The desperation of Cubans, trapped between Trump and the regime: ‘How can you resist when you have nothing?’ 

It’s midday and the bread still hasn’t arrived in one of the neighborhoods of central Havana. The open oven reveals empty shelves. Employees give an explanation that all the local residents have already heard: without electricity, there’s nothing to bake.

The 86-degree heat of the Caribbean spring mixes with the sticky humidity in the air. The street smells of garbage: it’s scattered everywhere, baking in the sun and swarming with flies. An auto-rickshaw, a bicycle, as well as a truck carrying drinking water pass by. People crowd around a store that sells eggs individually, because buying a carton of 24 costs more than half-a-month’s pension.

On one of those streets, Andrés, 37, pedals his rickshaw under the sun. “[I work] 12, 13, even 15 hours a day,” he says, while dodging potholes and puddles of foul-smelling water. He only drives his cart on weekends, and even then, there are hardly any tourists to be seen. From Monday to Friday, he works as a veterinarian. But despite the fact that he earns twice the average salary – about 15,000 pesos a month (around $27 when converted at the black market exchange rate) – he and his teenage daughter are experiencing a “very difficult” situation. “I haven’t had water at home for five days. And yesterday, I only had two hours of electricity,” he sighs.

In the fourth month of the energy siege imposed by U.S. President Donald Trump, stagnation is taking hold of what little was still functioning back in February. Since then, only one Russian ship has unloaded diesel on the island. And the Cuban regime has already admitted that fuel reserves have run out.

On the island, the feeling of collapse is spreading. And beyond the island, Washington is tightening the stranglehold. The biggest blow to the regime came last week, when a Florida court indicted 94-year-old Raúl Castro – the last living symbol of the generation that launched the 1959 Cuban Revolution – for ordering the downing of two planes belonging to an anti-Castro organization in 1996, killing four people. This is the first time, in decades of antagonism, that the United States has opened a criminal case against the Cuban regime. Never before has it pressured the country on so many fronts simultaneously.

The effects of the blockade are felt by all citizens. It seeps into the kitchens of homes where people have neither food to eat, nor the ingredients with which to cook; into the overheated skin of those who haven’t showered in days; into the stomachs of those who need a month’s salary just to buy two kilos of chicken that will spoil in the next blackout. It seeps into the sleep of Cubans, who struggle to rest in the dark, airless heat. It invades their dreams. The change they long for – starting with meeting their basic needs – never seems to arrive.

Meanwhile, everything rots. The expectation persists that the country will improve, or that pressure from the United States will bring about an economic opening and, even more importantly, a political transformation leading toward a democratic transition. But what has actually happened is that, after years of sliding down the slippery slope of poverty (now accelerated by the blockade), Cubans realize that they can still descend even further.

“How can you resist if you have nothing?” Andrés asks, as if challenging the Cuban regime, whose discourse since the end of January has centered on the idea of defending the homeland against the empire. Last week, Miguel Díaz-Canel, the president of Cuba, warned of “a bloodbath” if the United States uses military force against the country. This is one of the options on the table that’s been gaining traction in recent days: it’s compatible with Trump’s idea of “taking Cuba,” despite the fact that there’s an ongoing dialogue between the two nations. “Let Trump come already,” Andrés shrugs. “At least Venezuela has changed; we want to improve. And, as long as [the regime remains in power], it’s not going to happen. I don’t see a future for myself, or for my daughter. If this doesn’t change, my plan is to go to Brazil.”

The kidnapping of Nicolás Maduro in Caracas in a military operation in which 32 Cubans defending him were killed is often mentioned on the island. However, its application here is unclear. No one wants violence. Several interviewees who requested anonymity for fear of reprisals expressed a desire for “Trump to come,” envisioning a cleancut military operation (if such a thing is possible). Their strongest expectation is the fall of the regime, which Cubans perceive as a repressive kleptocracy, blaming it for the conditions that they’re attempting to survive… conditions that have gotten worse over the past three months, but which persisted for years before the siege.

On the streets, Cubans are unanimous in their yearning for change. And, in some cases, they want it at almost any cost. But it’s expressed in different ways, always tinged with fear and uncertainty, because no one knows what might happen. The only constant is the exhausting daily struggle for survival. Another precedent that frequently comes up is the repression of the massive citizen protests of July 11, 2021, after which hundreds of arrests were made. There are currently 1,260 political prisoners on the island, according to the organization Prisoners Defenders. And, in recent weeks, nightly pot-banging protests and spontaneous demonstrations involving the burning of uncollected trash have heightened tensions on the island.

