Crime in Cuba

I can only think of one country in all my travels where I possibly felt as safe, and seen as little crime, as I did during my ten days in Cuba -- and that would be Denmark, where I lived as an exchange student in 1985-86.

In my ten days in Cuba, I visited a dozen or so cities and towns, five of the country's 14 provinces, and several busy transportation facilities, including the main airport, train stations and bus depots. I walked through working-class housing projects. And, on my own and often late at night (one of the few times I could break free from my delegation), I visited shabby Havana neighborhoods that would have looked at home in some of America's worst inner-city gang territories.

Through it all, I never felt threatened or in danger, never saw a single crime or fight, never heard a major argument (unless it was about baseball). All I saw were Cubans going about their business, chatting in small groups of friends, sitting on park benches, playing chess and dominoes, dressed nice heading out to a night on the town, riding bikes, and, near tourist areas, a few hustling foreigners with offers of cigars.

I also saw police officers, lots of police offers. They stood on nearly every third or fourth street corner, in every other park or plaza, singly or in pairs. They would stand quietly on guard, saunter casually along, pull over speeding pedi-cab drivers, question overly drunk passersby and offer directions to lost tourists. They insisted to see ID cards from all Cubans they questioned and often wrote citations for what looked to me to be minor offenses. They were a constant presence and proved hard to get used to for this San Diegan, grown accustomed to living in one of the most under-policed large cities in America.

I walked some of Havana's darkest, dingiest alleys, almost to dare, challenge and test the surreal sense of safety and security I felt in this foreign country. Nothing bad ever happened to me, night after night.

I was told by several Cuban parents that, although their country's socialist system has some room for improvement, they cherish the fact that their young children can go out and play in the streets, even at night, without parental supervision . . . and come home again safe and sound.

It made me wonder how many parents in some of the worst parts of Tijuana, Chicago or Caracas -- or most other large cities in the United States and throughout most of the the rest of Latin America -- could say the the same thing?

In my opinion, Cuba's unbelievable lack of crime may be attributed to a few factors, including the heavy police presence, fear of imprisonment, less racial conflict, absence of sharp class differences, and a sense of national pride and community solidarity that usurps individual priorities.

I grew up and live in a country where TV news broadcasts feed us stories of murder, mayhem, crime and cruelty on a daily basis. I live in a neighborhood where muggings are on the rise, theft occurs regularly and the best the police can do is tell us to 'be on guard.' I have close friends who struggle to escape pasts scarred by gang violence. I live in a nation where emotional issues related to crime and punishment shape national dialogue, win and lose political elections, raise great walls around well-to-do neighborhoods, erect bars over the windows and doors of less well-to-do neighborhoods, and inject lifelong paranoia into the American psyche.

I had no idea that, in Communist Cuba, there existed a society and a system that had found a way to largely eliminate the kind of crime we hear about every day, and sometimes are victims of, in the wealthiest nation on Earth. It's a bright spot in Cuban society, one I never learned about in my own country, and a factor that the Cubans I met cherish greatly.