Adolfo Gilly, Inside The Cuban Revolution (July 1964)

CUBA
.... -\~
ISLE OF PINES
~ ••.. -"" _.,,1
PICO
TURQUINO
INSIDE
THE
CUllAN
REVOLUiTION
A dolfo Gilly
translated from the Spanish
by
FELIX GUTIERREZ
~
MONTHLY REVIEW PRESS
New York 1964
Copyright © 1964
by Monthly Review Press
Manufactured in the United States
First printed as the October 1964 issue

of MONTHLY RE'VIEW, then as a clothbound book by
Monthly Review Press

333 Sixth Avenue, New York 14, N. Y.
CONTENTS
Foreword vm
1. THE CUBAN REVOLUTION IS FIVE YEARS OLD 1

Industry or Agriculture 1
M oney or Revolution 5
The Unions in Cuba 13
The Second Agrarian Reform 20
Two Tendencies in the Revolution 26
2. NATIONAL AND INTERNATIONAL PLANNING 34
3. CUBA IN OCTOBER 48
4. DAILY LIFE: THE REVOLUTION AND

EQUALITY 59
5. THE REVOLUTION CONTINUES 78
Appendix: The Centralization of Industry 83

Foreword
This is a work of reportage. It does not try to be more than

a quick, journalistic glance at the internal situation in Cuba and
at the most important forces at work in the Revolution. My
observations and conclusions are based on more than a year of
living with the Cuban people during 1962 and 1963, the crucial
period of the Cuban Revolution, and on reading the principal
works and documents which appeared at that time. I deal only
with some of the problems which carry over into the present
stage of the Revolution and which will continue to exercise in-
fluence during the future unfolding of the Cuban Revolution,
on both national and international planes. These problems arise
from below, from the very structure of the Revolution; and
they will exert their pressure whatever policies the revolutionary
government may adopt.
This work is, and is intended to be, different from most
of what is being currently published on Cuba. It is uncondi-
tionally on the side of the Revolution but has nothing in com-
mon with those touristic visions which are full of sugary, empty
idealizations of a revolutionary process as rich and contradictory
as life itself.
We no longer need reports which concentrate on the dif-
ference between the present and the capitalist past, following
the formula of "before and after." The whole world knows all
that, and the Revolution long ago won its right to exist. Of
interest today is what is happening inside the Cuban Revolu-
tion: the roads along which it advances, the domestic and
foreign obstacles it meets, the possibilities which exist and the
forces and methods to achieve them. It is not important to write
a simple eulogy but to bring up the problems of the Revolution,
to display its experiences, and to point out the real forms of its
inner life-politically, economically, and socially.
Foreword vii
Since the introduction to the first chapter was written,

the struggle of the trends which are to be found at the Revolu-
tion's center has continued and intensified to the same extent as
the Sino-Soviet dispute and the world revolutionary movement.*
All Cuba's problems are not discussed here. Omitted, for
example, are the vital and decisive question of the party (or
parties) in the Revolution, the situation in education, the con-
troversies about art. But all these questions-and others-are
subordinate, even though important, to the broad lines sketched
out here of the struggle between revolution and coexistence,
equality and privilege, workers' democracy and bureaucracy,
revolution and counter-revolution.
The questions raised in this work are among the central
ones of this struggle and will be decisive throughout the present
stage of the Revolution.
Adolfo Gilly
July, 1964
* The first chapter was originally written in October, 1963, as a

series of articles for the Uruguayan weekly Marcha, and is published here
unchanged.- Translator.
CHAPTER 1
'The Cuban Revolution Is Five Tears Old
Enormous forces are stirring inside the Cuban Revolution.

During this whole year [1963], under tightening pressure, a
leap has taken place which was in part stimulated, and in part
limited, by the turns of the Sino-Soviet dispute. The factors in
this change are both national and international. Its ultimate
source must be sought in the gigantic transformation which the
revolutionary forces and movements are undergoing in the
whole world during these years, and in the growing strength
of the Cuban people who, far from feeling intimidated, are in-
flamed by continued foreign provocations and aggressions. Al-
though to the superficial observer Cuba's internal development
appears uniform, rectilinear, and unbroken, these profound
processes are reflected in one way or another in the leadership
of the Revolution, the team around Fidel Castro, its policies,
actions, and recent stands. They will be reflected much more
directly, in the not too distant future, in new measures and ini-
tiatives which are sure to arise in revolutionary Cuba. In this
work, we shall try to lay bare the domestic and international
forces which are determining both the immediate problems of
the Revolution and its future course of development.
INDUSTRY OR AGRICULTURE?
"Industry is the moving force of development and agri-
culture its base," say the Chinese. But is it necessary to give
priority to agriculture to gain the means for developing in-
dustry, or to industry to push the development of a modern
and productive agriculture? This is one of the many dilemmas
being raised in Cuba now, dilemmas in both domestic and in-
ternational policies. These dilemmas always present themselves
1
2 INSIDE THE CUBAN REVOLUTION
in interrelated clusters, so that to solve one in a certain way

strongly influences the manner of tackling the others.
It is not enough to say that a "just proportion" and a
"harmonious relation" should be established between the two
sectors. How define this proportion? And where locate this
harmony? The answers bring us right into the field of politics
and into the midst of the polemics going on among the leaders
and the technical, economic, and political cadres of the Cuban
Revolution.
In the first years of the Revolution, until almost 1962, the
leadership thought it could industrialize Cuba quickly even to
the point of manufacturing producer goods. This idea was un-
realistic and had to be abandoned by the Cuban leaders: Che
Guevara has acknowledged the error more than once, most
recently in the course of his participation in Algerian discussions
on planning in the summer of 1963.
But this does not mean that the idea of industrialization
has been abandoned, industry being the basis of progress and
of raising the standard of living of the population. Well then,
where will the funds for industrialization come from?
Cuba is a country which depends in great measure on
foreign trade. With what it gets for sugar, tobacco, and other
agricultural exports it acquires the industrial products it needs.
This structure, inherited. from the capitalist and semi-colonial
past, cannot be changed by an act of will, but only by the
planning of future development. For this change, capital is
needed. And during the entire initial stage, it can only come
from two sources: international financing or income earned
from foreign trade.
Although Cuba's access to financing from capitalist coun-
tries has been closed off, there are now in its stead the credits
extended by the socialist countries, primarily the Soviet Union.
But these credits are not limitless, and they must also be used to
cover the enormous costs involved in replacing all of Cuba's
industrial equipment and all of its technology, inherited from
North America, with that of the socialist camp. There is, at
least for the present, no other choice: the blockade is very tight,
and North American machinery which comes to a stop for lack
costs are considerably higher than on private farms; and it would

be very difficult to convince private farmers of the advantages
of joining a collective if in practice they do not see the na-
tionalized farms producing greater yields.
Even among private farmers there has been a sector un-
interested in increasing yields. This is due partIy to political
reasons, an attitude of passive and sometimes active resistance
on the part of the well-to-do fanners against the revolutionary
government. The so-called "second agrarian reform" was a blow
directed at this sector: this decree recently nationalized all farms
between five caballerias and thirty caballerias, of which there
were more than six thousand on the whole island.*
But the problems do not end here. The small farmer also
has reasons for not increasing production too much. He measures
his results and his gains not by the amount of money the state
pays him but, primarily, by what he can buy in the market
with this money. And in the market at the present time he
cannot buy many of the industrial products previously imported
because they are simply not there.
To spur the small farmer to produce more, the state stores,
the Tiendas del Pueblo of the countryside, must offer him a
greater variety and quantity of goods. Although the stores are
well-stocked by present Cuban rationing standards, there is no
doubt that here too the effects of the blockade are felt.
For this reason, the advocates of priority for industrial
development maintain that, to encourage an increase in agri-
cultural production, the production of industrial goods must be
given an immediate push. They add, on the other hand, that
increasing the state farms' productivity does not depend so
much on larger investments-which would have to be taken
from industry and would, after a certain point, not yield a
proportionately higher return-as on better organized work and
production in general, on improved organization which is also
needed in the development of industry. There is no reason,
according to Cuban technicians, why each dollar's worth of
product on the state farms should cost approximately a dollar
* A caballeria is roughly equal to thirty-three acres. The Agrarian
Reform of 1959 made thirty caballerias the maximum amount of land.
available to private farmers.-Translator.
The Cuban Revolution Is Five Years Old 3
of replacement parts is very difficult to start up again. When

this happens, new machinery must be imported from the social-
ist countries. Think of what this means to an underdeveloped
country without great financial resources. It is not surprising
that the blockade causes destruction which costs Cuba the
equivalent of a small war. In the light of this reality, it is easy
to understand that talk in the abstract about the difficulties of
the Cuban economy, supposedly attributable to nationalization
and planning, makes no sense.
The credits mentioned above have placed Cuba in an un-
balanced commercial position, particularly with the Soviet
Union, and this introduces a new element of pressure on all
the policies of the Cuban Revolution. Cuba is a debtor of the
Soviet Union, and this debt has been increasing, not diminish-
ing, a situation not entirely displeasing to the United States
government which understandably trusts Khrushchev more than
Fidel Castro.
For the rest, the resources provided by foreign commerce
derive primarily from sugar. The production of sugar fell until
it reached its lowest point during the last harvest, and the
destruction of the 1963 hurricane promises an even smaller
harvest in 1964.
On his return from the Soviet Union in 1963, Fidel Castro
placed even greater emphasis on the need to expand cultivation
of sugar cane and production of sugar, and to concentrate all
energies on agriculture as the basis for the development of the
country. The assured market for sugar in the socialist countries,
he said, should provide the resources for economic development.
He emphasized not only sugar cane but also dairy cattle, a
branch of agriculture in which he said Cuba could, provided
it made the necessary effort, attain yields comparable to those of
a country like Holland.
This means, according to Castro, devoting more resources
to the countryside, resources which can be obtained only by
reducing investments in early industrial development. In a later
speech, for example, he questioned a project for an iron mill in
Santiago de Cuba which had previously been approved.
Cuba needs to increase its agricultural production; every-
one in the island knows this. On the state farms, production
and twenty cents, nor why the private farmer should continue
to get a substantially better yield with inferior technical re-
sources.
There is no solution through large-scale importation of
consumer goods from the socialist countries. For one thing,
foreign exchange is lacking and the balance of trade is becom-
ing increasingly unfavorable. And for another, such goods are
already in short supply in the socialist countries themselves.
Moreover, equalling Holland's dairy production seems as
adventurous a hope as building a self-sufficient industry in a
few years. It is not the underdeveloped countries but the in-
dustrialized ones, with all the technical and social advantages
they possess, which are capable of achieving this kind of pro-
ductivity.
Given this point of view, priority always goes to industry
no matter where you start from.
In recent speeches, Fidel Castro has left the dilemma still
unresolved. Meanwhile the national polemic continues between
the "industrializing" sector, headed by the Minister of Industry,
Coman dante Che Guevara, and the "agricultural" sector rep-
resented by Carlos Rafael Rodriguez, president of INRA (the
National Institute of Agrarian Reform), who comes from the
old leadership of the Partido Socialista Popular (Communist
Party).
The controversy takes in other problems, principally inter-
national policy and the policy for organizing the national econ-
omy. There, as we shall see, the alignments are repeated.
MONEY OR REVOLUTION?
Increasing production is one of the major concerns of the
Cuban economy. In the present situation, it is not only a prob-
lem of investment but also of the productivity of labor in exist-
ing enterprises, agricultural as well as industrial.
The slow increase in productivity per worker-in some
areas it is at a standstill, in others it is actually decreasing-
creates various problems. On the one hand, there is an excess
of labor in many industries. Nobody has been laid off and, owing
to a lack of important raw materials or breakage of machinery,
production has had to be cut back. When small nationalized

shops have been merged or closed down as obsolete, all of their
workers have been found other jobs, or have been sent to tech-
nical schools at their old pay, or have been continued in jobs
in the main superfluous. What the Cuban state has avoided in
all cases is that nationalization should mean layoffs and unem-
ployment. But productivity has suffered.
On the other hand, new administrative personnel in the
nationalized enterprises, quickly mobilized to replace the old
directors and administrators, lacked experience, and this led to
a deterioration in the internal organization of these companies.
This has not always happened, but the Revolution has only
recently begun to establish its own administrative continuity at
this level and to train new administrators in special schools.
There has also appeared, under different guises, a relative
relaxation of work discipline. For a long time the government
has been fighting that early tendency to suspend work for
political meetings and rallies, insisting that all such activities
should take place outside working hours. (It was very easy in
the past for the administration of an enterprise "to politicize
itself" and disorganize production with the best political inten-
tions in the world.)
But work discipline is not worth anything if the worker
does not have a direct interest in what he is doing, whether the
interest derives from his support of the Revolution, from per-
sonal enthusiasm for his particular job, or from desire to earn
more money. This is particularly true of the kind of discipline
which exists in Cuba, voluntary for the most part and free from
political and economic methods of coercion.
What incentive impels a worker to produce more? In a
capitalist country, it is clearly a combination of money rewards
and a system of punishments; the latter may take the form of
layoffs or of external pressures of one kind or another on his
conscience.
In Cuba, the system of punishments practically does not
exist, except in extreme cases of proven production sabotage
or complete non-performance of work. Until very lately, no
system of rewards existed either. This is the starting point of
the controversy about whether material incentives (money re-
wards) or moral incentives (socialist ideals) are most effective

in moving the worker to increase his production and take an
interest in his work.
The school of thought which in socialist countries could
be defined as conservative or rightist maintains that only
material incentives (a system of rewards so closely differentiated
as to amount to piece work) can increase production. The de-
fenders of this view present various arguments about the "so-
cialist" character of material incentives, despite the fact that
since Marx's time socialist theorists have recognized that such
a system is essentially capitalist and should be resorted to under
socialism only as a temporary and transitional measure to be
gradually abandoned as the economy approaches closer to the
socialist ideal.
The school of thought which, in contrast, can be defined
as left-wing maintains that material incentives, though one may
have to make use of them in certain cases, must be completely
relegated to second place. In this view, the principal incentives
for a worker under a regime of transition to socialism should
be revolutionary enthusiasm, the understanding that he is work-
ing to build socialism, and the stimulus provided by the example
set by consciously socialist vanguard workers. This view asserts
that a system of material incentives, if widely used, undermines
the foundations of socialist development, obliquely reintroduces
the seeds of capitalism, and gravely underestimates the im-
portance of the workers' revolutionary enthusiasm.
In Cuba, Carlos Rafael Rodriguez is one of the advocates
of the first school, Ernesto Che Guevara of the second. BIas
Roca has come out more or less openly for material incentives,
and Osvaldo Dorticos for priority to moral incentives. Given
the veiled or indirect form which controversies take in Cuba,
none of the statements of these men has been completely clear,
the differences being rather matters of shading and emphasis.
Nevertheless, an emphasis here and an emphasis there do
signify the existence of a profound and real controversy.
The technicians from the European socialist countries--
primarily from the USSR and secondarily from Czechoslova-
kia-have strongly urged upon the Cuban leaders the need to
give priority to material incentives. In their countries, the need
for such incentives has been raised to the level of a theory;

and what their economic leaders offer to the workers is not
simply the vision of a socialist future or of the development of
the revolution in other countries, but above all the prospect
of buying a television set or better clothes or even a motorcycle
or automobile. This, in its way, serves to depoliticize work and
encourages a tendency for everyone to devote himself to his
individual future: the workers to busy themselves with pro-
ducing and the leaders with leading, that is, with politics.
In Cuba, it is a cult to depoliticize nothing. Politics-
that is, the Revolution-is the daily bread of every Cuban. And
if a whole sector of the Cuban leadership, including its most
important figures, insist on moral incentives, it is because they
want to stimulate production by consciously basing their de-
cisions on politics.
But the very character of moral incentives is under dis-
cussion in Cuba.
For example, one of the ways of raising enthusiasm for
work is the emulation campaign. Emulation is measured by a
point system for punctuality, attendance, quantity and quality
of production, and other similar indices. In each factory, work-
ers who want to participate sign up for the campaign. Those
who win-that is, those who each month make the highest
points in their category-are given honorific distinctions as
"vanguard workers." At the regional and national levels, other
prizes are given, such as a week's paid vacation at some tourist
center or a trip to a socialist country. But the real point of the
emulation campaign is the moral satisfaction of being recog-
nized as a vanguard worker.
All this is inconceivable in a capitalist regime, where the
enterprise is private and is operated for profit and where the
worker is not interested in production, which is the owner's
concern, but in his wages. In a regime where private property
has been nationalized, on the other hand, there are neither
bosses nor private profits, and the workers do take an interest
in production and themselves carry it forward.
Nevertheless, emulation often has a formal character. Norms
are fulfilled because they have been established, and routine
takes over the whole system. Emulation for emulation's sake,
without other outside inducements, runs the permanent risk of

becoming one more bureaucratic institution, something which
leaves the worker quite indifferent.
Another form of moral incentive is the example set by
volunteer workers. On Saturday afternoons and Sundays, "red
battalions" of volunteer workers undertake to perform special
tasks, such as cutting cane, or working in a factory or office
different from those in which they are regularly employed.
These volunteer workers are a minority, but they are a big
minority and they have inexhaustible enthusiasm. During the
sugar cane harvest, caravans of trucks leave the cities at dawn
with volunteer cane cutters for nearby fields.
There is another type of more sustained volunteer work:
the worker or office employee who puts in as many hours as
needed at his own regular place of work to complete some
urgent job or to solve some problem which the lack of replace-
ment parts, raw materials, or technicians has created.
In all this money plays no part. The driving force is en-
thusiasm for the Revolution, the conviction that the job is for
the good of all and for oneself too. It is, above all, the worker's
discovery of a meaning in his daily work: he does it no longer
just to make a living, but to build something which he sees and
feels as his own.
This is not, however, all there is to it. The big problem is
not to mobilize a minority, given this environment, but to at-
tract and arouse the majority. And it is at this point that one
school says it is possible to succeed and the other maintains
that there is no incentive as effective as money rewards to induce
the great majority to raise their productivity.
At present Cuba is establishing a system of work norms
(norms which exist in all organized capitalist businesses) to fix
the quantity and quality of production for each operative. For
performance above the norm, a premium is paid which rises
to twenty percent of the total wage: this is the maximum paid,
for if production is higher, it is an indication that the norm is
too low and should be readjusted. It is clear that these norms,
although they introduce a form of premiums, do not add up to
a system of money incentives of the kind which exists in some
other socialist countries.
Yugoslavia is the country which in one sense has gone

