Comments on: Enchantment and Ruin: Mario Coyula’s Havana

By: wmcduff

wmcduff — Tue, 13 Jan 2009 02:46:00 +0000

Here in the states, as we contemplate the relative poverty that accompanies massive unemployment rates, this picture of Cuban poverty speaks volumes. I don’t wish a depression on my country, but if one comes, the example of this man’s wisdom and dignity is a hopeful one.

By: olivercranglesparrot

olivercranglesparrot — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 16:18:41 +0000

Excellent conversation. The candor was illuminating. The myriad of problems discussed here also create a variety of opportunities. Much appreciated this discussion, and all the conversations in Cuba. Thank you Chris.

By: wellbasically

wellbasically — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 02:45:09 +0000

That quote was the part that hit me. Ten thousand small investors instead of a few big ones. This is the right attitude for Boston too, because we are caught up in the hero-worship of big institutions coming in and redoing entire neighborhoods.

By: cocopuffs

cocopuffs — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 20:12:44 +0000

A friend from Chile, growing up with tales of the Cuban revolution, passed through Cuba on his way home and was sobered by the reality but couldn’t put it into words. Now I understand a little better … muchas gracias, Chris.

By: nother

nother — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 17:49:39 +0000

Wow, the conflict is this mans Cuban world is vast and palpable. He lays it all on the table for us (so much truth that’s it’s hard to digest), his struggle to reconcile the detriments of gentrification, with the benefits of capitalization, mashed together with the endearing and suffocating status quo. The dilemmas discussed here are profound, and they are easily extrapolated into the globalized world.

It’s like when I go visit my mom in the suburban town where I went to high school. I turn down the long straight street of Main and gladly stop at crosswalks before the pedestrians even step off the curve. I cruise that strip with pride and check off familiar little shops that no longer line downtown – a strip mall of nostalgia. The red and brown buildings without their proud shopkeepers stare back like empty eyes sockets. Shortly thereafter, I pine for that humane image of wide sidewalks and narrow benches, as I pile my half-off underwear and two-for-one shaving creams into my car and search for my out of a full and peopleless Wal-Mart parking lot – albeit (and this cannot be understated) with a few more dollars in my pocket.