Cubalex warns that her physical and psychological integrity remains at risk despite the end of the protest
Góngora, sentenced to 14 years in prison, resorted to this extreme measure after nearly five years of repression since her incarceration. / Facebook
14ymedio, Havanam 24 Aril 2026 — Political prisoner Lizandra Góngora Espinosa, arrested for the Island-wide protests of 11 July 2021 [’11J’], ended her hunger and thirst strike on Friday. She had begun the strike on April 22nd at Los Colonos prison on the Isle of Youth, according to the Cuban legal organization Cubalex. The protest, which lasted 48 hours, was a response to the prison conditions, the lack of medical attention, and the prolonged isolation from her family.
Góngora, sentenced to 14 years in prison for her participation in the 11 July 2021 protests in Güira de Melena, resorted to this extreme measure after nearly five years of repression since her imprisonment. The hunger strike also constituted a direct response to statements by Cuban leader Miguel Díaz-Canel, who has denied the existence of political prisoners in the country.
The inmate herself announced the start of the protest to her family via a phone call from prison. Her decision generated immediate concern among human rights organizations due to the condition of her health. Góngora suffers from sickle cell anemia, a genetic disease that requires rigorous medical monitoring. Furthermore, during her incarceration, she has been diagnosed with a uterine fibroid that causes inflammation, intense pain, and bleeding. continue reading
The distance, coupled with the economic crisis and transportation limitations in Cuba, means that her family can barely visit her.
Prison authorities have systematically denied her a gynecological evaluation and the surgery she urgently needs. The lack of adequate facilities and medical staff has been the recurring argument used to justify the absence of treatment. Given this situation, her husband must use the few visits he is allowed to bring her basic painkillers to help her manage the pain. “Her physical and psychological well-being remains at risk,” the organization warned.
One of the main reasons for the complaint is her transfer in 2023 to Los Colonos prison, located on the Isle of Youth, far from her family in Artemisa. This measure has been punitive and has exacerbated her vulnerability. The distance, combined with the economic crisis and transportation limitations in Cuba, means that her family can only visit her every three or four months.
As a result, Góngora has not seen her children for more than four months, a situation that has severely damaged the family bond. The organization emphasizes that this type of separation contradicts international standards such as the Nelson Mandela Rules and the Bangkok Rules, which establish the need to place prisoners in facilities close to their homes, especially in the case of women with children.
The organization also warned about the risks faced by those who adopt these types of measures within the Cuban prison system.
The activist was sanctioned for the crimes of sabotage, public disorder, and sedition, charges that, according to Cubalex, do not correspond to her actions during the demonstrations and are intended to punish her for exercising her rights. Since her imprisonment, the organization has denounced a systematic violation of her fundamental rights, including harassment, reprisals, and precarious living conditions within the prison system.
The organization also warned about the risk faced by those who adopt this type of measure in the Cuban prison system, where strikes are often considered “indiscipline” and can lead to additional sanctions, including isolation.
Cubalex insisted that the Cuban state must guarantee adequate medical care, allow regular contact with her family, and cease all forms of reprisal. “Although she has ended her hunger strike, the underlying causes remain,” the organization reiterated.
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A second convoy made up of activists from Italy, Switzerland, Mexico and the USA is received in Havana with a welcoming ceremony
Michele Curto, organizer of the May Day convoy, during the welcoming ceremony in Havana. / Granma
14ymedio, Havana, April 25, 2026 — Cuba’s state press continues to enthusiastically celebrate the arrival of meager international donations as gestures of “solidarity” in the face of the crisis gripping the island. These handouts of so-called “international support” are hailed as if they could compensate for a deficit that the model has been grappling with for over half a century: the inability to generate genuine economic autonomy.
On April 22, Cuba received a second European convoy of “solidarity aid,” 28 days after the Nuestra América convoy, which was received with so much propaganda surrounding it that it leads one to wonder if more resources were allocated to its promotion than to effective aid for the Cuban population.
This second convoy, called Primero de Mayo [May Day] and organized by the Agency for Cultural and Economic Exchange with Cuba, led by the Italian activist and businessman Michele Curto – also president of the joint venture BioCubaCafé SA – was received with a welcoming ceremony at the headquarters of the Cuban Institute of Friendship with the Peoples (Icap) in Havana.
“You give Cubans a grain of sand and they give you back the beach,” said Michele Curto himself at the event when he was presented, continue reading
in gratitude, with the commemorative seal of the 65th Anniversary of ICAP.
The handouts of so-called “international aid” are celebrated as if they could make up for a deficit that the model has been grappling with for over half a century.
Fernando González Llort, president of ICAP, acknowledged that the donation’s “symbolic value is of paramount importance.” At the same ceremony, Deputy Minister of Public Health Julio Guerra Izquierdo said, regarding last month’s shipment: “Although it doesn’t cover all of Cuba’s healthcare needs, it’s an immense relief.”
According to the EFE news agency, the new convoy—comprised of activists from Italy, Switzerland, Mexico, and the United States—brought to Cuba “donations of food, medical supplies, and educational materials.” The news report published in the official state newspaper Granma provides no details about the specific contents of the aid, other than the phrase “50 boxes of supplies for the Public Health system, among other things.”
This Saturday, Cubadebatealso reported that Russia delivered to the Cuban government a humanitarian shipment prepared by the government of St. Petersburg “consisting of a batch of medicines destined for hospitals and clinics on the island.”
Official ceremony for the handover of medical supplies donated by the Government of St. Petersburg at the Russian Embassy in Cuba. / Cubadebate
The article omits specifying what types of medications were included, their quantity, or how they will be distributed within Cuba’s dilapidated healthcare system, but it does show images of the few cardboard boxes containing the donation. The article emphasizes the political and symbolic gesture of the modest aid provided by St. Petersburg.
The handover ceremony was held at the Russian Embassy in Cuba. Ambassador Viktor Koronelli, personally presenting the donation to Cuban Minister of Public Health José Ángel Portal Miranda, emphasized that “this is not simply an act of humanitarian aid, but a clear demonstration of the deep and historic bonds of friendship that unite our peoples.”
Koronelli also insisted that the current health crisis in Cuba is “a consequence of the economic, commercial and financial blockade imposed by the US” and reiterated Russia’s opposition “to any form” of external pressure on Cuba.
Yesterday, Friday, the media also celebrated China’s donation to Cuban sports “as part of the close ties of friendship between the People’s Republic of China and the Republic of Cuba.” Another official ceremony was held at the Higher School for the Training of High-Performance Athletes (Esfaar) to receive the donation.
The accumulation of these “gestures of solidarity” normalizes the dependence on external donations that do not even truly alleviate the essential sectors of the Island
“It is a gesture that goes beyond the sports equipment and items we received today: it is a manifestation of solidarity and trust between two sister nations,” said Gisleydi Sosa, director of international relations at the National Institute of Sports (Inder), at the ceremony.
Once again, the specific details of the shipment take a back seat to the narrative of international cooperation: “Cuba is not alone.”
The Cuban regime is a constant recipient of international aid, where each shipment is publicly applauded as a significant relief, and yet the population continues to suffer the same shortages.
Decades ago, the official media triumphantly celebrated the “overfulfillment” of meager national production plans, but now what is celebrated is the receipt of handouts. The accumulation of these “gestures of solidarity” normalizes dependence on external donations that don’t even truly alleviate the needs of the island’s essential sectors.
If previously the propaganda celebrated production goals, today it celebrates the arrival of foreign aid
After more than half a century of centralization, the Cuban economy has functioned solely on external subsidies, unable to finance its imports with its own exports. Thus, from its inception, it depended on massive Soviet subsidies—which between 1960 and 1990 reached tens of billions of dollars—and in the 21st century, it has been sustained by Venezuelan oil.
