Chapter Three #2
Since the war for independence from Spain and the Americans’ war with Spain had ended in 1898, Cuba had been under military occupation.
The Americans claimed they were interested in helping Cuba rebuild after the devastation that years of fighting the Spanish had wrought, but to many it was all too familiar, as though Cuba had finally won its independence from Spain at great cost, only to replace the Spanish with the Americans, independence an elusive concept.
While Eva had not had any dealings with the new American school superintendent, by all accounts that had trickled down to her, he was intent on opening more schools and enrolling far more students than before, both propositions that she couldn’t disagree with.
Eva was born at the end of the Ten Years’ War to a mother who had grown up in war and a father who had died right after her conception in the fighting.
Her first memories were of her mother, of holding her hand as they walked through the city streets, of helping her with the chores, of the two of them as a pair.
Eva had learned through the subsequent periods of fighting and exile that the ground on which she stood was ever changing, never firm, and often inhospitable to a woman.
Eva’s life had been defined by war, and now that the war for independence was over, now that Cuba was supposed to be on the path to freedom, the quest for real independence represented something greater than herself, an obligation for more.
Her countrywomen had achieved great feats during the war—had served as couriers, spies, nurses, fought for independence.
Her role had been minimal in comparison.
She had helped her mother, caring for her as she grew ill.
She had taught classes, trying to give hope to her students, attempting to add some stability to their lives, to help them build a future, skills that they would one day be able to use to support themselves since so many were now alone in the world.
More than anything, she didn’t want them to feel helpless or scared like she so often was.
It took her a moment to untangle what Mr. Garcia was saying, to understand how these people he was talking about whose lives were so far removed from hers could possibly be somehow connected to her.
Surely, he wasn’t suggesting Harvard? For Eva to go to Harvard?
She’d heard of the school and its vaunted reputation, of course.
It was almost inconceivable in both the distance and the opportunity.
“Why? Why Harvard?”
“Frye and Wood graduated from Harvard. They believe that sending our teachers to study in the United States for the summer will help strengthen relations between our two countries. The hope, I’m sure, is that whatever teachers learn in the United States will be brought back to Cuba and taught in our classrooms here. ”
Ah.
There it was. Many had suspected when the Americans appointed an American superintendent of schools in Cuba that their aim was to Americanize Cuba’s education system.
It was difficult to tell what Mr. Garcia made of the entire business based off his tone alone.
Like so many academics, Mr. Garcia had protested against Spain’s hold on Cuba during the fight for independence until he was exiled to New York.
Now that the Spanish had left Cuba and he had returned to Havana, his feelings about the Americans were less clear, and Eva wasn’t sure if his time living in exile in the United States had softened him toward them.
“I need to send a teacher from the school, and I think you would be the perfect one to go,” Mr. Garcia added.
“Why me? I would think there are others who would be far more qualified.”
Among her colleagues, Eva was on the younger side.
“Yes, I confess I thought about seniority when I was making the selection. I approached a few of our more senior teachers, but I’ll be honest with you: They weren’t interested in joining the summer school delegation. They have lives, spouses, children.”
And she had none.
“So, my youth is less of a detractor and more of an asset in this situation?”
“I did think of the fact that you had fewer entanglements keeping you here for the summer. Things have been hard these past few years. Not everyone is able to travel to the United States so readily with such short notice. But it isn’t just that, Eva.
I’ve seen the way you teach, how your students connect to you.
The girls listen to you. They respect you.
And your passion for education shines through in everything you do.
You are the perfect person to represent the school—and me. ”
Her heart pounded at the praise in his voice.
“What will they be teaching us?”
“Several academic subjects as well as English, which I believe you already know? Didn’t you live in the United States when you were younger?”
Like many Cubans, her family had gone into exile during the wars for independence from Spain.
Her mother’s brother was living in Key West at the time, and after Eva’s father died, she and her mother left Cuba to join her uncle in exile.
They were only there for a few years before they returned to Cuba when Eva was five, but during that time her uncle taught her to speak, read, and write in English, and she grew up speaking it with those around her while they lived in Key West. When she and her mother returned to Havana, her uncle would write her letters in English, encouraging her to do the same.
The letter writing ended when he died a couple years ago, but her uncle had always believed that the United States would play a role in Cuba’s political future whether they wished it or not, and encouraged Eva to speak their language in order to play their game.
“My English is not very good,” she protested, even though that was not entirely accurate.
Technically, she was fluent. Still, she lacked confidence in speaking the language, and the words she searched for eluded her when she needed them most. Reading was a bit easier and more comfortable for her, writing in English the same, as at least there was some privacy there, any mistakes she made hers alone rather than shared with her conversation partner.
“Nonsense. With a little practice and the time spent at Harvard, I’m sure you’ll be fine.
There’s nothing better than immersing yourself in a place to grasp the language.
It certainly helped me when I was in New York.
Besides, they’ll have translators accompanying the delegation.
They also plan on teaching American history and government.
This is a goodwill program, an attempt to have us understand the Americans better, and hopefully for them to learn from us as well. ”
And yet, he hadn’t mentioned a program for American teachers to come to Cuba to study.
“I know some of the teachers have reservations about the project. They feel like it’s just another example of the Americans inserting themselves into Cuban affairs.
” He sighed. “This is an opportunity for you. A chance to travel, to study at a great university. My recommendation to you is that you take what you can from the experience. Don’t worry about the American motives behind the summer school; if they want to impress us with their teaching methods and academic institutions, fine.
Let’s show them who we are and what we’re made of.
After all that we’ve been through these past few years, we are still here.
There will be over one thousand of you representing Cuba. Make us proud.”
The weight of his words settled over her, the implication in his tone and his gaze suggesting that there was more to consider than her own feelings on the matter, her own benefits to be gained.
For Eva, it was not simply enough that she eke every last drop out of the experience, that she personally enjoy this adventure.
There was a great deal of responsibility to keep in mind.
She wouldn’t be representing only herself, or the school, or Cuba’s education system, or women in Cuba, but her fellow Cubans at a time when they desperately needed the Americans to recognize Cuba’s right to independence, their ability for self-governance.
After centuries of Spanish dominion over the island’s affairs and decades of fighting for independence, Cuba’s dreams of having the right to self-govern had been put on hold by the Americans’ intervention.
And yet, now that Mr. Garcia had proposed the endeavor, now that the suggestion lingered between them, she knew without a doubt that she wanted to go, that this was the adventure she had been waiting for all this time.
It seemed unlikely that she would ever again get a chance to leave the island, much less for an educational opportunity such as this one.
And perhaps now at a time when Cuba needed so much, the havoc the war had wrought on their lives great indeed, this was a chance for her to serve her country, to do some good.
“Thank you for considering me. It would be my honor to attend the Cuban Summer School.”