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Black man in red Cuba,
Book by Clytus, John
Hardcover
Published January 1, 1970
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July 14, 2023
John Clytus, a gifted storyteller in his own right, takes the medium of anecdote beyond its useful bounds. The result is a part-amusing, part riveting, part-tragic adventure through the island, the development — and enjoyment — of which is routinely marred by numerous underdeveloped analyses of Cuba's racial problem.
At the center of Clytus's vendetta with Castrist Cuba is its anti-racist method. It was a deep-set black consciousness, after all, that drew Clytus to the island from the first to see if in fact the Communist promise of a world cleansed of the notion of race had been at last realized by the Barbudos of the Sierra. That naivete leaves him when he is thrown into a jail cell upon arrival. But here is a telling question: Was Clytus arrested for being black? He is quick to note that many of his cellmates (and throughout the story, he is to have many) in fact were in this case black Dominicans. It must be stressed, however, that at no point at which a potentially racist motive is indicted does Clytus investigate further save one in which he is wrongly interpreted as a "gusano" by a Cuban in a Mexican restaurant. Apparently, despite three years in the country, and no less than four visits to its local prisons, does he start to question the international context that spurned the Cuban penchant for a general mistrust for the extranjero. The status of Dominican immigration in Cuba is a convenient example. Clytus never considers the state of affairs between these nations, each being the suspected launch point of a counterrevolution by the other until Trujillo’s assassination in 1961.
Beyond racist interactions themselves, Clytus is enraged by the Cuban government’s line that race no longer exists in Cuba, that those who identify with one race over another are counterrevolutionaries, and perhaps most insufferable, that they are themselves racist. This is one aspect of the issue which Clytus is unable to forgive the Cubans. Perhaps with good reason, as he states that he might be just as ready to do away with identifying with blackness when the white Cuban would be willing to do away with his whiteness. What then is Clytus's solution to the racial frustration that turned him from San Francisco to Mexico to Cuba? Africa. A reader made to suffer the full extent of his problematic conclusions cannot help but relish in the irony when not a single African embassy in all Havana sees promise or reason to admit this lost son of the "motherland" to their respective nations.
Whether Clytus's aim was the pursuit of truth or merely academic acclaim, he would have done well to commit himself to a single purpose before setting out to write this work: to recount his experience or to undergo an academic investigation. To the detriment of both goals, he indulges in both efforts in one. The reader thus finds himself torn from the charming narrative, the quality of which cannot be undermined, to what Forner aptly describes as "a tirade against the Revolution unworthy of a high school composition ..." (Forner's 1970 review). Unfortunately, the author's decision to pass off the former as excusing the latter does not stand. One in search of an account of Cuba from the perspective of the streets of Miramar and the Malecón, from Guantánamo to its perilous frontier, to the toils of the volunteers on the canefield, or the translator at the headquarters of La Granma, should look no further. For a competent informational reference, a visit to JSTOR would serve better.
At the center of Clytus's vendetta with Castrist Cuba is its anti-racist method. It was a deep-set black consciousness, after all, that drew Clytus to the island from the first to see if in fact the Communist promise of a world cleansed of the notion of race had been at last realized by the Barbudos of the Sierra. That naivete leaves him when he is thrown into a jail cell upon arrival. But here is a telling question: Was Clytus arrested for being black? He is quick to note that many of his cellmates (and throughout the story, he is to have many) in fact were in this case black Dominicans. It must be stressed, however, that at no point at which a potentially racist motive is indicted does Clytus investigate further save one in which he is wrongly interpreted as a "gusano" by a Cuban in a Mexican restaurant. Apparently, despite three years in the country, and no less than four visits to its local prisons, does he start to question the international context that spurned the Cuban penchant for a general mistrust for the extranjero. The status of Dominican immigration in Cuba is a convenient example. Clytus never considers the state of affairs between these nations, each being the suspected launch point of a counterrevolution by the other until Trujillo’s assassination in 1961.
Beyond racist interactions themselves, Clytus is enraged by the Cuban government’s line that race no longer exists in Cuba, that those who identify with one race over another are counterrevolutionaries, and perhaps most insufferable, that they are themselves racist. This is one aspect of the issue which Clytus is unable to forgive the Cubans. Perhaps with good reason, as he states that he might be just as ready to do away with identifying with blackness when the white Cuban would be willing to do away with his whiteness. What then is Clytus's solution to the racial frustration that turned him from San Francisco to Mexico to Cuba? Africa. A reader made to suffer the full extent of his problematic conclusions cannot help but relish in the irony when not a single African embassy in all Havana sees promise or reason to admit this lost son of the "motherland" to their respective nations.
Whether Clytus's aim was the pursuit of truth or merely academic acclaim, he would have done well to commit himself to a single purpose before setting out to write this work: to recount his experience or to undergo an academic investigation. To the detriment of both goals, he indulges in both efforts in one. The reader thus finds himself torn from the charming narrative, the quality of which cannot be undermined, to what Forner aptly describes as "a tirade against the Revolution unworthy of a high school composition ..." (Forner's 1970 review). Unfortunately, the author's decision to pass off the former as excusing the latter does not stand. One in search of an account of Cuba from the perspective of the streets of Miramar and the Malecón, from Guantánamo to its perilous frontier, to the toils of the volunteers on the canefield, or the translator at the headquarters of La Granma, should look no further. For a competent informational reference, a visit to JSTOR would serve better.
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February 14, 2022apparently the author rejected his birth name and chose a kiswahili name, so finding information about him and the credibility of his account has been difficult. still, i have my reservations.
but quoting the man himself gives a better idea of the contempt that animates this naive, ahistorical, anti-communist project:
"I told him that I was trying to put an ocean between me and the racial problem in the States, and that I didn't feel like a coward. I was going to the motherland, Africa, where I belonged. The cowards were the millions of 'Negroes' who remained in the States and didn't lift a finger to help solve the racial problem." (59)
but quoting the man himself gives a better idea of the contempt that animates this naive, ahistorical, anti-communist project:
"I told him that I was trying to put an ocean between me and the racial problem in the States, and that I didn't feel like a coward. I was going to the motherland, Africa, where I belonged. The cowards were the millions of 'Negroes' who remained in the States and didn't lift a finger to help solve the racial problem." (59)
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews