Guantánamo (28 page)
Authors: Jonathan M. Hansen
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In fact, many Cubans were far from proud of the social dynamics in the towns surrounding the U.S. base. The year “Guantánamo Blues” appeared, Gerardo Castellanos, a celebrated Cuban geographer, published a record of a leisurely trip through the Cuban countryside from Remates de Guane, in far northwest Cuba, to Guantánamo, in the southeast, the culmination of a lifelong dream. Fully two-thirds of the book is devoted to the Guantánamo region, including the U.S. naval base and its immediate surroundings.
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Much of Castellanos's book confirms the account of the Navy Wife. But he goes beyond her to provide a wrenching portrait of the base as seen from the other side.
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Much of Castellanos's book confirms the account of the Navy Wife. But he goes beyond her to provide a wrenching portrait of the base as seen from the other side.
“We come to the US Naval Station,” Castellanos writes. “It's very early. Since leaving Guantánamo, I have enjoyed a beautiful view of one of the saltworks of the Guaso River.” Abundant waterfowl and attentive fishermen decorate the scenery. Approaching the outer harbor, Castellanos crosses “a deserted beach,” really a dry sea, with no sign of habitation or life. Finally, he arrives at Caimanera, the “local customs office and entry point of the sea-faring trade.” Originally a maritime town, Castellanos explains, Caimanera has profited in recent years from the traffic in liquor and troops associated with the Yankee base. By 1930, alcohol had become a fabulous business in Caimanera, the source of many a rapid fortune. Indeed, so full of liquor are some of the bars and cafés of Caimanera that they seem more like “warehouses” than restaurants. Arriving in the early morning, Castellanos fails to note the sex traffic, but there are other trades in town “no less profitable” than liquor, such as the sale of perfumes and tobacco, and “the famous souvenirs,” curios and postcards depicting the Cuban landscape.
Castellanos is no less critical of Caimanera's shoddiness than Corey, McIntosh, or the Navy Wife. Nor is he any less conscious of race. He arrives at an hour when one would expect to see local businesses stirring to life. But “commercial activity is negligible.” And not just because Caimanera is a city of the night, but because Castellanos visits at a time when the fleet has put to sea, taking with it the town's means of subsistence. In its wake? Nothing but a couple of “black Jamaicans” and two or three drunks, who look to Castellanos “like Yankees.”
From the base's inception at the turn of the twentieth century, the navy insisted that it was a great boon to the local Cuban economy. Yet, curiously, Castellanos notes, for all the business the base generated, Caimanera itself remained woefully undeveloped. This sets Castellanos ruminating about all the money being literally flushed down the toilet.
Someone
may be benefiting from the U.S. propensity to “drink to the point of intoxication,” but by the looks of things, it isn't the people of Caimanera. Nor is it the American sailors themselves, who typically squander over half a million dollars per year. More than merely wasteful, this industry is socially insidious, turning Cubans everywhere into potential “patrons” for U.S. clients. In Caimanera, U.S. and Cubans come to know each other at their predatory worst. The one or two Cuban policeman on hand cannot possibly maintain law and order, and from time to time the town succumbs to a “state of siege.” In these showdowns, the hosts suffer a distinct handicap, as everyone knows that detaining an American sailor could spark a diplomatic crisis. The guests, meanwhile, revel in their immunity.
Someone
may be benefiting from the U.S. propensity to “drink to the point of intoxication,” but by the looks of things, it isn't the people of Caimanera. Nor is it the American sailors themselves, who typically squander over half a million dollars per year. More than merely wasteful, this industry is socially insidious, turning Cubans everywhere into potential “patrons” for U.S. clients. In Caimanera, U.S. and Cubans come to know each other at their predatory worst. The one or two Cuban policeman on hand cannot possibly maintain law and order, and from time to time the town succumbs to a “state of siege.” In these showdowns, the hosts suffer a distinct handicap, as everyone knows that detaining an American sailor could spark a diplomatic crisis. The guests, meanwhile, revel in their immunity.
Castellanos wrote at a time when a moratorium on liberty party visits to Guantánamo City was just coming to an end. Historically, Guantánamo City competed with Caimanera for fleet business, and, like Caimanera, it never flourished so much as when the fleet was in. But in the mid-1920s, the cost of property damage in Guantánamo City forced Cuban bars and restaurants to raise their prices, making them a target of American hostility. This hostility, in turn, forced U.S. naval officials to declare Guantánamo City out of bounds, thus contributing to Caimanera's boom.
