Ramon Ramos Alayo is among Cuban immigrant artists in the Bay Area.
In 1997, Ramon Ramos Alayo immigrated to the U.S. with a dream in mind, one that he would hold to steadfastly amid near penniless grinding in the Bay Area. The 47-year-old dancer and choreographer wanted to gather up the potential of San Francisco’s vast network of Cuban artists and offer a platform bridging the rich constellation of Caribbean expression.
“I knew what I wanted coming here,” Ramos Alayo says. “I knew what I wanted to bring into the community. I already had the vision. That’s why I started CubaCaribe without money.”
Ramos Alayo went on to co-found the San Francisco organization and hub for the Caribbean diaspora’s artistic forms, and its upcoming annual Festival of Dance and Music is not only the group’s flagship event, but also a culmination of Ramos Alayo’s original dream.
Celebrating its 13th year from March 30 to Friday, April 7, the festival is a massive artistic gathering, showcasing a variety of Caribbean modern and folkloric dance, music and history. And each year, it has expanded, and attendance has spiked with the recent surge in American interest in Cuban culture following the 2014 reopening of diplomatic relations.
But the event this year can feel bittersweet in an uncertain time regarding the travel of Cubans entering the United States.
CubaCaribe offers a unique and robust web of programs promoting what Ramos Alayo describes as “cultural exchange” for its growing and diverse audience. Part of this programming is built upon Ramos Alayo’s shepherding of Cuban artists into the country on travel visas.
The organization holds events such as Cuba Camp, a days-long immersion of participants in Cuban culture aided by Cuban teachers Ramos Alayo has brought over. Ramos Alayo also organizes dance workshops in Cuba for American travelers.
But the annual festival captures the true scope of CubaCaribe’s mission, as Ramos Alayo facilitates the arrival of Cuban dancers to perform for the gathering alongside other dance troupes bringing their own countries’ styles.
“What CubaCaribe is trying to do is unify all the Caribbean music and dance in one place in one time a year,” Ramos Alayo says.
But the current year has quickly tightened what was previously years of looser immigration policy for incoming Cubans. In January, President Barack Obama ended the “wet foot, dry foot” policy, which permitted Cubans who touched U.S. soil to legally remain and become permanent residents after a year’s stay.
CubaCaribe itself has taken in dancers who came in on travel visas to perform, but decided to defect by staying for permanent residence. Dancers and other Cuban artists, Alayo says, defect to escape economic hardship and seek artistic freedom.
“The (reason) why we leave Cuba is because we have the opportunity to dance with other companies, to learn things that are completely different, to be free and make decisions that we want to make,” Ramos Alayo says. “In Cuba, when you are a dancer, you are like a slave to the company.”
Dancers in Cuba are trained rigorously from a young age and bound to a strict path. Wages are low and artistic independence is almost nonexistent — everything runs through state funding and control.
Since January, President Trump’s decidedly hard-line approach to
immigration has also appeared to follow in the same vein as Obama’s late-term maneuver. While Ramos Alayo hasn’t noticed any concrete changes in definition of Cuban travel, he can sense a stricter approach taking form.
“I don’t know how it’s going to be now with the new president,” Ramos Alayo says. “Immigration is changing a lot. My dad came here twice when Obama was president, and now I applied again (for his father to visit), and they said ,‘No.’ ”
Things will probably become tougher, Ramos Alayos believes, for Cubans to come for the festival, which thrives on its diversity of Caribbean viewpoints. The festival is not merely a celebration of dance and song, he stresses. Each performance reflects on a designated theme in a way that’s artistically and intellectually specific to its national origin, from Peru to Brazil to Mexico.
“This year’s theme is called ‘Manos de Mujeres’ (‘Hands of Women’),” Ramos Alayo says. “What does that mean for every country? What is the role of women in every culture?”
Each year is a rare and newly textured portrait of the Caribbean diaspora’s cultural and artistic perspectives. But the yearly Cuban-native piece of this tapestry currently feels tentative.
While the 2014 reopening of relations has provided a newfound American understanding of Cuban culture for which Ramos Alayo is grateful, the larger picture for his organization’s mission bears apprehension. The plan is to bring in teachers from Cuba for Cuba Camp in September, and Ramos Alayo is trying to bring a dance company in December to perform.
“We’re going to keep applying,” Ramos Alayo says. “We will see how it happens. It’s going to be tough.”