Ernest Hemingway’s Nobel Prize Medal was stolen from the El Cobre Sanctuary, located just outside Santiago de Cuba, in the 1980’s.

One version of the theft suggests that the thieves were not unknown to the local residents.

When word reached Raul Castro, he reputedly issued an ultimatum:

Return the medal within 72 hours or face the consequences. I know who you are.

Although the medal was returned, it was never again put on public display and remained, in hiding, under the care of the Archbishop of Santiago. Rarely has it been seen. The last person I know to have seen the medal was Ernest’s granddaughter, Mariel Hemingway.

On December 6, 2011, I was awarded the rare privilege of viewing, holding and performing with the medal. A film crew from Mundo Latino captured the event for use in a multi-part documentary about Hemingway in Cuba to be directed by Esteban Rios Rivera.

There is no proof that Hemingway ever accompanied the medal to Santiago; nevertheless, I have created a scene that depicts the arrival of the medal at the El Cobre Sanctuary.

In discussing this scene with the staff of the Archbishop of Santiago, I explained that it was in the spirit of Hemingway but based on poetic license. Soon a message arrived from the Archbishop’s secretary, ‘We approve your “license”.’

What follows is a verbatim record of the scene as performed from memory and filmed in Santiago de Cuba with the Nobel Prize Medal of Ernest Hemingway:

After the war, I finally completed The Old Man and the Seaand I was almost killed in a plane crash in Africa. In 1954, for one or both of those things, I was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature. This is part of what I said:   (He picks up the speech and reads.)

Writing at its best is a lonely life…A true writer should always try for something that has never been done before…Then sometimes, with great luck, he will succeed…It is because we have had such great writers in the past that a writer is driven far out past where he can go, out to where no one can help him.  (He returns the speech.)

I dedicated my Nobel Prize Medal to the fishermen of Cojimar. Although I had told this story of an old man and his fish to the whole world, it is their story and they should share this medal.

A medal is worn close to the heart and my heart is in Cuba. The good people of Cuba have taken me into their hearts and caused me to live here longer than I have lived anywhere else. This is my true home.

Later, I traveled, with the medal, to Santiago de Cuba and entered the church. There, in the El Cobre Sanctuary, I knelt at the feet of the Patron Saint of Cuba and deposited the medal.   (He closes his eyes and prays.)

Silently, I prayed for the protection, the peace and the prosperity of the warm, friendly, generous people of Cuba.

In Cuba, the people accepted me unconditionally. I could breathe and be happy. It is my clear, well lighted place.   (He crosses himself.)

Amen.

For more information on Brian and his projects visit: http://www.briangordonsinclair.com.

The guerillas accompanying Castro marched to waving crowds, their uniforms decorated with religious medals and santeria bead collars of various colors.

Fidel stopped at the Presidential Palace on the eastern side of the Almendares River and then crossed the river, marching toward Marinao and Camp Columbia. While the guerilla leader addressed the nation, several white pigeons, symbols of peace, were let loose. One of them circled above Castro’s head and gently landed on his shoulder.

Very few people in attendance doubted that Fidel Castro was, indeed, a man with a mission.

None the less, Havana, relatively untouched by the Cold War and anxious to shed the trappings of violence and conflict, could not envision the path that the regime would ultimately pursue.

The Capitalist Legacy 1945-1959

Havana, of course, reflected the excesses and inequalities which were a consequence of the American business presence as well as foreign investment.  It is a strain to argue that the city was locked into a pattern of classic dependency in its association with the United States, but it is clear that to move forward Cuba would be required to redefine its relationship with the superpower.

The United States insisted on its unique relationship with Cuba, and the privileged inhabitants of Havana were resistant to any reform that would threaten their many links to the American economy. Still, the situation for most habaneros was dismal.

Havana real estate had become a major investment arena, characterized by rampant real estate speculation in the post World War II period. As a consequence, at the time of the revolution, between 650,000 and 750,000 housing units were considered substandard, about one-half of the total stock of 1.4 million units. Six percent of Havana’s population lived in squatter settlements.  Much of the problem was linked to the shift to condominium construction financed by  the American business community.

Migrants Exacerbate Havana’s Problems

Havana’s problems were exacerbated by the arrival of approximately 25,000 migrants per year who were relocating to the capital from less urbanized sections of the country.

Until the revolution, the City of Havana was the destination of about 45% of all internal migrants and, with a shortage of housing and with decent paying jobs in short supply, this group placed a disproportionate strain on the city.

Even though Havana’s growth rate during the 1950s was only two percent above that for Cuba as a whole, much lower than the same figure for most capital cities in Latin America, the city’s population density was 2,200 inhabitants per square meter. Not surprisingly, the capital showed little enthusiasm for the new arrivals.

Migrants named a variety of reasons for moving to Havana.  Many (32.4%) mentioned that they were in search of new jobs. Of this group, 36.1% had low levels of schooling, 26.8% had attended some high school, and 13.7% had some college.