The collapse of each of these “sponsors” – the USSR in 1991; Venezuela since January 3rd – has led to profound crises that end up being paid for by the Cuban population, forced into “resistance” and “resilience” by vertical order of the State, showing that the problem is not “cyclical” but structural.
Current donations from Russia, China, and sectors of the international left do not represent a solution. They are limited-scope stopgap measures that do not correct the structural dysfunction of the Cuban economy or the lack of genuine productive autonomy. While propaganda previously celebrated production goals, today it celebrates the arrival of foreign aid.
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Plainclothes officers intercepted him in Marianao and beat him before taking him away in an unidentified vehicle.
The arrest comes after eight days of solitary protests from his balcony. / Screenshot / Facebook
Cuban mixed martial arts champion Javier Ernesto Martín Gutiérrez, known as Spiderman, was arrested this Friday in Havana after more than a week of peaceful, solitary protests against the country’s situation. According to independent journalist José Raúl Gallego, the young man was intercepted in Marianao by plainclothes officers who beat him before taking him away in an unmarked vehicle.
“They detained him on 90th Street between 41st and 43rd, near the Jesús Menéndez sports complex. They brutally beat him and took him away,” Gallego wrote on his social media, quoting the athlete’s family. The family says that, so far, they have not received any official information about his whereabouts or his condition.
The arrest occurred just hours after Martín posted a video of himself training. The scene—a black vehicle, plainclothes officers, and violence prior to the transfer—fits with documented patterns of detention against dissidents on the island.
The fighter denounced the economic crisis, accused the Cuban government and State Security, and demanded “Freedom!”
This Friday, the athlete’s sister, Yonexi Gutiérrez – a former political prisoner and resident of the US – posted a video denouncing that, despite the support on social media and media coverage, the young Gutiérrez was receiving no support on the island: “He’s been alone for a week. He does have support from those outside, but inside Cuba he has no one. Not even his own family: for some he’s crazy or a drug addict,” she stated in the video. continue reading
The arrest comes after eight days of solitary protests from the balcony of his home on 31st Avenue, across from the El Lido bus terminal. The fighter denounced the economic crisis, accused the Cuban government and State Security, and called for “Freedom!” with no company other than his cell phone and a mostly digital audience.
“The communist system is dead! Did you see State Security? It’s you! Look at yourselves! Nobody’s coming!” That’s what he shouted into the street in his videos, challenging the police to arrest him: “Come get me! Shoot me with whatever you want!”
“I’m not crazy, I’m tired”
In recent days, the athlete had denounced constant surveillance by State Security, including the presence of agents outside his home and direct pressure on his mother at her workplace. Even so, he maintained a defiant tone.
In response to attempts to discredit him for his behavior, he had replied in a video: “I’m not crazy, I’m tired,” and in response to the accusations, he insisted that he did not use drugs.
Activist Anamely Ramos had previously warned, while publicizing the athlete’s solitary protests, about a possible arrest that would expose the official discourse denying the existence of political repression in Cuba: “Are they going to hunt down this young man with their hordes of hired thugs? Know that if they do, the scandalous lie of the one who claims to be president will be even more exposed.”
Javier Ernesto Martín, nicknamed Spiderman, the Cuban Fighting League champion in the 135-pound division, had become an uncomfortable figure due to his denunciations and for staging an individual protest without organization or permission. His violent disappearance is yet another example of the intensified repression by the regime that has been unleashed this year in response to popular discontent against the Cuban government.
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The healthcare system is using modified screws to compensate for the lack of basic supplies in fracture surgeries.
To obtain suitable materials, families turn to the informal market, where a single piece can cost over 10,000 pesos.
“The country has been unable to acquire these screws for some time,” admits Dr. Audrey Gutiérrez López. / Cubadebate
14ymedio, Madrid, April 25, 2026 — The story of the 4.5-millimeter cortical screw “adapted” in Sancti Spíritus has been presented by Cuba’s official propaganda as a feat of medical ingenuity. But, upon closer examination, the news describes a healthcare system incapable of guaranteeing a basic orthopedic supply and forced to transform one implant into another in order to operate on hip fractures. Are we witnessing a true medical innovation or a desperate measure, technically risky and politically disguised as an achievement?
Dr. Audrey Gutiérrez López himself, when consulted by media outlets in Sancti Spíritus, frankly acknowledged that “the country has been unable to acquire these screws for some time.” He also admitted that “surgeries were suspended for a period in many provinces” and that “currently, many provinces are not performing surgeries because the screws are unavailable.” State media, however, avoid focusing on the disruption of surgeries due to the lack of a standard device and prefer to present the solution to the shortage as an “ingenious achievement” of Cuban science.
The solution described involves taking a cancellous bone screw—specifically designed to be fixed in cancellous bone, the softer, more porous inner layer of bone—and machining its smooth shank to convert it into a 4.5 mm cortical screw—designed to be fixed in cortical bone, the harder, more compact outer layer of bone. The doctor insists that “we are not creating a new material” and that it is merely “an adaptation.” But from the perspective of implant safety, that distinction is fragile.
Cancellous bone screw and adapted 4.5 mm cortical screw. / Cubadebate
A Cuban surgeon consulted by this newspaper emphasizes the importance of materials. “There is reason to be alarmed,” warns the specialist, who is based in Spain. “Steel for use in human surgical procedures is a special type of steel, with a specific composition, and is subject to specific regulations that must meet minimum standards. In fact, the current trend is for surgical steel devices to be temporary. For more complex and permanent continue reading
procedures, titanium is preferred.”
The question, therefore, is not whether the original screw was biocompatible, but whether after being machined, threaded, polished and sterilized it retains the properties required for an implant subjected to load within the bone.
Contemporary orthopedics has learned, sometimes at a high human cost, that no implantable material should be assumed to be safe by analogy. Even industrially manufactured technologies used in countries with robust regulatory systems can reveal harm in the medium term. These experiences compel us to view with greater caution a surgical screw remanufactured in Cuba from another implant, given the lack of publicly available independent studies on fatigue, corrosion, sterility, biocompatibility, and clinical follow-up studies.
Another specialist—this time European—who also spoke with 14ymedio, admits he doesn’t understand the reason for this innovation. “Rather than bold, it seems reckless to me,” he says. “I struggle to understand why they are doing it; I suppose it’s due to the limitations of the embargo,” although he admits he’s not familiar with the Cuban context. Finally, he asks: “Don’t they always say in Cuba that they’re a medical powerhouse?”
Nor does the embargo argument, alone, does not support the official explanation.
However, the embargo argument alone does not support the official explanation. US sanctions complicate payments, banking, insurance, logistics, and suppliers, but they do not absolutely prohibit the export of medical devices to Cuba. Section 746.2 of the US Code of Federal Regulations states that exports of medicines and medical devices to Cuba “shall generally be approved,” except for specific exceptions.
Furthermore, the 4.5 mm cortical screw is neither an exotic nor an unattainable component on the international market. In India, 4.5 mm cortical screws are offered from 35 rupees (US$0.40) per unit by some wholesale suppliers. Other Indian manufacturers offer them for 50 rupees per piece. In secondary markets or among Western distributors, Synthes 4.5 mm screws appear for US$7, US$10, US$12, US$20, or US$31, depending on length, brand, condition, and channel. Even in the European veterinary sector, 4.5 mm screws are sold for around €5 per unit. These are reference prices—they may vary depending on certification, sterility, supplier, volume, freight, and regulatory procedures—but they are sufficient to show that this is neither a rare nor prohibitively expensive technology.
