I wrote my second book first. When I arrived at Yale in 2012, my plan was to revise my dissertation. I had been dabbling in studies of play in Cuban diasporic cultural production on the side. Thankfully, Michael Denning and Matt Jacobson pointed out in a conversation about my scholarly plans that I had been doing a bit more than dabbling and that maybe I should write this book first. Mind blown, I got to work. Their feedback on various chapter drafts was indispensable as I revised. American Studies and Ethnicity, Race, and Migration at Yale have been wonderful homes for my scholarship and teaching. The brilliance around every corner is surpassed only by the generosity of my colleagues. Alicia Schmidt Camacho was my first guide when I arrived here and has continued in that role, modeling what’s possible when high-powered scholarship and community activism intersect. Steve Pitti has shown support for my work from the beginning and has been a tremendous help as I navigate the profession. Daphne Brooks provided feedback on a late draft and has jokes of her own. Many thanks as well to my colleagues Jean-Christophe Agnew, Birgit Brander Rasmussen, Ned Blackhawk, David Blight, Hazel Carby, Jessica Cattelino, Genevieve Carpio, George Chauncey, Kate Dudley, Marcela Echeverri, Anne Eller, Crystal Feimster, Glenda Gilmore, Jacqueline Goldsby, Ronald Gregg, Zareena Grewal, Inderpal Grewal, Leslie Harkema, Jonathan Holloway, Seth Jacobowitz, Katie Lofton, Mary Lui, Dan Magaziner, Joanne Meyerowitz, Marc Robinson, Paul Sabin, Caleb Smith, Laura Wexler and Sunny Xiang for insight and good conversation along the way. Special shout out to Laura Barraclough, Greta LaFleur, and Dixa Ramírez. What can’t we figure out over lunch? Academic departments are not run by academics. My deepest thanks go to Jean Cherniavsky, Tatjana Cisija, and Susan Shand for their administrative acumen and warmth. I’m also grateful for institutional support from the A. Whitney Griswold Faculty Research Fund, the MacMillan Center, the Frederick W. Hilles Publication Fund, and the Poorvu Family Fund for Teaching at Yale College.
Some of the best conversations I’ve had have been with my students: Aleshia Barajas, Michael Bustamante (el paquete!), Cathy Calderón, Melissa Castillo-Garsow, Karla Cornejo Villavicencio, Angie Díaz, Heidi Guzmán, Cristina Moreno, Rachel Pérez, Sebastián Pérez, George Ramírez, Pedro Regalado, Christofer Rodelo, Yami Rodríguez, and Damián Vergara Bracamontes. Their energy and promise are invigorating.
When NYU’s English department accepted Roy Pérez and me in the same year, José Muñoz christened us the Cuban pandas—brought in as a pair so we wouldn’t die. He wasn’t far off. Thanks for everything, meng. I must also thank Leticia Alvarado for her close readings of various chapters and for making such a truly wonderful friend in high school. Antonio López and Alexandra T. Vazquez immediately recognized what I was trying to do. Their insights framed by the cubaneo that marks this book were not only critically productive, but restorative. José Quiroga appeared at two crucial points in this book’s life and provided crucial feedback with his usual grace and fierce humor. Frances Negrón-Muntaner helped me see the bigger picture. I’d also like to thank Julio Capó, Jr., Mario González-Corzo, Lillian Guerra, Jesús J. Hernández, Ariana Hernández Reguant, Erin Heslin, Sallie Hughes, Karen Jaime, Carmen Lamas, Jill Lane, Marisol LeBrón, Iraida López, Lillian Manzor, Monica Martínez, Rory Miller, Ariana Ochoa Camacho, Ricardo Ortíz, Susana Peña, Lisandro Pérez, Eliana Rivero, and Sandra Ruíz. I also appreciate the mentorship and feedback made possible by the súper buena gente of the New England Consortium for Latin@ Studies.