So long as the construction sector continued to expand, it is probable that the poorly educated, primarily white male migrants could find employment. However, only 5% of the inadequately skilled new arrivals wanted to work in construction, the sector which offered the most jobs. Thus, those moving to Havana in search of work were the least prepared or willing to take advantage of the opportunities of the labor market.

As an aside, Havana had three fourths of all Cuba’s construction jobs. The capital employed 20% of the country’s active population: 41.9% of those employed worked in the service sector, 17.9% worked in commerce, and 6.2% held jobs in industry. Interestingly, until 1960, almost all migrants to Havana who were active in the labor force were seeking agricultural work.

Moreover, new migrants with professional or technical training were not seeking employment. Rather, they had come seeking a better quality of life. Still, housing was scarce and few migrants were able to fulfill their expectations.

The Vedado Section of Havana

As previously mentioned, most available housing consisted of pricey new condominiums, a form of shelter that few newcomers were able to afford. The condominiums were concentrated in the Vedado section of Havana where construction activities related to hotels and high rises were transformative from 1945-1959.

American investment in the Vedado area was not only focused on condominium and hotel development.  It was also linked to a proliferation of underworld operations.  To this day Cubans living in the area can point out mob-associated structures and recount anecdotes about the mafia notables who hung out in the area.

Hotels constructed in the area between 1953 and 1958 include the Havana Hilton, Habana Riviera, Capri, Vedado, Flamingo, and others.

The Hotel Capri was a favorite haunt of Lucky Luciano and Meyer Lanski. This Mafia group is said to have supplied financing for the Riviera.

A 1958 law facilitated international transactions by Cuban banks and is said to have supported a growing drug trade and banking sector.  In any event, the city was a center of commercialized vice, much of it underwritten by US organized crime.

Havana was famous for its glitzy, Las Vegas style atmosphere, and American businessmen were attracted by illegal drugs, prostitution and the gambling casinos which were the city’s major industry.  Not surprisingly, there was a relatively high crime rate.  A vast informal economy centered on beggars and prostitution.

American Financed Projects

American financed projects in Havana’s built environment did not revolve around Cold War militarism.  Rather, they reflected the imperatives of capitalism.  These included high rise apartment buildings with water views designed to  house American businessmen and wealthy habaneros, and 3 tunnels to facilitate automobile travel in the city.

One of the tunnels, built between 1955 and 1958, was 735 meters long and was drilled between Old Havana and Havana del Este under the harbor mouth to facilitate travel to the beaches east of the city.  Another tunnel connected the luxury hotel area of Vedado with the high income housing community of Miramar to the west.  Additional public works projects were associated with highway improvement, public buildings, water supply, and airports.

Capitalism, rather than militarism, was the driving factor in the city’s relationship with external actors.  On the domestic scene, however, the situation was different.

The urban underground centered at the University of Havana organized opposition forces in the city and eventually confronted the Cuban regular military, supplied, in part, by the American superpower. Through this vehicle, Havana had a primary role in the insurrectionary struggle which was identified at this time primarily with Cuban nationalism.

Havna’s built environment became a symbol of the conflict when, in January 1959, Fidel Castro arrived from the Sierra Maestra and set up headquarters on the 22nd floor of the 25-story Havana Hilton, dislodging both reputable American businessmen and mafia associates.  The hotel became a symbol of the fight for cuba libre, was renamed the Havana Libre, and is an emblem of the revolutionary struggle to this day.

I went to the “canonazo” on my first Cuba trip in 1997. At that time, I was finishing my Ph.D. in political science and I was very focused on Cold War militarism and the Cuban Revolution. What a surprise to see this surviving relic from Havana’s colonial history. I thought it was the last tradition that a revolutionary communist or socialist government (your pick) would want to preserve. But I’m so glad they did!

The cannon firing ritual began at the end of the 17th century when Spanish colonial officials needed a way to notify Havana’s residents that the walls protecting the city were about to open or close. At that time, a shot was fired from a cannon situated on a battleship in the port.

Each morning, a shot was fired at 4:30 AM to let inhabitants know that the gates were opening and ready for people and merchandise to flow in and out of the city’s walls.

Almost 16 hours later, at 8:30 PM, a second shot was fired. This let the people of Havana know that they should be inside the walls if they didn’t want to be shut out of the city’s core until the following dawn.

Firing was relocated to San Carlos de La Cabana Fortress when construction on it was completed in 1774.

By the second half of the 19th century, the city had expanded far beyond the port area. Commerce was booming and the city’s gates were a barrier to movement. Still, even after the city walls were demolished, the cannon firing survived.

At the end of the 19th century, the number of daily cannon blasts was reduced to one and set for 9 PM. The firing has remained (more or less ) unchanged to the present day.

In 1986, the cannon firing became a bit more of a tourist spectacle with a re-enaction of the actual ritual of the Spanish Infantry Regiment. During today’s ceremony, bags of jute are fired by the cannons to recreate the shots once fired by real cannon balls.

