Cuba: Fidel's New People

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On July 26, 1953, a ragtag band of 160 Cubans tried to trigger an uprising against Dictator Fulgencio Batista by attacking Santiago de Cuba's Moncada Army barracks. The chancy venture was squashed, and half of the partisans were killed. Among those imprisoned was 25-year-old Fidel Castro, a lawyer turned revolutionist, who drew a 15-year sentence. In an act more merciful than wise, Batista granted Castro amnesty after only two years. In 1956, after a brief Mexican exile, Fidel was back in Cuba with another guerrilla band; but this time he was not to be caught. Two years later, he ruled Cuba.

Cuba took a holiday last week to celebrate the 15th anniversary of the Moncada barracks raid. Among the observers at the festivities was TIME Correspondent Richard Duncan, who toured Castro's island fiefdom to see how Cuba has changed in the decade since Fidel took control. His report:

To the dismay of Cuba's city dwellers, the Castro revolution has been strictly a rural phenomenon. More than 30% of Cuba's gross national product is reinvested in the earth to the planned detriment of the city dweller. As a result, more than half of the 50,000 Cubans fleeing annually are Habaneros. They have taken with them most of the liveliness that once made Havana the "Paris of the Caribbean."

After ten years of decay, its shoreline is a sweep of greying yellow buildings. A few once posh hotels and restaurants remain open, but the epitaphs to their elegance and cuisine are written on the walls. "Under the revolutionary offensive, this establishment belongs to the people," reads a sign in a once privately owned shop. Loudspeakers shatter the soft night air, calling the faithful to a "solidarity with North Viet Nam" rally, while just a block away at Monseigneur Restaurant (steak: $15), harassed waiters try to evoke the old days by wrapping label-less bottles of beer in napkins. Transportation is largely by bus. Gasoline rationing has virtually emptied the streets of cars, except those rusting at curbside, idle and unusable.

Ten Million Cocktail. At the Havana Libre, formerly the Hilton Hotel, the clientele still is cosmopolitan, but the tone has changed. Chunky Russian technicians jostle wispy North Koreans in the elevator. In the lobby, Havana women, necklines plunging down their backs in the style of a decade ago, click across the marble floors to the tune of Heroic Guerrilla played on the p.a. system.

Castro's indifference to the city dwellers is understandable. Cuba's greatest need is for more food. Rationing permits only eight ounces of beef per person each month, only three pounds of rice. In Havana people wait in line for hours at restaurants and markets to supplement their meager rations. "Lines are a social institution now," explains a Vedado woman. "They are also the only way to get anything."