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Nonetheless, one ought not to "walk away· from the essay with a sense of either superiority or relief that one lives in a state of human collectivity where the folly of the "Comrade" has been avoided, It has not. And that, perhaps ought to be the much more potent moral of the essay. What appears humorous--in the style of the movies "Ninotchka" (1939) and "Death of Stalin" (2017)--is not the term itself but that curious state of the human collective condition that works so hard, at least since human collectives became more efficient in ridding themselves of leaders in the 17th century, to develop a language of equality at precisely the points of inflection where equality is incomprehensible. While the masses are congratulating themselves for living in a new linguistic world order that had banished both the language and conditions of an older form of hierarchy (now normatively "bad"), they embraced in the language of social equality the inequality that those new linguistic imperatives commended. But that was perfectly positive precisely because new hierarchies were "good" (normatively and linguistically different from the old, and as such the signification of the language of hierarchy by definition could not be hierarchical. The language of equality is manifested in a boss encouraging employees to call them by their first names; the flattening language of the team is another; beneath, or beyond, both are other hierarchies, or the way in which such hierarchies are expressed.
Magic.
But them human society is at its best when it creates both linguistic magic and the conditions under which that magic can produce some sort of glamour, an enchantment which when cast on the masses produces a remarkable effect. Ferocious in their contempt for the language and practice of hierarchy, they are willing to accept both a language of hierarchy and the conviction that hierarchy (defined as something form the past) no longer troubles them because it can only exist in the ancient and not doubly enchanted old language of hierarchy.
José Adrián Torres, however, has other fish to fry--and in the Cuban context not one to be dismissed lightly.
No se trata, por supuesto, de defender títulos ni rangos por sí mismos. Pero sí de recordar que una sociedad madura distingue funciones sin humillar, valora esfuerzos sin paternalismo y reconoce el saber sin avergonzarse de ello. En Cuba, lamentablemente, el igualitarismo ha derivado en una especie de liturgia de la mediocridad funcional, donde se aplaude más la obediencia y el discurso afín que la excelencia. [This isn't, of course, about defending titles or ranks for their own sake. But it is about remembering that a mature society distinguishes functions without humiliating, values efforts without paternalism, and recognizes knowledge without shame. In Cuba, unfortunately, egalitarianism has led to a kind of liturgy of functional mediocrity, where obedience and consensual discourse are applauded more than excellence.] ( Compañero", el igualitarismo ficticio que conduce a la mediocridad)
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Here one encounters the opposite side of the irony of hierarchy and its linguistics: where a society is successful in flattening linguistic distinctions that reflect the differences in the signification of social role, then the society itself begins to resemble the flatness it has (apparently successfully) imposed--at least within that functional sector of the collective toward which the language of hierarchy is either elaborated or rejected. It does more than that, of course, and the essay does a marvelous job of describing how flattening language and its norms produces an energy that is then expressed in the flowering of a delicious counter language that layers the official norm-language with one if its own. That is, as well, an old game, and social collectives, especially its masses, are always willing to play. TA the same time, the languae of flattening acquires its own subtext. Adrián Torres suggests the complexity if the use of the word "comrade", grounded in context and intonation; he notes as well the use of other terms in, around, and in commentary of the term "comrade."
Pero la cosa no terminó ahí. Con el tiempo, incluso el “compañero” se fue devaluando como fórmula de trato. Surgió entonces el “amigo”, mucho más informal, más descomprometido, más desganado. Y así, del compañero que fregaba el piso, pero invocaba la igualdad de la revolución, pasamos al dependiente que no te mira a los ojos, al taxista que te llama “hermano” con desgana o al joven que no te saluda en el ascensor. [But that was not the end of it. Over time, even the "comrade" became devalued as a form of communication. Then the "friend" emerged, much more informal, more uncommitted, more half-hearted. And so, from the comrade who scrubbed the floor but invoked the equality of the revolution, we move on to the shop assistant who doesn't look you in the eye, the taxi driver who reluctantly calls you "brother," or the young man who doesn't greet you in the elevator. ] (Compañero", el igualitarismo ficticio que conduce a la mediocridad).