Just as an aside: although the cannon is always fired at precisely 9:00 PM, you will hear the noise 4.3 seconds later if you are staying at the Parque Central and 9.7 seconds later if you are staying at the Hotel Nacional. If you are on a Cuba tour, be sure to listen for it!

Photograph by Lisa Reynolds Wolfe.

The ambitious plans that accompanied Old Havana’s World Heritage designation came with an ambitious price tag. Consequently, restoration efforts were initially confined to a few streets, plazas, and buildings.

In the 1980s, the emphasis was on historic areas, and a series of ‘development axes’ guided restoration efforts. The focus during this timeframe centered on the streets of Oficios, Mercaderes, Obispo, and O’Reilly. Four main plazas also were in the spotlight:

• Plaza de Armas, the site of the oldest Spanish fortress in the Americas and the seat of authority and power in Cuba for 400 years; a square has existed on this site since 1582

• Plaza de San Francisco de Asis, home of theIglesia y Monasterio de San Francisco Asis, which has the tallest church tower in Havana

• Plaza Vieja,dating from the 16th century, served as an open-air marketplace until 1835

•  Plaza de la Cathedralwith its beautiful baroque cathedral, theCatedral de San Cristobal de La Habana, begun in 1748 and finished in 1787, the year the diocese of Havana was created

Debate was lively in the 1980s. State agencies represented the “traditional essentials approach,” arguing for a strict and faithful compliance with the formal and decorative features of the past. Agencies and individuals representing this approach included the Cultural Heritage Office, the City Historian (Eusebio Leal), and CENCREM, the Center for Conservation, Restoration, and Museum Studies led by Isabel Rigol and Luis Lapidus. (See more about CENCREM below.) Their strict adherence to past design required the reproduction of complex details which was often done with shabby ‘modern materials.’

In contrast, the young design professionals of  the ‘Generation of the 1980s’ promoted innovation and novel applications of formal codes of interior design as well as the filling of empty lots with structures that blended harmoniously with their settings.

According to Segre, Coyula, and Scarpaci in their book Havana: Two Faces of the Antillean Metropolis, Havana’s problems shifted radically from the bureaucratic paradigm of the Revolution to myths about colonial architecture.

Several factors accounted for this paradigmatic shift. One was the collapse of the socialist world which, in turn, created greater political isolation for Cuba. Another was the dire economic rut in which Cuba finds itself in the 1990s. And yet another stems from an insecurity about the future. Taken in their entirety, these factors help explain why officials have looked back in time for planning and design solutions. The heritage-site syndrome and narcissism of historic preservation move in tandem with the ‘mummification and fetishization of architecture.’

In other words, the acritical reproduction of historic landscapes meant reviving some buildings which . . . really should have been ‘helped to die.’ Brilliant forms and spaces derive from these restoration efforts, with their modern pastel colors that lack historic meanings.  Images from the mass media zoomed in immediately on the new ‘colonial’ restoration, especially the film industry. Nevertheless, the problem was not one of color, but concerned issues of historic veracity given that such banal and picturesque perfection never registered in the collective memory of habaneros.

At any rate, as restoration continues, more and more tourists staying in luxury hotels in the core area of Old Havana open their guidebooks and strike out on independent walking tours. Look for “formal” Havana Project walking tours in coming weeks. But, for now, here are a couple of places you might come across if you decide to wander around on your own.

Passers-by often express curiosity regarding the Afro Cuban connections associated with the Iglesia y Convento de Nuestra Senora de la Merced.

The Church of Nuestra Senora de Merced is at the corner of Calles Cuba and Merced. It’s sometimes compared with St. Peter’s in Rome because of its elaborate decoration, including trompe l’oeil frescoes. The sacred space contains an alcove lined with fake stalactites in honor of Nuestra Señora de Lourdes.

The church was completed by the monks of the San Vicente de Paul Mission in 1867, although work began much earlier in 1775. The interior nave and the altar are quite beautiful, and are unique among Cuba’s colonial churches.

La Merced was the colonial aristocracy’s favorite church for sumptuous weddings. Young people continue to choose its altar for their (albeit more modest) ceremonies today.

Thousands gather at the church on September 24 for the feast day of the Virgen of Merced. On this day, pilgrims are allowed to go to the altar to pay tribute to the virgin, who is dressed in a rich white robe, an odd syncretization of Catholic religious culture with African beliefs. (You might remember this blending of Catholicism with African religions from our post on the Virgin of Cobre). Some worship Maryin the Virgen de la Merced while others pay homage to Obatala, the Orisha goddess of the earth and purity in the Yoruba religion.

Tourists walking by are almost always seduced by a desire to peek into Havana’s oldest surviving church, the Iglesia Parroquial del Espiritu Santo (the Church of Spiritu Santo). The Church of Spiritu Santo (1638) lies at the corner of Calles Cuba and Acosta. It began as a chapel built by slaves and freed blacks. Declared a parish church in 1674, the hermitage granted asylum to those hunted by authorities during colonial times.

