Women’s Studies on the Guagua

Three days a week, I ride a guagua to and from el ISA. The guagua is the public bus system in Havana, and costs only one peso (about 4 cents USD). We take the p1, from Vedado to Paradero, which is the end of the line. I could write ethnographies about the experience of the guagua, as it is the only experience besides the street where we interact with la gente de Cuba. Everyday Cubans who can’t afford to take Boteros take the guagua, and every bus feels as though half of Havana is coming along for the ride. There is a range of characters that construct the scene; from sleeping women and babies, stereotypically stern government officials, and teenagers making out. One of the most fascinating elements of the guagua for me is my gender. The guagua is the place I most notice my sex in all of Havana. It is the place where I feel most conscious of what I am wearing, how much skin is revealed, and my skin color. My experiences as a white woman on the bus in particular have made me rethink my entire outlook on feminism. There are a few aspects of the bus experience that contributed to this sentiment. First of all, the sheer skin to skin contact of the dozens of people being squished into such a tiny space mixed with the hypersexual energy of Habana provokes a different breed of cat calling. Never before in my life have I had to be as direct with the opposite sex about my comfort as I have on the bus. Never before have I felt as appreciative of men giving me their seats so I can remove myself from the more squished standing areas. Cuba prides itself on its advances in gender equality both structurally and socially, yet the machismo mindset is quite alive and well. There is an interesting phenomenon of feeling as though I need to be escorted by men, because when I am accompanied by one of the guys in my group, Cuban men will stand back. Or the reverse, when they would approach them to ask if they had permission… to have me. As though I am their possession to transfer on to the next man. What’s even more interesting is the fact I have felt minimally unsafe or directly threatened. It’s everywhere, I experience it every day, yet I feel aggressively threatened only on rare occasions? It’s another classic Cuban contradiction I have yet to draw conclusions upon.