But of course, hierarchy and flattening of hierarchy may be functionally differentiated, but they may occupy spaces within a larger platform of interaction in which both produce and consume each other. Cuban Caribbean Marxism is focused on class based leveling--social classes and labor market hierarchies and proletarian solidarity becomes the central element of a revolutionary flattening of equality around the terminology of the comrade. And so it was; but leveling proletarian masses leaves an awful lot of space for hierarchy--vanguard party, nomenklatura, their internal hierarchies and their status and authority (and exclusivity) relative to the proletarian masses provide the next frontier of hierarchy (all for a good cause), There is the semiotic trick--is one doesn't signify a hierarchy as hierarchic then it cannot be so.
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My friends and I are unknowingly segmented into that same feed (is this modern-day friendship compatibility?). And so, we know the same pop culture news, buy into the same trends, talk about the same micro-influencers, and want to visit the same new restaurants, all fed to us on our TikTok ‘For You’ pages. (here)
The excellent essay Compañero", el igualitarismo ficticio que conduce a la mediocridad follows below in the original Spanish and in a crude English translation,
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José A. Adrián Torres, Compañero", el igualitarismo ficticio que conduce a la mediocridad: En Cuba, la igualdad no se llevó solo por delante los privilegios del dinero, sino también los matices del trato humano," 14Y Medio.
osé A. Adrián Torres
30 de agosto 2025 - 08:24
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Málaga (España)/Durante años, la Revolución cubana nos ha ofrecido una inagotable cantera de paradojas. Algunas son cómicamente entrañables. Otras, inquietantes. Y unas cuantas, simplemente absurdas. Entre estas últimas, hay una que siempre me intrigó desde mis primeras visitas en los años noventa: esa forma peculiar de “igualdad” que no se funda en el respeto mutuo, sino en la anulación simbólica de toda diferencia. Una igualdad que no busca justicia, sino uniformidad. Una igualdad que no eleva a nadie, pero consigue rebajar a todos.
En uno de mis viajes a La Habana, un amigo científico —bien formado académicamente, brillante, sobrio, pero gran observador de la realidad social con humor— me relató una escena casi costumbrista, aunque con tintes trágicos. Trabajaba en un centro de investigación de los que allí se llaman “priorizados”; es decir, uno de los pocos sitios donde aún se hace ciencia en condiciones razonablemente dignas, aunque también precarias. Una mañana cualquiera, mientras cruzaba un pasillo recién fregado, escuchó a sus espaldas la voz potente de una trabajadora de limpieza:
—¡Eh, eh, compañero! ¿Para dónde tú vas? ¡Por ahí, no! ¡Por un laíto! ¡Sin ensuciar el piso!
El tono era más de reproche que de cortesía. Y la palabra “compañero”, en lugar de hermanar, funcionaba aquí como fórmula de emparejamiento forzoso: da igual si usted publica en revistas indexadas o si carga un cubo con lejía, aquí todos somos iguales. O, más bien, nadie puede sentirse más que nadie, aunque su función sea diferente, su esfuerzo mayor o su responsabilidad más delicada.
Ese es, quizá, uno de los grandes malentendidos del socialismo igualitarista: confundir igualdad con indiferenciación, y confundir respeto con trato idéntico.
El “compañero” revolucionario, tan omnipresente en el lenguaje oficial, acabó vaciándose de sentido y sirviendo para aplanarlo todo. Sustituyó al “señor”, al “doctor”, al “ingeniero”, al “licenciado” —e incluso al simple “usted”— con la intención de suprimir la distancia social heredada. Pero lo que logró fue más inquietante: borrar toda distinción entre lo que sí debe distinguirse, sin caer por ello en clasismo ni privilegio.
Junto al omnipresente “compañero”, otro mecanismo sutil de anulación individual fue la eliminación del “yo” en el habla pública. Expresar opiniones personales era visto como signo de autosuficiencia, un término cargado de sospecha en la ortodoxia revolucionaria, donde la voz propia debía disolverse en un plural aséptico: “nosotros pensamos”, “nosotros consideramos”. La autosuficiencia se convirtió en un pecado capital en la Cuba socialista, equivalente a arrogancia y traición al colectivo, reforzando así la cultura del silencio y el temor a la diferencia.
Así, el “compañero” se convirtió en la coartada lingüística de una sociedad que no quería ver sus propios desequilibrios, sus propias jerarquías, ni su pirámide de poder real (muy alejada de la supuesta horizontalidad del pueblo en revolución). Porque no nos engañemos: Cuba no es una sociedad sin élites. Es una sociedad con élites invisibles, inconfesables, a menudo inamovibles. El problema no es que no haya diferencias, sino que no se pueden nombrar sin parecer contrarrevolucionario.
