Deirdre Silverman and Mark Silverman are social activists, writers and tango dance specialists who live in and around Ithaca, NY.

It is February in Havana and we have stopped at John Lennon Park. The sky is gray. A bronze statue of John reclines tranquilly on a bench, somewhat larger than life. Visitors can sit next to him, a great photo op. Engraved in marble in front of his bench, in Spanish: You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. Nearby, a large circle of elderly people exercise.

On a raised terrace three pre-teenage girls play. A beaming blond child explains that yesterday was her birthday, with a sleepover party. Her mother approaches and casually mentions that she is the wife of the British Ambassador to Cuba. She knows we are foreigners as she gazes at our grafitti-covered yellow Pastors for Peace school bus, not the usual sleek air-conditioned cruiser that carries tourists around Havana.

We chat with the Ambassador's wife, a conversation about Cuba she instinctively monopolizes, as if this is how it should be, as if she is an expert witness. She says she feels perfectly safe on this communist island. Her family has been in the country for two years, but now they are about to leave, to stay at a home they own in Greenwich, Connecticut while her husband assumes a Fellowship at Harvard. She says Cuba is beautiful and the people wonderful, but the government is terrible. It's too bad, she sneers, that we aren't seeing the "real Cuba." When we mention that we're staying in the working class neighborhood of Marianao, far from the tourist area of Havana Vieja, she says that she means the countryside away from Havana, where people don't have access to the dollar economy. She says the people are starving, and the churches are feeding thousands each week. One of us mentions the soup kitchens and food pantries in the U.S. The Ambassador's wife sees we don't agree with her, and she grows tighter and tighter. Repeatedly, she says the government has robbed the people, "The people have no dreams."

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The question of dreams is important since we all seem to have them. In a sociopolitical context, a dream can be a conscious statement of hopes, wishes, or needs, a personal quest for something important. The Ambassador's wife wasn't going to give Cuba good grades because she perceived deficiencies or deprivations among the people of the country, and she blamed the government for the situation. Also, she was definitely not ready to acknowledge the vitality of the society, or the successes of the Revolution. One way to put her views in perspective is to contrast individual dreams with the concept of a social 'vision' shared by a group. The revolutionary vision for Cuba, for those who buy into it, is drawn from more than forty years of struggle against the oligarchic forces that hold sway in much of Latin America, as well as rejection of the overpowering, long-term influence of the United States. It blends the idealism of revolution with the pragmatic policies that have sustained the regime led by Fidel Castro.

Our group was mostly from the U.S., with a few Canadians and one woman originally from Chile. Our home base in Havana was the Martin Luther King Memorial Center, next to the Ebenezer Baptist Church. As we came and went from our dormitory quarters, we watched the Center pulse with activity, obviously a conduit for the energy of Marianao, a vital resource for people, providing programs and events for children and senior citizens, teenagers and their parents.

Rev. Raul Suarez, leader of the Center and church, is a tiny man, but a big presence in Marianao and other parts of Cuban society. A non-communist member of the National Legislature for 12 years, he exudes a revolutionary vision rooted in the Bible and its teachings, and strong support for a humanistic socialism. He told us how Jesse Jackson introduced him to Fidel, and that Jackson challenged Castro on the role of religion in the country. Later, at a dinner, Suarez talked with the Cuban leader. Suarez proclaimed: "The growth of religion in Cuba is a miracle." And Fidel responded: "There is no other explanation for it."

Suarez made it clear that he shared the vision of the revolution, and he spent some time highlighting the strengths of the country, mentioning his concerns as well. Finally, he asked us, "What kind of democracy does President Bush offer Cuba?" After going through a list of Latin American countries and how badly the U.S. had treated them, Suarez concluded with a common joke. "I'm not leaving Guatemala (bad) for Guatepeor (worse)."

One evening in Havana, we visited the house of Dapbarto Yaquinet, an extraordinary artist, a man who lost both legs and one arm in a farm accident when he was twelve. Yaquinet is a painter, sculptor and poet, also an educator/therapist for children. His home was an urban wonderland of light, a showcase for fabulous projects, with a lush garden at the core. In and out of his wheelchair, the artist talked about the major themes of his artwork, Jose Marti and the birds of Cuba. He escorted us through a home decorated with fantastic paintings that mingled the martyred 19th century poet/patriot Marti with vivid, feathered creatures. Yaquinet's undiluted creative energy was hypnotic. The artist said he could live anywhere in the world, having traveled and shown his art in several countries. He continues to live in Cuba because he loves the unique light, a necessity for his creativity.

