Will Ulysses reach Ithaca?
By Odalys Riquenes, Yailín Orta and Norge Martí
According to Cubans interviewed by Juventud Rebelde (JR), many people benefited by the program Do-It-Yourself Housing Construction run into various bureaucratic hurdles.
Not accustomed to rough labor, the hands of newspaper copy editor María Elena Rodríguez will be the visible victims of the woman's current endeavor: to build a house on her own. After all, blisters are suffered with pride if they are raised in the quest for a long-hoped-for home.
By Odalys Riquenes, Yailín Orta and Norge Martínez
According to Cubans interviewed by Juventud Rebelde (JR), many people benefited by the program Do-It-Yourself Housing Construction run into various bureaucratic hurdles.
Not accustomed to rough labor, the hands of newspaper copy editor María Elena Rodríguez will be the visible victims of the woman's current endeavor: to build a house on her own. After all, blisters are suffered with pride if they are raised in the quest for a long-hoped-for home.
Hugged and congratulated by her colleagues, Rodríguez — a resident of Santiago de Cuba — saw herself in a stable refuge. The future looked rosy, even though the housing commission had made it clear to her that the construction would be a variant of the so-called Do-It-Yourself scheme.
"Do it," a well-informed friend had told her. And because her present was a battle against time and the need for a stable life, she pictured herself as a constructor, building her life with her hands.
However, without any warning, she had to postpone her wishes for eight long months, during which she heard nothing from the authorities. Then she was told: "On Monday, you must show up at the Municipal Housing Investment Unit (UMIV)." Through other sources, she learned that there were problems with the location of her plot of land — a "parcela" — because it was the property of another organization.
After that problem was solved, she was told that she could build a two-level home in a residential complex. She and her second-floor co-owner would have to pay 4,800 pesos for the land (preferably in cash) if they wanted to prevent any complications.
Once the land had been paid for, the experts told her, the two women would get a document giving them the status of legal owners of the land, they could hire an architect to draw up the plans, get a construction license and receive the construction materials — if they were available in the warehouses.
Rodríguez says her questions were as pressing as her need for a roof over her head:
— Do you have any idea of how long it will take to build the house?
— Well, that depends on what you can do.
— Are the materials guaranteed?
— It depends on the provincial allotment.
— What about the wood needed for formwork? Wire and other necessary materials?
— No, that's at your expense, same as the security and transportation of the materials. I must warn you that you cannot use wire to tie together steel frames because that's against the regulations and endangers the safety of your building. Don't forget that's a two-level home and its quality depends on the actions of the two owners.
— And what if I don't have anyone to help me?
— It would make things very difficult. Maybe the best would be for some organization to sponsor you and place you on what we call the Popular Movement, but that's not up to us.
Rodríguez left that meeting with her hopes in shambles and a thousand questions. How long would it take, and how expensive would it be to build a house if — according to the specialists — the labor to plaster a room costs anywhere from 2,000 pesos to 4,000 pesos and laying one cinder block 2 pesos?
Where to buy lumber, the right type of wire and other materials without resorting to the black market? How can you find proper transportation for the materials, if when you go to the supply warehouse they give you five bags of cement one day, a little sand tomorrow, a window frame next month, and the organization you belong to doesn't have the vehicle needed for the transportation of materials to the site?
How long must your partner — the future owner of the second floor — wait until she can begin to build her half of the house if your own guarantees are nonexistent and the supply of materials is so unstable?
The housing authorities "dole out the supplies with an eye-dropper, and carrying those supplies to the building site becomes a painful trek or empties your pocketbook," Rodríguez says.
Rodríguez felt adrift. How could she get a sponsor if her organization does not have a construction brigade and if the law says that she cannot hire workers in the name of, and with the money of, the people she represents?
She and her second-floor partner wrote letters to anyone who might be willing to help. Months later, a sponsor showed up and things appeared to get back on track. With great enthusiasm, they met with the sponsor, who spoke wonderful words of support: "Everything will work out, you'll see. You have our support. We'll clear the land so you can begin."
