Military ranks, stars, distinctions of greater and lesser importance: decorations that recall past glories. Along with the books sold in the Plaza Vieja -- and the tourist postcards of Che's face -- we have the largest market in medals in the whole country. If in East Germany the wall fell and, afterwards, the commerce in badges took over the street, here it has arisen before the very eyes of those who still wear these pieces of tin on their lapels.
Many "vanguard" workers, mutilated soldiers and active combatants who received such honors today prefer to exchange them for convertible pesos. They trade for hard currency the object that distinguishes them as role models to be emulated.
Pinned to the red tablecloth, now lacking in any sobriety, are displayed the emblems of a nation crushed between diplomas and badges. The Soviet legacy has left us this extensive row of orders, distinctions, olive branches, laurels in soft medals, certificates of distinction, red-painted hammers and sickles and shields of the republic pressed into zinc. A paraphernalia of recognition calcified in kitsch and the overflowing arrivals from the Kremlin.
In those years no one wanted to be left without his decoration, because these distinctions were exchanged for perks and privileges. In the assemblies where refrigerators or washing machines were handed out, those aspiring to home appliances came with their rows of awards pinned to their shirts. The meeting thus became a ring of merits in a carnival of exaggerated exploits. But that was a long time ago...
From the vantage point of a so skeptical 2012, the aesthetics of these insignia provokes in us a mix of curiosity and wonder. Some of the vagabonds of Old Havana hang them on their chests so the smiling tourists will give them some change. Many of these relics also lie hidden in the backs of innumerable drawers, from the indifference or disappointment of their recipients. Others -- to put it simply -- have a price. They are sold in the antique market along with numismatic samples from the 19th century, or eighty-year-old Leica cameras. The buyers weigh the medals, haggle with the sellers, finally rejecting or claiming the cold metal that contains as much pomp as failure; the splendor and the fall.
Photo: Yoani Sanchez.
Yoani's blog, Generation Y, can be read here in English translation. Translating Cuba is a compilation blog with Yoani and other Cuban bloggers in English. Yoani's new book in English, Havana Real, can be ordered here.