Caribbean Studies
ISSN: 0008-6533
[email protected]
Instituto de Estudios del Caribe
Puerto Rico
Chang-Campbell, Gena
Reseña de "Ché´s Chevrolet, Fidel´s Oldsmobile: On the Road in Cuba" de Richard Schweid
Caribbean Studies, vol. 34, núm. 2, julio-diciembre, 2006, pp. 250-255
Instituto de Estudios del Caribe
San Juan, Puerto Rico
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250
FEMKE BAKKER
studies, places priority on the self-positioning of Surinamese and
Antillean diasporas, then this should be interpreted as a welcome
to the much needed autochthonous recount of Dutch Caribbean
history and its transatlantic legacy.
Femke Bakker
[email protected]
Richard Schweid. 2004. Ché’s Chevrolet, Fidel’s Oldsmobile:
On the Road in Cuba. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press. 256 pp. ISBN: 0-8078-2892-0.
I
f the Cuban Revolution holds inexplicable fascination, then
its history and current reality as seen through the lens of a
well-informed classic car enthusiast is a delectable read indeed. In
Ché’s Chevrolet, Fidel’s Oldsmobile: On the Road in Cuba, Richard
Schweid carefully and masterfully weaves the myriad stories comprising Cuba’s patrimony amidst a gritty and well-balanced look
at the history of automobile culture on the island.
Presented in a pleasant, reader-friendly format, Schweid’s
book is reminiscent of that one fantastic history professor that
every lucky arts student encounters: it teaches much while the
audience actually enjoys the journey. On the very first page of
Schweid’s “curriculum,” he introduces the subject with a flair
and style that continues throughout: “Numerous North American heroes of the Cuban Revolution, however, remain unsung,
and they do have brand names—names like Chevrolet, Ford,
Studebaker, Chrysler, Rambler, Cadillac, Plymouth, Dodge and
Buick. Unsung, but not unknown, they have served the Revolution tirelessly, and continue to do so on a daily basis, carrying its
loads, transporting its people” (p. 5). From such an introduction,
the cautious reader may become wary, fearing an overly glorified
personification of the automobiles at the expense of the more
important stories to be told, those of the Cuban people themselves. Within a few pages, such anxieties are assuaged; Schweid’s
analysis swiftly delves beneath the surface veneer, recognizing and
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relating the various struggles, contradictions and positive effects
both directly and indirectly related to cars in Cuba.
Beginning with the arrival of the “Locomobile” to Santiago
de Cuba in 1902, Schweid chronicles, in colorful detail, the socioeconomic impacts of each type of imported automobile. Often
including authentic anuncios (advertisements) that bring us into
closer contact with the consumer tastes and demands of pre-Revolutionary Cuba, great pains are taken to paint a vivid picture of
each Cuban city or province that imported a significant number of
North American autos. Apart from geographical/physical descriptors (which are very important to his discussion of the types of cars
that were popular in specific regions and why), he also provides
vital population statistics to present a complete, multidisciplinary
analysis with wide-ranging appeal. One need not be a car enthusiast nor a Cuba buff to grasp the subtle messages and sociology
lessons Schweid offers, as he transforms and transmits thoughtful
analysis with the help of famed Adalberto Roque’s photographic
talents.
From its first contacts with Cuba, says Schweid, the functionality of the automobile (car-as-transportation) superceded its
aesthetic quality (car-as-beautiful-possession). The daily needs of
Cubans across the island dictated which models were purchased
most and how they were subsequently driven. The longest-standing use of vehicles all over Cuba is as some form of taxi, especially
for the purpose of moving bodies to and from work and school.
The caption beside a photograph of a fleet of new Ford Model Ts
reads: “The ten Fords purchased by Ernesto Carricaburu in 1914
for Havana’s first taxi fleet represented the largest number of cars
imported into Cuba at the same time up until that date” (p. 33).
