. Ibid., September 23, 1963, p. 2.
39. Censos de poblacion, viviendas y electoral, pp. 204—205. The census regis-
tered 19,585 women in food and tobacco industries, 17,321 in the latter. The
number of women executives, administrators, and owners of commercial en-
terprises was 3,294. There were 650 nurses and other health professionals, not
including doctors and dentists. In 1953, 11,799 women worked in agriculture.
40. Susan Kaufman Purcell, “Modernizing Women for a Modern Society:
The Cuban Case,” in Ann Pescatello, ed., Female and Male in Latin America
(Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1973), p. 266, for number of
women workers. I computed the labor force share from Mesa-Lago, The Labor
Force, p. 40.
41. Revolucién, September 18, 1963, p. 5.
42. Bertram Silverman, “The Great Debate in Retrospective: Economic
Rationality and the Ethics of Revolution,” in Silverman, ed., Man and Socialism
in Cuba, p. 18.
43. Ernesto Ché Guevara, “El cuadro, columna vertebral de la revolu-
cion, septiembre de 1962,” Escritos y discursos 6:244.
44, Fidel Castro, “Discurso en el acto de presentacién del Comité Central
del Partido Comunista de Cuba,” Cuba Socialista 5 (November 1965): 61-82.
45. Revolucion, November 14, 1964, p. 6.
234 Notes to Pages 111-116 !
46. Castro, “Discurso en el acto de presentaciOn del Comité Central,”
p. 8l.
A7. Ibid., pp. 75-76.
48. Fidel Castro, “Conclusiones del compafiero Fidel Castro sobre el _

pp. 79-82. |
Poder Local,” Cuba Socialista 5 (November 1965): 13-42.
49. Osvaldo Dorticés Torrado, “Avances institucionales de la Revolucién,”
Cuba Socialista 6 (January 1966): 5.
50. Castro, “Discurso en el acto de presentacién del Comité Central,”

51. Fidel Castro, “Criterios de nuestra revolucién,” Cuba Socialista 5 (Sep-

tember 1965): 2—32. ,
52. Fidel Castro, “La esencia de esta hora es la técnica y el trabajo,” Cuba
Socialista 6 (October 1966): 15.
53. “La lucha contra el burocratismo,” in Francisco Fernandez-Santos
and José Martinez, eds., Cuba: una revolucién en marcha (Paris: Ruedo Ibérico,
1967), pp. 173-174. |
54. Mesa-Lago, The Labor Force, p. 58.
55. “La lucha contra el burocratismo,” pp. 168-187.
56. Dorticds Torrado, p. 21.
57. Ibid., pp. 2-23; p. 17 for the number of excess personnel.
58. Granma, July 27, 1968, p. 4.
59. Humberto Pérez, “Discurso pronunciado por Humberto Pérez en
el acto de clausura del Congreso Constituyente de la Asociacié6n Nacional
de Economistas de Cuba.” Memorias: Congreso Constituyente ANEC (Havana,
1979), pp. 119-146; Carlos Rafael Rodriguez, “Sobre la contribucién del ,
Ché al desarrollo de la economia cubana,” Cuba Socialista 33 (May—June 1988):
1-29.
60. Granma, supplement, February 21, 1967, p. 3.
61. Castro, “La esencia de esta hora es la técnica y el trabajo,” p. 27.
62. Granma, August 30, 1966, p. 4.
63. Ibid., August 26, 1966, p. 4.
64. Ibid.; and Telleria, p. 522.
65. Granma, August 26, 1966, p. 3.
66. Ibid.
67. Ibid., August 30, 1966, pp. 5-6.
68. Ibid., June 6, 1968, p. 2. —
69. Granma Weekly Review, August 17, 1969, p. 1.
70. Granma, March 7, 1969, p. 2.
71. Ibid., September 29, 1966, p. 4.
72. Armando Hart Davalos, Discurso pronunciado en la graduacion de
alumnos de la Hscuela de Ciencias Politicas de la Facultad de Humanidades de
la Universidad de La Habana, 12 de mayo de 1969. Havana: Ediciones COR, ,
1969.
73. Zeitlin, p. xxx.
74. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 268.
75. Kaufman Purcell, pp. 264-265. ,
76. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 269.
77. Censo de poblacion y viviendas, pp. 679, 683.
 Notes to Pages 116-120 235
78. Ibid., pp. 683-684. The distribution was as follows: 202,279 (41.9
percent) in social services; 101,851 (21.1 percent) in industry; 110,474 (22.9
percent) in commerce; and 39,151 (8.1 percent) in agriculture.
79. Censo de poblacion y viviendas, pp. 680, 684.
80. Benigno E. Aguirre, “Women in the Cuban Bureaucracies: 1968—
1974,” Journal of Comparative Family Studies 7 (Spring 1976): 34.
81. Virginia Olesen, “Context and Posture: Notes on Socio-Cultural As-
pects of Women’s Roles and Family Policy in Contemporary Cuba,” Journal of
Marriage and the Family 3 (August 1971): 548~560.
82. Martin Kenner and James Petras, eds., Fidel Castro Speaks (New York:
Grove Press, 1969), p. 248.
83. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, pp. 320-321.
84. Granma, January 28, 1968, p. 2.
85. Héctor Ayala Castro, “Transformacién de la propiedad en periodo
1964-1980,” Economia y desarrollo 68 (May-June 1982): 17-20.
86. Jacques Lévesque, The USSR and the Cuban Revolution: Soviet Ideological
and Strategical Perspectives, 1959-1977 (New York: Praeger, 1978); W. Raymond
Duncan, The Soviet Union and Cuba: Interests and Influences (New York: Praeger,
1985).
87. Fidel Castro, Discursos, vol. 1 (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales,
1976), p. 63.
88. Granma, April 1, 1969, pp. 4-5.
89. Mesa-Lago, The Economy of Socialist Cuba, p. 44.
90. Osvaldo Dorticés, “Discurso del Presidente de la Republica, Dr. Os-
valdo Dorticds, en la escuela de mando del Ministerio de la Industria Ligera,”
Pensamiento Critico 45 (October 1970): 138-156.
91. Interview with Felino Quesada, a JUCEPLAN official, on August 18,
1979 in Washington, DC; Wassily Leontieff, “Notes on a Visit to Cuba,” New
York Review of Books 21 (August 21, 1969): 15-20.
92. Fidel Castro, “Discurso pronunciado el 26 de julio de 1970—XVII
aniversario del asalto al Cuartel Moncada,” Pensamiento Critico 45 (October
1970): 20.
93. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 316.
94. Castro, “Discurso pronunciado el 26 de julio de 1970,” pp. 6-52.
95. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, p. 276.
96. Fidel Castro, “Discurso pronunciado en la plenaria provincial de la
CTC,” Pensamiento Critico 45 (October 1970): 108.
97. Fidel Castro, “Discurso del Comandante Fidel Castro el 23 de agosto
de 1970—-X aniversario de la Federacion de Mujeres Cubana,” Pensamiento
Critico 45 (October 1970): 72-74.
98. Castro, “Discurso pronunciado en la plenaria provincial de la CTC,” p.
106.
99. Leo Huberman and Paul M. Sweezy, Socialism in Cuba (New York:
Monthly Review Press, 1969); and Paul Sweezy and Charles Bettelheim, On
the Transition to Socialism (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1971).
100. Castro, “Discurso pronunciado en Ja plenaria provincial de la CTC,”
p. 102.
101. On June 6, 1984, when the editors of Areito magazine met with Car-
236 Notes to Pages 120-128
los Rafael Rodriguez and I asked him a question about the 1960s, he used the
phrase to characterize the attitude of the Cuban people at the time.

