You’ve heard it said, right?
Todos los cubanos tienen las mismas raíces.
It comes up at family gatherings, in casual chats online, sometimes even in documentaries. A neat little package: one island, one people, one shared story stretching back to the same soil. Feels comforting, doesn’t it? Like we’re all branches of the same sturdy tree Practical, not theoretical..
But here’s the thing — when you actually look at the branches, the leaves, the soil itself… it gets messy. Day to day, beautifully, fascinatingly messy. And that messiness? It’s where the real story lives That's the part that actually makes a difference. Practical, not theoretical..
What Does "Same Roots" Even Mean When We Talk About Cuba?
Let’s get real for a second. So when someone says "raíces," they’re usually pointing to a specific origin story. Consider this: maybe it’s the Spanish colonizers who showed up in 1492. Even so, maybe it’s the enslaved Africans brought to work the sugar fields. Maybe it’s the indigenous Taíno people who were here first. The problem isn’t that these groups don’t exist — it’s that pretending they somehow merged into a single, identical root system ignores centuries of layered history, forced migration, resistance, and quiet persistence.
Think of it like this: Cuban identity isn’t a purebred line. It’s more like a guajiro stew — ajiaco — where you’ve got yuca, malanga, plantain, pork, maybe some dumplings, all simmered together. You can still taste each ingredient. In real terms, you can still see where they came from. But together? So they make something new, something distinctly Cuban. Claiming everyone has the exact same proportions of each ingredient? That’s where the myth trips over its own feet Practical, not theoretical..
The Taíno Layer: Often Forgotten, Never Gone
Yeah, the Taíno were devastated by disease and brutality after Columbus landed. But their DNA didn’t vanish. Studies show a measurable Taíno genetic contribution in modern Cubans — especially in eastern regions like Baracoa, where communities actively revive Taíno language and crafts. To say everyone shares the same roots erases this specific, enduring thread. It’s like saying all Americans have identical roots because we’re all "from America" — ignoring the Navajo, the Lakota, the Cherokee nations that predate everything else The details matter here..
The African Diaspora: The Heartbeat of the Island
Here’s where the "same roots" idea really frays. Over 600,000 enslaved Africans were brought to Cuba — more than to any other Spanish colony except Brazil. They came from diverse regions: Yoruba, Kongo, Arará, Carabalí. Each group brought distinct languages, religions (like Lucumí/Palo Monte that evolved into Santería), music, and culinary traditions. These weren’t just absorbed; they shaped Cuban culture at its core. The rhythm of son, the flavor of moros y cristianos, the spirituality in many Cuban homes — this is African rootwork, plain and simple. To claim uniformity here ignores how Afro-Cubans have historically faced (and still face) different social realities than those of predominantly Spanish descent. Their roots aren’t just part of the Cuban story; they’re foundational.
The Spanish Influence: Not a Monolith Either
Sure, Spain colonized the island for centuries. But even within "Spanish roots," there’s variation. Galicians, Asturians, Catalans, Canary Islanders — they didn’t all arrive as a bloc. They settled in different regions, intermarried differently, brought their own dialects and customs. My own abuela’s side traces back to Galicia; my friend’s family in Santiago de Cuba has strong Canary Islander markers in their accent and folk songs. Same colonial power? Yes. Identical ancestral experience? Nope.
And Then There’s the Rest…
Cuba’s story doesn’t stop at Africa and Spain. Think about:
- Chinese indentured laborers in the mid-1800s (over 100,000 came to work after slavery ended — their legacy lives in Havana’s Barrio Chino and dishes like arroz frito).
- Haitian and Jamaican migrants fleeing hardship in the early 1900s, bringing tumba francesa and influencing eastern Cuban culture.
- Jewish refugees escaping WWII Europe, who built synagogues in Havana that still stand (though the community is much smaller now).
- Yucatec Maya traders and laborers who interacted with western Cuba long before colonization.
Each group left a fingerprint. To say todos los cubanos tienen las mismas raíces is to wipe those fingerprints clean — and in doing so, erase the very diversity that makes Cuban culture so vibrantly, defiantly alive.
Why Does This Myth Persist? (And Why Does It Matter?)
The myth persists because it has always served a purpose. Consider this: in the late 19th century, as Cuba fought for independence from Spain, Antonio Maceo and José Martí championed a unifying cubanidad that transcended race — a strategic necessity to bind Black and white mambises against a common colonial enemy. "More than white, more than Black, we are Cuban" wasn’t just poetry; it was survival politics Worth keeping that in mind..