Meanwhile, families in Cuba end up buying the same materials on the black market. Gutiérrez López himself acknowledges this: “Many families have to go out and buy this type of osteosynthesis material on the black market.” And he adds that others “can’t,” so “they can’t operate on their patient.” He also admits that the screw reached a price of more than 10,000 pesos on the informal market.
“You can’t treat a human hip like you treat the boiler of a thermoelectric plant.”
A third specialist consulted by this newspaper, this time within Cuba, empathizes with his colleagues in Sancti Spíritus and their search for solutions, but maintains his reservations. “You can’t treat a human hip like you treat a thermoelectric boiler,” the doctor warns. “Modifying the geometry of a surgical screw changes the surface, the thread, the stress concentration points, the fatigue behavior, the interaction with the plate and bone, and potentially the resistance to corrosion and contamination.”
“The risks to the patient are real,” the specialist asserts. “Calling a hastily adapted screw a ‘wonder’ or a ‘miracle’ is, at the very least, irresponsible.”
International literature also offers reasons to be wary of these practices. A classic study on fatigue failures in cortical screws found that all the screws analyzed failed at the root of the thread, precisely a critical area when the thread of an implant is machined or altered.
Another study on reprocessed pedicle screws found corrosion, grease, soap, and other contaminants in implants that had undergone reprocessing cycles. The authors warned that these residues could contribute to surgical site infections or inflammatory responses.
The official account speaks of “patients operated on so far,” but does not present a single documented clinical case.
What independent validation exists regarding the threading, polishing, cleaning, passivation, sterilization, mechanical strength, and biocompatibility of these adapted screws?
Cuban official sources mention Tecal, in Camagüey, as a company involved in the production of prostheses and implants, and highlight that it manufactures partial hip prostheses as part of an import substitution policy. It has also been reported that the Ministry of Public Health, the Union of Military Industries, universities, and the Center for State Control of Medicines, Equipment and Medical Devices participated in the partial prosthesis project, and that the regulator authorized the exceptional use of this prosthesis in November 2022. However, exceptional authorization for a prosthesis does not automatically equate to independent certification for converting cancellous screws into cortical screws.
The official narrative speaks of “patients operated on so far,” but it doesn’t present a single documented clinical case that would allow for evaluating results, follow-up, or the safety of the procedure. The ultimate question isn’t whether surgeons are trying to save lives with these solutions. Obviously, they are. The question is why a country turns a basic deficiency into a propaganda epic.
Screwing bolts in military facilities to resume surgeries demonstrates that we’re not dealing with technological sovereignty, but rather with a supply collapse, regulatory opacity, and the transfer of risk to the patient’s body.
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The poll, presented by ‘El Toque’, attempts to capture the diversity of positions inside and outside the island at a key moment
With 32 questions, the survey seeks to gather opinions on sensitive issues such as the legitimacy of the political system. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Havana, 25 April 2026 — The independent media outlet El Toque launched a survey this week targeting Cubans inside and outside the island to gauge opinions on the country’s political and social situation, at a time marked by the government’s decline, talks between Havana and Washington, and threats of increased US pressure on the regime.
The initiative, driven by an alliance of more than 20 independent media outlets, content creators, and civil society actors, is coordinated by journalists and social scientists. Its promoters assure that the aggregated data will be published for independent scrutiny.
The survey, with 32 questions, seeks to gather opinions on sensitive issues such as the legitimacy of the political system, the role of key national actors, the US embargo, the private sector, emigration, leadership, and possible solutions to the Cuban crisis. Unlike informal polls circulating on social media, this survey claims to employ mechanisms to prevent duplicate responses, protect anonymity, and organize the data for later analysis.
Miguel Díaz-Canel’s declarations provoked a flood of polls on Facebook, X and other platforms
The consultation comes after Miguel Díaz-Canel’s recent declarations in an interview with NBC News, in which he rejected the possibility of stepping down. “Resigning continue reading
is not part of our vocabulary,” the president stated. He also maintained: “If the Cuban people believe I am incapable… that I do not represent them, then they are the ones who must decide whether I should continue in this role.”
His words triggered a flood of polls on Facebook, X, and other platforms. Although these polls lack methodological rigor, their results have repeatedly shown a majority rejection of the president’s administration.
The proposal from ‘El Toque’ introduces a tool with greater rigor and ambition
In this context, El Toque attempts to offer a more structured measurement of a discontent that, until now, has been expressed in a scattered manner in the digital sphere. The value of this endeavor lies not only in its future results but also in its attempt to fill a void. In Cuba, measuring political opinion outside of official structures remains a difficult practice, vulnerable to mistrust, fear, and connectivity limitations.
Not all Cubans have equal access to the internet or the same willingness to answer political questions. However, faced with the noise of social media and the lack of reliable public data, El Toque‘s proposal introduces a more rigorous and ambitious tool.
The project aims to gather around 10,000 responses by May 1st. While awaiting the results, the survey is shaping up to be a relevant barometer for gauging the mood in a country where discontent is no longer confined to private conversations.
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The jury unanimously voted for a work that criticizes US immigration policy towards Cuba.
Cuban researcher and diplomat Rodney González Maestrey at the Casa de las Américas award ceremony. / Casa de las Américas/Facebook
14ymedio, Havana, April 25, 2026 — The Casa de las Américas 2026 Prize in the Historical-Social Essay category was awarded yesterday, Friday, to Cuban researcher Rodney Amaury González Maestrey – a diplomat from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs – for his book Chronicle of a Crisis Foretold: The Migration Policy of the United States towards Cuba (1960-2024).
On receiving the award, the author explained that his essay seeks to be “an instrument for the redemption of many divided families, shattered dreams, lives literally drowned” by what he described as a policy aimed at “drowning, truncating, dividing and discrediting.”
From the Cuban Foreign Ministry’s profile, the award was celebrated with an official publication, in which the ministry describes the award as an “achievement that transcends the individual and honors all of Cuban revolutionary diplomacy,” and highlights this result “as an expression of the capacity of our cadres to defend, also through reflection and research, the just causes of our people.”
The award highlighted that the text “provides a comprehensive and careful historical overview, whose temporal coverage provides key elements for critical thinking” on the characteristics of migratory flows.
The ministry describes the award as an “achievement that transcends the individual and honors all of Cuban revolutionary diplomacy.”
The jury – made up of Paula Klachko (Argentina), Darío Salinas Figueredo (Mexico) and Marlene Vázquez Pérez (Cuba) – has had to meet virtually due to the energy crisis on the Island and has not been able to meet in Havana, as has been the tradition in previous editions, with the sole exception of the period of the covid-19 pandemic.
Abel Prieto, former Minister of Culture and current president of Casa de las Américas, also celebrated the news with a brief post, in which he mentions that the award-winning essay addresses more than six decades of migration policy from the administration of Dwight Eisenhower to that of Donald Trump. continue reading
The award-winning author expressed his gratitude for the award on his social media and acknowledged “the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the US General Directorate for having entrusted me with the responsibility of studying the complex migratory relations between Cuba and the US between 2015 and 2018.”
Meanwhile, the Testimonial Literature Prize was awarded to Salvadoran author Carlos Santos for Dr. Muerte: Confesiones (Dr. Death: Confessions ), a work focused on the assassination of Bishop Óscar Arnulfo Romero. The jury described it as a “sustained investigation” that reveals the meaning of paramilitary violence in El Salvador. The jury’s decision highlighted the work as a denunciation written in solid and precise language “that goes straight to the heart of the complexities of the human psyche and heart, without embellishment or sugarcoating.”
The jury members also awarded a mention in the testimonial genre to the book El laberinto de la mariposa [The Butterfly Labyrinth], by the Ecuadorian Juan Pablo Castro.
