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The recent participation of Lis Cuesta Peraza, wife of the ruler Miguel Díaz-Canel and "events director" at the Ministry of Culture, in a theoretical debate about the musical genre "reparto," organized by the magazine Temas, has caused astonishment in the official circles.
Beyond the shock of both supporters and outsiders, the presence of the "not first lady" in the debate of the state media has also exposed one of the greatest contradictions of the Cuban regime: its sudden love for a musical genre that until recently they considered vulgar and harmful to national culture.
Because yes, "Reparto" is now culture. And Lis Cuesta, with her characteristic eloquence and unmistakable style, was part of the debate on "Reparto and social controversy" and "shared reflections on this musical phenomenon."
"This genre, originating in the neighborhoods, emerges from the best of our culture of resistance, but it also reflects a void in the musical offerings that young people and adolescents wish to consume, especially those that promote group connection and dancing to intense rhythms," the official emphasized.
Furthermore, according to Temas, Díaz-Canel's wife "highlighted the originality of the phrases and expressions that the cast borrows from Cuban culture, as well as the historical contradiction of cultural institutions, which for more than a decade ignored this phenomenon."
Criticizing the "cultural policies" of her husband’s government, such as the "lack of programming and strategy to address" the phenomenon of sharing, Cuesta Peraza also pointed out "the paradox between the growing popularity of sharing on digital networks and its organized expansion nationally and internationally, in contrast to the rhythmic validation and its role as an expression of social resistance."
Without fully understanding what she meant, the attendees who gathered on Thursday, January 30, at the headquarters of the magazine Temas, applauded the "non-first lady" and her endless wisdom capable of distinguishing the rhythmic and lyrical nuances of "Bajanda" and "Guachineo", by the illustrious Chocolate MC.
From Disdain to Acceptance: The Regime Discovers Redistribution
Until a few years ago, reggaeton and its offshoot, the reparto, were demonized by the country's cultural institutions. From official platforms, it was criticized for being vulgar, for promoting "incorrect" values, and for being a degeneration of Cuban music.
Let's not forget that in 2012, state media such as Granma published headlines like "The vulgarity in our music: A choice of the Cuban people?"; and that "Cuban intellectuals" called for "a halt to vulgarities and sexism in music".
In those years, there were threats of regulations against the broadcasting of these genres on radio and television, and campaigns were promoted to counteract their influence on young people.
But... how times change! Now, when the distribution has solidified as the soundtrack of Cuban youth, the government, in its desperate attempt to connect with an increasingly disenchanted people, has decided that maybe it isn't so bad after all.
And so, in the midst of 2024, we see the very Cuesta Peraza sitting at a theoretical event on gender, alongside historians and musicologists, discussing its cultural significance.
Because if you can't beat them, it's better to join the party. Or as Osmani García, another prominent figure of the genre, would say: "open your mouth, swallow it all".
Lis Cuesta: From "mango" to chaos on the dance floor
That Lis Cuesta has become a champion of the distribution is an irony worth celebrating. Because if there is anyone who embodies the aesthetic and spirit of this genre, it is her.
Let's remember that the "not first lady" has been trending on social media for her casual style and unfiltered language.
Her posts calling Díaz-Canel "mango", her outbursts on social media, dancing for the "dictator of her heart", and her slips of the tongue have turned her into an almost parodic figure within the Cuban political landscape.
And what can be said about their moments on the dance floor? From those videos where they were seen in New York, doing a great casino dance with her husband, to more recent ones where they both end up partying at official meetings, it is clear that Cuesta Peraza goes "all the way" and "picks up the coin" with popular music.
And if not, they should ask the jet set that attended the private party held in 2018 at the Rancho Palco restaurant, located in the Havana neighborhood of Siboney, where the wedding of the daughter of the late commander Juan Almeida Bosque was celebrated. The "debauchery" of the "non-first lady" made history.
That's why seeing her at a theoretical event about distribution is not just an anecdote, but rather a confirmation that in Cuba the official culture is taking unexpected turns, even if that means swallowing years of criticism.
The regime flirts with urban music
Beyond Lis Cuesta's presence, this event demonstrates the regime's strategic shift regarding urban music. Now, instead of censoring the genre, they prefer to integrate it into the official narrative and find ways to use it as a political tool.
Díaz-Canel had already attempted to connect with the people by playing tumbadoras, or by performing a pasillo, like the nengón he danced in Guantánamo after Hurricane Oscar. Now it is his wife who sits down to discuss social distribution, legitimizing it within institutional cultural spaces.
But let’s not deceive ourselves: this acceptance is selective. While the government seeks to appropriate the narrative of distribution, censorship and repression against certain urban artists who do not align with its discourse continue to exist.
The cultural cynicism of "continuity"
The case of the distribution is just another example of the cultural cynicism of the "continuity" led by Díaz-Canel. What they condemned yesterday, they celebrate today; what was once considered vulgar and undesirable is now a subject of academic debates.
The opportunism with which they have adopted this music highlights their lack of coherence and a desperate attempt to remain relevant in a society that is paying them less and less attention.
So, if the Cuban regime has decided to become a "repartero," let's not be surprised if at the next official event we see Díaz-Canel wildly on a stage with "Pa la pinga", while his wife lets loose twerking to “Marca mandarina.”
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