He stood in front of the small shop in Santa Clara’s central square just as I stepped out, sandwich in hand. Our eyes met. As I walked past him, he said nothing; instead, he lowered his gaze. I had barely taken four or five steps when I stopped. I turned back for a better look. He was a tall, thin man in his sixties. I approached him and asked if he was hungry. He nodded. I held out the hand that was holding the sandwich. His eyes lit up; he took the sandwich, thanked me—calling me “brother”—and walked away. I watched him go, discreetly. At the street corner, I saw him cut the sandwich in two and offer half to another fellow citizen.
Excerpt from the Facebook profile of Professor Takis Politis, who lives in Santa Clara, Cuba
Late in the morning, as I was walking along Maceo Street, I passed a well-known private restaurant in the city. From a distance, I had already spotted a long line of people on the sidewalk near the establishment’s entrance. Once I was close enough, I stopped to see what was happening. My curiosity was quickly satisfied. Two employees came out of the restaurant and began handing out small bags of food to the people. I spoke to an elderly woman—one of those waiting on the sidewalk. She explained that, for some time now, before opening its doors to paying customers, this private restaurant has made a habit of offering cooked rice and beans to fellow citizens in need.
It is raining at the corner of Bruno Zayas and José Martí streets. Vehicles traveling along Martí Street have the right of way. A private luxury car is approaching along Martí Street. From Zayas Street—coming from the direction of the square—a bicycle laden with two large wicker baskets is speeding down the slope. An attempt to brake by pressing a foot against the front tire proved ineffective. The cyclist failed to yield and shot out onto Martí Street; the SUV braked, but it wasn’t enough. The road was strewn with beans and rice. The cyclist looked distraught, his gaze darting between his goods scattered across the pavement and his bicycle wheel, which was clearly badly damaged. The driver got out of his vehicle and asked if the cyclist needed medical attention and what the lost goods were worth. He took some money from his pocket and handed it to the cyclist. Three or four young men had already come out of the gym across the street and were repairing the bicycle using whatever tools they had at hand.
Word spread like wildfire through the neighborhood: a shipment of medicine had arrived at the pharmacy! A long line quickly formed; the sun was beating down, and elderly people huddled in the meager shade on the opposite sidewalk. Lydia was in line too; she was my neighbor, a retired doctor who had taken part in Cuban medical missions abroad. She called out to me; I walked over, and she asked—as always—if I had any food. Once I reassured her, she began talking about how much better things had been in Fidel’s day. Her turn came, and she went into the pharmacy. A moment later, she emerged with two boxes of medicine and asked aloud if anyone still in line was waiting for that specific medication. An elderly woman said yes; Lydia walked over and handed her one of the boxes. As she explained to me later, those were the last two boxes of that medicine the pharmacy had in stock.
This collective consciousness, deeply rooted in Cuban society, largely explains the people’s resilience over the decades.
Criminal U.S. sanctions plunge the entire island into darkness for many hours each day, create immense problems across all sectors of activity and in daily life, and make existence increasingly difficult for all of us here.
And yet, Cuba endures! Plans devised by U.S. think tanks cannot measure—let alone extinguish—this flame of social solidarity that drives the entire Cuban people, regardless of differing views on the country’s issues.
This small nation, driven by its boundless humanity and countless medical missions to the globe’s most remote corners, has developed a profound sense of solidarity—both international and social.
And, naturally, this collective consciousness bears the social imprint of the country’s socialist trajectory and culture—a country guided for decades by a singular figure, born exactly one hundred years ago to the day, on August 13, 1926: Fidel Castro.
¡Hasta la victoria siempre, Comandante!
¡Solidaridad con Cuba!
[Ever onward to victory, Commander!
Solidarity with Cuba!]