Founded in 1959, Casa de las Américas became one of the main instruments of cultural projection of the Cuban State in Latin America
Founded in 1959, Casa de las Américas became one of the Cuban state’s main instruments for cultural outreach in Latin America. Its literary prize gained prestige by recognizing important authors from the continent, but always within an ideological sphere close to the regime.
Throughout its history, the institution has combined a genuine effort to promote culture with a political function of legitimizing, from the intellectual field, the narratives of the Cuban government and consolidating a network of affinities with writers and intellectuals aligned – or at least not in confrontation – with the government.
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“Every day I spend in prison is another day trying to make my country freer and fairer,” the artist and political prisoner told ‘The New York Times’.
The artist shares his story and questions the official narrative about the regime’s supposed current political opening. / Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara
Artist and activist Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, imprisoned after the July 2021 protests, published a testimonial in The New York Times this Friday, in which he recounts his experience in prison and his confrontation with the Cuban regime through art. The article comes on the same day that a supposed US ultimatum to Cuba to release high-profile political prisoners, such as himself, expires.
Otero Alcántara recounts his story in the article and challenges the official narrative about the regime’s supposed current political opening. From his perspective as an imprisoned artist, the testimony summarizes how the state attempts to maintain its control on power despite pressure from the United States and demands from international organizations to end the criminalization of dissent.
The article confronts the announcement—cynically called by Díaz-Canel a “humanitarian and sovereign gesture”—of the release of 2,010 prisoners, from whom those who have committed “crimes against authority” have been explicitly excluded. “In other words, it didn’t extend to me,” writes the artist and political prisoner.
Otero Alcántara recalls that his sentence ends in July of this year, although he is skeptical about his release: “I don’t know if they will allow me to be free, nor what will happen to me or to my country.”
I do know that when the government says that Cuba’s political system is not open to debate, it is almost certain that political dissent will not be decriminalized.
“But I do know that when the Government says that Cuba’s political system is not subject to debate in possible negotiations with the US, it is almost certain that political dissent will not be decriminalized and that people like me will continue to go to jail,” he writes.
Otero Alcántara emphasizes that his imprisonment is just one of hundreds of cases of criminalizing dissent, in which expressions of critical opinion against the government end in criminal convictions. He recounts how the legal framework has hardened against freedom of expression since the 11 July 2021 Island-wide protests.
The artist was then convicted of “contempt” and “public disorder,” legal terms with ambiguous boundaries that allow for the punishment of political positions. Since 2022, the Penal Code has incorporated the charge of “propaganda against the constitutional order,” used to imprison citizens who express themselves in ways as diverse as putting up anti-government posters or publishing their critical opinions on social media.
The author points to these mechanisms of repression to refute the insistence of the regime and its president, Miguel Díaz-Canel, that there are no political prisoners in Cuba and that any citizen can freely express their opinion.
The most important thing is that they let me paint. It’s what’s kept me alive. That’s why the guards let me do it, so I don’t become a martyr.
Artwork by Otero Alcántara, used to illustrate the NYT article, from the series ‘Still Life: Turning Violence into Art’. / Studio of Luis Manuel Otero
Alcántara continues recounting his artistic and activist journey, describing how the government escalated its harassment until culminating in his five-year prison sentence: from his performances against Decree 349—a law that restricted freedom of expression in the cultural sphere—to the 2018 founding of the San Isidro Movement, comprised of artists, journalists, and academics who demanded greater civil liberties on the island. Alcántara’s activism is widely known internationally—he was included in Time magazine’s 2021 list of the 100 most influential people —but the artist revisits it now in his testimony for the readers of the New York publication.
The text devotes several paragraphs to describing daily life in Guanajay prison, emphasizing the poor food and monotony. The artist notes that he is aware of being a “privileged” prisoner, since his case has international visibility, which limits the abuses and mistreatment that have been documented in the Cuban prison system.
“The most important thing is that they allow me to paint. It’s what has kept me alive. I think the State knows that if I couldn’t make art, I would die, and that’s why the guards let me do it, so I wouldn’t become a martyr,” the artist writes.
An anti-government post on social media can land a person behind bars.
Inside Guanajay prison—where he is surrounded by both political and common prisoners—the inmates have created, according to Alcántara, “a space where people can get along,” which is very different from the atmosphere in other prisons on the island. “I know the guards aren’t to blame for me being here. Our destructive and dysfunctional political system isn’t their fault,” he writes.
“But the system remains,” the artist states, pointing out how, with the tightening of the Penal Code against dissent, “an anti-government post on social media can land a person in jail.” He adds that this situation has led to a mass emigration of artists, activists, and independent journalists, who have found themselves restricted from expressing themselves freely on the island.
“The government is still afraid of people like me, who haven’t been afraid to challenge the authority of the state,” says Otero Alcántara. “Even as conditions here have worsened under US pressure, it has made it clear that its hold on power is non-negotiable.”
“The government has made it clear that its hold on power is non-negotiable.”
The activist also describes how the regime has denied him any kind of leniency: eligibility for parole, sentence reductions, or house arrest, among others. To express his resistance and show that he has not succumbed to attempts to break his will, the artist reminds readers: “I don’t know how many hunger strikes I’ve already done to express myself.”
He adds, however, that his survival and creative work within the prison can serve as an example of “hope and sacrifice” for other Cubans. “I see it as an exchange of my time, as if each day I spend in prison isn’t a wasted day, but another day trying to make my country freer and more just.”
The author mentions in the article that the publication was made possible thanks to the mediation of the Cuban artist Coco Fusco.
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April 27 marks the 55th anniversary of the event, which was a true watershed moment, a turning point, both inside and outside the Island.
Padilla gives up his seat to State Security Lieutenant Armando Quesada, who “corrects” Norberto Fuentes’s statement. In the background, José Antonio Portuondo. / Screenshot
14ymedio, San Salvador, Federico Hernández Aguilar, 23 April 2026 — When night falls on April 27, it will mark 55 years since the most despicable event that Castro’s totalitarian regime carried out on Cuban art and culture: the sadly famous “self-criticism” of the poet Heberto Padilla (1932-2000) before a group of prominent members of the Union of Writers and Artists of Cuba (Uneac), after spending 37 days in prison accused of holding critical views against the Revolution. [Transcript, in English, here.]
The Padilla Case (as it has been known ever since) was a true watershed moment, a breaking point, both on and off the island. Authors who until then had remained steadfast in their support of the revolutionary process suddenly and painfully understood that Castroism was no better than Stalinism in its tolerance of intelligent dissent and creative disapproval. Even those who remained loyal to Caribbean socialism, whether out of emotion or pragmatism, began to question how far Cuba had gone in imposing limits on art and culture within its supposedly democratic system.
And it is not as if there had been a lack of warnings, of course. Besides the infamous speech of June 1961 in which Fidel Castro made clear how he conceived the “responsibility” of artists and intellectuals within the framework of the historical project he led —“…Within the Revolution, everything; against the Revolution, nothing”— it is sometimes forgotten that quite some time before, in October 1959, the Film Study and Classification Commission had been formed, attached to the Cuban Institute of Cinematographic Art and Industry (ICAIC), an entity that began to censor films considered “problematic” because of their content.
In October 1959, the Film Study and Classification Commission was formed, attached to the Cuban Institute of Cinematographic Art and Industry (ICAIC), an entity that began to censor films considered “problematic” due to their content.
Works such as Alberto Roldán’s Una vez en el puerto (Once in the Port) and Fausto Canel’s Un poco más de azul (A Little More Blue ) were banned from distribution on the island in 1964. Roldán’s film was banned because it realistically documented life in Havana’s seaside neighborhoods, while Canel’s film addressed the ever-sensitive topic of exile. Both filmmakers, of course, suffered the consequences of their “reactionary” actions: they were expelled from ICAIC (the Cuban Institute of Cinematographic Art and Industry), which they had helped found, their freedom of expression was restricted, and they ultimately left Cuba. (Roldán died in Miami in 2014 at the age of 81, and Canel lived in France and Spain before settling in the United States, where he currently resides.)
