The academic world moves at the speed of a glacier. It is a culture within a culture, and more often than not a culture which examines other cultures and rarely, if ever, examines itself. It is a culture with all the elements of a culture, and at times a very conservative one at that; even if coated in the language of progressive terminology. It has its own code of words that shouldn't be used and those that must be used in their place. It can be even faddish and provincial.

Yet, policy makers, policy analysts, advisers, ethicists, commentators depend on the slow, painstaking, often dreary doldrums of serious scientific academic work. We need to rely on the intellectual honesty that seeks "objective" and "disinterested" insights into reality. Some people think that perhaps that would be too much to ask, I don't think so.

As cultures do, it moves slowly but when it moves, it moves. Recently a group of Afro American academics wrote a letter to the Cuban government condemning the reality of institutional racism in Cuba and the persecution, repression and imprisonment of Afro Cuban civil rights leaders. It was about time. It only took 50 years.

But apparently this bit of news has not filtered down to the rest of academia. I recently met an old acquaintance in academia that just came back from a visit to Cuba. Apparently all is well in Cuba.

In academic culture the big default— almost dogma —for the failure of the Cuban “revolution”, and for that matter for the failures of Latin American governments has always been the big empire of the north. Now that big default seems to be slowly defrosting in academia years after the thawing of the Cold War. In some sectors it’s still frozen hard.

One of the observable dynamics in that culture is the difference in concerns and approaches between new and old scholars. Not long ago a Ph.D. candidate at Emory University was the recipient of very strong resistance to her dissertation, and was almost not allowed to finish her degree. Her dissertation debunked the paradisiacal narrative of the medical system in Cuba.

Among those of the established generation of Latin American Studies specialists there seems to be a mix of relief and sadness that their expectations for Latin America have not come to pass. On one hand the entire region did not succumb to traditional right wing regimes, but on the other hand the establishment of revolutionary left wing utopias didn’t take place either.

Now there are reports by political analysts that say that Latin American indigenous peoples seem to be rejecting the totalitarian rhetoric of radical Marxist inspired movements, in preference of more participation in the democratic process.  This development seems puzzling to ample sectors in American academia. Apparently, it should be natural for indigenous peoples to choose repressive regimes (especially if led by white intellectuals).

At the same time it is a bit scary to see younger and upcoming scholars still parroting terminology and mannerisms of speech of the older generation, as if without thought, either because it has been drilled into them or because they fear moving ahead through that Ph.D. application or dissertation unless they do so. There still seems in place a case of denial about the nature of the regime in Cuba or a case of romantic infatuation.

I brought to my friend the subject of the silence in academia of fifty years of human rights violations, the usurpation of a revolution, and the social and political marginalization of a “racialized” population in Cuba. I mentioned how this will remain a stain in the conscience of academia. Just as we still ask how it was possible for the world to look the other way on the treatment of Jews in Germany, future generations, especially in Cuba, will ask how come we failed to recognize Cuban Stalinist oppression.

What always strikes me the most about our academicians who travel to Cuba is their naiveté. On one hand they easily dismiss the testimony of those who have escaped the island, including top intelligence services defectors, former high officials and members of the inner circle of power about the nature of the regime and the real state of affairs in the island. On the other hand, they celebrate how well they are treated while in Cuba and how everyone they meet seems to be satisfied with the system.

One of the changes brought about by the thawing of the big default—the U.S. as the cause of all Cuban and Latin America’s woes—is the realization that Latin American problems were, and are after all, Latin American problems. Among them is the fact of an opening of new political spaces, especially for the indigenous peoples, which seem to be expanding and becoming more inclusive. Among others is the fact of the soon to be seen self-inflicted collapse of the authoritarian regime in Venezuela.

Some of my academic friends who travel to Cuba still choose not to believe those in exile. And they believe they are not monitored by the intelligence services while visiting there. God bless them.

But perhaps on other parts of academia we are witnessing a slow move toward scholarship which sees our great political divides on a more human scale, one that goes beyond the limited spaces of ideology and more in scale with human needs. Perhaps we are beginning to see the opening of spaces of inclusion in Latin American studies for scholarship that seeks to understand the nature of the subject under study from their point of view and not from the point of view of our own and exported political dynamics.  I hope that is the case.