Celia Cruz shines in Havana, despite the shadow of censorship

Havana/In a discreet corner of Nave 4 of the Fábrica de Arte Cubano (FAC), a gold star shines with the name of Celia Cruz, the woman who for decades was erased from the official narrative of Cuban culture. This newspaper went to the building of the old oil factory built in 1910 in Havana, to take images and testimonies.

According to several workers at the cultural center, the opening day was “tremendous.” Nobody at the FAC wants to speak too loudly, but everyone knows that the inclusion of the performer in the Factory’s “Walk of Stars” came at a time of maximum tension, just after the censorship of Carlos Díaz’s most recent play. “It was like a slap in the face with a white glove,” one of them summarizes. 14ymedio.

The exhibition Sugar! Sweet Centennialalso brings together ten posters silkscreens made by ten Cuban designers in tribute to the century since the artist’s birth. Each piece seeks to capture the energy and joy that defined the life and work of the Latin music star.

The FAC published on its Instagram account a message carefully worded: “Fábrica de Arte Cubano, committed to elevating culture and art, is proud to unveil a star in honor of Celia Cruz’s centenary. This tribute has the sole purpose of paying tribute to an artist who has left an indelible mark on our music… Long live the Queen of Salsa!”

The star of Cuba’s Guarachera now shares space in Havana with names like Benny Moré, Chucho Valdés and Juan Formell, but his mere presence breaks more than six decades of cultural veto.

“Celia deserved more,” a visitor who discovered the exhibition by chance told this newspaper. “I would have liked another place, a more visible wall. But I understand that censorship leads to lukewarmness, little disclosure, a less important wall and things like that… The important thing is that it was done, despite the regrets.”

For his part, a young man who also visited the place is harsher in his opinion about what happened to the play: “It is tremendous hypocrisy. They cancel Carlos Díaz’s play for ‘political reasons’ and, at the same time, they congratulate him on his 70 years in the news. That’s how it all works: they punish you and applaud you at the same time.”

The Fábrica de Arte Cubano, directed by the musician The unveiling of Celia’s star demonstrated it again.

On social networks, some fundamentalist sectors reacted with open threats. In a Facebook group Supporter of the regime, user Rodrigo Huaimachi published a message that many interpreted as a direct threat to the FAC: “The Cuban Art Factory must rectify or it will be the people who will have to take measures. Because whoever has financed terrorism against the Cuban people has no forgiveness, and because we will never forget the 3,000 dead victims of the Miami counterrevolution.”

The tone recalls the old mechanisms of intimidation that have marked Cuban cultural policy since the 1960s. The allusion to the Queen of Salsa as a “financier of terrorism” illustrates the persistence of a discourse that attempts to reduce a universal artist to the role of “enemy of the people.”

On Friday night, the Factory looked emptier than usual. In Nave 4, visitors stopped for a few seconds in front of Celia’s star, took photos, murmured.

“This is a small act of rebellion,” said a young plastic artist. “Celia doesn’t need permission to shine. She was already big before she was recognized here. But this gesture says a lot: it says that people are tired of fear.”