37: The struggle continues, victory is uncertain

It’s not on a mount, but on Mount Street, an avenue winding through Havana, the ugly border of the most densely populated municipalities in the country. Before 1959, Mount Street was a continuous bazaar. Shop entrances stretched all along it, doorway to doorway. Granite floors were trimmed with metal. Exaggerated display windows sported stylishly exciting mannequins. Clerks in their unblemished uniforms would greet you with, “Buenos días, Senorita. How do you do?” The smell of ‘50s air conditioning added to the almost mystical atmosphere. The feeling survived for decades within those premises, even when they were left empty or used for storage.

Today Mount Street is a mount indeed. The avenue seems narrowed by the filth and crowds of guajiros who have literally arrived from Cuba’s mounts. The businesses are mostly the poorest of the state chain stores, those offering subsidized services in Cuban pesos rather than hard currency. Each summer downpour brings the tragedy of new building collapses. Theatrical ceilings and ancient neon signs need to be shored up; they are the last memories of our Republican capitalism so easily erased by the Revolution determined, from the very beginning, to expel the merchants not from the temple but from the market.

Mount is a death threat, a mountain with no tomorrow.