Chapter 6 |
1. Frank T. Fitzgerald, “A Critique of the ‘Sovietization of Cuba’ Thesis,”
Science and Society 42 (Spring 1978): 1-32.
2. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution pp. 341-378.
3. Andrew Zimbalist, “Cuban Economic Planning: Organization and Per-
formance,” in Sandor Halebsky and John M. Kirk, eds., Cuba: Twenty-Five Years
of Revolution (New York: Praeger, 1985), p. 223.
4A. Bohemia, July 13, 1984, p. 58. Value expanded from 500 million pesos
to 1,500 million.
5. William M. LeoGrande, “Continuity and Change in the Cuban Political
Elite,” Cuban Studies/Estudios Cubanos 8 (July 1978): 1-31; Lourdes Casal and
Mariteli Pérez-Stable, “Party and State in Post-1970 Cuba,” in Leslie Holmes,
ed., The Withering Away of the State? Party and State Under Communism (London:
Sage, 1981), pp. 81-103; Jorge I. Dominguez, “Revolutionary Politics: The
New Demands for Orderliness,” in Dominguez, ed., Cuba: Internal and Interna-
tional Affairs (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1982), pp. 19-70; Archibald R. M. Ritter,
“The Organs of People’s Power and the Communist Party: The Nature of
Cuban Democracy,” in Sandor Halebsky and John M. Kirk, eds., Cuba: Twenty-
Five Years of Revolution (New York: Praeger, 1985), pp. 270-290.
6. Granma, June 30, 1978, p. 4.
7. Carollee Bengelsdorf, Between Vision and Reality: The Problem of Democ-
racy in Cuba (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994),
8. Granma Weekly Review, July 13, 1980, p. 2.
9. Bengelsdort.
10. Bengelsdorf.
11. Granma Weekly Review, July 13, 1980, p. 2.
12. Juventud Rebelde, July 5, 1979, p. 1.
13. Fidel Castro, “Report of the Central Committee of the Communist
Party of Cuba to the First Congress Given by Comrade Fidel Castro Ruz, First
Secretary of the CC CP Cuba,” in First Congress of the Communist Party of Cuba
(Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1976), p. 133.
14. Zimbalist, “Cuban Economic Planning,” p. 219.
15. Castro, “Report of the Central Committee,” p. 136.
16. Bohemia, November 18, 1983, p. 29.
17. Plenaria Nacional de Chequeo sobre el Sistema de Direccion y Planificacion de
la Economia (Havana: JUCEPLAN, 1979); Segunda Plenaria Nacional de Chequeo
de la Implantacion del SDPE (Havana: JUCEPLAN, 1980); Tercera Plenaria Na-
cional de Chequeo de la Implantacién del SDPE (Havana: Ediciones JUCEPLAN,
1982); Dictamenes en la IV Plenaria Nacional de Chequeo del Sistema de Direccion y
Planificacion de la Economia (Havana: Imprenta JUCEPLAN, 1985); Felino Que-
sada, “La autonomia de la empresa en Cuba y la implantacion del Sistema
de Direccién de la Economia,” Cuestiones de la Economia Planificada 1 (1980):
91-99,
18. Granma, August 1, 1970, pp. 5-6.
19. Granma Weekly Review, October 24, 1971, p. 4.
 Notes to Pages 128-133 237
20. Trabajadores, February 27, 1984, p. 13.
21. Memorias XIV Congreso de la CTC (Havana: Editorial Orbe, 1980), p. 87.
22. XV Congreso de la CTC Memorias (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias So-
ciales, 1984), p. 114.
23. Ibid., p. 82.
24. In 1985, 46.8 percent of the labor force was 34 years old or younger.
Computed from Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 201.
25. Fidel Castro and Raul Castro, Selecciones de discursos acerca del partido
(Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1975), p. 59.
26. Granma Weekly Review, September 26, 1972, p. 5.
27. Memorias: Congreso de la CTC (Havana: Central de Trabajadores de
Cuba, 1974), p. 58.
28. Fidel Castro, “Discurso pronunciado en la plenaria provincial de la
CTC,” p. 91.
29. In 1975, I interviewed 57 workers in 15 enterprises throughout
Cuba. The enterprises were among the most modern in the Cuban economy.
The workers were loosely representative of vanguard workers. They averaged
10 years of education, 79 percent were vanguard workers, 27 percent of the
union leaders and 22 percent of the rank and file were party members. In
1975, the labor force averaged 6 years of education, 38 percent qualified as
vanguard workers, 13 percent of all union leaders and about 5 percent of the
rank and file belonged to the party.
30. Juventud Rebelde, December 21, 1980, p. 6; and Granma, February 8,
1986. Supplement.
31. See Andrew Zimbalist, “On the Role of Management in Socialist De-
velopment,” World Development 9-10 (1981): 971-977; and Linda Fuller, Work
and Democracy in Socialist Cuba (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1992).
32. Memorias XIV Congreso, pp. 42, 44.
33. Memorias: Congreso de la CTC, pp. 149, 165-166.
34. Memorias XIV Congreso, p. 97.
35. Joaquin Benavides Rodriguez, “La ley de la distribuci6n con arreglo
al trabajo y la reforma de salarios en Cuba,” Cuba Socialista 2 (March 1982):
62-93,
36. Zimbalist, “Incentives and Planning in Cuba,” pp. 81, 84.
37. Granma, December 14, 1981, pp. 2-3.
38. Ibid., December 24, 1981, p. 1.
39. XV Congreso de la CTC Memorias, p. 25.
40. Bohemia, January 27, 1984, p. 49.
4\. Memorias XIV Congreso, p. 16.
42. Ibid., p. 66.
43. Bohemia, November 13, 1981, p. 55.
44. Trabajadores, February 27, 1984, p. 7.
45. Memortas XIV Congreso, p. 53.
46. Memorias: Congreso de la CIC, p. 69.
47. Memortas: XIV Congreso, p. 53.
48. Roberto Veiga, “Clausura del octavo curso para directores de empre-
sas, celebrado en la Escuela Nacional de Direccién de la Economia,” Cuestiones
de la Economia Planificada 2 (1980): 29.
49. Memorias XIV Congreso, p. 102.
238 Notes to Pages 133-140
50. Plenaria Nacional de Chequeo sobre el Sistema de Direccion y Planificacion
del Economta, pp. 36-37.
51. Segunda Plenaria Nacional de Chequeo de la Implantacion del SDPE,
p. 26.
52. Fidel Castro, Informe Central: Tercer Congreso del Partido Comunista de
Cuba (Havana: Editora Politica, 1986), p. 41.
53. Veiga, pp. 27-28.
54. XV Congreso de la CTC Memorias, p. 25.
55. CTC, Direccion de Justicia Laboral (Havana, 1981).
56. Fidel Castro, Discurso pronunciado en la clausura del II periodo de sesiones
de 1979 de la Asamblea Nacional del Poder Poputar, p. 6.
57. Granma, December 24, 1983, p. 2.
58. Bohemia, February 17, 1984, p. 44.
59. XV Congreso de la CTC Memorias, p. 35.
60. Fidel Castro, “Discurso del comandante en jefe Fidel Castro en al acto
de clausura,” Memoria: II Congreso Nacional de la Federacién de Mujeres Cubanas
(Havana: Editorial Orbe, 1975), p. 285.
61. Primer Congreso del Partido Comunista de Cuba, Tesis y resoluciones
(Havana: Departamento de Orientacién Revolucionaria, 1976), p. 564.
62. Lisandro Pérez, “The Family in Cuba,” in Man Singh Das and Clinton
J. Jesser, eds., The Family in Latin America (Bombay: Vikas Publishing House,
1980), pp. 235-269.
63. Isabel Larguia and John Dumoulin, “La mujer en el desarrollo: es-
trategias y experiencias de la revoluci6n cubana” (Paper presented at X Latin
American Congress of Sociology, Managua, 1983).
64. Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1986, pp. 519-520.
65. Bohemia, March 2, 1984, p. 53; Granma Weekly Review, March 24,
1985, p. 4.
66. Primer Congreso del Partido Comunista de Cuba, pp. 583-584.
67. Maritza Garcia Alonso, “Presupuesto de tiempo de la mujer, cubana:
un estudio nacional, abril de 1975,” Demanda 1 (1978): 33-58; Ana Maria
Radaelli, “For the Full Equality of Women,” Cuba International (July 1985):
13-17; Vilma Espin, “La batalla por el ejercicio pleno de la igualdad de la
mujer: accion de los comunistas,” Cuba Soctalista 6 (1986): 27-68.
68. Castro, Informe Central, p. 78.
69. Memoria: II Congreso Nacional de la Federacion de Mujeres Cubanas (Ha-
vana: Editorial Orbe, 1975), pp. 173-174.
70. Granma, June 1, 1976, p. 4.
71. On January 12, 1977, l asked Vilma Espin about the 1976 resolution

p. 39.
when she met with the Antonio Maceo Brigade.
72. Vilma Espin, “Central Report Rendered by Comrade Vilma Espin,
President of the Federation of Cuban Women at the Federation’s Third Con- ,
gress,” Boletin FMC (Havana, 1980), pp. 20-21.
73. Carollee Bengelsdorf, “On the Problem of Studying Cuban Women,”
in Andrew Zimbalist, ed., Cuban Political Economy: Essays in Cubanology (Boul-
der: Westview Press, 1988), p. 128.
74. Espin, “La batalla por el ejercicio pleno de la igualdad de la mujer,”

75. Fidel Castro, “Speech Delivered by Commander in Chief Fidel Castro

 Notes to Pages 140-155 239
at the Closing Session of the Federation’s Third Congress,” Boletin FMC (Ha-
vana, 1980), p. 36.
76. Sergio Diaz-Briquets, “Age-Structure, Fertility Swings, and Socioeco-
nomic Development in Cuba,” in Roca, ed., Socialist Cuba, pp. 159-174.
77. Muriel Nazzari, “The ‘Woman Question’ in Cuba: An Analysis of Ma-
terial Constraints on its Solution,” Signs 2 (1983): 246-263.
78. Radaelli, p. 16.
79. Censo de poblacion y viviendas de 1981, vol. 16, pt. 2, pp. 299, 303.
80. Trabajadores, February 27, 1984, pp. 8-9.
81. Computed from Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 203.
82. Computed from ibid., pp. 196, 200.
83. Bohemia, November 16, 1984, p. 40.
84. Espin, “La batalla por el ejercicio pleno de la igualdad de la mujer,”
pp. 59-62.
85. Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 513.
86. Castro, “Report of the Central Committee,” p. 232.
87. Fidel Castro, Main Report: Second Congress of the Communist Party of Cuba
(New York: Center for Cuban Studies, 1981), p. 27.
88. Castro, Informe Central, p. 99.
89. Jorge I. Dominguez, “Blaming Itself, Not Himself: Cuba’s Political
Regime After the Third Party Congress,” in Roca, ed., Socialist Cuba: Past Inter-
pretations and Future Challenges, pp. 3-10; Supplement of Granma, February 8,
1986, pp. 1-6.
90. Massimo Cavallini, “La revoluci6n es una obra de arte que debe per-
feccionarse,” Pensamiento Propio 33 (May-June, 1986): 43.
91. Castro, “Report of the Central Committee,” p. 239.
92. Dominguez, “Blaming Itself, Not Himself,” p. 7.
93. Castro, “Report of the Central Committee,” p. 232.
94. Castro, Informe Central, pp. 40-41.