In the years that followed, right up to the present day, cars
in Cuba were/are usually designated to the utilitarian cause of
moving folks from one place to another. While many are simultaneously ruteros (run along predetermined routes) and cacharros
(Cuban slang meaning “jalopy”), a few are well-preserved “classic
cars” whose quaint charm affords them the luxury of being driven
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GENA CHANG-CAMPBELL
far less frequently on better roads with less weight and freight (i.e.
well-to-do tourists) than their rutero compatriots. It is these Cadillacs, Studebakers, etcetera that draw the interest of automobile
collectors, luring them (and their foreign exchange!) to purchase
the jewels of antique North American autos.
Apart from the vivid discussions and descriptions of how and
why various makes and models were used in day to day circumstances, Schweid (as mentioned earlier) also brings to life the
Revolution under the uniquely original auspices of the vehicles
that played essential supporting roles. As the book’s title indicates,
there is a fascinating section in chapter five (entitled “Ché’s Chevy
and Fidel’s Olds”) that details the fine connections linking certain
cars to definitive moments in Cuban history: “It was the lowerpriced models—the Chevrolets and the Fords and the Dodges,
along with the occasional Buick or Oldsmobile or Pontiac—that
carried the Cuban Revolution from its beginnings. Just as they
carried Fidel and Raúl Castro and Jesús Montané and Abel Santamaría to Moncada on July 26, 1953, so in the mid-1950s they
moved the members of the 26 July Movement through the streets
of Havana and Santiago de Cuba” (p. 146). By contextualizing the
automobile within the framework of Cuba’s (in)famous Revolutionary history, Schweid lends a special sense of significance as
well as expertise to his oeuvre.
Though they may be the most lauded, Cuban cars’ involvement in the Revolution is not the totality of their importance. In
February, 1958, dictator Fulgencio Batista reassured the world
that Cuba was a perfectly safe and peaceful venue for the second
annual Cuban Grand Prix. His credence, however, was dealt a
great blow when famed race car driver Juan Manuel Fangio was
kidnapped in Havana the night before the big race by none other
than the 26 July Movement. Schweid quotes one of the members:
“We are great admirers of yours, Fangio, but the 26 July Movement has decided to show the world that Cuba is living through a
tragic time of blood and death, and that it is not a time for parties
and celebrations. As soon as the race is over you’ll be set free” (p.
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159). By the end of the fiasco, Fangio was released to his family
unharmed, and won over to the rebels’ cause. As Schweid narrates
to the reader the details of this incredible incident, it’s difficult not
to be dazzled by the interest and intensity with which he writes.
A more quotidienne example of the car’s role in Cuban economic affairs that Schweid submits for our analysis is the notion
of automobiles providing “unscrupulous” means of extra income
for those Cubans creating a “lowest berth” on the automotive food
chain: the cuidadores, or caretakers. To illustrate this point, he
presents the contents of a letter of complaint reproduced in a 1953
newspaper “car column,” in which a distressed driver complains
of parqueadores’ (car parkers) and cuidadores’ discovery of how to
make a living without lifting a finger. By including such seemingly
insignificant (but truthfully, quite revealing) discussions around
the small details of precisely how cars affected (and continue to
affect) the means to a citizen’s income, Schweid invites his readers
to employ a broader framework of consideration and assessment
when taking stock of the diverse array of entrepreneurial positions
sprouting from an industry primarily associated with wealth and
convenience prior to the Revolution.