The sacristy boasts a wooden lattice work gate and a large painting by the artist Aristides Fernandez. In the baptistry, there is a font by sculptor Alfredo Lozano, and a gilded, carved pelican. There is elaborate carpentry on the ceilings of the main nave, and catacombs to each side of the nave are held up by subterranean tree trunks. Other items of interest include the funerary crypt, the sepulcher, and the great altar with its recumbent statue of bishop Fray Geronimo Valdes, also by Alonso. The spaces between the niches in the vault running beneath the chapel house a series of paintings of skeletons crowned with tiaras and holding miters. They represent the dance of death, but they’ve been almost erased by time and damp.

There is also a  large warehouse full of alcohol and other hospitality needs close to the Iglesia y Convento de Santa Clara. The church, founded in 1644, was the first nunnery in Havana, run by a group of nuns from Cartagena de Indias (Columbia). The building is extremely large, a huge rectangle covering four blocks. It was once a slaughterhouse and later housed hundreds of nuns and slaves. It also served as a refuge for girls who didn’t have a large enough dowry to attract suitors.

The beamed ceilings in the church as well as the nuns’ cells are worthy of note. The large patio of the Main Cloister, with abundant greenery and surrounded by wide galleries with arches and columns, is an invitation to meditate and rest. There is a good view of the belltower from here.

Located in the second cloister is a structure known as The Sailor’s House (Casa del Marino). Constructed by a rich shipowner and pirate captain whose only daughter refused to forsake the religious life, it’s a typical Moorish house with wooden balconies. The ‘House” is now known as the “Academic Residence.” It’s a moderately priced hostel for history and culture aficionados.

This location now houses the National Center for Preservation, Restoration, and Museology — CENCREM— the technical team in charge of the restoration of colonial Havana. I can’t think of a better place for them to be situated.

As walkers move closer to the waterfront, the truly observant will peer behind a facade hiding the old neighborhood boxing ring; sports minded or resourceful travelers will go inside to view a match. Most, however, will miss two new gymnasiums — one where school children practice tai chiand a second where women take aerobics.

If you’d like to learn more about architecture and neighborhood restoration in Cuba, I have two recommendations. If you’re an arm chair traveler, The Havana Project’s e-mail series on urbanization in Old Havana will start shortly. Access will be by e-mail sign-up only. I also highly recommend a licensed people-to-people tour. Take a look at thisitinerary and e-mail lisa@havanaproject.com for more information.

Photograph by Lisa Reynolds Wolfe.

Let me start by telling you about a very significant happening that occurred in Cuba just about a month ago. It says a lot about the role of religion in Cuba today.

On August 15, 2011, the Catholic Archbishop of Santiago de Cuba preached a homily and celebrated Eucharist at a thanksgiving mass in the oldest city in Cuba, Baracoa. At the end of the service, he raised high the Cross of Parra and blessed some 2,000 people gathered in the city’s main square.

Those in attendance were wearing white T-shirts with the message:

500 generations of faith, 1511-2011, I saw a new heaven and a new earth.

The Cross of Parra — or the grapevine cross as it is called — was planted on the site of what would later become the city of Baracoa by Christopher Columbus on December 1, 1492.

The cross is kept in Baracoa in the parish church of Our Lady of the Assumption. It is believed to be the only one of the 29 crosses that Columbus reportedly planted on his travels around the Americas that is still in existence.

History tells us that Columbus arrived on Cuba’s far eastern coast on November 27, 1492, with two of his ships — the Nina and the Santa Maria.

As an aside, the dating of the Parra cross has been confirmed through scientific testing by Belgium’s Forestry Institute.

Carbon dating techniques confirm that the cell structure of the wood the cross is made of corresponds to a species that still exists in the mountains of of eastern Cuba near Baracoa.

Findings reinforce the belief that Columbus didn’t bring crosses with him to the New World, but fabricated them with indigenous materials after his arrival.

Anyway, let’s get back to the worship service.

The large gathering and celebration were noteworthy for what they have to say about religion in Cuba today, but of even greater importance is the fact that the cross has been declared a National Monument and Treasure of the Nation by the Cuban government.

This declaration wasn’t made quietly, but came with great fanfare.

The most prominent historian in Cuba, Eusebio Leal, made the announcement. Leal described the Eucharist in Baracoa that was celebrated in honor of the cross as

a beautiful celebration for and in our homeland, in the oldest of all the cities in Cuba.

He went on to say that the declaration making the cross a Treasure of the Nation was made “by virtue of the spiritual and heritage values” of the cross.

Leal also noted that a few days before the thanksgiving mass, President Raul Castro had declared the topic of faith “a cardinal topic of liberty.” He went on to say:

Raul’s address was as important for us as the Edit of Milan.

(If you’ll remember, in the fourth century AD, the Emperor Constantine proclaimed religious toleration in the Roman Empire, “allowing Christians to practice their faith freely.“)

Raul said:

It is the right of all those that today, for reasons of love of history or out of devotion, recognize in that Cross a part of their people.