furthest with this kind of incentive; there the principle of "the
material interest of workers in production results" is put into
operation by self-management committees. These committees
run the businesses from the larger economic point of view as
well, and they are interested in economic results-profits-be-
ing the highest possible, for these profits are mainly distributed
in the form of bonuses among the personnel of the company.
So effective in appearance, this system in practice brings
with it competition between the different companies, agreements
among companies not to increase production but to increase
profits, disorganization of the central economic plan, and
privileges for more modern enterprises at the cost of poorer or
more backward ones. That is, it attacks the very heart of the
functioning of the system of transition to socialism, central
planning and the subordination of individual effort to the col-
lective objectives of society.
Without quite copying the Yugoslav system, the school
represented by Carlos Rafael Rodriguez would introduce the
principle of distributing the enterprise's profits to its personnel
as material incentives. This method of functioning means that
the management's economic performance is measured by money,
by the higher or lower profits which the company makes.
Minister of Industry Che Guevara is opposed to this
theory; he wants to keep the economy centralized and to
measure economic performance by centrally controlled economic
indices in accordance with guide lines set by each year's plan.
The extent to which the enterprise over- or under-fulfills these
indices will tell if it is functioning well, regularly, or badly, and
what has to be corrected.
The school represented by Che Guevara shows a particular
hostility to gauging performance by profits, a hostility which
derives from the fact that using this criterion reintroduces a
type of semi-competition among enterprises and breaks down the
centralized management of the economy. Competition tends to
take precedence over planning, and the individual's or the enter-
prise's material interest over socialist collective interest em-
bodied in the plan. According to the Cuban Minister of In-
dustry, the socialist economy tends, furthermore, toward cen-
tralized management, and this trend will be accentuated more

and more as automation and linear production programming
are introduced. Running enterprises on a profit basis introduces,
on the other hand, individualistic and anti-socialist monetary
incentives as the driving force of production; socialist conscious-
ness is thus reserved for holidays and revolutionary celebrations.
Che Guevara in one of his speeches said that while capi-
talist competition is "a struggle among beasts," the system of
self-management aiming at maximum profits is "a struggle
among caged beasts."
Since the controversy is unresolved, both systems exist in
Cuba today: in INRA enterprises, financial self-management;
in those of the Ministry of Industry, control by budget.
Externally, this whole question is linked to the discussion
going on now in socialist countries on the functioning of the law
of value during the transition to socialism. Articles on this very
question have been published which take issue with each other:
one by the Minister of Industry in the magazine published by
his Ministry, and the other by the Minister of Foreign Com-
merce, Comandante Alberto Mora, in the magazine Comercio
Exterior.
Internationally, this problem arises in the system-and its
working methods--of commercial relations between socialist
countries (particularly in Comecon, the Council for Mutual
Economic Aid); and domestically, in the criteria used in de-
termining wage scales in Cuba. The partisans of material in-
centives advocate stretching the scale out, while the partisans
of moral incentives want to compress it. Thus, one proposal
would set a scale of one to ten, from the minimum wage of 75
pesos a month (with deductions) to the maximum salary of
700 pesos for a Minister; another, on the other hand, would
hold this maximum down to 500 or 550 pesos. If you want to
appeal to socialist consciousness,then the trend to greater equali-
ty is a fundamental factor.
The opponents of material incentives have another argu-
ment at this juncture: when there is a scarcity of consumer
goods as in Cuba today, raising wages does not, after a certain
point, mean much to the worker, for he cannot buy what he
would like. Consequently, if material concerns are to be his

outlook, he would rather earn less and make less effort.
On this last point the statistics look bad: in 1962 wage
payments, pensions, etc., rose to approximately 2,500 million
pesos, while total sales of merchandise did not exceed 1,700
million. Even discounting savings, there still remains an infla-
tionary gap which oscillates between 500 and 600 million pesos
without a counterpart in merchandise to absorb it.
Other aspects of the controversy lead directly to politics.
To interest workers in production, banners and honorific men-
tion are not enough. Appeals to socialist consciousness are not
enough either. The threat of invasion in October, 1962, evoked
an economic phenomenon which was later discussed and studied
in Cuba: with fewer personnel-since many were mobilized-
enterprises maintained and increased production. In the face
of danger to-the Revolution and the country, everyone started
to produce. National life had a central, concrete goal: to de-
feat the imperialist enemy.
On the other hand, situations of political uncertainty for
the Revolution-the unresolved dispute between the USSR and
China, for example, a subject which vitally interests the whole
Cuban people-have a contrary effect. Interest in production
slackens. A good turn in the Latin American revolutionary
movement awakens enthusiasm. If the Cuban leaders in their
speeches, appeals, and policy decisions ally themselves with
this turn, heightened enthusiasm is evident the very next day
in the streets and centers of production. This is not an exaggera-
tion: in any enterprise where production is intimately tied to
politics and not to the enterprise's profits, political events in
which the workers take part or which arouse them, call forth
their support in the form of greater productive efforts. The
same thing happens in the Soviet Union itself where it has
been observed that productivity increases in factories filling
orders for Cuba.
Another obstacle to increasing production was spelled out
for me one night by a Cuban worker at a center for political
study. He told me, "Do you know why people don't work
harder? Because they're not happy with the union leaders.
Every Cuban worker is furious with them and so they get dis-
gusted and work less. You can't produce more when such a
situation exists." I heard this unfavorable opinion of the top
union leaders more than once from revolutionary workers and
Fidelistas. But this, the Cuban problem of problems, requires a
more extended explanation.
THE UNIONS IN CUBA

He who tries to depict the Revolution as a monolithic unity
without failures or internal contrasts can only be ingenuous or
a falsifier interested in covering up the complex inner workings
of the Revolution.
The Revolution develops through contradictions and not
just by clashes with the imperialist enemy but also between its
own forces and trends. Its real life, its practical line, the actual
road it travels-alI these emerge from its inner dynamics, not
from the minds of two or three of its leaders. One of the areas
in which these contradictions appear most clearly outlined is
in the trade unions. You have only to live for a time in Cuba,
participate in the Revolution's activities, and be in daily con-
tact with the Cuban people to learn of one leader who enjoys
the unanimous opposition of the Cuban workers; he is today
as much a part of the Cuban leadership as Escalante was until
just the other day, and he is no other than the general secretary
of the Central de Trabajadores de Cuba Reuolucionaria
(CTCR), Lazaro Pefia,
This is not a secret nor gossip among the initiated. It is an
opinion current in the streets of Havana and allover Cuba, and
it blossoms into the open a few minutes after you start talking
about the union situation. One worker told me that Lazaro
Pefia was the artisan of the most complete unity you can find
among Cuban workers: unity against him.
In reality, the secretary general of the CTCR is paying for
both his and others' faults, for on his head is concentrated the
discontent of a great part of the workers with the state of the
unions in Cuba.
The secretary general of the CTCR was elected at the last
national congress which took place in 1961. He was elected
under the single-slate system, which means that no opponent
could compete with him for office. His appointment was more
of a decision from above than an election from below. Cuban
workers who support and defend the Revolution to the death
made no organized opposition to this single-slate system because
of a belief which guides their every step and action: they will
bring no harm to the Revolution and will hold back or wait
when they are convinced that some protest, no matter how
justified, could do so. Of course, this feeling can sometimes be
exploited by people interested in imposing their own decisions,
whether the people like them or not. But this attitude also has
limits: when the people see that more harm is caused the
Revolution by shutting up or yielding to the pressures of those
who have a personal interest in silencing protests, they will
speak up and say what has to be said.
Lazaro Pefia cannot easily count on the support of work-
ers, for there are many episodes in his history as a trade union
leader in Cuba which cannot be talked about today. For ex-
ample, he was leader of the CTCR in 1939, during the time of
his party's (the Cuban Communist Party) alliance with Batista,
and as such he put the brakes on or disarmed strike after strike;
he did this in the name of that alliance and to help the cause
of the "democracies" to triumph during the Second World War:
in Cuba "there was no need to strike:' Any forty-year-old
Cuban worker remembers this well, just as newspaper photo-
graphs in which Lazaro Pefia appeared on the same platform
with Batista are remembered-or saved.
(I have listened to all this innumerable times; and I want
to make use of this parenthesis to make clear, for the sake of
what follows, that I have never talked to counter-revolution-
aries in Cuba. In the first place, because they are completely un-
interesting-one has only to read the North American news-
papers on Cuba-and, second, for simple reasons of personal
hygiene.)
Though the people have longer and surer memories than
imbeciles like to think, Lazaro Pena's history is not the primary
reason for opposition to him today. The main reason is not his
past activity but his present function. Remembrance of his past
serves to reinforce today's opinions; if this were not so, no one
would care to remember.
The Cuban Revolution Is Five Years Old J5
There are twenty-five national unions in Cuba, one for

each industrial sector. The larger ones are in sugar, textiles, rail-
ways, restaurants, and construction. Each union has a national
and provincial leadership, and also a leadership for each enter-
prise or work center. The organization at the work-center level
is called the union section. The union section corresponds to
what in other places would be called shop committees or factory
locals.
What is the function of the unions in a proletarian state
like Cuba, where enterprises are nationalized and there are no
bosses and no private profit?
At the time of the establishment of the New Economic
Policy in the Soviet Union in 1921, Lenin said that unions are
organizations of workers the task of which is to defend their
particular economic interests against the state administration
itself. In his famous controversy with Trotsky over unions, which
was the prelude to the establishment of the NEP, Lenin main-
tained that this was true even when the state was in the hands
of the workers. It was a workers' state with a large peasant ele-
ment and with bureaucratic distortions, and the unions could,
consequently, find themselves in a situation in which they
needed, as representatives of the workers' interests, to confront
functionaries of their own state and, if necessary, even to call
strikes.
Lenin pointed out that unions under capitalism are funda-
mentally different. According to his thesis, the latter by fighting
for economic rights come into conflict with the regime of private
property, and they must, if led by revolutionaries, help break
down the system and not care whether the struggle for their
own rights harms the capitalist state, an alien and hostile ap-
paratus. In states which are in transition to socialism, as in
Cuba and other socialist countries, the unions act within the
state regime; they do not tend to be revolutionary but are "re-
formist" with respect to their own state, and, even when it
comes to the economic rights of workers, always take into con-
sideration the general interests of the workers' state. As it was
formulated, this concept presupposes the existence of a rich
inner dialectic, a free play of what Mao Tse-tung was later to
call "the non-antagonistic contradictions."
The other concept, which dates from the ..Stalin period, de-
fines unions as organizations whose job it is to acquaint workers
with the point of view of the state leadership, to organize
work for production, to run emulation campaigns, and to check
up on the workers' productivity; the union's job is also to re-
solve minor disputes by acting as a sort of arbitrator between
the administration and the workers, who are identified with the
collective. In any case, this concept maintains that there are no
antagonisms between the state and the workers, since it is the
latter who are in power, and that the union should work in
close contact and in complete unanimity with the management
of each work center to achieve the highest production yield.
In Cuba this second concept is officially practiced-al-
though with a certain elasticity-and from it derive the prob-
lems of the unions.
The unions, then, serve to transmit to the rank and file the
leaders' point of view and to convince the workers that they
should not raise such and such problems. A long stretch separates
Lenin's concept in which the union acts in the name of the
workers, and this later one in which the union represents the
administration to the workers. The function assigned to the
unions explains the system of electing leaders.
The most curious thing about all this is that, despite what
one might superficially imagine, it is not the second concept
which serves to increase production (although it may appear
more "peaceful" to the leaders of the state). Feeling that they
are not represented by their organizations and having no other
organized way of expressing their discontent with this or that
situation which they think is unjust or wrong, the workers un-
consciously tend to feel disgusted and to reduce their productive
effort. It is this state of affairs which a Cuban worker summed
up so graphically when he told me that to raise production, there
had to be a change in the union leadership.
The Cuban union leaders have been bringing orientation
from above down to the workers, putting aside their own
opinions to accept what the state leaders tell them without
argument, and doing the job of getting the workers to work
more-all things which are the task of management or of the
workers themselves. These activities have lost them their au-
thority with the rank and file, for the latter feel that such
leaders do not depend on them but on the state. And conse-
quently the workers respond to appeals from the Revolution's
leaders-Fidel Castro, Che Guevara-but not to the appeals
of the union leaders. All this is learned and experienced and
lived by anyone who stops in Cuba today and lives a few weeks
with the Cuban people.
How did Cuba arrive at such a role for its unions? No
revolution advances in a straight line, and the case of Escalante
was not the only contradiction within the Cuban Revolution.
The present union leadership was elected during that period
which was described by Che Guevara and other leaders as "the
mechanical transplanting of the experiences of other socialist
countries." The single slate was established in union elections in
the name of "unity." This system had the endorsement of the
Revolution's leadership, and so it was accepted.
In practice, the elected leaders did not feel dependent on
the rank and file but on those above-on those to whom they
actually owed their jobs. The state and its representatives in
the enterprises-the managers-naturally and logically tend to
try to impose their point of view as each problem comes up.
And the union leaders, instead of speaking up for the workers
when they disagree, act out the contrary role of those who bring
pressure to bear on the workers to convince them. From this
arises a permanent state of crisis in the union locals, which in
many cases have been degraded to the point where their function
is limited to the performance of simple administrative tasks.
I have attended more than one union meeting in Cuba,
and the first thing that strikes the eye is the seating at the gather-
ing. On one side, the workers. On the other, the president, the
administrator, the personnel manager, and the local union
leader-in other words, the leadership. I remember one meeting
in a small textile factory: scarcely five feet separated the plat-
form from the workers, but this space seemed set off by
a transparent wall. Yet the administrator and the union leader
on one side and the workers on the other had something crucial
in common, something that they could never have in a capitalist
enterprise: all were in accord with the Revolution and defended
it. But at this very moment the place of the union leader should
have been on the other side if that wall was to come down. This
was easy to see, so much so that when a discussion about work
started between the representative of the administration and
some workers, the union leader became merely a decorative
figure, quiet and absent.
This does not always happen. In spite of all, the union
leader is under constant pressure from the rank and file, espe-
cially if he works in the factory: pressure in the form of de-
mands and criticisms, or of glacial indifference to his appeals.
On the other hand, he also suffers the pressure of what he has
been told is his mission: to convince the rank and file and not
to make himself the transmitter of their opinions and protests.
In this dilemma, more than one local leader has decided to be-
come the voice of the rank and file vis-a-vis either the plant
management or the union higher-ups themselves.
Last September, Lazaro Pefia personally went to a general
meeting of construction workers in the heavy equipment sector
(tractors, derricks, pneumatic drills, bulldozers, etc.). He went
to ask the meeting to approve the following: when equipment
which a worker operates breaks down, the worker will agree to
work at a lesser job and accept the wage for that category in-
stead of the wage he has been receiving. This had already been
proposed by Fidel Castro, but the workers were not in agree-
ment: what with the deterioration of equipment and the lack
of replacement parts, the breakdown of a machine could mean
a considerable loss of income. The union leaders in this sector
were not eager to face the rank and file directly with these de-
mands. The secretary general of the CTCR therefore had to
go himself, and a scandal broke out at the meeting. A worker
told him that when he gave up his automobile and went to
work with them, they would accept his proposition. Another
reminded him of his old collaboration with Batista. Others ac-
cused him of enjoying privileges. The meeting was suspended
in great confusion. The press denounced the incident, first as
the work of "counter-revolutionaries," later as the work of
"confusionists." In subsequent meetings, better prepared by the
leaders but much less well attended by the workers, the proposi-
tion brought by Lazaro Pefia was carried.
The accusation that the incidents at the meeting were or-
ganized by the "counter-revolution" was so indefensible that

it had to be abandoned twenty-four hours later. Those very
workers who had spoken up in the meeting were militiamen,
and some were even members of the PURS (United Socialist
Revolutionary Party), men who were ready to take up rifles
at a moment's notice to defend the Revolution and the govern-
ment of Fidel Castro, to die if necessary. It was absurd for any-
one to maintain that the counter-revolution, so isolated and
demoralized in Cuba, could have the slightest influence, par-
ticularly in the case of the construction workers. Such charges
could only be intended to throw sand in people's eyes and to
shut the door on any real explanation and, consequently, on any
real solution.
The clash between the leadership of the CTCR and the
construction workers did not surprise objective observers of
what had been happening in union circles. It brought to light,
as dozens of comments and minor incidents had been doing,
a state of dissatisfaction with the union leadership and a desire
for change on the part of the workers. If these feelings seem
to concentrate on one man, it is not due to a "cult of per-
sonality" in reverse but to the way the unions function; the
present set-up prevents such feelings from being better ex-
pressed. The workers also want to show in one way or another
that they make a clear distinction between the leaders of the
Revolution, the men of the Sierra Maestra led by Fidel Castro,
and those who collaborate with them in the government today
but who have a very different past and in their present acts re-
flect attitudes acquired in that past.
When incidents and situations like these come out into the
open, they appear as harbingers of change in the course of the
Revolution. It is ridiculous to assert, as enemies of the Revolu-
tion do, that the Cuban unions do not exist or that they are
simply administrative organs. .If that were true, the workers
would abandon them and find other means. Rather, these con-
flicts indicate that there is a will for change which is looking
for ways to express itself. The desired change is not opposed
to the present course of the Revolution; it seeks to remove the
obstacles which conservative tendencies put in its way.
The Cuban workers never have accepted the theory of the
identity between the unions and the state, although the state
is its very own.
The inner dialectic of union life is a most lively, intense
process, and it is preparing the way for great new accomplish-
ments in Cuba today. This dialectic is reflected in the very
leadership of the state. It will not be long before it brings about
a new relationship between the unions and the Cuban state.
This relationship-far from confirming the crystal-ball pro-
nouncements of those who, out of personal interest in holding
on to their positions, would congeal the Revolution-will not
weaken the revolutionary state nor give comfort to its enemies;
it will, instead, serve to consolidate the flexible, live solidarity of
the Cuban Revolution, keep it tied to its real popular roots,
enrich its inner life and its influence abroad.
THE SECOND AGRARIAN REFORM

