The prominent Cuban intellectual Ambrosio Fornet (1932-2022) believed “that there is a relationship between individual and social behavior, between spiritual needs and the norms of coexistence.”

And perhaps this statement by that renowned academic could explain, among other reasons, the reasons for certain social behaviors that currently cast a shadow over daily life in Cuba.

In particular, this text aims to focus on noise pollution, the diverse array of noises that plague Cubans from the moment they wake up until the very end of their day.

I was going to write “from the moment they wake up,” but that wouldn't be accurate because sometimes it's those same noises that force them to jump out of bed and that also prevent them from sleeping soundly at the end of the day.

The street vendors, who in other eras colored daily life on the island with witty and even poetic announcements, have for a long time now, instead of adding color, marred dawns, afternoons, and evenings with their exhortations, sometimes almost urgent: “…Come on, I'm leaving.”

Not to mention the recorded announcements or notices that multiply, in a tiresome refrain, throughout the city, advertising the best ice cream, the best bread roll, or the original guava pie.

Some, through their perseverance—come rain, shine, or storm—might even deserve an award, or at least be emulated by other workers. The downside of this consistency is that it sometimes begins as early as six or seven in the morning, when some are just trying to rest after a shift or night watch.

But if the noises were only those, perhaps these lines wouldn't be worthwhile.

The few public buses that run, the rental cars, the bicycle taxis, tricycles, motorcycles, and others, also contribute to broadcasting their drivers' favorite music at extreme decibel levels.

The cars and electric motorcycles of young people (some underage) honk their horns at the most improbable hours to alert someone, or park with their music blaring while they wait or say goodbye to a passenger.

From houses and apartments, shouted arguments escape through windows and doors; calls to someone halfway down the block, blaring music, banging, and other sounds of repairs that shouldn't be heard at dawn or after dark.

Roosters crowing, dogs barking, and even pigs grunting also mark the daily life of the city, along with the shouts of young men and women exchanging a string of swear words and insults as a greeting or a game.

And the worst part is that we get used to it, or resign ourselves to it, as if this is how life, already complicated enough on this island, is supposed to be.

Of course, when the first worry is securing food, medicine, water, fuel for cooking, and getting ahead of the blackout, this noise seems like a minor inconvenience. But that is in our hands, in respecting others and ourselves; it doesn't depend on investments or blockades.

It would be worthwhile, then, to pause and reflect, along with Ambrosio Fornet, on the conviction with which he concludes his thesis that begins this text:

“But since we don't know the extent of that link (the link between spiritual needs and the norms of coexistence), we assume as an essential task the duty of continuing to create the foundations that favor the predominance of the best over the worst.”

Translated by Amilkal Labañino / CubaSí Translation Staff