Chapter 7
1. On the anniversary of Playa Giron, Fidel Castro berated the new
wave of mercenaries that threatened Ja patria and called for a renewed
struggle against the would-be capitalists. After April, the rectification be-
gan to take shape in various forums. At a gathering of cooperative farmers,
Castro announced the banning of the free markets (Granma Weekly Review,
June 1, 1986, pp. 3-4). Meeting with enterprise representatives from the
two Havana provinces, he assailed the “liberal-bourgeois” period of “bitter
experiences” and called for a “strategic counteroffensive” (Granma, June 27,
1986, pp. 1-3). Throughout July and August, enterprise meetings in the other
provinces continued elaborating on the problems of the SDPE (Granma, July
8, p. 11; July 9, pp. 1, 3; July 10, p. 3; August 11, p. 3; and August 19, 1986,
p. 3). On July 26, Castro railed against the “generalized stupidities”
that money was the principal motivation of people and exalted the value of
volunteer work (Granma Weekly Review, August 2, 1986, p. 3). In December,
the party congress closed with a call to renew moral principles and regenerate
conciencia (Granma, December 1, 2, 1986; and Supplement, December 5,
1986).
240 Notes to Pages 157-163
2. Plan de accion contra las irregularidades administrativas y los errores y debili-
dades del Sistema de Direccion de la Economia, July 17, 1986.
3. Bohemia, December 14, 1984, pp. 51-63.
4. Granma Weekly Review, February 15, 1987, p. 5.
5. Granma, July 5, p. 2; August 3, p. 5; November 3, 1986, p. 2; and De-
cember 13, 1987, p. 8; Granma Weekly Review, February 15, p. 5; and May 17,
1987, p. 9.
6. Granma, December 31, 1986, pp. 1-2.
7. Granma Weekly Review, June 21, 1987, p. 4.
8. Pedro Monreal, “Cuba y la nueva economia mundial: el reto de la in-

ary—June 1991): 64. ,

sercion en América Latina y el Caribe,” Cuadernos de Nuestra América 8 (Janu-

9. Cuba en el mes, August 1990, p. 27.

10. Granma, December 26, 1986, p. 5.
11. Computed from Anuario Estadistico de Cuba, 1986, p. 196.
12. Granma Weekly Review, July 5, 1987, p. 5; Fidel Castro, Discurso pronun-
clado en la clausura del III congreso de los Comités de Defensa de la Revolucion (Sep-
tember 28, 1986), p. 6; Granma, December 1, 1986, p. 4.
13. Bohemia, March 28, 1986, pp. 26-36; and Granma, July 5, 1986, p. 1.
14. Granma, July 22, 1986, p. 1.
15. Granma Weekly Review, June 18, 1986, p. 3.
16. Granma, July 11, 1988, p. 4.

the total.
17. Granma, July 4, 1986, p. 3.
18. Granma Weekly Review, January 29, 1989, p. 5.
19. Anuario Estadistico de Cuba 1988, p. 282. Housing construction declined
to 35,659 in 1988, with private construction representing about 20 percent of

20. Granma Weekly Review, January 22, 1989, Supplement.

21. Ibid., February 7, 1988, p. 9.
22. Bohemia, October 30, 1987, p. 20.
23. Granma, December 10, 1988, p. 2.
24. Ibid., December 27, 1986, p. 4.
25. Ibid., December 10, 1988, p. 2.
26. Granma Weekly Review, January 8, 1989, p. 9.
27. Granma, December 1, p. 2; and December 5, 1986, Supplement;
January 24, p. 3; and March 21, 1989, p. 3; Fidel Castro, “En la reunion infor-
mativa del Comité Provincial del partido de Ciudad de La Habana,” Cuba So-
cialista 26 (March—April 1987): 1-42, and “En la asamblea provincial del par-
tido de Ciudad de La Habana,” Cuba Socialista 31 (January-February 1988):
1-37.
28. Castro, Informe Central, p. 99.
29. Granma, December 25, p. 2; and December 26, 1986, pp. 2-3.
30. Granma Weekly Review, December 13, 1987, p. 9.
31. Granma, December 2, 1986; Granma Weekly Review, February 1, 1987,
pp. 2-4.
32. Granma Weekly Review, February 1, 1987, pp. 2—4.
33. Granma, December 25, 1988, p. 9.
34. Castro, “En la reunion informativa del Comité Provincial del partido
de Ciudad de La Habana,” p. 13.
 Notes to Pages 164-171 24]
35. The Ochoa-de la Guardia public proceedings, their press coverage,
and other related documents can be found in Causa 1/89: Fin de la conexién
cubana (Havana: Editorial José Marti, 1989). Andrés Oppenheimer, Castro’s Fi-
nal Hour: The Secret Story Behind the Coming Downfall of Communist Cuba (New
York: Simon & Schuster, 1992), pp. 17-163, is an insightful analysis of the
drug trafficking trials of 1989.
36. Granma, June 16, p. 1; June 29, p. 1; July 14, p. 1; and July 31, 1989,
p. 11; and Granma Weekly Review, August 20, 1989, p. 3.
37. Granma, August 30, 1989, pp. 3-5. In January 1991, Abrantes suf-
fered a fatal heart attack while under confinement.
38. José Luis Llovid-Menéndez, Insider: My Hidden Life as a Revolutionary in
Cuba (Toronto and New York: Bantam Books, 1988).
39. Granma Weekly Review, September 10, 1989, pp. 1, 11.
40. Granma, February 17, 1990, p. 1; Granma Weekly Review, March 25,
1990, pp. 2-3.
41. Granma Weekly Review, March 26, 1989, p. 9.
42. XV Congreso de la CTC, p. 194.
43. The January 1990 CTC congress published two documents: Los sindi-
catos en el proceso de rectificacién: documento base (n.d.), and Los sindicatos en el pro-
ceso de rectificacion: informe central (n.d.).
44. Proyecto de tesis V congreso de la Federacion de Mujeres Cubanas (n.d.).
Women accounted for 51.4 percent of local trade union leaders and 38.2 per-
cent of the labor force. See pp. 10-11 of the documento base and pp. 15—16 of
the informe central to the CTC congress of 1990 for the references to working
women without mentioning the FMC.
45. See Granma, June 16, p. 7; June 19, p. 3; June 20, p. 3; and June 26,
1990, p. 3; and Granma Weekly Review, June 18, 1990, p. 1. The standard criti-
cism pointed out the overlapping functions between the FMC and the Com-
mittees for the Defense of the Revolution. CDR President Sixto Batista was
also dropped from the Politburo in the October PCC congress.
46. For the FMC congress, see Granma, March 6, pp. 1, 3~4; March 7,
pp. 1-2, 3-5; and March 8, 1990, pp. 1, 3; and Granma Weekly Review, March
18, 1990, pp. 7-12.
47. Granma, April 13, 1990, p. 1.
48. Ibid., June 23, 1990, pp. 4-5.
49. Granma Weekly Review, March 25, p. 3; April 22, 1990, p. 9.
50. Personal communication to the author by several colleagues who are
PCC members during a visit to Havana in May 1991.
51. Granma, January 6, 1990, p. 1.
52. Ibid., January 28, 1991, p. 3.
53. Granma Weekly Review, October 14, 1990, p. 9.
54. Cuba en el mes, July 1991, p. 8.
55. Granma, January 28, 1991, p. 3.
56. Cuba en el mes, August 1991, p. 65.
57. Granma, October 13, 1991, p. 7.
58. Foreign Broadcast Information Service, Latin America—Cuba: Fourth
Congress of the Cuban Communist Party, October 15, 1991, pp. 1-24.
59. Ibid., pp. 3-24 for Castro speech; pp. 9-15 for the list of shortfalls in
Soviet delivery.
242 Notes to Pages 171-175
60. Granma, October 16, 1991, p. 3.
61. For the resolutions, see PCC statutes, Granma, October 13, 1991, p. 7;
PCC program, Granma, October 14, 1991, p. 6; Popular Power and foreign
policy, Granma, October 16, 1991, pp. 3, 6; Central Committee special powers,
Bohemia, October 18, 1991, pp. 32-33; economic development, Pablo Alfonso,
Los fieles de Castro (Miami: Ediciones Cambio, 1991), pp. 212-223.
62. Foreign Broadcast Information Service, pp. 40-41; and computed
from Alfonso, pp. 23-162.
63. Foreign Broadcast Information Service, p. 25.
64. Although the human rights movement was small and had little do-
mestic impact, the signs of popular discontent were telling and extensive:
signs of “j;Abajo Fidel!” painted on walls; clashes between youths and the po-
lice; dock workers refusing to load sacks of rice for export because of domestic
scarcities; the film institute challenging a party directive to merge with state
television; intellectuals signing an open letter to the leadership demanding re-
form; purges at the University of Havana and other higher education institu-
tions; citizens raiding planted fields; near-riots in front of the special hard-
currency stores; workers refusing to join the rapid response brigades the gov-
ernment created to quell dissent. See Miami Herald, January 12, 1990, p. 10; Ei
Nuevo Herald, May 29, p. 1, December 16, 1990, p. 3, January 5, p. 3, February
10, p. 3, March 13, p. 3, June 24, p. 1, and June 30, 1991, p. 1; New York Times,
June 29, 1991, p. 2; Liz Balmaseda, “Castro’s Convertibles,” Tropic, April 14,
1991, pp. 9-15, 18-19; and Oppenheimer, pp. 267-282, 304—337, 401-423.