All of these comments were cited in the Communist Party daily paper, Granma, raising the question:

What on earth is going on with Religion in Cuba today?

You won’t want to miss our next post in this series. It’s going to provide a snapshot of religious life in Cuba today. Sign up for our e-mail list to have it delivered to your mailbox automatically.

Born in Havana in 1944 into a family that practiced Santeria, he studied conventional art at the Academy of San Alejandro. Since graduating in 1963, his work has primarily reflected his Afro-Cuban roots.

According to Gerardo Mosquera (a prominent art critic based in Havana):

He began painting in the mid-1960s with a profound, vivid vision of the Yoruba myths that have been preserved in Cuba, in what for me continues to be the most valuable artistic moment of his career. This ‘dark period’ — from which several of his works have been lost, including all his sculptures — centered on this mythology, its implications, and its meanings. It could be said we were witnessing the artistic re-creation of the myth, but done from within, by a bearer of the magical/mythical mode of thought who was at the same time a  modernist painter. Nonetheless, his projection of the myth always transcended  its particulars to reach a universal plane and pose general, ‘philosophical’ problems. With his unique personality, Mendive was one of the main actors in the expressionist movement — a ‘rational’ expressionism in his case, for being mythological — who produced the best works in Cuban art  during the second half of that brilliant decade, along with Cabrera, Morena, Chago, Antonia Eiriz, Raul Martinez, Umberto Pena . . . .

Mosquera continues:

Mendive is a professional, but one with popular roots, raised in an environment that has conserved Yoruba traditions, and he is an artist who has never broken with popular culture in his works nor in his personal life. He now creates his own myths instead of following the traditional ones, but they are still rooted in tradition and are the fruits of mythological thinking of a living, familiar, interiorized mythogenesis. Mendive is not an African in America: his utterly Cuban paintings display the complex synthesis of the Caribbean, its ethnocultural mixing and its mestizaje of time . . . .

Now . . . he is combining stage art with his paintings, in interdisciplinary pieces that stand as the most creative of his current works. He attains an art of movement and sound, a terrific mixture of painting, dance, music, pantomime, body art, song, sound, ritual, spectacle, performance, comparsa, and procession, in which ‘high culture’ and popular culture once again rub elbows.”

[Gerardo Mosquera: “El mito por dentro” Revolucion y Cultura. Havana. August 1987.]

Mendive always dresses in full white. Inspired by the Orishas and the energy conveyed through nature, he paints and sculpts in iron, wood, plastic and metal. So far as conventional influences on his art are concerned, Mendive says:

My favorite painter is the master Wilfredo Lam. He has given me much hope. I like African art in general. All the art coming from Africa interests me very much, including Egypt, the Sumerians, Mesopotamia, and all the surrounding area. From later times, I like the works from Raphael to Jackson Pollock. Each time I see a painting by the latter my heart flutters.

I’ve been lucky enough to visit Mendive at home several times, first when he lived in Cotorro, later at his larger space “in the country.” The gallery below includes shots from those visits. Here are some quotes from Mendive about his lifestyle.

I am very interested in nature, vegetation, forest and the country . . .  Therefore, I live away from the city. I lived in Cotorro for a while. There was some vegetation there, but not enough. I needed much more space and much more greenery.

My house is always full of friends, full of people who frequently visit and accompany me. That makes me very happy.

The gods are everywhere . . .

I am magic, I like magic, and life is magic.

My work is my great hope. My work is my true speech.

Mendive has a wonderful website which has lots of images of his work as well as a complete CV. You can visit Mendive’s website here.

 Photographs by Lisa Reynolds Wolfe.

For most of Cuba’s history, Roman Catholicism was the country’s only legal religion. Consequently, the Catholic Church had a great deal of power.

The Cuban Church was a historic product of Spain, and it remained closely tied to the mother country until the 1959 revolution brought dramatic change. Priests were typically Spanish and their views reflected loyalty to Spain.

The Roman Catholic Church opposed the independence movements of the late 19th century and the revolutionary movement of the mid 20th century. (The Protestant churches often took a very different stance. In fact, the Presbyterian Church was quite active in Havana’s urban underground movement that played a strong role in the fight against Batista.)

Despite its power and influence among the elite in urban areas, Roman Catholicism played a less signifcant role in the life of many Cubans living in the countryside. There was a chronic shortage of priests and rural inhabitants were often without a pastor.

Over half of all Cubans are of African descent, and the African religions that gave birth to the Afro-Cuban religious culture gave spiritual sustenance to the uprooted, the subjugated, and the marginalized slave population. (Slave labor was the foundation of Cuba’s economy and was not abolished until 1886.)

Still, despite the many differences between the two belief systems, the most iconic symbol of religion in Cuba today relies on a combination of the two for its powerful message.

The Basilica de Nuestra Senora del Cobre or The Shrine of the Virgin of Cobre — Cuba’s most famous pilgimage site — lies in the foothills of the Sierra Maestra mountain chain about 13 miles or so outside of the city of Santiago de Cuba.