The Cuban Revolution also has its own small Vendee. *
For a time it tried to gather strength in the Escambray moun-
tains but, despite the arms dropped by North American airplanes,
the small counter-revolutionary bands could not keep going
and were annihilated. The North American arms were taken
by the militia, and you can see in Cuba today more than one
militiaman carrying with special pride a rifle recently "made
in the U.S.A."
But the Cuban Vendee has not only a foreign but also a
native origin. It is true that the forces of the counter-revolu-
tion in the cities are totally debilitated-on the one hand by
the blows they have received, and on the other by the exodus to
the United States (the government lets anyone leave who wants
to). Popular pressure and vigilance also throw them constantly
into a state of demoralization.
Isolated and dispersed in the cities, the counter-revolution
found, as was to be expected, a refuge in the countryside. A
hidden, indirect counter-revolution also exists in the sectors of
well-paid functionaries, careerists, and privilege seekers. But
* The reference is to the famous counter-revolutionary insurrection
which took place during the French Revolution in Vendee and adjacent
areas of western France.-Translator.
this type of counter-revolution-the most insidious because it

clothes itself in phrases which sound revolutionary-is another
story, worth telling by itself.
The refuge of the counter-revolution in the countryside
was the rich agricultural sector of the population which con-
tinued to exist after the agrarian reform nationalizing all lands
down to thirty caballerias. Farmers who possess less than five
caballerias are considered small farmers and belong to the Na-
tional Association of Small Farmers through which they obtain
credits and regulate their relations with the state. Until recently,
those owning from five to thirty caballerias made up the cate-
gory of middle and rich farmers.
There were more than six thousand of these, and they
were, in the main, landlords who lived in the cities and had
their lands worked for them; some were farmers whose past or
present position gave them a certain influence with poor farm-
ers of the region who were a species of "clientele." Owing to
their economic and social situation, many of these middle and
rich farmers opposed the Revolution, for it had closed off their
chance of becoming a farming bourgeoisie and of increasing
their holdings.
In a country with a more solid and widespread industrial
structure it would perhaps have been easier for a socialist re-
gime to use this category of farmers and if not to win them
over at least to neutralize them. The greater importance of in-
dustry would have reduced their influence and at the same time
would have given them a sufficiency of consumer goods for
immediate use or of semi-lasting value. Industry would have
made these goods available also to the small farmers who would
have been more strongly attracted by the city's influence, thus
weakening the rich farmers' potential power in the rural areas.
But under Cuban conditions, the natural hostility to socialism
of the rich farmer-prevented from further enriching himself and
acquiring more land-was bound to turn into enmity. It was
also inevitable that he would try to drag with him a class of
middle and even small farmers who were disgusted with the
difficulties of revolution; for while the city worker understands
these difficulties and endures them because he sees socialism as
his future, the farmer does not see anything beyond the boun-
daries of his own piece of land. The rich farmer thus came to
provide shelter for the activities of the counter-revolution which
were also fostered and encouraged from abroad.
In addition to all this, a tendency to create a black market
is always present. The prices of farm goods for the city are
fixed. The state buys them from the farmers (and from the
people's collectives) through the buying agency of INRA and
seIls them through the distribution network of the Ministry of
Internal Commerce.
The farmers cannot go to the city and create a competing
market there. But they are allowed to sell their products at their
farms or on the highways. At the same time, no automobile is
allowed to enter the city with more than twenty-five pounds of
farm produce. All these measures put the brakes on the black
market but do not manage to stop it. By many invisible net-
works the farmer finds a way to sell part of his product to those
who have money to pay. Those who have money are either the
remaining old bourgeoisie or high-salaried functionaries with cars
to take them to the countryside. Thus, speculation has two
heads, the man who buys and the man who sells. Speculation
exerts a permanent pressure on prices despite the fact that the
distribution apparatus of the state has managed to maintain
sufficient stocks for the population within the limits of ration-
ing quotas.
The Cuban government has just [autumn, 1963J taken
drastic measures to solve these problems by nationalizing all
property larger than five caballerias. With this decree, the state,
which formerly owned about forty percent of the land, now
owns nearly seventy percent, according to an estimate made
by Carlos Rafael Rodriguez. The economic base of a whole class
hostile to the Revolution has been eliminated. This measure
comes accompanied by plans for reorganizing the state collec-
tives, readjusting their holdings (in some cases very large) or
regrouping different entities in accordance with the needs of
physical planning or of production.
At the same time, Fidel Castro at the last meeting of the
National Association of Small Farmers guaranteed the small
farmers ownership of their lands for as long as they wanted to
continue as private farmers, without associating themselves with

?- cooperative or a farm collective.
This is called the "Second Agrarian Reform," and accord-
ing to the government's declaration, it establishes the definitive
standard for land ownership in Cuba. It brings to an end the
uncertain situation which led many farmers not to increase pro-
duction or improve their lands, since they were afraid of eventual
expropriation. In the cities, popular reaction was very favorable;
not only was the measure approved, but it was a commonplace
to hear people say that it should have been taken sooner.
As for the small farmers, the revolutionary government has
pursued a steady policy designed to keep them as allies. Even
with this class, success has not always been achieved: the farmer
first sees his piece of land, then the country and the Revolution.
Nevertheless, the majority do support the Revolution. What has
been done in the countryside is certainly great enough to com-
pensate for scarcities and other difficulties in the farmer's books.
In the first place, the literacy campaign brought the great
majority of the farmers to the Revolution. Besides, hospitals and
schools have been built in all farm areas, and teachers and doc-
tors have gone to places where previously only quacks took care
of the sick.
In the Sierra Maestra, vanguard teachers work in the re-
motest mountainsides where they have to go on foot three, four,
or five hours from the place where the jeep must leave them
because it can go no further. There they build schools together
with the farmers, bring books and notebooks, teach the children
in the mornings and the adults in the afternoon, and take care
of thousands of problems that have nothing to do with teaching.
In the same places, doctors have come to serve in recently built
hospitals in the most out-of-the-way places. In the Sierra, a sys-
tem of mountain transport has extended its network to bring the
cities closer to places where even beasts of burden used to have
a hard time entering. Dozens of farm families have sons studying
in the cities or in the army. In Havana and other centers there
are more than 70,000 scholarship students, the majority children
of farmers, besides those who have been sent to the socialist
countries.
Apart from land, the most commanding rewards for farmers

in all of Latin America are schools, hospitals, roads, teachers,
doctors and transport. Without all these, and without a good sys-
tem of government purchase of farm produce, credits, and tech-
nical help, any agrarian reform would be paralyzed or become
a mere formality. It is these things which ensure farm support
of the Revolution.
But I must add that all this would have been impossible
without the social climate created by the Revolution, for it set
up conditions which inspired thousands of high school and uni-
versity students to become rural teachers and go to the most
isolated places to teach the farmers. These young people have
accepted any sacrifice which came their way, and hundreds of
doctors have gone to practice in all comers of the island, aban-
doning all the comforts of the cities to do so. It is not money or
salaries but enthusiasm for the Revolution which has given them
the necessary push, and it must be added that these men and
women do not feel like heroes or martyrs but like people simply
doing a job.
There are farm militias in the Sierra Maestra, and they are
organized into mountain companies. These are the groups in
which farm support of the Revolution is concentrated. The mem-
bers of these mountain companies are volunteers, for the prin-
ciple of volunteering reigns as in all Cuban militias. This means
they are select groups, since only those who want to defend the
Revolution join up, and they are for this reason a political
nucleus among the farming population.
As I have just indicated, another aspect of the situation
which is decisive in maintaining farm support is the economic
policy toward the countryside. On the one hand, the farmers
receive credits for their production. On the other, the purchasing
agency is also of fundamental importance. Failures on the part
of the purchasing agency, which on more than one occasion have
been responsible for serious losses in the countryside, have harmed
relations with farmers. Eliminating them has lately been one of
INRA's main concerns.
The problem of prices has also arisen. In reality, there is
an invisible farm pressure for an increase in prices. This pres-
sure shows up in sales outside the official channels, on the high-

way or the black market, and also in holding down production, or
in exchanges among the farmers themselves. These exchanges
can, for example, consist of obtaining rice (the quota of which
is small for the Cuban farmer who is accustomed to eat much
rice) for eggs or other products. If prices have nevertheless been
maintained at their present levels, it has been due to the state
collectives which act as regulators. But the higher production
costs of the latter also exercise upward pressure on prices. For
some time now, many technicians have argued the need to raise
prices to stimulate greater farm production. And in fact recent
increases, although officially explained as helping to pay in part
for the damage of the hurricane, are also a response to this per-
sistent pressure.
On the other hand, as we have said, the problem does not
simply arise from the amount of money the farmer makes, but
from what he can buy with it. If there is little to be bought, price
increases in the countryside may have no stimulating effect on
production.
Today with seventy percent of the land nationalized, the
problems of the countryside in Cuba are concentrated in the
organization of the state collectives, in the implementation of a
system of administration which permits each farmer to par-
ticipate in the management of the collective, in raising the pro-
ductivity of state lands and making them produce more and
more cheaply than the lands of the private farmers. This last
objective has yet to be reached and has been given first priority
by the government.
But it must not be forgotten that at this stage the vital
centers of the Cuban Revolution are in the cities and particu-
larly in industry. A general improvement in the social and eco-
nomic organization of the nation will have to begin there if a
solid framework is to be provided for nationalized agriculture.
Only then will the state farms take their planned place as the
most productive agricultural units, and only in this way can the
socialist system be consolidated in the countryside and gradually
absorb, by force of example and economic results, the remaining
200,000 small farmers.
TWO TENDENCIES IN THE REVOLUTION

The failure of the international press to understand the
inner development of the Cuban Revolution is unlimited.
Hemmed in by schematic notions, it was taken by surprise when
the Revolution went socialist; and if one judges by what is
being written nowadays, it will continue to be taken by surprise
by future developments.
By now it is a commonplace that in the USSR there are
different tendencies and that Khrushchev has to work and
maneuver with them; that within capitalist governments, diverse
tendencies are at work and that conflicting social forces and in-
fluences shape the views of their ruling circles. But when it
comes to Cuba, most commentators still have not discarded an
old formula which has long since been transcended by reality:
to divide the leadership of the Cuban Revolution between
Fidelistas and Communists and to search frantically in every
episode where differences of opinion come into the open for the
line of the "Communists" (the former members of the PSP)
and that of the "non-Communists" (the old team of the Sierra).
Other commentators believe that in Cuba the leadership is al-
ways united and that everything is decided by Fidel Castro ac-
cording to his own whims and fancies. Both of these views in-
volve the assumption that the whys and wherefores of decisions
taken by the Cuban leadership are to be found in the minds and
wills of highly placed individuals, but never, never, in what
happens below, in the real, seething, bustling life of the Cuban
people, in its opinions and pressures, in its turns and actions, in
its collective decisions. In each of these interpretations, the word
"masses" has a pejorative meaning, the masses being those who
support the ideas of this or that leader. It is never the other way
around-that the masses oblige this or that leader to adopt these
ideas.
In actual fact, it is precisely this last situation which pre-
vails in Cuba, with an obviousness which could hardly be more
crystal clear.
A good case in point is the way the foreign press saw in the
expulsion of Anibal Escalante an action exclusively and inde-
pendently taken by Fidel Castro as soon as he "learned what
was happening." What this overlooks is that Fidel Castro him-

self said publicly a few weeks after the fact that for months the
masses had been seeing what was happening and that "if we
didn't take this measure now, in a short time we would all be
dragged down." ["Drag down" (arrastrar) is a Cuban ex-
pression which dates from the fall of Machado when the most
hated individuals of the regime were not only captured but were
literally dragged through the streets.] Even allowing for some
polemical exaggeration in the phrase "drag down," there is no
doubt whatever that at that moment there existed enormous
pressure from below against the abuses and arbitrariness of the
whole group represented by Anibal Escalante.
There is no other process which can explain how the Cuban
Revolution has developed by discontinuous leaps. To believe in
the theory that decisions are exclusively thought up at the top
by means of a mysterious gift of "communication with the
masses" is equivalent to accepting Genesis as the scientific ex-
planation of the creation of the world.
This is not said to negate, whittle down, or dilute the roles
that the leaders play but to explain why and how they can under-
take them, which forces they lean on, the pressures which drive
them forward and permit them to act with more or less rapidity,
decisiveness, and firmness. It is obvious of course that all such
pressures are expressed and manifested through leaders to whom
they appeal. That is why, even in Cuba, some leaders tend in
every decision to orient themselves in accordance with the pres-
sure from below; others bend in the direction of pressure from
imperialism (a pressure which is real and exists not only in the
fleet which blockades Cuba but in a thousand hidden channels
of the play of social forces in and outside of Cuba); and others
invariably react in accordance with the opinions or pressures of
the leaders of the Soviet Union. (In a time of worldwide nuclear
pacts, by the way, these last two pressures have united more
than once to present a common front in Cuba-for example, to
get Fidel Castro to sign the pact.)
AIl this inner play of forces occurs in the dark in Cuba,
especially for the observer accustomed to look to the newspapers
for the presentation of varying points of view. The Cuban press
is fearfully uniform: there are eight pages to each newspaper,
six for sports, spectacles, and current production or organiza-

tional activities; one for international news; and one-or less-
devoted to comment or its own pronouncements which vary
slightly from one paper to the other and in which only the in-
formed eye can distinguish shadings or differences.
The Cuban press is a national calamity. It is not just an
information medium; it is a defensive wall against pressure from
below, a uniform medium which allows discussions on art criti-
cism or films but never dissent or criticism or proposals for
change when it comes to a decision of the government. This
is an obvious distortion of socialist principles, as is the existence
of an office-The Commission of Revolutionary Orientation
(COR)-to control all the newspapers as well as magazines
and other publications, so that nothing can be published without
COR's permission. To this must be added the absence of any
elected bodies with delegates or deputies of the working-class
population, like the Soviets in the Russian Revolution, which
permitted direct and organized expression of what the different
sectors and currents of the population thought about every im-
portant problem.
All of this has nothing to do with the classic principles of
what is called "the dictatorship of the proletariat"-if the Cuban
leaders want to fall back, when they declare themselves Lenin-
ists, on what Lenin wrote in State and Revolution-but rather
with the substitution of the opinions of the men who control the
media of communication for the opinions of the proletariat.
But two things must be made clear:
First, the level of democracy really existing in a country
is not measured by the press only but by the total social life,
and by the real power of the majority of the population over
production, the state, and the armed forces. In this real and
concrete sense, there is no country today where there is greater
democracy than in Cuba.
Second, although the press, radio, and television do display
a uniformity, often drab and without combativeness, the real life
and the real politics which exist in Cuba express themselves in
a real diversity of opinions not only between revolutionaries and
counter-revolutionaries but more particularly inside the Revolu-
tion and its leadership. If it were otherwise, the Revolution would

be dead and ready for a museum.
The preceding pages have dealt with some of the principal
questions around which such opinions have arisen, questions
which constitute what we might call the inner politics of Cuba.
But the Left and the Right-and consequently the Center-while
not labelling themselves, do express themselves with considerable
coherence in all fields, both national and international; for it
is impossible to put oneself at one extreme on some fundamental
questions and at the opposite on others.
The circumstances of the Cuban Revolution are not simple.
Blockaded, with peoples everywhere in favor but their govern-
ments opposed, under pressure of an alliance with the USSR
whose policies it does not share in many ways, in the middle of
the Sino-Soviet dispute, supported by allies who are primarily
Khrushchev's not the Cuban leaders' (unless the speeches of Fidel
Castro at the January, 1963, Congress of Cuban Women and
at the subsequent July 26th celebration were merely random
remarks without point), the island is an example of resistance
and heroism the depth of which it is not easy to measure. Nei-
ther allies nor enemies have learned to gauge, at its furthest and
deepest level, the decision of the Cuban people never to turn back
or to give in to threats or pressures.
Living in their midst, you know that the collective soul of
the Cuban people is set on one goal: to carry forward their
Revolution. This is something you can touch with your hands.
It manifests itself in the tension of politics. Cuba is a small
island. The Cuban people understand and say with all their
acts that if it has been able to endure until now it is because
of the support of the outside world. If there is a solution to the
country's problems, it will not be found through self-isolation on
the island, but by gaining new allies, especially in Latin America.
That is why, for example, Cubans follow the turns of the
Venezuelan Revolution as if it were their own.
Not only Venezuela. The Cuban people hang on what hap-
pens everywhere in the world, but especially in Latin America.
Despite bad, deficient, distorted information (for the counter-
revolution comes not only in the guise of an enemy "from the
sea"b ut a1so as a "friendlv"
nen y commentator or poIi"
tician Wh 0
thinks the people are not "mature" enough to understand this