Chapter 8
1. After three years (1994-1996) of modest economic growth, the gov-
ernment anticipated slowdowns in 1997 and 1998. These gains were threat-
ened by a mounting trade deficit (from $642 million in 1994 to $2.2 billion in
1996), a growing foreign debt ($9.7 billion in late 1994 to $11 billion in mid-
1996), and a ballooning (but not officially specified) internal debt due to the
unprofitable state sector. Lower sugar prices, higher oil prices, and difficulties
in obtaining foreign loans to support the harvest completed the dismal out-
look. Miami Herald, December 19, 1996, p. A22.
2. For a clear exposition of the need for political reform from different
perspectives, see Jorge I. Dominguez, “La democracia en Cuba: ¢Cual es el
modelo deseable?” and Haroldo Dilla, “Cuba: ;Cual es la democracia de-
seable?” in Haroldo Dilla, ed., La democracia en Cuba y el diferendo con los Estados
Unidos (Havana: Ediciones CEA, 1995), pp. 117-129 and pp. 169-189. In an
unpublished paper, “El sistema de gobierno cubano: Control vs. autonomia,”
C. Miriam Gras Mediaceja offers an incisive critique of the Cuban political sys-
tem without challenging its established parameters. Professor Gras Mediaceja

of Havana. :
presented this paper at a University of Havana conference in September 1994,
Though subsequently fired, she had been a long-standing member of the Po-
litical Sclence Group in the Faculty of Philosophy and History at the University