One of the latest demonstrations occurred last week in front of the municipal government building in San Miguel del Padrón, an inland borough east of Havana. Videos on social media show dozens of people of all ages banging pots and pans in broad daylight. They surround the building, protesting the electricity, internet and water cuts. The situation, in addition to the sweltering heat, limits these actions from spreading rapidly.

Alejandro, 22, sells used tires to make a living. He dropped out of school two years ago. “This is Apagonia [Blackout City]; they cut the power every night. You can’t sleep because of the heat and the mosquitoes,” he says quietly, sitting in a patch of shade surrounded by flies. “There’s no future here. I haven’t had a phone in ages and I don’t watch TV. My dream has always been to leave this country, to help my mother. My father is in Spain, but he’s never bothered to help me with my papers.”

He has heard about the recent protest. “I don’t get involved, because [the security forces] hit people… I just watch,” he says. “Nobody agrees with this situation. If Trump came and changed things for the better…We can’t take it anymore.”

Alejandro’s main concern is his family. “My mother had thyroid surgery and needs to eat a healthy diet. I haven’t had breakfast today. She hasn’t, either. My uncle and grandmother also haven’t eaten. We live together and, last night, we went to bed without having dinner. How can I accept that? I just want to leave.”

Very close by, in a busy area – where auto-rickshaws that can fit six people apiece are now the main mode of transportation – lives Alexander, 54. He’s a physical education teacher and is currently trying to sell his four-bedroom apartment in downtown Havana for $4,000. He needs money to buy a plane ticket to another country, where his son lives with his family. “I don’t want to leave; I’ve lived here since I was three,” he points out. But he has already made his decision. “After everything we’ve been through, a military intervention would be sad… but I also believe that the only way [the government] will relinquish power is by force. Cubans are so desperate that they want change. The American government isn’t great either, but it can bring about change, even if [we become] slaves to the market economy. [Life] should be about living, not just surviving,” he says.

The regime’s rhetoric feels alien to him. “I used to think like a patriot: if they attack me, I’ll defend myself,” he says. “But now, I’d rather be thrown in jail than shoot someone. Before, there were hospitals, there was education… the country is [unhappy] because now, there’s nothing. What are you going to defend?” he asks. “Look at that building: they’re cooking over charcoal right now, there are people eating from the garbage. This is a failed system. The idea is good, but there’s no market economy: we don’t produce anything. [We’re not like] the Chinese, who are socialists in their own way,” he explains. He hopes that, in Cuba, there will be an operation similar to the one that removed Maduro in Venezuela, because he doesn’t believe that change can be achieved through protests. “From exile, it’s easy to say that we should take to the streets… but starting a battle only to lose isn’t worth it. Those from [the July 11 protests] are all in jail,” he states, referring to the demonstrations from 2021.

In another part of the city, the borough of Centro Havana, a couple sits in the doorway of their building, in the shade. Two of their four very young children play nearby. They’ve been without electricity since yesterday and without running water for several days. The man, a construction worker, has a cast that goes up to his knee, because he slipped while carrying water jugs that were delivered by truck. He’s on sick leave and isn’t getting paid, he says. And there are hardly any construction jobs or building materials, either. His partner works from home. Nowadays, they’re getting by with the help of their families.

The government has just updated and released the Family Guide for Protection Against Military Aggression. It suggests that Cubans prepare an emergency “bag or backpack” with documents, flashlights, candles or matches, canned food, medicine, toys… everything “depending on what each family has available to them.” The reasoning behind this guide is that it’s meant to protect the vulnerable by offering them basic advice. For example, the document describes how to make a tourniquet, because “if the enemy attacks, our revolution will defend itself until victory is achieved and they are expelled from the soil of the homeland.”

When asked if they’re familiar with the initiative, the woman responds sarcastically: “Yes, the backpack that no one can pack, because there’s nothing to put in it.” In Cuba today, the real emergency is hunger.

The Cuban government describes the current situation as “genocide.” The U.S. government calls it “pressure.” Both sides have been at the negotiating table at least since March, though little has been revealed about what’s actually being discussed. We only see what the two sides do and say, and the suffering is borne by the Cuban people. On top of the decades-long embargo that the United States has imposed on the island, Trump has added an energy blockade, sanctions against GAESA – the military-led conglomerate that controls up to 40% of the Cuban economy – individual sanctions against several ministers, as well as the detention of Cuban migrants. And now, accusations have been levied against Raúl Castro. On Friday, May 22, the regime responded with a demonstration of thousands of people, who packed the José Martí Anti-Imperialist Platform, a public event venue in Havana.

Faced with an overwhelming barrage of forceful measures, the regime, which has been in power for 67 years, hasn’t budged. Over the past few months, it has only announced a timid economic reform that allows Cubans living abroad to invest in the island, and has released some 2,000 people from jail (almost none of them political prisoners). The U.S. war with Iran has bought the Cuba regime some time, but it continues to signal resistance, even though collapse is imminent amidst this suffocating pressure. “We will give our lives defending the Revolution,” the Cuban president has declared.

