Los Frikis

I traveled to Cuba in March of 2007, inspired by the work of another filmmaker, my friend Jauretsi Saizarbitoria, who directed the documentary East of Havana about young rappers living in the ghettos of Cuba struggling to break free from the censorship and general oppression they experienced under Castro. I spent two weeks living with them and decided that there were many more stories to be told through pictures. A few months later I returned to Cuba with a Leica and hundreds of rolls of film to travel sola around the island. I stayed for eight weeks during the hottest time of the year, July and August. I returned in 2008 and again in 2009 to travel extensively and take more photos.

I was not looking to document what the government wanted me to see through mojito-induced goggles. Rather, I wanted to capture a contemporary Cuban story, and the subplot I chose was that of the rockers. I was aware of the gay community being targeted as counter revolutionary—especially through the story of Reinaldo Arenas and his autobiography Before Night Falls—but I found that Cuban punk rockers, known as los frikis, are among some of the most marginalized people in the country.

While many tourists travel the five hours from Havana to the city of Santa Clara to see the Che Guevara monument commemorating the last battle of the Revolution, I was there to visit El Mejunje, a cultural center that is home to a diverse group, including transvestites, gays, and punk rockers. There I met Ramón Silverio, El Mejunje’s creator and owner. He introduced me to Amaury “Manolo” Trimiño, the lead singer and director of the hardcore-punk / death-metal band Resistenzia. What interested me about Resistenzia, although not as well known as other Cuban hardcore bands, was that they speak out against the Cuban government’s oppressive policies. Resistenzia’s music openly criticizes the lack of basic rights, the devaluation of the National Cuban Peso, and the devastation of the HIV epidemic.


Manolo invited me to a Resistenzia practice session on the patio of their drummer’s home. The setting was raw—sparsely furnished with laundry hanging on a line, vibrating with the blasting bass. Everyone was bare-chested and passionate about the music and the message. One of Resistenzia’s songs tells of Cuba being portrayed as a paradise while its citizens do not have rights, like the right to travel. They also sing of the HIV epidemic that has affected most of the rocker community in that everyone at least knows someone who is positive.


Cuba has a strict policy regarding HIV. Regular testing is mandatory for every citizen by the time they are sexually active and in the ’80s and early ’90s if an individual tested positive for HIV they were obligated to enter a sanitarium. In a tragic irony, many rockers injected themselves with the AIDS virus between the years of 1989 and 1991 in order to escape repression and gain the basics of life they lacked. “[Sanitarium residents] have a house, air conditioner, color TV, 100% of their salary, and a diet very high in calories and rich in protein. No one else has so much,” said Dr. Jorge Perez, head of the national HIV treatment program and director of the Pedro Kouri Institute of Tropical Medicine (IPK) in a 2003 article for The Foundation for AIDS Research. Or as a 20-year-old friki told Newsweek in 1994, “We gave ourselves AIDS to liberate ourselves from society and those laws about obligatory work, and live in our own world.”
 
I also attended practice sessions and concerts with one of the original punk bands, Eskoria, who sing about similar themes. I was extremely moved to learn that their frontman—Cuban punk pioneer William Fabían—was killed in January 2010 while trying to break up a fight after a concert. He was a rocker who had injected himself with HIV. The community was devastated by his death and he will be remembered as a pure punk who fought against an overbearing government.


Spending time with different groups of rockers and punks in Cuba allowed me to get to see that most are well-informed, highly intelligent people interested in world and local politics. It is true that most rockers do live a life of heavy drinking, partying, promiscuous sex, and letting their aggression out in mosh pits—they wouldn’t be frikis otherwise! On the other hand, most live with their families and some have children whom they care for and love deeply. Because work is obligatory in Cuba, many have perhaps menial but nevertheless responsible jobs, working as a mechanic or in a bakery, or they choose to carry on in their studies.


Walking the streets of Santa Clara or Havana, rockers stick out with their tattoos, piercings, black clothing, heavy leather boots, and dyed hair. They’re mostly looked down upon, but when approaching each other, there is an instant bond that can only come from being a friki.

Helena de Bragança’s book, I Am Cuban, will be published by Damiani in Spring 2011.

www.helenaimage.com