I turned twenty-two years old on May 22nd. Even in Cuba they call that a golden birthday. To celebrate the momentous event, our group decided to attend a U.S. Interests Section cocktail party at the Chief of Mission’s home in la Habana.
To clarify, the United States does not have an embassy in Cuba. The U.S. Interests Section serves in its stead, providing nearly all of the same services for both Cuban and American citizens while operating out of an ominous building that is legally owned by the Swiss. During the Bush era, the Interests Section installed ticker tape along the top of their building in order to share American propaganda through the world’s most antiquated digital telecommunications medium available. This brilliant maneuver unfortunately failed to destabilize the Castro regime, and in typical Fidel fashion, the Cuban government responded my building the “Anti-Imperialist Plaza” right outside of the building. There they hoisted 138 Cuban flags to the exact same height as the ticker tape —very effectively blocking it from view—and built a stage for pro-government rallies and rock concerts that claims a capacity of 60,000 people. Brilliant.
This history seems distant, however, when one arrives at the Chief of Mission’s home that is located in the same exclusive neighborhood that Fidel Castro has now retired to. The estate includes tennis courts, fresh vegetable gardens and a pool. The building’s entrance boasts colonial-era columns and leads into an expansive foyer lined with both Cuban and American artworks and filled—when we arrived—with diplomats, musicians, international artists and philanthropists. We met individuals throughout the State Department bureaucracy and were introduced to journalists, photographers and playwrights whom they had invited. The guest list was additionally bolstered by foreigners who were attending the Cuban Biennial which was just beginning that weekend.
As the first truly American event that I had attended since arriving in Cuba, I was in awe that someone had managed to fit so many foreigners into the same shared space. Walking between rooms I could catch French and Italian being spoken alongside the more coherent English and Spanish conversations. Having spent significant energy over the past three months trying to pass for a local it felt as though the entire group was actively seeking to expose us. We came away from the night with strange selections of business cards and bellies filled with free hors d’oeuvres. The night was unlike anything else that I experienced in Cuba, and it painted us an unbeatable picture of the parallel reality being lived by many foreigners who have come down to explore the island.
In sum, it was a phenomenal launch point for the rest of the night and gave our group a rocky reminder of the country which we would all be returning to shortly. This, more than anything, made me take full advantage of our final week that followed.