Organopónicos originally were defunct hydroponic units which had been re-filled with composted sugar cane waste and used to grow vegetables and herbs organically. The success of this conversion led to new ones being constructed in Cuba. As the ground itself is not cultivated they could be built on any waste land including old car parks and building sites. Some are state owned, others are cooperatives. The vegetables produced are sold to the local communities, on-site or at the farmers' markets. Beyond quota, the profits of the state-run units are split between the state and the workers. 'Organopónico' has become the general name for an urban market garden, with beds raised by mulching as well as by containing the soil. - Cuban Organic Support Group (COSG)

“I like to work and helping out the banana plantation crews, plus we put away a little extra for some future event,” the broad-faced woman said, showing youthful white teeth. After lunch, she returned to her bananas.

“Now, that we have specific work responsibilities, I’ve decided to take the afternoon off. I’m caught up with weeding our papayas,” explained Edgardo. He wanted to talk with me while cleaning house and preparing for dinner.

Edgardo, now 50 years old gets 700 pesos monthly. These “wages” are advances based upon the previous year’s income. The crews earn according to the product results they cultivate. All workers spend some time on the libreta (rations) crops like potatoes plus their own designated crops.

At the end of each season, sales are divided amongst the workers after the cooperative takes its cut for maintenance, administration and new investments. Last year, Edgardo earned 8000 pesos over the advance monthly “wage”. Workers in the more demanding guayaba fruit plantation earned twice that. Some crops require less work and bring in less income.

“We can feel the differences, Ron. We are more comfortable since share-profiting was introduced and since we got our house, in 1997. We’re earning three times what we did when you were here. We pay a pittance for the house until we own it outright (they can’t be thrown out by law), and nothing for gas, water or electricity.

“Of course, not all is roses. They didn’t come near their promise of housing construction and we still don’t have more say running things but the system is more open. So I decided to join the party. I’m now a militant.”

Guillermina came in with a small chicken in one hand and a bottle of my name in the other. She had taken off work early to buy her favorite meat at 60 pesos, and a cheap rum at 30 pesos.

“We celebrate your return, Ron. Cheers,” and we downed a tingling shot.

Folks at a market in Havana enjoy the fruits of Campasino labor. In the 1950's, prior to the Revolution, only 1% of landowners held over 47% of all arable and grazing land. Agrarian reform after the Revolution nationalised the larger estates into state farms which accounted for 75% of farmland. The remaining land was privately owned by campesinos and other small farmers. (COSG photo)

Guillermina caressed our dinner with a large callused hand. Its eyes closed peacefully and she twisted its neck in one motion. Not a pip. It took Guillermina just minutes to pluck and cut up the chicken. As it simmered in a pan, and as the sweet potatoes, rice and beans were cooking—which Edgardo had prepared along with a fresh green and tomato salad—the loving couple took a bucket bath together. Edgardo had heated the water with a Chinese spiral electrical heater.

Dinner was delicious and festive.

My hosts’ home-town baseball team and a Havana club were starting a three-game series, which must be seen. After the Walt Disney cultural imperialism hour, we watched the game on their 101-channel television set—merely Cuba’s five stations can be seen. Only five of the 23 families in this compound have TV sets so several neighbors roared or moaned with us.

Hands in soil

Grunting pig, crowing cock, buzzing mosquito, child crying—you name the noise and it penetrates through wood-slatted windows that can’t be shut tightly and through the porous concrete structure. I rose from the narrow cot and thin mattress and stepped into the acrid bathroom. Coffee and a plain hard bun and we were all but ready to start the work day. But not before filing sharp my 40-cm long banana machete, Guillermina’s knife and Edgardo’s heavy hoe.

Dwarf banana trees and 3 campasinos. photo by Wayne Wadsworth

Entering the mature plantation in the early morning dew is a venerate experience. The shadowy silence and fresh moisture embraces and comforts. Under the tall fruit banana and shorter burro banana trees, the sun does not penetrate to human height and fronds protect one from rain. All is green and tranquil.

This was my experience again, just as I described it a dozen years ago when Guillermina and I worked the fruit jungle. Today, Guillermina works in the larger of two banana plantations with 54,000 trees, divided into 12 sections. One worker is responsible for each plot of some 4,500 fruit-bearing plants, but they often work in pairs or small groups.

GIA-2—still its common name—has fewer bananas than when it encompassed 900 hectares*. All UBPCs were reduced in size so that the fewer workers could better grasp the tasks. Much time was lost when the land was so vast and the 300 workers had to walk so long to and from work. GIA-2 split into four UBPCs. This one of 192 hectares is tilled by 126 workers.