Este fenómeno va más allá del lenguaje. Tiene consecuencias muy prácticas: se ha cultivado durante décadas una cultura en la que reconocer el mérito ajeno se considera sospechoso, exigir profesionalidad puede parecer elitismo, y pedir respeto se confunde con arrogancia. El resultado es una atmósfera de igualación por lo bajo, donde el talento no se premia, la dedicación se diluye y la autoridad funcional se vuelve antipática.
No se trata, por supuesto, de defender títulos ni rangos por sí mismos. Pero sí de recordar que una sociedad madura distingue funciones sin humillar, valora esfuerzos sin paternalismo y reconoce el saber sin avergonzarse de ello. En Cuba, lamentablemente, el igualitarismo ha derivado en una especie de liturgia de la mediocridad funcional, donde se aplaude más la obediencia y el discurso afín que la excelencia.
Y así, mientras el científico camina por el pasillo de su centro de investigación y la limpiadora lo increpa como si pisara el despacho de Fidel, uno no sabe si reír o llorar. Porque la escena, que podría parecer una anécdota menor, en realidad resume una tragedia mayor: la de una sociedad que quiso nivelarlo todo por justicia, pero acabó nivelándolo por miedo.
Pero la cosa no terminó ahí. Con el tiempo, incluso el “compañero” se fue devaluando como fórmula de trato. Surgió entonces el “amigo”, mucho más informal, más descomprometido, más desganado. Y así, del compañero que fregaba el piso, pero invocaba la igualdad de la revolución, pasamos al dependiente que no te mira a los ojos, al taxista que te llama “hermano” con desgana o al joven que no te saluda en el ascensor. La cortesía básica, el reconocimiento del otro, incluso la autoridad que confiere la edad, la experiencia o el conocimiento, se desdibujaron en un magma indiferenciado de familiaridad impostada y apatía colectiva.
A veces pienso que, en Cuba, la igualdad no se llevó solo por delante los privilegios del dinero, sino también los matices del trato humano. Esa cultura del “todos somos iguales” acabó por traducirse en un “nadie tiene por qué guardar las formas”, y de ahí a la zafiedad no hay más que un paso. Como si la cortesía fuera reaccionaria, el respeto un residuo burgués, y saludar a un desconocido con un “buenos días” fuera una deferencia innecesaria.
Y quizás por eso, como cantaba Silvio en aquellos años de mística igualitaria, se alababan las “casas sin mantel” como símbolo de sencillez, de pureza popular. Pero uno se pregunta si no había también en esa pureza una renuncia al cuidado, una estetización de la precariedad, una elevación de la carencia a categoría moral. El problema no era el mantel —que puede ser tan digno como revolucionario—, sino la convicción de que toda forma de refinamiento o “buen gusto” era sospechosa, de que todo lo que se eleva un poco por encima de la miseria común es signo de desviación ideológica.
Así fue como la Isla, en nombre de la igualdad, acabó rindiendo culto a una estética de lo cutre, a una moral del desaliño y a una política del “no te creas más que nadie”, tan eficaz… que casi logró impedir que alguien llegara a ser algo. Aunque, claro, muchos cubanos lo consiguieron —a veces en privado, a veces a escondidas—, desafiando discretamente el mandato de la mediocridad.
Ahora bien, si algo se aprende de la experiencia cubana es que, cuando un gobierno proclama la igualdad sin apreciar la equidad ni valorar las diferencias reales, lo que se consigue no es elevar a todos, sino nivelar en lo mediocre. En España, ciertas políticas del actual progresismo utilizan el lenguaje de la igualdad mientras promueven una diversidad ficticia que solo acepta lo distinto cuando coincide ideológicamente con sus principios, anulando o despreciando las diferencias que los cuestionan.
Esta deriva igualitarista se refleja en varios planos. Por un lado, la desvalorización del saber experto de formación académica frente al activismo ideológico de militancia y consigna, lo que lleva a la promoción política no por preparación, sino por fidelidad temprana al partido.