3. For a thoughtful review of the 1992 constitutional revisions, see Hugo

Azcuy, “La reforma de la constituci6n socialista de 1976,” in Dilla, pp. 149-
168.
 Notes to Pages 176~180 243
4. For an overview of the economic reforms, see Carmelo Mesa-Lago, Are
Economic Reforms Propelling Cuba to the Market? (Miami: University of Miami
North-South Center, 1994); Manuel Pastor Jr. and Andrew Zimbalist, “Cuba’s
Economic Conundrum,” NACLA: Report on the Americas 29 (September—Octo-
ber 1995), pp. 7-12; Jorge F. Pérez-Lopez, Cuba’s Second Economy: From Behind
the Scenes to Center Stage (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1995); Fran-
cisco Leon, “Socialism and Sociolismo: Social Actors and Economic Change in
1990s Cuba,” and Mauricio Font, “Crisis and Reform in Cuba,” in Miguel
Angel Centeno and Mauricio Font, eds., Toward a New Cuba? Legacies of a Revo-
lution (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1997), pp. 39-52 and 109-134.
5. Cuba en el Mes, September 1995, p. 6.
6. Granma Internacional, March 26, 1997, pp. 8-9, and Reuters, June 14,
1997,
7. For a Cuban perspective, see Julio Carranza Valdéz, Luis Guitiérrez
Urdaneta, and Pedro Monreal Gonzalez, Cuba la restructuracioén de la economia:
una propuesta para el debate (Havana: Editorial de Ciencias Sociales, 1995). For
a foreign perspective, see the report of Spain’s former finance minister: Carlos
Solchaga, “La reforma econémica en Cuba,” Actualidad econémica, October 17,
1994, pp. 7-13, and his more recent, definitive article, “Cuba: perspectivas
economicas,” Encuentro de la cultura cubana 3 (Winter 1996-1997), pp. 43-53.
8. El Nuevo Herald, February 14, 1994.
9, Ibid.
10. See, for example, Anna Seleny, “Property Rights and Political Power:
The Cumulative Process of Political Change in Hungary,” David L. Bartlett,
“Losing the Political Initiative: The Impact of Financial Liberalization in Hun-
gary,” and David L. Wank, “Bureaucratic Patronage and Private Business:
Changing Networks of Power in Urban China,” in Andrew G. Walder, ed., The
Waning of the Communist State: Economic Origins of Political Decline in China and
Hungary (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), pp. 27-60, 114-150,
and 153-184; Susan L. Shirk, The Political Logic of Economic Reform in China
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993); and Gabriella Montinola,
Yingyi Qian, and Barry R. Weingast, “Federalism Chinese Style: The Political
Basis of Economic Success in China,” World Politics 48 (October 1995), pp.
50-81. For an analysis of the tensions between centralization and decentral-
ization in Cuba, see: Bengelsdort, The Problem of Democracy in Cuba, and
Haroldo Dilla, Gerardo Gonzalez, and Ana Teresa Vincentelli, Participacién pop-
ular y desarrollo en los municipios cubanos (Havana: Centro de Estudios sobre
América, 1993).
ll. Granma, December 30, 1995, p. 4.
12. The Economist, October 19, 1996, p. 49. In the late 1980s, Cuba’s Gross
Social Product (GSP) was about 25 billion pesos a year. After contracting up to
50 percent in the early 1990s, the economy resumed modest growth in 1994.
Even if $1 billion had been invested, the sum paled next to the estimated $5 to
6 billion a year Cuba received from the Soviet Union in the form of trade sub-
sidies, credits, and aid.
13. Granma, June 16, p. 1; June 29, p. 1; July 14, p. 1; and July 31, 1989,
p. Ll; Granma Weekly Review, August 20, 1989, p. 3. The armed forces also ex-
perienced turnover, although not as widely.
14. Cuba en el mes, July 1994, pp. 44-47, and July 1995, p. 47.
 244 Notes to Pages 180-184
15. Bl Nuevo Herald, January 25, 1995, pp. 1, 4.
16. Cuba en el mes, August and September 1994, pp. 20-25, 42.
17. Ibid., January 1991, pp. 18, 22-25, 27; April 1992, pp. 29, 33-34; |
September 1992, pp. 19, 21; July 1994, pp. 44-47; and July 1995, pp. 47-48.
18. Ibid., September 1994, p. 32.
19. El Nuevo Herald, April 10, 1997, p. 7A. The commission was also
charged with promoting young people, women, and blacks.
20. In April 1997, Carlos Lage presided over a ceremony honoring filty-
four functionaries and administrators for their “irreproachable conduct.” Lage
underscored the need for political and administrative cadres to live modestly,
resist corruption, and not abuse their power. Ibid., April 3, 1997, p. 7A.
21. Ibid., June 4, 1993, and December 9, 1993.
22. Ibid., September 7, 1993.
23. Ibid., October 19, 1993.
24. Ibid., July 20, 1994.
25. CubalNFO, September 1, 1994. ,
26. Intellectuals were also a casualty of the tense ideological climate as
research and university centers were purged. Most notably, the party deci-
mated the Centro do Estudios sobre América, where Cuba’s finest social scien-
tists had found a home. See Bert Hoffmann, “Cuba: La reforma desde adentro
: que no fue,” Notas 3 (1996), pp. 48-65, and Maurizio Giuliano, Hl Caso CEA
(Miami: Ediciones Universal, 1998).
27. “El trabajo del Partido en la coyuntura actual,” Media Monitoring, Au-
gust 22, 1996. The document appeared as a series of articles in Granma during
August 1996. ,
28. El Nuevo Herald, May 2, 1997. Increased PCC membership might be
explained by one or more of the following: increased support for the PCC;
loosened standards of membership by the PCC; lower demands on members’
time and energy; political realism. In 1996, the PCC began to rev up its mem-
bers, which seemed a sign that local party activities had slackened during the
early 1990s. There were no indications that the ban on religious believers had
increased party membership; there were, however, many impressionistic ac-
counts of PCC militants “coming out” as believers. What I mean by political
realism is the following. The regime’s resilience and ability to squash dissent
left few alternatives for people with a calling to politics. Joining the party
might then be as much future insurance as present support; that is, the PCC,
in one incarnation or another, was bound to be a player in a post-Castro Cuba,
and becoming a member now might give individuals access to resources that
might be useful then.
29. I conducted most of the research in this section in 1992-1993 while
part of Transition in Cuba: New Challenges for U.S. Policy, a project of the
Cuban Research Institute and the Latin American and Caribbean Center at
Florida international University (FIU), funded by the U.S. Department of State
and the U.S. Agency for International Development.
30. Cuba en Mes, April 1990, pp. 25-27.
31. Ibid., July 1990, pp. 31-35, 37-38.
32. Ibid., April 1991, pp. 31-36.
33. Ibid., June, 1990, p. 52.
34. Ibid., July 1990, p. 44.
 Notes to Pages 184-189 245
35. Ibid., October 1990, p. 62.
36. Ibid., July 1990, p. 36.
37. Ibid., October 1990, pp. 52-55.
38. Ibid., July 1990, pp. 37-38.
39. “Latin America 1992,” Foreign Broadcast Information Services (FBIS),
March 11, 1992, p. 5.
40. FBIS, September 14, 1992, pp. 7-8.
41. Granma, October 31, 1992, p. 4. Electoral procedures were as follows.
The Council of State appointed a National Electoral Commission that orga-
nized, directed, and validated the electoral processes. The national commis-
sion appointed the provincial commissions and these, in turn, the municipal
ones. PCC claims to uninvolvement were based on the fact that the mass orga-
nizations integrated and coordinated all electoral commissions; mass organiza-
tions, however, were considered the party’s “transmission belts” to the masses
and were obligated to accept PCC political directives. After reviewing lists of
pre-candidates, the commissions drew up final lists of candidates at each level,
submitted them to the corresponding electoral commissions, and subsequently
presented the lists to the municipal assemblies for final approval. As in the
past, formal campaigning was prohibited.
42. El Nuevo Herald, December 30, 1993. Beginning in the mid-1970s, the
National Assembly met regularly twice a year; in the 1990s this schedule was
not as strictly kept.
43. Cuba en el Mes, October 1990, pp. 62-65.
4A, CubaFax Update, December 31, 1992.
45. Spanish News Agency EFE, February 23, 1993, for the 15 percent fig-
ure and Granma, February 27, 1993, for the final official figure.
46. Granma, October 31, 1992, p. 4. This choice was especially salient
given that there was only one candidate per position.
47. Spanish News Agency EFE, February 23, 1993. Though outright
fraud was unlikely or uncommon, I learned of three credible instances. In the
first case, an inindividual who had not been to the “instructions” of CDR
members visiting him found that his name was not on the list of registered
voters when he went to vote on February 24. In the second, an American
journalist briefly visiting a polling station in the Havana neighborhood of
Vedado noticed that the persons counting the ballots considered several
marked with a straight line from top to bottom (and, therefore, technically in-
valid because the choice to vote the full ballot required a small X in the circle
at the top) as votes for the full slate. Finally, in a municipality of Santiago de
Cuba, a member of the group overseeing the electoral returns in her polling
station allegedly saw a box full of invalid ballots tallied as valid for the full
slate. I learned fo these alleged incidents in telephone conversations with, re-
spectively, political scientist Enrique Baloyra (March 12, 1993), Miami Herald
reporter Mimi Whitefield (March 14, 1993), and the Institute of Cuban Stud-
ies’ executive director, Maria Cristina Herrera (April 1, 1993).
48. Dominguez, Cuba: Order and Revolution, pp. 341-378.
49, Jorge I. Dominguez, “The Cuban Armed Forces, the Party and Society
in Wartime and during Rectification (1986-88),” Journal of Communist Studies 5
(December 1989), pp. 45-62.
50. Cuba en el mes, December 1991, p. 30; May, pp. 33-34, and December
 246 Notes to Pages 189-195
1992, p. 27; January, p. 27, March, pp. 34—35, June, pp. 49-51, and Novem-
ber 1994, p. 64; January, pp. 60-61, February, pp. 40-41, and March 1995, pp.
18, 20-24.
51. Ibid., May 1992, pp. 33-34.
52. Ibid., September 1994, p. 34.
53. As in China and Vietnam, the armed forces in Cuba were acquiring
considerable economic resources. The military, for example, controlled the
single most important enterprise in the tourist sector, Gaviota Tourism Group,
S.A., which in 1994 had an annual income of $220 million, about 15 percent
of total export earnings. Phyllis Greene Walker, “Challenges Facing the Cuban
Military,” Cuba Briefing Paper Series 12, Georgetown University (October 1996),
p. 4.
54. See Phyllis Greene Walker, “The Cuban Armed Forces in Transition,”
in Donald E. Schulz, ed., Cuba and the Future (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press,
1994), p. 60, for the state-budget range of the 1980s (with 1988 being the
peak year); and Cuba en el mes, December 1995, p. 77, for the 1996 budget
share.
55. Ibid., October 1994, p. 25.
56. ibid., April 1995, p. 44.
57. See Damian J. Fernandez, “Informal Politics and the Crisis of Cuban
Socialism,” in Schulz pp. 69-81, and Susan Eva Eckstein, Back from the Future:
Cuba under Castro (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 119-126,
for impressive evidence of the emergence of a “second society” mostly outside
the grasp of official Cuba. The PCC also recognized this second society, al-
though with alarm and criticism, in “El trabajo del Partido en la coyuntura
actual.”
58. El Nuevo Herald, September 20, 1994.
59. I am using the terms “absolutist” and “integrative” as per Victor
Pérez-Diaz, The Return of Civil Society: The Emergence of Democratic Spain {Cam-
bridge: Harvard University Press, 1993).
60. In June 1990, island-wide party assemblies questioned the overlap-
ping functions of the FMC and the CDRs. Though then-—CDR president Gen-
eral Sixto Batista was also dropped from the 199] Political Bureau, the CDRs
did not appear to decline during the early 1990s; recent impressionistic ac-
counts, however, point to a CDR system that might well be in a state of disar-
ticulation. See Granma, June 16, 1990, p. 7; June 19, 1990, p. 3; June 20,
1990, p. 3; and June 26, 1990, p. 3.
61. Cuba en el Mes, March 1995, pp. 40-42.
62. Ibid., pp. 36-39. The article by Mirta Rodréguez Calderon, “Ausencia
de una presencia,” appeared in Bohemia, March 17, 1995. The journal Temas
published a special issue on Cuban women in 1996 (number 5). See especially
Luisa Campuzano, “Ser cubanas y no morir en el intento,” pp. 4-10, and
Carolina Aguilar et al., “Mujer, Periodo especial y vida cotidiana,” pp. 11-17.
, 63. Cuba en el Mes, January-February 1990, p. 48; March 1990, p. 64
and pp. 172-178; April 1990, pp. 129-132; May 1990, p. 104; November-
December 1990, pp. 162-169; January 1991, p. 99; February 1991, pp. 82-84;
and July 1991, pp. 76-77. ,
64. Between January and March 1994, CTC newspaper Trabajadores pub-
lished a series of informative editorials. My source for these columns was Cuba
 Notes to Pages 195-198 247
en el Mes, January, February, and March 1994, respectively pp. 41-50, 53-60,
and 47—56.
65. Ibid., February 1994, p. 55.
66. Ibid., March 1994, p. 51, for the first editorial, p. 56 for the second.
67. Ibid., January 1994, p. 43.
68. Ibid., p. 47.
69. Reuters, August 5, 1995,
70. Although the Cuban government maintained that the two planes,
owned by Cuban-exile organization Brothers to the Rescue, were shot down
in Cuban air space, the United Nations International Civil Aviation Organiza-
tion (ICAO) concluded in July 1996 that the downing had occurred over in-
ternational waters. The Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity Act trans-
formed the U.S. embargo from an executive act into a law of Congress,
allowed lawsuits in U.S. courts by U.S. citizens against foreigners “trafficking”
in U.S. confiscated properties (though the Clinton administration was rou-
tinely postponing the implementation of this provision), and detailed a se-
quence of steps Cuba must take in order to qualify as “democratic” in the eyes
of the United States.
71. Hl Nuevo Herald, May 30, 1997. Although I am not familiar with the
methodology used, the survey was conducted by an official group that con-
ducts sociopolitical studies in Santiago de Cuba.
72. Ibid., April 28, 1995,
73. Ibid., March 5, 1995. The Herald report was based on a survey con-
ducted by the Cuban weekly, Bohemia.
74. Ibid., March 28, 1997. Granma published a note of reproach about
the matter.
75. Miami Herald, December 18, 1994. Fourteen Central American poll-
sters interviewed 1,002 Cubans in all but the eastern provinces; they used
a 46-question instrument. The government forbade questions about Fidel
Castro or other leaders. Some official censorship and a certain amount of self-
censorship undoubtly skewed the results, that, notwithstanding, were quite
revealing.
76. The bibliography on these transitions is vast. See Juan Linz and AI-
fred J. Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and Consolidation: Southern Eu-
rope, South America, and Post-Communist Europe (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1996); Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market: Political
and Economic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1991); Scott Mainwaring, Guillermo O’Donnell, and
J. Samuel Valenzuela, eds., Issues 11 Democratic Consolidation: The New South
American Democracies in Comparative Perspective (Notre Dame: University of
Notre Dame Press, 1992); and Terry Lynn Karl and Philippe C. Schmitter,
“Modes of Transition in Latin America, Southern and Eastern Europe,” Inter-
national Social Science Journal (May 1991), PP. 269-284. For a useful summary
of the principal issues, see Miguel Angel Centeno, “Between Rocky Democra-
cies and Hard Markets: Dilemmas of the Double Transition,” Annual Review of
Soctology (1994), pp. 125-147. For a discussion of Cuba in light of Eastern Eu-
rope, see Enrique A. Baloyra, “Socialist Transitions and Prospects for Change
in Cuba,” in Enrique A. Baloyra and James A. Morris, eds., Conflict and Change
in Cuba (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1993), pp. 38-63.
248 Notes to Pages 198-205
77. For a cogent argument on how the United States might be delaying
the Cuban transition, see Maurizio Giuliano, La transicién cubana y el bloqueo
norteamericano (Santiago de Chile: Ediciones CESOC, 1997).
78. For incisive analysis of the structural-political crises of state socialism,
see: Janos Kornai, The Socialist System: The Political Economy of Communism
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992); Ivan Szelenyi and Balazs Sze-
lenyi, “Why Socialism Failed: Toward a Theory of System Breakdown——Causes
of Disintegration of East European State Socialism,” and Andrew G. Walder,
“The Decline of Communist Power: Elements of a Theory of Institutional
Change,” Theory and Society (April 1994), pp. 211-231 and 297-323.
79. Adam Michnik, Letters from Prison and Other Essays (Berkeley: Univer-
sity of California Press, 1985), and Vaclav Havel, “The Power of the Power-
less,” in John Keane, ed., The Power of the Powerless: Citizens Against the State in
Central-Eastern Europe (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, Inc., 1985), pp. 23-96.
80. Eastern European transitions have also generated extensive bibli-
ographies. See useful historical overviews and conceptual summaries in
Joseph Rothschild, Return to Diversity: A Political History of East Central Europe
Since World War II (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), and Gale Stokes,
The Walls Came Tumbling Down: The Collapse of Communism in Hastern Europe
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1993).
81. Hl Pais, July 29, 1997, p. 6.
82. See Robert A. Scalopino, The Last Leninists: The Uncertain Future of
Asia’s Communist States (Washington, D.C.: Center for Strategic Studies, 1992);
William S. Turley and Mark Selden, eds., Reinventing Vietnamese Socialism: Doi
Moi in Comparative Perspective (Boulder: Westview Press, 1993); and Tu Wei-
ming, ed., China in Transformation (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1994).

