Cuban Youth See New U.S. Embassy, but Same Old Drab Life

Cuban Youth See New U.S. Embassy, but Same Old Drab Life
By AZAM AHMED AUG. 6, 2015

HAVANA — Wedged between a construction site and the shells of once grand
colonial homes, a basketball game was underway, the neighborhood pouring
into the rubble-strewn street for some evening entertainment.

It wasn't much. A chewed concrete floor, a splintered backboard and a
piece of bent rebar for a hoop. But as entertainment went, the price was
right: No one paid a thing to enjoy the seaside air, the sunset or the
game as they soaked up a snapshot of life seemingly preserved in time.

And that, to many in attendance, was precisely the problem.

While the news media was buzzing about the new American Embassy, which
had reopened for the first time in more than 50 years, barely a word
passed among the Cuban youth about the many changes afoot in their nation.

"Change? My life won't change," said Yunior Rodriguez Soto, 17, posted
by the court with a few friends. "I mean, look how we're living, look
how we are playing?" he said, pointing at the goal, which had been
knocked askew.

He paused. The ball zipped out of bounds and a friend raced to retrieve
it. Change, in his mind, would come in spite of the government, not
because of it.

"They won't let it happen," he said, referring to the Cuban government.
"It's just how they are."

Much has been made of the historic shift underway in Cuba, where the
government is making strides to open the ailing economy to world markets
and re-establish relations with the United States for the first time in
half a century. For many, that has raised hope of a new prosperity.

But there is an air of cynicism among the Cuban youth who see the ideals
of Fidel Castro's revolution as dated as the battered cars that traverse
Havana's streets. Once so integral to life on the island, they are
relics of a bygone era, removed from the economic imperatives that are
driving the young to flee in record numbers.

As much as the young welcome political opening and economic reform, such
changes are unlikely to filter down to their lives anytime soon.
Measurable change will come slowly, stalled between the leadership's
desire for prosperity and its determination to maintain control.

Even with evidence of change in the streets of Havana — new clubs, bars
and glimmering restaurants that rival those of more affluent Caribbean
neighbors — life for many Cubans has barely improved. And that may well
inform the Cuban authorities' biggest challenge in coming years:
managing expectations.

"So far, the only way to see change is to make a boat and sail off,"
said Dayán Roa Santana, 20, a Cuban baseball player, who did just that
in late December.

On Dec. 30, about two weeks after the government announced that it would
restore diplomatic relations with the United States, Mr. Roa Santana set
sail for America on a rickety boat he built with a friend. After a few
days at sea, he was captured by the United States Coast Guard and sent
back home, where he was forced to pay a heavy fine.

As soon as he can save up money for the next journey, he says, he will
be gone.

Cases like Mr. Roa Santana's are not new, and officials are well aware
they aggravate a demographic problem already undermining an economic
overhaul. Unlike many developing nations, which enjoy large youth
populations, Cuba resembles the graying communities of Northern Europe
or Japan, societies grappling with how to finance their old people
without the engine of youth. Nearly 20 percent of the Cuban population
is over the age of 60, making it the oldest in all of Latin America.

Officials and analysts say that economic change is part of a strategy to
persuade young people to stay and have families, replacing a swollen
public sector with more private jobs — a promise that has been slow to
take shape.

The government has for years tried to encourage more private sector
development. Restaurants, nail salons and about 200 other approved
businesses now employ nearly 400,000 people, according to government
figures. Real estate reform has been enacted, and the tourism sector is
booming, though without the infrastructure to support it.

But the government, struggling to balance economic growth with state
control, often works at cross purposes. Small-business owners are
subjected to a byzantine structure with heavy government oversight,
where free enterprise is often stifled by a state struggling with
letting go.

Such realities are particularly galling for the newer generation of
Cubans, like Jose Luis Rodriguez Roig, 24, who owns a private cafeteria
with his father that sells pizzas, burgers and coffee.

To buy flour, Mr. Rodriguez Roig says, the government prices are often
too high to turn a profit. So he, like other Cubans, turns to the black
market, a move that could land him in trouble.

"There are tricks here and there, but the law isn't going to change," he
explained, at a late-night party on the rooftop of a friend's home in
Havana.

A friend disagreed, arguing that the government was in the midst of
changing, prompting a conversation taking place across the country now.

"How can you not see?" his friend, Alejandro Rodriguez Zaldivar, 30, who
was hosting the party in his aunt's home, insisted. "There's an embassy
and people are starting to think different. My grandfather's generation
was revolutionary. My father's generation was less. This is the
direction things are going."

Mr. Rodriguez Roig shook his head and pulled on a cigarette.

"You asked me what change do I see? Nothing," he concluded, drawing his
arm over the roofs of the low-slung houses toward the waterfront. "Just
because there's an embassy over there, it doesn't change anything."

After 50 years of stasis, there is a desire among Cubans to see the
fruits of this new era right away. And yet the government has said the
pace of change will be slow.

"The reason it has taken so long is that the government only now finds
it in their interest," said Yusbel Hernandez Campanioni, who was
visiting the beach of Guanabo on a recent weekday. "If it was up to the
Cuban people, it would have happened a long time ago."

During the summer, youth often flock to the beaches near Havana, like
Playa Santa Maria, near Guanabo, which is about a 25-minute drive from
the capital. Public transit there and back is less than 5 cents, an
affordable outing for Cubans with little disposable income.

On a recent weekday, thousands of Cubans idled along the slender white
sand strip, a coast of cerulean water. Arrayed in the sand, Mr.
Campanioni and Yohendy Rodriguez Curreta sipped rum from the bottom half
of a split beer can.

Many summer days are spent like this, though the pair lucked out when
Mr. Curreta's cousin visiting from Mexico pitched them a free bottle of
liquor.

"Otherwise, we would just be laying here," said Mr. Curreta, 21, who
works as a janitor at a cultural center for about $10 a month.

For Mr. Curreta, salary was an issue. It was hard to afford the basics
on his income, he said, no matter how hard he worked.

"Here you consume based on what you can afford," he said. "And this is
what we can afford."

"Everyone speaks revolutionary, but we live day to day," interjected Mr.
Campanioni. "We think about what we are going to do today, and tomorrow
we will think about the next day."

And yet Cuba is a different place from even a decade ago, with a budding
set of high-end paladars, or private restaurants, where prices can rival
more opulent tourist destinations in the Caribbean.

More well-off teenagers have an array of options to choose from,
including La Fábrica de Arte Cubano, a former peanut-oil factory that
bears all the hallmarks of Brooklyn chic: exposed brick, industrial
accents, even an old smokestack looming over the neighboring building.

The newly opened venue, a venture between a prominent Cuban musician and
the state, is an example of what the government is aiming for, whether
the youth realize it or not.

On a recent night, thousands of young people from 12 to 18 years old
gathered outside the building, awaiting entrance to a party.

"We don't really think about politics," said Amalia Sanchez, 17,
standing with a throng of friends. "We just want to have fun."

Hannah Berkeley Cohen contributed reporting."

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