27 de agosto 2024
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There is a sudden silence. It is daytime, so the signs of the blackout are not evident through a lack of lighting but rather through the absence of sound. There's a deep emptiness, and we all know what it means: the power has gone out. Reinaldo’s cell phone rings. Someone has gotten stuck in the elevator due to this Thursday's power cut outage. I watch him walking down the hall, carrying his 77 years on his back, but the enthusiasm of a 20-year-old.
On the Facebook account of the Cuban Electric Union, messages are posted in a cascade. People complain that they can't sleep because of the heat and the mosquitoes, they describe towns plunged into darkness and faces with deep dark circles under their eyes, barely able to perform at work. Alongside these complaints, another is repeated: Havana is privileged and does not suffer from the same power cuts as the rest of the country. Regional resentment is stoked, and divisions are emerging, even though the person responsible for our disaster is the same one.
The comments suggest that the residents of the Cuban capital are enjoying the darkness of others, while we enjoy our own illumination. Nothing could be further from the truth. Weeks with scarce water supplies and mountains of garbage with their constant flow of flies and rats have made life in this city an ordeal. The tall buildings have become prisons for the elderly, who can't go up or down to bring supplies, adding to the deterioration of the entire city infrastructure. What we are experiencing is not a privilege, it's a trap.
Railing against the people of Havana for the supposed regional “privileges” that we enjoy only benefits those who have plunged us into this situation. Those who, incapable of managing a country, distribute power cuts at their convenience in order to also stir up internal conflict, make us lose our bearings over responsibilities and confront us in an endless fratricidal struggle.
No, it is not about here or there, about El Vedado or Piedrecitas, it is about “them.” Pitting us against other is a strategy that has been effective in the past. They threw us into a fight by region, by political colors and by economic levels to prevent us from facing up to them from a civil perspective.
They turn us against each other so we don't turn against them.
Lunch is served, but it is getting cold. It is better that way. In this heat, it's hard to put hot food in your mouth. Reinaldo returns and washes his hands, covered in the thick grease that comes from equipment with bearings. The whole apartment is filled with that rough, industrial smell. I see that he has a bleeding wound on his leg, small but deep. It is the bruises of those who try to rescue those who get stuck in a metal box when the power goes out. They are a brotherhood in retreat.
Some are old, others are sick, and most of those who once helped rescue those stuck in the elevator have died. Reinaldo is one of the few vestiges left in our building of that mixture of altruism and technical knowledge. The “counterrevolutionary” on the 14th floor, the independent journalist about whom so many have made reports to the political police or have distanced themselves from, is the only salvation when they are stuck between those four metal walls, with no supply of fresh air. There is no ideology there: “Get Macho (Reinaldo),” even the reddest (communists) whine. And there he goes to save them. A big heart is like that, and I hope that the future Cuba is full of them.
Afterward, he comes back with his hands covered in grease and his wounds. "It’s nothing," he says, because heroes don’t show off. But I see the cut on his leg is dark, deep, and he lifts his foot onto a chair to stop the bleeding. “What’s going to happen when the 'counterrevolutionary' from the 14th floor can no longer rescue both Trojans and Tyrians from the elevator?” I ask him, just to provoke him. Are they going to tear each other apart or will they work together to get the shaft moving again, raise the cabin, lower the counterweight, open the doors and get the prisoners out?
Given the aging population and exodus affecting our community and the entire country, I suspect people will stop using elevators until the stairs give way to deterioration and the walls collapse. Then, we might have to get dirty, get hurt, and peer into other abysses. That will happen in Havana and in every Cuban town, even in those where there are no elevators.
*This article was originally published in 14ymedio. It was published in Spanish by Confidencial and translated by Translating Cuba. To get the most relevant news from our English coverage delivered straight to your inbox, subscribe to The Dispatch.