After 1959, the revolutionary government doubled down, declaring racism "solved" by decree. The 1962 "Campaign Against Racism" lasted mere months before being shelved, replaced by the doctrine that class struggle had rendered racial analysis obsolete. Which means to speak of distinct African or Chinese or Indigenous roots became "divisive," "counter-revolutionary," a tool of Yankee imperialism. The state didn’t just ignore difference; it criminalized naming it.
Real talk — this step gets skipped all the time.
In the diaspora, a parallel myth took hold. Afro-Cuban religions were stigmatized as brujería; Haitian-influenced tumba francesa was folklore for tourists, not heritage for families. The early exile wave — disproportionately white, professional, and propertied — curated a nostalgic "Cuba de ayer" that centered Spanish Catholicism, guayaberas, and pre-1959 Havana glamour. The "we are all the same" narrative let the exile community claim a unified political voice in Washington while sidestepping the uncomfortable fact that their "shared culture" had been built on the backs of people they’d left behind — or actively marginalized Not complicated — just consistent..
Today, the myth survives because it’s comfortable. Practically speaking, it lets tourists sip mojitos in Old Havana without confronting why the bartender’s abuelo couldn’t enter that same hotel in 1950. Still, it lets academics publish "Cuban culture" syllabi that cite Fernando Ortiz but skip Lydia Cabrera. It lets corporations market "Cuban DNA" ancestry tests that collapse Yoruba, Kongo, Galician, and Taíno into a single pie chart labeled Hispanic.
But comfort is the enemy of truth.
When we pretend roots are identical, we obscure why Black Cubans are overrepresented in prisons and underrepresented in universities — both on the island and in Miami. We erase the specific grief of Chinese-Cuban families who lost relatives to the 1968 "revolutionary offensive" that seized their laundries and restaurants. We ignore why Santería practitioners still fight for legal recognition while Catholic processions shut down streets. We flatten the Yucatec Maya descendant in Campeche who knows more about pre-colonial trade routes than the Havana bureaucrat deciding what counts as "national heritage It's one of those things that adds up..
Acknowledging distinct roots doesn’t fracture Cubanidad — it deepens it. Which means it means admitting that son isn’t "Cuban music with African influence"; it’s a conversation between bata drums and Spanish guitar where both speakers matter. Practically speaking, it means moros y cristianos isn’t just a dish; it’s a ledger of survival, each grain of rice and black bean counting a history of resistance. It means the abakuá initiate in Matanzas and the gallega granddaughter in Hialeah share a nationality — but not a grandmother, not a god, not a grief Easy to understand, harder to ignore. Turns out it matters..
And that’s okay.
Real unity isn’t sameness. Here's the thing — it’s the courage to say: *I see your roots. And they are not more. Consider this: they are not less. Here's the thing — they are not mine. They are the reason this island — this diaspora — holds more world than any single story can carry The details matter here. Worth knowing..
You'll probably want to bookmark this section.
The next time someone says todos los cubanos tenemos las mismas raíces, hand them a plate of fufú de plátano made with manteca the way a Kongo ancestor taught a Canary Islander who taught a Chinese cook who taught your abuela. Watch them taste the layers Still holds up..
Quick note before moving on.
Then ask: Which root fed you today?
The question lingers past the last bite. It follows you into the archive, the family chat, the voting booth. It demands you stop performing cubanidad as a costume — white linen, cigar smoke, nostalgic boleros — and start practicing it as accountability.
That means funding the casa de cultura in Guanabacoa before the hotel in Varadero. It means citing the palera beside the poet, the china cubana beside the guajiro, the abakuá phrase beside the guajira verse in every textbook and tourism brochure. In real terms, it means refusing the grant that asks for "Cuban art" but only platforms light-skinned painters from Vedado. It means teaching your children that aché isn't exotic flavor — it's the ethics of reciprocity that kept a people alive when the state forgot them.
The tourist leaves with a magnet. The family stays with the work.
And the work is this: every time the myth of sameness rises — smooth, seductive, convenient — you break it open. You name the Kongo in the drum, the Canary in the guitar, the Yoruba in the chant, the Chinese in the wok, the Taíno in the cassava, the Galician in the stew, the Maya in the corn. You name them not as ingredients in a melting pot but as architects of a world that refuses to melt.
Cubanidad was never a birthright. It’s a covenant And that's really what it comes down to..
Renew it today Small thing, real impact..
Pick up the mortar. Taste the layers.
Answer the question.
