Sunset for '50s cars in Cuba?
By THE ECONOMIST
April 28, 2008
Those stately American sedans from a bygone era, finned and
chrome-bedecked, may be central to the tourist image of Cuba as a
romantic time warp. But their survival has little to do with any Cuban
predilection for collectors' cars.
"I'd swap it for a Volkswagen any day," grumbled Miguel, as he fired up
his powder-blue 1956 Chevrolet in a Havana backstreet. For decades
Cubans have not been allowed to buy freely any car made since 1959, the
year of Fidel Castro's revolution. But it is just possible that the ban
soon might be lifted.
Since formally taking over the presidency from his ailing brother on
Feb. 24th, Raúl Castro has swiftly discarded several "excessive"
restrictions. Cubans can now stay in the fancy hotels previously
reserved for foreign tourists, and rent their own mobile phones. Bans
have been lifted on the sale of microwaves, DVDs and computers. There
have been strong hints that the government will scrap the requirement
that Cubans obtain exit permits to leave the country.
Could the right to buy cars come next? At present, vehicles are divided
into two categories: those registered before 1959, and those after it.
The former (mainly 1940s and 1950s American im****ts) are viewed by the
government as relics from the island's capitalist past and can still be
legally bought and sold.
Cars im****ted after that date are deemed state property (initially
handed out to loyal workers and Communist Party officials), whose
owner****p can be passed only within families. Cubans, famed for their
ingenuity in cir***venting rules, have been known to get married simply
to gain legal possession of a car, and then divorce.
Even if Raúl Castro, who is driven around in a BMW, does decide to ease
the rules on car owner****p, few Cubans will benefit -- at least in the
short term. With average wages at just $17 a month, a mobile phone, let
alone a car or a stay at a tourist hotel, is out of the reach of all but
a tiny minority (mainly those with generous relatives abroad). A change
in the rules might nevertheless be welcomed by one group the government
is keen to keep loyal.
The first batch of doctors who have served in Venezuela as part of a
swap for oil is now returning to Cuba. Each has been given the right to
buy a car. To do so, they can draw on the $4,000 annual salary paid
during their five-year assignments abroad and kept frozen in a bank
account.
Under current rules, they can withdraw only $5,000 or so for a car. But
all post-1959 cars must be bought through the state, which imposes a 100
percent markup. A secondhand Lada will be all that most returning
doctors can afford.
On the black market, where cars are bought and sold without the original
title of owner****p, prices are no lower. A 1940s Jeep goes for $7,000,
while a 1980s Mercedes 190, which would be considered as scrap in the
United States, may fetch as much as $35,000.
Whatever their immediate practical impact, these nods to the consumer
society send a message. "Fidel set up all these rules to prevent the
Cuban 'haves' from displaying their wealth to the 'have-nots,'" said a
European diplomat in Havana. "Raúl seems much more relaxed on that
front."
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