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 The decree, published in July, bars artists, be they musicians
or painters, from "providing their services" in any space open
to the public, including private venues, without prior
government approval.
It updates a decree redacted before the market reforms launched
in 2010 by former President Raul Castro, which required them
only to get approval to operate in state-run spaces.
Since then, the government had tolerated artists independently
presenting their work in private venues, as part of a broader
Cuban economic, social and political opening.
Cuban artists' greater autonomy, thanks also to increased access
to the internet and freedom to travel, led to a blossoming of
cultural activity. Independent recording studios and art
galleries have burgeoned.
But that autonomy has made it harder for the one-party state to
ensure artists are paying taxes - many do not - and to police
the cultural sector, which it has promoted heavily since the
1959 revolution.
Some independent artists are worried they will not be able to
get state approval due to bureaucratic hurdles and that the
decree will cost them their livelihood.
"I never thought of emigrating before but now I am," said Luis
Puerta, who has been sustaining his family of four by privately
selling his stylized paintings of jazz musicians.
Others are convinced the decree is destined to silence them.
"This is a measure of repression because you won't get
government approval if you are not within the socialist
ideology," said performance artist, sculptor and self-described
"artivist" Luis Manuel Otero Alcantara.
In a country that frowns on public dissent, Otero Alcantara has
led a rare campaign against the measure, known as Decree 349, by
dozens of artists working outside state institutions.
Together they have flooded social media with slogans like "Law
that converts art into a crime," hosted musical and other
artistic performances in protest at the decree and sent letters
to authorities.
Amnesty International has backed their campaign, saying Decree
349 - one of the first to be signed by President Miguel Diaz-Canel
after he took office in April - is a "dystopian prospect" for
Cuba’s artists.
The European Union also raised concerns in talks with Cuba on
human rights in Havana this month.
The Cuban government did not respond to a request for comment.
Commentators for state-run media have said Decree 349 aims to
prevent tax evasion and the spread of a pseudo-culture of bad
taste or that aims to "incite public disorder."
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A NEW GREY PERIOD?
There are signs the artists are making themselves heard. According
to the Communist Party newspaper Granma, the culture minister said
this month that the decree "would be revised (with the artists) with
regard to the redaction of norms and contraventions."
Not as many well-established artists working with state institutions
have come out openly against Decree 349.
Yet the measure affects them too, as it establishes sanctions for
any artist whose work misuses national symbols or includes certain
content such as violence and sexist or vulgar language.
The decree outlines punitive actions, such as confiscation of goods
and fines, to be taken against those who sell books with "content
against ethical and cultural values."
Some Cubans say they agree with restoring traditional values and
believe the decree will, for example, curtail the proliferation of
reggaeton videos reducing women to sex objects.
However, Amnesty International has warned that the vague wording of
the decree could allow it to be used broadly to crack down on
dissent.
"It would be a painful return to a gray, anti-cultural past of
censorship," said Marco Castillo, an artist who was part of the
critically acclaimed collective Los Carpinteros (The Carpenters)
until it disbanded this summer.
Castillo was referring to the "gray five years" of Stalinization of
culture in the early 1970s, when Havana persecuted artists for a
supposed lack of commitment to the Revolution - a move for which it
later apologized.
Havana theater group El Ciervo Encantado has posted a video on
social media parodying the prospect of a new class of inspectors
tasked with ensuring artists stick to the rules.
"Is this a work of art?," asks self-important bureaucrat "Comrade
Chela," brandishing a magnifying glass at a work of graffiti in the
video. "Or is this simply a maltreatment of social property?" she
asks, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips.
(Reporting by Sarah Marsh; Editing by Dan Grebler)
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