But the hour of truth came when he said: "The rules say you must provide an adviser, someone who can guarantee the quality of the walls we build. You must transport and guard the materials. You must …" Bottom line: sponsorship is imposible. Rodríguez and her partner were back to square one.
Feeling that she had been punished, instead of benefited, and after innumerable meetings with authorities, Rodríguez continues to wait for answers to her many questions. The land was assigned to her 14 months ago and she still hasn't put down a single cinder block.
The sad thing is that her story is repeated throughout the country. After talking to more than 20 people — selected at random in various provinces — who are doing their own construction, this newspaper ascertained that the bureaucratic labyrinth the would-be builders face is worse than the maze faced by Ulysses, the Homeric character, in his effort to return to his beloved Ithaca.
Almost 2 years of being bounced around
On Sept. 14, 2005, Nilsa Morales, a physical-education teacher in Guantánamo province, leaped with joy when her collective assigned her a permit so she could build her own house. Since that day, she has not smiled again. "Joy turned into the sound of bouncing," she says.
"At Physical Planning, they tell me there are no available plots of land. At the Caribe housing complex, they rejected my application because only doctors live there. They told me to go to the Municipal Housing Investment Unit (UMIV), where I go every Wednesday and Friday, but I'm always told that the Casa de Piedra area is not ready."
"It's not easy to wait anxiously until after work, and to stand in line sometimes until 8 p.m. just to hear the same evasive answers and excuses," the teacher says.
What happens — and obviously she doesn't quite understand — is that many times the areas zoned for construction are being urbanized and need investments for water and sewage service. Therefore, immediate answers are impossible.
On other occasions, some people who grow desperate with this process simply seize the land; then, they go to Physical Planning so their presence may be recorded and ask for the authorization of the municipal chief so their presence may be legalized.
Even after that authorization, Nilda Morales says, the land is still not yours. An UMIV functionary must follow up the paperwork so you can get a certificate of ownership. To do that, an inspector must visit the land and establish the boundaries, draft the certificate and turn it over to the Municipal Housing Directorate so it may be countersigned. What should last a couple of days turns, in many cases, in an agonizing, incomprehensible and unnecessary wait.
There's also the possibility that the land may be under litigation. If the parcela belongs to an organization that doesn't want to relinquish it, the problem could last days, months, even years.
Once the land has been paid for, the owner will receive a certificate saying he (or she) is the legal owner of the land. He may then hire an architect and get a construction license. Then he can order the materials (depending on their availability) and arrange for their transportation and protection. And then he can hire the workers, etc., the experts say.
If payment is in cash, the process is simple. After taking the money to the National Office for Tax Administration (ONAT), the owner can record the payment in one of the Territorial Control offices and take it back to the UMIV. But if payment is on credit, then the bank steps in.
"The forms the applicant and two co-signers must fill are infernal documents," says economist Edgar Irbe Martínez, who was co-signer for a friend. "The bank takes several days to decide if you're eligible for credit."
More of the same bouncing
Among the stories collected by this newspaper about do-it-yourself housing is the plight of Silvano Mendoza, of Santiago de Cuba, who is literally on the brink of madness.
One year ago, in recognition of Mendoza's outstanding performance as a driver and the precarious situation of his home, the Graphic Reproductions for Tourism Co. gave him a permit to build a new home. At that time, he thought his problems were over.
Mendoza, who lives with his wife in his mother-in-law's home, owned a plot of land in the Marialina District. He was that much ahead and everything would be easier, he thought. It would be just a matter of legalizing a few papers.
"Months went by and although I asked what documents I needed to submit and what I needed to do, nobody gave me any answers," he said. "After many visits to the Investment Unit of the Santiago municipality, and after complaining to the leadership of the CTC [Cuban labor union], a technician from Housing showed up.
"She came over and in a matter of minutes, using a measuring tape I borrowed from a neighbor, she measured the land and began to prepare the documents for a Validation of Construction Activities. Everything seemed to be going well.
"After months of red tape, during which I missed work, gave up vacation time and got into a lot of arguments, I collected all my papers, including the plans. Suddenly, inexplicably, my file disappeared and with it the possibility of obtaining a construction license."