Asimismo, una fiscalidad y un aparato normativo que, lejos de premiar la autonomía o canalizar recursos hacia el bien común, penalizan la iniciativa individual, desincentivan la innovación y fomentan un clima de obediencia, subvención y pleitesía, donde el mérito y la excelencia quedan subordinados a la adhesión ideológica.
En nombre de unos principios supuestamente justos, se uniforma el mérito, se falsean los currículos, se degrada el lenguaje y se limita el potencial de quienes podrían aportar más a la sociedad.
Y esa forma de igualitarismo no es inclusiva, sino regresiva: niega que haya diferencias legítimas no solo de sexo, género, ideología o procedencia, sino también —y sobre todo— de talento, dedicación, preparación, vocación e incluso azar. La equidad, bien entendida, reconoce todo eso y trata de equilibrar sin negar.
La experiencia cubana enseña que imponer una igualdad sin equidad no produce justicia, sino una uniformidad empobrecedora. En Europa —y también en Iberoamérica, donde este discurso adopta signos ideológicos diversos, desde el neomarxismo (como en Colombia) hasta el populismo (como en Venezuela o El Salvador)— convendría recordar que la verdadera justicia social no consiste en igualarlo todo, sino en garantizar que las diferencias legítimas puedan expresarse y ser reconocidas sin ser anuladas, disfrazadas o utilizadas como coartada ideológica. Solo así será posible una convivencia democrática madura, basada en la responsabilidad, la equidad y la necesaria alternancia.
José A. Adrián Torres, Compañero, "The fictitious egalitarianism that leads to mediocrity: In Cuba, equality not only swept away the privileges of money, but also the nuances of human treatment," 14Y Medio.
José A. Adrián Torres
August 30, 2025 - 08:24
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Málaga (Spain)/For years, the Cuban Revolution has offered us an inexhaustible source of paradoxes. Some are comically endearing. Others are disturbing. And a few are simply absurd. Among the latter, there is one that has always intrigued me since my first visits in the 1990s: that peculiar form of "equality" that is not based on mutual respect, but on the symbolic elimination of all differences. An equality that does not seek justice, but uniformity. An equality that elevates no one, but manages to degrade everyone.
On one of my trips to Havana, a scientist friend—well-educated, brilliant, sober, but a keen observer of social reality with a sense of humor—recounted to me an almost costumbral scene, albeit with tragic overtones. He worked at one of those research centers there called "prioritized"; that is, one of the few places where science is still conducted under reasonably decent, if also precarious, conditions. One morning, as he crossed a freshly mopped hallway, he heard the loud voice of a cleaning lady behind him:
"Hey, hey, comrade! Where are you going? Not that way! Just the other way! Don't dirty the floor!"
The tone was more reproachful than courteous. And the word "comrade," rather than fraternizing, functioned here as a formula for forced pairing: it doesn't matter if you publish in indexed journals or carry a bucket of bleach, here we are all equal. Or rather, no one can feel more than anyone else, even if their role is different, their effort greater, or their responsibility more delicate.
This is, perhaps, one of the great misunderstandings of egalitarian socialism: confusing equality with lack of differentiation, and confusing respect with identical treatment.
The revolutionary "comrade," so omnipresent in official language, ended up being emptied of meaning and serving to flatten everything. It replaced "sir," "doctor," "engineer," "graduate"—and even the simple "you"—with the intention of erasing the inherited social distance. But what it achieved was more disturbing: erasing all distinctions between what should be distinguished, without thereby falling into classism or privilege.
Along with the ubiquitous "comrade," another subtle mechanism of individual erasure was the elimination of the "I" in public speech. Expressing personal opinions was seen as a sign of self-sufficiency, a term fraught with suspicion in revolutionary orthodoxy, where one's own voice had to be dissolved into an aseptic plural: "we think," "we consider." Self-sufficiency became a cardinal sin in socialist Cuba, equivalent to arrogance and betrayal of the collective, thus reinforcing the culture of silence and fear of difference.
Thus, the "comrade" became the linguistic alibi of a society that refused to see its own imbalances, its own hierarchies, or its pyramid of real power (very far from the supposed horizontality of the people in revolution). Because let's not fool ourselves: Cuba is not a society without elites. It is a society with invisible, unspeakable, often immovable elites. The problem isn't that there aren't any differences, but that they can't be named without seeming counterrevolutionary.