Conclusion
1. Quoted in Hugh Thomas, Cuba: The Pursuit of Freedom (New York:
Harper & Row, Publishers, 1971), p. 101.
2. The Economist (March 1, 1997), p. 19.
3. Ernest R. May and Philip D. Zelikow, eds., The Kennedy Tapes: Inside the
White House During the Cuban Missile Crisis (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1997), p. 231.
4, There has been a renewed interest in Ernesto Guevara internationally.
Two recent, excellent biographies are Jon Lee Anderson, Che Guevara: A Revo-
lutionary Life (New York: Grove Press, 1997), and Jorge G. Castaneda, La vida
en rojo: Una biografia del Che Guevara (Buenos Aires: Espasa Calpe, 1997).
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OFFICIAL PUBLICATIONS

Cuba
Banco Nacional de Cuba. Memoria: 1949-1950. Havana: Editorial Lex, 1951.
, ———. Memoria: 1958-1959. Havana: Editorial Lex, 1960.
Comité Estatal de Estadisticas. Anuario estadistico de Cuba. 1982-1988.
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Desempleo en Cuba (mayo 1956-abril 1957). Havana, January 1958.
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1945.

United States
Foreign Broadcast Information Service. Latin America—Cuba: Fourth Congress of
the Cuban Communist Party. October 15, 1991.
———, Latin America 1992. March 11 and September 14, 1992.
Office of Strategic Services. The Political Significance and Influence of the Labor
Movement in Latin America. A Preliminary Survey. Cuba. Washington, DC.
1945.
U.S. Department of Commerce. Investment in Cuba. Washington, DC. 1955.
U.S. Department of Labor. Foreign Labor Information: Labor in Cuba. Washing-
ton, DC. 1957.
U.S. Department of State. Cuba: Foreign Relations of the United States, 1958~1960.
Volume 6. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1991.