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From Caimanera, Castellanos pushes on toward the U.S. naval base, his early morning reverie long since soured by the social and
economic inequality he encounters. The need to solicit the U.S. Navy's permission to travel through Cuban waters does nothing to improve his mood. Though the Americans formally control only the outer harbor, he notes, “in fact, the entire bay with its customs facility falls under American domination.” Castellanos enters U.S. territory, his self-consciousness on high alert. “We have taken one of the channels that crosses into the naval station. Perched on one of the buoys is an enormous bird. It eyes us curiously as we continue on, sheltered by our flag, as if our little boat were a child's plaything.”
economic inequality he encounters. The need to solicit the U.S. Navy's permission to travel through Cuban waters does nothing to improve his mood. Though the Americans formally control only the outer harbor, he notes, “in fact, the entire bay with its customs facility falls under American domination.” Castellanos enters U.S. territory, his self-consciousness on high alert. “We have taken one of the channels that crosses into the naval station. Perched on one of the buoys is an enormous bird. It eyes us curiously as we continue on, sheltered by our flag, as if our little boat were a child's plaything.”
Past the warehouses of the Guantánamo Sugar Company, past the shoreline of the U.S. base “where typical American bungalows sit atop steep cliffs,” past the landing field at Hicacal Beach, past the commotion of the never-ending dredging work, Castellanos advances. He pauses before another beach, this one “situated at the foot of the residence of the base commander where floats an American flag, striped symbol of the North American imperial republic.” Each star represents an American state, Castellanos muses, “but among these great stars are asteroids that the world doesn't seeâsymbols of peoples suffering the yoke of American imperialism. I looked then at my pretty little standard and I wondered whether I too was supposed to tip my hat to this strange flag.”
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From the water, the base looks deceptively benign. There is scarcely any movement. No sign of warships, only a few barges huddled alongside the wharves. There are no visible fortifications, “as if the Americans recognize that fixed armaments require constant attention and are ineffective in certain situations.” In short, Castellanos concludes, the naval station is nothing but a great fueling depot for boats and warplanes. Therein lies its signal importance in extending the reach of American military and commercial influence throughout the Caribbean. In the event of an attack, the station could be defended by a few simple measures or abandoned altogether. The base “costs the US virtually nothing.” It costs Castellanos his pride.
Before heading back to Caimanera, Castellanos makes a final stop at El Deseo, a tiny village in Cuban territory on the outskirts of Caimanera. El Deseo returns Castellanos to the subject of alcohol. Approaching the wharves that skirt the village, Castellanos is surprised to find several American launches tied up to a pier. One of the boats is
particularly fancy, evidently the property of the base commander. Live jazz and murmured conversation float over the water. At the foot of one of the wharves sits a small café with an outdoor terrace and dance floor. On a large counter along one wall of the café “shimmer a rainbow of liquor bottles.” Seated at tables are groups of men and women drinking an assortment of cocktails. “There is much merriment,” Castellanos observes. “Swollen faces, the smell of alcohol. From the orchestra, one Yankee air after another.” All patrons are residents of the naval base. Officers of every grade mix together, from the lowest to the commandant. The dress is informal. “Almost nobody wears their stripes.” Some wear T-shirts, others swimming trunks. The ladies appear “saturated” in alcohol. Castellanos is astounded by this “representation of the Yankee Navy.” Here it is only midafternoon.
particularly fancy, evidently the property of the base commander. Live jazz and murmured conversation float over the water. At the foot of one of the wharves sits a small café with an outdoor terrace and dance floor. On a large counter along one wall of the café “shimmer a rainbow of liquor bottles.” Seated at tables are groups of men and women drinking an assortment of cocktails. “There is much merriment,” Castellanos observes. “Swollen faces, the smell of alcohol. From the orchestra, one Yankee air after another.” All patrons are residents of the naval base. Officers of every grade mix together, from the lowest to the commandant. The dress is informal. “Almost nobody wears their stripes.” Some wear T-shirts, others swimming trunks. The ladies appear “saturated” in alcohol. Castellanos is astounded by this “representation of the Yankee Navy.” Here it is only midafternoon.
