Archaeology of the Present: The Materiality of El Yate Granma in Revolutionary Cuba Tiffany Charles A dissertation submitted to the University of Bristol in accordance with the requirements of the degree of Maritime Archaeology and History in the Faculty of Arts.  Department of Archaeology and Anthropology. Submitted: September 2011.   Word Count: 16,167 Abstract This paper sets out to establish the materiality of the Cuban Revolutionary vessel Granma and its importance as a nationalistic symbol within the country’s socialist ideology. It will outline the history of archeology in Cuba through brief discussions on various subdisciplines in order to set the backdrop for the introduction of Granma into the archeological record. Both the archeology of the boat and the analysis of the Cuban Revolution as heritage will be approached from a theoretical perspective. The material culture of the yacht will be examined through a number of examples including government-sponsored art and murals, commemorative ephemera, and the renaming of the landscape, all of which reflect the country’s twentieth-century successful battle for independence. Acknowledgments I would like to express my gratitude to the following people and organizations, each having contributed uniquely to the completion of this work: The Santander Group, for providing the travel grant that made the research in Cuba possible. Dr. Matthew Brown of the Latin American Studies Department at the University of Bristol, whose guidance and contributions proved of great help in the preparations for the trip. Alejandro Mirabal, who provided me with archaeology contacts in Cuba I would never have been able to secure alone. Roger Arrazcaeta Delgado, Luis Francés, Raul Mesa and everyone at the Gabinete de Archaeología who not only provided information vital to this study, but made every effort to ensure the success of this work. Darla Charles, without whose support and unwavering confidence this entire year spent in Bristol working toward this Master’s Degree would never have been possible. I can never repay the debt. Carrie Parks, whose encouragement inspired abilities I did not think I possessed and whose help has proved invaluable to this project. Finally, I would like to thank all the people in Havana and throughout the country for their hospitality, warmth and openness. Though they cannot all be named here, each who was willing to speak freely and without reservation has added to this essay and I am truly grateful. It is to the Cuban people, who, like my host family - mi familia cubana - took me in and treated me as one of their own, that this work is dedicated. Author’s Declaration I declare that the work in this dissertation was carried out in accordance with the Regulations of the University of Bristol.  The work is original except where indicated by special reference in the text and no part of the dissertation has been submitted for any other degree. Any views expressed in the dissertation are those of the author and in no way represent those of the University of Bristol. The dissertation has not been presented to any other University for examination either in the United Kingdom or overseas. SIGNED: DATE: TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER 1 – Introduction 1 Methodology 3 CHAPTER 2 – A Brief History of Cuban Archaeology 5 Prehistoric and Pre-Columbian Archaeology 6 Historical and Urban Archaeology and the Preservation of Cuba’s Recent Past 10 Maritime Archaeology and Heritage 18 Theoretical Archaeology and Archaeological Theory 21 Summary 22 CHAPTER 3 – The Revolution in the Cuban Cultural Context 24 Granma and Castro’s Crusade 24 Representations of the Revolution and the Commodification of Che 28 CHAPTER 4 – The Representations and Materiality of Granma 36 El Yate Granma 36 Commemoration 40 Replicas and Models 40 Collectible Ephemera 43 What’s in a Name? 44 The Art of Revolution 49 CONCLUSION 57 APPENDICES 61 PLATES 65 BIBLIOGRAPHY 72 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Cover Image: Granma replica on parade, URL: http://www.independent.co.uk/multimedia/archive/00016/granma_16673s.jpg 1.1 Map of Cuba’s World Heritage Sites 2 2.1 Hatuey Beer Label 8 2.2 Hatuey Beer Label 8 2.3 Hatuey Beer Label 8 2.4 Vedado, 1950s, Havana, Cuba 11 2.5 Map of Havana and surrounding areas 12 2.6 Decaying Buildings along the Malecón, Havana 12 2.7 Before and After, Plaza Vieja, Old Havana 13 2.8 Before and After, Plaza Vieja, Old Havana 13 2.9 Excavation at La Muralla, Havana, Cuba 14 2.10 Paintings found on the walls of the Archaeology Museum, Havana 15 2.11 Detail of paintings found on the walls of the Archaeology Museum, Havana 15 2.12 Detail of paintings found on the walls of the Archaeology Museum, Havana 15 2.13 Urban Archaeology in Havana 16 2.14 Map of Cuba’s Historic Towns 17 2.15 Slave Quarters on Sugar Plantation, Pinar del Rio, Cuba 17 2.16 Ballast-cobbled streets, Trinidad, Cuba 20 3.1 Committee for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR) logo 27 3.2 Billboard featuring Antonio Maceo and Che Guevara 29 3.3 Rare billboard featuring Granma 29 3.4 Popular mural, image used for souvenirs 31 3.5 Fidel Castro dolls for sale 31 3.6 26 of July Movement flag 32 3.7 Korda’s photograph of Che Guevara 33 3.8 Che t-shirts for sale at the Museum of the Revolution 34 4.1 Depiction of rebels wading to shore after Granma landing 37 4.2 Granma Memorial, Museum of the Revolution, Havana 39 4.3 Granma on exhibit, Museum of the Revolution, Havana 39 4.4 Silvio Rodriguez accepts replica from Raul Castro 41 4.5 Raul Castro and boy pose next to Granma replica 41 4.6 Fidel Castro and girl with Granma replica 41 4.7 Moncada Barracks, Santiago de Cuba 42 4.8 Commemorative pins 44 4.9 Entering Granma Province 45 4.10 Granma Landing Site gangway, Playa las Coloradas 47 4.11 Path through the Sierra Maestra, Granma Province 48 4.12 Artwork utilizing Granma newspaper 51 4.13 Granma newspaper 51 4.14 Political mural in Old Havana 52 4.15 Cinco Palmas, Old Havana 53 4.16 Detail of Granma painting, Cinco Palmas, Old Havana 53 4.17 El Arca de la Libertad, Museum of the Revolution 54 4.18 Mural featuring Granma, Cerro, Cuba 55 4.19 Mural featuring Granma, Old Havana, Cuba 55 4.20 Mural featuring Granma route, Vedado District, Havana 56 5.1 Granma arrives in Havana 59 Plate 1 Prisoner-made coconut cup, Museum of the Revolution 65 Plate 2 Figure used for target practice in Mexico, Museum of the Revolution 65 Plate 3 Raul Castro wearing M-26-J armband 66 Plate 4 M-26-J armband, Museum of the Revolution 66 Plate 5 Revolutionary Comic Book 66 Plate 6 Detail of Revolutionary Comic Book 67 Plate 7 Granma sweatshirt 67 Plate 8 Print of Granma featuring Che Guevara 67 Plate 9 Print of Granma 68 Plate 10 Granma Expedition photo booklet 68 Plate 11 Detail of Granma Expedition photo booklet 68 Plate 12 Granma Museum in Tuxpan, Mexico 69 Plate 13 Map of Granma Province and sites 69 Plate 14 “Archeology of the Present”, Havana, Cuba 70 Plate 15 Political tile mosaic, Old Havana 71 Plate 16 Peeling mural, Havana, Cuba 71  Chapter 1 Introduction The triumph of Fidel Castro’s 26th of July Movement in 1959, and the subsequent declaration of Cuba as a socialist state significantly affected the cultural landscape of the island. Once considered a playground for American mobsters and pleasure-seekers, the hotels and casinos were transformed into public housing and governmental buildings. The last vestiges of capitalism and consumerism were replaced by symbolic representations of the Revolution and Marxist ideology. Granma, the yacht which brought Fidel Castro and his men to the Cuban shores in 1959, is perhaps the most prevalent material evidence of Revolutionary iconography. It is often associated with patria or heritage or, as one young man simply concluded, “the story of Cuba” (Xavier, pers. comm. 2011, see Appendix A). This observation is crucial to the position of this study because it implies that the Revolution is the story of Cuba; every event has led up to this point in the country’s history. The archaeology of Granma is enveloped in socialist rhetoric and nationalist pride. The interpretation of the boat, therefore, is inextricably tied to the politics of the socialist state. It is this connection that leads to the identification of the boat as an example of revolutionary archaeology. Cuba is a vibrant country which has seen a great deal of conflict and intervention. Nicholas Saunders describes the Caribbean as a “palimpsest of astonishing contrasts that…has been and continues to be defined by outside influences” (2005:xxii). Indeed, the Cuban landscape has been partially formed by the influence of Spain, France and the United States among others. Its rich heritage and diverse architectural and cultural landscape is reflected in its impressive nine UNESCO World Heritage sites (UNESCO 2011, see figure 1.1), of which seven have been designated for their cultural significance. These sites will be looked at in greater detail and examined as they pertain to archaeology and the production of Granma as material culture. Cuba has been affected by the ideology of the nationalistic and insular government and the international consequences of these politics in the era of globalization. In fact, the socialist principles have contributed to the “vibrant cultural traditions and deep historical contradictions” (Saunders 2005:xxii) and have formed the archeological record addressed Figure 1.1 UNESCO World Heritage Sites, from West to East: Viñales Valley, Old Havana and its Fortifications, Urban Historic Centre of Cienfuegos, Trinidad and the Valley de los Ingenios, Historic Centre of Camagüey, Desembarco Del Granma National Park, San Pedro de la Roca Castle, Santiago de Cuba, Archaeological Landscape of the First Coffee Plantations in the South-East of Cuba, Alejandro de Humboldt National Park. URL: http://whc.unesco.org/en/statesparties/cu.      here. As will be demonstrated throughout this work, it is impossible to separate the state from the archaeology. Kohl states that nationalist archaeology refers “not only to [the archaeological] record, but also to the policies adopted by the state that make use of archaeologists and their data for nation-building purposes” (1998:227). This essay, while revealing the use of heritage and collective memory to further the socialist agenda, will also explore how Cuba’s nationalist sentiments create a truly unique study, combining maritime, historic and combat archaeology within the society’s socialist construct. The aims of this dissertation are outined below: To establish the archaeological framework of contemporary Cuba - The second chapter endeavors to summarize the subdisciplines through both practical and theoretical discourse. To set up the context in which Granma is instituted in Cuban heritage – The third chapter examines the beginnings of the Revolution, socialist propaganda devices and their bearings on unification and collective memory. It also serves as an introduction of the materiality Granma as a revolutionary object-turned-icon by juxtaposing it with the commodification of other representations of the Revolution. To demonstrate Granma’s role as the quintessential symbol of Revolutionary Cuba – Chapter four lays out how the yacht has been “redefined and put to use” (Appadurai 1986:67) through an archaeological interpretation of its material evidence. Methodology The material culture of the Revolution and specifically of Granma is necessarily reviewed from a theoretical angle. This approach allows for an interdisciplinary analysis of not only the boat itself but also the cultural and physical landscape in which it is situated. Additionally, anthropological concepts permit further study through an understanding of both collective and individual memory and how these are affected by socialist rhetoric. The survey of this icon of Cuba’s maritime material culture was in large part conducted on the island and therefore phenomenology played a vital role in the assessment of the Granma memorial in Havana as well as in reviewing the various namesake landscapes. In an attempt to create true authenticity, interviews were conducted in both an official capacity, as in the case of the Gabinete de Archaeología, and through informal discussions with Cubans from disparate backgrounds. This approach leads to a more complete picture of the sociocultural setting in which Granma has been interpreted. Further, unofficial research conducted in Cuba in 2003 was incorporated into this study as appropriate to the subject. This field work has been compiled and synthesized through the use of archaeological, anthropological and material culture texts and scholarly publications. Primary sources and the field notes of Cuban archeologists were consulted when possible, but for reasons to be explained in chapter two these materials were scarce and largely outdated. Though much of the material culture of the boat is in fact tangible, for example the political wall murals and public art, it is the intangible heritage (Schofield 2005:89) of these things that have the greatest impact on Cuban culture. Therefore the importance of theoretical archaeology to this study is paramount to creating the life history of Granma within the Cuban cultural context. Because an object such as the Granma, which has no archaeological record in the traditional sense, would not be approached from an archaeological perspective, this biography can “make salient what otherwise remain[s] obscure” (Appadurai 1986:67). The methods of investigation utilized in this study have been geared toward the interdisciplinary interpretation of a non-traditional archaeological artifact. Inquiring into the material culture of a contemporary object in Cuba is challenging because of the limited scope of material culture studies in the country in addition to the rarity of theoretical archaeology as an instrument of investigation. However, archaeological practice is “concerned with creating a record, interpreting the record and asking questions of it” (Schofield 2005:34). This essay sets out to create a record of the Granma that had not been produced – that of its archeological materiality. Because of the political implications this also means an exploration of the country’s culture, conflict heritage and utilization of collective