ABSTRACT
The sunlight sinks over the golden buildings that tumble along the Malecón as it sweeps along the shoreline into La Habana Vieja. Sitting on the concrete wall, I stare out into the sea, towards Miami, thinking of the generations that have sailed into this harbour – the Spanish conquistadors, the shiploads of slaves from West Africa, British buccaneers arriving to capture the island in 1762, US troops arriving in 1898, US troops arriving in two thousand and . . . ? Cette implacable blancheur: wave after wave of white conquerors have rolled in on the surf, wanting this island, coveted object of imperial desire.
