Text and photography by Patrick La Roque
There’s the Cuba of eternal sunshine, families of giants laughing it up on sandy beaches, looking down on us from their glossy billboards. The all-inclusive cardboard world — mojitos galore.
And then there’s the country itself.
I'm headed to Santa Clara International Airport, glued to my bus window, watching the world moving thru its tinted haze, trying to make sense of a revolution. Why must utopia always beget distopia? Is it a gene we all carry, hidden somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of our DNA, a strain automatically triggered by power? We seem doomed to divisions, to societies of alphas and betas, regardless of doctrine or philosophy, regardless of ideals. All leaders eventually succumb to the same siren song.
I know things are changing in Cuba; but it's slow... Very, very slow.
I’m glued to my window, the movie silently moving from one frame to the next. I’m looking for hope — But all I see right now is a failed experiment.