memory. While often drawing on research in anthropology and other social sciences, it is asserted here that the approach is “essentially an archaeological one” (ibid:80). Chapter 2 A Brief History of Cuban Archaeology This chapter will not be a detailed account of the various eras of Cuban archaeology since it was first manifested as the Sociedad Arqueológica de la Isla de Cuba in 1877 (see Curet, et.al., eds. 2005; Kepecs, et. al., eds. 2010). Rather, the goal is to enlighten the reader on how much has been done, in which areas the work has focused and which have been neglected. It will also look at why archaeology has moved in these directions, concentrating on the political and theoretical aspects of this query. The notion that Cuban archaeology has been “frozen in time” (Curet 2005:18) since the 1959 Revolution is an erroneous one. This idea, as expressed by Davis (1996), is common and not exclusive to archaeology. The concept of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ seems to plague Cuba in most professional fields outside of medicine and education. There are two major reasons noted for this oversight. First, as Ewen explains, the vast amount of work and research done by non-Cubans in Cuba is “virtually impossible to obtain outside the country in which they were published even if scholars knew of their existence” (2001:4). The second issue is much more common in Cuba; that of the actual lack of publication compounded by difficulty of dissemination of that which is published. This problem is uniquely Cuban because scholars are not only subjected to the inherent, geographical insularity of an island country, but also faced with the limitations imposed by the Cuban government and exacerbated by the economic (and scholarly/academic) embargo imposed by the United States. Many scholars have taken exception to Davis’s assertion that “Cuba’s archaeologists, mirroring Cuban society more broadly, are hesitantly but persistently soliciting greater cooperation with North America” [emphasis added] (1996:60). The fact is that ideology and nationalism play a large role in Cuban archaeology, particularly in the materiality of Granma. Yet Davis’s blanket statement over-simplifies the matter. Certainly it is possible that there are some archaeologists who prefer to limit his or her professional contact to those within the country, but those people would be in the minority. Roger Arrazcaeta Delgado, Director of the Gabinete de Archaeología (the Archaeological division of the Office of the City Historian in Havana), expressed his enthusiasm for this project and hope that it could lead to greater collaborative efforts between Cuba and international archaeologists (Roger Arrazcaeta pers. comm. 2011, see Appendix B). He pointed out that Davis’s article referenced “a dark time” in Cuba’s recent past, when anything that did not have a Marxist approach was “not even approved for publication…[and] from the ideological point of view there was a rejection of whatever came from the capitalist world” (ibid). Now, however, archaeologists have a great deal of freedom of expression. Though there is a lack of scholarly publications on Cuban archaeology, particularly by Cubans in the field, this situation is changing (see Dacal Moure and Watters 2005; Curet 2005; La Rosa Corzo 2005). The Cuban population itself is more accessible than in the past and this essay is a testament to this greater accessibility. As Kohl states, “Recent histories of archaeology…have stressed the social and political setting in which the discipline functions – its social dimension. This concern inevitably leads to a consideration of archaeology’s relationship to the political unit or state in which it functions” (1998:224). The validity of this statement will be demonstrated in the pages that follow as Cuba exemplifies this comingling of state and social science. The sections of this chapter are divided into subdisciplines of archaeology, looking at each both in their historical context and with a theoretical perspective. Prehistoric and Pre-Columbian Archaeology As is the case in much of Caribbean and Latin American archaeology, Cuba’s attention has long been focused on prehistoric and pre-Columbian eras. Since interest was initially turned toward the material remains and scarce cultural remnants of the indigenous people, archaeologists have been excavating and collecting artifacts from these sites. While most of those working in Cuba at the time could be loosely defined as antiquarians, the Sociedad Arqueológica de la Isla de Cuba provided an outlet for international and Antillean archaeological debate (Dacal Moure & Watters 2005: 30). Not surprisingly, the first professional archaeologist on the island was a Spaniard. However, the influence of Cuban-born archaeologists is vital to this area of study and its relationship to nationalism. Miguel Rodriguez Ferrer contributed significantly not only to the study of material and cultural remains of Cuba’s native population, but also introduced Cuba as fertile ground for anthropological and archaeological study on an international stage. In 1881, Rodriguez Ferrer presented a paper entitled Los Terrícolas Cubanos (literally earth-dwelling or terrestrial Cubans), at the Congreso Internacional de Americanistas (International Congress of Americanists) in Madrid. The paper addressed what could be gleaned from the material culture of the island’s pre-Columbian inhabitants (Rodriguez Ferrer 1881). Excavations such as that at Guayabo Blanco “played a prominent role in the study of Cuba’s indigenous populations” (Decal Moure & Watters 2005:31-32) and buoyed the careers of native Cuban archeologists and anthropologists. The pride with which the Cuban population views these archaeological remains is evident in the country’s more contemporary material culture as well. Cuban billboards are well known and will be covered in chapter three, but rather than the political billboards strewn about the highways, this reference is to billboards old and new, depicting “idealized views of Native American and African communities” (Berman, et. al. 2005:42). Described as idealized, these are not meant to be inferred as derogatory in the way that American advertisements depicted African Americans in the early twentieth century. However, this is debatable (see figures 2.1 – 2.3). According to Berman, et. al., “Prehistory, though represented through these popular but highly symbolic…images, is taken seriously in Cuba” (2005:43). Images such as that of Hatuey, a Taíno chief and the “first Cuban rebel” grace the labels of beer bottles; yet this form of material culture doesn’t (just) sell beer, it “emphasizes themes of struggle and resistance…[in] prehistory…[and is] memorialized throughout the country at….sites associated with archaeology (ibid).” There is also irony in the particular example as this icon of Cuban martyrdom is now being depicted on beer produced in Baltimore, Maryland. The Bacardi Company, which created the brew migrated to the U.S. after the Revolution. Irony, it will be seen, is a recurrent theme within the material culture of the Cuban Revolution. Still, the conjuring of past historic figures and struggles is something the revolutionary government does with great effect. Figures 2.1 -2.3 Labels for Hatuey beer depicting Cuba’s ‘first rebel’ in various caricatures. URLs: clockwise from top: blogs.menupages.com/southflorida/hatuey.JPG 4.bp.blogspot.com/-YuyyJFogc2Y/TfvM-CpcGBI/AAAAAAAACgY/Sb0- qGiZHWc/s400/Hatuey+Beer+Coaster.GIF www.cubacollectibles.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/hatuey-malta-cia-bacardi-f.jpg Nearly a century after Rodriguez Ferrer presented his paper, Cuban archaeology was still largely prehistorically focused. José Manuel Guarch Delmonte, a respected archaeologist and the focus of Davis’s article, played an important role in the early post-triumph days. He is well-known for his investigation into the Taíno civilization and their material culture, particularly on the eastern end of the island. In fact, a large collection of Taíno pottery as well as dozens of petroglyphs were discovered in the Parque Nacional Desembarco del Granma (Desembarco Del Granma National Park) (UNEP 2008), an UNESCO World Heritage Site and subject of a quite different archaeological examination in chapter four. Another pre-Columbian/prehistoric pioneer was anthropologist Fernando Ortiz. Ortiz coined the term transculturation in attempting to explain the complex nature of Cuba’s cultural heritage. He stated that this was a more fitting term that acculturation because in Cuba “the terms Ciboney, Taíno, Spaniard, Jew, English, French, Anglo-American, Negro, Yucatec, Chinese, and Creole do not mean merely the different elements that go into the makeup of the Cuban nation” (1947/1995: 99) and the transition from or absorption of one by the other, but rather the comingling of these disparate groups to create a population that is distinctively Cuban. This hybrid race is of importance both to the study of the survival of indigenous tradition and genealogy as well as to the application of archaeology and anthropology to government’s revolutionary rhetoric. Trigger’s suggestion, as explained by Kohl is that “archeologists establishing their…prehistoric sequences could provide a justifiable collective pride in the past and help resist colonial and imperial dominations” (1998:230). Though a wider archeological net has now been cast, prehistoric and pre-Columbian archaeology can still be considered the most widely-practiced and publicized discipline in both anthropology and archaeology; Cuba Arqueológica, the country’s online archaeological newsletter, is rife with topics such as “Aboriginal Yaguaramas Findings” (Moreno Fernández 2011) and “Cuba: Pinar, once the refuge of the Mesolithic native Indian” (Mireles Adalys 2011a, see also cubaarqueologica.org). However, the work of the current generation of archaeologists in urban and historical archaeology (and to a lesser degree, maritime), is beginning to be seen as not only important but vital to Cuban heritage and culture. In a fairly direct way, it is proving to be the cornerstone of the government’s urgent attempt to save socialism since the demise of the Communist Bloc. Historical and Urban Archaeology and the Preservation of Cuba’s Recent Past Though world-renowned for its almost surreal architectural marvels spanning five centuries, it took the possibility of the collapse of socialism, of the Revolution, for major work to begin on conserving and preserving a vital part of Cuba’s heritage. Havana suffered the most neglect between the 1960s and the mid-1980s as the new revolutionary government focused on what they consider basic human rights: education, decent housing and access to medical care. Considering that Havana was at that time the heart of the ‘capitalist playground’ – rife with corruption, gambling, drugs and prostitution – the justification for the disregard of the capital city is two-fold. Firstly, it represented elitism and a class-based society (figure 2.4); something the rebeldes dismantled with haste but neglected to fully replace in those early days, leaving a social and cultural vacuum. Secondly, the new regime justifiably concentrated on those populations in the most desperate situations and this was undoubtedly in the remote rural areas of the country. In 1960, Campaña Nacional de Alfabetización en Cuba, a massive movement geared toward spreading literacy across the island was launched in which they “had already began [sic] to mobilise the entire country…for what would become the world's most ambitious and organised literacy campaign” (The Independent 2010). During this time of rural improvement, Havana suffered being the wealthy symbol of colonialism in the new socialist society. The most obvious signs of this can still be seen today: centuries-old buildings are collapsing throughout the historic district as well as Central Havana, the area just West of Central Havana known as Vedado and nearby suburbs such as Cerro (figures 2.5 – 2.6). Eusebio Leal, the city historian and driving force behind the current conservation effort, stated that his predecessors were “very constant in the defense of the city’s heritage” and that he “modestly [continues] what...others did before the triumph of the Revolution” (Barrio 2011). Yet it wasn’t until UNESCO listed La Habana Vieja as a World Heritage Site in 1982 (UNESCO 1982) that the government finally acknowledged the need to address the deterioration plaguing the city. It was in that year that the Oficina del Historiador de la Ciudad de La Habana (Office of the Historian of the City of Havana) was created to tackle the problem. Though some Figure 2.4 Vedado. Havana, Cuba 1950. URL: www6.worldisround.com/photos/29/317/349.jpg efforts were made, the government only really looked to saving the historic district when it became the focal point of the Revolution’s last-ditch effort to save itself. This assertion is justified given that a total of 57 buildings were restored between 1981 and 1993 (Williams 2007), yet after the government started its major tourism campaign the number rose to almost 300 between 1994 and 2004 (ibid). The government turned to tourism, finally allowing outsiders to visit, only when the country entered El Periodo Especial and Cuba was plummeted into a severe depression. The socialist state, on the brink of collapse, needed hard currency and those outside wanted in; it was a strategic move on the part of the Cuban regime, a way of determining “what the past can do for the present” (Burke 1999:207). Though it has proved highly successful, it has not been without seriously detrimental effects to the cultural landscape. Figure 2.5 Map of Old Havana (La Habana Vieja) and Western areas URL: http://g.co/maps/a3w6 Figure 2.6 Buildings on the brink of collapse along the Malecón. Photo by author. Though started much later than would have been advisable, with consequences that merit serious debate which cannot be covered here, the efforts of the City Historian’s Office have been impressive. Restoration of the plazas of Old Havana is nearly complete, and the scaffolding is now being erected up and down the narrow, residential streets of the historic area. No one who has witnessed the change over the last ten years can question the fact