or that news which he and his bosses find inconvenient to pub-
lish), the Cuban people passionately follow the development of
the Revolution in Latin America. Anyone who visits the island
can see that they are convinced that there is no lasting solution
for Cuba without extending the Revolution to the continent.
This conviction acts as a gigantic pressure on the whole
island. It is stupid to believe that the Cuban government can
act independently of this opinion, even if it wanted to.
You cannot gauge what happens in Cuba nor judge the
internal play of social pressures by what happens in a capitalist
country. In the latter there is a complicated system of shock
absorbers: parliaments, the whole state administrative apparatus,
political parties tied to this or that interest, armed forces (army
and police) and the laws which uphold them, and a more or less
subtle system of diversions, among them the prospect of building
a little house, buying a car, doing for oneself and letting the
rest of the world go hang, all this regulated and adjusted by
commercial propaganda, by the press, by a complete system, in
fact, of stimulants and narcotics of all kinds.
In Cuba all that is over. There is only the palpable feeling,
the collective conviction, that to save yourself you have to do
so together; that to live better, all have to live better together.
There is no other way. While social life in other countries en-
courages the tendency for each to go his own way to help him-
self, social life in Cuba spontaneously opposes this by its own
inner logic.
Then who, why, and how is anyone to resist a social pres-
sure which demands in a thousand different but unanimous
manifestations that the Revolution take one particular road and
not another?
The Cuban leadership, even if it believed the contrary,
could not oppose such pressure frontally, nor would it have the
means to do so. (As a matter of fact, of course, it does not in
general believe the contrary.) A government disposed to oppose
powerful pressures from below must seek the means to do so:
it must divide the population with economic privileges for some;
create a sector with high, untouchable salaries; respect the
sectors which show a socially conservative tendency, whether
these be high functionaries, businessmen, or farmers with large

holdings. In general, a government of this type not only creates
these means but is first of all a product of them.
But in Cuba it is clear that recently adopted measures and
policies are precisely opposed to the more conservative social
sectors, and as a result those currents and groups which look
to them for support are losing ground.
Do they exist? Undoubtedly, since Cuba is not in the world
alone. But more and more, these tendencies have to count on
foreign support, which in turn is reflected internally in men
and sectors of similar minds and interests.
In international politics, the differences between basic ten-
dencies show up especially in relation to the Latin American
Revolution. Not long ago Che Guevara told EI Moujahid, the
organ of the Algerian FLN, that the Latin American Revolution
was his "favorite theme." Inside the Cuban leadership, the Min-
ister of Industry undoubtedly represents the position which is
frankly oriented toward "expanding the influence of the Revo-
lution," as he said at the recent international congress of archi-
tects in Havana.
But this orientation cannot but clash with the foreign policy
needs of the Soviet Union. In accordance with its nuclear pact
with the United States, the Soviet Union has no interest in
changes in the status quo in Latin America. Such changes could
provoke as violent a North American reaction as that of Octo-
ber 1962, and threaten the whole prospect of peaceful coexistence
and "the construction of communism in twenty years" by means
of peaceful competition with the West.
This line of the Soviet leadership has, as it always did, its
representatives in Cuba. They are the same old ones, but they
have been joined by several new layers of functionaries who en-
joy a standard of living superior to the average and who want
a quiet life.
The Sino-Soviet dispute neither antedates nor follows this
situation but runs parallel to it. That is why the Cuban posi-
tion-as in some cases the Chinese--does not arise from a pro-
grammatic decision of Fidel Castro but partly from an accom-
plished fact of the Revolution and partIy from an irreversible
32 INSIDE THE CU:bAN REVOLUTION
and uncontainable domestic pressure. And there is nothing which

can hold this pressure in check.
Nevertheless, the argument between the Chinese and Soviet
Communist Parties has introduced a new element. Despite Cu-
ban declarations of "neutrality," the dispute each day carries
greater weight in the inner evolution of the Cuban leadership
and the future prospect of the Revolution.
Hundreds of conversations with soldiers, workers, farmers,
students, army officials, office employees, have shown me that
sympathy for the Chinese is general in Cuba. As a consequence,
the leadership of the Revolution can declare, as it has up to
now, that it is neutral; but it could not, if it wanted to, take a
stand against the Chinese, for that would collide directly with
public opinion. Anyone in Cuba who wished to bring such a
clash to a head would not find a social sector sufficiently strong
nor sufficiently independent to lean on. That is the way the
Cuban Revolution looks from below and not from above.
But neither can the Revolution remain static. On the con-
trary, it is constantly changing. That is why, as the fight between
the Soviet Union and China intensifies and takes in all aspects of
the policy of the socialist countries, it becomes each day more
difficult for Cuba to maintain her balance.
Cuba needs her trade with the Soviet Union. The blockade
and the aggressions are daily occurrences. Cuba's dependence
on the developing Latin American situation is great. Domestic
pressure is enormous. A perspective of economic self-sufficiency
is unthinkable. The sectors interested in "stabilizing" the Revolu-
tion have been losing their social base with recent measures deal-
ing with the countryside, with the provisioning of the popula-
tion, and with the structure of wages. The general social climate
in the island also works against them. The hurricane's effects
have not disheartened the Cubans; these new difficulties have
contributed to a greater hatred of the blockade, a more intense
conviction that for Cuba there is no coexistence and no way
out inside the confines of the island.
The destruction caused by the hurricane can only postpone
a little the basic decisions the Revolution must face, but the
postponement also makes them more explosive. In its economy,
investments, international policy, and in its unions, Cuba faces
two major roads and several minor alternatives which branch

off from them. These fundamental choices have begun to show
up in the leadership, although in public the differences are not
clearly defined. In this chapter we have tried to uncover the
internal and foreign forces which support and also propel them.
Within each trend there are various shadings and tendencies,
but at bottom the alternatives are objective, as are the forces and
reality which determine them.
We have tried to show the connections which exist between
different problems and between different answers to apparently
separate questions. These are the means for gauging the pace
and direction of the Cuban Revolution's next steps. A foreign
and domestic necessity ineluctably leads it, independently of any
leader's will, toward Latin America and China.
Which step will come first and which later is impossible
to predict. Nor can we say what internal crises must be over-
come. But only the deluded or beguiled can fail to see the direc-
tion of the road which has been entered upon. For them the
Cuban Revolution is preparing new surprises, new disillusion-
ments, new blows, and new comic roles to play. For, as the say-
ing goes, he who has no brains to look ahead should have broad
shoulders to endure.
CHAPTER 2
'National and International Planning
The central planning body in Cuba, which corresponds to

the Gosplan of the USSR, is the Junta Central de Planificaci6n
(Juceplan). It projects and develops the Cuban economy's long-
range and annual plans. Until now the annual plan's figures
have been little more than approximations, not simply because
of Cuba's lack of planning experience but primarily because of
uncertainty about the objectives of the plan and the perspec-
tives of economic construction which have varied in successive
years.
One of the factors which contributes to this instability has
been the absence during the working out of the plans of an im-
portant stabilizing and regulating influence: the participation
of the people themselves. In this, Cuba has followed the methods
of the Soviet Union where the plan is viewed as an economic
program which the leadership develops from on high and in
which the base only participates in a formal and limited way.
The technical-economic nature of the decisions which the
plan requires is the reason given for the methods used, since
these decisions are beyond the grasp of the average man. In
Cuba, the practice is for the broad lines of the plan to be de-
veloped by the revolutionary government in discussions behind
closed doors. Then each ministry works out its own plan and
the plans for its enterprises, all within the limits set. In turn,
the enterprises discuss their individual plans and return them
back up the line to their respective ministries. From there, the
plans return to Juceplan and, on the basis of all these actions,
the government gives definitive form to the central plan. Broadly
speaking, that is the procedure.
Under this scheme, participation by the workers in de-
34
National and International Planning 35
veloping the plan theoretically occurs at the factory level. We

are told that only at this point can there be knowledgeable dis-
cussions and proposals, for the problems being dealt with arise
from the day-to-day workings of the enterprise-problems which
are not evident when the broad lines of the plan are being
worked out.
In reality, what happens is quite different. The workers in
general show little interest in discussing the production plan.
Since such discussions are confined to their place of work, the
plan appears to them as a complete abstraction. They can dis-
cuss and get to know a tiny arc of the curve, but they cannot
judge the curve as a whole. Under these conditions, they cannot
even feel qualified to judge the small arc assigned to them. They
can discuss how much they will produce at such and such cost,
but that kind of discussion certainly does not appeal to them.
They feel they are learning absolutely nothing and have been
asked to decide on nothing of any importance: they have been
called to a purely schematic consultation paternalistically de-
signed to arouse their interest.
Consequently, they do not respond to calls for "production
rallies." This is their indirect way of expressing discontent and
protesting the methods used, while defenders of the system con-
sider their lack of response conclusive proof that the workers
do not understand and are not interested in planning problems
and that their only concern is their wages. Here we meet one
more argument purporting to prove the necessity of interesting
workers in production by means of material incentives. It is
disconcerting to those in the leadership who are opposed to this
point of view, for they feel the workers have abandoned them.
They do not realize that in accepting a "consultative" role for
workers in the plan they are in a way representing the point of
view of "material incentives," and that the workers do not show
interest in the economic plan because they do not like the pa-
ternal way in which it is presented to them.
Nevertheless, the question of figures and proportions cen-
tral to the plan is basic in Cuba, as in any socialist country, and
the population should become interested and participate in it
to the greatest extent. Is this participation possible without spe-
cialized technical knowledge? Actually, the decision about the
fundamental proportions of the plan is not a technical-economic

problem but above all a political problem. And since this is so,
it is the people who should decide what they want.
With the state owning the essential means of production,
the main problems the plan must decide are: (1) What shall
be the proportion between capital accumulation (investments,
education, infrastructure, etc.) and the consumption fund (sal-
aries, wages, pensions, etc.) in a given period? In other words,
what part of current output is destined for reinvestment and
what part for consumption by the population? (2) How is
capital investment to be distributed among the different sectors
of the economy (industry and agriculture, productive and un-
productive investments, etc.)? (3) How should the consump-
tion fund be distributed among the different categories of the
population (workers, office employees, farmers, functionaries)?
(4) By what means will the people and the state be able to cor-
rect the plan once it is under way (since all plans are no more
than working hypotheses which need to be verified, corrected,
or rectified as they are applied) ?
In a capitalist country, all these proportions are blindly
decided by the play of the market in which the monopolies, the
state, the class struggle, the world market, etc., all play a part.
In a state with a nationalized and planned economy, these pro-
portions are fixed by the state beforehand as well as during the
course of the plan, taking into account all the forces which im-
pinge upon the economy but relying on the plan as the essential
lever of intervention and direction.
These proportions are never fixed according to abstract
technical principles but primarily in response to political con-
siderations. For example, every increase in capital investment
at the expense of consumption means a present sacrifice for a
future gain. How far such sacrifices (which up to a certain
point are indispensable) are acceptable and desirable are ques-
tions which can only be answered in political terms. In the same
way, if the leadership of the state foresees a long stage of peace-
ful international coexistence, it will decide to increase consump-
tion at the expense of investment; while if it believes that in-
vasion or war is inevitable within a certain period, it will decide
differently. In both cases, the decision is political, not simply

economic.
These, and not the quantity of bolts or shovels to be pro-
duced, are precisely the political questions which the Cuban
people discuss passionately, unceasingly, every day. If they could
give their views without any leader accusing them of being
"counter-revolutionary" or "divisionist" whenever their opinions
happen to differ from those of the leadership, if they had rep-
resentative bodies or spokesmen to make their opinions known
and to debate and decide on these questions, they would be set-
ting the guide lines of the plan and they would know it. Then,
seeing and having their own opinion of the whole curve, the in-
dividual workers would find a meaning to the small segments
which are their own enterprises' plans and would participate
in them with an enthusiasm unknown under present conditions.
Otherwise, production meetings will continue to be gen-
erally ignored, and the Technical Consulting Councils (workers'
councils elected to participate in an advisory capacity in the
technical management of each enterprise and to assist the direc-
tor appointed by the state) will continue to be a fiction, a
phantom which exists on paper, or will stop functioning alto-
gether as has already happened in most Cuban enterprises.
Today the Cuban population does not yet take part in the
solution of fundamental problems of economic planning, except
by diffuse social pressure. Having said this, I must insist once
more that the Cuban government's decisions reflect the workers'
interests infinitely more than does the economy of any capitalist
country. This is so because it is a revolutionary state which
makes the decisions and this state has no interests to defend of
any class antagonistic to the workers' state.
No tendency has appeared in the Cuban leadership to ad-
vocate the kind of self-management found in Yugoslavia and
Algeria. The rightist tendency which defends material incen-
tives has no liking for self-management in so far as it means,
even though very indirectly, important participation by the
workers in the leadership--and the rightists understand that,
given the climate of the Cuban Revolution, self-management
would be interpreted and applied by the masses primarily in this
sense, rather than as an aspect of a system of material incen-

tives.
On the other hand, the tendency which defends centraliza-
tion sees, with reason, that self-management in Yugoslavia-
and even in Algeria-means weakening the state's centralized
direction of the economy and strengthens the principle of ma-
terial incentives.
The revolutionary impulse from below which in other coun-
tries has given rise to self-management-independently of its
later use by the state leadership--in Cuba concentrated first of all
on nationalizing the enterprises and on the consequent socialist
transformation of the economy. In effect, self-management arose
in Yugoslavia from the necessity, among other things, of the
Titoist leadership to obtain the support of the masses in its con-
flict with Stalin. It was a measure which started with wide-
spread participation by the workers in running the economy;
but since it was not followed by workers' participating in the
political life of the country, it was rapidly deflected and turned
into its present function: decentralization of the economy and
semi-competition between the state enterprises.
In Poland, the workers' councils also arose primarily as a
political act, not as a desire to participate in the economic and
technical leadership of the enterprises. They appeared in 1956
to support the "Polish October" when the workers of Warsaw
occupied the factories for three days until the defeat of the
Stalinist faction in the Central Committee of the Communist
Party was assured and the new leadership of Gomulka estab-
lished. Later, the Gomulka leadership itself began restricting the
political role of the councils, altering their composition and elec-
toral forms, and above all keeping them from doing more than
simply administering the enterprises, so that little by little the
workers withdrew their interest and support.
In Algeria, self-management began when the workers oc-
cupied the enterprises and ran them themselves; it was their
way of demanding nationalization and the establishment of a
proletarian state based on a nationalized economy. But, unlike
the Cuban leaders, Ben Bella's group did not accept or direct
this force to end capitalism immediately, but deflected it toward
its present form of self-management, conceived primarily, as in
Yugoslavia, as a structure for economic administration of the

enterprises on the principle of material interests and market
competition but with the difference that in Algeria, unlike in
Yugoslavia, the workers' power in the state has yet to be estab-
fished.
In Cuba, the trend toward participation by the workers
came out into the open during the wave of occupation of enter-
prises in 1960; these occupations were the basis of the later na-
tionalizations decreed by the revolutionary government and the
consequent transformation of Cuba into a proletarian state. The
spontaneous wave of occupations started from below. The team
around Fidel Castro accepted the pressure of the masses and went
ahead on the socialist road, though until then it had not con-
ceived of such a development nor included it in its program. The
movement was not deflected by the leaders into a system of
factory-by-factory self-management within the still capitalist
structure of the state and the market. Rather, it became defini-
tively centered in the establishment of a new type of state the
basis for which had already been prepared by previous struggle,
the downfall of Batista, and the destruction of the old army.
The Cuban masses found a leadership sensitive to their desires
and initiatives, and they advanced along the road of nationali-
zation which transformed the revolution into a socialist one,
a result which the leaders had not consciously proposed before-
hand.*
* It is hardly necessary to repeat that this transformation was neither
prepared nor foreseen by the Cuban Communists. On the contrary, they
considered it an adventure and opposed it in 1959 and 1960. As late as
August 21, 1960, at the high tide of nationalizations which culminated in
the decrees of October, BIas Roca said at the Eighth Congress of the
PSP: "The revolution is not communist but anti-imperialist and anti-
Iatifundist .... The historical tasks present in the revolution, by their eco-
nomic and social content, are anti-imperialist, national-Iiberationist, anti-
latifundist, progressive, popular, and democratic, The social classes which
are objectively interested in the realization of these historical tasks are
the workers, farmers, the middle class of the city, and the national
bourgeoisie." A few weeks after this "orientation," the government of
Fidel Castro, under the wave of occupations of enterprises and demonstra-
tions which were liquidating the national bourgeoisie, dictated the historical
decrees of October which abolished in Cuba the foundations of this social
class, "objectively interested," according to BIas Roca, in the Revolution.
Here too the position of the PSP went directly against the development 6f
the Revolution.
This drive from below took place in the context of general

confidence by the Cuban workers in Fidel Castro and his team.
And since this team responded by decreeing the nationalizations
and advancing along the socialist road, the drive became focused
on the establishment of the new state. The workers felt that
through the medium of these decrees they were participating in
the basic decisions; and they lavished all their ardor on the
leadership of the state headed by Fidel Castro who carried on
a firm struggle against imperialism, responding to initiatives
from below. In this situation, no pressing need was felt for
committees of the type, for example, that had been formed
in Poland. It is not that there was not a trend to set up such
committees but that they did not present themselves at that
moment as the central problem. The state felt the people's will
directly and launched it into the daily struggle against im-
perialism. And the workers understood that their destiny-
which includes their standard of living-is not decided at the
level of the enterprise, but at the level of national politics.
The pressure and intervention of the Cuban masses has
always tended to exert itself directly on Fidel Castro and the
leadership of the state. In the last analysis, the leaders
uphold the trend to centralization of the economy, a trend which
is an expression of the masses' pressure to participate directly in
basic economic decisions. The people express this indirectly be-
cause the leaders do not provide institutions which would permit
a more direct participation. This is a task for the future. Thus
Che Guevara, defending centralization from the point of view
of modern techniques, said in December 1962: "The action of
men in modern, centralized, automated industries should take
place outside production. In the future, the will of men will ex-
press itself through political bodies which are being created and
which will then determine the types of production that are
needed for the country."*
Just as there has not appeared in the Cuban leadership any
tendency-at least openly-that proposes self-management, nei-
ther has there appeared any which looks to the development of
those bodies which in a socialist democracy express the will of
* See Appendix, "The Centralization of Industry."-Translator.

