The Havana Airport

On my first trip to Cuba, we arrived on time at the old terminal of Havana’s Jose Martí airport. That’s the one reserved for flights to and from the US. Havana has a modern airport terminal with jet ways and all the trimmings, but the old terminal for US flights is just one more little battle in the 50 year-old war of ideas between the Cuban and American governments. Christina and I were to be met by Thelma and taken to our hotel.

Well, we waited over an hour in a public area outside the terminal, and we never seemed to find Thelma. I made a pest of myself asking each woman if she was Thelma. Most of the time we just sat and watched the taxis come and go. I saw a skinny little dog walking in the street by the curb, and he looked pretty bad. He tried to scale the curb, and I could see he was pretty weak. Starvation, I thought, and I looked for something he could eat.

But all I saw was a candy stand, and it was surrounded by a bunch of people waiting for the lone clerk to help them. I waited in line for a while, and the little dog moved away until I couldn’t see him any more. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, I thought, and I rejoined Christina looking for Thelma. Eventually we got a taxi and linked up with Thelma later. Also, eventually I learned the likely reason the little dog was there.

Every year 200,000 Cubans win a lottery run by the US Interests Section (a sort of embassy in Havana), and they get permission to emigrate to the US. They have to leave their possessions in the hands of the Cuban government, give up claims to their property, and show up at the airport with no more than they can carry or wear. It’s a tough price to pay to move to the US, but thousands have done it. It’s an even tougher price to pay for their pet animals, who can’t go with their families.

If the family can’t find a new home for their dog or cat, they may take it out to the airport to keep it to the last minute. Then the dog or cat is set free at the airport to face a very uncertain future. It’s cruel, it’s thoughtless, and it’s a big betrayal, but the number of strays that can be seen at the airport testify to two contrasting futures—that of the family, bright and hopeful about a new life in the US, and their pet’s facing loneliness, unfamiliar surroundings, strangers, and nothing to eat.

Nora Garcia, the President of Aniplant, Havana’s animal protection organization, militates against this thoughtlessness in her two weekly radio programs and one on television. People in Cuba often love their animals, and Nora’s public education about humane treatment has helped reduce the number of airport dogs, but it has not solved the problem. After all, she’s trying to instill a new ethic toward animals in an old and established culture.

Les Inglis