that archeologically and architecturally the ends have justified the means (figures 2.7 – 2.8). Figures 2.7 – 2.8 Plaza Vieja in Old Havana, before and after restoration. Courtesy of the the Gabinete de Archaeología, Havana Cuba. The most remarkable aspect of this work is the collaborative efforts of all departments involved and the genuine interest in preserving the archaeological integrity of the restored sites. As Domínguez points out, international guidelines were set out in 1964 which state that “restoration of historical features requires archaeological treatment” (2005:65). Cuba has adhered to this guideline strictly; the Department of Archaeology is consulted throughout the restoration process and evidence of this can be seen throughout the city (figure 2.9). Figure 2.9 La Muralla: Archaeological Evidence, La Habana Vieja. Photo by author. Dr. Arrazcaeta notes that all of Old Havana is an architectural archeology site (pers. comm. 2011) (see figures 2.10 – 2.13). Of course, historical and urban archaeology can be seen on every street in the city of Havana and arguably every city in the country. The museums are full of what to the Cubans often consider historia or the more commonly used patrimonio (heritage) but can easily be argued to be contemporary or conflict archaeology artifacts (see plates 1 - 4). Figures 2.10 – 2.12 Murals uncovered during restoration at the Museum of Archaeology in Havana, also home to the Gabinete de Archaeología. Photo by Raul Mesa, courtesy of the the Gabinete de Archaeología, Havana Cuba. As Leal points out, the work started in Havana has spread throughout the country, to provinces such as Santiago de Cuba and Camagüey (Barrio 2011, see map, figure 2.14). However, cities such as Santiago de Cuba and Trinidad have long been considered gems of the island and in turn have long benefited from this status. The importance of Santiago de Cuba as a port city is exemplified by the San Pedro de la Roca Castle - another UNESCO World Heritage Site – the fort is described as “the most complete, best-preserved example of Spanish-American military architecture” (UNESCO 1997). For similar architectural and archaeological reasons, the colonial city of Trinidad, along with Valle de Los Ingenios (Valley of the Sugar Mills) were declared world heritage sites in 1988. According to the UNESCO, Trinidad is “an outstanding example of a colonial city…featuring the highest percentage of surviving antique buildings and public squares and bringing together architectural, historic and cultural elements of great value” (UNESCO 1988) while the Valle de Los Ingenios is considered a “living museum” with “75 ruined sugar mills, summer mansions [and] barracks” (ibid). Figure 2.13 “We believe in the Revolution” – Urban Archaeology in Havana. Photo by author. There has indeed been a great deal of time, effort and government funding put into preserving the archaeology of Cuba’s sugar and coffee plantations (see Mireles Adalys 2011b; Domínguez 1991; UNESCO 2000, see figure 2.15). Certainly part of the motivation is politically strategic; these archeological sites are successful at drawing tourists away from the capital city to more remote villages and towns. Burke explains this as “choosing which parts of the story are best” in terms of what is most salable (1999:198). Still Cuba’s heritage and preservation efforts throughout the country are striking and the island’s large number of World Heritage sites is a decent gauge with which it can be compared on an international scale. Figure 2.14 Map of historic towns of Cuba. Map by Christopher Holland and author. Figure 2.15 French sugar plantation slave quarters, Pinar del Rio, Cuba. Photo by author. The politically and economically isolated island, spanning just less than 110,000 square kilometers, boasts nine World Heritage sites, including Viñales Valley (1999), the Urban Historic Centre of Cienfuegos (2005) and the Historic Centre of Camagüey (2008) (see UNESCO 2011, also map, figure 1.1).  Comparing this with the United States’ eight cultural sites, and the Dominican Republic’s and Haiti’s one each (ibid), Cuba’s standing is an indication of the remarkable character of the country’s cultural and archaeological landscapes. Cuba’s unique political and cultural history greatly affects its archaeology. Lourdes S. Domínguez, in listing the terms popularly used in Latin America, effectively demonstrates the range of labels, which can become so abstract or specialized as to render them redundant or needlessly overly-exclusive: In Latin America, current appellations for the practice of Historical Archaeology include Colonial Archaeology, Archaeology of Colonial Levels, Historic Archaeology, Urban Archaeology, “Novohispana” Archaeology, Archaeology of the Recent Past, Archaeology of Recent Capitalism, and Archaeology of Imperialism, among others (2005: 64). While descriptive and creative, this division and subdivision of a subdiscipline of archaeology only adds to the difficulty in establishing the progress Cuba has made. What should be taken away from this discussion is that Historical and Urban Archaeology have been the basis for much of the work done in Cuba since 1968 and that the “projects were [and are] systematic and organized efforts” (ibid:66). The centuries of war, strife, colonialism and massive economic fluctuations have left Cuba with a truly unique cultural and physical landscape. These resultant landscapes make the city of Havana as well as the entire country “the dream of any historical archaeologist” (ibid:67). Maritime Archaeology and Heritage Evidence of Cuba’s maritime heritage is as ubiquitous as that of its colonial past. From the fortresses La Cabaña and Castillo del Morro and the USS Maine monument in Havana to the historic ports of Matanzas and Santiago de Cuba to the ballast-cobbled streets of Trinidad, it is virtually impossible to miss the importance of maritime culture. Cuba is so steeped in this history that it is inseparable from all other aspects of the cultural landscape. The implications of maritime heritage are so far-reaching - from the import of the religion Santería by slaves shipped from Africa to work the sugar plantations to the unsuccessful CIA-sponsored Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961 – that this section will inevitably only cover a fraction of the possible areas of investigation. Also for these reasons Cuba’s maritime archaeology will be found to overlap its historical archaeology in many instances. The areas selected have been for their pertinence to Cuban culture as well as the ties to historical and theoretical archaeology, both significant to the argument of this essay. The focal point of the maritime section of the archeological division of the city of Havana is that of shipwrecks on the seabed, yet it is not grounded in empirical work; rather it has “basically been based on reading articles” (Roger Arrazcaeta pers. comm. 2011). While hopes from years ago that documentation and information on Cuban maritime archaeology would be easily available by now (Leshikar-Denton 2002:290) might not have come to fruition, Cuban professionals in this field are not only making efforts to continue projects that are attainable, they continually try to raise awareness to Cuba’s maritime heritage. According to Luis Francés of the maritime division, the Gabinete de Archaeología has been able to excavate and fully document only 23 of the 100 surveyed wrecks off the coast (pers. comm. 2011). Much of this work is done internally but it was not long ago that international salvage companies were involved and the results were unfortunately, but not unpredictably, “disastrous” (ibid). During the Special Period most work not necessary to survival was halted. This of course included the expensive efforts in underwater excavation. It was at this time that Cuba agreed to work with international salvage companies on selected projects. While there are different schools of thought on this debate (see Ewan 2001:13), the Cuban government and its archaeological agencies originally saw this as a necessary evil. These collaborations were terminated in 2008, because as evidenced by countless examples around the world “those private companies were mostly concerned with piracy” (Luis Francés pers. comm. 2011) and the Cuban government was increasingly concerned with the destruction of their patrimonio subacuático. In contrast, the 1980s saw the state-run underwater archaeology organization Carisub working on wrecks such as the Ines de Soto, a literal treasure of a 17th century Spanish galleon. The excavation was carried out over numerous years “according to the best archaeological practice” (divernet.com n.d.). According to this pre-1998 publication (see Appendix C) the Cuban government spared no expense on these projects, many carried out meticulously over numerous years (ibid; also for a comprehensive history of Cuba colonial shipwrecks see López Pérez 2011). This observation is in stark contrast to information available today: “It is idle. It is doing nothing” (Luis Francés pers. comm. 2011). These days, rather than salvaging gold and emeralds from Spanish treasure ships, the Gabinete de Archaeología is removing tiles from the Bay of Havana to be installed at the Archeology Museum (Nuñez Fernandez 2011). While this work is perhaps less glamorous than that conducted by Carisub, as Luis Francés points out, they simply do not have the resources needed to conduct large-scale underwater excavations but still they “are trying to do something” (pers. comm.. 2011). Maritime archaeology, of course, is not simply the exploration of shipwrecks. Indeed, given the evidence on the island, the richest maritime culture may be found on dry land. The streets of Trinidad, for example, are paved with old ship ballast (figure 2.16). Important not only to the maritime heritage of the city, this reuse of a common material is an indication of the ingenuity and efficiency of the people. The materiality of the very cobbles on which people tread imbues Cuba’s cities with archaeological importance and historical relevance. Cuba’s maritime heritage can be found to have influenced architecture as well. The hollow curve of the ceiling of the Santa Clara chapel in Old Havana “reflects the similar design of the ships hulls built during the colonial era…[a result of the fact that] building construction trades and shipbuilders often worked in tandem in the 17th and 18th centuries” (Scarpaci and Portela 2009:52). Figure 2.16 Ballast-cobbled street, Trinidad, Cuba. URL: www.pictureninja.com/pages/cuba/cobblestone-street-in-trinidad.jpg Naturally there is a need to briefly point out the quintessential revolutionary maritime icon, the Granma. The archaeology of this ship is overtly theoretical as this examination will approach both “the multivariate expressions of the ship-as-symbol” and “the nature of the ‘maritime cultural landscape’” (Flatman 2003:143). . Theoretical Archaeology and Archeological Theory Theoretical archaeology in Cuba is virtually non-existent. That is to say, there appears to be no Cuban scholarly work categorized under that subject heading. Archaeological theory is a different matter. Cuban archaeologists are well-versed in archaeological theory and apply it to the interpretations of the fieldwork being conducted around the country. The distinction between theoretical archaeology and archaeological theory, for the purpose of this paper, is that while archaeological theory can be applied to a number of subdisciplines, it is used to interpret that which is found within an archaeological site or record. Theoretical archaeology, on the other hand, is the application of ‘Material Culture Anthropology’ to archaeology. Theoretical archaeology allows that non-traditional objects and symbols can be studied through an archaeological lens, and therefore actually become archaeology, in this case the yacht Granma and its varied manifestations. It is the latter definition that is scarce within Cuban archaeology. It may however, be applied to studies conducted outside this discipline. Based on some of Binford’s assertions (1962), Cuba’s published anthropological studies can be viewed as theoretical archaeology, but would never be described so in their terms. The analysis of the effects of weather and climate on Cuban identity by Luis Enrique Ramos Guadalupe is a good example of this (2006). The paper discusses the folklore, customs and traditions surrounding meteorological activity and how “half a millennium of historical memory” has become a part of Cuban cultural heritage and collective memory (ibid). From the standpoint of theoretical archaeology, this study of the traditions passed down through the generations and the modification of old customs to conform to the needs of contemporary people, this could qualify as archaeology of Cuban tropical weather; it could be considered “archaeology as anthropology” (Binford 1962). This draws attention to the importance of interdisciplinary interpretation. Roger Arrazcaeta explains the need for interdisciplinary input in the archaeological context: “by itself archeology cannot interpret social aspects…[empirical archaeology can answer] ‘what, when, how’ but you need answers for the different and many ‘whys’ ” which is where combining the different resources can prove a valuable resource (pers. comm. 2011). It is this interdisciplinary approach to material culture that is lacking and with which it is intended to interpret the materiality of Granma. Aside from occasional articles in the Gabinete de Archaeología’s yearly publication under the heading of “archaeological thought”, there just is not much written on the subject (ibid). However, it is important to note that the fact that little is published “does not mean in Cuba [archaeologists] do not think theoretically” (ibid). They apply various theoretical interpretations to their fieldwork. In the case of theoretical archaeology, it is possible that the insular nature of the county could be partly responsible for the lack of dissemination of work in the area. It is the intention of the following chapters to expand the scope of archaeological practice to include objects such as the Granma in its cultural landscape and in the collective memory of the Cuban people. Summary The purpose of this chapter has been