In the city of Matanzas, our group visited a national School of the Arts, part of a network of free magnet-type schools where children study music, dance, and visual arts. When we arrived, students lined the steps, waving red kerchiefs as they sang a song of welcome. Our group split up, trooping into classrooms and studios to listen and observe. One girl played the flute while a smaller child held the music up for her. Another girl played the Beatles "Yesterday" on saxophone, and others read us a warm welcome in English. A girl sang a poem about the Miami 5. We heard Mozart played on a new Chinese grand piano, and sampled an a capella chorus of teens, ballet and afro-Cuban dance. At the art and sculpture studios, the youth were older and more intense, with spiky rough edges in their personal styles. Finally, we norteamericanos stumbled back to our bus, intoxicated by the undiluted display of enthusiasm and yes, dreams we found at the school.

That afternoon we drove east from the resort area of Varadero, through Cardenas to an agricultural cooperative outside of Perico. We were greeted by the men who were leaders of the collective, and by women who had prepared an impressive spread for us--- mango, pineapple, little bananas, cookies, and split coconut. The President of the Coop Board told us he was born a poet, and immediately welcomed us with a lyrical recitation. Growing up before the Revolution, he was able to go to school for only two years, but "1959 was for us the sun that lit a new path in life." He was 22 in 1961, when the national Literacy Campaign came to teach the campesinos, and it was then that he learned to read and write. After listening to speakers talk about the role of cooperatives in the Cuban economy, our group drove out to inspect a huge area of luxuriant potato fields. On the way back, our poet-guide entertained us with a long rap-like poem of love for Cuba and defiance of the U.S., in which he referred to Bush as "el senor doble V (W)."

In Havana, we visited a neighborhood doctor. The free medical system provides one doctor and one nurse for every 180 families, and the medical personnel live in their patients' neighborhood, in this case an apartment complex. The clinic was being renovated, so we met in the doctor's apartment on the second floor, where she provided us with detailed information about her place in the health care system. She's in her office 8-12, making house calls 1-5, and is on call 24/7. The pre-conception and prenatal programs were strong, she said, allowing her to make daily or weekly visits to newborns, depending on their health. She reported there was virtually no infant mortality in her community, and that all children were vaccinated. Contraception was promoted, but she conceded that abortion was common. Her clinic has its own pharmacy, though the U.S. blockade has had an impact such that there was a waiting list for medicine, especially cancer drugs. She dealt with all family problems, so there was a strong psychological component to her practice, and she tried to provide preventive education about alcohol, diet, smoking, etc. The next step in the medical system was the Polyclinic for more serious procedures, and above those were the hospitals. Life expectancy in this developing country is about 75. After her lengthy description, she was asked: If she were in charge of the national medical system, what would she change? Her answer, "Nada."

Our short stay in Cuba provided snapshots of people, situations, and institutions in the country. We did not get to travel beyond the capital and the nearby province of Matanzas. Many buildings and homes in Havana, and in the smaller places we visited, looked beat up, much in need of repair. Of course there were exceptions in many parts of Havana Vieja and other parts of the city, such as a recently renovated synagogue in the Vedado neighborhood.

Scarcity of resources is a way of life. Braille paper is hard to come by. The art students we visited saved their drawing paper to be pulped and recycled into new paper. Even the most basic medicines, such as aspirin, vitamins and antacids, are coveted items. More fundamentally, there are side-by-side economies in the country, one for Cubans based on the peso, and one for tourists and locals who can get dollars. There are dollar stores that stock goods unavailable at neighborhood bodegas (ration stores), farmers' markets and groceries. But despite the difficult times, we saw few street people and we were never panhandled in Marianao. This was in sharp contrast to the tourist areas of Havana Vieja, where hustling of various kinds is so prevalent, and so lucrative, that it's hard to see why Cubans would work at any other kinds of jobs.

We visited the United States Interest Section (in lieu of a U.S. embassy), ringed by a high fence, with Cuban security personnel stationed around the perimeter. This was the only place where we were not permitted to take pictures. The diplomats told us that the U.S. government strongly supported "civil society" in the country. The Cuban government claims that this includes financial assistance, but the Americans denied the charge, stating that they provide internet access, books and periodicals, and moral support.

Presumably under the radar screen of Interest Section officers, we found much that could easily fit a definition of civil society, but was explicitly unsupported by the U.S. The distinguishing feature was that these activities did not also work to undermine the Revolution. For example, we spent a fabulous evening listening and dancing to the music of the band Dulce Maria. Maria, the band's leader, told us she also teaches traditional Cuban music to children. The beachfront hostel where we stayed in Varadero serves tourists during the winter, and with the money from that, provides free vacations to disabled children and senior citizens during the summer. Also, the work of the Martin Luther King Center, which we observed up close, sets a high standard for providing valuable services to a needy community, including housing, popular education, senior and youth groups.