The hardest blow to creative freedom, however, was the one suffered in 1961 by the documentary PM by Orlando Jiménez Leal and Sabá Cabrera Infante, banned and confiscated by the authorities, who accused it of offering “a biased portrayal of Havana’s nightlife” because, “far from giving the viewer a correct vision of the existence of the Cuban people in this revolutionary stage, it impoverished, distorted, and misrepresented it…” It was precisely in the wake of the scandal caused by the condemnation of this short film, barely 14 minutes long, that Fidel Castro himself brandished his fearsome “ Words to the Intellectuals.” continue reading
The regime’s terrifying “all or nothing” approach found its next victim in Heberto Padilla, whose excellent poetry collection, Fuera del juego (Out of the Game), had been recognized by the UNEAC (somewhat reluctantly) with the 1968 National Prize. Despite having received the award by unanimous decision of the jury, the organization made a strange “statement” indicating that the book would be published—along with Antón Arrufat’s in the theater category—with a note “expressing its disagreement” because they considered them “ideologically opposed to our revolution (sic).”
Three years later, in January 1971, Padilla dared to give a reading at the UNEAC (National Union of Writers and Artists of Cuba) of his new book, Provocaciones (Provocations ). And indeed, his attitude was considered provocative. A few weeks later, on March 20, Heberto and his wife, the writer Belkis Cuza Malé, were arrested by State Security agents and taken to the Villa Marista prison. The charge against them was “subversive activities against the government.”
“Did you think you were untouchable, the rebel artist…?” Padilla recalled the henchmen saying to him in prison. “Did you think we were going to forgive all your counterrevolutionary shenanigans?”
“Did you think you were untouchable, the rebel artist…?” Padilla recalled the henchmen saying to him in prison. “Did you think we were going to forgive all your counterrevolutionary shenanigans?” After the brutal interrogation, during which the poet was beaten, he awoke in a military hospital where he received an unexpected visit from Fidel himself. “Yes,” Heberto says in Bad Memory (1989), “we had time to talk, or for him to talk and expound to his heart’s content, and shit on all the literature in the world.”
The writer was then “suggested” that he draft a lengthy text listing his “errors,” a document he recited from memory 55 years ago at that private meeting at the UNEAC (National Union of Writers and Artists of Cuba). The recorded material of this “self-criticism” finally came to light in 2022, when Cuban filmmaker Pavel Giroud rescued it and used it to create an extraordinary documentary titled The Padilla Case, which was nominated for several prestigious film awards.
At this time, the three and a half hours of the writer’s confession can be viewed on YouTube, something I would recommend to anyone who wants to delve deeper into the censorship processes that Castroism instituted to turn art into propaganda and writers into obligated spokespeople for a revolution that ended up devouring their illusions.
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COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
One doesn’t need to hold any position to represent true power
Internal struggles to eliminate competitors, gain influence, or secure exclusive patronage have always been intense. / EFE/ Ernesto Mastrascusa
14ymedio, Yunior García Aguilera, Madrid, April 23, 2026 — It is true that power in Cuba is no longer as concentrated as before, that command has fragmented, and that the country seems to have moved from absolute verticalism to a kind of collective management of disaster. Today, more operators, more layers, more intermediaries, and more sectoral elites are visible than in the years of classic Fidel Castroism. But this does not imply that power has ceased to be concentrated. Management has fragmented, but what has not fragmented is command. And that command, even today, still points to a single name and his inner circle: Raúl Castro.
The Cuban regime no longer functions as it did in the years when the bearded leader monopolized the discourse and transformed every governing problem into an extension of his personal will. That model, for both biological and historical reasons, is exhausted. In its place has emerged another architecture, less charismatic and more bureaucratic. But opacity does not equate to a distribution of power. The fact that today the administrators of the apparatus, the trusted technocrats, the military-businessmen, the guards, and the ideological commissars have a greater presence in public affairs does not mean that they all carry equal weight or that they collectively decide the strategic direction of the system.
This nuance corrects the illusion that true power simply erodes through attrition. Sometimes the opposite occurs. The disappearance of the founding leadership opens the door to new, more discreet concentrations of power. In Cuba, authority no longer needs to appear as frequently as before to maintain its monopoly on power.
Raúl Castro unquestionably determines when to set limits, order successions, or bless high-risk contacts
Last March, in the midst of negotiations with the United States, Miguel Díaz-Canel was quick to emphasize that the talks were being led by him — with an almost anxious emphasis on that “by me”—along with Raúl Castro and other officials. The inflection in his voice betrayed more than it clarified. It seemed to reflect the increasingly widespread perception that he plays a largely decorative role, not truly occupying the center of power. His formal titles—President of the Republic and First Secretary of the Communist Party—are not enough to dispel that suspicion. Even less so when, at those same crucial moments, the presence of Raúl Guillermo Rodríguez Castro, Raúl’s grandson and bodyguard, served as a reminder that the truly sensitive areas of power still revolve around the old inner circle, and that no official position is necessary to represent the true authority.
In fact, when one looks at where Raúl Castro appears, he always appears in the decisive position. He unquestionably determines when to set limits, order successions, or bless high-risk contacts. It was he, and no one else, who chose Díaz-Canel for all his posts and who has allowed him to remain there. It was also he who proposed indefinitely postponing the Party congress scheduled for 2026, and then the Central Committee unanimously approved the proposal. To call that “collective leadership” requires a rather generous imagination. continue reading
And yet, that is precisely the formula that Díaz-Canel repeats. Last April 12, in the interview with NBC, he said that the leadership of the Revolution was not “personalized in one person” and affirmed “we have a collective leadership,” with unity, cohesion, revolutionary discipline, and hundreds of people capable of assuming responsibilities and making decisions collectively.
In Cuba there is collective administration, yes, but in the sense that an apparatus distributes functions, not in the sense that it distributes ultimate command. The collegiality serves to share responsibilities, so that several cadres bear the weight of deterioration and so that no one appears indispensable on the surface. But when the matter touches on the regime’s security, the relationship with Washington, or the architecture of succession, the system does not revert to a horizontal collective; it gravitates once again toward the intimate center where family, security, and historical trust converge.
Outside the family, all those who occupy these positions of micro-power do so precariously. They can disappear with the snap of a finger.
During the thaw with Obama, the key player was Alejandro Castro Espín, Raúl’s son, who was then linked to the national security apparatus. And now, all eyes are on Raúl Guillermo, known as El Congrejo, [The Crab]. In other words, when Washington wants to know who to talk to so that a conversation isn’t just a formality, it ends up reaching into the orbit of the Castro family and their most trusted contacts.
The same thing happens within the country. There are, of course, the administrators of the apparatus: Díaz-Canel, Roberto Morales Ojeda, Manuel Marrero, governors, ministers, and Party secretaries. There are the reliable technocrats, promoted to manage critical areas without altering the logic of command. There are the military businessmen, heirs to the economic power concentrated for years in Gaesa and in the circle of the late López-Calleja, Raúl Castro’s son-in-law and father of El Cangrejo.
But outside the family, all those who occupy these positions of micro-power do so precariously. They can disappear with the snap of a finger. The list of officials, cadres, and technocrats wiped off the political map is too long for this space, but a quick glance reveals inevitable patterns. No matter how high an administrator has climbed within the system, nothing protects them from a swift fall. There are the cases of Arnaldo Ochoa, José Abrantes, and the de la Guardia brothers, but also, on a different scale and at a different time, those of Carlos Lage, Felipe Pérez Roque, and Alejandro Gil.