As I discussed in a previous post on the Virgin of Cobre, the Virgin who is honored here is known as La Caridad del Cobre or the Virgin of Charity. She is known for rescuing 3 boys from a fishing boat: a European boy, an African boy, and a Taino boy.

This legend speaks to the Cuban sense of identity which centers around the mixture of races and cultures that intermixed to form an entirely new and very authentic Cuban identity.

Here’s how the story goes:

In 1606, the three fishermen were struggling in their storm-tossed boat when they found a wooden image of the Virgin floating on the Bahia de Nipe or Bay of Nipe in northeastern Cuba.

In one hand the Virgin carried a baby Jesus, in the other she held a cross. She also appeared to be holding a tablet that read Yo soy la Virgin de la Caridad – I am the Virgin of Charity.

The fishermen brought the statue to El Cobre, a copper mining town.

Importantly, the Virgin has an appeal beyond pure Catholicism. The statue is also highly revered by followers of Santería. You can read more about this  and the gifts that pilgrims leave for the Virgin in our previous post.

In the years following the 1959 revolution, public processions to honor the Virgin were restricted by the government out of concern for unsanctioned gatherings. Group displays were not allowed to resume until the 1990s. More recently the Virgin has been permitted to go on a journey marking the 400th anniversary of the discovery of the image.

The archbishop of Havana is claiming that Cuba is in a springtime of faith. And Cuba’s Cardinal Jaime Ortega is speaking of the dialogue undertaken in 2010 with President Raul Castro whereby the church played a decisive role in the release of some 130 political prisoners.

At any rate, the national pilgrimage of the Virgin has covered some 15,500 miles since it began on August 8, 2010, in Santiago de Cuba; it will end December 30 in Havana. And then the virgin will go back home to her shrine in the village of El Cobre.

We love her because she is the mother of all of us. Whenever I’m having trouble, I go to her. I have great faith in her, said one Cuban woman who describes herself as a Catholic, but “not one who goes to church every Sunday.” She goes on to say that “many young people are going to church now. It wasn’t like that 20 or 25 years ago.”

But “what about the Protestants,” you might ask. Well,  the evangelicals are making news right now. The last I heard, a Pentecostal pastor and 60 members of his flock were holed up in their Assembly of God church under the watchful eye of the police.

As of September 16, 2011, they’d been inside for 3 weeks. The group has been holding a “retreat” to pray for the country:

Some newspaper headlines are referring to a “prayer crisis” but the pastor’s son says only that

God told us to pray morning, noon, and night. We want a new Cuba free of sin, but this should not be misinterpreted, we do not have anything to do with politics.

The pastor’s son went on to dispel media rumors that the church was anticipating the end of the world, predicting a catastrophic tsunami, or pressing for political change on the Communist run island. He says those who spread such rumors are “just trying to ruin this moment.”

Following the Cuban Revolution in 1959, many clergy were expelled and religious schools were closed. Religious believers were fired from their jobs and sent to labor camps for re-education.

Now Cuba’s evangelical Christian population is growing. Rev. Marcial Hernandez, president of Cuba’s Council of Churches confirmed that out of a population of 11 million, there are more than 800,000 evangelicals in the country. The evangelical movement, then, seems to be the Protestant future of Cuba.

After Protestantism was formally established in Cuba, Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist and Quaker missionaries preached and established schools there, primarily reaching out to middle-class students.

The schools were segregated and Afro-Cubans were not allowed to attend.

Soon other US churches sent missionaries. But, gradually, the leadership of Protestant churches shifted from US missionaries to Cuban Christians.

By the time of the revolution in 1959, most Protestant churches were pastored by Cubans, a large percentage of whom were being trained at Cuban seminaries.

The Cuban Council of Churches was established in 1941.

Protestantism, though, is only one of many religious currents in present day Cuba. It’s next to impossible to identify them all.

As the revered Cuban sociologist Fernando Ortiz noted:

. . . it would be impossible to define this people’s religion. . . There is no general, popular, or official creed. African religious practices are as widely followed as Christianity, and the two are sometimes practiced simultaneously. Spiritualism, theosophy, and all manner of superstitions are also widespread. All of these beliefs are combined in a confused mix from which theological concepts . . . cannot be separated or easily distinguished from each other.

What’s interesting is that even though multiple beliefs have become closely intertwined, groups tend to self-isolate, making ecumenical dialogue a rarity.

Many in the Catholic Church fear that the influence of Afro-Cuban religiosity could distort or contaminate their own message.

The Catholic Church also fears a loss of membership to other churches that evangelize aggressively. Some Pentecostal churches, for example, carried out aggressive campaigns in opposition to the visit of Pope John Paul II, even going so far as to describe him as the Antichrist.

The Afro-Cuban religions also tend toward self-isolation — and even “Yorubization.”

This tendency seems  peculiar since, over the centuries, the Afro-Cuban religions have appropriated and been enriched by elements of Catholicism, acquiring a distinctly Cuban character in the process.