to paint a broad picture of the practice of archaeology in Cuba and give a sampling of the materiality and theory involved in the archaeological landscape. An attempt has been made to include those disciplines within archaeology that have the greatest impact in that country. Prehistoric and pre-Columbian studies have by far been the most thoroughly covered of the four discussed. This area pre-dates the Revolution, whereas focus on the others is far more recent. In the past thirty years attention has dramatically shifted to Historical and Urban archaeology with the implementation of major restoration efforts in the historic district in Havana and the rise in tourism throughout the country. Maritime archaeology, however, has been most affected by the economic difficulties that country has been facing for years. Still, the limitations on underwater research do not affect the wealth of maritime culture and heritage found in every corner of the island. In fact it would be beneficial for archaeologists to direct their collective gaze on this largely untapped area of research. Finally, the apparent limited work done in the areas of archeological theory and theoretical archaeology could have several causes. Firstly, the overall focus on fieldwork leaves a void in the scholarly publications in this area. Further, the relatively new discipline of theoretical archaeology may have yet to be seriously considered on the island. The brief outlines given are far from complete or comprehensive histories of Cuban archaeology. The basic information on these archaeologies is meant to provide a backdrop for the discussions of heritage and Cuban culture to follow in the next two chapters. Chapter 3 The Revolution in the Cuban Culture Context In discussing Foucault’s early work, Tilley explains that the word ‘archaeology’ can be used as a metaphor for “digging down, uncovering concealed layers” (1999a:305), regardless of discipline. This chapter will expose the political underpinnings that brought Granma to Cuba and led to the collection of representations of it found in Cuba’s material culture today. This is the boat that carried Fidel Castro from exile in Mexico to begin the final phase of his attack on the Batista regime. In order to explore the archaeology of the Granma, it is essential to address the “time, culture and identity” (Thomas 1996:11) that preceded its arrival. The most important components to the Revolution – those that started it as well as those that sustain it – will be addressed here through a theoretical approach. With the explanation of the ‘birth of a revolution’ comes an analysis of its importance to the primary industry of today’s Cuba: tourism. This will be approached through a review of how the government chooses to portray the Revolution as heritage, history and culture, using billboards and wall murals as the main means of communication, and how these are perceived by both the locals and visitors. Finally, there is the ideological dilemma of the “socialist revolution [which] sought largely to realign Cuba’s imagery abroad with a moralistic national self-image” (Roland 2010:4) that now has commodified the Revolution through the sale of its iconic symbols to the (largely) capitalist portion of visitors to the island. Granma and Castro’s Crusade When Castro led his rebeldes on an attack of the Moncada barracks on June 26, 1953 he was preparing for a long battle. Szulc states that “[getting] rid of Batista was just another stage” of his plans (1986:150). His goal was a free Cuba and his motivation was always a sense of nationalistic pride and belief that Cuba needed to form its own identity. For him, the only way to do that was to get the people behind him and remove the imperial powers. That could only happen by the overthrow of the puppet governments that had been in place since the turn of the century. Bille and colleagues argue that the “power of absence such as ...revolution… consists in the ability of such absences to imply and direct attention towards presence. Thus, phenomena may have a powerful presence in people’s lives precisely because of their absence” [emphasis original] (2010:4). Cubans at that time were reminded of this absence every time a student activist was killed by governmental agents or civil liberties were suspended without explanation. Manuel, a former rebel combatant, stated that Cubans had always been opposed to the governing parties, but they had never been revolutionary; Batista’s coup d'état changed everything (pers. comm. 2003). They realized, he said, that they “needed to change the system rather than change the government” (ibid). It was therefore this absence of autonomy, the absence of fair government policy and practice that drove the early political movements looking to oust Batista’s regime. In those early days there were several warring factions vying for dominance of the political scene in Havana. Che Guevara stated, “The revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall” (Ziff 2006:69). Fidel Castro not only made the Revolution happen starting with the Moncada attack, he also made himself an agent of change through his gift for oration and personal charisma. His high school coach wrote: “He has known how to win the admiration and affection of all…” (Szulc 1986:84), while Alfredo Guevara, a friend and comrade since the heady university days, stated that upon meeting the future leader, he had “found a boy who will either be José Martí or the worst of the gangsters” (ibid:88). Prophetic words sure to be agreed upon by every Cuban today; though with which he will be ultimately be likened is surely to be debated. The affinity for and inevitable comparisons made to Martí - he too sought a Cuba without imperial interference, where the people would be free to create their own sense of identity, of cubanidad - would serve as the justification for the revolutionaries’ actions, “establishing a link with all the positive elements in Cuba’s past – its tradition of rebellion and its victory over Spanish imperialism” (Daynes 1996:3). Fidel Castro seems to have always identified as Cuban first and Marxist second (Szulc: 1986:91). Evidence of this can be found in the rhetoric of his numerous speeches over the years: “[the conduct of the Cuban people] reflects the spirit of the Moncada barracks, of the Granma, of 1868, of 1895, of all eras, [and] is beginning to be not a minority effort but the spirit of all the people” (Castro 1971). Saunders explains how “conflicts may live on as histories and propaganda – shaping attitudes, behaviour and material culture” as they are “reconfigured as national myths, linking past and present wars” (2002:101). It is through the continued invocation of martyrs like Martí and the historic battles for Cuban independence that the Revolutionary government has been able to maintain a unified population over the past fifty years. The Cuban government has made a great effort to involve the people in the Revolution. One of the ways they do this is through grass roots organizations and groups whose aim is to educate the youth in Revolutionary ideology. Committees for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR), essentially socialist neighborhood watch groups, were the first inaugurated and even today are the most widespread (see figure 3.1). One of the newest, interestingly composed of much of the oldest population, is the Association of Combatants of the Cuban Revolution (ACRC). ACRC is comprised of former rebel fighters as well as other members who contribute to society such as doctors and teachers. These two organizations are good examples of how the governmental entities remind the population of revolutionary ideals. Formed in 1960 by Castro himself, CDRs exist on a block-by-block basis. Their original purpose was to combat counterrevolutionary behavior with something akin to vigilantism, but today they have expanded to include educational, social and local support services. The significance of this powerful force lies in the fact that through them all members (the vast majority of the population) actually participate in and contribute to the Revolution (Kapcia 2000:112). Mason explains the social value of place attachment as “the social cohesion, community identity or other feelings of affiliation that social groups…derive from specific heritage and environment characteristics of their ‘home’ territory” (Schofield 2005:91). ACRC are similar in that they serve to make the public aware of the Revolution’s heritage. However, while the CDR is an ingrained presence in Cuban life, ACRC presents at Cuban schools and its goal is to “keep alive the revolutionary flame” (Manuel pers. comm. 2003). Much of their lecturing revolves around the struggle with the Batista regime and the dedication of the rebel forces. According to the association, they are promoting and fostering patriotism (ibid). However, by promoting patriotism and keeping the revolutionary flame alive, they are in a very real sense creating a collective memory among Figure 3.1 One of the most recognizable logos on the island: Committee for the Defense of the Revoution. URL: http://weecheng.com/latin2/hav/cdr.jpg Cuba’s young population. Groups like the ACRC, therefore, are not so much fostering remembering as ‘not forgetting’. Though Schofield’s definition of not forgetting as a “culturally constructed and defined process” (2005:97) is precisely accurate in the Cuban context, the argument here is that this process goes beyond the tragedies and atrocities (ibid) to encompass the collective remembrance of the sacrifices made by the rebel movements to combat those committing the atrocities. Following Moncada and his subsequent imprisonment, Castro fled to Mexico and it was in this final phase of his scheme that Granma entered the microcosm of the Cuban Revolution. This calls to mind the question of when the yacht achieved the value bestowed on it today. Was it the moment the rebels stepped foot on it and set off from Tuxpan? Or when it (semi-)successfully delivered the soldiers to the Cuban shore? These questions are some that surround the theoretical aspects of the materiality of things and there is no one (or right) answer. However, to paraphrase Miller, just because this cannot be clearly defined does not mean that material culture “lacks substance or consequence” (2010:3). When Granma left Mexico on 25 November 1956 it literally brought La Revolución to Cuba. But even in that fact there is an irony, for this yacht had a “life” and a story before it became a Cuban icon. This fixture of Cuban material culture, this symbol of Cuba’s fight to rid itself of the ties that bound it to imperialism, was actually purchased with U.S. funds from a U.S. company. This emblem of Cuba’s Revolution is a 60-foot yacht, built for luxury and play. This adds yet another layer to study of the boat’s materialality because “the meanings of any object may be cumulative and multiple” (Graburn 2000:xii). Before exploring more the meaning and significance of the yacht’s conspicuous presence across the island and even across the sea, it is important to examine the culture of socialist Cuba with regards to the Revolution and how its other symbols and icons are presented to the public. Representations of the Revolution and the Commodification of Che The socialist ideals of Cuba’s government prevent the advertisement of commercial products and services (though even this is changing with the influx of tourists). What the socialist state does market is the Revolution itself - the political ideology of the country’s leaders and its ties to nationalism and patria. Along Cuba’s highways and in its commercial districts Cubans and visitors alike are continuously greeted with communist sentiment and messages of national pride. Most of this is presented in the form of propaganda billboards and state-sponsored wall murals (see Turner 2007). While some aspects of the Revolution are merely displayed as reminders, others are sold as commodities across the island. The majority of the propaganda is directed toward the Cuban people, a tool for “spreading popular slogans…they serve as constant reminders that the state is present, promoting welfare, safety, history lessons, and socialist ideology” (Scarpaci & Portela 2009:152). Many of the billboards show images of Cuba’s revolutionary heroes, including José Martí, Antonio Maceo, Frank País, Camilo Cienfeguos, Che Guevera, or some combination of the five (figure 3.2). These symbols are so ubiquitous that they have come to define a certain sector of the Cuban cultural landscape. The question is whether their purpose is really being served. Scapaci and Portela argue that billboards are “passive, perhaps subconscious reminders, of what is allowed and what is not… [they present] a regularity and ordering in how the socialist government creates place, controls information technology… [and] Figure 3.2 “Men of all Time” – Antonio Maceo and Che Guevara URL: media.townhall.com/Townhall/reu/d/2011%5C165%5C2011-06-14T220316Z_01_HAV09_RTRIDSP_0_CUBA.jpg ‘spatial vocabulary’” (2009:183). This observation can be taken a step further with the suggestion that for the Cuban population the billboards blend into the landscape of the cities and highways; their presence little more than a form of white noise – always present but after a point so common as to lose all meaning. According to one jinetero (street hustler) in Havana, “We know what they [the government] have to say. They’ve been saying it for years. There’s nothing new there” (Alex, pers. comm. 2011). Some billboards, though, are far from explicit. Turner explains that some signs, such as one that states “With a strong helmsman (timonel), the Granma plows through history”, are not meant to offer information, “[but] rather reassurance” (2007:50, figure 3.3). Figure 3.3 Granma billboard. Photo by Andrew B. Turner. For the tourist, however, they signify something else entirely. They represent the ‘otherness’ of Cuba; the socialist culture becoming something of a sideshow; images snapped become examples of just how foreign, how isolated Cuba is from the rest of the Western World. This may just be the price to be paid to save the Revolution. Castro was quite explicit: “We have to develop tourism. It is an important source of foreign currency. We do not like tourism. It has