Only the commandant maintains his distance, “upholding the laws of his country.” Meanwhile, one of the ladies approaches Castellanos and speaks to him in “correct Castilian.” An officer joins the author's table and accepts a drink. “Another officer, as if jealous, pretends to discharge his revolver” at Castellanos's companion, a local judge. The chief of the naval station converses with everyone, dances, but still holds back. “But I know the ropes,” Castellanos writes; “the more the goat backs away, the worse the charge.”
The charge comes, but only after some unseen signal silences the band and draws the happy hour to a close. The Americans all carry off at least one hidden bottle as the commandant looks the other way. The “drunks and drinkers” depart, but the commandant lingers. “Now it's his turn,” Castellanos notes. “I look at him and he smiles slyly. He is drinking. Another follows. And another. His cheeks flush.” Castellanos departs for Caimanera.
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Not all the Americans' socializing at Guantánamo involved overindulgence in alcohol and women. Guantánamo featured plenty of wholesome recreation, too, as the Navy Wife reports, such as golf and tennis, swimming and riding, baseball and volleyball, and hiking trips into the local mountains, where waterfalls and caves caught the Americans' attention. Though the base infrastructure remained largely unchanged between the wars, the opportunities for recreation constantly
expanded, so that by World War II, Guantánamo had become synonymous with play.
expanded, so that by World War II, Guantánamo had become synonymous with play.
Part of the credit for this is owed to Admiral Charles M. Cooke, who took command of the base in June 1934, six months after Prohibition came to an end. Up until Admiral Cooke's appointment, his daughter Maynard remembers, “the station was considered a graveyard tour for any officer sent to be commandant.” For many years, “under the command of a series of officers unhappy with being stuck in this backwater,” the base had gone “downhill.” Cooke was charged with bringing the base “up to snuff,” a mission he understood to include not just making the facility war-ready but improving base morale.
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Cooke liked parties. One Halloween, he transformed the officers' club into a haunted house, taking pains to order well in advance some sixty black-and-orange clown costumes, complete with headgear and black masks. A hit with the children, who were allowed to preview the haunted house before being hauled off to bed, the party was a smash with base personnel, who relished the social inversion that anonymity afforded. Cooke was also known for constructing an open-air pavilion, complete with concrete floor, thatched roof, and an icebox, on the crest of John Paul Jones Hill, the highest elevation at the base. Called Mountain House by the locals, the pavilion provided officers and their wives a dazzling view from which to catch the sunset as they wet their whistle, and sometimes spent the night.
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At the beginning of the century, journalist Frank Carpenter described the area surrounding the Guantánamo naval base to readers of the
Boston Sunday Globe
. In the lowlands of the Guantánamo Basin, surrounding the U.S. base, were some “large plantations of sugar owned by Americans, and coffee grows well on the hills.” This part of Cuba was “especially healthy,” Carpenter reported, “and it was at one time a sort of Newport for the rich sugar and coffee men of the eastern end.” One planter supposedly “had an avenue running from his residence to the sea shore. The road was covered with shells and was lined with lemon and orange trees.”
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Boston Sunday Globe
. In the lowlands of the Guantánamo Basin, surrounding the U.S. base, were some “large plantations of sugar owned by Americans, and coffee grows well on the hills.” This part of Cuba was “especially healthy,” Carpenter reported, “and it was at one time a sort of Newport for the rich sugar and coffee men of the eastern end.” One planter supposedly “had an avenue running from his residence to the sea shore. The road was covered with shells and was lined with lemon and orange trees.”
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By the time Cooke arrived at Guantánamo, the sugar industry had become a victim of the Great Depression, but also of global competition from the rise of the sugar beet industry. If no longer a second Newport by 1934, the surrounding countryside still boasted plenty of
opportunities for amusement as well as a few luxurious estates, one of them owned by William “Shorty” Osment, administrator general of the U.S.-owned and -operated Guantánamo and Western Railroad Company, headquartered at Guantánamo City. Cooke befriended U.S. and foreign planters throughout the basin, but he grew particularly close to Osment, with the Cookes visiting Osment at his estate outside Boquerón and Osment traveling to the base for parties at the officers' club.
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Osment owned a private rail line, which connected his estate to the town of Boquerón. On this track he mounted what Cubans called a
sequena
, an American automobile converted to run on rails. Cooke's daughter, Maynard, remembers riding this “car” into Osment's estate, overrun with peacocks.