Putting this book together meant making connections in Havana and Miami. I am profoundly grateful to the staff at the Cuban Heritage Collection at the University of Miami for their help in locating materials: María Estorino Dooling, Gladys Gómez-Rossié, Mei Méndez, Annie Sansone Martínez, and Rosa Monzón-Alvarez. Special thanks to María who also helped me set up interviews; she is the “fixer” of Cuban Miami. I am likewise indebted to the comedians, journalists, scholars, artists, and business people who took the time in Havana and Miami to share their histories and insights: the Alvarez Guedes Family, Pepe Billete, Iván Camejo, Gerardo Chávez, Manolo Coego, Zulema Cruz, Baudilio Espinosa, Ramón Fernández-Larrea, Angel García, Maribel González, Nemesio González, Carlos Gonzalvo, Pablo “El Pible” Garí, Alen Lauzán, Los Pichy Boys (Alejandro González and Maikel Rodríguez), Leslie Pantín, Jorge Alberto Piñero (JAPE), Dr. Ana María Polo, Enrique “Kike” Quiñones, Fernando Ravsberg, Octavio Rodríguez, Denise Sánchez, and Elisabeth Sarduy Linares.
Early on, I thought NYU Press would be a great fit for this book. Many thanks to Eric Zinner and the editors of the Postmillennial Pop Series, Karen Tongson and Henry Jenkins, for reciprocating the love. Alicia Nadkarni helped make sure that this book exists as a thing in the world. The anonymous readers dropped the knowledge necessary to make it better. A very early version of Chapter 1 appeared in “Aquí Está Alvarez Guedes: Cuban Choteo and the Politics of Play,” Latino Studies 8, no.4 (2010): 509–531. Parts of Chapter 2 were published in “Cuban Miami on the Air: Narratives of Cubanía,” Journal of Latin American Cultural Studies 23, no. 1 (2014): 1–24.
This book wouldn’t exist without my having grown up surrounded by some very, very funny and loving people. My father, Alberto, is one of the funniest people I know and a world class jodedor. My mother, Minerva, can’t tell a joke to save her life but watching her try is enough to get me laughing. My sister Maylene’s ebullient laughter and hilarity were a constant reminder that this project was necessary. More importantly, they have always been an unwavering source of love and support. Visiting Cuba for the first time put the sacrifices my grandparents made into clearer perspective, gracias a Sergio “Pipo” and Isaura “Mima” Pérez and Ignacio and Himilce Laguna for their courage. I thought of thanking the rest of my family from Union City to Miami with a blanket “thanks” to all the aunts, uncles, and my many cousins. But that doesn’t seem adequate, especially when a piece of each of them is in this book. To my cousins who so often made diversión possible: Adriel, Alan, Alexa, Cesar, Danny, Gilbertico, Jackie, Judy, Loren, and Maritzita. And to the tíos and tías: Barbara, Cuty, Idalmis, Pablo, Maritza, Mirita, Oscarín, and Reina. Our family has sustained serious and untimely losses in the last couple of years: QEPD Pablo Chirino and Oscar Laguna. Here’s to the future with Adrian, Logan, Alina, Andrew, Dante, Oscar and those to come. I’m also thankful for my family in Cuba. The Jaén, Pérez, and Perera families embraced me quickly and helped me feel at home in a place that feels both foreign and familiar.
Marriage has meant adoption into the Nuñez and Hernández families. They have welcomed me with open arms, Cuban coffee, and the best lechón on the planet. Sonia Nuñez is la suegra perfecta helping me with translations at a moment’s notice with a side of love. And though I appreciate her help, I’m particularly grateful for her daughter. Sandra Caridad Hernández has seen this book take shape from the very beginning and was there when diversión was the last word I would have used to describe the process of writing it. She read drafts and clicked every link I sent her enjoying the funny and enduring lo pesao. She gets the jokes and me. I could go on singing her praises but Graciela had a much, much better voice. I leave it to her:
Tú me quieres, yo te quiero
Tú me adoras, yo te adoro
Me quieres, te quiero, me adoras, te adoro
Esto es felicidad …
Introduction
Feeling Cuban
By not opening with a joke, I heed a valuable lesson learned from the many comedians I write about in this book. Any good joke, like any introduction worth reading, requires a solid setup. Moments of humor will come—however fraught—as I discuss political and generational shifts within the Cuban diaspora in the United States from the 1970s to the 2010s while at the same time pointing out what ludic popular culture can tell us about community formations, performance, and race. But before I can get to these points, I need to provide you with some of the details, the context, that will make the purpose of this book clearer.
Think of it as my own setup.
I grew up in and around Union City, New Jersey, affectionately referred to as “Havana on the Hudson” because of the large