President Obama certainly created news a week ago in announcing a resumption of diplomatic relations between the US and Cuba. Despite the fact it has riled most of my fellow Republicans, I’m giving pause before crying fire on this one. Reason being, I’ve thought for a long time that there were ways to thaw things between us and the Cubans. 

 

They are wonderful people, just like Americans. And they are terribly excited to get among Americans as we have learned in two press trips to their country - one in March, 1990 and the last in January, 2010.

 

We’ve seen the physical deterioration of their country during those years, as Communist Bloc country subsidies to Cuba waned after the fall of the Iron Curtain.

 

Reminds me of something a local suggests regarding socialism - it’s great until the person paying for it runs out of money.

 

Similar to my question while visiting a community-built (Soviet-financed) apartment complex when we visited in 1990.

 

(People got together in communes to build public housing, then when it was their turn to live in a new  apartment, ones lower on the list built it for them.)

 

My question was: “What happens when the Soviet money runs out?”

 

The leader of our tour quickly took the next question.

 

Something about our world: All about money, even with socialism, it gets around to being about money.

 

There are no promises that civil rights will be better protected; nor will there be open elections.

 

The Castro boys have already told us socialism is there to stay. 

 

The freefall of their economy is what is driving this - from their perspective. Five years ago, their government fire one million of their six million workers because it couldn’t afford to pay paltry wages and benefits.

 

So, that one million people are out on the streets, figuring up their own economies to pay for life. I documented several of them in this space five years ago after return from the most recent trip.

 

They have very little natural resources to work worth, nor the infrastructure to make an economy that we take for granted up here.

 

But I wish them well.

 

Which gets me around to saying what I could have said a couple minutes ago.

 

The Castro boys, under the guise of improved political relations, are actually hoping for an influx of money so their country can improve.

 

So are their people.

 

But they aren’t going to change anything else.

 

Crap.

 

As soon as people understand there is a chance for significant financial improvement in their lives, they will dive for it.

 

Whether they live in Cuba or anywhere else.

 

Our trip to Havana and Santiago de Cuba in 1990 was the most eye-opening of the trips, because it was our first - and we got a chance to see our neighbors basking in the relative financial-well being that came with Soviet subsidies.

 

That’s been long-changed, and the people have been begging.

 

One of our fellow travelers with Inland Press Association in 1990 was Art Diaz, a Cuban-born publisher from the Chicago area. This was Art’s first trip to his homeland since his family evacuated for America shortly after the Castro takeover in 1950. (He had known Castro when both were students at the University of Havana.)

 

Art, of course fluent in Spanish, wandered the streets with we fellow journalists and engaged everyone who wanted us.

 

It included a pack of college kids one afternoon (pictured above). The kids believed in socialism because it was all they knew. Art, despite his most-dominating arguments, couldn’t change their minds.

 

I wonder what’s going through their minds now, given they’ve lived another 25 years, raised some children and wished for more money. Maybe some of them are block wardens?

 

A final thought about this money business.

 

It was on our group’s move-in to the 14-story Havana Libre Hotel, a former mafia gaming joint, that I ran into a 10-12-year old boy in the lobby. The elevators had quit working and I motioned for the boy to help me haul my things to a 13th floor unit.

 

He looked at me quizzically, and I again motioned for him to help me with my luggage. We finally got our brains together that he was to carry a bag up to my 13th floor unit.

 

That we did.

 

And when the mission was accomplished, I pulled a dollar bill out of my pocket and handed it to him.

 

He looked at me, then he looked at the dollar bill, then he smiled and made his way back to base floor.

 

The next day, he was at the door, waiting for me.

 

Amazing, what dollar bills can do.