the people: soviets, workers' councils, unions independent of

the state, etc. All this works against planning and multiplies and
prolongs the errors the leadership can commit-and, as the
leaders themselves have acknowledged several times, they can
make errors.
The masses not only lack political institutions through
which to express their opinions and decide on the proportions
and the structure of the economic plan; they also have no means
for correcting the plan while it is being applied, or for pointing
out errors which have come to light, or disproportions in time.
For this reason, errors, when corrected, have already been in-
fluencing the course of events much longer than necessary, with
resultant minor crises in this or that sector and all the wastage
a crisis always means. The leadership simply lacks the means to
discover for itself what had been known by whole sectors of the
working population. To cite examples, there were the errors
committed in the wholesale liquidation of large estates during
the first period of the Revolution; the error of clearing enormous
areas of cane that later had to be recultivated; and the more
elementary errors of bad location of factories, installations, culti-
vation, etc. None of these were seen from the offices of the plan;
yet the workers and farmers pointed them out in criticism and
comments which did not-and still do not-have the means of
reaching the top with decisive influence.
The situation in the unions likewise affects good planning.
In a centralized economy like Cuba's, the plan is not submitted
to the market, but it is fulfilled by means of the market. And it
is the market, the intervention of the state, and the play of social
forces-not only the original figures of the plan-that decide in
what proportion the consumption fund is distributed among the
different categories of the population.
Although the plan fixes these proportions in broad lines and
the state controls them by setting prices and wages, it is then
the play of the market-both official and non-official markets-
that gives them definitive form.
The producing farmer plays his part in the market with
the prices of his products, and he has many ways of setting these
prices, not only by means of the free market but also by increas-
ing or decreasing production. In this way, he has his say in
determining the consumption fund, and he defends and tries to

increase his share even though the latter has apparently been
fixed a priori on paper by the plan.
For their part, the state functionaries are represented by
the state itself, not only because it fixes their salaries but also be-
cause of the permanent pressure the bureaucratic sectors exert
to increase their share by "invisible" means-these may be a
series of privileges which go with the job or which are added on
arbitrarily: automobiles, apartments, trips, meals, etc.
Lastly, the working class--which is by definition the pillar
of the proletarian state-should have unions as the normal means
of protecting its share of the consumption fund as it is influ-
enced by the market and the play of social forces. This economic
function of the unions is a necessityso long as a market economy
still exists and wages are a means of apportionment. This func-
tion for the unions has not disappeared in Cuba, but the way
they operate does paralyze them or keep them in many cases
from doing this job; they thus minimize the proletariat's ability
to intervene in the distribution of the consumption fund.
Theoretically, it is the state itself which protects the rights
of the workers as consumers. But practice from the Russian
Revolution to the Cuban has shown, first, that unions are
needed to deal with the state; and second, that the state in the
day-to-day play of social forces first defends the position and
immediate concrete economic interests of functionaries, the
state itself, the party, and the union bureaucracy. It must be
added, however, that the state has also demonstrated its willing-
ness to defend the historic interests of the proletarian regime,
even after institutions like the soviets ceased to exist.
Within the framework of the revolutionary state, bureau-
cratic interests are counterposed to the interests of the workers
in such matters as the proportions in which the consumption
fund is distributed. Moreover, except when direct control by
the workers exists, which can only occur politically, the propor-
tions between consumption and investment-and the propor-
tions within the latter-also tend to be resolved by the state
bureaucracy guided by the pressure of its own interest'S as a
socially defined group, deciding of course according to what
benefits it most. We are not saying that this is a conscious and
deliberate attitude; what matters is that here too existence de-

termines consciousness.
None of these problems is publicly discussed in Cuba.
Nevertheless, they are there in life, tied to the problems of
international politics which are closely allied with economic
decisions. And economic decisions are at the bottom of all dis-
cussions of planning.
In entering the socialist camp, Cuba gave an impulse to
an evolving process common to all these countries: the pressure
and struggle of the masses to intervene directly in the leadership
of the state. This struggle takes apparently contradictory forms.
In China, it takes the form of the communes, in the Soviet
Union of the struggle against Stalinism and its scions. In Hun-
gary and Poland, it appeared as the workers' councils and the
resistance to subjection to the interests of the Soviet Union's
leaders. The leaders--Khrushchev, Kadar, Gomulka-try to
deflect this process and guide it into their own policy channels,
but they cannot ignore it, negate it, or tum it back. As it keeps
getting stronger and its forms interweave, primarily in China
and the Soviet Union, the leaders will neither be able to deflect
it nor mold it as they have until now. The process itself, part
of the revolution of our epoch, will end by imposing itself and
setting up its own leaders.
Cuba is part of all this. The Cuban Revolution was already
born under the sign of this process and accelerated it by its ap-
pearance, its methods, and by the participation of its people,
which from the very first moment gave the Revolution its vigor
and freshness-and continues to do so. In its tum, Cuba has
been influenced by the bureaucratic methods and the non-par-
ticipation of workers which exist in other socialist countries.
In the continuing contradiction between these trends, however,
it is the pressure from below which is decisive at each point and
it ends by imposing itself, thus further broadening the path of
the Cuban Revolution itself.
In the field of economic planning, this contradiction shows
up on both the domestic and international planes. It has taken
different forms, one of them being the struggle between, on
the one hand, the policy of subordinating the economy of the
new socialist states to the interests of the Soviet V nion and on
the other hand the policy of international, equalitarian planning

by all the socialist countries. New steps have been taken in the
name of "the international socialist division of labor," and they
are a consequence of two things in the socialist countries, par-
ticularly those of Eastern Europe: first, the social and produc-
tive forces will no longer accept the Stalinist method of sub-
ordinating their economies to that of the Soviet Union; and
second, the autocratic methods of planning in each country.
Nevertheless, the "international socialist division of labor"
is far from being the result of international or equalitarian plan-
ning. It is in reality an accommodation of the economies of the
countries of Eastern Europe to that of the Soviet Union, a ra-
tional division of work, an agreement between different plans;
but it is still separate planning with the borders of each country
essentially maintained. The relations among the different econ-
omies are basically commercial. The ruling and determining
factor in their mutual relations is world market prices. Within
each country the pressure of the world market penetrates by
means of the play of the market and the working of the law
of value, but the state by means of the plan does intervene.
regulate, control, and alter these two forces.
If you consider the socialist countries and the relations
existing among them as a unit, this latter type of intervention
is enormously diminished, for Comecon (Council of Mutual
Economic Aid) is more of a coordinating body than a planning
one, and it covers only a part of the socialist camp. Thus, the
pressure of the capitalist world market penetrates it the more
easily. This pressure enters not only because there is no common
planning and because the socialist countries' commercial relations
are inevitably based on world market prices (which the economies
of the advanced capitalist countries still dominate). There is
the further fact that each socialist country does business on its
own with the capitalist countries and, when its government
thinks it convenient, opposes such business to business with
socialist countries, playing the two off against each other. (It
must be said in passing that in Yugoslavia self-management in-
troduces this kind of competition into the very heart of the
working-class state.) Since economic relations among socialist
countries are predominantly commercial and since each govern-
ment and its leadership has its own interests-based on its econ-
omy, from which it takes its part of the national product as its
"material incentive" -these interests tend to express themselves
in commercial forms. Consequently, the pressure and influence
of world capitalism are given a favorable field in which to find
temporary allies in the leadership of one workers' state in oppo-
sition to other workers' states. The alliance is based on mutual
interests which, despite their different and opposed social bases,
have found a common ground of understanding. In the social-
ist world, this situation is a bad hangover from the past and a
reflection of capitalism's existence in the present.
The alternative would be centralized international planning
by all the socialist countries: a single plan, composed of dif-
ferent national plans fitted into the overall plan but correspond-
ing to the interests and the needs of the whole. Certainly Lenin
would never have imagined that after the establishment of so-
cialist governments in fourteen countries there would still be
fourteen different plans and fourteen economies separated by
national frontiers, united only by a simple "division of labor."
Not technical lacks but political problems stand in the way
of a single plan. It is obvious, for example, that the policy of
peaceful coexistence with the capitalist world does not allow
central and unified planning by all the socialist countries, for
one of the rules of coexistence is to permit and, up to a certain
point, even to welcome the penetration of commercial competi-
tion in the socialist camp. The capitalist world demands this as
a condition, and at the same time-with reason-would con-
sider unified planning a massive, centralized block raised as a
direct threat to its survival and would react accordingly.
Cuba has joined this system of socialist countries in transi-
tion, but with certain characteristics of its own. At present, its
fundamental planning lines are subordinated to this international
division of labor because foreign commerce is crucial to its
economy. And, despite the reservations or differences its leader-
ship (or part of it) has about peaceful coexistence, it has to go
along with it generally. On the other hand, all their discussions
and theoretical writings have taken this international division
of labor as a point of departure. At no time have they raised the
question of international centralized planning.
It is unlikely that this alternative has not entered the minds

of what we call "the centralizing trend." The logical develop-
ment of their position should be the single, centralized interna-
tional plan, to be worked out by an organization representing
all the socialist countries. The influence of foreign commerce
and the world market on the Cuban economy (as on its inter-
national policy) naturally leads them to see planning problems
in international terms. But given the cryptic and allusive way
in which discussions develop in Cuba-at least outside the most
restricted group of leaders-it is impossible to imagine that
anyone would come out and propose such an alternative, even
theoretically, in the near future.
Yet just the thought of such a perspective as a possibility-
whether expressed or not-explains the real basis for many
polemics and discussions. These discussions seem otherwise ab-
stract, byzantine, and even lacking in importance, for the op-
posed groups have displayed a tenacity and passion out of pro-
portion to the points under dispute.
The development of the Sino-Soviet dispute, or the domes-
tic situation in the Soviet U man or Czechoslovakia or East Ger-
many, or the incorporation of new countries in the social-
ist system, would allow these problems to be raised in concrete
terms, for the discussion is really not economic but political.
And the protagonists, the forces which will finally decide its
outcome, are not the names now at the top; it is the great masses,
still without means for organized discussion, who will decide by
their actions which courses the leadership can follow and which
it cannot.
This is why it is futile to represent the discussion on plan-
ning or the problems of Cuban planning merely as technical
problems, as questions of "revolutionary common sense." It is
just as futile to explain Cuba's position in the "international
socialist division of labor" by its being a sugar producer, or to
explain the proportion between industry and agriculture or any
other aspect of the plan by historical or even economic condi-
tions, by the play of the world market, or by the action of the
law of value. Ail these considerations are relevant, but their
roles can be assessed only when it is understood that the funda-
mental decisions are political. Understanding this means looking
at the situation right side up, for it allows us to see that all these
economic or technical discussions are but the inverted and dis-
torted reflection of the basic political problems that face the
Cuban Revolution and the entire socialist camp. This was the
method of analysis of Marx and Lenin, although it may not be
that of many "Marxist-Leninists" of today.
CHAPTER 3
Cuba in October
"To Arms!" A red poster showing a civilian holding a

machine gun on high and three words in large white letters,
leA Las Armas!", appeared on all the streets of Havana on Tues-
day, October 23, 1962. For eighteen hours Cuba had been on
a war footing. Kennedy had issued his threat of invasion and
Fidel Castro had called a general mobilization.
The poster-one color, three words, one gesture-summed
up the instantaneous reaction of the Cuban people. From that
moment until the end of the October crisis, these people were
the protagonists of one of the great moments of this century,
and they set down for history one of the high points in humanity's
developing self-confidence.
It was as if a long-contained tension relaxed, as if the
whole country had said as one: "At last!" The long wait for
invasion, the war of nerves, the sneak attacks, the landing of
spies, the blockade-all this was past. Now was the hour of
struggle and everyone threw himself into it body and soul.
It is difficult to imagine the harmony, the unanimity, the
fervor that a people can reach in such moments. All Cuba said
"To arms," and took them up. Journalism, propaganda, bureau-
cratic slowness, routine-s-all that was put aside. Cuba was one
man and his rifle.
On the 23rd, the army and all the militia were mobilized.
The combat companies of the militia started for the interior.
The companies of popular defense spread out over Havana.
Many thousands of men and women who had not been in the
militia until then volunteered and started training. Cuba was
a military camp on a war footing.
For all Cuba had a collective goal: to face the invasion
and defend the Revolution which was in danger. And in those
48
Cuba in October 49
crucial days the Cuban people learned things about themselves

which they had not known before.
There was not the slightest fear or alarm. Alarmism is an
expression of insecurity and fear, and it shows itself in a thousand
ways: one way, for example, is to run to buy groceries for the
family. But in Cuba there was none of this. It simply did not
occur to anyone to think about himself or his family as some-
thing separate from the collective destiny. In the face of the
direct, immediate threat of invasion by the most powerful mili-
tary nation in the world only ninety miles away, who in this
little island of seven million was going to run for groceries?
All individualism, all family interests, all private solutions
were annulled and absorbed by the magnitude of the approach-
ing struggle. But it was not only that; in Cuba, as in other great
moments in history, the whole population had a common ob-
jective. They saw everything clearly; the struggle was defined
and stripped to its essentials; petty politics were brushed aside
and alI was clean and pure: our rifles against theirs. When a
people can see the world at gun point, it looks clear and simple.
The Cuban Revolution is a daily fervor. Despite internal
problems and privilege-seekers, despite those who try to set them-
selves over the workers, despite the counter-revolutionaries dis-
guised as bureaucrats, revolutionary fervor still permeates life
in Cuba and lends its tone and color to everything. Even after
five years of Revolution. But in the October days that fervor
reached a purity free of all dross. The best facets of the human
soul-generosity, fraternity, equality-cast their undimmed
light on the struggle and the Revolution, and the whole coun-
try, facing annihilation, left aside all that is limited, private,
egoistical, and separate from the collective destinies of the coun-
try and all humanity. Cuba lived those days not as a country
which defends its own existence but as a part of humanity fight-
ing for its future. And it lived them to the full. No one ever will
be able to erase that experience from the memory and soul of
the Cuban people, nor from humanity's.
The immensity of the threat-rubbing the island off the
map with atomic bombs--was meant to terrorize the Cuban
people and inspire such desperation that they would be prostrate,
defenseless, paralyzed when the invasion came. You had to be
in Cuba to know at first hand what the United States threat

to use atomic bombs meant. And no one in Cuba doubted that
the attack, the invasion, and the bombing were coming.
But the very magnitude of the threat had the opposite ef-
fect. Those who flaunted the bombs did not know-and still
do not-the forces they aroused. The reaction of the Cuban
people was not to defend the family, the home, or the children.
It was not the response of people who leave it to the state and
then occupy themselves only with saving their homes and fami-
lies. Theirs was not at all the reaction to an ordinary war.
The Cuban people felt that they were defending their new
life, their collective existence, and all it had conquered and dis-
covered: equality, fraternity, the word compaiiero, that new-
found conviction of being masters of their destinies. They felt-
literally, these are not just words-that to lose that life was
much worse than to lose physical existence itself. And this feel-
ing brought out from the depth of their individual and collec-
tive souls an inexhaustible courage which they had not known
was there.
When such feelings come into play, fear does not have
a chance. Terrorism fails or, rather, provokes the opposite effect
it looked for: it unifies, galvanizes, enkindles.
Moreover, the Cuban people experienced the knowledge
that in its hands were the instruments to defend its new life,
not in the hands of an alien state or army or some other body.
They took to their rifles as only peoples in revolt do. Perhaps
a rifle is a useless weapon with which to face a nuclear bomb,
but a man and his rifle, a people and their rifles, are something
else. It is not bombs but men who in the end decide. Humanity
acts as a collective in moments of crisis and gauges situations by
concrete collective symbols. Having the rifles and joining the
militia gave a feeling of real participation to everyone facing
the struggle together. In his rifle or machine gun each felt he was
carrying part of the collective destiny. There was no waiting
with empty hands for a battle that others decide some place
where one cannot intervene: in Cuba everyone felt he had the
means with which to decide the outcome. The waiting had gone
on before, when the attack did not come, when one lived with
the vague threat of blockade and harassment.
Cuba in October S1
Now the waiting had ended and each Cuban, arms in

hand and at battle quarters, had entered into a new struggle,
a new life, whose fullness and exaltation had been unknown
before. That is how Cuba lived from the 23rd to the 27th of
October. It rained during those days. The militia did their
exercises in the rain after work. They would come home full
of enthusiasm, sopping wet and happy. In the factories, produ-
tion increased. Everywhere, life was centered on preparations for
battle.
And everywhere everyone discovered not just that he was
not afraid but that his wife, his neighbor, his fellow worker
were not afraid either. The atomic terror could not find a hole in
which to stick its snout.
What made this difference? That the Cuban people had-
as if in their very hands-something to fight for, that they had,
as well, the instruments and the organization to fight together.
The people had the whole country in their hands and they knew
it.
The world press reported that there were thirteen and
fourteen year old pickets in the United States who carried pos-
ters during those days that said: "We are too young to die." In
Cuba thirteen and fourteen year olds carried rifles or manned
anti-aircraft guns or commanded tanks. From them, as from
everyone, radiated the feeling of collective security in them-
selves. All Cuba lived in the same climate which witnesses to
the first weeks of the Spanish Revolution saw in 1936 in Ma-
drid and Barcelona: fervor, fraternity, generosity without limits,
and a new sense of life. That is why Cuba held its ground and
the invasion failed.
Talking to people those days, it was clear that all counted
on the support of the Soviet Union, the socialist countries, and
the peoples of the entire world. But at the same time everyone
had the clear feeling that one did not have to depend on this
support, that the defense of Cuba depended on Cuba itself.
Moreover, in those October days no one in Cuba even
thought of the confrontation as war between the United States
on one side and Cuba and the Soviet Union on the other. Every-
one saw the attack on Cuba not only as the start of a world war
but of a war entwined with world revolution. Cuba literally