become an economic necessity” (Taylor, Jr. and McGlynn 2009:2). While there is little the Cuban government can do to prevent the ‘fetishization’ of what has become seen as forbidden due to the blockade and years of insulation, there is a disturbing trend emerging in Cuba today that deserves some scrutiny - the commodification of the Revolution and its literal poster child, Che Guevara. Though Cuba is a tropical island complete with breathtaking mountain ranges and pristine beaches, these are rarely the reasons most visitors are drawn to it. There is a certain awe in the notion of travelling to a country that has been largely shut out from the world market, the sense of it taking the traveler back in time. It is a country where, to use Corbett’s title, “an outlaw culture survives” (2002). It is also a place where the outlaw culture is sold to any tourist with the money to pay for it. This is not a judgment of the Cuban people and government or a criticism of those who buy it. Rather, it is an effort to draw attention to the irony (and importance) of the capitalist commodification (or commoditization) of communist ideology and representations to the survival of Cuba’s socialist, nationalistic revolution. “The profitable objectification of people, places, and practices in tourism constitutes cultural commodification. In Marxist terms, a commodity is an object that should only have value for its utility (or use-value)” (Roland 2010:4). Continuing the discussion of Marxism and commodification, Scarpaci and Portela, citing Agnew and Duncan, state: Marxist theory has had a ‘tendency to absolutize the power of commodification. The universalization of capitalism thus undermines the social significance of place’…In the case of Cuba, this is both accurate and misleading. At one level, there is no doubt that advertising nonessential goods is anathema to centralized planning. At another level, although commodification is absent in the case of Cuba, there is an imposition of state media that disallows alternative discourses” (2009:162). The latter assertion, however, overlooks the fact that throughout the island, Cubans have been given license to stand in perpetually open doorways, selling their wares. Admittedly, much of this material is based on the more whimsical side of Cuban culture: from keychains with the Havana Club logo to the stacks of paintings of Hemingway’s haunt La Bodeguita del Medio complete with a classic American car parked curbside. However, for those wishing to commemorate travelling to the Communist country, one need not look far. Bookmarks with images of some of the most famous state-sponsored murals can be found in the gift shop of nearly every hotel (figure 3.4), miniature cartoonish Fidel Castro dolls can be spotted at the open markets (figure 3.5) and 26th of July souvenirs abound (figure 3.6). One image that is noticeably absent from much of this merchandise is that boat Granma. This is a fascinating observation when juxtaposed with the prominence of the yacht in other areas of island life. There are certain items to be found, such as commemorative pins (discussed in chapter four) and Revolution-themed comic books (plates 5-6) but these are sold at the plaza markets and constitute the sale of private collections. The only evidence of clothing bearing Granma’s likeness is sold through a U.S.-based company (plate 7) while smuggled prints featuring the boat are available through shady websites for hefty fees (plates 8 and 9). It is possible that this imagery simply is not popular in the tourist market, despite its use as a revolutionary icon. It does, however, Figures 3.4 – 3.5 Popular bookmark/souvenir mural, Fidel Castro dolls. Figure 3.4 photo by author. Figure 3.5 URL: wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/1071/PreviewComp/SuperStock_1071-3010.jpg serve as a heritage symbol and as Hewison argues, “heritage is produced just like any other commodity” (Scarpaci and Portela 2009:71-72). As Gaitán Ammann described the fetishization of everyday objects of the lower-class by the elite in Colombia (straw hats, striped woolen blankets), many of these objects representing or reflecting contemporary Cuban society “[swing] back and forth between the positive notion of what is picturesque and a derogatory one…” (2005:86). With exceptions, much of the Revolutionary paraphernalia sold in Cuba is respectful of its leaders and icons. But one image can be found more than any other; one symbol of that has become so commercialized that it has lost its identity. It is that image: Korda’s iconic photograph of Che Guevara (figure 3.7). Figure 3.6 26 of July flag, now on the wall of an American home. Photo by author. Figure 3.7 Original negative of Korda’s photograph of Che. URL: www.dazeddigital.com/ImageStore/402551.jpg It has been hailed as “the most famous photograph in the world” (BBC 2001). The image needs no description – it is the photo of Che. It is quite literally everywhere - “from Belfast to Soweto, or from walls in the Palestinian territories to Parisian boutiques” (Ziff cited in Holmes 2007). Because the photographer never claimed copy rights (BBC 2001), it has always been in the public domain and is free to be used by anyone and everyone. How a Communist became the poster child for “conspicuous capitalist consumption” (Armstrong 2004; see also Ziff 2006) cannot be answered here. There is a need, though, to explore the wholesale distribution of the Revolution’s most famous martyr within Cuba as it will serve to illustrate the disparity between the production of Che in “pop culture” and the material culture of other symbols of the Revolution, specifically Granma. When examining commodification in theory, it is tragically incongruous that Guevara himself wrote critically of “he or she [who] functions as a commodity” (1965). The fact is that the Cuban government is indeed selling Che. It bears noting that for the most part Che has become abstract; his image is so popular that many people know the image without knowing of the person. But with regards to Cuba, this is a man who fought for years for the liberty of the country. Fidel Castro once spoke of “Cuba’s betrayal by one and all since the Wars for Independence” (Szulc 1986: 91). But what can be said of the sale of Ernesto Guevara de la Serna, comandante in el ejército cubano (the Cuban army) and one of the most crucial participants in the Triunfo de la Revolución ? Guevara’s likeness is being proffered to tourists by the government as well as individuals with a license to sell merchandise from their homes. Almost the only thing to be found at the downsized gift shop of El Museo de la Revolución is a selection of Che t-shirts (figure 3.8). The gift shop at Hotel Nacional, the quintessential symbol of the United States’ pre-revolutionary capitalist power, is full of Che momentos. It is possible that within the Cuban context this is an “archaeology of protest” (Schofield 2000:152). It could be argued that this is the state’s insertion of its revolutionary ideology into a vestige of the imperialist past; a reminder that although in the comfort of a luxurious hotel, visitors are still very much in the midst of the Revolution. Even if this is the case, it still begs the question: “If Marxism is critical of the fetishization of objects, how does the touristic commodification of Cubanidad fit with Cuba’s continued profession of Marxist–Leninist ideology” (Roland 2010:5)? Figure 3.8 T-shirts for sale at the Museum of the Revolution. Photo by author. Guevara’s daughter defends the sale of his image in Cuba by explaining that tourists in Cuba are more likely to “truly cherish Che” (Lacey 2007). Lacey’s article proceeds to make the valid point that at least Cubans are taught to appreciate the man and his likeness is used to “inspire the next generations of Cubans” (ibid). This praise of his character and the esteem given him is in earnest and does seem to provide some justification for the use of his image. When asked about the personal sacrifices made by her father, Aleida Guevara responded that rather than consider it sacrifice, she prefers to say that there are things “you have to give up on route to making your dreams become reality” (pers. comm. 2003). Certainly it was Che’s dream to sustain the Revolution at any cost. Perhaps it is most appropriate to reproduce the words of Che himself: “you have got to be ready to sacrifice any individual benefit for the common good…” (Gerassi, ed. 1968). This assertion could be the socialist rationalization behind his wholesale marketing made by the man himself. The material culture of the Revolution is the most recognizable attribute of contemporary Cuban culture. “[T]hese icons and political symbols …leave a distinct imprint on the island’s landscape” (Scapaci and Portela 2009:139) and form specific interpretation of the island’s heritage. If heritage is a commodity, then these commodities each have their own “life histories” (Appadurai 1986:17). Chapter 4 The Representations and Materiality of Granma In Flatman’s essay on material culture and landscape in maritime archaeology, paraphrasing Binford, he states that “archaeology is theoretical, or it is nothing” (2003:143). This chapter will look at the material culture of the revolutionary icon Granma. Much of the scholarly work written on material culture tends to focus on the (re)use of objects, whether prehistoric or contemporary, and the impact these objects have on the culture of a people as well as the individual (see, for example, Hurcombe 2007). While the materiality of the boat is addressed, this is done so by illustrating examples that cannot be considered a part of the material culture in this context; they are not things with which the Cuban people interact on a daily basis, at least not directly. But they are a part of the cultural landscape and form an integral part of the country’s national identity. They are imbued with meaning and importance, or at least they are meant to be. From the perspective of anthropological archaeology, what is materiality but the significance of an object – both inherent and bestowed? This chapter will answer this question by investigating specific samples within the following categories: the ship itself as symbol and historic artifact, commemorative ephemera, replicas and designations and finally, artistic renditions. Given the symbolism of the boat, the meaning and significance of the objects within these categories are not mutually-exclusive and therefore interpretational cross-over is inherent (for example the state-sponsored murals are also commemorative pieces). This interpretation includes the examinations of identity and nationalism, heritage, culure, landscape and collective memory. El Yate Granma When examining Granma’s materiality, its provenance is its story. The analysis here will begin when it was beached with 82 rebel soldiers onboard. Carlos Franqui recorded Juan Manuel Márquez as stating, “It wasn’t a landing, it was a shipwreck [aquello no fue un desembarco, aquello fue un naufragio]” (1976:172, see figure 4.1). Shortly after the group had disembarked, the boat was bombarded by Batista’s men, yet miraculously survived. An excerpt from Matthew’s book detailing the conditions of the ship sets up the use of Granma as metaphor, which is prevalent within the speeches and writings of Cuban officials. Figure 4.1 Granma Landing. URL: vcamaguey.icrt.cu/images/stories/clasificadas/efemerides/yate-granma-desembarco.jpg The Granma was a twin-engined yacht, much the worse for wear…it is incredible…to think that eighty-two men with their arms and supplies somehow got aboard and survived four days of storm and heavy seas…It was a truly terrible, sickening journey, on which everything possible went wrong…the men were weak from fatigue and hunger…It would never have occurred to Fidel to turn back and fight another day…It should have been the blackest moment of his life (1975:71-72). The condition with which the Granma landed can be seen as a metaphor for the struggles not only that the rebels would face before the Revolution triumphed, but for all the years of hardship the people of Cuba would have to endure following the enforcement of the U.S. blockade and the fall of the Communist Bloc. On one of the few political billboards featuring an image of Granma are the words "Fidel is a country" (Turner 2007). Given that Castro’s first name is often used as a synonym for Cuba or cubanidad, a statement by Carlos Lage, Vice President of the Cuban Council of State carries with it a great deal of symbolism. Under the headline “Fidel Furrows Through History as Stalwart as the Yacht Granma”, Lage is recorded as saying, “Like the yacht Granma plowed the seas, Fidel has plowed through history: impetuous, unstoppable, victorious” (Carrasco and Menendez 2006). The conclusion then, is that the Cuban people are, by proxy, “impetuous” and “victorious”. Tilley states that “[t]he fact that metaphors are culturally relative implies that members of the same culture may share many distinct metaphorical understandings in common” (1999b:9). The singular use of Castro’s first name provokes a sense of intimacy and inclusion. The use of the yacht as a frame of reference can appeal to the country’s collective memory. The metaphors create a multi-layered meaning, one by which “leaders seek to create official histories that record for posterity one group’s version of social history… [attempting to] eliminate from living memory alternate collective memories” (Golden 2008:271). Those who are old enough to remember the landing of the ship will be brought back to the early days of victory, to the sense of hope that the vast majority of Cubans felt in 1959. By and large only the people who have lived through these times and experienced these moments can directly relate to these metaphors. Others understand only in the context of taught history and heritage. Despite what may be publicized about the people’s unhappiness with the Communist Party of Cuba, most of those who lived under Batista backed the Movimiento 26 de Julio. Speaking about the days after the triumph, Fichu Moncal recalls “incredible euphoria…such complete happiness” (Perez Jr. 1999:447). The Cuban state strives to preserve these memories while using “politically expedient forgetting” (Connerton 2006:321) to gloss-over