[January 7th
marks the 60th
anniversary of Fidel Castro entering Havana to take over as Cuba’s prime
minister—one begrudgingly recognized
by a U.S. government that had opposed his revolution and would continue to
oppose his rule. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy Cuban histories in
relationship to the U.S.—leading up to a weekend post on literary works that
can help us understand the island nation and ourselves!]
On two ways to
AmericanStudy one of the nation’s 20th century antagonists.
First things
first: Fidel
Castro never tried out for the New York Yankees or any other Major League
Baseball team. That hyperlinked interview notes that he could have conceivably
gone to an open tryout on the island for a different team (the Yankees didn’t
have a Latin American scouting presence until the 1960s); but as this piece adds,
he wasn’t anywhere near a good enough ballplayer to have a serious chance in
any case. It makes for a compelling counter-factual historical narrative to
think about the future Cuban dictator becoming an MLB pitcher instead
(especially for the Yankees!), and speaks as well to the shared love of the
sport in the U.S. and Cuba; it also, as the second hyperlinked piece above
indicates, allows for an inaccurate and far too simplistic but tantalizing
“personal grudge” kind of explanation for Castro’s opposition to the United
States. But there’s not the slightest bit of evidence for it, and so this
particular mythic connection between the U.S. and one of its principal Cold War
(and after) adversaries is just that, a myth.
While there aren’t
necessarily such personal connections between Castro and the U.S., however,
there are still interesting ways to AmericanStudy the Cuban dictator. One
interesting such lens is to think about Castro as the descendent of a postcolonial
legacy partially shaped by the United States (and also not unlike America’s
prior relationship to England). Castro’s father, Ángel
Castro y Argiz, fought in Cuba on the Spanish side during the
Spanish American War, but then abandoned that homeland to migrate to Cuba as a private
citizen a few years later. He worked as a miner and railroad worker as the
island nation began developing its postcolonial identity, and became connected to
the American
United Fruit Company, one of the early 20th century corporations
that moved to the island after independence and became an integral part of its
development. By the time of Fidel’s birth in 1926, his father had become an entrepreneur
in that developing economy, and indeed one of the island nation’s new elites,
owning his own farm and mine. In that way, Fidel can be seen as similar to many
of America’s Framers and Early Republic leaders, the son of a family of landed
elites seeking to help his young nation move more fully into its independent
status.
In launching his
own revolution, of course, Castro fought against a figure who had become
intimately tied to the United States: President
Fulgencio Batista. Since I’ll write about Batista later in the week,
however, I’ll focus here on one other way to AmericanStudy Castro’s revolutionary
actions and identity. In this late
2016 post on the Monroe Doctrine, I wrote about both the more negative and
more positive ways to analyze that Early Republic American foreign policy: as a
U.S.-centric vision of the Western Hemisphere on the one hand; and as a
creolized narrative of the interconnections between all Western Hemisphere
nations on the other. While of course Cold
War fears of the spread of Communism significantly influenced American
hostility to Castro and his revolutionary government, I would argue that Castro
also threatened the U.S.-centric hemispheric vision, offering a
different model for hemispheric unity that radically decentered the
narrative. Whereas if we see the hemisphere through a more
creolized lens, and step outside of the Cold War frame that so drove
U.S.-Cuban relations throughout the late 20th century, it’s possible
to see Castro as even more directly parallel to both American Founding Fathers
and other Latin American revolutionary figures.
Next history
tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Other Cuban histories you’d highlight?
No comments:
Post a Comment