We arrived to a breezy and humid Havana night; the kind where the clouds make the sky seem endless.  Billboards whizzed by us in our tiny old taxi, pulling me out of a travel-induced stupor:  "IDEAS ARE THE ESSENTIAL WEAPONS," "CUBA RESPONDS: MORE REVOLUTION," or simply, "REVOLUTION." The palm trees lining the highway seemed unfazed as they swayed gracefully and slowly in the wind.   Minutes later, when we're pulled over and the taxista asks for bribe money for the police, the well-worn but well-humored cynicism of his initial, ¨Welcome to Cuba!¨ hit home. 

To outsiders, Cuba is rife with contradictions, like many countries, but what sets Cuba apart is the starkness of them. Cuba is an anomaly: the government directs all its institutional might to the common good, maintaining extensive social support and an ethos of neighborliness and unity that is only dreamed of in the United States.  It's a kind of sociologist's dream.  But as a young and frustrated antiauthoritarian-minded friend consistently repeated to me, "You live in your reality, and I have mine."  

The byzantine regulations, the two currency system, the discouraging foreigner-Cuban interactions; these were sometimes exasperating, and at other times tolerable inconveniences. I was reminded of our legacy of segregation; out of fear of police harassment, we couldn't dine with our friends, because of the difference in melanin in our skin. All of this made up part of an intense backdrop perforating our time here.

Why we were here was to learn about Cuba's moves towards a thriving holistic food system: one where food gets produced down the street from where it's eaten. After the Soviet Union fell, so did their source for machinery, petroleum, and chemical inputs, necessitating the experimentation that's been taking place here for roughly two decades.  

It seemed odd to be discussing progressive food issues while simultaneously eating so poorly. As visitors, we weren't part of the ration system, so at first we subsisted on street food: pizza, sandwiches (a white roll with a slice of ham), ice cream, soda, and cajitas (a little box with fried rice, a piece each of pork and sweet potato, and some cabbage). When found the markets and were able to cook, our diets improved significantly.  Of course, the overwhelming array of consumer choices that we're accustomed to in the States doesn't exist here.  Also, imports are expensive and can only be purchased by convertibles-- "cucs," the currency for foreigners.  

After two weeks of bland food, I wondered: if spices and a greater variety of food became available, would the Cuban palate re-emerge?  I asked myself about the tradeoff between not only food variety weighed against the benefits of local and just food systems, but those inherent in free health care, universal higher education, one-year maternity leaves, and neighborhood childcare centers: all institutionalized in Cuba. 

I've spent time learning about the experiences of farmers and farm workers in the U.S. and Mexico, and I'm struck by how these differ from those of Cuban farmers.  Here they don't lament their precarious existence or exploitative conditions, rather they find themselves living more resource-rich and stable lives than their urban peers. It's no wonder; land in active use can't be taken from them, compensation is granted for crop failures, and their rural communities are organized into towns, surrounded by worked land, and supported by social services like schools and health clinics.  The isolation and resource-deprivation so keenly felt by rural people in other countries is just not part of the picture here.  

Urban farms produce 90% of the food consumed in Havana. Rural population had fallen from 75% pre-revolution to just 25% in 1989, thanks in part to Soviet-influenced mechanized farming.  The current effort is in increasing production, both in the green belt circling Havana and in the rural communities; there is definitely room on the table (and in bellies) for more fruits and vegetables.  

The government is making efforts to reverse the rural flight trend, by providing land grants and requiring school kids to attend escuela del campo,where kids work for a month out of the year to learn encourage interest in agricultural. And while at one time Cuba was one of the most industrialized agricultural system in Latin America --employing more tractors than Eastern Europe and more pesticides than in the United States-- now it's taking giant steps to restructure by breaking up large state farms, redistributing the land to farmer cooperatives, and developing alternative practices, already widely implemented. 

The focus on self-sufficiency and the localization of production is readily visible. A short bus ride to the outskirts of Havana reveals a massive and thriving greenbelt. El Cerro --one of Havana's fourteen municipalities-- is home to ten urban farms. Nearly every urban and rural grower we spoke with knew where the food they produced went, whether they sold directly to the state or to their neighborhood. Many produced for the schools and daycare centers nearby.  

The state is the overwhelming purchaser and distributor of produce, although many urban gardens sell organic produce to residents at the point of production. These organiponicos can be found throughout Havana: at virtually every school, nursery center, and neighborhood. They range in size from a few raised-beds with tomatoes, cabbage, and onions, to two square blockwide farms in neighborhoods centers offering a variety of vegetables.

Hailing from the U.S. where words like "local," "organic" and even "sustainability" have been so thoroughly commodified, it's refreshing to see these ideas put into practice without all the fanfare.  The motivation isn't to cater to a niche market; the motivation is necessity. And given the instabilities made all too evident recently in the capitalist model, it's a good time to consider how we too might better address our food needs. Cuba's example shows us that we need not perish with an antiquated system, and that a successful transition to healthier and less destructive ways of subsisting, and thriving, are possible.