No one is certain that Donald Trump will drastically end Castroism
Nor is the supposed “unity” within the power structures real. In the digital-propaganda sphere, the irreconcilable differences between Iroel Sánchez and Abel Prieto were well known. Internal struggles to eliminate competitors, gain influence, or secure exclusive patronage have always been intense. Today, the battle for the narrative is not only cultural; it also involves surveillance, defamation, mobilizing alliances, and managing fear.
Cuban power no longer takes the simple form of the one-man rule of previous decades. But when Fidel Castro died, everyone knew who his successor was. Now, new concentrations of power have emerged, various groups that manage different parts of the system, while a small core retains the ability to dictate the essentials. The big question is what will happen when Raúl Castro physically disappears.
No one can be certain that Donald Trump will drastically end Castro’s regime. But even surviving his threats, the regime doesn’t seem capable of sustaining itself indefinitely. If social and external pressure continues, it is unlikely anyone will be able to demonstrate sufficient credentials to proclaim themselves the legitimate heir to the dictatorial power. And that moment is inevitably approaching at full speed.
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COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
Lizandra Góngora declares a hunger strike in protest against Díaz-Canel’s statement that there are no political prisoners
Jonathan Muir tells his parents that bedbugs are keeping him awake in prison. / Facebook
14ymedio, Madrid, April 23, 2026 — “Dad, please get me out of here, I can’t take it anymore.” With these words, Jonathan Muir Burgos called his parents from Canaleta prison (Ciego de Ávila) on Wednesday, at almost 2:00 a.m. The 16-year-old, arrested for participating in the massive demonstration in the town of Morón on March 13, is desperate due to the appalling conditions in the prison, where he is being held awaiting trial.
According to his father, Pastor Elier Muir, in a video shared by fellow evangelical pastor Mario Félix Lleonart, he and his wife received the call from the young man at that hour because bedbugs were keeping him awake. “They’re infesting my skin, and I feel like my brain isn’t going to take it anymore,” Muir quoted his son as saying. “I wrap myself in the sheets, and even then, the bites won’t let me sleep day or night.”
The pastor fears for his son’s health not only because of the wounds the parasites, which he says are proliferating in the new cell where he has been transferred, might cause, but also because of the meager food the boy receives. “They give him a pittance, enough to fit in a six- or eight-ounce disposable cup, at four in the afternoon, and then he doesn’t see anything else until five-thirty or six in the morning,” the father says.
“They give him food, meager, which all fits in a disposable six- or eight-ounce cup, at four in the afternoon, and then he doesn’t see anything else until five thirty or six in the morning.”
The provisions that the family brought him on their last visit, he continues, “have already run out,” because “he shares them with the five prisoners who are there with him, just as the others share with him, but they have nothing left.”
Accompanying the video that disseminates Muir’s message, Lleonart wrote: “A sick minor, subjected to this cruel treatment simply for participating in a peaceful protest asking for food, light, and freedom. This is state torture,” while demanding his “immediate release” and “urgent medical attention.” continue reading
On April 9, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) sent an official request to the Cuban government demanding urgent information on the situation of the minor. The request, addressed to Foreign Minister Bruno Rodríguez, gave the State five days to respond regarding Jonathan Muir’s detention conditions, his state of health, and the measures taken to guarantee his safety.
The IACHR clarified that this request did not imply a decision on granting such measures, but stressed the urgency of verifying the adolescent’s situation. The request was made following a petition for precautionary measures filed by the organization Cuba Decide.
The strike, this family member explained, seeks “to demonstrate that there are indeed people imprisoned for political reasons and to demand respect for her status as a political prisoner.”
The number of women and minors arrested has grown “significantly,” Prisoners Defenders denounces, saying it demonstrates “a significant increase in repression also against vulnerable groups and a devastating impact on entire families.”
Faced with this reality, and amid pressure and contacts between the US and Cuba, the regime has continued to deny the existence of political prisoners in recent weeks, whose release is one of the requirements of the ultimatum given by the Trump administration to Havana, which expires this weekend.
It was precisely in response to President Miguel Díaz-Canel’s statements to NBC that political prisoner Lizandra Góngora, sentenced to 14 years in prison—the longest sentence imposed on a woman for participating in the July 11, 2021 protests—declared a hunger strike this Wednesday. She is being held in Los Colonos prison on the Isle of Youth.
Her husband, Ángel Delgado, explained this to Martí Noticias, which also reported on the words of the opposition leader’s cousin Ariel Góngora, in a Facebook Live broadcast. The hunger strike, this relative explained, aims “to demonstrate that there are indeed people imprisoned for political reasons and to demand respect for her status as a political prisoner.”
Ariel Góngora holds the Cuban regime responsible for any consequences to his cousin’s health and points out that she is not the only prisoner protesting in this way. He cited the example of Jesús Véliz Marcano, also imprisoned since the 11 July 2021 Island-wide protests, in his case in Camagüey, who this Thursday marks nine days of a hunger strike in solitary confinement.
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COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
A childhood friend assures me that this is like when the eye of the cyclone passes over us and it seems that calm has finally arrived.
A graffiti on a wall in El Vedado — ‘Fuck signing‘ — sums up this whole story. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Havana, April22, 2026 — I haven’t heard Caruso in days. The neighborhood rooster has stopped singing in the middle of the night, its discordant crowing starting long before sunrise. Did it finally end up in a cooking pot? I peer over the edge of the rooftop and see little lights here and there. Not a single blackout in all of Havana that I can see. That worries me more than the fate of the cheeky rooster on the block. What will come after so much electricity? I wonder.
They say that those who have lived through a war can suffer from what is known as “combat fatigue.” the physical and mental exhaustion, the disorientation, and the anxiety make up the trauma of a soldier who has experienced battle. But here nothing has ended; this is merely a brief respite. A childhood friend assures me that this is like when the eye of a hurricane passes us overhead and it seems that calm has arrived. People become complacent and leave their homes, but soon after the eye of the hurricane the worst winds and the most extreme tornadoes arrive.
It’s not like we’ve had time to let our guard down, because now we have electricity, but we still lack water. In Cuba, you always have to keep one foot in the trenches of precariousness. Last night I had to stay awake listening for the sound of the pipes. “Can you hear anything?” my husband asked me at three in the morning. I got up, checked, and pressed my ear to the thick pipe that runs from the enormous water tank above our heads. “Nothing yet.” I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I heard a gurgling stream that woke me up.
I tried to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes I heard a gurgling stream that woke me up
My friend Abel, who works for a state agency, has assured me that this time he won’t be attending yet another petition drive to “defend the homeland.” He was just a teenager during that “constitutional mummification” of 2002 that made socialism an irrevocable option in this country. Forever and ever, Cubans are supposed to bear the burden of those pressures and those masks. Every dictatorship yearns for perpetuity, and Castroism believes that by scribbling on paper it will buy itself a “until forever.” continue reading
In my friend’s building, many of those who signed in favor of the regime that day have already left the country. One neighbor, particularly furious, who criticized others for not arriving early to sign the makeshift book—which lacked both the status of a ballot and the official letterhead required for a referendum—is now a businessman in Florida and complains that we on the island aren’t brave enough to shake off a dictatorship.
But courage, like the opportunistic stampede, also begins one day. Last week, my friend’s daughter broke her leg. The ordeal the family went through, the number of “millas” (thousand-Cuban-peso bills) they had to spend along the way so the girl could receive decent care and the necessary painkillers, made Abel say, “That’s it.” Now he’s “staring with a dead man in his eyes,” as the old folks begging in the streets say, recalling proverbs we’ve already forgotten. In other words, my friend doesn’t care about anything; a tribute or a rally of repudiation.
