By Lien Estrada
HAVANA TIMES – Every Thursday from 3:30 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. during the winter, and a little later during the summer, the Literary Café takes place at the Unión de Escritores y Artistas de Cuba (UNEAC) in Holguín. It is a cultural space that has existed for many years, founded and still organized by Professor Manuel García Verdecia. At these gatherings people mainly talk about poetry and literature, but there are also invited guests who speak about other topics such as film, music, history, and religion. Coffee is shared, and humor is welcome as well.
The UNEAC headquarters is one of the most pleasant institutions in our city, at least that is how I see it. It is very clean, with its halls, corridors, and courtyards as if they were saying welcome. From time to time I like to participate, and I believe that these kinds of experiences, even in the midst of whatever chaos we may be feeling, should be kept alive. For me it is like a noble school: there are no exams, and you always go there to learn.
It is like an oasis. Unlike the world to which I belong, the one in which I live and work, where the endless crisis, with its marginalization and permanent challenges, seems to have set up camp and decided never to leave. Dirt streets and garbage everywhere threaten to swallow everything up. Most houses are unfinished or in very poor condition. There are shouts and pointless commotion, making you think that desperation has to come out somehow.
Many people are poorly dressed, and those who are not usually have family abroad. Formal education is absent, hostility and violence prevail, there is contraband, blackouts, and the promises that once came from afar about solving this or that problem no longer exist. All of this—and of course more besides—would discourage anyone.
It is not only us in Holguin; it is all of Cuba. Every day there are reports from everywhere about transportation, or about the achievements of the Revolution, education and healthcare, that are now a real disaster. So, when you find in the heart of the city this house where you can enjoy a cup of coffee and listen to poetry, narrative, music, and conversations that are not exactly about “the world is about to collapse,” it is truly a blessing—and a big one.
Sometimes I think we might be like those musicians on the Titanic who, as shown in the film, kept playing until the very last moment while the ship was sinking. As if they were telling us that one must die doing what one loves and keep believing in what one stands for until the end.
Interesting. In a country where most people do not want to stay, especially the young, and where we suffer the consequences at incredible levels because almost everything feels so tense, there exists this place where one can pause and be told: life is always something more.
I cannot help telling myself: how good it is that, against all bad weather, this project still survives. Outside its doors one may encounter hunger, misery, and hopelessness, but inside its doors fantasy and beauty are still proclaimed—and that is no small thing for any human being. So many centers and cultural spaces have closed for lack of everything that I cannot help but be deeply grateful for the existence of the Literary Café.
Read more from the diary of Lien Estrada here on Havana Times.