(*one hectare = 2.258 acres; 900 hectares = 2,032 acres) 

Guillermina introduced me to fellow workers as “uno cubano más” (just one more Cuban), making me blush with pride.
 
Today, we were to cut dried ends of the long fronds before the trees grew over our reach, and the outer layer of the trunk, the yagua, behind which thrives a little green frog. This cute, gentle animal unintentionally causes fright in most Cuban women and some men. Even “superwoman” Guillermina gives a yelp and takes a step back upon seeing one. So, men usually cut the yagua.

Stooping and slashing round the plant, stepping to the next, stooping and slashing, simultaneously swatting mosquitoes and mites. That’s the routine but it doesn’t need to be boring. We are our own bosses, in part, and can stop when we want, chat when we wish, or exchange tasks.

Lunch at the cafeteria was tasty and nourishing but some of the old timers reminded me that when all 300 workers lived in the camp, instead of 46 now, the meals were richer. There is never beef and almost never fish. Cuba’s fishing fleet has been drastically reduced. Yet now they have more variety of vegetables and fruits, because they have diversified their crops.

The topic of food is more troublesome to camp dwellers than is camp cleanliness, including toilet-shower hygiene. The facilities have deteriorated. There are no lights; fixtures are broken and all bulbs burnt or stolen. Only two showers function and must be alternately shared by men and women. Plumbing is worse: only four clothes-washer sinks work; “toilets” are still holes in the ground with soiled newspapers beside them.

After lunch, I was shown the cooperative’s biggest challenge: grape growing. A Spanish wine growing investor imported thousands of young plants. Under his instructions, workers fastened vines between three wires stretched over hundreds of posts. Grapes require intensive labor: constant watering, stem cutting and lots of weeding.

They have sown peppers between the 500 rows containing 37,000 grape vines.

Thirty thousand papayas have been planted behind the grapes. The farm administration bought seeds from private farmers for the first crop and they hope to use their own seeds for the next planting. Digging holes in the hard red earth is arduous “man’s work”. As we hack, women unload 6,000 new plants from a borrowed oxen cart. (They used to have their own oxen but sold them to buy tractors.) Plants are then placed in holes, which once contained other papaya plants that died from lack of proper planting and inadequate irrigation.

Mirta, yet another member from Santiago de Cuba, complains of the needless loss.

“The field director neglected to see to it that the earth was properly watered and fertilized before he ordered us to rush the planting.”

Why didn’t you say so?

“Ah, what good does complaining do,” she retorts, her eyes rolling.

“We have complained about some things,” added her partner, “like the ridiculous guard duty. We work six days a week and half-day every other Sunday. On top of that, we must conduct four monthly 12-hour night shifts `guarding´ the fields. But we cannot be armed while the thieves may be. They are prepared to come in the steal of the night and take crops without our seeing them, or if we do, so what. What can we do to stop them?”

Night guarding, however, is a condition of membership, these workers say. The response to earlier protests was: guard duty or dismissal.

Later, I spoke with an older man whose full-time job is to guard an abandoned resident shelter. He lives alone in one of the run-down shacks on 225 pesos a month. There is no electricity or running water. His prepared meals are delivered to him.

“You know us Cubans. Without a guard, every bit of concrete left would be broken up and hauled off. They say they will rebuild this place one day for residences. What do I know?” he shrugged.

General assembly democracy

After dinner, most of members attended the monthly general assembly in which evaluations are made and plans laid. The UBPC director, Matías Cabrera, was appointed by the regional UBPC firm three years ago to replace a negligent leadership, which involved some fraud. Matías, at 40, had been a farm worker since youth. He opened the meeting with the accountant’s financial report: no losses in three years; monthly profit sharing is above average in last period at 125 pesos; our sales, especially to tourist centers, assure us profit, and we are regularly paying off our 2.2 million debt; cafeteria is operating at a loss—each meal costs thrice what camp residents pay: 60 pesos monthly.

There were no questions or comments.

Then Matías delineated problems and plans in a monologue stream.

“We have not received sufficient boots but more are expected; we have problems with our irrigation system and this is acute, especially for avocados; we are replacing the lost papayas.

“Thirty-one members are behind in paying their union dues, including some leaders. This shows a lack of respect. There were 29 departures in December—four firings: 2 for thievery, 2 for indiscipline and disorderly drunkenness; the remainder decided to quit.

“Camp discipline is faulty and the grounds are dirty. The cafeteria lacks some essentials. Since we do not foresee enough housing construction in the near future, I am proposing that the camp be legalized as permanent residences for each person or couple without a home and installed with cooking facilities. In this way, we can close the cafeteria and everyone will have a home.