those histories which do not serve to unify the country. It is the state-produced collective memory with which metaphors are used so frequently to summon nationalism and solidarity. “[The landing of the Granma] is a source of pride and encouragement to the Cuban people and constitutes a guide to face corruption, crime, negligence and any other negative action that hampers the principles of Socialism” (Adelante 2009). Tilley states that “metaphor and memory are frequently closely connected and…metaphor may enrich both the encoding and recall of information (1999b:8). In this instance the anniversary of the landing which ‘constitutes a guide’ is used to remind the people that they must be vigilant if they are to contribute to the preservation of that for which the rebels started the struggle. This is a recurrent theme: the struggles and sacrifices that are necessary in today’s Cuba are frequently promoted as a mirroring of that which had to be endured by the members of the Granma Expedition. The boat was removed to Havana shortly after the triumph of the Revolution and left moored there until 1974 (Matthews 1975:71). It was in that year that it was moved to the area behind the Museo de la Revolución (the former presidential palace), where it would become part of the museum complex. The accommodations and location of the Granma Memorial in Havana are fundamental to understanding the materiality of the vessel itself, as “throughout the metropolis, the symbolism was altered to tell the Revolution’s story” (Taylor, Jr. 2009:61). This story is centered at the museum and its presence in the city’s landscape is remarkable. The memorial is situated behind the museum building and incorporates an outdoor exhibition of a myriad of vehicles used during the various M-26-7 battles (figures 4.2 – 4.3). It also consists of some questionable displays of the government’s Cold War conflict with the United States, including the remnants of a U2 spyplane which was shot down in Cuban airspace during the Missile Crisis. Its spatial presence within the landscape is considerable, occupying an entire square city block. As one Havana-native put it, “You can’t forget it. It’s right there…I have to walk past it every day, just to get home from work” (Alberto, pers. comm. 2011). However, another resident sees it different way, which echoes the sentiments of the young man who spoke of the political billboards. “Yes, I know it is there. But I don’t think much about it. It is just a part of the city, like any other [monument]” (Roberto, pers. comm. 2011). Figure 4.2 Granma memoria, Havana, Cuba. Photo by author. Figure 4.3 The glass-enshrined yacht. Photo by author. Parker Pearson and Richards assert that “it should be apparent to the archaeologist that the structuring of space incorporates…symbolic principles in many situations” (1994:38). Roberto’s observation of the memorial’s presence stands in stark contrast to the symbolic and spatial importance imposed by the government. This is an important aspect of how the monument may be viewed; it is open-air, which gives is it an organic quality, a feeling of being integrated into the cityscape and the daily lives of the people. On the other hand, it is housed in a massive glass enclosure, in a gated area constantly guarded by armed men and is accessible only by entering the main museum building. These security measures, predictably, give it a sense of something ominous. Similar to Bender’s “materiality of barbed wire and blocked view” (2006:308), rather than instilling in the Cuban people a sense of patria and being a part of the Revolution, it could serve rather to distance the people from the socialist ideology is it meant to represent. Given that Granma is often invoked as a representation of the revolutionary leaders, this memorial can represent the people’s place within the Revolution: close enough to feel its presence in everyday life but constantly reminded of the barrier between them and the influential participants of La Revolución. Commemoration The word ‘commemorative’, being used in the strictest definition, will be applied to a broad range of material culture, from landscapes to political broaches. Again, there is the inherent overlap of maritime and historical archeology within Cuban culture. This qualification being addressed, this section looks at the yacht and commemoration in two distinct areas: the first being representations of the ship used to commemorate other celebrations in Cuban culture. The second approach is to examine the memorialization of the ship at the actual site of disembarkation as well as in Mexico, from where the Granma expedition set out. Replicas and Models One of the more unusual uses of the Granma likeness is in scale replicas for not only ornamental purposes, but as a sign of recognition for services rendered, in almost all cases in furtherance of the cause of the Revolution. A popular example is that of Silvio Rodríguez, Cuban revolutionary musical icon, being “decorated” with a scale replica of the boat for his sixtieth birthday (Mayoral 2006, figure 4.4, see also figures 4.5 – 4.6). This recognition is noted as “a symbol of independence, dignity and justice” presented to a “soldier of ideas”, which Rodríguez stated “is something that doesn’t just belong to [him]” (ibid). The implication is that the Revolution belongs to all Cubans and it can be inferred that because it belongs to everyone, it is the responsibility of everyone to reinforce its upkeep. Figures 4.4 – 4.6 Clockwise from top left: Rodriguez and President Raul Castro, Fidel Castro and a young student, Raul Castro with son of fellow rebel leader Juan Almeida Bosque. URLS: http://www.granma.cu/fotos1/noviembre06/general.jpg t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcThm6yZhu-eCzA48yjQe_uEMWNlMznsXprT68n-SGriRTWmqKVz i141.photobucket.com/albums/r70/yuraystar/album%203/ALeqM5ijtTc0ygo3RvRl0NvifKiYb24F-1.jpg The inclusive nature of these types of sentiments plays a crucial role in the state-formation of a collective memory or cultural conscience. In reviewing the works of White and Schackel, O’Keefe notes the prevalence of such tactics: “personal memories [can be] reshaped into collective memories by forms of political intervention…particularly through “official” acts and objects of commemoration (2007:6). Many of these “official” acts of the government, usually being celebrations of historic dates within the country’s revolutionary history, are crowned by a parade including a full-sized replica of Granma (see cover photo). Additionally, exact replicas can be found in the province of the same name as well as in Tuxpan, Mexico, where there is also a museum dedicated to the expedition. This, perhaps, is a relevant a juncture to pose the question: Why this boat and not, perhaps, the Moncada Barracks where the entire movement began (figure 4.7)? The fact is there are other symbols of the past to Figure 4.7 The previous Moncada barracks, where the 26th of July Movement began, complete with original bullet holes. It now serves as a school. Photo by author. reappropriate for the “construction of identity in the present” (Burke 1999:194). Why, then, the Granma? The answer comes, at least partially, from the current Cuban President Raul Castro. At one celebration Castro explained the 2 December marks “The birth of the Rebel Army” and continued (quoting his older brother), “The Rebel Army was the soul of the Revolution” (Granma 2006). Using transitive relation then, according to this assertion, the landing of the Granma gave birth to the soul of the Revolution. There is some functionality, also, in the use of the use of the boat as a symbol (arguably the material symbol within Cuban cultural memory): it is easily copied and stylized (as shown in the souvenir section of chapter two) and is relatively simple in design, particularly when compared with other popular (physical) icons such as the Moncada barracks. Collectible Ephemera All the scale models of Granma can to a certain extent be considered ephemeral, yet the importance bestowed upon them by individuals removes them from that category. The reasoning is that this term is being used merely to differentiate between those objects of the Revolution that are not easily attainable (i.e. purchasable), and those that are. Chapter two addressed the sale of the Revolution in the tourist market; this section seeks to explore the sale of Cuba’s Revolutionary heritage, specifically in the Plaza de Armas. At the book market held in Old Havana’s historic district, most of what can be found is old copies of Communist literature and Cuban histories. Yet also for sale are various trinkets and ornaments commemorating the Revolution’s heroes, organizations and episodes in history. Among these include vintage pins celebrating the 26th of July Movement, the assault on the Moncada Barracks and, naturally, the anniversary of the Granma landing (figure 4.8). Hesitantly, these can be referred to as souvenirs in the context of Graburn’s definition of culture souvenirs having “memorial meaning” (2000:xiii, see also plates 10 - 11). They should not, however, be looked at as “condensed or simplified visions of [Cuban] lives” (ibid) because conversely they are representative of many of the most significant and overarching moments that have shaped the post-revolutionary culture. Unlike the other examples in this section, these items can also be assessed by their monetary value and craftsmanship. These pins are constructed of sturdy, if inexpensive, metals. Cuba is not a wealthy country yet these mass- produced items have a great degree Figure 4.8 Commemorative pins: 26th of July, Twentieth anniversary of Granma landing, Moncada. Photo by author. of integrity as their condition and volume testify. They are not aluminum, paper and plastic “buttons” typical of political campaigns or transient clichés. Gaitán Ammann argues that “the circulation of objects has been considered to be the symbolic basis for the process of personhood-constructing” (2005:78). The significance, and once again irony, lies not only in the fact that the government felt it appropriate to create such permanent accessories regardless of cost, but also in that it is this durability that allows merchants to sell these constructs of “personhood” in the plaza markets today. The sale of these items often constitutes that person’s livelihood. In this sense “the useless has become priceless” (ibid:89) in two ways: to the Cuban it represents another vital sale for the day, and to the traveler it can represent an unexpected treasure, as is the case for this study. What’s in a Name? Though commemorative objects are obvious examples of the material culture of Granma, these physical, tangible artifacts often play a secondary role in the creation of nationalism and identity within Cuban society. The promulgation of the Cuban Communist Party’s ideology and emphasis on nationalism and patrimony is much more evident in the intangible materiality of its historic sites and memorials. This section is dedicated to all things Granma – that is to say all that has been renamed Granma over the years, with one exception. The official newspaper of the Cuban Communist Party has also been given this meaningful name; however, it is the newspaper’s use as materiales de arte with which this paper will address its role within the Cuban collective conscience. Here will be examined Granma Province (figure 4.9), in the Southeastern portion of the island, Granma Landing Site at Playa Las Coloradas, the Museo Histórico de la Amistad México-Cuba (colloquially named the Granma Museum) and Desembarco del Granma National Park, another UNESCO World Heritage Site (see plates 12 - 13). Using Robertson and Hall’s succinct summary, these memorials “eschew the vernacular in favour of the representational in an attempt to create emblematic landscapes of resistance” (2007:20). Figure 4.9 Entering Granma Province. URL: verlaan1.home.xs4all.nl/foto-g/granma.jpg Generally speaking, the three former locations are fairly standard in their commemoration of the boat and the expedition. They are largely targeted for heritage tourism, complete with more life-size replicas; the Granma Museum holds week long celebrations culminating on 25 November, the day Granma left Tuxpan for the Cuban shore. These landscapes are cultural constructs that are not necessarily “scientific, objective or material” but rather are subjective and “reflect intangible aspects of the environment” (Schofield 2005:43-44). At the landing site there is a long plank walkway to the location of the grounding of the cruiser, illustrating just how far the soldiers had to wade only to be confronted by dense and unforgiving mangroves (figure 4.10). This typifies the intangible and subjective materiality to which Schofield refers; traversing the length of that walkway can mean something very different based on individual experiences and viewpoints. For example, the experience of a former combatant will be universally different than that of a visitor on a heritage tour. Desembarco del Granma National Park, on the other hand, has been designated an UNESCO World Heritage Site because its nature “represents a globally significant example of geomorphologic and physiographic features…[including] spectacular terraces and cliffs, as well as some of the most pristine and impressive coastal cliffs bordering the western Atlantic” (UNESCO 1999). What all of these sites have in common, however, is what Nicholas Saunders describes as a “multi-vocal landscape” (2002:106), in which combat archaeology is combined with individual narrative and experience, cultural heritage and the natural physical attributes of the land. The natural terrain of this area of the island is spectacular in and of itself. Indeed, it can be appreciated for its breathtaking mountain views and lush greenery just as much as for its importance to the country’s military and revolutionary heritage. It should be, because it is precisely this juxtaposition of war, natural beauty and habitat that creates the “character of the region, and the interrelationships between the various layers of significance that coexist here” (Schofield 2005:50). The Sierra Maestra and the landing site of Granma are good examples of the combination of nature and military landscape. Hiking the paths