... nope, no bananas here either...
My grandmother used to have an odd sense of humor. “Yes, we have no bananas,” is a sentence she used to repeat in context of derision towards third-world countries. In retrospect, this could have been odd to see, since – as I learned later on in my life – my grandmother was born in Cuba and was raised there for at least the first 3 or 4 years of her life. She faintly, yet fondly, remembered the hacienda she lived in and the servants that used to work for them. My grandmother, it seems, was on the right side of the Habana Hotel. Yet, if you ever mentioned Cuba to her, just like it would happen to almost any conservative Puerto Rican in the heyday, all that would spout from her mouth would be clichés about bananas and dictators.
Living it up at the Hotel Calif-... no, wait...
Later on, through observation and interaction with Cuban families, I realized they are like a race in a permanent state of flight: a flight from their island, from their situation, from themselves. The ones I’ve met have been the kind of people to keep their nationality on the down-low, their exile has erased all identifying traits from their skin and tongue. Cuba is an ideal relegated to porcelain decorative plates and the occasional tiny tattered flag swaying in the wind.
… and I’ve realized that the constant throughout these refugees, the ones that claim to be from Habana and nowhere else, the “cubanos gusanos” (like my father-in-law has been herad to say), is that they hate themselves as a nation. They hate what they’ve come to belong to, so they decide to belong to it no more.
… and I’ve realized that this is exactly what’s happening in this island as well. We’re in decay: last few decades have seen to that. But the downward spiral flow has accelerated in these last few years, few months … and suddenly, all I see in my timelines and friend-feeds, all I hear from my loved ones is that we’d all prefer this island to blow to pieces. We’ve lost optimistic hope. Suddenly, I’ve even read people saying that we, as a people, deserve the brutal injustice to which we’ve been submitted… and I can’t help but understand, because there’s a side of me that thinks so too.
Every time I read a friend or family member justify the police’s violent response to pacific protests and what is mainly citizens claiming for their given rights, I cringe, and I tend to agree that this island needs some bloodshed, some fire and brimstone, some death.
We’re going down the same way as Cuba, or maybe not. I think the political details are completely out of my scope. But the self-hatred I see in Puerto Ricans today seems to be the seed of the dull resentment and silent rage the Cubans have come to live with for decades.
Yeah, we’re all out of bananas … but we sure have the fascist government that goes with the Banana Republic combo!
Thanks (?), grandma, for the lesson... I guess..
PD: My apologies to all Cubans and those of Cuban descent. My intention is not to offend nor judge in any way. These observations are purely personal, and more of a comparative relflection on what’s happening in PR during these days.
