A Very Bad Idea
A little war, now and then, is relished by even the maddest of men
“No army can stop an idea whose time has come”
~ Victor Hugo
Whatever Luis de Velasco and the Marquis González had planned for the day, it almost certainly didn't include meeting the formidable British navy in head-on battle. Peering down from the castle walls, the two men must have stood stunned as the largest fleet ever seen in the Caribbean sailed into the Bahía de La Habana, cannons aimed in their very direction.
The year was 1762, sometime in June…or July. Having been absent on that particular occasion, we'll fill in the details as they please us. Call it afternoon, getting on evening. English engravings from around the time suggest a somewhat overcast day. Los Habañeros might have figured it an ill omen.
Lord Albemarle (aka George Keppel, 3rd Earl of Albemarle), on mission for the English Crown, was not a man to leave details to chance. He commanded 26 man o’wars, 13 frigates and 150 transport ships, aboard which stood an army of no fewer than 14,000 troops, ready to let fire 2,000 cannons at their leader’s say-so.
Having studied previous failed attempts to take Habana, Lord Albemarle chose to land his troops on the quiet beach of Cojímar, barely defended by one lonesome lookout. This he did with relative ease. From Cojímar, it was a short advance up to Castillo de los Tres Reyes del Morro.
A Fleeting Fleet
After conquering the fortress, Albemarle's men were able to shell Habana with relative impunity from across la Bahía. Later, with two months of cannon fire atop his weary head, Spanish Governor Juan de Prado Portocarrero surrendered his city. Habana belonged to the British.
According to one account, “British domination kept intact the civil and religious organization, and merchants and traders enjoyed months of bonanza thanks to the establishment of free trade with all British colonies, the abolition of the Royal Trading Company of Havana, and the possibility of acquiring British goods.”
Of course, no single moment lasts beyond its given time. Less than a year after Lord Albemarle spoiled Señores González and Velasco's cloudy afternoon, the British were gone. In accordance with a peace treaty signed by the two colonial powers, Habana was returned to Spain in exchange for England receiving a tidy parcel of territory for its own: Florida.
The remainder of the 18th century saw the city expand and prosper. Wealthy families constructed elaborate homes in Habana Vieja, featuring ornate façades, delicate wainscoting and intricate stained glass windows facing onto the main plazas. The Plaza de la Catedral, in particular, witnessed a vibrant transformation. El Palacio del Conde Lombillo, El Palacio del Marqués de Arcos and La Casa del Marqués de Aguas Claras stand there still... albeit barely.
La Bahía, into which Spanish and British blood had so freely flowed, soon returned to its shimmering turquoise blue.
Golden Age Gone
So went the 19th century... and the better part of the 20th. An important period of progress in the sciences and arts, the 1800s saw the construction of the Fernando VII aqueduct, the inauguration of the first stretch of the Havana-Bejucal railway and the opening of the mighty Teatro Tacón.
Along the Prado, mansions of neoclassical design and flair sprung up. El Louvre Café, which later gave its name to the adjoining sidewalk, became the place to be and be seen. High fashion flourished. Caballeros stood when señoras approached the table. Crystal snifters overflowed with ron añejo and ashtrays of Carrara marble brimmed with Cohibas, fought to the nub or abandoned mid-draw.
All of this happened... more or less.
And so, when the ideological clashes of the 1950s took center stage, there was a lot of potential ruin in Cuba - Habana in particular. The island was primed for upheaval anew. All that was left was for history to choose her actors.
The modernistas debated fiercely along El Louvre's grand colonnades and two ideas - both idiotic - clouded over the political landscape in Habana. Another omen, perhaps. The people would have done well to refute them both but, as Victor Hugo once remarked, “No army can stop an idea whose time has come.”
Not even a bad idea.
Who’s Right vs. Who’s Left
Thus it came to pass that the century's greatest debate, backed by dueling superpowers abroad, would again find venue on a tiny island in the Caribbean. On the one side stood the military junta of Cuban President Fulgencio Batista, backed by the United States. On the other: the revolutionary forces of the Castro Bros. and comrade Guevara - a murderous movement with which the Soviets generally sympathized.
The former was supposed to represent “the right;” the latter, “the left.” In reality, each side represented its own interests, independent of “the people” it affected to serve. Castro, for his part, was an avowed Marxist-Leninist who sought to turn all industry, all means of production, over to the glory of the state... his state. Batista, a military strongman of equally moronic sentiment, stood in Castro's way. The two fought out their differences over the course of a decade or more... the attacks at the Moncada Barracks, which culminated in Castro's imprisonment... the ensuing guerrilla wars... and the eventual triumph of the former convict.
During the ensuing six decades, productivity absolutely collapsed in Cuba. The utopian myth perpetrated by the state stands in direct opposition to the observable reality on the ground. The nation boasts more doctors per capita than any other in the world... but they scratch out a meager living at US$15 per month. Hospitals frequently suffer supply shortages, including those of basic necessities like medicine, water and electricity.
Everybody is employed... but nobody works. Lines stretch around the block of government-owned and -run telecommunication buildings. Internet is virtually non-existent, except in (two, that we could find) hotels, at which no local could possibly afford to stay. And once-brilliant mansions, adorning the famous Malecón, crumble gently onto the oceanfront road… and into the sea.
When great ideas come to clash, the population at large rarely escapes unscathed. A king divorces his queen... and half the land goes up in flames. One dictator has it in for another... and a continent is turned upside down. An aging empire goes to war with an ascendant one... and a half-century of subsequent misery and oppression buries generations of progress.
Ideas can be dangerous things... especially very bad ones.
Until next time...
Cheers,
Joel Bowman
With this essay, you’ve done a marvelous job of reaffirming the phrase “history may not repeat itself, but it sure does rhyme.” So many parallels with what’s going on in the world today. Thx for this.