Table Of Content
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Dedication
Introduction
People
Places
Things
Colorful Cuba
DEDICATION
Italian explorer Christopher Columbus first sighted the island that we now call
Cuba in 1492. First governed by the Spanish with a brief period of British rule,
the island did not gain its independence until 1902. During the first half of the
20th century, American trade and tourist traffic were the primary sources of
revenue that shouldered the Cuban economy. That would soon change. Fidel
Castro’s revolution in 1959 and subsequent takeover of the Cuban government
dramatically changed the economic, political, and social landscape of the
country.
In theory, a government that provides for all of your needs (food, shelter,
clothing, medical care, and education — to name a few) sounds idyllic. The
realities of such a government can only be gauged by the test of time. The warm
and friendly people of Cuba have lived as test subjects in this grand plan of
equality for 50 years. They have long waited for a change that will better their
lives in this supposedly ideal society. That change has not come. Long ago, most
of their property and businesses were handed over to the government. Their
motivation and entrepreneurial spirit has been removed. Presently, the rationed
goods and services provided by this same government place most of the
population at or below the poverty or welfare level.
Jack Watson with Cuban artist Salvador Gonzalez Escalona. A photograph of
Salvador’s artwork can be found in the color section.
This book is dedicated to the wonderful people of Cuba who, despite their
difficult struggle to survive under communist rule, manage to keep a smile on
their faces and continue the patient waiting game. I sincerely hope that the long-
promised gift of utopia will come sooner rather than later. However, everywhere
I traveled in Cuba, I found little if any evidence of change for the better. All that
remained constant was the warmth of the people and their often-pleading eyes. It
is my hope that this book will provide awareness of Cuba’s plight and hopefully
push the sands a little quicker through the hourglass.
To my many new Cuban friends: I hope the time will come when you once again
become a prosperous and industrial society. Thank you for the kindnesses
extended toward me during my visit to your beautiful country. To photograph
you was an honor and a privilege.
Jack Watson, photographer
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION
The first time I can recall any discussion in my family about a place called
“Cuba,” I was fifteen years old. It was October of 1962. On a cool, dark evening,
I recall my father coming home late from North Island Naval Air Station in San
Diego, California (where he was then based in the Navy) and he pulled my
mother aside in our tiny living room. With a worried face, he started telling her
something in hushed tones, using the words “Cuba,” and “Russians” all too
frequently to describe something “terrible” that was happening off the Florida
coastline on a tiny island called Cuba.
As my parents discussed the pending crisis, I actually saw worry lines on my
dad’s brow. He was the coolest guy I have ever known, and he never worried —
until that day. This was a clear message to me that something in his Navy world
— and now mine — was very wrong. He finally motioned for me to join the
conversation with a wave of his big hand. He patiently explained that Navy
reconnaissance F-8 Crusader aircraft had flown over Cuba and captured images
of missile sites being constructed on this tiny island, which was about 100 miles
off the Florida coast. Intelligence experts had determined the sites would be used
for Russian nuclear missiles.
For as long as I could remember during my scant fifteen years on earth, I had
crawled under my desk during weekly air raid drills at school. I guess the desks
were atomic bomb-proof. Now, there was a very real possibility that all that
training would pay off. For some reason, that gave me little comfort. It gave my
parents even less.
Several years earlier (January 1, 1959 to be precise), an armed revolt led by
freedom fighter Fidel Castro successfully overthrew the Cuban government —
then led by Fulgencio Batista, who was considered a corrupt dictator by the
Castro-led rebels. At the time, Cuba was the principal supplier of sugar to the
world, and the thriving city of Havana was a jewel in the warm azure waters of
the Caribbean. Known as a hot spot for the rich (and sometimes infamous)
cliental that basked in the warm island waters by day and danced to Latin music
throughout the night, Cuba was, by all outside appearances, a country that was
flourishing.
A little over 50 years have passed since Castro’s takeover. A country that was all
but self-sufficient and prosperous has changed. While I’ll leave you to draw your
own conclusions about the changes, keep in mind that what you see in these
photos is but one photographer’s prospective of a country that has proclaimed
equality for all.
Cuba has always been high on my list of must-see places. Shrouded in mystery
since the Cuban Missile Crisis, this tiny country has had a figurative “keep out”
sign posted for Americans for over half a century. While a trade and travel
embargo has existed between the United States and Cuba during much of this
time, it is still a travel destination for many vacationers from Europe, Canada,
Mexico, and South America. For Americans however, it is still perceived as a
place we cannot go. When presented with an opportunity to see firsthand this
island of mystery and provide some humanitarian aid to the less fortunate, I
jumped at the chance. This was my chance to see the “real” Cuba and take a few
photos along the way. What follows is a photo narrative of my two weeks
traveling the western half of Cuba.
Traveling on a legal humanitarian visa, I departed from Miami on a direct flight
to Havana, Cuba. I couldn’t help but feel like I was either a defector or a soldier
on his way to war. Quite frankly, I did not know what to expect. While some of
my fellow travelers were on similar visas, the remaining men and women were
Cuban. For many of them, this was their first trip home for many years. Our
newly elected president had recently relaxed some of the travel restrictions for
Cubans residing in the U.S. desiring travel back to Cuba. Their excitement was
visible, but they probably felt as apprehensive as I did.
The 50-minute flight ended as smoothly as it began. As we descended through a
partly cloudy sky, I got my first glimpse of the little country that almost brought
the mighty United States into a nuclear exchange with Russia. I felt like a
character in a Tom Clancy novel.
Green fields, some tended, some tilled and others unkempt, lay before me as we
made a long approach into José Martí International Airport. I tried in vain to take
in all of the landscape, hoping to get a glimpse of what was to come. As we
approached the outskirts of Havana, the fields changed from green to brown and
eventually gave way to the gray and white structures outlining the city. Even
from a thousand feet, I could see details of despair and disrepair. Touching down
on the long ribbon of concrete seemed anticlimactic. Looking beyond the wing
tips at the airport’s surroundings revealed old hangers that looked military in
structure; there was a broad mix of aircraft, many of which appeared Russian.
Like the countryside, they too seemed neglected.
I had stepped back in time 50 years — this was my first impression of Cuba. My
journey, which began in Havana, consisted of traveling by bus, pedicab, coco
cab, 1957 Chevy, and foot. I was here primarily to help the Cuban people, but
giving away medicine, vitamins, and money felt like using aspirin to treat the
plague. I covered hundreds of miles, traveling in an oval-shaped route with stops
at Cienfuegos, the Bay of Pigs, Trinidad, and Varadero Beach in the province of
Matanzas — and then back to Havana.
As the title of this book indicates, this is an unauthorized journal of photographs
