Jean said Cuba was terribly, horribly poor, largely because of the American blockade. There were no antibiotics to be had, almost no drugs, and no medical instruments. Physicians boil hypodermics to reuse them, and there is a terrible sort of triage in place where AIDS victims are refused AZT on the grounds that they have brought the illness upon themselves. Criticizing Fidel can get you sent to prison. “I thought if I had to look at one more picture of Che, I was going to puke.”

But she was impressed with how kind the people were, and how their lives in Cuba, and the kind of society it is, fostered a sense of teamwork, of responsibility for each other.

At one point in her visit, she wanted to film what is known as “The Ice Cream Park,” the brainchild of a revolutionary who apparently considered access to ice-cream an inalienable right of the people. Getting into the ice-cream park required patience. There were long lines of people waiting for a chance to enter, and Cuban guards would only wave in a few once other guests left. When her turn came, a young guard, about eighteen, questioned her sharply about her video camera and told her she could not take it in. The other, older guards, scolded him. “Leave her alone. Can’t you see she’s just a tourist?” He backed off, genuinely abashed and she went in feeling a little ashamed, because the young soldier had been correct — she was no mere tourist, but a filmmaker.

In the park at one point, a fellow approached her as she spoke to an ice-cream vendor and pointed out that the camera she was carrying was the kind of thing used by professionals. Jean rolled her eyes in imitation of a girl delighted with the attention. “I said, ‘Gol, guys! I really got a bargain didn’t I? Really? It’s what filmmakers use? Kewel!‘”