Currently, the trend toward Yorubization means a “de-Cubanization and re-Africanization” that lessens ties to other Cuban religions and to Cuban society as a whole.

Afro-Cuban religious communities tend to convey their message in an oral fashion and they are very protective of their beliefs.

Only initiates — a limited number of individuals consecrated in the rites of the religion — have access to supplementary written materials, which they guard jealously.

Santeria is the term that is widely used to refer to Afro-Cuban religious beliefs and practices that

originated when the Yoruba were brought from Africa to colonial Cuba as slaves and forced to adopt Catholicism. Those who believe in Santeria worship African gods [orishas], masked as Catholic saints, by observing their feast days, ‘feeding’ and caring for them, carefully following their commands, and faithfully obeying their mandates.

A lack of familiarity with the Afro-Cuban religions is common among Cuban Christians.

Many Christians are unaware that the Afro-Cuban religions are monotheistic, that they worship one Supreme God, and that other divinities mediate between God and humanity in much the same way that Mary and the saints do in Catholicism.

It is not unusual for members of Christian communities to organize workshops on Afro-Cuban religions without inviting any Afro-Cuban practitioners to participate.

It is impossible to over emphasize the degree to which dialogue between the Christian denominations and the Afro-Cuban religions is also influenced by the remnants of racism and racial inequality that continue to be prevalent in Cuban society.

Members of Christian congregations are disproportionately European in origin while members of Afro-Cuban religious groups are disproportionately of African ancestry.

In Cuban society as a whole, black and mestizo Cubans as a group remain socio-economically disadvantaged.

The Catholic Church has only a very small number of black and mestizo priests — six black and seven mestizos at last report (outdated perhaps.)

Some Christians have gone so far as to characterize Afro-Cuban religious practitioners as “demonic” and say that their religions are “fit only for blacks.”

Ironically some black pastors and lay leaders are among the most vocal in espousing such views.

Conversely, there is also a lack of familiarity with Christianity among practitioners of Afro-Cuban religions.

Many Afro-Cuban practitioners are unfamiliar with the doctrines, histories, and theological foundations of Christian churches.

The degree to which Cubans are unfamiliar with the two religious traditions is paradoxical, since elements of both often coexist in the home, the church, and other areas of daily life.

It is common for members of one family to practice several different religions, whether of Spanish, African, or Anglo-Saxon origin, and to change religions without fanfare.

Just as in other parts of the world, a reported trend in Cuba is a move toward individualistic spirituality whereby faith is viewed in supremely personal terms.

One frequently finds a lack of interest in social and humanitarian programs, and a lack of concern for the problems and needs of society as a whole. The result is that some religious groups are more a collection of individuals than a cohesive faith community.

Also affecting the religious scenario on the island is the Cuban revolutionary system’s past lack of understanding of religious phenomena and its uncritical acceptance of Eastern European socialist ideological models, including “scientific atheism.”

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Photograph by Lisa Reynolds Wolfe.

While gold was not discovered in Cuba, the island’s strategic location and good harbors made the country quite valuable to Spain.

The Spanish population in Cuba grew slowly in the 16th and 17th centuries. There were few (Spanish) women among the colonial settlers, spurring the mingling of race and culture that is representative of Cuban society in present times.

Toward the end of the 18th century the profitability of sugar increased, leading to a marked increase in Cuba’s population.

Just to give you an idea: in 1763, there were fewer than 150,000 inhabitants on the island. By 1860, there were 1.3 million. Many were slaves.

Hundreds of thousands of West Africans arrived in Cuba as part of the Middle Passage. Their number rose dramatically, from 39,000 in the 1770s to 400,000 in the 1840s. Today, over 60% of Cubans have African roots: Yoruba, Congo, Old Dahomey, and the Efik/Efo from the Cross River Delta (Nigeria).

You can find out more about Cuba’s Afro-Cuban roots by visiting Afro Cuba Web.

Chinese indentured servants added to the mix. They were brought to Cuba in the late 1880s to replace slave labor.

Haitians, Jamaicans, and other Caribbean islanders also arrived in significant numbers to work in Cuba’s sugar industry, arriving in the early decades of the 20th century.

Today’s diversity of religious experience in Cuba is a result of the many ethnic and cultural groups that that I’ve just mentioned. The groups come from different continents, but more importantly, they’ve experienced unequal positions in a highly stratified Cuban society.

African blacks and European whites occupied the subordinate and superior positions of slaves and slaveholders respectively, and the legacy of this history is in evidence today.

A religious divide has been especially pronounced between the Catholic Church and the Afro-Cuban bellievers.

As I’ve pointed out, Christianity arrived in Cuba via the Catholic Church bringing with it associations with the conqueror, the colonizer, and the oppressor.

The African religions, on the other hand, gave spiritual sustenance to the uprooted, the subjugated, and the marginalized slave population. These influences shape Cuban society even today.