felt itself part of humanity.
This evened up the unequal fight. It brought with it a
feeling which arose from life itself, and this was the basis of
Cuba's strength. Had they reasoned in strictly Cuban terms, in
a narrow nationalist sense, the "normal" effect would have
been the appearance of strong pressure to negotiate. Given the
disproportionate forces and the fact that even with Soviet inter-
vention Cuba could still be swept by atomic bombs, it was to be
expected that many people would call for negotiation: better,
they could have argued, to give in and save one's life than not
to and lose the entire nation's as well. What was at stake was
not just one's life or one's family's but all life on the island, for
the threat meant concretely that it would be converted into an
island of radioactive ashes.
Nevertheless, the reaction of the Cuban people went be-
yond all this. Not that they were ignorant of the danger. They
were perfectly aware, and you could hear it in daily conversa-
tions everywhere. But the Cuban people also felt that the
destiny of all humanity was at stake. They had collectively
weighed this without anyone having to tell them to.
It was concretely phrased by a comment which with slight
variations I heard many times those days in the streets of Ha-
vana: "Perhaps we will all die here. It doesn't matter. We will
win the world this time for sure." When an entire people rises
above its daily cares and its own individual limitations to reach
such a degree of collective heroism, it is proof that humanity
can develop forces heretofore unknown and is capable of trans-
muting daily life into the heroic: it can suppress the hero and
replace him with the masses. No atomic terror can destroy this,
and Cuba-not quite seven million dealing with a giant-thus
proved it to itself and to the whole world during those days.
The atomic attack would have left ruins, disorganized
everything, and would have physically accomplished everything
predicted. There is no doubt about that. Nonetheless, this in-
ternal solidarity could have been shaken but never destroyed
by atomic attack. It is the only cement that could resist it and
later bind together what remained.
Cuba in October contains an immensely important ex-
Cuba in October 53
perience for the world; it has yet to be basically analyzed, at

least publicly, by the leaders of either camp. What is interesting
in such an analysis is not how the military mechanism func-
tioned, but the human one. October in Cuba remains the only
. social experience approximating atomic war, not under the
conditions of the Second World War as happened in Japan, but
in the new situation of a war between two social systems which
are different and antagonistic but which are similarly armed.
Arms can be tried out in laboratories. You can also experi-
ment with atom bomb explosions. But there can be no laboratory
experiment of the social reaction to a real and immediate threat
of atomic attack as a total social experience. Cuba in October
came closeto a type of experience which in a certain way was also
the case with the 1905 Revolution in Russia. Yet 1905 created
an extensive literature with which the party of Lenin prepared
itself for the conquest of power, while Cuba in October has
produced a very limited literature from a political point of
view. Most of the commentaries are simply journalistic or
literary, propagandistic in one sense or the other.
The October crisis demonstrated how far the conscious-
ness of the Cuban people has acquired a collective quality dif-
ferent from previous years, and also how completely this con-
sciousness felt as one with that of all the peoples of the world.
During the crisis, the people felt free in their conscience, for
they could tell that their leaders were holding fast and had de-
cided to fight to the end. The leaders responded to the people's
firmness and to their collective decision and became part of them.
No wonder the people felt free to act, move ahead, and take their
individual positions with concern and care, knowing that all
were doing the same that very moment. Facing the worst dan-
ger of its history, Cuba lived in a state of the greatest internal,
collective self-confidence it has ever felt.
On the 26th and 27th of October, Havana reached its
point of greatest tension. Several government leaders were with
the army in the interior of the country. The attack was expected
on the 27th; Havana timed the first bombardment for the after-
noon of that day. It was remarkable to see the city, practically
defenseless against a mass aerial attack, wait tensely yet tran-
quilly and go about its business. I covered Havana that morn-
ing. Nowhere were there signs of alarm or fear. Paradoxically,

only the supposed beneficiaries of the invasion, the counter-
revolutionaries, had disappeared or were paralyzed: they had
nothing to defend and no way to fight; they could only wait.
At one of the more important ministries, I was able to talk to
one of the few important functionaries who was there to tend
to urgent matters. "We expect the attack this afternoon be-
tween three and four," he said to me. It was eleven in the morn-
ing. In the elevator, one militiaman said to another that he had
not shaved that morning. "It seems it may come at any mo-
ment. You won't shave now until after the war." That day the
whole country lived in the same climate.
Only on the 29th did Cuba learn of the agreement be-
tween Kennedy and Khrushchev. The daily Revoluci6n an-
nounced it with a headline on page one: "Khrushchev orders
missiles withdrawn from Cuba." It also published the text of
the exchange of letters between Khrushchev and Kennedy, un-
known until then in Cuba, and the dispatches of the news agen-
cies from the start of the crisis until its denouement, which also
had not been published by the Cuban press in previous days.
It was obvious that publication was not on the personal initia-
tive of the director of the paper, Carlos Franqui, but on that
of the Prime Minister, who in this way defined for the people
the degree of his responsibility for the negotiations in which he
had not participated.
The reaction was instantaneous. That morning, in every
corner of Havana, groups commented indignantly on the with-
drawal of the missiles."Why didn't they consult us since we were
the ones who were going to die?" I heard one say. "They be-
trayed us as in Spain," I heard another. Furious because Cuba
had not been consulted and the missiles withdrawn without a
fight, people everywhere protested. In Havana, popular opinion
always expresses itself during crucial moments in similar, al-
most identical phrases and arguments simultaneously, from one
end of the city to the other, as if a conference had been held
or a signal had been given. And yet neither the press, the radio,
nor government leaders had uttered a word about this. They
had limited themselves to telling the news and gauging the re-
action.
Cuba in October 55
At street corners, factories, the university, people analyzed

the published cables line by line and Khrushchev's letters word
by word. It was impressive to see such unanimity, without pre-
vious discussion or previous agreement; no one approved of
Khrushchev's calling Kennedy "respected president" or saying
"you and I know well what atomic war means." "Ah yes, and
we, we here staking our lives, we don't know it, and that's why
they didn't consult us," I heard this comment many times simi-
larly phrased.
All the tension, all the heroism displayed by the Cuban
people in previous days now turned into a solid mass of protest
against the withdrawal of the missiles. At the University of
Havana there were meetings and rallies on the university
grounds. From the trenches, the factories, the state farms, and
the cities, everyone waited for an official statement from Fidel
Castro, announced for the first of November. Fidel Castro per-
sonally covered on the 29th and 30th the streets and meeting
places of Havana and also saw groups in the trenches. The pro-
tests and pressures he heard directly were everywhere the same.
In a Section Committee of the Committees of Defense of the
Revolution (the neighborhood organizations of revolutionary
neighbors, organized by blocks and then by sections), I listened
to explanations by a propaganda team to the section leaders. In
summary, a man explained that the agreement was a triumph,
that Kennedy had been obliged to promise that he would not
invade Cuba, and that Khrushchev's position had saved the
peace and inflicted a defeat on imperialism. Those present lis-
tened with faces full of skepticism. The speaker added that it
was necessary to explain all this to the people and undo the
disaster which Revoluci6n had provoked by so bluntly publish-
ing the news that Khrushchev had ordered the withdrawal of
the missiles. That this information was true and that the paper,
for once, had done no more than comply with an elementary
duty toward news did not seem to bother the speaker, who in
the best style of a functionary of any state anywhere attributed
the reaction of the masses to the "maneuvers" of some "con-
fusionists."
I remember that only one person got up to support the
speaker. He was an old man. "These are problems of high poli-
finished his speech with the statement that Cuba was not de-
feated "while there remains one man, woman, or child in this
land." He was not expressing a mere personal conviction but
a decision the Cuban people had collectively taken, in the
deepest recesses of their minds and hearts, during the years of
its Revolution and irrevocably confirmed in those historic days
of October .
•
CHAPTER 4
Daily Life: The Revolution and Equality
It is not the relations between men and things (property)

which has changed most in Cuba, it is the relations between
men themselves. When private capital accumulation was done
away with in Cuba, with it went property as an objective of
human life, inheritance as its continuer, and family egoism as
an exclusive sentiment opposed to social solidarity.
This did not happen all at once. Cuban men and women
were born under capitalism. Yet you find that Cubans now
frequently look at themselves and comment on how much their
thoughts, their mutual relations, their scale of social and in-
dividual values have changed.
It is not quite four years since capitalism disappeared from
Cuba. But already no Cuban-I refer to the Cuban people,
not to that tiny vestigial minority whose eyes are still on the
capitalist past and their lost privileges, real or imaginary-even
fleetingly thinks of a sugar cane plantation or a factory or a
ship as something that can be the property of one person or a
group of persons rather than social property. In Cuba, the very
idea of this type of private property appears illogical and un-
natural.
For the maintenance and functioning of private property,
more than those "detachments of armed men" which constitute
the state are needed to defend it. Its defense and indeed the
very functioning of repressive groups are based on the accept-
ance of private property by the majority. When the Revolution
tears down the old state and nationalizes the means of produc-
tion, a new concept is formed and affirmed by all, for they
have seen that the economy can still function, that private prop-
erty is not necessary, and that the fruits of production are com-
mon property simply because of their social function. In turn,
59
social life is organized around collective property. The meaning

of the state and of the people's relation to the state changes,
for it now defends that property which belongs to all and not
the old property which belonged to some only. Just as feudal
servitude which once "was the natural order of things" is today
unacceptable to the human mind in capitalist countries, so is
private ownership of a factory or plantation unacceptable, even
unimaginable, to a contemporary Cuban. No force or argument
can justify private property to him on the basis of some right,
when what is at issue is something social, something which
produces for society, and functions because many men work
it collectively and lend their physical and mental capacities to
make it operate and serve.
This change has occurred in four years. That is why it
would be necessary to do more than invade and occupy the
island to restore capitalism in Cuba. Every Cuban would have to
be liquidated and the invaders would have to start anew with
another people.
This is at the base of all social relations in Cuba, at the
root of its daily life. But not only this. For at the same time the
newly-conquered world is not stable. On the horizon of Havana
stands the permanent silhouette of a United States battleship,
watching the port, a reminder of the blockade and the constant
threat of invasion, a reminder that what has been conquered is
in danger. Defense, the permanent alert, the sense of living at
war, defending one's life, is present in every minute of a Cuban's
life, in each act of social life.
The battleship is not the only hostile presence. Cuba must
construct and live. It must do business, export and import, and
do it in a world where capitalism exists and is economically
strong. Even in its commerce with socialist countries, which is
the major part of its commerce, Cuba must do business at
world market prices and on the basis of exchange relations
which are essentially capitalist relations. By this means, capi-
talism-the old regime-tries to penetrate and influence and
change the new life. That Cubans view the economy as a
battlefield is not a simple propaganda slogan: it is part of the
struggle to defend their new social regime.
Until now, the battle has apparently been defensive. But
Daily Life: The Revolution and Equality 61
in the minds of the Cuban people, neither military defense nor

the economy are separated from politics. In fact, it is politics
which dominates everything. And politics is first of all interna-
tional. At that point the battle stops being defensive. The in-
tense feeling of participation Cubans have in the revolutionary
struggles of other countries arises from the feeling that they are
defending their own Revolution and from their daily knowledge
that the world is a unity and that the Cuban Revolution can
only survive by advancing abroad. Subjected to commercial
relations with the capitalist countries or with socialist countries
fundamentally on the basis of world market prices, the Revolu-
tion is weak. Sustained by the extension of the Revolution in
other countries, by the prospect of new socialist revolutions, the
Revolution feels itself strong.
That is why, blockaded, Cuba does not have the psychology
of a blockaded or isolated country. There is no basis for com-
parison with the situation of the Soviet Union in the 1920s.
Not only because a whole system of socialist countries exists but
primarily because the forces that maintain the Cuban Revolu-
tion~the world Revolution-are generally on the offensive.
That is the other part of daily life of Cuba: on the one hand,
there is no private property; on the other, Cuba is part of a
Revolution that goes on and can only end by triumphing in the
whole world.
This explains why the dominant preoccupation of the
Cuban people is not construction but revolution. They build
but in a certain sense they build for revolution. When leaders
and functionaries want to inculcate the idea that they must
construct because the Revolution per se has attained its objec-
tives, the masses do not understand and reject the idea. Instead,
in the name of the Revolution which continues-not in Cuba
alone-and as part of this developing Revolution, they accept
any sacrifice and any task.
Collective property is part of the basis of the attitude of
the Cuban people's dedication and their voluntary and collec-
tive work. That the survival of this common property is tied
to the Revolution forms, nevertheless, the principal part of the
Cubans' attitude. And it is the Revolution which unites and
attracts because it makes each one feel a participant. Everyone
has attained and given an objective to his life, and this objec-
tive is common and collective: it gives to the Cuban Revolution
and the Cuban state its solidity. Without this, the difficulties,
the blockade, the internal counter-revolution, and the invasion
would long ago have liquidated it. This attitude, on the other
hand, acts as a true "deterrent" to the invasion, contains it,
and forces it to wait.
That the Revolution gives a collective objective to peoples'
lives is not a Cuban phenomenon only: it is Algerian, Chi-
nese, Zanzibarian-wherever the revolutionary process acts as
a unifier. But in Cuba it is particularly clear without the dis-
tractions of private property and the personal interests that go
with it.
Merchandise, plantations, factories, buses-all are part of
the Revolution and belong to all. And in the same way that the
attitude of man to man has changed-both unified by a com-
mon end and no longer separated by the individual goal of
making money--so the attitude toward things also changes.
When a bus is property of an enterprise or of the capitalist
state--their state-one does not pay much attention if the
driver mistreats it. After you have been in Cuba a short time,
you find yourself reacting instinctively if the driver does not
treat the bus well: "What is he doing?" That is because the bus
is now ours, like everything else.
In the family, at the dinner table, in gatherings in one way
or the other, the Revolution and collective property are the
center of attention. And they are more and more each day
displacing personal perspectives untied to collective develop-
ment. This has not been imposed by education or propaganda:
it happens because that is how social functioning is organized
by collective property.
The energies, concerns, and attention which in capitalist
countries are dedicated to furthering one's individual career
or to the political or trade union struggle against capitalism,
in Cuba are for the most part absorbed by the Revolution. And
if this does not occur to an even greater degree, it is because,
in part, the organizational form of the state limits participation
by all the population.
Collective property is not an abstraction. It is not a fact
either that each person feels himself the proprietor, physically,

of a machine or a bolt in some factory. The most concrete and
also most general social reflection of collective property, of the
suppression of private property as a means of exploitation of
human work, is the feeling of equality. Again, this is not. a
relation with things-with property-but a relation between
men.
This sentiment expresses itself in everything. In voluntary
work, for example, the first condition for success is that the
first to volunteer be the chiefs and leaders. When these really
go--and this is the case, for example, with the Minister of In-
dustry, Sunday after Sunday-the rest of the volunteers (who
are not in any case ever the majority of the personnel in an
office or enterprise) also go. When the leaders do not go, or
when their attendance is purely demagogic, as occurs in cases
when they go to be photographed for the papers and return home
later in their automobiles, then general attendance drops; the
people hold back and do not go either. Not because they are not
ready to support the state in this way despite this or that leader,
but as an indirect protest against a form of privilege or in-
equality.
In this area, protest against privilege takes on a rather
clear form because the work is voluntary: whoever wants to
go goes, and those who don't want to don't. But this same
protest cannot help but show up in other fields-in daily work,
for example. If the chiefs or leaders are enjoying obvious privi-
leges, whatever they are, individual protest is immediately re-
flected in the workers' productivity. It is not an organized
protest, nor does anyone decide to work less or worse. It is
simply a normal reaction, and it occurs naturally and auto-
matically: equality has been attacked, and so has the basis of
collective property. The people do not have, at present, any
direct or indirect means of correcting the situation, nor of ac-
tively showing their protest. The protest is expressed neverthe-
less, not because some one proposed it and despite exhortations
and calls to work for the Revolution.
It is usual in situations like this that those who tend to de-
fend the existence of privileges are the ones who accuse the
workers or sections of workers of "having no revolutionary

consciousness" and of "not working with enthusiasm."
In all this, too, two tendencies within the Revolution are
clearly expressed. The tendency which affirms and accents the
equalitarian aspects is tied to that which would extend the
Revolution and which relies on world revolution. The tendency
which justifies the inevitability of certain privileges during the
present stage, due to the necessities of production, is tied to the
tendency which supports peaceful coexistence and concentrates
exclusively on economic construction. This is inevitable, for it
is also a form of struggle between socialism and capitalism
operating in the very heart of the Revolution; it takes place
between the very forces of the Revolution itself, which are all
anti-capitalist but which respond differently to the influence of
capitalism, the world market, and their own situation in Cuban
society. It is inevitable, for example, that all positions of relative
privilege inspire a conservative attitude to help maintain such
positions: an attitude of conservatism in politics and a policy
of peaceful coexistence and transition to socialism. There are
economic foundations at the top of the Cuban state for such an
attitude. Among the masses there are absolutely none.
Collective property and collective interest in it and in pro-
duction presupposes equality. When equality is systematically
violated, it is the very base of the state which feels itself weak-
ened, for the state tends to separate itself from the masses without
ceasing to be their own state. Since all collective sentiment lives
in and for the Revolution, it is extremely quick to defend equali-
ty.
When you get down to it, the Revolution has not given
enormous material advantages to a great part of the Cuban
people. It has brought them, on the other hand, problems and
difficulties which did not exist before. But this is not the way
revolutions are weighed. What matters is that the Revolution
has given the people a new feeling which is summed up in equali-
ty. This sentiment is in part confidence in their own security now
and in the future. Security is no longer identified with owning
property or a savings account but with the existence and con-
tinuance of the socialist Revolution, collective property, and
social organization. The increase in the birth rate in the midst
of the uncertainty which the blockade, rationing, the threat of