once trekked by the rebel army, now thoroughly beaten by the innumerable tourists that have followed these footsteps over the years, it is easy to lose sight of the fact that this was once a war zone, where many lives were lost, both civilian and otherwise (figure 4.11). Evidence of the rural population, however, serves as a reminder - a mule print in the mud or a fragment of broken farm equipment – that not only is this a living community, but it is inhabited by the very people (or their direct descendents) who aided and sheltered the rebeldes throughout the war. This is the “relict cultural landscape” to which Schofield refers (2005:44); the mountains in Granma Province are imbued both with material evidence of the revolutionary forces, such as Castro’s command post La Plata, as well as the quotidian materiality of the people who still occupy them. In the mountain village of Bartolome Maso, the occupation of the area is evidenced not in the common sites such as battlefield archaeology, but rather in the impact heritage has had on the land. Paved roads and nestled hotels are just meters away from pre-revolutionary homesteads. These landscapes illustrate that “the presence of military units has both preserved earlier cultural and natural heritage, as well as [added] new layers in the form of military archaeological remains” (ibid). The fact that there have been no excavations of the battlegrounds to date does not negate this rich conflict archaeology resource; rather it serves to emphasize the importance of the land to Revolutionary archaeology. All of these landscapes (excepting Mexico) are sites of the conflict and a massive loss of life. Shortly after the eight-two men landed they were ambushed and only twelve managed to escape into the mountains. In the twenty-one months that followed in the Sierra Maestra mountain range and surrounding areas, countless lives were lost among the rebels, the Batista regime and the locals. It is important to note this because although these landscapes are acknowledged, indeed lauded and commemorated by symbolic renaming, Figure 4.10 The gangway from the Granma landing site cuts through the mangroves. Photo by author. Figure 4.11 Path in Sierra Maestra. Photo by author. they are not typical of twentieth-century battlefields. There are no trenches or barbed wire as the thickly forested mountains provided natural protection and camouflage. Yet the intangible materiality of this contested landscape, the “psychological immensity” (Saunders 2002:101) of the slaughter and torture experienced on this land as the “ ‘site of…’ has equal strength and validity” (Schofield 2005:90). There are no cemeteries or markers to memorialize those who died on the battlefield. Still it is a “landscape of commemoration” with unmarked graves all over, “telling the story of the conflict and its victims” (Schofield 2005:45) even as they are unrecognizable from the surrounding terrain. The Revolutionary government has ensured that these sacrifices are not forgotten, in fact honored, in the country’s collective conscience. There are various plaques scattered about, noting certain battles or historic dates, but it is within the “middle and largely theoretical ground…between the monuments and material culture of war” (ibid:81) that this landscapes resides. “Landscape is…a touchstone for remembering both the visual-factual and the sensual-emotional” (O’Keeffe 2007:6). In (re)naming these sites after Granma these disparate elements are brought together. They recognize and honor the victims and their sacrifices through the invocation of the quintessential symbol of triumph of the Revolution within the original conflict landscape. The Art of Revolution Perhaps the only thing more noticeable in contemporary Cuba than its socialist ideology is the prevalence and importance of art, both public and commercial. As Fernandes states, “Cubans live through art” (2006:2). Though a simplification of his thesis, this never the less summarizes what is arguably the most liberal outlet of expression on the island, which is perhaps one explanation for its prevalence. As has already been established, the iconography of Granma has infiltrated many sectors of Cuban life and art is not only counted among these, but is perhaps its most powerful representation. Here will be a final look at the link between material culture and the revolutionary archaeology of Granma. Artistic expression thrives in Cuba. In the past it had been dramatically censored. The Cuban government vacillated over the extent to which freedom of expression fit within the socialist construct. Fidel Castro, in 1980, seemed to put the dispute to rest: The Revolution…must behave in such a way that all those artists and intellectuals who are not genuinely revolutionary can find space to work and create, within the Revolution, and that their creative spirit…can have the opportunity and freedom to express itself…That means within the Revolution, everything, and against the Revolution, nothing [Kapcia’s translation]” (Kapcia 2005:134). Kapcia points out that rather than saying “If you are not with us, you are against us”, which is a common misrepresentation, it actually means, “If you are not against us, you are with us” (ibid). Essentially, this stance gave artists more creative license. On a relatively residential street in Old Havana is the art studio and gallery of Leo D’lazaro. The name of the art space is Archeologia Del Presente – Archaeology of the Present (plate 14). D’lazaro’s explanation of the studio’s name is valuable: I increasingly define myself as an archaeologist…as an excavator…This is based on the concept that I call “archaeology of the present,” which consists of aging to the point of fossilizing everything that is very new…to create a deeper vision of what surrounds us... [I work] throughout the entire day and at night with the big doors open and where everyone can enter to observe and participate in my creations... (Hernandez 2011). It is this inclusive approach to art and its association with the “archaeology of the present” in Cuba that is crucial to understanding the theoretical basis for studying Granma’s presence in Cuban art. Within the commercial realm of art, defined here as anything outside state-sponsored art, the country’s official newspaper Granma figures in rather prominently as a material of choice. The messages conveyed can range from relatively benign to scorching commentary on the reality of Cuban life. Though artists have been given more liberties, it does not mean that they are free from scrutiny and censorship. In an exhibition in 2002, for example, artist Wilfredo Prieto installed a piece entitled ‘Papel periódico y papel sanitario’ (‘Newsprint and toilet paper’), which consisted of a roll of toilet paper made out of an issue of Granma. (Fernandes 2006:151). The Ministry of Foreign Relations found the piece offensive and sought to remove it, while Prieto maintained the work made “a statement about the real lives of most Cubans: they have no toilet paper, so they make do with Granma” (ibid); the art was allowed to remain in the exhibit. This example is not only an observation of the Cuban condition, but appeals to a collective understanding within Cuban culture. The newspaper is familiar and represents the ideology of the Revolution because it largely only publishes accounts of nationalistic and socialist nature. Schofield explains that these types of artistic endeavors are “expressions of opposition” (2009:189) and when approached from an archaeological perspective they “create an innovative and effective methodology for interpreting dissonant heritage; they bring the materiality of conflict…to a wider and more diverse audience…and challenge that audience in new and provocative (sometimes shocking) ways” (ibid:195). The theme of much of the tourist art featuring the newspaper Granma may upon initial inspection appear tame, whimsical even, when compared to the example above. However, it leaves much more room for interpretation and in this sense, could perhaps be the more contentious of the two. These artworks, though they vary in scheme or detail, all consist of the same general theme: the newspaper being used to construct a sailboat (figure 4.12). This sailboat is of the plaything variety – a paper boat the likes of which are often seen in the hands of a child on a rainy day. Some include the stylized lettering of the word “Granma” as it is seen on the newspaper (figure 4.13), but in all noted examples it is the paper boat that is the focus of the work. Again referring to Schofield’s chapter on art and archaeology, he notes that archaeologists can use artwork as “a legitimate and constructive Figures 4.12 – 4.13 Art using Granma newspaper and newspaper, note lettering. Photos by author. means of interpreting …contemporary heritage places…and that artists can capture [the] character [of heritage places]…better than any conventional record produced by archaeologists…” (ibid:186). The makeshift nature of these boats is reminiscent of the refugee rafts often constructed of the remnants of fishing netting or discarded bits of wood, the reuse of the material culture of the socialist country. The newspaper is recycled and reappropriated as are the discarded items used to build the rafts. This can be considered in an anthropological study as well as an archaeology of resistance or perhaps even an archaeology of escapism. Further, the example above shows a dominant question mark. This too, is open to interpretation. Perhaps the question is simply, “Where to?” Or perhaps it is a more complex questioning of the state of Cuban modern existence such as “What’s next?” The uncertainty with which many Cubans look to the future does not escape the attention of the country’s leaders, despite how it might look from the outside. The Figure 4.14 One of the many political murals in Old Havana. Photo by author. response to this bewilderment is often a call for solidarity wrapped in nationalist sentiment. Nationalism in Cuba is directly linked with patria – pride in the country’s heritage. This is often delivered to the people through state-commissioned public art. An example from Turner illustrates this theme: he cites a mural in Central Havana that reads “What are we and what will we be without a single history, a single idea and a single spirit for all time?” (2007:63). Here will be examined other examples of public art in which the spirit of nationalism and a sense of collective remembrance is summoned through the representation of Granma. The murals and other works of public art in and around Havana differ from the socialist billboards in that they evoke a sense of permanence within the landscape (figure 4.14). They are not often changed; on the contrary they are frequently left for years, many with peeling paint and faded slogans (see figure 2.13, also plates 15 - 16). Additionally, they are erected not along barren highways or on roads connecting one town to the next, but in well-populated public spaces, close to lively hubs and tourist centers. Two such displays are Cinco Palmas (Five Palms) and El Arca de la Libertad (The Ark of Liberty). The former is located in a well-traversed open square that connects Habana Vieja to El Prado (the main boardwalk) and Central Havana. Situated in this square are five dominant metal “palm trees.” (figures 4.15 - 4.16). The latter was originally on display in the courtyard of the National Fine Art Museum, now located at the Museum of the Revolution. Figures 4.15 Five Palms in plaza that connects Old Havana to the boardwalk (El Prado). Photo by author. 4.16 Five Palms in Old Havana. Note the image of rebels and Granma in red black and white – the colors of the 26 of July Movement. Photo by author. Cinco Palmas is meant to represent the location near the Granma landing site of the same name – the Five Palms – where Batista’s army launched its attack on the exhausted Expedicionarios del Yate Granma. It is a tribute to the fallen soldiers as much as it is an artistic exhibit. Yet even to Havana residents it might has different and even multiple meanings. One Habanero explained that it was erected in honor of the Cuban 5 (see appendix D). This exemplifies the interpretive nature of this type of work; each person who experiences it can take away a different understanding. El Arca de la Libertad (figure 4.17), on the other hand, explicitly portrays images meant to conjure a sense of pride in the Revolution, complete with a rendition of Fidel Castro and Venezuelan president and Cuban ally Hugo Chavez in the cabin. One art critic, however, notes that although meant to create a sense of unity among the Cuban people, these artworks are created from a corrosive metal (iron) which, according to him, reflects the caustic nature of the authoritarian government with “immediacy and eloquence” (Menendez-Conde 2008). This use of art as a political tool hearkens back to an earlier governmental stricture, before Castro’s famous speech about the inclusion of artists into the socialist fold, a time when revolutionary art was to be used as a “cultural instrument and weapon” (Alfredo Guevara quoted in Kapcia 2005:142). Kapcia, in discussing the conservative stance of the Congress of 1971 writes: Its resolutions certainly set a new tone, emphasising more firmly that art in Cuba should be judged on its political worth - as a ‘weapon of the Revolution…against the penetration of the enemy ‘…and not its aestheticism, that art ‘against the Revolution’ had no place [in Cuba] (ibid:154). Although the government would later reverse its position, evidence of this nationalist approach can still be seen all over Cuba. Figure 4.17 El Arca de la Libertad. Photo by author, courtesy of the Museum of the Revolution. . Many of the murals depicting Granma are general and all-encompassing. They, like the political billboards, are geared toward the Cuban population and appeal to their kinship and pride in the Revolution. Often they depict scenes and images of national heroes (figures 4.18 – 4.19). Others, however, are more specific to the boat itself, such as that which is located on Avenue O in the Vedado district of Havana. The image simply depicts a dotted line indicating the times and dates of certain positions of Granma on its way to Playa Las Coloradas (figure 4.20). What can theoretical archaeology contribute to the understanding and interpretation of art such as this? First, there is the question of whether this should in fact be considered art at all. Does the simple application of paint to a wall constitute art? To address the latter question, Gell surmised that “anything whatsoever could, conceivably…be an art object from the anthropological point of view” (Küchler Figure 4.18 Mural depicting Granma, rebels and butterflies, Cerro, Cuba. Photo by author. Figure 4.19 Mural in Old Havana. Moncada is depicted at center, Granma at lower right. Photo by author. Figure 4.20 The route of the yacht Granma. UJC logo just visible at far right. Photo by author. 