“From now on, fines will be levied for those who do not clean their area adequately. There are 15 undocumented workers. If they do not get their papers in order within a week, they are dismissed. The administration is responsible and would be required to pay a penalty. Beginning tomorrow all workers are required to participate in potato weeding.”

“That is all. Are there any questions or comments?”

Only one man spoke. He asked why they didn’t buy sufficient papaya plants to replace the loss. Matías replied that there were not enough funds and they must now concentrate on potatoes.

After the rather dry assembly, I milled about outside with some long-faced members. People were unhappy with the constant turn-over of members, with the fines imposed for untidiness, and Matías’ manner of addressing them as underlings.

Mirta and her crew said that they didn’t speak up because, “it would not change anything.” Edgardo and others said that the promises of elections and worker decision-making exist only on paper. Young Alejandro, a recent member, also from Santiago and known as the leading jodedor (clownish joker) viewed it differently.

“I see no need to criticize or rebel. We take orders, because we know the leaders want to go forward for and with us. They are mamé” (little mangoes, meaning good people). 

Potato weeding

We walked directly from breakfast to the fields. The matutino (morning meeting) is no longer a cooperative feature, discarded as a “waste of time”. Several scores of hectares with rows half-a-kilometer long, each with about 1,500 potato plants and tens of thousands of choking weeds. This is not a pleasant sight. No one looks forward to work today and the coming days it will take to hack and pull up weeds.

Mild-mannered Alex, the production chief, and Juan, potato crew leader, led us into the first rows. They showed me how to hoe the weeds without getting too close to the plants. The problem is that to avoid cutting potatoes one must stoop over most plants to pull out the weeds growing amidst the plants themselves. I experienced that to do a thorough job of weeding requires much more time and painful stooping than the majority were prepared to offer. Most hack the weeds without getting down to the roots, and the amount of stooping to pick out weeds that can not be hoed is not commensurate with the amount of weeds.

Hacking, stooping, hacking and stooping. My head ticked with figures. How many rows, potatoes, weeds, how many man/woman hours? I came up with some three million potato plants. And they should cultivate twice in the season. So there must be two campaigns with most of the members participating.

Alex realized that the work is so tedious and takes so many days that he does not conduct quality control thoroughly.

Juan showed me their use of biological control against pests. The ladybug eats the bigger bad guys, cinche. Juan said that most farmers are using as many ecological methods of farming as possible. State instructions and propaganda have greatly risen the national consciousness about the worth of organic versus chemical.

“The only problem,” Alex says, “is if the good bugs get overwhelmed by the bad ones and can’t reverse their growth. If a plague sets in then we must use chemical pesticides. The problem with that is once they are used it takes a long time for the poison to disappear so that we can go back to biological control. In the five years I’ve been here we’ve used chemicals just two or three times. We can’t be completely ecological. Our priority is to put enough food on everybody’s table and, hopefully, without having to use precious valuta to import it.”

Farming Structures

All farmers are required to grow and sell basic products to the state, in order to assure everyone rationed goods at subsidized prices, the libreta, and at less subsidized prices on the state farm markets, set up in 1994 to compete with and undersell the supply-demand farmer markets.

At first, private farmers supplied most of the goods but at prices few could afford. Soon state cooperative farmers began selling products at cost+ prices after meeting libreta commitments. The army, which produces much of its own food, joined in the competition with its EJT soldier-farmers.

Private farmers are still entitled to own up to 65 hectares of land but there are only a few thousand unaffiliated farmers remaining. In the 1960s, most independents and cooperatives created the National Association of Small Farmers (ANAP) to represent them before the state. In the 1990s, ANAP set up a new organization for mutual financial benefit, CCS (Credit and Service Cooperatives).

A farmers' market in Havana (photo: S. Gillard)

ANAP farmers now produce 60% of the nation’s root and green vegetables and grains, 60% of its pork, and ANAP is the major producer of tobacco, livestock, fruits and coffee. It is especially CCS farmers who earn the greatest valuta profits from Cuba’s renowned cigars and coffee.

The state collectives had produced practically all the sugar and rice. Sugar is now produced mainly by the UBPCs (90%), which is also a major producer of green and root vegetables and fruits.

Most rice is produced by yet another form of farming: the Urban Truck Farms (UTFs*). The UTFs are tilled by family units and some full-time city farmers, who utilize organic intensive growing methods. They grow the best green vegetables, herbs and condiments.

(*UTFs - see photos of urban gardens and truck farms at the end of this article).