invasion and atomic bombing could be expected to inspire, is a
reflection of this new security. Such a feeling arises also from
the people's having seen their own forces in action, from
having learned directly every day what millions allover Cuba
are capable of doing, not only at Playa Giron but in daily or-
ganization and work. Their new social relations also contribute
to their new sense of security.
The palpable, outward form of these sentiments and this
security is equality for all. Human dignity takes this concrete
form: proprietors-by-divine-right are suppressed and so are
all to whom private property gave hereditary rights to live bet-
ter than others, those who at the same time subjected society
to a sort of collective alienation for the sake of property or of
maintaining a given form of property.
For this reason, although private property cannot return
through privileges--whether automobiles or apartments--there
is a social reaction against privileges not only because simple
justice is involved but also because the people unconsciously
see in privileges the pressure of capitalism which lives on out-
side Cuba, and an attack against collective rights. This social
vigilance is a defense of the very basis of the Revolution.
The Revolution and the workers' state unite the Cuban
people. But within this unity the social revolution continues,
not only about the forms for conducting the Revolution but
also about the social and political relations between the state
and the Revolution. The attitude toward equality is one of the
touchstones of this struggle.
The word compaiiero, for example, is an expression of
social fraternity and also of equality. This word sounds as fresh
in Cuba as it can sound in a union in the midst of a great strike.
In Cuba, however, it is everywhere: compaiiero is the func-
tionary who greets you, the bus driver, the girl at a coffee shop,
the sales girl at a retail store, or the man in the street whom
you stop to ask the time. Everyone you talk to or talks to you
is a compaiiero.
The word is not a formality. It underlines the social fra-
ternity, the common objective, the struggle, and the single
enemy which unites everyone. In Cuba, companero and cama-
rado (comrade) are currently used without any difference in

meaning. But camarada has a more emphatic, warmer sound,
depending on the particular case, and it gives a more intense
accent to a relationship. It is not the old militant Communists
who take to the use of camarada but, in the main, the militant
new youth of the Revolution.
The use of compaiiero stands for equality in dealing with
one another and, above all, for fraternity and community of
goals, and this equality is observed and held dear by the people
in all social situations. More important than living better or
eating better-there is no eating 'more-is this major victory
of the Revolution, this feeling of being equal to everyone. The
defense of equality in behavior is one form of defense by the
masses of their right to participate and decide in the Revolu-
tion: to decide their own destinies.
This equality is not a concession from on high; it is an
imposition from below. The leadership, even when maintaining
formal equality in their dealings, tend normally to adopt pater-
nalistic attitudes; this is naturally inspired by their function
in the state and in part by their political concepts.
But it is below where vigilance is maintained and equality
upheld. From the top you can feel this permanent vigilance. It
is interesting to see how many leaders and functionaries try to
dissimulate or keep from becoming obvious any situation which
differentiates them from the masses, because they feel them-
selves watched. From below a watch is kept over such matters
as whether at some fiesta more than the usual amount is eaten,
if someone changes cars without need, if he travels too much
and without reason, if he has a mistress, or if he obviously tends
in some area of his life to consolidate a privilege or keeps at a
distance from the masses. Weare talking about a spontaneous,
unorganized collective judgment, which it is difficult to fault.
For when the people see that some apparent privilege-a car or
a house-is justified and needed for work for the Revolution,
no one points it out or sees anything exceptional in it. But when
an attempt is made to disguise a real privilege as a "work
necessity," then it is invariably singled out and commented on
even when the masses have, for the moment, no other means
of stopping it than showing by their general criticism and pres-

sure their unhappiness.
Now that the bourgeoisie and its economic power have
been suppressed, all social life in Cuba tends to take on the
purest aspects of a working-class district or mining area in the
midst of struggle.
The aspiration toward equality as the basis for social
functioning establishes a daily scale of values completely dif-
ferent from that of a capitalist country. The psychology of that
comfortable middle class which keeps track of the latest auto-
mobile model or television set which the neighbors have bought
in order to buy a better one no longer exists, for the Revolution
has swept it away. It is no longer property by which one
measures social importance or social values in the community.
On the contrary, many who have such privileges try to disguise
or hide them. All individual and social preoccupation with such
possessive competitiveness turns to revolutionary collective goals.
This fountain of human energy is inexhaustible, and it is still
far from exploited to its full even by the Cuban leadership. Yet
it is on this energy that the strength and solidity of the leader-
ship is based when it faces its enemies; and the leaders demon-
strate that they know and understand this, at least partly, when
they defend equalitarian measures and attitudes.
For example, the disappearance of commercial advertising
alone saves an enormous amount of energy in the minds of the
community. No roads or streets or television sets or walls are
any longer covered with pleas to buy this or that product. The
enterprises which used to direct the attention and the social
preoccupations of the petty bourgeoisie or the aristocracy of
labor to buying their products have disappeared. If some hypo-
thetical company wished to sell some hypothetical cars, it would
not, given the social psychology of present-day Cuba, base its
propaganda on the prestige and "distinction" of owning the
latest luxury model, because the whole society is opposed to this.
One must insist that this is not solely determined by col-
lective property. The Revolution, alive and in motion, is also
responsible. In Czechoslovakia, where only collective property
exists, the effects of material incentives and wide salary and
social differences show up, among some sectors of the func-
tionaries, in symbols of authority and prestige which are a di-

rect reflection of capitalism-for example, in different models
of automobiles. There, you do not have to disguise privileges or
justify them; the state justifies them (although the Czech work-
ers, for their part, have the same opinion of privileges and
equality as the Cubans). In Cuba the living Revolution stops
this and makes it possible for the sentiment of the masses to
impose its own scale of values; its pressure does not allow con-
solidation of, or give official status to, forms of inequality, as if
they were normal, acceptable, and desirable.
The Revolution, with its austerity of an army in the field,
continues to be the dominant line of Cuban society. This line
is imposed from below against those privilege-seeking tendencies
which seek support in the Cuban state, in the influence
of capitalism in the world, but above all in the organization of the
state in the other socialist countries where a bureaucratic stra-
tum, while defending the workers' regime, officially sanctions
inequality within it.
The government of the United States has tried with the
blockade to keep the development of the Cuban economy from
influencing Latin America and, at the same time, to bring
about the downfall of Fidel Castro's government or to encour-
age opposition to him. But the blockade has had two effects.
On the one hand, it has set up a wall to prevent some Cuban
influences from seeping through. This wall, however, works
both ways, and it has, on the other hand, stopped capitalism
from establishing a more solid alliance with the conservative,
bureaucratic sectors of the Revolution-as it has to a certain
extent been able to do in Yugoslavia and Poland-and from
making its influence felt inside the Revolution itself.
For this reason a whole group of leading figures of North
American imperialism recommends, in view of the failure of
the economic blockade, establishing relations of "coexistence"
with the island. This is not only simple acknowledgment of
failure; it is also a search for more efficient methods of in-
fluencing the Revolution from inside.
Rationing and food scarcities, for example, bring great
daily problems to the Cuban people, but they are far from
weakening the Revolution. In a certain sense, they help solidify
it internally. No one wants rationing nor defends it as desirable.

Yet, once established as a necessity, rationing strengthens the
most radical tendency of the Revolution, the tendency which
wants equality; and it weakens the tendencies which are sensi-
tive to capitalist influence.
Equality in eating is one more form of militant equali-
tarianism. The feeling that what is on one's table each day is
on the table of all others and that what is missing for one is
missing for everyone is a strong element working for internal
unity. Only the Revolution has been able to achieve this result.
It has achieved it at practically all levels, for an important state
functionary's meals are subject to the same rationing as a work-
er's or an office employee's. If this is not absolutely so-there
are also restaurants where you can pay to eat more than the
average-it is, in any case, the dominant line.
The rationing card is not only a testimony to scarcity. The
Revolution has converted it--something impossible with any
other type of rationing-into a testimony to equality in diffi-
culties. The people defend it as a guarantee of equality in dis-
tribution. That is why a slogan apparently as elementary as
"Everyone eats the same," launched by Fidel Castro when
rationing was established, had an immediate echo among the
people and was later adopted as appropriate for the most dif-
ferent situations when privilege or inequality was being fought.
The same thing occurred with rationing of clothes and
shoes. During 1962 and 1963, the scarcity of shoes was a great
problem in Cuba. First, the existing industry was "reorganized"
in such a way that hundreds of small shops were closed before
the large mass-producing factories which were to replace them
started functioning. Second, the quality of production fell,
due either to poor workmanship or to a shortage of hides, for
there was a decrease in quality and quantity of cattle production
as a result of errors committed during the first stage of nationa-
lization of great holdings. Finally, the wearing of shoes in-
creased in the whole population. All these factors helped create
an acute scarcity and required that strict rationing be insti-
tuted.
Certificates to buy shoes were distributed from the mo-
ment rationing was begun either through the unions or the
Committees of Defense of the Revolution on the block or

neighborhood level. In the case of the trade unions, they were
distributed by the locals representing each enterprise. These
distributing organizations discussed who needed shoes most,
who could wait until the next tum, who until months later.
Although there are union leaders who try to limit the function
of local unions to questions like these, yet controls of this kind,
imposed by necessity, are effective and reinforce the collective
nature of the Revolution.
In the Committees of Defense which organized the dis-
tribution for housewives and other non-union persons, other
qualifications were raised. In some cases, the leaders of the
Committees tried to establish the principle that first, partisans
of the Revolution should be served, and then the indifferent
and those opposed. Protests arose from the rank-and-file mem-
bers of the committees--who are, of course, revolutionaries-
and they resolved that the distribution should be, as in the case
of all provisions, on an equal basis, no matter what a person's
stand on the Revolution: only with these methods could the
Revolution influence neutrals and even adversaries. The stand
of the rank and file was not a defense of counter-revolutionaries
but a defense of equality.
Apartments are also distributed through the unions. As is
known, anyone who leaves Cuba for exile must leave his apart-
ment with all its furnishings to the state. The apartments later
are distributed according to need. The unions have priority lists
according to place of work, family size, present living quarters,
and so on.
The scarcity of apartments is great, and so their distribu-
tion can serve to illustrate statistically how far the principle of
equality is respected. In 1963, the government decided that 60
percent of apartments which were open would be distributed by
the unions. The remaining 40 percent would be distributed by
different state bodies-Armed Forces, Ministry of the Interior,
Foreign Relations, etc.-for their needs, including their top
functionaries. It is obvious that the state absorbed a dispropor-
tionate percentage for itself, given the scarcity of living space.
Apartments are a yardstick for measuring social privilege,
not only in Cuba but in other socialist countries. The rich
neighborhoods in Havana, like Miramar, which were aban-

doned by their ex-owners, are today used in great part to house
scholarship students from the interior studying in the capital.
This measure has prevented these neighborhoods from becoming
converted into a center for a class of privileged functionaries,
as has happened in other socialist countries with neighborhoods
of the old bourgeoisie. In this way, equalitarianism in housing
is greater in Cuba than elsewhere. It could be even greater,
however, if the population had effective control through their
own elective municipal and national bodies instead of having a
generalized control through pressure and discussion.
To the degree that decisive intervention by the masses is
limited in Cuba by the population's having no direct power,
the state increases its independence from the base and tends to
create and defend situations of privilege. These privileges, it
must be insisted, are infinitely less than the privileges which
money and property can buy in any capitalist country, or
which executives serving property and capital enjoy; and, un-
like the latter, they are not legal, nor are they defended by the
constitution and the laws. On the contrary, they are illegal and
arbitrary, and instead of being ostentatiously displayed have
to be disguised by their beneficiaries. This completely different
point of departure forbids comparison with capitalist coun-
tries. In the latter, privilege is the normal, accepted rule and
society's functioning basis; whereas in Cuba it is a violation
of the fundamental rule of equalitarianism which is the func-
tioning basis of society in a workers' state. This gives the lie
to all attempts to equate such contrary situations and to talk
of a "new class" which is privileged.
It is within the framework of collective property and the
developing Revolution that the dialectic of equality and privi-
lege moves. In the last analysis, this is nothing but one more
form of the internal dialectic by means of which the Cuban
Revolution advances.
The Revolution has, of course, erased social differences.
In Havana, Santiago, or anywhere else, everyone can go any-
where, the quality of dress is notably the same, and exclusive
places do not exist. But beyond this a subtle difference develops
between functionaries, those who "decide," and the common
people, those who "don't decide." It is difficult to see outward

signs of this difference, but you can feel it in the functionaries'
manner of speaking and walking and the assurance with which
theyact.
In 1963, the Mountain Transport of the Revolution was
inaugurated in Oriente. It consists of Soviet trucks which have
been provided with seats and turned into buses; it has estab-
lished a regular service in the farming regions of the Sierra
where previously there was no transport, or at best insufficient
and irregular lines. The red trucks of the Mountain Transport
are always full of farmers, militia, workers, and office em-
ployees who have to move about the zone. They travel in a
fraternal ambience which is popular and happy-a revolu-
tionary "ambiente," as they say in Cuba.
Air travel between Havana and Santiago is provided by
modem airplanes of Soviet manufacture which make the trip
of a thousand kilometers in little more than an hour. The social
composition-or, in any case, the social extraction-of those
who travel by plane is not different from those who travel by
Mountain Transport, except for the proportion of farmers. The
functionaries, union and political leaders, and students who
travel by plane are also of working-class or lower-middle-class
origin, and today they occupy leading positions in the ministries
and state bodies.
Nevertheless, going from Mountain Transport to the Ha-
vana-Santiago plane one notes a difference. Not so much in the
way people dress or speak-in which they do differ to some
extent-but in the general attitudes of the travelers. It is a
subtle difference, but it is obvious to anyone who watches ob-
jectively. The plane passengers act with an assurance and
"executive" attitude which those in the trucks do not show.
They feel that they form part of the apparatus which decides;
the others feel they form part of those who do not, except in-
directly and from afar. This sole difference means that an
enormous amount of energy, initiative, assurance in action are
lost and left unused. They constitute an immense revolutionary
force which the leaders of the Revolution have not yet utilized
or utilize only to a small degree.
But-once more-the difference from the capitalist world
is no longer subtle but violent. Take the Cuban plane on the