Silvano Mendoza's smile has turned into constant stress. After months of complaints, fruitless visits to the Housing Directorate for the José Martí District, where he lives, excuses from the UMIV officials, and interviews in the municipal government's offices, he finally found — in late 2006 — the document he needed to continue his project of construction.
"Late last year, I went after the construction license. First they told me that I needed to wait until after Jan. 1 because they were closed. After the New Year, their excuse was that there were no model plans." When Mendoza offered to copy them, he was told that the model plans "are official documents that come from Havana and may not be reproduced by individuals."
Mendoza has cut sugar cane for 19 harvest seasons, has spent years in the military; he served 26 months as an international combatant in Angola and has worked many years as a driver. Six months have passed and he still doesn't have the construction license.
No felicitations for Felicita
Felicita Caridad Brook, a Guantánamo resident, has been a social case since 1998. Her house is about to collapse, and she has been mired in paperwork since 2005.
She is waiting for the signature of her Selection Guarantor so she can deal with the architect. Fifteen or 20 days later, the plans will be ready and she can take them home after paying the corresponding fees.
Plans in hand, Felicita will have to go to the UMIV, from where she will be sent to the Hygiene and Epidemiology Department in search of an Environmental License. Back at the UMIV, she will be told: "Next Friday, come pick up the construction license."
The UMIV takes care of the remaining steps. It will request Felicita's file from another office, review it and, if she has asked for a bank loan, will issue the necessary papers.
It all seems easy, but any document that must be issued by any department may be delayed for several reasons, e.g., there is no printed plan; there is no typewriter or computer to fill a form; the technician is not in and nobody can assume his duties.
Many people copy the building plans on their own, as David Pérez did. And he even looked for a typewriter in his office, so he could donate it to the local office of the UMIV.
The last time we talked with Felicita, she was very downhearted. "I have to go through so much red tape and paperwork that sometimes I lose the enthusiasm to continue this long and rough road," she says. "I do it only because I urgently need the house. But the number of hurdles discourage those of us who need quick solutions."
Almost 10 years and still nothing
On February 1998, the Municipal Housing Directorate gave Ana Ricardo a plot of land in an area of Holguín known as "the 56 parcelas of La Aduana," so she could build her own house.
After that, many inconveniences prevented Ricardo from starting the construction until the area is urbanized, a process that takes multiple steps.
Because of the irregularities, provincial leaders decided in late 1999 to ask the Ministry of Construction (MICONS) to take over the construction of 56 apartments in Villa Nueva. The decision was announced on Oct. 20, 2000.
Ana Ricardo says the problem — which affects not only her but also many other families — has been the subject of many studies. "We have received innumerable replies, but the problem still weighs down on working families from various sectors," she says.
"On March 22, 2005, after five years of waiting, the UMIV director proposed that we be relocated in other parcelas so construction could begin with popular effort with assigned materials, because the province doesn't have enough labor force to build our homes.
"On June 3, 2006, seven months later, the UMIV told us which would be our parcelas and gave us a date when the boundaries would be staked out. Twenty-two days later, after nagging the technician and carrying the nails, stakes, water hose, level and a lot of other supplies — because the UMIV had nothing — we were able to demarcate parcelas 1, 2, 3 and 5."
Ricardo says the people broke ground for the foundations in December 2006. Later, they contacted provincial housing officials who provided just a few materials to begin construction.
At first, there was no sand or gravel; later, sand and cinder blocks became available but there were no trucks to carry them to the construction sites. Finally, the materials "disappeared."
Ana fears all avenues have been closed to her, because the people in charge of the 56 parcelas — which by now have dwindled to 36 — can provide no solution to the problems. And everyone is tired of waiting for 10 years and getting nowhere.
The stories told here — and others we have on file — clearly demonstrate that do-it-yourself housing construction, one of the most practical and promising initiatives to guarantee homes to the neediest Cubans, is mired in a sea of bureaucratic red tape and unanswered questions that, far from making the beneficiaries happy, burdens their lives more every day.
Taken from Juventud Rebelde.