UBPCs now till about half the nation’s soil, double what they had in 1995. ANAP’s 300,000 members till approximately 35% of the cultivated land (25% of total agricultural lands); the EJT about 8%; some old granjas still exist and till about 8% of the land. These farm workers now have better wages and some profit-sharing. They cultivate some vegetables but mainly citrus fruits. The remainder of produce comes from the UTFs, which includes self-consumption and market sales.

Huerto de Salud Mental” (Garden of Mental Health) in Havana; a project based on a site reclaimed which uses work on the land, along with various therapies as a means of treating mental illness. A wide range of crops is grown including tomatoes, beans, lettuce, squash, okra and pak choi, also tree crops such as mango and macadamia nut. The food is used to supply patients at the nearby unit and patients past and present work on the land for a modest wage. (COSG photo)

There are over one million farmers of all kinds. This is 21% of Cuba’s 4.6 million workers (service=64%, industry=14%). No farm worker any longer lives only on wages. Profit-sharing has taken over and has satisfied a basic demand.

These changes have also improved the state budget. Subsidization of agriculture has decreased significantly—from 54% in the 1990s to 20% today.

Dr. Santiago Rodríguez Castellón, agricultural economist at Havana University’s Cuban Economic Studies Centre (CEEC), provided facts and figures and described changes.

“The reduction of subsidization is one of our greatest achievements. Another is the 50% increase of all vegetables in the last three years. We now produce 60% of our food, up 220% from a decade ago. We are not long from when the Special Period will be concluded.”

There is yet a ways to go, Dr. Rodríguez admits. “It had been predicted that UBPCs would take over all granja lands and that all would be profitable. While they have doubled production, only half are profitable; others must rely on state subsidies and credits.

“Not nearly as many housing units have been built as promised. Many leave UBPCs because they must live in cramped collective compounds. The longer established private cooperatives are more attractive. The few granjas left are still too dependent on the state and lack many resources. Moreover, poor work habits inherited from before the Special Period have not been eradicated.”

The economist lamented that the UBPCs “have not matured to the point where workers elect their own leadership, in most cases. The objective of autonomy is still extant, but it is difficult to define and separate where the state stops and the cooperative autonomy process starts. The old centralism, however, has been broken.”

It was the state’s top leadership, which took the initiative to combat, what many call, “revolutionary paternalism”.

Director Matías

Matías’ house looks like Edgardo-Guillermina’s. The key difference is that he has DVD and other modern entertainment technology, which attracts neighbors. They come to borrow salt or sugar; some stay to watch TV and drink coffee, which his young wife gladly serves. Matías is not preoccupied with critical questions posed.

“Membership turn-over is not a problem. There are always more seeking work than leave. Those who leave don’t want to work hard. Too many Cubans are spoiled and lack consciousness. And we do have a stable group of 78 workers—mainly those who have housing.”

What about the papaya crop?

“The original planting was faulty, a lack of consciousness again. Sure, I have enough money to buy the necessary plants but I didn’t want to tell the assembly this. They must concentrate on potatoes now.”

Lying for convenience is not viewed culturally as a “sin” or wrong, especially if the intention is well meant.

Does his leadership style turn people away?

“Look who’s in my house? Everyday it is like this, a dozen or more people pass in and out. Some may not like it when I’m precise. But they can’t deny the facts: we have had a profit each year I’ve been here; most weeds get removed; we’ve made several million peso investments in the best paying crops: avocados, papayas, mangoes, guayaba, and the wine grapes, which is a long-term investment.”

Matías may only receive a fixed monthly salary of 500 pesos but some workers point out that he gets shares based upon their production, has the only house in the compound with a freezer, and has several rice cookers plus the entertainment apparatuses, which many enjoy.

© Copyright 2007 by AxisofLogic.com

See Ron Ridenour's entire series on his volunteer farm work in Cuba! Look for his 4th of 5 stories in this series scheduled to be published on Axis of Logic in the week of January 29.

Read the Biography and Additional Articles by Axis of Logic Columnist, Ron Ridenour. Also, in the near future read additional installments to this interesting series on Ron's volunteer farm work in Cuba.

Additional Photos of Cuban Farming

(Photos and related notes added by Axis editors)

This is the same farmer with his ox shown  in the closeup earlier in the article. (photo: COSG)

The passion fruit roof vine on the left is an example of the Urban Agricultural Program established by Cuba's Ministry of Agriculture. Urban gardens have been part of Cuba's recovery from food shortages. (photo: COSG)

4 City Gardens developed under Cuba's Urban Agricultural Program (photos: COSG)

A COSG workshop teaching skills and knowledge in the preservation of food. (photo: COSG)

Additional photos and information about the greening of Cuba can be found at the Cuban Organic Support Group website.