Board game: Ryan Sheckler kickflips over a rail in Havana Revoluci ón de Skateboard Cuba Using homemade or second-hand equipment is a world away from his normal life, but as our man in Havana, US Skate Champion Ryan Sheckler, found out, skateboarders always push the boundaries, whatever their circumstances Words: Ruth Morgan Photography: Jody Morris action B Ryan Sheckler with 23 y G skaters (from left) Fernando, Roberto and unofficial crew ‘leader’ Che. “You can sit around and be bummed out by how little you’ve got or you can decide to be happy with life and make it work and be proactive,” says Sheckler. “And that’s what I like about Cuba. The skaters here make it fun and take it to that other side. They make boards if they have to, and find shoes to wear somehow” athed in the orange light of a Havana sunset, crowds gather along the Malecón to meet friends and catch up over shared bottles of rum. The hum of voices joins the unending symphony of horn blasts and mechanical splutters from ancient American cars as they roll past the architectural patchwork of buildings that stand in silent testimony to Cuba’s tumultuous past. Among the sounds that have long defined the city at dusk, the roll and scrape of skate wheels on concrete is audible. Collective cries of victory and commiseration fill the Prado main street as Havana’s skateboarders converge in a small square for a night of competition. Tonight’s crowd is larger than usual: US skate champion Ryan Sheckler is in town. In a country officially shaded from the global flow of information, Sheckler’s fame here demonstrates the ingenuity and passion of Cuban skaters determined to bring the outside world in. Skateboard videos and magazines have been passed on by visitors, and illegal internet connections made and shared by hushed groups in small rooms. The Cuban youth doesn’t have the luxury of adopting a passing craze – here a life on four wheels must be fought for. A man named Che is judging the contest with Sheckler. Che, 36, has been skating for 26 years and has become skating’s unofficial figurehead in Havana. As a professional tattoo artist and passionate skater Che, and those like him, are not readily accepted in a city where their appearance sets them apart. “Having tattoos and skateboarding are things that 71 Action in my father’s eyes are not good,” he says. Che’s father fought for the revolution, naming his son Che Alejandro Pando Napoles in honour of its leaders, Che Guevara and Fidel Alejandro Castro. Over the years, he has learned to live with Che’s lifestyle, his acceptance signified by the tattoo of Castro he allowed his son to draw on his right arm with nails and ink: Che’s first creation. Che has been promising disbelieving kids for months that Ryan Sheckler would arrive. “Many skaters feel an isolation in Cuba,” he says. “Like people can’t come in, they can’t get out. Having Ryan come here, it seemed impossible back in the day that someone like him could do that.” Skateboarding arrived in Cuba when its global popularity in the ’80s leaked American magazines into the country, inspiring the first would-be boarders to attach Russian-made roller skate wheels to wood. A small, underground community has grown on Havana’s streets, gathering a pace that’s now pushing a new generation of skaters into the light. Donations of equipment come from foreign visitors, and when in short supply, skateboards are painstakingly crafted from plywood in homemade presses, wheels and trucks being bargained for and reclaimed from old boards or skates. ‘You don’t need money. Government needs to understand this is good for kids. It keeps them out of trouble’ Tonight the excitable crowd presses into the square and spills out onto the road. Young EMOs look down from stone statues, 20-somethings in faded Michael Jackson T-shirts and jeans hang back, intrigued, and the skater kids grin, battered boards held still with mended trainers, grip tape standing in for cloth and rubber. Ryan Sheckler surveys the crowd surrounding him with a bemused smile. With international sponsors, a clothing range and an MTV series under his belt, skateboarding has given Sheckler star status at just 19. He’s flown around the world, hobnobbing with music and sport royalty, and has built his own indoor skatepark in California. But as he begins to skate the makeshift Havana skatepark, Sheckler’s branded clothes are all that sets him apart from the wheeling throng. Skateboarding is common language enough as Sheckler laughs and high-fives with the Cuban kids as if they were old friends. There are both crashes and triumphs as they skate, and grazed legs are freshly scraped in the quest to land the next trick. Skaters of all levels line up for their turn, surrounded by the densely packed forest of enthusiastic spectators. A core of contenders soon emerges, executing kickflips and bigspins on the concrete, grinding backside tailslides and 50-50s on the ledge. They are the members of the 23 y G crew, named after the skatepark set between two roads, 23 and G where skateboarding first began in Havana. The lack of decent skate parks has made these Cubans street-skate experts, and the competition 72 is tough, but friendly. “It’s different here,” says Sheckler. “If I try and skate a spot at home and fall, kids laugh. Here, I’ll be skating and when I land a trick they’re psyched and when I fall they’re like ‘c’mon, you got it’. That’s the brotherhood of skateboarders here. These kids are wild.” The crew is spending the week taking Sheckler around their favourite skate spots, a trip organised by former Argentinian surf champion and filmmaker Tomas Crowder. A tireless