By the end of the 19th century, the four hundred year period of Spanish colonial rule was coming to an end, and America was stepping in to play a powerful role in Cuban affairs.

Politically, militarily, and economically, the US dominated Cuba throughout the first half of the 20th century.

American troops arrived on the island in 1898.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise, given this penetration, to find US religious and educational institutions playing a more prominent role on the island.

As an aside, the Spanish colonial government first allowed Protestant preaching in 1871, but only to expatriates living in Cuba.

Protestantism was formally established in Cuba in 1898.

Prior to this — and aside from the expatriates I just mentioned — there had been attempts by Cuban patriots to establish Protestantism on the island. Many of the Cubans involved in this effort had returned from exile in the United States and had become Protestant pastors while living abroad.

It was these Cubans — not foreign missionaries — who established the first Protestant congregations on the island.

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The revitalization of religion in Cuba began in 1992, when — after three decades as a Marxist state — the constitution was revised and Cuba officially became a secular state.

The Cuban Constitution now recognizes the right of citizens to profess and practice any religious belief within the framework of respect for the law.

It’s important to note, however, that according to the US Department of State’s 2010 Report on International Religious Freedom, the Government actually places restrictions on freedom of religion in both law and in practice.

Still, it’s clear that in recent years, there has been a huge resurgence of religious practice in Cuba, not only among Christians, but also by Jews and practitioners of the various Afro-Cuban religions.

Pope John Paul II’s visit to the island in January 1998 was a visual symbol of this reawakening.

Of course, the church does not speak with one voice. Cuba’s religious communities have had different political, social and cultural experiences so, not surprisingly, they have diverse understandings of reality.

Here’s some background to help us understand where they’re coming from.

In 1492, when the Spanish first landed in Cuba, an estimated 50,000 indigenous people were living on the island. These included the Ciboneyes, the Guanahatabeyes, and the Tainos.

The Guanahatabeyes had been on the island the longest and have been described as a “shell” culture, or as nomadic societies of hunters and gatherers who use natural materials such as unpolished stones, seashells, and fish bones for tools.

Diego Velazquez, Cuba’s first Spanish governor, was openly shocked by the lifestyle of the Guanahatabeyes.

They’re savages, he said, without houses or towns and eating only the meat they are able to find in the forests as well as turtles and fish.

The other two cultures, the Ciboneyes and the Tainos, were part of the larger South American Arawak group, believed to have island hopped through the West Indies.

The Tainos were fishermen and hunters, but they also introduced agriculture to the island. Their staples included maize, beans, squash, peanuts, yucca, and tobacco. They also cultivated cotton. Tobacco was used for religious, medicinal, and ceremonial purposes.

The Taino created a variety of tools and artifacts by polishing stones and carving wood, and they were accomplished potters, crafting a variety of utilitarian pieces and small figurines of animal and human forms, male and female, which represented spirits considered sacred by each community.

It is speculated that the Taino tribes were forced westward some 200 years before the Spanish arrived by a bloodthirsty tribe known as the Caribs. (I’ve read that this is where the word cannibal comes from.)

The Caribs would raid a village, kill all of the adult men, and consume their flesh. The women were spared for slavery, as were the young men, who were castrated. You can learn more about them on the History of Cuba website.

The conquistadors set out to control all three cultures, killing those individuals who resisted and enslaving the rest. As one historian reports:

The indians that Columbus and his men encountered in Cuba were a simple and happy people, living in a peaceful and gentle world. They had no enemies, human or otherwise, and were therefore unused to combat. Their pathetic inablility to resist the Spanish invaders made their eventual submission in the hands of the conquistadores an inevitability.

By the mid-16th century, Cuba’s indigenous population had dropped to less than a few thousand as a result of disease, mass suicides, and Spanish exploitation.

So far as religion is concerned, the Roman Catholic Church arrived with the Spanish conquistadors and became the dominant religious institution in Cuba. Even so, it was not well thought of by the “locals.”

There’s a famous story about Chief Hatuey, an indigenous chieftain, who traveled from Hispaniola (now the Dominican Republic) to warn the Cubans about “what to expect from the Spaniards.”

His effort was in vain, however.

The Tainos of western and central Cuba just couldn’t believe the horrible message brought by Hatuey, and few joined the guerilla forces he was organizing.

Eventually, Hatuey was captured and burned at the stake.

As authorities were lighting the fire, a priest offered Hatuey spiritual comfort, showing him the cross and asking him to accept Jesus and go to heaven.

Are there people like you in Heaven? Hatuey asked.

There are many like me in heaven, answered the priest.

Then No quiero ir al cielo — I don’t want to go to heaven, Hatuey cried out.

Today, Hatuey is considered to be the first martyr in the struggle for Cuban independence, and for those of you who are beer lovers, there is a silver lining. Hatuey’s heritage persists in the form of Hatuey Beer — bottled in Santiago de Cuba since 1927.

Aside from Hatuey’s picture on a beer bottle, only slight traces of indigenous blood, language, and culture have survived.

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