The nightmare scenario

Here are a few comments on a University of Miami essay by Professor Jaime Suchlicki and Jason Poblete, “When Should the U.S. Change Policy Toward Cuba.”

The authors begin by discussing the confusion involved in the terms “transition” and “succession.” I thought the Administration defined the terms pretty well: “transition” meant a change in political system, “succession” a change in leadership with the system unchanged. Then the Administration confused the issue completely, giving us one more reason not to rely on our own government for analysis of what’s going on in Cuba. In my book, what has occurred is pretty clear: Cuba’s leadership has changed, the system hasn’t.

The authors’ real point, however, is to stand up for the all-or-nothing U.S. policy in the Helms-Burton law, which provides that only a complete change in Cuba’s political system, not partial reform, can trigger any easing of U.S. sanctions. They underscore that the law provides that “a transition government cannot include either Fidel Castro or Raul Castro.” Actually, the law goes them one better; it says that a “democratically elected government” cannot include Fidel or Raul, which is worth chewing over for a minute.

Set aside your supposition about Raul Castro’s chances in a free election in Cuba – would he get 12 percent? 51 percent? 70 percent? – and contemplate that this law says that if Cuba were to free political prisoners; allow a free press, political parties, and labor unions to operate; dissolve state security; and hold elections under international observation; then the result would not be a “democratically elected” government if it were to include Raul Castro. In other words, it defines not only the processes that Cubans must follow to achieve democracy, it also sets conditions on the result. Its message to Cubans is simple: Hold an election and satisfy all our conditions, but if you elect Raul we won’t accept the result as democratic. Helms-Burton, in this sense, is purely anti-democratic. But this is the provision of the law that these authors hold up virtually as sacred writ in an essay devoted to democracy in Cuba and the constancy of democratic principles in U.S. foreign policy. Go figure.

Regarding those principles, the authors try mightily to cram the current U.S. approach toward Cuba into the mainstream of U.S. foreign policy, implying that any deviation amounts to “supporting regimes and dictators that violate human rights.” They reach back to the Ford Administration, ignoring that Ford offered to normalize relations without demanding that Cuba change its political system. They ignore that Presidents of both parties have long promoted American contact with citizens and officials in communist countries as a means of promoting U.S. influence, all the while maintaining our moral disapproval of the communist system. They ignore the 1992 Cuba Democracy Act, a law embraced by the late Jorge Mas Canosa, which offered to ease U.S. sanctions in response to political or economic openings in Cuba – the precise opposite of the Helms-Burton approach.

There’s more. They set up an old straw man, claiming that proponents of engagement with Cuba believe that engagement will produce regime change. (Some do, I’ll admit, but they are wrong. There are many benefits to engagement, but if you want regime change the only honest path is to make an unjustifiable call for military action.) They make the tired and customary insinuation about the motives of proponents of engagement. They argue that the tourism industry “is the one area of the economy on which the government, besides oil exploration, on which [sic] the future economic survival of the island depends.” Nonsense. They suggest negotiations with Cuba, which now makes us all dialogueros, I guess. Jason and Jaime, welcome to the club.

Beneath it all, my hunch is that the authors are beginning to grapple with a scenario that may soon confront us.

No one knows whether, when, or how much Raul Castro would liberalize Cuba’s economy. But what if he does, even in small ways, as Suchlicki himself expects? What if an opening produces positive economic results? What if those results earn him some political approval from Cubans who are sick of orthodoxy and eager to have opportunities to provide for themselves and their families?

What if Americans would react by saying that a degree of liberalization, even if limited, is a positive development? How would we react to a scenario where Cuban policies are changing and Cubans of all political persuasions are debating what should come next? The next question would be to ask, pragmatically, what to do? Are there any tools in U.S. policy that would encourage a greater opening?

At that point, we would crash right into the big question posed by Suchlicki and Poblete. And the answer, they remind us, is dictated in our law: We would do absolutely nothing until Cuba’s political system is transformed and Raul Castro is gone.

We would greet a scenario of new possibilities as spectators with our feet in concrete. We would make the perfect the enemy of the good, which is not a typical American approach.

In that scenario, Americans might then look for different options. The system of laws enacted in response to Fidel Castro might lose their sacrosanct quality. The Calle Ocho argument that anyone who seeks a different approach toward Cuba is abandoning democratic values and supporting dictatorship, might seem a little ridiculous.

That’s why an economic opening in Cuba after Fidel would be a hopeful sign for some, and the political nightmare of a lifetime for others.