DAVID GREENE, HOST:
Let's go to Cuba now, where there has been some notable changes. Farmers recently set up an unregulated impromptu wholesale produce market on the outskirts of the capital. It's unlike anything seen in this communist country, where food production is tightly regulated by the state.
The government hasn't shut down this free-market - at least not yet. As NPR's, as Nick Miroff reports, a chronic struggle to boost food production may be forcing Cuban officials to accept - albeit grudgingly - a greater role for free markets.
NICK MIROFF, BYLINE: It's a market that only exists at night, appearing after sundown every day in a muddy vacant lot on the edge of Havana.
Scores of battered, sputtering Chevy farm trucks and ancient Ford tractors arrive loaded with onions, squash, papayas and cabbage. It must be the largest gathering of 50-year-old American farm equipment anywhere on the planet.
(SOUNDBITE OF HORN BLOWING)
MIROFF: The market doesn't have any signs, or even bathrooms, adding to the impression that Cuban authorities haven't quite accepted its permanence. Sales are done in cash under the faint glow of cell phones screens and lanterns. Even the police, who are ubiquitous elsewhere in Cuba, seem absent here.
Wholesale produce markets like this one exist all over Latin America, of course, where farmers can drive to the city and freely sell their crops. But in Cuba, there hasn't been anything like this in half a century.
ARMANDO MANZO: (Spanish spoken)
MIROFF: Armando Manzo has driven 250 miles from his farm in Cuba's Villa Clara province, with the family's 1957 Chevy Bel Air sedan stuffed to the roof with garlic. It's the kind of thing that wasn't allowed before by a government that has spent decades micromanaging food production and distribution, often with disastrous results.
MANZO: (Spanish spoken)
MIROFF: The police would stop you and confiscate your produce, says Manzo. It was madness. Now what we're doing is legal.
Like other private farmers here, Manzo still has to meet an annual production quota that requires him to sell about a quarter of his harvest to the government at artificially low prices. But since taking over Cuba's presidency from his brother, 81-year-old Raul Castro has been gradually dialing back the island's state-dominated system.
Castro has turned millions of acres of state land over to private farmers and cooperatives, enough to lure Cubans like Ramon Gonzalez back into farming.
RAMON GONZALEZ: (Spanish spoken)
MIROFF: There's more incentive to work harder, says Gonzalez, who is selling sacks of sweet potatoes. Dressed in a blue Best Buy shirt, Gonzalez says he quit his government job as a mechanic three years ago and joined a cooperative. The more you can sell, the more money you can make, he says.
The days of empty Cuban produce stalls appear to be over, but food prices here have never been higher. So far, the move toward a more market-driven model hasn't been popular with Cubans who depend on government pensions and the state salaries that average little more than $20 a month. For them, a single avocado or a pound of tomatoes can equal a full day's wages.
But even as Castro complains in speeches about costly imports and urges Cubans to produce more, his government still hasn't taken basic steps like letting farmers buy new trucks and tractors.
Juan Triana is an economist at the University of Havana.
JUAN TRIANA: (Spanish spoken)
MIROFF: If we don't give farmers access to a market for equipment and supplies the problems will continue, he says. But that's just one factor among many.
(SOUNDBITE OF RATTLING WHEELS OF PUSHCART)
MIROFF: The main customers at the wholesale market are the pushcart vendors who have flooded Cuba's streets since Castro licensed them to work legally. Most are young men like Alejandro Cruz, riding homemade tricycles with makeshift carts mounted on the back. Working as independent entrepreneurs has left them wanting more.
ALEJANDRO CRUZ: (Spanish spoken)
MIROFF: There's still too much government control, says Cruz. They have to loosen up so there can be more business on the streets and people can make a living without fear.
VICKI BARKER, BYLINE: One pushcart driver who complained of police seizing his wares put it another way. Asked what he thought of new regulations that will compel vendors to limit cart sizes and wear uniforms, he puts his hands around his throat and says as soon as there's something good they choke it off.
MIROFF: For NPR News, I'm Nick Miroff in Havana.
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