advocate for Cuban skateboarders, Crowder has been working on a film about the skate scene for nearly four years, as well as organising the only official skate competitions and encouraging government ministries to promote the sport. Though he has been sanctioned by the government to help develop action sports in the country, his efforts are still jeopardised by red tape, a lack of funds and, as ministers come and go, a constantly shifting official attitude towards his endeavours. He hopes the film, The Other Che, will publicise globally the struggle of skaters in a country where monthly earnings average around $13, and show Cubans the real potential of skateboarding. “Action sports, which involve a huge amount of trial and error, really build confidence,” he says. “If you are able to lose your fear, and pull off a really hard manoeuvre, why can’t you achieve something that someone tells you is impossible? In troubled communities where self-esteem is low, these sports can really help. It gives another perspective on life.” As the final rounds of the contest are played out, Sheckler presents new pairs of Etnies trainers to the ecstatic final few. They hold the boxes protectively, as if someone may take them away, grinning with disbelief. The trainers will last infinitely longer than the cheap pairs they mend almost daily. And they have come from Ryan Sheckler, giving them a rare sense of legitimacy too. Skaters are officially seen as little more than vagabonds in Cuba, something they are trying to change. “In the past, people in Cuba were starving,” says Che. “It was like war without the bombs. But even then I still got so much fun. If you’re skating with your friends you don’t need much. Water and maybe bread. You don’t need money. The people in government need to understand that this is good for kids. It keeps them out of trouble. Give a kid a skateboard and he will be the happiest kid.” The end of the contest brings pandemonium as fans surround Sheckler. One moment he’s sharing a trick, the next he appears posing for pictures with a legion of giggling girls. Then, his arm around the shoulder of 23 y G skater Roberto Pons, he beatboxes for an impromptu freestyle rap in a language he doesn’t understand. “This is wild!” he grins afterwards. “I love this place. “It’s a 100 per cent turnaround from living in America and having piles of skateboards,” he says. “Here it takes a week to make one board. They do what they have to do to be involved in this world. It shows their passion. I’m definitely going to try not to snap anymore boards. I take it for granted how many skateboards I have because I’d never seen the other side of it. But I’ve never seen a place so happy. Sheckler cheers on 17-year-old Roberto, who discovered skateboarding by playing Tony Hawk Pro Skater on a games console a foreign friend brought into Cuba. “Our 23 y G brand is important as it lets people know what we’re doing,” he says. “It means a lot, because it’s the only thing we have that is truly ours.” Below: (from left) Ryan meets his Cuban fans; Che tries to maintain some order at the unofficial street contest; Roberto raps for the crowd Reinaldo Jorge Vicet Reyes is 14 and a 23 y G member who has been skating for five years. The sport opened up new friendships to him after he had problems at school, and he says Che was instrumental. “Skating changed everything for me and Che is a big part of that,” he says. “He is the first to share, the first who will get shoes for us. If grip tape is missing he will give it to us. He takes care of us and if a new kid doesn’t have a skate [board] he will get one. He really helps us” Above: Ryan drops into a disused pool, one of Havana’s local skate spots. Left: Fernando Verdecia Maseda is dedicated to a life of skating, despite the objections of his father, a local police officer. “My dad isn’t interested in any of this,” he says. “My mum also told me not to do it, but since I was so determined, she gave up trying to convince me in the end. I will skate forever or die trying. If we can get more resources and people keep coming from abroad to help us, then we can be as good as anywhere else in the world. There is talent here” They have almost nothing here, but everyone works together. You can lose that in America.” The 13 members of the skate crew have clubbed together to create a 23 y G T-shirt for Sheckler, which they give him at the end of the night, apologising for the stains on the only shirt they had. With his endless supply of branded clothes, it has been a while since Sheckler put on a stained T-shirt, but he thanks them, looking genuinely touched. Despite his jet-set lifestyle, it seems that Sheckler may remember this evening for as long as the kids who surround him. Che and the 23 y G skaters are largely unsure of what to expect in the future. They hope for easier access to equipment, skateparks and the opportunity to see other countries. The younger skaters dream of sponsorship, while Che fears the effects of too much change. “Having people coming here and giving away stuff is a temporary solution,” he says. “But I don’t want Cuba to become commercial, or that will be the end of how we do things here.” One certainty in the future of Cuban skating is that it will continue to be fought for. “If I didn’t have to work I would just spend all my time skating, skating and skating some more,” says 17-year-old 23 y G skater Fernando Verdecia Maseda. “It belongs to us. It’s our goal. It’s our purpose in life.” The Other Che, co-produced by FUEL TV and Red Bull will be released in early 2010. Visit wuweifilms.com and www.redbullskateboarding.com for more info 75