By Serge F. Kovaleski
Washington Post Foreign Service
Thursday, December 31, 1998; Page A29
"I feel extremely satisfied about the state of the revolution. Because of it, I have what I have," said Jiminez, a former fighter in Castro's army who now works as a driver. "Nothing is easy here but, for example, there is more food today than before the revolution and the country is only going to improve further."
Sitting nearby and sporting a New York Yankees baseball cap, a Nike T-shirt and an earring, Jose, 28, offered a more critical opinion. "The idea of communism goes against human nature," he said. "I am not interested in it because I do not think it has worked. . . . What I am interested in is getting my hands on dollars and improving the way I live [and] . . . having more freedom."
Such divergent views are typical of Cuba today. As the country prepares to mark the 40th anniversary of its communist revolution on New Year's Day, conversations with a wide range of people here reveal a nation beset by contradictions -- struggling to cope with the effects of the U.S. economic embargo and the collapse of its Soviet patron while retaining its core communist values.
Castro continues to describe the country as facing a choice of "socialism or death." At the same time, he has opened the economy to limited capitalism -- allowing some Cubans to operate small businesses and privately sell farm produce, permitting foreign investment and creating a dual economy that has legalized the use of the U.S. dollar.
The island's booming if still underdeveloped tourism industry is evident in its luxury hotels with their elegant restaurants, bars and shops. They form a striking contrast to the crumbling colonial-style buildings of the capital, where families are jammed into small apartments and rely on government ration tickets to buy food at sparsely stocked state supermarkets.
Fleets of sleek Mercedes taxis haul tourists in a country estimated to have more than 150,000 cars that are older than the revolution itself. On weekends, Cubans can often be seen in front of their homes tinkering with antique automobiles that somehow manage to keep running despite a lack of spare parts.
Most of the island's 12 million people get around on bicycles while others endure long lines waiting for dilapidated Soviet-era buses that arrive infrequently and are usually jammed with passengers. Clusters of people stand on roadsides trying to hitch rides from passing cars.
But even here, in one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere, society is changing thanks largely to an influx of dollars and greater exposure to the outside world.
Over the last decade, Cuba has developed a large informal economy that is geared toward the dollar and encompasses everything from prostitution to underground markets for cigars and illegal taxis.
Tourist earnings and more than $500 million a year sent to Cubans from relatives abroad help keep the country's troubled economy afloat, but they also have created class distinctions that fly in the face of communist dogma.
"What makes me sad about the revolution is that three classes of people have now evolved: Cubans with dollars, Cubans who cannot get them . . . and foreigners, like tourists, with dollars," said Julia, 46, a nurse who earns the equivalent of about $10 a month in Cuban pesos, while trying to flag down a car near the historic Old Havana section of the capital.
Tourist buses were parked nearby, and throngs of foreigners ambled through the streets and dined in cafes that only accept dollars. "For example, when it comes to tourists, I feel the perception here is that they have more value than Cubans," Julia continued. "For me, it is a question of dignity. . . . There used to be more in our country."
Cuban officials say they have undertaken economic liberalization only reluctantly. They say they have little choice given the collapse of the Soviet bloc in the early 1990s and the continued U.S. embargo. They express worry about social tensions caused by the growing gap between Cubans who have access to dollars and those who do not.
"There is a good deal of capitalism inside our country," said a top official in the Politburo, Cuba's ruling political body. "We do not like it, but we have to live with it. . . . One thing that worries me is the passion people have for finding dollars."
But he added, "We have learned to do things ourselves, we have learned the limits and proportions of our strengths. When the Soviet Union was there, we were under a glass bell. Now we are out in the world. The essence of this country is still socialism and we will never renounce that."
At the same time, Castro's government is faced with the dwindling interest in socialism among Cuba's younger population.
This month, at a conference of the Young Cuban Communists -- the youth wing of the Communist Party -- a document prepared by the group's leadership noted that although one in every six Cubans between the ages of 15 and 29 is a member of the Young Communists' Union, the number of local chapters, and of members going on to join the Communist Party at the age of 30, are declining.
Many younger Cubans complain that a dominant feature of the communist system is its dullness.
"One of the things I find most difficult about living in Cuba under this system of government is the boredom of everyday life. Unless you have dollars it is hard to enjoy things or find places to enjoy them," said Mario Cruz, 26, who was trying to earn dollars on a recent night by escorting foreigners to restaurants in Old Havana.
"It is harder, too, when you see the way Europeans and others live and dress . . . and how they can do anything here because they have money," he said.
But even those who gripe about life in Cuba today praise some of the things that the system provides, such as free medical care and education and food rations.
"Things are tough but you will never starve to death in Cuba -- you might in the United States and other countries, but not here. This is one of the successes of the revolution," said painter Fidel Luis, 41. "The rations could be more and better, but they are there."
Rations have been scaled back in the years since huge subsidies from the Soviet Union disappeared. Also, Cuba's education system, which has produced one of the highest literacy rates in the world, has been having a tough time keeping teachers, many of whom are disgruntled by low wages and are trying to find jobs in tourism.
Cuba's vaunted health care system also has suffered over the years, although it still boasts a surfeit of doctors -- 62,000. Almost every neighborhood has a family doctor who keeps morning office hours and goes house-to-house in the afternoons, all at no charge.
Many Cubans blame the U.S. embargo for most of their country's problems while lauding Castro for improving diplomatic ties with many countries in an effort to circumvent the United States' efforts to isolate the island.
"We are hungrier and do not have the medicine we used to because of the United States, but we are survivors . . . and we owe a lot of that to Fidel," said taxi driver Ramon, 33. "Of course, many of our problems are Cuban, but the blockade is one of the biggest and we are still standing up."
In reflecting on four decades of Cuban socialism, Miguel Alvarez, assistant to the president of the National Assembly of People's Power, added: "We are here, we are alive. We are living with rations but we are living a normal life.
"We don't have a lot but we have enough. More than anything else, we have maintained our independence."
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