Nobody asks me if I’m going to go sign. Nobody asks the lunatics, babies, and worms to stamp our names on anything
At his workplace, they’ve called for people to sign a petition at a solemn event supposedly meant to defend the nation, but it’s really just validating the single-party system, the family clan that controls us with an outdated ideology that stifles the potential of millions of Cubans. Abel insists he won’t go. But I fear that the pressure and his plan to emigrate will make him give in. The thought of being “regulated,” like so many activists and independent journalists prevented from leaving the country, could break him.
No one asks me if I’m going to go sign. Nobody asks the lunatics, babies, and worms to stamp their names on anything. My absence probably won’t even be counted, because on this island, voter and signatory lists tend to be adjusted to reflect attendance while abstentions are concealed. In my building, too, many who signed that constitutional mummification have left the country . Many of those who voted for the current Constitution no longer live in Cuba either.
We gusanos, the worms, are sometimes stubborn and stay put. A graffiti on a wall in El Vedado sums up this whole story. On G Street, between 13th and Línea, someone has scrawled two words these days that say it all: “Puta firma.” What does it matter who goes and who doesn’t to leave their mark on those lists? What relevance does it have that there’s electricity now if in a few days the darkness will swallow us again? Is there anything more important than the sound of water when all the pipes are dry?
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
Russian oil barrels are giving the capital a respite that will be short-lived according to the Cuban government’s own data.
“Looks like they’ve been given a shot of fuel,” commented a passenger as he watched two buses pass by one after the other. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Juan Diego Rodríguez, Havana, April 22, 2026 – “Today at four in the morning I went up to the rooftop and was impressed. It had been a long time since I’d seen all of Havana lit up without dark patches everywhere,” a resident of Nuevo Vedado, whose building offers a view of much of the city, told this newspaper. The image, almost absent from the capital in recent months, sums up what happened this Wednesday. For a brief stretch in the early morning, Havana was almost completely illuminated again, and at dawn, several buses reappeared on the main avenues.
The national electrical grid managed to meet demand between 4:12 and 5:07 a.m., according to a press release from the National Electric Union (UNE). This 55-minute period without outages was a brief respite in a day marked by frequent blackouts. The UNE’s daily reports, published by Cubadebate, also indicate that such a window of uninterrupted power had not occurred since February 8th.
The change was noticeable on the streets before dawn. “I’ve seen some buses on the streets today, which haven’t been seen for a long time,” said a Havana resident who left her house early in the Cerro municipality. Another woman, at a bus stop on Diez de Octubre Avenue, summed up the scene with a mixture of astonishment and sarcasm: “There are buses on the streets today, what a miracle.”
The image of the return of electricity and buses coincided with a campaign launched by several pro-government accounts on social media the previous night. The most visible example was that of Vice Foreign Minister Josefina Vidal, who shared a post with the idea that “a fuel ship arrives in Cuba and the lights come back on,” echoing a message disseminated earlier, in Portuguese, by Mídia Ninja, a Brazilian alternative media network with an activist profile. Photos of a lit-up Havana and texts about the supposed energy relief circulated as proof of a visible improvement, at least for a few hours, in the capital. continue reading
“There are also people at the bus stops, which had been empty for a long time.” / 14ymedio
Off-screen, the perception was far less dramatic. “Looks like they’ve been given a shot of fuel,” commented one passenger upon seeing two buses pass by one after the other on a route where none had appeared in recent weeks. It wasn’t just the presence of the vehicles that was striking. “There are also people at the bus stops, which had been empty for a long time,” he added. During the worst days of the shortage, many of those corners had been practically deserted.
Since the weekend, the state press has been presenting the arrival of the Russian-donated oil shipment in Cuba as a turning point. The Russian vessel Anatoly Kolodkin arrived in Matanzas on March 31 with 100,000 tons of crude oil, equivalent to about 730,000 barrels. This fuel was processed at the Cienfuegos refinery because the Havana refinery is not operational, and according to the official version, gasoline, diesel, fuel oil, and liquefied gas are already being produced and distributed from this refined product.
The authorities maintain that processing took between 12 and 15 days and that the distribution of refined products to consumption centers is being carried out in stages. These products, the government insists, will help sustain some electricity generation, transportation, and economic activity. According to this official account, diesel and fuel oil will power generating plants, while gasoline and other fuels will help move cargo, passengers, and services.
On April 18, the State newspaper Granma reported that these fuel derivatives were already being distributed throughout the country and were beginning to reduce disruptions to the electrical service. The same article added that the available fuel, although limited, would also be used for transportation and to support the economy. This is essentially the explanation that state media have used in recent days to accompany the image of a brighter capital with more buses on the road. Outside of Havana, however, the situation is far from similar, and in much of the country, blackouts continue with the same frequency, while any relief is barely noticeable.
The total amount of derivatives obtained would cover “around a third of the national demand for a month”
However, the National Electric Union’s own report qualifies the extent of the improvement. The agency reported that on Tuesday there were outages throughout the 24-hour period, reaching a maximum of 1,384 megawatts. For the evening of April 22, the forecast still predicted a deficit exceeding 1,100 megawatts. The early morning without a blackout, therefore, did not represent a return to normalcy for the system, but rather a brief respite in the midst of a crisis that remains far from over.
Even so, the government has insisted on presenting the arrival of Russian crude as a substantial relief. According to official statements reported by Cubadebate, the total amount of refined products obtained would cover “around a third of national demand for a month.” This phrase, repeated optimistically by officials, state media, and affiliated social media accounts, has become a central tenet of the official narrative in recent days.
In Havana, that discourse found a concrete, albeit brief, translation into daily life this Wednesday. In a city where blackouts and lack of transportation have become part of the landscape, 55 minutes without shortages and a few buses returning to the avenues were enough for many to believe, for a moment, that normalcy had returned to the capital.
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COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
From driving an almendrón [classic American car in use as a shared taxi] to managing a private fleet, he dreams of a modern bus network in a city trapped between fuel shortages and improvisation.
“The authorities see us as if we were the enemy, even though we are the ones who are keeping this city running.” / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, April18, 2026 / The hustle and bustle begins early in Fraternity Park. Under the shade of the trees, a line of jeeps and pickup trucks adapted for passenger transport wait their turn while the drivers chat, check the engine, or lean against the open doors. The Capitol Building looms in the background, imposing, as if watching over this small universe where necessity, ingenuity, and daily survival intersect. In this private taxi stand, where each vehicle represents a story of hard work, Ricardo, a 48-year-old Havana resident, moves with a calm gait. He feels transportation as a vocation that runs in his veins.
Ricardo, a name changed to avoid reprisals, doesn’t wear a uniform or any special insignia. He dresses simply, speaks in a measured tone, and greets each driver by name. His role now is that of manager and supervisor of a small fleet he and his brother have built up over decades of work. However, as soon as he stops in front of one of the vehicles, a green minibus with a capacity for a dozen passengers, his gaze becomes technical, almost professional. He checks the condition of the tires, asks about fuel consumption, and reviews the day’s schedule as if he were inspecting a complex transportation network.
“I was born for this,” he tells 14ymedio, with a brief smile. And he doesn’t seem to be exaggerating.
When the boys were born, I couldn’t afford to continue studying without earning a penny. I had to find money as quickly as possible.
Ricardo studied Transportation Engineering at the José Antonio Echeverría Technological University of Havana, the well-known Cujae, until his fourth year. He didn’t graduate. Life, as it happens to so many young people in Cuba, forced him to take a more urgent path. He married young, had twins, and the need to support his family took precedence over books and classrooms.
“When the boys were born, I couldn’t afford to continue studying without earning a single penny. I had to find money as quickly as possible,” he recalls.
