Voices: Cubans find their voices of discontent

HAVANA — On one of my first trips to Cuba, I was sitting in a friend's living room when he got to talking about politics.

As he complained about the state-run economy and how its restrictions made it so hard for him and his family to survive — let alone get ahead — his voice grew louder. His mother stormed into the room, smacked him on the back of the head and started closing the windows.

"Do you want everybody to hear you?" she screamed.

On my current trip to Cuba, I ended up in the same living room, and the discussion once again turned to politics and the economy. As my friend's anger intensified and his voice grew louder, his mother walked in, stared at him a moment, sat down and joined the conversation.

The difference between those encounters, six years apart, helps show how much things have changed in communist Cuba. After Raúl Castro took over control of the government for his ailing brother, Fidel, in 2008, he invited the nation to engage in an honest, open conversation about the country's flailing economy and the best ways to fix it.

That has had a tangible effect: People are more willing to voice their concerns without fear of getting arrested or harassed. In a country where there's a person on each block whose sole job is to keep an eye on the neighbors — members of the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution, known as CDRs — that is a monumental change.

But I'm withholding the names of my friend for a reason. The fear of speaking too loudly, too honestly is still ingrained in every Cuban, and there's no question that political persecution continues on the island.

The historic deal struck between the United States and Cuba on Dec. 17 to re-establish diplomatic relations included no requirements that Cuba improve its human rights record. That's something critics of President Obama, most notably Cuban-American members of Congress, have used to bash the deal.

According to the Cuban Commission for Human Rights and National Reconciliation, a group on the island that monitors government repression, 2014 has been one of the worst years in recent memory. Through November, the commission estimates, the government has incarcerated 8,410 political prisoners, compared with 6,424 in all of 2013.

After 53 years in which absolutely nothing has changed in regard to Cuba's human rights record, it's encouraging to see even the smallest steps in the right direction. Castro agreed to free 53 political prisoners as part of the deal with the United States, and Obama used his announcement to call on the Cuban government to make further, deeper changes.

It's impossible to predict whether Castro will follow through and improve Cuba's human rights record. Castro and his brother, Fidel, have given no reason to trust them over the decades, so I understand the skepticism. But call me an optimist, because I see something changing.

Take a recent interview as an example. Any American reporter who's tried to work in Cuba knows the scenario very well.

You approach a Cuban, explain who you are and try to interview the person. Some people stop talking and walk away. Some decline by shrugging their shoulders, giving a little smile and saying, "You know how things are here."

Some will talk but say only general platitudes about the glories of the revolution and the evils of American imperialists. Some will pleasantly say no, then run and tell the CDR. Very few will actually give their names and speak openly about their reservations with the system.

That's why this trip has been such a shock for me. Most people still decline, but more and more are talking. The fear is always present, but they're fighting it back more often.

Take an interview I did this weekend with Lazaro Mendez-Valdez. A cobbler in central Havana, he spoke openly about the hardships he's faced in Cuba's economy. As his co-workers and waiting clients listened, he calmly explained how exhausting it was to work in the state-run economy, as government bureaucrats constantly breathe down his neck.

He discussed how things have improved now that he's allowed to work as a private businessman, how he's his own boss and can make his own decisions. He stressed that there are still serious difficulties finding the materials he needs. He said his pay, though better now that he works on his own, still makes it hard to get by each month.

After our chat, we said our goodbyes, and I started walking out the door. As I did, he called out one more time.

"Por poco me olvido. Viva Fidel y Raúl!"

Translation: "I almost forgot. Long live Fidel and Raúl!"