Perhaps the most poignant thrust of Ché’s Chevrolet is its
embedded commentary on the social, economic and political
realities that Cubans have lived through and continue to engage
with today. The constant battle to survive and succeed within
a cold geopolitical climate (the continuing consequence of the
brave nation’s unapologetic break with [neo]imperialism and
[post]colonialism) is present everywhere in Schweid’s writing. Yet
his distinctive focus on automobiles as the central theme of his
book allows for a nuanced, uncommonly unpretentious dialogue
around such charged issues, carefully stopping short of relegating
them to the backburner or discussing them outside of his subject’s
context. His descriptions of classic cars and their enthusiasts
juxtaposed with those of ruteros and “everyday Cubans” waiting
hours under the searing sun for a bus that may or may not come
gives graphic symbolism and texture to the contradictions inherent
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GENA CHANG-CAMPBELL
to/in la Revolución; the phenomenal gains tempered by dearth and
(sometimes nearly unbearable) self-sacrifice. The foreign tourist
situation, for instance, is paralleled by Cuba’s “cultural pillage”
by wealthy classic car collectors. As Schweid documents, no one
goes to Cuba to buy a cacharro—they go to spend money on a car
worth having, a piece of Cuba’s “automotive patrimony” and thus
its national identity. Not only do we (as foreigners) demand only
the best from Cuba’s warm tourism and intriguing character, we
also demand that its products (including the American autos that
have been maintained and kept alive only by the love and ingenuity of their Cuban owners) be continually distributed according
to an unjust tiered system that will always be anathema to what
Cuba and Cubans stand for: human equality to its most achievable
extent and Cubanidad-pride, strength and the self-identity forged
by the arduous journey of la Revolución. His examples of Cuban
“car cannibalism” poignantly demonstrate this defining national
characteristic; Cuban mechanics learned very quickly how to adapt
Russian Skoda and Lada parts to repair aging and ailing North
American autos. This ingenuity, this prevalent attitude of “Hay
que inventar” is the very fabric of Cuba’s revolutionary existence.
The Special Period stretched and scathed this fabric immensely,
but a few small (always fixable!) tears were the worst consequence
for the fiercely resolute populace. It is this attitude that Schweid’s
work highlights and challenges by performing the difficult task of
linking American autos to Cuban society, across (Revolutionary)
time and (Cuban) space, in a meaningful yet accessible way.
In citing these two examples of Schweid’s arguments and
style of observation and analysis, I did bypass others due to his
somewhat murky sourcing technique. One criticism to be leveled
at Che’s Chevrolet is its lack of detailed citations; as vital facts and
figures concerning so many aspects of Cuban history are discussed,
comprehensive notations/references to works cited would prove
extremely helpful to the avid reader/researcher. Although there is
a bibliography at the end of the book, Schweid’s readers could be
much better served by footnotes or embedded citations; we cannot
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be certain of which facts or statistics come from which source,
making it difficult to do further research or verify information.
Ché’s Chevrolet intones the enviable simplicity of life in Fidel’s
country that is, if truth be told, a touristy illusion shrouding the
complexity and contradiction that truly characterizes real Cubans’
existence. As many interviewees attest, the struggle between lofty
revolutionary ideals and good old human vanity continues to be
waged in the minds and actions of the Cuban people. While the
older generation shakes their heads and sighs, the younger one
once again turns a curious and impressionable eye towards North
America and its capitalist frame of reference for inspiration
and satisfaction. As they say in Cuba—and as Schweid reminds
us—“No es fácil”—(Life) is not easy—and neither is keeping a
’56 Corvette on the road. But both are worthwhile, and both are
what Cubans do every day.
Gena Chang-Campbell
Social and Political Thought
York University, Canada
[email protected]
Luis Miguel García-Mora y Antonio Santamaría-García,
eds. 2006. Los ingenios: Colección de vistas de los principales
ingenios de azúcar de la isla de Cuba. Madrid: Consejo
Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, CEDEX-CEHOPU,
Ediciones Doce Calles. 453 pp. Mapas, láminas, mapas e
ilustraciones. ISBN: 84-9744-048-X.
T
odos los amantes del arte y de las ciencias sociales —particularmente de la historia caribeña— hemos recibido con
beneplácito la nueva edición del libro de Los ingenios. Colección
de vistas de los principales ingenios de azúcar de la Isla de Cuba
que, con texto de Justo Germán Cantero Anderson y litografías
de Eduardo Laplante Bureau, tuvo su primera edición habanera
en 18571 y ahora ésta, que presentamos, cuyos editores han sido
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