I was in Cuba a few weeks ago with my church to visit our companion parish in rural Matanzas Province. Every Episcopal church in the Diocese of Florida is matched with an Episcopal church in the Diocese of Cuba.
My church in Tallahassee has built up a very close relationship with our sister church, sending visitors almost annually. I have spoken with a few friends there about both Three Kings Day and Carnival celebrations in Cuba, wanting to know if people still practice these traditions. And in this tiny little town, centered around sugar and tobacco, two hours from the coast, the answer has been a shrug.
About leaving shoes out for the Magi on Día de Reyes, “I think my parents did that when they were growing up…” About Carnival, “It’s not really fun to celebrate Carnival when there isn’t enough to have a feast.”
Crushing poverty makes it difficult to fill shoes with presents and even harder to do anything in excess. While the U.S. embargo against Cuba has been in place for decades, the years since COVID have been especially hard on Cuba. Hunger is a constant shadow.
But Caribbean Carnival was forged in the colonial era, a time of slavery and oppression. Carnival itself has been a way to respond to poverty and class hierarchies. Furthermore, the Cuban spirit is famously resilient; Cubans know how to make a party with very little. This is evident at my sister church - despite true hardships they still cook delectable food, dance and sing karaoke (powered by a generator), and play dominoes late into the night. Just for fun.
So, what happened to Carnival in Cuba? To be fair, Carnival still happens in cities like Havana and Santiago. And it happens with the coordination of the government, as most Carnivals around the world now do.
In briefly looking at the history, there has always been tension between the celebrations of the Spanish-descended upper class and the Afro-Cuban population, which was sometimes encouraged to participate, sometimes banned because white people didn’t like their music, and sometimes prohibited from participating at all because the sugarcane harvest happens at the same time of year. Summer festivals became more popular, in particular in Santiago, which aligned with certain saints’ days and the Summer Solstice.
After the 1959 Revolution, Carnival was moved to July 26, a date important to the new government, and the focus was inorganically shifted to a celebration of socialism. Religion was deemphasized; even the celebration of Christmas was banned on the island from 1969 until 1998. At this point, only 53% of Cubans remain Catholic. Around 5% are now Protestant. A pre-Lenten festival wasn’t going to get a lot of support from the government. Especially not one with the explicit purpose of turning the social order upside down.
More recently, February Carnival has returned to Havana. The Cuban government has put a lot of effort into tourism, specifically from Canada and Europe. As proven in other countries, like Trinidad and Brazil, Carnival can be an economic boon. There is a suggestion that this move was made to attract tourists who might be more familiar with Carnival celebrations happening in February than on socialist holidays.
For my friends out in the countryside, none of this interests them very much. But they still sing Celia Cruz’s La Vida es un Carnaval on karaoke nights.
Carnivals can’t really happen without the coordination of local governments. Road closures and security personnel are actually important for crowd control and safety. But what happens when governments co-opt the celebrations from the people? Whether in Trinidad or in Cuba, whether it’s to control the narrative or to control the tourism income, how does that affect the spirit of Carnival?
Thanks for this explanation of carnival celebrations (or lack thereof) in Cuba. Despite numerous memorable trips to the island, it never occurred to me to ponder this intriguing subject. Thanks for sharing your contagious curiosity!
I agree with Dennis. This is all new information for me. Thank you, Heather!