Havana-Prague run, for example: inside it there exists a
popular, communicative ambience in which everyone converses,
as on any long trip on a second-class car of any train. The pas-
sengers sit around as if they were in a home they own. When
you change to any line which joins Prague with the West, the
difference is instantaneous and brutal. There the owners of the
plane are "they," the ones who feel at ease are "they," conversa-
tions take place between gentlemen, and the plane is alien.
It is at the opposite pole from that popular, fraternally warm
ambience that the Cuban Revolution, like all fresh and alive
revolutions, has brought to everything, even to its passenger
planes.
The word "bureaucrat" has become current in Cuba. But
not everyone gives it the same meaning. The leaders of the
Revolution-particularly Che Guevara-have carried on cam-
paigns against bureaucracy and have criticized bureaucrats.
They give the term an administrative meaning which refers to
unnecessary paper work and to functionaries who delay work,
needlessly prolong proceedings, and make the functioning of the
state machinery cumbersome. "Bureaucrat" in this case has a
meaning not too different from that in capitalist states.
The popular expression instead gives the words "bureau-
crat" and "bureaucracy" a wider meaning. "Bureaucrat" is the
functionary who takes advantage of his job to enjoy privileges
and who hangs on to his position with declarations of revolu-
tionary faith and intimidating methods against criticism. This
meaning, which is more precise from a Marxist point of view
than the administrative meaning, has not been taught in any
school or in any manual of Marxism circulating in Cuba (all
translations of the latter are mass-produced in the Soviet Union),
for in these schools and these manuals "no such animal exists."
But the people have learned from their daily experience that
bureaucracy and bureaucrats are not simply administrative facts
but social and economic phenomena.
The term used is not always "bureaucrat." The workers
also call them, for example, "the ones with the brief cases,"
because they always appear in a great hurry with a brief case
under one ann in which one supposes are very important docu-
74 INSIDE THE CUBAN REVOLUTIO~
ments; they look at the people who are working and leave in
the same rush. "The ones with the brief cases" is an allusion
to an unproductive social group who, among other things, have
the privilege of deciding and leading in matters in which the
masses should be taking the initiative. The hostility of this and
other expressions is a form of social struggle inside the Revolu-
tion, a struggle for equality and for the right to decide.
It is clear that the bureaucracy develops common interests
and, like all social groups, tries to defend them materially and
politically. To this end, the argument for material incentives
has been converted today into a theoretical justification of the
existence of a privileged bureaucratic group, just as dependence
on socialist incentives is an indirect expression of the resistance
by the base against this group. But this, as we have seen, is only
a limited aspect of the internal struggle, which is a social strug-
gle that embraces all the problems of political and social life of
Cuba, as it does, in different forms, in any other workers' state.
The dialectic of equality and internal social differentia-
tion accompanies and meshes with the dialectic of world revo-
lution and peaceful coexistence. And this dialectic, just as in
the case of equality/inequality, is not subject to direct inter-
vention by foreigners but is influenced by their indirect pres-
sure.
The Cuban masses, at home, at work, in the street, criticize
privilege, look for the means to combat it, maintain permanent
vigilance, and constitute a perennial obstacle to the consolida-
tion of a privileged stratum. At the same time, they unanimously
and violently reject all criticism arising from anyone outside the
Revolution or against the Revolution. For equality and privi-
lege are internal problems of the Revolution. They have nothing
to do and cannot be compared with what occurs in the capitalist
world. Any attempt by opponents of the Revolution to utilize
these criticisms is immediately rejected. And the people will in-
transigently defend against an enemy the same leader whom
they criticize and reject at home. This is a traditional attitude
of the working-class movement, applied on the level of a whole
nation. That is why the counter-revolutionary radio stations in
Miami have absolutely no echo in Cuba, not only because of the
lies they broadcast but also because they come from the enemy.
But all this does not annul the social struggle for equality
inside Cuba. On the contrary, this struggle is one of the most
alive elements of the Revolution and one of its domestic motors.
Equality refers not only to standards of living or salaries. It also
refers to the very essence of what a revolution is, in Cuba or
anywhere else: the right of the people to decide their own
destinies. The excessive influence of leaders, the impossibility of
voicing criticisms in the press, the violent reaction of function-
aries to revolutionary criticism, the lack of decisive elective
bodies of the masses (committees, councils, soviets, which de-
cide not this or that limited aspect of municipal matters but the
basic problems of state policy)-all these are viewed as assaults
on equality, on the equal right of all to give their opinions and
to decide. And it is impossible to separate this concept of equali-
ty, equality in living conditions, from social behavior or any
other aspect of social life.
The dialectic of equality is not isolated in Cuba. In reality
it interweaves with the same dialectic in other socialist coun-
tries. The conditions are not the same in all, but their inter-
dependence is close. The sectors which defend their privileges
in the Soviet Union or in Poland are not at all interested in
seeing that socialist democracy or social equality exist fully in
Cuba today. Such an example would find fertile ground in the
population of other socialist countries whose enthusiasm for
Cuba is, in part, based on the image they see in it of an ex-
tension of socialism and, in part, on the extent of really fresh
and lively socialist democracy in the Cuban Revolution.
But neither are the enemies of the Cuban Revolution in-
terested in seeing this regime work. The widest participation by
simple workers and farmers in the leadership of the Cuban
state, free discussion, political life without any catches where
it really counts, equality in all social life, would also have an
enormous effect on the population of capitalist countries; even
in the United States this would give the lie to the many un-
truths and calumnies about Cuba. On these issues the interests
of the North American government and the Soviet Union coin-
cide, though for different reasons.
This is why, as we have said before, the advocacy of "co-
existence" and trade with Cuba is not only a confession of failure
but also a search for new ways to influence the Revolution from
inside. A leading sector of the capitalist world has come to the
conclusion that the alternative is not to overthrow the govern-
ment of Fidel Castro and re-establish capitalism but to neu-
tralize the Revolution. And to do it, before the blockade be-
comes totally futile, they have to lean on the conservative in-
ternal forces inside the Revolution itself. This sector has ac-
quired experience with "aid" to Yugoslavia and Poland, with
the Sino-Soviet conflict, and in negotiations with the Soviet
Union. This policy reveals the weakness of those who advocate
it-an inability to do anything else-but it also counts on the
support of weak aspects of the Revolution.
This sector of capitalism tries to influence and indirectly
create conditions for the development of the conservative
bureaucratic trend in the leadership of the Revolution. It fol-
lows with Cuba the line taken with Yugoslavia and Poland
under different conditions. And the echo to its policy comes
precisely from the Khrushchevite sector of the Cuban leader-
ship, which in broad lines corresponds to the old leadership of
the Cuban Communist Party plus a whole new stratum of
functionaries. It cannot directly intervene in internal discus-
sions of Cuban policies, but it does so indirectly; it tries to
create conditions which give rise to illusions or which favor the
conservative, bureaucratic tendency, whose line is to prevent
participation in leadership by the Cuban masses and to main-
tain and increase the distance between them and the apparatus
of the Cuban state. Thus, this tendency-by defending its own
interests and bureaucratic positions-indirectly defends the in-
fluence and interests not only of the bureaucratic stratum of
the Soviet Union but also of the enemies of the Cuban Revolu-
tion, the capitalist world.
This basic struggle is present tacitly and obliquely in all
discussions and internal differences, and its outcome is decisive
for the future of the Revolution. Whoever denies this dialectic
and paints a picture of the Cuban Revolution without shadings
or breaks is providing cover for the conservative forces, allying
himself with pro-capitalist forces, and putting the brakes on the
development of the Revolution. That is why the propagandistic
writings of many so-called "friends of the Revolution," who
refuse to discuss its truly rich dialectic or who deny it, is biased
work. Their work goes against the Cuban Revolution for it
prevents its partisans-the millions of workers, farmers, stu-
dents, intellectuals who defend it throughout the world-from
learning and intervening with their opinions and their strength
to give stimulus to those sectors and trends which want to carry
forward the Cuban Revolution and not to neutralize it or slow it
down.
These problems are the central problems of this stage of the
Cuban Revolution. The Cuban people, without being able to
express them directly, not having the means or facilities, live
them intensely in their daily lives and voice their opinions or
their foresight or their desires in a thousand different and in-
direct ways. It is inevitable that sooner or later this process,
which is linked to the world revolutionary process and the Sino-
Soviet conflict, will manifest itself in direct political terms and
will find a much clearer programmatic expression than it has
up to now.
CHAPTER 5
'The Revolution Continues
Life has changed in Cuba. Or, rather, it continues to

change. The Revolution goes on without interruption and with-
out limits. It is part of the change in the life of humanity. Cuba
is only one part, one stage, of the Revolution which encom-
passes the whole world.
This was the strength of Cuba in October, 1962, and it
is its strength today. Cuba sustains itself not only through the
decision of the Cuban people but even more because the forces
of revolutionary humanity in the world defend in Cuba a part
of its own destiny. And these forces grow from day to day,
extend themselves, and are reflected in the decision and audacity
of every Cuban.
In Cuba the masses feel that they have begun to govern
their own lives. The Revolution also continues here: there is
much to do, far to advance, many hangovers from the past and
the capitalist world that still have to be eliminated. But each
advance of the forces of revolution in other countries, and
especially in Latin America, is directly reflected in the island
and is a direct support to the continuance of the Revolution.
The Cuban Revolution has enormous national and inter-
national forces still unutiIized. It has utilized and put into play
only a small part of them, and yet with only this part has al-
ready accomplished so much.
The Chinese Revolution incorporated the principle of "in-
vestment of men." Without capital investment and with an
excess of unemployed, the Chinese made a tremendous "human
investment." They mobilized great masses with the primitive
work instruments they possessed to work on great projects:
dikes, land reclamation, roads, etc. Though they worked only
for their bare food and clothing needs, these great masses raised
78
The Revolution Continues 79
their old standard of living of permanent hunger; and, at the

same time, they created conditions for raising the collective
standard of living to a higher level later on. The Chinese thus
broke the vicious circle of underdevelopment, of the lack of capi-
tal which impeded the development of the economy, and of the
lack of development which in its turn impeded the accumula-
tion of capital.
The Chinese Revolution has been able to do this precisely
because it is a revolution, because it mobilized not the arms of
those millions but their minds and spirits and their collective
will; it gave them a future and a conviction that for the first
time they were doing for themselves and building their own
future. Without a revolution this cannot be done.
The Cuban Revolution has made this same investment in
another form. But it has invested only a small part of the capital
it possesses.This capital is not only the arms and the collective
decision of the Cuban people. It is the initiative, the inner
energy, and the inventive, creative capacity of the masses. Only
a part of this force is utilized: bureaucracy, privileges, rule
from above in the unions, the lack of real means of exercising
political expression and direct decision by the workers-all this
wastes the rest or leaves it unused. Nevertheless, as all revolu-
tions at their height demonstrate, the inner energy of the masses
is aroused and increased to the extent that it is utilized. It is
impossible to calculate what limits this energy can reach when
freely channeled and expressed by the masses themselves in
command of their own destinies.
The major investment and the major economic, social,
and political force of the Revolution is the spirit of the masses
who comprise it. This capital has a particular advantage: in a
certain sense it has no limits and is inexhaustible. With a limited
sector, the Cuban population, it has shown that it can utilize
and channel the energy and revolutionary spirit of the great
masses of Latin America, Europe, Africa, and Asia-and even
of the United States. The great task of a revolutionary leader-
ship is not simply to respond to pressure from the masses but
to know how to organize and understand them and permit
them to express themselves. If the Russian Revolution sur-
vived its first years, under conditions infinitely worse than
Cuba's, it is because its leadership prepared itself in previous

years for this work and showed itself capable of carrying it to its
end, providing an example unequaled in history.
The so-called "material incentives" can serve to increase
the intensity of individual work in one part of the population.
But the world has seen that there are forces which can move
with astonishing dynamism: the source of the Revolution's
energy, and of the economy's and the whole population's, is the
Revolution itself and the socialist consciousness which manifests
itself through the Revolution. The reflection of this conscious-
ness is the defense of equality. And equality, linked to the
Revolution, has a collective economic value infinitely superior to
any individual money incentive, for this is the kind of world in
which the Cuban Revolution lives today.
The tendency which orients itself toward coexistence, ma-
terial incentives, a pause in the Revolution for economic con-
struction, separation from the Latin American Revolution in
order not to provoke imperialist intervention, pacification-this
tendency maintains that it is time to fortify conquered positions
in order to move ahead later.
The tendency which orients itself toward the Revolution
in Latin America, socialist consciousness, equalitarianism, exten-
sion of the Revolution, maintains that only by advancing the
world Revolution can the Cuban Revolution itself advance, and
that to cut it off from that fount of strength and energy is to
weaken, isolate, and leave Cuba defenseless before her enemies.
Along these two great lines lie the alternatives of the Cuban
Revolution and the struggle of its inner tendencies. As in the
choice which arose in 1959 and 1960 between a democratic
capitalist revolution and a socialist revolution, so once again
the definitive decision will come from below; and whatever
the immediate obstacles to be overcome, this decision is already
in the process of being made.
APPENDIX
APPENDIX
'The Centralization of Industry
Che Guevara, Minister of Industry, has given [December,

1962J a speech to the new administrators of enterprises which
indicates that the inner polemic has reached certain conclusions
and that Cuba-contrary to what is happening in other socialist
countries-will continue giving pre-eminence to moral incen-
tives and placing material incentives in a subordinate position.
Since the socialist system is a vast system of interdepen-
dencies, opting for the pre-eminence of moral incentives sub-
sumes other decisions in the organization of the economy by the
Ministry of Industry.
In the European socialist countries, including the Soviet
Union, the "Titoist" trend toward economic decentralization
has been gaining ground during the whole Khrushchev period,
despite some ups and downs. As far as each factory is con-
cerned, decentralization gives it greater autonomy to organize
the factors of production. It is supposed that the better the or-
ganization the greater will be the utilization of the "hidden
reserves" of each enterprise, the greater the yield, and the
lower the cost of production. To encourage the enterprise to
reduce costs, a substantial part of the difference between plan-
ning cost (by which prices are fixed) and actual cost remains
at the disposition of the enterprise to be distributed as profit
among the personnel. Part of it goes to individual and part
to the common fund for housing and other collective improve-
ments.
The system starts off with the supposition that it is pre-
cisely this interest in higher earnings and having a better home
and raising one's standard of living that impels workers to pro-
duce more. In other words, material incentives are tied to de-
veloping autonomy of the enterprises and their management
83
according to the criterion of profitability: the higher the profit

the more successfully the enterprise is considered to be func-
tioning.
In the Soviet Union, in the course of a debate started by
Liberman's articles in Pravda, a group of economists insisted
on the need to extend material incentives. One of the clearest
statements was made by Academician Nemchinov: "The so-
cialist economy has reached such a level of development that
if the plan is not completed with a new and more perfect sys-
tem of material incentives, existing resources and reserves can-
not be mobilized and used with efficiency."
In Cuba, a Soviet economist, Sergei Shkurko, published an
article in the October issue of Cuba Socialista defending the
priority of material incentives.
But it may be that the experience of mobilization is what
has most definitely convinced the Minister of Industry to come
out and publicly defend the opposite position: to take a stand
in favor of moral incentives. In an analysis made during the
days of the mobilization of October by the management council
of the Ministry of Industry, it was overwhelmingly proved that
during the October-November mobilization, production plans
were completely fulfilled and in many cases surpassed; and
this occurred despite the fact that one third to one half of work-
ers in a group of industries were in the trenches. During the
mobilization, a number of problems in connection with low
yields, absenteeism, etc., automatically disappeared. In summing
up the experience, one enterprise director said: "It is the
masses who have done everything in these moments of national
emergency and have given impulse to tasks and stamped them
with their dynamism"; and he pointed out that "there has been
an increase in production and estimated capacities have turned
out to be a 'joke,' something which is worthy of analysis."
Not a wage increase, but the threat of invasion and the
general mobilization made the production indices take a leap.
"It is evident that material incentives exist during the period
of the building of socialism," said Comandante Guevara. "The
only thing is that we always give first place to the educational
role, to deepening consciousness, to the call to duty as a primary
Appendix 85
measure. In addition to this call to duty, there are material in-

centives to mobilize the people."
But this call is tied to centralized leadership and not to
administrative decentralization of enterprises. "Conscious that
we could exercise through centralized administration effective
control of industry down to its very administrative 'bolts,' we
base ourselves on the ideological capacity of our leadership
teams in order not to have to accord high priority to the ex-
pedient of direct material incentives."
To explain the decision for centralization, he also gave the
following technical reasons: "In these days when technique ad-
vances so fast, technique itself imposes centralization. . . . In
the future all will be automatic; in the very near future, the
generators will go into operation and will only start generating
current when the line itself automatically calls for it. In that
way the capacity for individual decision by a small factory
collective begins to disappear of itself and it becomes necessary
for decisions to be centralized and complied with in accordance
with rigid technical rules. . . . That is, the action of men in
modem, centralized, automated industries should take place out-
side production. In the future, the will of men will express itself
through political bodies which are being created and which will
then determine the types of production that are needed for the
country .... We can see that in the panorama of our already
immediate future, in the great new producers of electricity which
are being constructed, in the iron mills already announced, in
the chemical plants we plan to build, and in the emphasis we
are going to give to automation, the need for central control
arises. It is obvious, of course, that all this will necessitate many
changes, including political changes-which we do not mean
to analyze here-changes that guarantee that production be
directed centrally, though responding to the interests of the
people; that is, it should be democratically decided upon within
the possibilities of what must be done. Freedom, said Engels,
is the recognition of necessity."
The centralized leadership, in its tum, is tied to budget
calculations. This means that the control of income from an
enterprise's production is not created by prices, by the profit
revolution in capitalist countries, and the relations among social-

ist countries. It is possible to reconstruct from one particular posi-
tion on a certain problem of economic organization the whole
array of its partisans' ideas and to establish affinities with other
systems.
In the present Moscow-Peking polemic, in which Havana
has not publicly taken part (and it would be difficult for it
to do so in the immediate future), the Cuban position appears
to lean more toward China. The Cuban stand on the relation
between moral and material incentives in the economy is also
not far from that of the Chinese.

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CUBA

translated from the Spanish

Manufactured in the United States

First printed as the October 1964 issue

Monthly Review Press

1. THE CUBAN REVOLUTION IS FIVE YEARS OLD 1

2. NATIONAL AND INTERNATIONAL PLANNING 34

4. DAILY LIFE: THE REVOLUTION AND

5. THE REVOLUTION CONTINUES 78

Appendix: The Centralization of Industry 83

This is a work of reportage. It does not try to be more than

Since the introduction to the first chapter was written,

* The first chapter was originally written in October, 1963, as a

'The Cuban Revolution Is Five Tears Old

Enormous forces are stirring inside the Cuban Revolution.

in interrelated clusters, so that to solve one in a certain way

costs are considerably higher than on private farms; and it would

of replacement parts is very difficult to start up again. When

production has had to be cut back. When small nationalized

wards) or moral incentives (socialist ideals) are most effective

for such incentives has been raised to the level of a theory;

without other outside inducements, runs the permanent risk of

Yugoslavia is the country which in one sense has gone

tralized management, and this trend will be accentuated more

would like. Consequently, if material concerns are to be his

THE UNIONS IN CUBA

There are twenty-five national unions in Cuba, one for

ganized by the "counter-revolution" was so indefensible that

THE SECOND AGRARIAN REFORM

this type of counter-revolution-the most insidious because it

continue as private farmers, without associating themselves with

Apart from land, the most commanding rewards for farmers

sure shows up in sales outside the official channels, on the high-

TWO TENDENCIES IN THE REVOLUTION

was happening." What this overlooks is that Fidel Castro him-

six for sports, spectacles, and current production or organiza-

tion and its leadership. If it were otherwise, the Revolution would

thinks the people are not "mature" enough to understand this

these be high functionaries, businessmen, or farmers with large

and uncontainable domestic pressure. And there is nothing which

two major roads and several minor alternatives which branch

'National and International Planning

The central planning body in Cuba, which corresponds to

veloping the plan theoretically occurs at the factory level. We

fundamental proportions of the plan is not a technical-economic

differently. In both cases, the decision is political, not simply

sense, rather than as an aspect of a system of material incen-

Yugoslavia, as a structure for economic administration of the

This drive from below took place in the context of general

* See Appendix, "The Centralization of Industry."-Translator.

the people: soviets, workers' councils, unions independent of

determining the consumption fund, and he defends and tries to

deliberate attitude; what matters is that here too existence de-

the other hand the policy of international, equalitarian planning

It is unlikely that this alternative has not entered the minds

"To Arms!" A red poster showing a civilian holding a

crucial days the Cuban people learned things about themselves

in Cuba to know at first hand what the United States threat

Now the waiting had ended and each Cuban, arms in