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ABC Revolutionary Society, 39-40 Casanova, José Manuel, 7, 14
Abrantes, José, 164, 241 n.37 Casas, Senén, 191
Absenteeism, 115, 119, 130 Castro, Fidel, 3, 6, 9-11, 52, 99, 149-50,
Accommodationism, See Central Organiza- 181. See also Fidel-patria revolution
tion of Cuban Trade Unions CTC, 69~73, 114-15, 119-20, 131,
Action groups, See Grupos de accion 159-60
Adams, John Quincy, 203 FMC, 76—77, 140
Agramonte, Roberto, 52 institutionalization, 122-23
Agrarian reform, 7, 12, 42, 63-66, 69, 79. OPP, 125-26, 180
See Also National Institute for Agrarian opposition to Batista, 53-54, 56-60, 175
Reform PCC, 100-101, 142-43, 147, 162, 170-
Aguilera, José Maria de la, 55 73
Aguirre, Francisco, 47 radical experiment, 109-13, 119-20
Aldana, Carlos, 186 rectification, 152, 154-55, 163-65, 210
Allende, Salvador, 148 n.1
Angola, 12, 148-49, 164, 189 revolutionary government (1959-61),
120 SDPE, 156-57
Antibureaucratic campaign, 110, 112-14, 75-8 1
Arbenz, Jacobo, 77, 80 Castro, Raul, 63, 72, 119, 121, 128, 149,
Argentina, 28, 29 164, 166, 170, 181, 189, 192
Armed forces, 35, 40-42, 52, 56-57, 117, Catholic church, 207
143-44, 148-49, 164-65, 170, 172, Catholic University Association, 31
180, 183, 188-91 Central Commitee (CC), See Cuban Com-
Asia, 200-1 munist Party
Association of Combatants of the Cuban Central group, 152, 157
Revolution, 18 Central Organization of Cuban Trade
Association of Rebel Youths (AJR), 76 Unions (CTC) 8, 11, 13, 36, 97-98,
Auténtico party, 47-52, 53, 56, 58, 79 121. See also Clases populares
accommodationism, 54-55
Barquin, Ramon, 56 auténtico-communist struggle, 48-50
Batista, Fulgencio 3, 7, 9, 36, 47, 61, 94, clases econdmuicas 45-46
117, 175, 181 foundation, 42
administration (1940-44), 43-44 industrialists, 46-47, 65, 223 n.24
coup (1952), 52 institutionalization, 127-35 | |
dictatorship (1952-58), 53-60 militant reformism, 44-45, 102
27 PSP, 47-50
economic development (1952-58, 26— 1961-65, 102-7
Grau-Guteras government, 41-42 radical experiment, 114-16, 119-20
Pax Batistiana, 42 rectification, 166-68
sergeants’ revolt, 41 revolutionary government (1959-61),
Batista, Sixto, 181, 245 n.45 67-74
Bay of Pigs, See Playa Giron special period, 194-96
Bécquer, Conrado, 55 Central planning board. See JUCEPLAN
Bishop, Maurice, 151 Céspedes, Carlos Manuel de (1819-74), 4
Boti, Regino, 63 40
Boliva, 7, 10, 12, 78, 117, 127 Céspedes, Carlos Manuel de (1871-1939),
Brazil, 12, 43, 83 Chamber of Commerce, 21, 51
Brezhnev, Leonid, 148 Chibas, Eduardo, 50
Brothers to the Rescue, 203, 247 n.70 Chibas, Raul, 56
Bush, George, 90 Chile, 12, 28, 29, 148
China, 90, 174, 176-77
Cane growers, See Colonos CIA, 79, 80
Carter, Jimmy, 150, 202 Cienfuegos, Camilo, 69, 72
268
 Index 269
Clases economicas, 7-9, 213 n.17. See also institutionalization, 122-23, 142-47
Colonos; Hacendados; National Associa- perfeccionamiento, 169-73
tion of Cuban Industrialists radical experiment, 111—13
Batista coup, 52 rectification, 154-55, 160, 162-63,
Grau administration, 47-49 165-66
labor-management relations, 45-46 social composition, 146-47
Prio administration, 50-51 Cuban Democracy Act (1992), 11, 90, 187,
reformism, 21-23 202
revolutionary government (1959-61), Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity
62-67, 74-76 Act, 11, 196, 203
Clases populares, 7-9, 37, 213.n.17. See also Cuban Revolutionary Party (PRC), 4, 37
Central Organization of Cuban Trade Cuban society
Unions institutionalization, 143~44, 146
inclusive development, 94-95 origins of revolution, 4—7, 27
Machado administration, 39-40 radical experiment, 118-20
revolutionary government (1959-61), radicalization in 1959, 74-81
61, 66-67, 74-76, 81 rectification, 155-57, 178, 180-81
Clinton, Bill, 202, 204 standards of living, 27-31, 90-94
Cofino, Angel, 48, 74 and the state before 1959, 24—27
Cold war, 11, 47, 164, 174 “that might have been,” 33-35
Colombia, 19, 151 Cuban Telephone Company, 79
Colomé, Abelardo, 170 Cuban-American Sugar Council, 51
Colonos, 16, 19. See also Clases econdmicas Cuban-Americans, 150
Fidel Castro, 59 Customs-Tariff Law (1927), 18-19, 25-26
reformism, 22 Czechoslovakia, 118, 199
63-64, 68, 78 Debt, 89
revolutionary government (1959-61),
sugar industry, 24, 42-43, 54, 64 Denmark, 84
sugar workers, 46, 64, 69, 76 Department of Agriculture (U.S.), 21, 26,
trade policy, 21, 43 43
145 97
Committees for the Defense of the Revolu- Department of Commerce (U.S.), 84
tion (CDR), 76, 99, 119, 136-37, 245 Department of State (U.S.), 40, 47, 79
n.45 Dependency theory, 11
Communist Youth Union (UJC), 136~37, Dependent capitalism, 7, 8, 14, 35, 85, 88,
Conciencia, 10, 82-83, 173, 204—5 Dependent socialist development, 84, 86,
antibureaucratic campaign, 112-13 88, 90, 97
CTC, 102-7, 114-16, 166-68, 194—96 Diferencial, 46, 55, 67
FMC, 107, 141-42, 193-94 Directorate of University Students (DEU),
Great Debate, 94—96 39-4]
OPP, 125 Diversification, 14, 17, 19-20, 22, 24-26,
radical experiment, 109-11, 118-20 33, 39, 44, 83, 85—-86, 87-88, 94—95.
rectification, 156-62 See also Import-substitution industrial-
revolutionary government (1959-61), ization; Sugar industry
75, 81 Dorticos, Osvaldo, 78, 112, 119 —
SDPE, 133-35, 152 Dubcek, Alexander, 118
Constitution
1940, 7, 9, 36, 42-43, 53, 59, 61, 63-64, Eastern Europe, 199-200
74 Echevarria, José Antonio, 56, 58
1976, 122, 175, 193 Economic classes. See Clases econdmicas
Cooperativismo, 39, 42 Economic Commission for Latin America,
Corruption, 6, 18, 38, 43, 49-50, 54, 59, 34, 65, 83
106, 164-65, 172-78. See also Soci- Economic management and planning sys-
olismo tem (SDPE), 97, 126-27, 133-34,
Costa Rica, 28 139-41, 150, 152, 156-57, 160-62
Council for Mutual Economic Assistance Education, 27—29, 9]-—92
(CMEA), 86, 148. See also Soviet Union Eisenhower administration, 57, 175
Council of Ministers, 123, 129, 134 Hyjército Libertador, 4, 18, 37
Council of State, 123, 129, 180 El afan de unanimidad, 166, 191, 197
Crowder, Enoch, 38 Elections
CTC. See Central Organization of Cuban CTC, 70-72, 102-3, 128
Trade Unions before 1959, 38-39, 42, 47, 50-52, 54,
Cuban Communist Party (PCC), 39-42, 58
97-98, 121-22, 136-37. See also Inte- OPP, 123-24, 138, 169, 171, 183-88
grated Revolutionary Organizations; PCC, 144, 163, 169 | :
Popular Socialist Party; United Party of revolutionary government (1959-61),
the Socialist Revolution 66,75
Central Committee (CC), 143-44, 172, Escalante, Anibal, 101
182-84 Escalona, Juan, 184
foundation (post-1959), 100-101 Escandell, Jestis, 106
 270 Index
Espin, Vilma, 77, 107, 137, 139, 140-41, Helms-Burton, 90, 209
169, 172 Hevia, Carlos, 52
Ethiopia, 148, 164 Honduras, 19
: Housing, 29, 93
Family Code, 141 Hungary, 178, 199
Federation of Cuban Women (FMC), 11,
13, 97-99, 119, 121, 172, 178 Immigration, 34, 37, 182, 204
institutionalization, 135-42 Import-substitution industrialization, 18,
1961-65, 107-8 22, 43-44, 85-86. See also Diversifica-
radical experiment, 116 tion; Sugar industry
rectification, 168-69 Inclusive development, 84, 94, 95, 226 n.8
76-77 INDER, 191
revolutionary government (1959-61), Income distribution, 30-31, 87, 93
special period, 193-94 Industrialists. See National Association of
Federation of University Students (FEU), Cuban Industrialists
78 INRA.Manuel,
Fernandez, See National Institute for Agrarian
78 Reform
Fidel-patria-revolution, 10, 105, 108, 117, Institutionalization, 108, 120, 121-27, 141,
Fidel CTC, 127-130
122, 154, 192, 208-9. See also Castro, 152, 154, 158, 167-68, 177-78
FMC. See Federation of Cuban Women PCC, 142-47
Food plan (1990), 88, 176 Integrated Revolutionary Organizations
Friends of the Republic Society, 56 (ORI), 79, 100-101, 110
73-74 170, 172, 180, 182
Front of Humanist Workers (FOH), 71, Interior Ministry, 117, 143-44, 164—65,
Investments. See also United States
Garcia Barcena, Rafael, 52, 62 agriculture, 23
Garcia Menocal, Mario, 38 Cuban in the United States, 22—23
Germany,
Glasnost, 105 foreign,
154 domestic, 90,26-27
179
Goicuria Barracks, 56 nonsugar industry, 18-20, 22
Gomez, José Miguel, 24 by provinces after 1959, 93
Gomez, Maximo, 37, 178 sugar industry, 15, 23
Gomez, Miguel Mariano, 42 Iran, 90
Gonzalez, Reynol, 55, 196 n.2, 223 n.24 Italy, 105
Gorbachev, Mikhail, 152, 153, 170, 180
Grau, Ram6n, 41-42, 44, 47-50, 53, 69, 78 Jamaica, 37
Great Debate (1962-65), 95-97, 106, 113 Jineterismo, 194
Grenada, 151 John Paul II, 204, 206
Gross Domestic Product (GDP), 227 n.20. JUCEIL, 110, 111
See also Gross National Product JUCEPLAN, 76, 112, 126—27, 133, 152, 157
