A Dream Lost in Havana
UNIVERSITIES across Cuba churn out thousands of excellent graduates every year. They are all ready to take up jobs as lawyers, doctors, bankers or engineers. Facing the reality of life, however, they have to content themselves working behind wheels, at receptionists desks, in diplomats laundry rooms or even in Havana dance halls as hostesses. The buzzing sound of the engine of capitalism and the lure of greenbacks have made jobs needing brawn far more financially rewarding than those that require grey matter. How can Fidel Castros countrythe last fortress of orthodox socialismavert the sectoral brain drain, a phenomenon that threatens its very future? The following is a report filed by TEMPO journalist, Hermien Y. Kleden, who visited Cuba for a fortnight last February.
May 21, 2002
The Mercedes Benz S600 sped from behind a row of palm trees planted to surround a white mansion at Avenida 125, an elite area in Havana. A handsome man with an athletic body and an Afro-Latino face, was behind the wheel. Negotiating the car onto a highway, he turned back and greeted the only passenger occupying the rear seat: Wo gehen wir, Herr Ambassador? (Where are we going, Mr. Ambassador?)
The envoy, representing a country in South Asia, mumbl
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