2002:58). Perhaps true, but for an example such as this, one in which the message, if at first unclear, is certainly political, it might be better to apply the term “visual culture” (Pinney 2006); something possibly not quite creative enough to be considered an artistic endeavor, but none the less contributes to the fabric of the cultural landscape. Considering the former question then, one needs to look at the details of the work itself. At the far end of the mural is the symbol for the Young Communists Union (UJC, see figure 4.15 for detail of logo). It depicts the images of three Cuban Communists: Julio Antonio Mella, Camilo Cienfuegos and Che Guevara. Above the images are the words “Study”, “Work”, “Rifle” (Estudio, Trabajo, Fusil). It can be deduced, then, that this timeline is geared toward Cuban youth. Within this context, this visual culture takes on a more complex meaning; it is not simply an illustration of the boat’s trajectory. This map can be viewed as a guide for the members of the UJC, leading by example, and calling upon the collective memory of those who cannot themselves remember when Granma made that fateful journey. But this is likely the point. Golden states that “the past…has been severed from life as it is lived, and passes from memory into history” (2008:272). The Revolution’s goal in creating these types of murals is to prevent this transition from taking place, at least on the collective level. The country’s leaders are conjuring images of the past in order to ‘keep the flame alive’ and ensure that the Cuban people do not lose the path, as it were, of Revolutionary ideology. Conclusion This study has set out to expose the extent to which the yacht Granma is represented in contemporary Cuban culture. The archeology of the ship lies greatly in its use as a revolutionary symbol. Flatman explained that maritime archaeology is often used to invoke nationalistic pride (2003:150) while Kohl maintains that nation-making is ‘invented’ or ‘rediscovered’ through the “selective use of inherited symbols” (1998:225). Both these arguments are exemplified in this example of Revolutionary material culture. It is true that ideology cannot be dug up (Binford 1962:218), but this does not mean that archeology cannot be applied to a nation’s symbols that reflect this ideology. As Schofield suggests, any material thing can equally be considered “a part of the archaeological study…that archaeologists are trained to investigate” (2005:28-29), if it contributes to a more complete understanding of the archaeological record. That is what this study has ultimately set out to accomplish: to create a more complete record of the archeology of Granma by pooling information from all sources and interpreting it through archeological theory. Archeology in contemporary Cuba is contradictory in certain regards. On one hand it excels in ways that mirror the country’s successes in medicine and education, though not as publicized; the projects have enough staff and support to research and excavate according to the highest standards (Dawdy 2005:11). On the other hand, much of this research is limited to those areas which will prove most beneficial to ‘the Revolution’, i.e., those that make the most economic sense. Therefore areas such as Historic and Urban archaeology, which will promote greater heritage tourism, are spared no expense. Meanwhile other subdisciplines such as Maritime and Theoretical Archaeology are either underfunded or underappreciated, or both. With the application of theory to Cuba’s maritime and cultural heritage, this paper has demonstrated the archaeological importance of non-traditional artifacts such as the Granma. The boat’s importance to the Cuban socialist movement rests in its role as the historic vessel that delivered the rebel army from exile. Castro and his government have long invoked the country’s historic figures and events to unify the people in an “all-inclusive community through which [they are] to find a sense of purpose and a source of identity” (Perez, Jr. 1999:482). The idea of exile and the subsequent return as a sort of redemption (Bender 2006:310) can be applied to the necessity of the movement of Granma to Havana in the 1970s (see figure 5.1). The nation’s leaders realized its importance to the Revolution early on and made the decision to bring it to Havana and place it in a position of significance within the cityscape. The reverence bestowed on it elevates its standing from a maritime artifact to that of national icon. Granma is among the most recent of these icons, along with the persona of Che Guevara. Unlike the marketing of Che, though, Granma has been relegated to the metaphorical symbol, that which is carefully regulated for use in commemoration and memorialization. The employment of this icon, or its representation, in public festivities celebrating key moments in the Revolution’s history “ ‘naturalize[s]’ a collective identity as citizens enact what is normal and appropriate for a group in a particular setting” (Rowlands and Tilley 2006:502). These acts, along with the creation of Revolutionary organizations in which individuals play a direct role in the survival of socialism, helps to solidify the country’s ideological goals within Cuban communities. Granma has both been memorialized and used for memorialization. It is in this respect that the image and icon have become so prevalent within the Cuban cultural landscape. The commemoration and invocation of the yacht through material culture is as varied as the interpretations possible: from replicas to ‘souvenirs’ to public art and political murals. The Cuban state has been driven by a need to create a collective memory “which includes all activities that go into making a version of the past resonate with group members” (Rowlands and Tilley 2006:502). They have created this version of history as they want to present it through the use of Granma as the national symbol of the delivery of the Revolution. Archaeological interpretation is not only fluid, but can even conflict based on the personal biases and histories. This is important to note as the entire theoretical interpretation of the yacht has been conducted by an ‘outsider’. A former rebel combatant, for example, may look at the landscape of the landing site as a soldier would a battlefield, while a researcher may look for what the landscape does not say, the silent attributes of the Figure 5.1 Massive crowds descend on the bay in Havana as Granma is brought to the city. Photo by author, courtesy of the Museum of the Revolution, Havana, Cuba. archeological record, as it were. Still others, perhaps tourists, may not see the land for its Revolutionary heritage at all, but rather for the natural beauty and serene features that now characterize this contested landscape. This essay is one interpretation of the material culture of Granma within the Cuban culture context and landscape. Cuba’s case is unique in that it is one of the few socialist states accessible to the degree at which it is today. This allows an opportunity to study the country’s heritage, population and landscape in ways that would not otherwise be possible. The fact that Cuba is socialist state, with most of its heritage managed by the government, is an influential aspect of the interpretation of the archeology of Granma. It can be considered maritime archeology, historic archeology or perhaps even an archaeology of socialism in the twenty-first century. Whatever label may be attached to the vessel, it remains a quintessential symbol of revolution and unity that is distinctly Cuban; an artifact of great importance to the understanding of the archeology of the Revolution. The overarching theoretical theme of this paper reveals how fertile the grounds of Cuban culture are for archeological research. The fact that there has not been a great deal of focus in this area illustrates the possibilities for further, more extensive investigation in the future. The continuation of archeological projects in Cuba could contribute to the greater understanding of, and a more open dialogue with, a culture largely misunderstood. Perhaps most importantly it would benefit the greater archeological world with the inclusion of a country whose heritage offers a wealth of opportunities for exploration – from maritime to contemporary to conflict archeology – all are there and excellent sources of information; they just need to be more greatly acknowledged for the archeological value they hold. Appendix A All names, except in the cases of professionals within archaeology or with Cuban organizations (the ACRC for example), are pseudonyms. One of the wonderfully unique aspects of Cuban culture is one can sit on a bench and within a minute or two be deep in conversation with any number of Cubans from an endless range of backgrounds and from any age group. It is within these conversations that much of the information here was collected. Appendix B All translations for members of the Gabinete de Archaeología, specifically Roger Arrazcaeta Delgado and Luis Francés have kindly been provided by Raul Mesa, also of the Gabinete de Archaeología. Interviews were conducted during field work/research travel to Cuba in June 2011. All translations of comments made by the ACRC (combatant named only as “Manuel” were made during an outreach trip to the island in 2003 and were translated by Karen McCartney at that time. Interviews with Aleida Guevara and her brother Camilo Guevara were also conducted on this 2003 trip and are indicated by the citation of (pers. comm. 2003). These likewise were translated by Karen McCartney. All other translations are those of the writer of the original work as cited in text, except where explicitly noted in brackets [author’s translation]. All translations of terms and organizations are this author’s own. Appendix C Though the article regarding the Ines de Soto is not dated, it has to have been published prior to 1998, with the excavation work being completed years before that, because the chief archeologist on the project, Dr. Abraham Lopez Cruz, defected to the United States sometime previous to June 1998. This is evidenced by the online announcement by The Mel Fisher Maritime Heritage Society of the “Former Leading Cuban Archaeologist to Share Insights on Cuban Shipwreck Site” (melfisher.org 1998).   The Cuban irony continues in this matter as the former new article notes that the archaeologists who work on these sites are members of the Cuban Communist Party and regarded as “being upright and trustworthy” and so “devoted to Cuba” as to not be “tempted by the treasures handled daily” (divernet.com, n.d.).  Further adding to the insult of this defection is that Mel Fisher is apparently seen as the enemy among enemies: Carisub's Director, Vincente de la Guardia, believes the company's monopoly is justified: 'Wrecks lying in our territorial waters are part of our heritage, as well as being part of the history and culture of the Cuban people. Nobody else will be given a chance to work on them.' He winks hard at Mel Fisher who, for the past few years, has been trying in vain to negotiate with the Castrist [sic] authorities for a piece of the action (ibid). Appendix D The Cuban 5 is a term coined for five Cuban intelligence officers currently imprisoned for espionage in the United States. They were convicted in 2001 and sentenced to terms ranging from 15 years to two consecutive life sentences (thecuban5.org n.d.). The Cuban government acknowledges that the Cuban 5 were sent to Florida, but they contend that these men were sent to infiltrate the radical anti-Castro groups and prevent further ‘terrorism’ being inflicted on Cuban soil (ibid). The convictions have received international criticism and prompted the creation of several defense organizations in the U.S. This criticism is naturally strongest in Cuban itself. The campaign to “free the five” has been ongoing since their arrests in 1998. It has not received the international attention that Elián González affair did 1999, likely due to the fact that fewer people can sympathize with imprisoned intelligence officers than a motherless child. However, in Cuba this movement for the Cuban 5 is very pervasive and there is not a corner of the island at which a billboard decrying the injustice has not been erected. Plates Plate 1 “Coconut cup” made by a prisoner at the Presidio Modelo, Isle of Pines, Cuba. Photo by author, courtesy of the Museum of the Revolution, Havana, Cuba. Plate 2 Figure used for target practice by future Granma participants in Mexico Photo by author, courtesy of the Museum of the Revolution, Havana, Cuba. Plate 3 Raul Castro in the Sierra Maestra, wearing the armband of the 26th of July Movement URL: imagenes.publico.es/resources/archivos/2008/12/30/1230640881548meneses-27c3.jpg Plate 4 Armband on display at the Museum of the Revolution Photo by author, courtesy of the Museum of the Revolution, Havana, Cuba. Plate 5 Comic book cover featuring Castro, Marti and Granma. Photo by author. Plate 6 Comic book available for purchase in the Plaza de Armas. Photo by author. Plate 7 Sweatshirt available from a U.S. website. URL: images8.cpcache.com/product/sports-granma+cuban+baseball+jerseys-cuban+baseball+t-shisrts/439814858v3_225x225_Front.jpg Plate 8 Cuban-made print available on the internet. URL: posters.nce.buttobi.net/big/0147.jpg Plate 9 Cuban-made print celebrating the 20th anniversary of the Granma Landing URL: http://posters.nce.buttobi.net/big/0158.jpg Plates 10 – 11 Souvenir photo album of the Granma Expedition at the bookmarket. Photo by author. 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