I was informed that my employment at the cultural institution had been permanently terminated because “I had damaged the system’s, institution’s or country’s image by communicating malicious or misleading information.
Yanelys Nuñez’s Diary
Ever since my problems began because of my involvement with the Cuban Museum of Dissent, I haven’t been able to connect to the internet again at my old workplace, the Revolution and Culture magazine.
“Now, everybody wants to touch on the subject of the US,” a fellow artist notes. “It’s because there’s no way of isolating yourself from it,” responds a colleague.
I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to write this article. Perhaps because I’ve had too many emotions running through my mind recently: anger, anxiety, disappointment, discomfort. Feelings which haven’t allowed me to reflect calmly upon the situation.
We were carrying a two-meter-tall, cardboard house. We only had a few blocks to walk to reach Esquina de Tejas, where the bus would pick us up. It was the opening day of the Puente Sur National Performance and Installation Day.
On the occasion of another anniversary of Cuba’s San Alejandro Arts Academy – celebrated recently – we conversed with Aluan Arguelles, one of the institution’s youngest teachers, to get to know how this, Latin America’s oldest school of its type, operates internally.
She’s a foreigner walking down Havana’s Cerro avenue, near Tulipan. She’s read in several travel books that there’s practically no violence in Cuba, so she can’t imagine a group of young people will mug her there at 4 pm.
What people thought would be the artistic event of the year was nothing other than a run-of-the-mill exhibition in the Cuban capital. The first opening of Galeria Continua (“Continuous Gallery”) was not as spectacular as many had expected.
On November 28, 2015, on an invitation from Cuban visual artist Luis Manuel Otero Alcantara, a group of friends and colleagues offered the artist’s wife a unique anniversary gift.
I still haven’t managed to let go of the anger or overcome the surprise. While strolling down a street in Old Havana next to a foreign friend of mine, a police officer stopped me to ask me the most ludicrous questions I’ve heard.