This phenomenon goes beyond language. It has very practical consequences: a culture has been cultivated for decades in which acknowledging the merits of others is considered suspicious, demanding professionalism can be seen as elitism, and demanding respect is confused with arrogance. The result is an atmosphere of leveling at the bottom, where talent goes unrewarded, dedication is diluted, and functional authority becomes unpopular.
This isn't, of course, about defending titles or ranks for their own sake. But it is about remembering that a mature society distinguishes functions without humiliating, values efforts without paternalism, and recognizes knowledge without shame. In Cuba, unfortunately, egalitarianism has led to a kind of liturgy of functional mediocrity, where obedience and consensual discourse are applauded more than excellence.
And so, as the scientist walks down the hallway of his research center and the cleaner berates him as if he were stepping into Fidel's office, one doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Because the scene, which might seem like a minor anecdote, actually encapsulates a larger tragedy: that of a society that tried to level the playing field for the sake of justice, but ended up leveling it out of fear.
But that was not the end of it. Over time, even the "comrade" became devalued as a form of communication. Then the "friend" emerged, much more informal, more uncommitted, more half-hearted. And so, from the comrade who scrubbed the floor but invoked the equality of the revolution, we move on to the shop assistant who doesn't look you in the eye, the taxi driver who reluctantly calls you "brother," or the young man who doesn't greet you in the elevator. Basic courtesy, recognition of others, even the authority conferred by age, experience, or knowledge, were blurred into an undifferentiated magma of feigned familiarity and collective apathy.
Sometimes I think that, in Cuba, equality swept away not only the privileges of money, but also the nuances of human treatment. That culture of "we are all equal" ended up translating into "no one has to keep up appearances," and from there to vulgarity is only a short step. As if courtesy were reactionary, respect a bourgeois remnant, and greeting a stranger with "good morning" were an unnecessary deference.
And perhaps that's why, as Silvio sang in those years of egalitarian mystique, "houses without tablecloths" were praised as a symbol of simplicity, of popular purity. But one wonders if there wasn't also in that purity a renunciation of care, an aestheticization of precariousness, an elevation of lack to a moral category. The problem wasn't the tablecloth—which can be as dignified as it is revolutionary—but the conviction that any form of refinement or "good taste" was suspect, that anything that rises even slightly above common misery is a sign of ideological deviation.
Thus, in the name of equality, the island ended up worshipping an aesthetic of tawdriness, a morality of slovenliness, and a policy of "don't think you're better than anyone else," so effective that it almost succeeded in preventing anyone from ever becoming anything. Although, of course, many Cubans succeeded—sometimes privately, sometimes secretly—by discreetly defying the mandate of mediocrity.
Now, if anything can be learned from the Cuban experience, it is that when a government proclaims equality without appreciating equity or valuing real differences, what it achieves is not elevating everyone, but leveling them in mediocrity. In Spain, certain policies of current progressivism use the language of equality while promoting a fictitious diversity that only accepts difference when it ideologically coincides with its principles, nullifying or disregarding differences that challenge them.
This egalitarian drift is reflected on several levels. On the one hand, there is the devaluation of expert knowledge from academic training in the face of ideological activism based on militancy and slogans, which leads to political promotion not through preparation, but through early party loyalty.
Furthermore, there is a tax system and a regulatory apparatus that, far from rewarding autonomy or channeling resources toward the common good, penalize individual initiative, discourage innovation, and foster a climate of obedience, subsidies, and obeisance, where merit and excellence are subordinated to ideological allegiance.
In the name of supposedly just principles, merit is standardized, resumes are falsified, language is degraded, and the potential of those who could contribute most to society is limited.
And this form of egalitarianism is not inclusive, but regressive: it denies that there are legitimate differences not only of sex, gender, ideology, or origin, but also—and above all—of talent, dedication, training, vocation, and even chance. Equity, properly understood, recognizes all of this and seeks to balance without denying it.
The Cuban experience teaches that imposing equality without equity does not produce justice, but rather an impoverishing uniformity. In Europe—and also in Latin America, where this discourse takes on diverse ideological characteristics, from neo-Marxism (as in Colombia) to populism (as in Venezuela and El Salvador)—it would be worth remembering that true social justice does not consist in equalizing everything, but in ensuring that legitimate differences can be expressed and recognized without being nullified, disguised, or used as an ideological alibi. Only in this way will a mature democratic coexistence be possible, based on responsibility, equity, and the necessary alternation.
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