Gross National Product (GNP), 16, 87-88. July 26th Movement, 9, 36, 53-54, 57-60,
See also Gross Domestic Product 61-63, 84, 98, 100-101, 180
Gross Social Product (GSP), 87-88, 227 conflict with PSP over CTC, 67-74
n.20 revolutionary
Grupos de accién, 9, government
51 75,79 (1959-61),
Guardia, Antonio de la, 164—-65,179
Guatemala, 19, 77, 78, 80 Kadar, Janos, 178
Guevara, Ernesto, 69, 72, 78, 95-96, Kennedy, John FE, 80, 204
102-4, 106, 109, 111, 113, 117, 161,
205 La doble moral, 166, 191, 197, 209
Guiteras, Antonio, 41, 42, 78, 100 Labor discipline, 104-5, 130, 132, 134-35,
Guitiérrez, Gustavo, 19, 54 159-61, 167
Labor-management relations, 45-47, 51,
Hacendados, 16. See also Clases econdmicas 54-55, 102-5, 131-35, 166-68. See
agrarian reform, 64, 66 Also Clases economicas; Central Organi-
Fidel Castro, 59 zation of Cuban Trade Unions
debate with industrialists, 23-24 Labor Ministry, 48, 68, 70, 72-74, 104, 128,
25 Lage,
reformism, Carlos,
22 Latin 178
1946 negotiations with the United States, 139
America, 198-99
revolutionary government (1959-61), Liberation Army, See Ejército Libertador
63-64, 68 Literacy Campaign, 99, 108, 126, 204, 205
| sugar industry regulation, 54 Local Power. See Poder local
sugar workers, 46, 69
trade policy, 21, 43 Maceo, Antonio, 37, 166
Haiti, 37 Machado, Gerardo, 18-19, 24, 39-40, 57,
Hart, Armando, 116, 172 62, 66, 210
Havel,
Health, Vaclav,
29, 93-94199 Machado,
Malecon, 196 ,Luis, 19 |
 Index 271
Malvinas Islands, 151 Page, Charles A., 49
Mariel boatlift, 150 Pais, Frank, 55, 58
Market reforms, 176 Panama, 19, 34
Marti, José, 4, 37, 53, 60, 100, 118, 208 Pawley, William D., 57
Martin, Migucl, 114 Pazos, Felipe, 56, 63, 78, 84
Martinez Sanchez, Augusto, 72, 78 PCC. See Cuban Communist Party
Marx, Karl, 95 Peasant markets, 126, 152, 156, 169
Material Product Systems (MPS), 227 n.20 Pena, Lazaro, 36, 46, 48, 74, 103, 114, 128
Matos, Huber, 72 Perestroika, 154
Mexico, 7, 12, 39, 43, 83, 105 Pérez, Humberto, 126, 133, 152, 157
Michnik, Adam, 199 Perfeccionamiento, 165-66, 175, 183
Microfaction, 1177 Peru, 12, 151
Middle class, 6, 10, 14, 27, 50 Platt Amendment, 4, 7, 8, 18, 38-39, 41,
Mikoyan, Anastas I., 79 43,59, 65-66, 80, 203. See also Radical
Militant reformism. See Central Organiza- nationalism; United States
tion of Cuban Trade Unions Plattismo, 209, 210
Mill owners. See Hacendados Playa Giroén, 3, 80, 94, 96, 99, 108, 126,
Mir6 Cardona, José, 78 204, 205
Missle Crisis, 94, 96, 99, 108, 110, 204, 205 Poder local, 111, 117, 123
Modernization theory, 11, 12 Poland, 150, 199
Moncada Barracks, 53, 69, 118, 126, 170 Political authority, 5, 7, 9-11, 35-37
Montreal Pact (1953), 53 Batista dictatorship, 52-6]
Mora, Alberto, 106, 163 Grau-Guiteras, government, 40-42
Mujal, Eusebio, 47-48, 54, 67, 74 institutionalization, 122-27, 142-47
Machado administration, 39-40
National Assembly. See Organs of Popular 1961-65, 99-101
Power Pax Batistiana, 42
National Association of Cuban Industrial- Plattist Cuba, 37-39
ists (ANIC), 8, 18-22. See also Clases radical experiment, 109-13, 116-20
economicas; Hacendados ratification, 154-55, 160-66, 169-73,
CTC, 46-47, 65, 72-73, 223 n.24 176-81
debate with hacendados, 23-24 representative democracy, 43-52, 175
revolutionary government (1959-61), Political crisis, 175, 182, 192
65-66 Popular sectors. See Clases populares
National Association of Small Peasants Popular Socialist Party (PSP), 79, 98, 103,
(ANAP), 78 111, 143, 180
National Bank, 16, 22, 56, 72, 78, 89, 112 conflict with July 26th Movement over
National capitaqlist development, 17 CTC, 67-74
National Confederation of Cuban Workers 1939-1947 CTC control, 47-50
(CNOC), 39-42 opposition to Batista, 55, 58
National Defense Council, 181 sectarianism, 100-101
National emergency, 181 Prebisch, Raul, 65
National Federation of Sugar Workers Prio, Carlos, 44, 48-52, 56
(FNTA), 67, 69, 76 PSP. See Popular Socialist Party
National Institute for Agrarian Reform
(INRA), 64-65, 76, 96. See also Agrarian Quesada, Felino, 231 n.91
reform
National Program for Economic Action, 22, Radical experiment, 99, 109-13, 116-18,
26, 54, 75 122, 126, 148, 153, 157-58, 168, 204
Nationalist Union, 40, 42 Radical nationalism, 3—5, 9, 41, 50, 57, 60,
Nicaragua, 151 63~—64, 78, 94, 154, 164, 204. See also
Nixon presidency, 149 Platt Amendment; United States
Non-Aligned Movement, 148, 151 Radio Marti, 151
North Korea, 90 Ramos Latour, Hector, 117
Norway, 84 Rapid response brigades, 242 n.64
Novas Calvo, Lino, 31 Reagan, Ronald, 151
Rebel Army, 9, 57-58, 60-63, 69, 76, 84,
Ochoa, Arnaldo, 164—65, 179 94,175
OPP. See Organs of Popular Power Rebeldes. See Rebel Army
Optic neuropathy, 93 Rectification, 153-66, 176, 210 n.1
148 PCC, 169-73
Organization of American States, 76, 80, CTC and FMC, 166-69
Organs of Popular Power (OPP), 123-26, Reformism, 17-24, 26-27
136-37, 171, 183-88 Fidel Castro, 53
municipal assemblies, 123-24, 138 Grau-Guiteras government, 4]
National Assembly, 124-25, 169, 171, July 26th Movement economic theses, 63
175, 180, 181, 193 revolutionary government (1959-61),
1992 electoral law, 185-86 63-65
1992 and 1993 elections, 186—88 Representative democracy, 6, 9, 34, 42,
Ortodoxo party, 50, 52--53, 56, 63, 79 43-52, 59,75, 81,97, 163
 272 Index
Revolutionary Feminine Unity, 76 Torricelli, 209
Revolutionary Student Directorate (DRE), Torriente, Cosme de la, 56, 58
56-58, 78, 98, 100-101, 180, 224 n.62 Tourism, 34, 90
Rice agriculture, 25-26 Trade
Rio Treaty (1947), 25 deficit, 85-86, 89
Rionda, Manuel, 17 exports/imports, 16, 18, 20, 23, 25-26,
Risquet, Jorge, 128 86-88, 227n.19
n.lol 35
Roca, Blas, 7], 11] protectionism, 17-20, 23, 64
Rodriguez, Carlos Rafael, 69, 102, 105, reciprocity, 5, 15, 17-20
111, 116, 119, 125, 130, 188, 235 Tropical dependent development, 8, 34,
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano, 7, 40-41, 42
Ross, Pedro, 167 Unemployment/employment, 5-6, 9,
Rubiera, Vicente, 48 27-30, 32-33, 44-45, 72, 83, 90-91,
127, 130-31, 139-42, 150, 169, 171,
Salvador, David, 67, 70, 73-74 217n.78
Sandinistas, 151, 168 United Kingdom, 105
Santa Clara, 205 United Nations, 151
Santiago de Cuba, 196 United Party of the Socialist Revolution
SDPE. See Economic management and (PURS), 101
planning system United States 4-5, 10-11, 110, 174-75,
Sectarianism, 101, 109, 112, 145 See also Platt Amendment; Radical
Simeon, Roberto, 224 n.62 nationalism
Social revolution, 3, 13, 35, 122, 147, Batista dictatorship, 56-58 |
154-55, 204-5. See also Fidel-patria- CTC, 47, 71, 79
, revolution Cuban dependence, 87-88
origins, 6-7 52
end of, 116-20 Cuba-U.S. relations (1975-86), 148—
1961-65, 99-101 | intervention, 37-42
radical experiment, 109-11 investments, 15-16, 18, 20, 27
rectification, 155-57 revolutionary government (1959-61),
revolutionary government (1959-61), . 66, 71, 79-81
66-67, 74-81 rice industry, 25-27
Sociolismo, 106, 156, 157 sugar industry, 5, 15-17, 19-20, 24-25,
Solidarity movement, 150 43,51
Somalia, 148 trade reciprocity, 15, 18-19
Soviet Union, 10, 71, 19-80. See also Urbanization, 5, 28, 91
Council for Mutual Economic Assis- Urban-rural differences, 27-31, 92-94
tance Urrutia, Manuel, 62, 78-79
Cuban dependence, 84-85, 87-88, 171 U.S. Sugar Acts
demise, 11, 170, 174 1934, 19
institutionalization, 120, 122 1948, 25
PCC, 100-101, 148-52 1956, 26-27
158 Party
radical experiment, 110-11
trade, credits, and aid, 86, 89-90, 155, Vanguard party. See Cuban Communist
Spain, 3-4, 37, 100, 118 Veiga, Roberto, 128-30, 132-33, 167
Special period in peacetime, 90, 158, 177 Venezuela, 151
Standards of living, 27-31, 90-94 Verdeja Act (1926), 24
Sugar Cane Growers Association, 21, 78. Vietnam, 110, 149, 174, 176-77, 206
See also Colonos Volunteer work, 76, 99, 115, 130, 156,
Sugar Coordination Law (1937), 24, 43, 64 204
Sugar Industry. See also Colonos; Diversifi-
cation; Hacendados Watergate, 149
classic dependence, 8, 15-17 Welles, Sumner, 40-41, 42, 66
corruption, 43, 54 Women. See also Federation of Cuban
monoculture, 3, 7-8, 87-89 Women
population growth, 15, 87, 90 comparisons with men, 32—33, 141-42
regulation, 24 Al
production, 15-16, 87, 90 labor force, 32-33, 107-8, 116, 139-—
Sugar Mill Owners Association, 7, 21, 25. leadership positions, 116, 135-37
See also Hacendados revolutionary government (1959-61),
Sugar Stabilization Institute, 24, 43, 54 76-77
Superproduccion, 44, 67, 68 Working class. See Central Organization of
System of National Accounts (SNA), 227 , Cuban Trade Unions; Clases populares
n.20 | World Bank, 20, 21, 29, 51
World-system theory, 11
Technical advisory councils, 102
Tiananmen Square, 182, 203 Xiaoping, Deng, 178