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opportunities for amusement as well as a few luxurious estates, one of them owned by William “Shorty” Osment, administrator general of the U.S.-owned and -operated Guantánamo and Western Railroad Company, headquartered at Guantánamo City. Cooke befriended U.S. and foreign planters throughout the basin, but he grew particularly close to Osment, with the Cookes visiting Osment at his estate outside Boquerón and Osment traveling to the base for parties at the officers' club.
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Osment owned a private rail line, which connected his estate to the town of Boquerón. On this track he mounted what Cubans called a
sequena
, an American automobile converted to run on rails. Cooke's daughter, Maynard, remembers riding this “car” into Osment's estate, overrun with peacocks.
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Amid the laid-back atmosphere that was 1930s Guantánamo, Cooke had no problem mixing naval business with pleasure. His tenure at Guantánamo coincided with a growing sense of urgency about the base water supply, which in 1934 arrived there in railroad tanks via Guantánamo City and the Guaso River. In 1934, political instability in Cuba combined with enduring uneasiness over the base's dependence on an outside water source to inspire a series of studies about an alternative water source. As most of the proposals involved tapping resources in Cuba, Cooke thought it prudent to examine the proposed sites for himself. On such trips, he was delighted to tap the hospitality of his friend Osment, bringing along not only his wife but a handful of officers and their wives, to a maximum of eight guests.
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As a foreign businessman operating in a historically volatile region of Cuba during a period of political instability, Osment found it only natural to ingratiate himself with the base commander. Besides furnishing Mrs. Cooke and her daughter with horses, Osment provided souvenirs of his guests' visits.
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He quartered Cooke and his friends during diplomatic stopovers in Guantánamo City, and he kept Cooke stocked with Cuban cigars.
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As a foreign businessman operating in a historically volatile region of Cuba during a period of political instability, Osment found it only natural to ingratiate himself with the base commander. Besides furnishing Mrs. Cooke and her daughter with horses, Osment provided souvenirs of his guests' visits.
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He quartered Cooke and his friends during diplomatic stopovers in Guantánamo City, and he kept Cooke stocked with Cuban cigars.
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It is no wonder that Cooke preferred to stay with Shorty Osment on his visits to Guantánamo City rather than at local establishments. In March 1938 the popular Cuban journal
Bohemia
ran an article exposing the U.S. claim that the base propped up the nearby Cuban economy. The article contrasted “Caimanera,” the Cuban name for the U.S. base, with the nearby city of Guantánamo, the “sewer of Cuba,”
where shameless politicians pursued their self-interest in a “stagnant, hedonistic, dirty, and desolate” place. Spotlessly clean and neatly laid out, the base shimmered with energy and purpose, its “luxurious profusion of lights” illuminating a way of life distinctly foreign to the Cuban workers arriving there. Whereas the base overflowed with flowering gardens and snapped with colorful flags, Guantánamo City languished in a state of despondency and boredom, eliciting nothing so much as a large yawn. At once dull and decadent, its citizens failed to even notice the squalor in which they had sunk. Oh, there were still a few well-off Cubans who distracted themselves with the fantasy of marrying their daughters off to American officers and thereby lightening their family's darker skin. But they were but further evidence of a city unable to help itself and shoulder the responsibility required of real improvement.
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Bohemia
ran an article exposing the U.S. claim that the base propped up the nearby Cuban economy. The article contrasted “Caimanera,” the Cuban name for the U.S. base, with the nearby city of Guantánamo, the “sewer of Cuba,”
where shameless politicians pursued their self-interest in a “stagnant, hedonistic, dirty, and desolate” place. Spotlessly clean and neatly laid out, the base shimmered with energy and purpose, its “luxurious profusion of lights” illuminating a way of life distinctly foreign to the Cuban workers arriving there. Whereas the base overflowed with flowering gardens and snapped with colorful flags, Guantánamo City languished in a state of despondency and boredom, eliciting nothing so much as a large yawn. At once dull and decadent, its citizens failed to even notice the squalor in which they had sunk. Oh, there were still a few well-off Cubans who distracted themselves with the fantasy of marrying their daughters off to American officers and thereby lightening their family's darker skin. But they were but further evidence of a city unable to help itself and shoulder the responsibility required of real improvement.
73
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