Why Big U.S. Cities Strive To Establish Cuban Sisters
By MATT MOFFETT
Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL

 SANTIAGO, Cuba -- "Socialism or Death!" rings Fidel Castro's famous battle cry. But amid frantic courtship campaigns by rival U.S. civic delegations, Santiago officials recently faced another hard choice: Philadelphia or Oakland, Calif.

The two U.S. communities were vying to be Santiago's sister city. While Congress takes baby steps toward normalizing ties to Cuba, several U.S. cities are forging ahead with their own down-home Cuban diplomacy. "Cuban cities are going faster than Cuban cigars," says John Dowlin, a man in the bicycle business who heads Philadelphia's mission to the island.

Eager to sign an alliance with Santiago, a city of 500,000 that was the cradle of the socialist revolution, Philadelphia last year dispatched its boys' choir with an official friendship proclamation. Another emissary from the City of Brotherly Love, a classic-cars expert, bore a proposal to preserve Cuba's many vintage automobiles.

PHILADELPHIA'S LOSS

 But Oakland's famous mayor, Jerry Brown, made a personal pitch to Santiago authorities and walked off with the prize last week. Philadelphia may have to settle for the smaller Cuban city of Cardenas, best known as the hometown of Elian Gonzalez. Though the competition is getting fierce, six U.S. cities have sewn up civic alliances in Cuba, and at least a dozen others are looking for partners. "This movement is more than just a bunch of old lefties, and it is expanding all the time," says Ricardo Gonzalez, a Cuban- American who helped establish a partnership between Madison, Wis., and the farming community of Camaguey. Indeed, the pro-Cuba push includes clergymen, doctors and African-American activists working alongside aficionados of fishing, cars, baseball and music. This civic detente drive is partly a product of the Clinton administration's quiet relaxation of travel restrictions to the island over the past few years. The number of Americans flying directly to Cuba increased by nearly 50% last year, to more than 80,000. In Havana, Americans are ever more visible dining at restaurants like La Bodeguita del Medio (a haunt of Ernest Hemingway's), taking the tour at the Partagas cigar factory, or catching a baseball game at the Estadio Latinamericano.

The alliances between Cuban and American towns have stirred some controversy at Sister Cities International, the umbrella group in Washington for 2,100 civic partnerships in 127 countries. The Sister Cities concept was conceived by President Eisenhower to retard the spread of communism. So far, the group has steered clear of partnerships with Fidel Castro, though it is reviewing the policy in light of warming U.S.-Cuban relations. Vociferous U.S. opponents of the Marxist Castro government maintain that the municipal activists are being used to legitimize his 41-year regime.

"Are these sister-cities representatives in contact with Cuban dissidents or political prisoners?" asks Kirk Menendez, deputy director of the Cuban-American National Foundation in Miami. Supporters of the nascent sister-cities alliances with Cuba agree that there are limits to the contacts they can make on the island. But they think it is important to build these little bridges before the 73-year-old dictator passes from the scene. "The idea of sister cities has always been to prevent war through people-to-people relationships, and Cuba shouldn't be any different," says Irma Anderson, a member of the city council in Richmond, Calif., which has a partnership with the Havana suburb of Regla.

WHEELS AND IDEALS

Citizen diplomats like Philadelphian Rick Shnitzler are dreaming up increasingly ambitious cooperative ventures. Mr. Shnitzler, despite Philadelphia's loss to Oakland, is shopping his plan to use American capitalism to revitalize Cuba's fleet of antique cars. "Cuba is the planet's automotive Jurassic Park," he says, referring to the 50,000 classic autos, from Chevys to Studebakers, lumbering through its potholed streets.

Mr. Shnitzler says Cuban authorities wouldn't mind seeing some American money, but they aren't sure whether the time is right for this big cooperative venture. In Cuba, even car collecting has an ideological tint. Prominently displayed at the national auto museum in Havana are Che Guevara's 1960 Chevy Bel Air and Fidel Castro's father's 1918 Model TT Truck.

The Cuban sister-city movement was born seven years ago in Mobile, Ala. Town archivist Jay Higginbotham worked out an accord with Havana that was based on an historical tie: The French soldier who founded Mobile is buried in Havana. Mr. Higginbotham is ardent enough about Cuba to hang up the phone with the revolutionary salute "Venceremos" -- "We will win." But the Mobile group also includes people with more bottom-line concerns: The city port director, for instance, is intrigued by trade possibilities.

The movement has picked up momentum in American heartland cities including Madison, Pittsburgh and Bloomington, Ind. Madison has sent Camaguey antibiotics and other medical supplies worth $50,000. Hospitals in the two cities have exchanged doctors. Madison's city council allocated $10,000 to refurbish rides at a Camaguey amusement park. And Madison's minor-league baseball team is planning a game in Cuba. "Madison has been a good friend during a complicated time," says Florentino Aguilar, a government official in Camaguey.

Doctors on Bicycles

Most of Madison's Cuban aid has been directed toward the increasingly threadbare health system, an erstwhile point of pride of the Castro revolution. The first shock visitors to a Camaguey pediatric hospital get is that the doctors' parking lot is full of bicycles. It's government functionaries who drive late-model automobiles.

Inside the hospital, boxes of medical supplies from Madison are stacked in front of a faded photo of a jaunty-looking Mr. Castro inaugurating a new hospital wing 17 years ago. "Because of the embargo, we have to buy medicine from third countries, which charge a lot," a Cuban doctor says. "That's why we are grateful to Madison."

Even with the American assistance, drugs are in short supply. Not far from the hospital, a pharmacy has been without penicillin for a month. Colorful bottles of natural remedies take up most of the shelf space. Close personal relationships have blossomed between members of the Madison and Camaguey delegations. After meeting Madison's Mr. Gonzalez, Roberto del Rey, a Camaguey hotel executive, found they have a cousin in common.

"Now I consider myself and Ricardo to be relatives," Mr. del Rey says. On the wall of the hotel bar, Mr. del Rey has hung the blue Wisconsin state flag, bearing a badger logo and the state motto: "Forward."