We also met with a Cuban diplomat. Foreigners tend to ask the inevitable question about life without Fidel. But in reality it seems apparent that the various levels of the government bureaucracy, those committed to the Revolution, will remain. We chose to ask the "key" question in terms of policy, rather than personality. How would the society deal with an end to the U.S. embargo and normalization of relations? Would the people continue to support the revolution without the unifying force of an all-powerful external enemy, who could be blamed for food and medicine shortages and everything else that went wrong in the county? Without hesitation the diplomat replied, that would represent the greatest challenge to the Revolution. The normalization of relations would mean the country would experience United States culture with all of its materialist inducements, a cultural deluge from 90 miles away would rain down on the Revolution. He mentioned the current experiences of China and Vietnam. In a different context, our group had been told that among Cubans in Florida and beyond, the older generation may have left for political reasons, but the younger generation left for economic reasons, and this latter group would represent a threat to the socialist zeal of friends and relatives. The diplomat attempted to deal with this future, suggesting that the Cuban government would limit contact and try to control the situation so as not to subvert the Revolution. One of the Cubans we met put it this way: "Every day, I work for an end to the embargo. But at night I light a candle for it to continue."

At the Museum of the Revolution, a magnificent Tiffany-designed building that had been the Presidential palace for several Cuban dictators, the story of the revolutionary period is told in detail. It should be noted that this was one of the very few places in our entire trip where we saw any photos of Fidel Castro. The young idealists who participated in the struggle to overthrow the dictatorship may not have been very skilled at their enterprise, that is, there were mistakes, wrong turns, and poor communication at key junctures. (After all, they were not trained at the School of the Americas.) Yet the despotic, oppressive rule of the Batista dictatorship, and the inequities in pre-revolutionary Cuban society, doomed the old order, and insured a wave of support for the insurgents among the people.

After the triumph of the Revolution, as documented here and at the Museum of the Literacy Campaign, a picture of a society struggling to transform itself emerges, and comparisons with the histories of other parts of Latin America are worth noting. Recently, a friend visited Havana, and she could not help noting the enormous contrast between the world she observed in Cuba and her current Peace Corps experience in rural Honduras. She wrote, "I can't help wonder what Honduras or any other Central American country would look like today if the U.S. hadn't been so intensely involved in its affairs (economic interests) or if the Central American countries' leftist movements had won their revolutions." For this one developing country, a 45 year experiment in socialism has transformed its society with many notable achievements such as universal education and modern health care. Countries such as Honduras still struggle to achieve very basic reforms and advances after centuries of exploitation.

The people we met expressed different views of Cuba, the government, and the Revolution. Many, especially those who had lived through the transition from Batista to the Revolution, share the vision of a Cuba liberated from the colossus to the North, measuring that vision against a reality of sacrifices and accomplishments in the years since the last dictatorship was overthrown. They have accepted the inevitable struggles and down times, such as the economic shocks during the Special Period, when Soviet support disappeared and shortages of food, gasoline and just about everything else were common. These people seem willing to give up some material goods in return for institutional successes. Still, Cuba is not utopia and the society is distorted by the effects of the U.S. embargo, now more of a blockade since the provisions of the Helms-Burton law penalize countries that trade with the island.

But many do not share the vision of revolution. National programs to change the way people live, such as the Literacy Campaign during the early Castro years, may seem like museum pieces rather than part of a continuing transformation of a society afflicted with the heritage of colonialism and dictatorship. They reject socialism and yearn for the perks of the U.S., an end to the deprivations, a Wal-Mart consumer-oriented norteamericano dream, in sharp counterpoint with the everyday reality characterized by material scarcity. Many have friends and relatives in the U.S. who reinforce their discontent and fan their materialist dreams.

The contradictions in Cuba are enormous. They range from the average worker's pay of about $15 per month (in pesos) to the Tropicana nightclub where dancers wear chandeliers on their heads and little else, and the cheapest seats are $65. Cuba is a society that has the best doctor:patient ratio in the world, but virtually no medicine. The universities and graduate schools are free, but books are so scarce that students must read them in the libraries, rather than have their own copies. The literacy rate is above 98%, but literature, the internet and other media are censored. Nevertheless, it seems clear that the revolutionary vision remains vital to many people in the country. Also, despite the certainty of the ambassador's wife, there seem to be plenty of dreams in Cuba. In the end, her view of political reality and her notions of an appropriate dream are colored by filters completely alien to ordinary Cubans.

Our bus pulled off the road and parked at a high point overlooking the Yumuri Valley. We were perched above an ever-misty expanse of green forest that seemed to waver in the light when you tried to focus your eyes, as if you had entered one of those Latin American landscape paintings where light and air and subject mingle in a magical image. We did not get a chance to descend into the valley. That was Cuba, a place of immense, enticing possibility that lingers in memory.