Remembering John Lent, part 5: In Cuba with Marlene Pohle (2000)

 

 

It´s certainly not easy to think a Cartoon-and Comic World without our dear friend John Lent. We from FECO will also publish articles and caricatures from here and there with John. In IJOCA Vol 20, N° 2 Fall/ Winter 2018 appeared a sequence from different meetings I wrote, also illustrated with caricatures, and all had something to do with John: "A Cartoonist Chronicler of Cartoonists´Confabs," According to that I send you my sketch from Cuba 2000, a story that John liked very much to repeat each time we met. Big hugs and my condolences also to his family. 

Marlene Pohle
FECO Vice president general

CUBA 2000 -- Second Dedeté Biennial in Havana: “A Cuban Story with Police Included”

by Marlene Pohle

excerpted from "A Cartoonist Chronicler of Cartoonists’ Confabs," IJOCA 18:1 2018 

When in the Spring of 2000 we were invited as members of the jury for the 2nd Biennial Dedeté, in Havana, Cuba was just coming out of the Special Period. The expectations that preceded this visit to our dreamed Cuba of the Revolution with all its problems and its yearnings, was enormous, but several months passed until our presence on the island was confirmed. Those were years when, in addition to the bureaucratic apparatus, Internet technology was not as diversified as it is today. Especially, since in the building of the newspaper Juventud Rebelde was the only fax machine, that depended on a single telephone number. Email and all the other current media were not available.

 Many guests were invited from different countries; some of us as jury members.There were from Cuba and Latin America: Caridad Blanco, Picho, Jape, Tomy, Pilozo, Ruz, Osmani Simanca, Jorge Ocampo, Andrea Rodríguez and Martha Barragán. Furthermore, Willem Rasing and Peter Nieuwendijk from Netherlands, Marlene Pohle from Germany/Argentina, John A. Lent from U.S., Brian Bagnall from Germany. The organizing committee was formed by Ares, Garrincha, and Lauzán. We can not forget our drivers Santos and Abel, who rushed us with a nice “Que se va la guagua!” (The bus is going!).

 

We visited some interesting exhibitions. In this way, we met Tomy, or Tomy Rodriguez, one of the most prestigious Cuban artists of the moment. He died a few years ago. It was very interesting to hear his comments, obviously very Latin American, about his own works and those he made with his students. In the 1990s, when Cuba lacked everything, he went with his students to find discarded material, cardboard, metal pieces, old fabrics, acrylics, etc. to carry out their works. With this he showed that what matters is the idea and the desire to create, no matter what you work with. 

Some days were dedicated to lectures with the editors of different humor periodicals from Latin America, Spain, Italy, U.S., and FECONEWS. Another day was dedicated to a visit to the Museo del Humor de San Antonio de los Baños, a traditional and important institution with many rooms and an interesting heritage in cartoons. This museum and the biennial already occupy an important space in the world of cartooning.

The most incredible story happened to us one night when, before going to sleep in our “Social Club,” we sat in the patio next to an empty and abandoned pool, in the moonlight to chat and drink beer and a bottle of gin brought by our Dutch colleagues. We were Andrea Rodríguez, Peter and Peggy Nieuwendijk, John A. Lent, Willem Rasing, Jorge Ocampo, another of our Dutch friends, and me. A Cuban girl attended our table, the only one occupied, by the way.

Some drank more than others, as often happens, and after midnight we went to sleep. I shared the room with Andrea, who quickly fell into the arms of Morpheus and never woke up until the next day

I was also asleep when a knock on the window woke me up scared. I did not know where I was, what was happening, nothing!

The two giant policemen only told me that both Ocampo and the girl were going to be transferred to the police station. But why??? Then I got to see Ocampo half drunk sitting on a bench. The girl cried. Neither she nor Ocampo could get a word out to clarify the situation. At the same time I had to translate to John what was happening, when in reality, nothing was happening except the surreal situation of us being under the Cuban moon in a deserted courtyard, the girl crying, Ocampo drunk, the police trying to finish the story, John in shorts and barefoot, and I trying to know what happened. I asked myself, I can not believe that this is happening to me, to be in Havana in the midst of a conflict with the police of our discussed Fidel. After many sobs, I could understand that the girl was scared because Ocampo had some words with her; we do not know which ones.
 

When I managed to reason (Andrea, as I said, was asleep), I realized that it was John who was asking me for help. “Marlene, please, help!! There are two armed policemen and I do not understand anything! Could you come to translate?” Because of the fright, I do not remember if I put on a pair of pants or a skirt and I went out to the terrace where apparently a drama was being developed, of which we did not understand anything. I saw that John did not care about the clothes because he was dressed in shorts and barefoot. There was the waitress who had served us, in a sea of tears, so much that she could not articulate a word and therefore we did not know what was happening. I started to talk with the policemen, two burly guys as tall as I had not seen any Cuban before. Or was it the amount of clothing and weapons that made them so gigantic?

A phone! We have to call one of the Cubans, Ares or Garrincha! I resolved while I translated to John. But alas! The only phone in that building was in a phone box that, of course, at that time had a huge padlock. Where in this neighborhood is there a phone? Someone told us that about two blocks down the avenue there is a kiosk that will surely be open and will have a telephone. I rummaged through my papers and saw that I had Ares‘ phone number. Salvation!

At that moment, we saw with desperation that the policemen took both the girl and Ocampo. John and I imagined all the possible horrors regarding the fate of our Colombian colleague and the Cuban girl. I could, however, ask them which police section they were taking them to. I think I remember that they said “the 35.” So, just as we were, with improvised clothes and John, always barefoot, we walked down the avenue of coconut trees zigzagging in case a coconut fell on us, until we found the kiosk.

It was open and they lent us the phone! I was able to communicate with Ares‘s wife and I apologized for this call at two in the morning, but she told me not to worry about that. I will never forget this kindness; that she would take care of us and that we go to sleep. We did that; we went back under the coconut trees and went to sleep not without some anxiety. In my room Andrea was still asleep and I do not know if John washed his feet. In the morning at breakfast we told the story. The Dutch looked at us incredulous and the girl -- without tears -- served us coffee. We did not see Ocampo, but when our Cuban colleagues and friends came, they told us they had already arranged everything. Without details. We did not ask for anything either.