“The government has settled into a pattern of action and reaction; it shows no signs of wanting to mitigate the escalation,” says Alina Bárbara López, a respected intellectual whose public criticism has earned her threats and harassment from the Cuban regime. “Why not grant amnesty to the political prisoners? [It would be] an act of justice, not because the Americans are asking for it, but because the Cuban people are,” she adds. “Many people don’t feel sovereign in their own country; this is because [we’ve] lost sight of the fact that the country belongs to us. [The Cuban people] are in survival mode.”

“In many cases,” she continues, “it’s not that Cubans like Trump for his own sake: rather, it’s that they don’t see change as possible from within and they don’t see themselves as political agents of that change. They refrain from participating in politics, because freedom of expression and association has been repressed,” the historian explains, speaking with EL PAÍS from the province of Matanzas, her phone line constantly interrupted.

However, Bárbara López, the co-director of the CubaxCuba website (described as a “civic thought lab”) and a critical voice against the regime, does believe that “change is possible from within, but help is needed… including from the United States.”

No one knows if the Cuban government speaks a different language at the negotiating table, but the propaganda remains tied to the notion of resistance. Last week, with tensions running high, the regime posted photos on social media that showed the delivery of 6.2 million signatures to Díaz-Canel (in a country of some 8.5 million inhabitants, following the massive migration of recent years), on a document that expressed condemnation of “the blockade, the energy embargo and the war.” For weeks, the petition was circulated in workplaces across the country, with signatures sometimes collected at people’s homes.

“Those parades on television, all this support for the Revolution… nobody believes that,” says Marta, a 23-year-old waitress at a café in Old Havana. She scoffs at these supposed displays of support. She’s putting her university studies in Tourism and her professional aspirations on hold, waiting for better times. “We all hope for change. I see the lives of young people in other countries, [how they] can travel…”

“I don’t want war or violence,” she clarifies. “That’s never good. But I hope to be able to go buy milk at the corner store and not have it cost me a month’s salary.”

Juana, 63, also believes that change is necessary and that the government “should negotiate with the Americans, make a deal,” because, above all, it’s about “avoiding war.” She would like to go to a demonstration to demand this, “but to defend Cuba, not Raúl,” she says, when asked about the pro-Castro rally.

On the island, despite the limitations caused by the power outages and poor internet connection, people are attentive to what Trump or Rubio say. In a hotel hallway, hours before the indictment of Raúl Castro, who still retains influence and power through his inner circle, a chambermaid uses her cellphone to listen to U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio speaking in Spanish to the “Cuban people.” In the video, Rubio acknowledges the “unimaginable hardships” they are going through, which he blames on the Cuban regime, and proposes “a new Cuba where you, the ordinary Cuban, and not just GAESA, can own a gas station or a clothing store, or a restaurant.”

Amist such a difficult situation, one doesn’t need to be an expert to understand which message resonates more: Rubio’s, or that of the Cuban president, who responded immediately on X to reject any blame for the consequences of the blockade, adding: “Only the most twisted minds could deny before the world this collective punishment, which is being inflicted upon an entire people; it’s already becoming an act of genocide.”

This isn’t just about words: the exchange reflects how the government has been discredited, as well as how disconnected it is from the population when the country – not just the regime – is at stake. “The government’s idea of resistance against the United States has a weak point: the [domestic] one. Furthermore, there’s no [segment of the] opposition capable of capitalizing on the discontent,” says Fabio Fernández Batista, a history professor at the University of Havana and a critic of the system from within.

Over time, the professor notes, the regime has abandoned the very people it so often appeals to. “The Revolution and the homeland were one and the same from the beginning. [But] now, political erosion has left the idea of homeland feeling empty, riddled with systematic lies.”

At 30-year-old Chabeli’s house, they’ve long since given up expecting anything from the government. She lives with her husband and four-year-old son in a neighborhood near the cemetery. Last night, because of the heat, she had to put a mattress on the floor to sleep beside her son. “I do want change; something has to happen, because this isn’t living. We want the bare minimum, which every citizen should have. But I’m afraid of a U.S. intervention, if they drop bombs.” Her partner, Reinier, chimes in: “Change will take time, even with Trump putting pressure. This requires too much investment; it will take years… and we don’t have that much time. We want him (referring to their son) to see something good. Cuba doesn’t have oil like Venezuela and some people here live well – [like] the military – but the embargo only affects us. I wouldn’t want things to turn out this way, with Trump, because [I’m patriotic]. But we can’t solve the problem; only those who govern us can. And they’re not interested.”

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