His entry into the world of almendrones — classic American cars operating as shared taxis — was almost a natural progression. His father had worked for the railroad for decades, and at home, trains, routes, and schedules were always a topic of conversation. Even his great-grandfather was involved in managing Havana’s old streetcar system, a family legacy that shaped his childhood. As a boy, while others played ball, he built imaginary cities with toy cars. That passion remains with him: in his living room, continue reading
he maintains a meticulous collection of miniature cars.
“Private transport operators know this city better than the Ministry of Transport.” / 14ymedio
The first vehicle he drove was his father’s old Chevrolet, a car that had already accumulated years and repairs when Ricardo decided to convert it into a shared taxi. Those beginnings, he says, were tough.
“There were days when I went out to work not knowing if I would be able to return home with enough money for food. The car was constantly breaking down and the parts were hard to find. But there was no alternative.”
On the route connecting Fraternity Park with Santiago de las Vegas, he learned to deal with impatient passengers, deteriorating streets, and a public transportation system that was already showing signs of exhaustion. That experience taught him to calculate times, costs, and routes with almost mathematical precision.
Over time they managed to build a small fleet that today includes six electric tricycles and five car-type vehicles, capable of transporting between 10 and 14 passengers each.
His brother, also a driver, joined the business, and together they began to grow slowly. They reinvested part of their profits in repairs, fuel, and the purchase of new vehicles. Over time, they built a small fleet that today includes six electric tricycles and five passenger vans, each capable of carrying between 10 and 14 passengers.
Ricardo no longer lives “glued to the wheel,” as he himself says, but he remains connected to the daily operation of the vehicles. He visits the taxi stand frequently, supervises the drivers, and reviews the day’s income and expenses. His presence, discreet yet constant, reflects a mixture of responsibility and pride.
At Fraternity Park, the flow of passengers never stops. Women with heavy bags, students with backpacks, and workers trying to get to their jobs gather around the vehicles, asking about destinations and fares. The sound of the engines mingles with the murmur of conversations and the metallic slam of closing doors.
Ricardo observes this scene with a critical eye. For him, transportation in Havana is not just a business, but a structural problem that requires technical solutions and political will.
There is no real coordination between the different modes of transport, and this leads to losses of time and resources.
As he explains, the principal obstacles facing passenger transportation in the capital are the lack of fuel, the deterioration of the vehicle fleet, the shortage of spare parts and the absence of efficient route planning.
“The whole system is improvised. There’s no real coordination between the different modes of transport, and that causes a waste of time and resources,” he says. “The authorities see us as if we were the enemy, even though we’re the ones keeping this city moving,” he points out. “They bombard us with fines and inspections, but what they should be doing is working with us, hand in hand.”
He also points out that current regulations limit the growth of the private sector. He considers it essential to create a legal framework that allows for the direct import of vehicles and parts in an expedited manner and “without so much paperwork,” access to financing, and the possibility of establishing stable contracts with the government.
“If we want to improve transportation in Cuba, we have to let those who know how to do it do their jobs,” he argues. “Private transport operators know this city better than the Ministry of Transportation; we’ve designed more efficient and comprehensive routes and connections than the Havana Bus Company.”
“If we want to improve transportation in Cuba, we have to let those who know how to do it do their jobs.”
His incomplete academic training hasn’t prevented him from maintaining a technical approach to the subject. Ricardo has dedicated years to studying route behavior, passenger flow, and operating costs. His notebook contains detailed notes on schedules, distances, and fuel consumption.
His greatest ambition is to run a bus route in Havana. This isn’t just a whim. He has developed a complete project that includes route planning, frequency calculations, and income and expense estimates.
In his mind, the city is divided into high- and low-demand zones, with stations strategically located to facilitate passenger access. He speaks of waiting times, cargo capacity, and preventative maintenance with the confidence of a professional.
“I have all the numbers done. I know roughly how many buses are needed, the municipalities that need to be connected because they are currently isolated, the type of bus that will best meet the needs of the conditions we have here, and something that is not allowed now, which is to turn the buses into rolling advertising options so that businesses can pay to promote their products in these display cases on wheels, which is a way to generate income,” he says.
At Fraternity Park, the flow of passengers never stops. / 14ymedio
His plan includes the use of modern technologies to optimize the service. It proposes the incorporation of electronic payment systems, the creation of rechargeable cards with special discounts for students and senior citizens, mobile applications for route tracking, and hybrid or electric vehicles that reduce fuel consumption.
“Cuba could skip stages if it adopts efficient technologies. There’s no need to repeat the mistakes of other countries,” he points out.
As he speaks, a group of passengers gets into one of the vehicles parked on the sidewalk. A woman in a red dress settles into the back seat, followed by two young men carrying their backpacks. The driver starts the engine and the vehicle slowly merges into traffic.
Ricardo watches the maneuver intently, as if evaluating every detail. His experience allows him to detect flaws and anticipate problems.
Despite the economic difficulties and uncertainty that characterize life on the Island, the entrepreneur insists that his future is in Cuba.
“I’ve never wanted to emigrate, even though almost all my friends are outside the country,” he admits.
He believes the island needs professionals willing to work for the recovery of public services and the development of infrastructure.
For him, transportation is more than a job. It’s a personal mission that combines family tradition, technical expertise, and social commitment. He believes the island needs professionals willing to work toward the restoration of public services and the development of infrastructure.
At Fraternity Park, the line of vehicles continues to grow. The sun illuminates the colorful car bodies and casts long shadows on the pavement. Drivers chat, passengers wait, and the city keeps moving with the precarious energy that characterizes Havana.
Ricardo walks among the cars with a firm step, greeting each worker and checking the details of the service. His presence conveys the feeling of someone who refuses to accept the decline, who believes in the possibility of organizing the chaos and building a more efficient transportation system.
In his mind, the maps and calculations keep turning like invisible gears. There, in that universe of numbers and routes, he envisions the future he imagines for the city: a modern, punctual, and accessible bus network, capable of restoring to Havana the dynamism it once had.
And although that project still belongs to the realm of dreams, Ricardo continues to prepare for the day he can make it a reality.
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This article was produced in collaboration with Cuba Siglo 21 as part of the project “Cuba: Stabilize and Develop.”
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Today, the person responsible for filing the appeal went to the Court on time, but the document was not received on the grounds that the relevant official was unavailable. They were told to return the following day.
For Cubalex’s legal team, this action is legally inadmissible. The deadline for filing the appeal expires today. Forcing its submission on a later date places the appellant outside the time limit, which in practice implies the loss of the right to appeal and constitutes a form of obstruction of access to justice.
According to Cuban procedural law, the Provincial Court of Artemisa has the obligation to receive the appeal filed within the legal term; incorporate it into the corresponding file and elevate it to the Supreme People’s Court (TSP) for processing.
The refusal to receive the document not only violates the right to due process, but also reinforces a pattern already documented in this case: the use of formal mechanisms to block effective access to Habeas Corpus.
This fact adds to the irregularities already identified in the Order dated March 12, 2026, by which the Court rejected the request for alleged lack of competence, without legal basis or indication of the competent body.
The current refusal to accept the appeal aggravates this situation and constitutes an additional violation of basic procedural guarantees.
Cubalex demands the immediate receipt of the appeal filed within the deadline; the effective processing of the procedure; the referral of the file to the Supreme People’s Court; and the cessation of practices that obstruct access to justice.
It also warns that these events will be documented and presented to international human rights protection mechanisms as evidence of denial of justice and restriction of Habeas Corpus in Cuba.
Madeleiny Fuentes León, who never published the video, was arrested by the Technical Investigations Department.
Madeleiny Fuentes has been detained for more than 72 hours at the detention center known as El Técnico, in Cienfuegos, Cuba / Facebook
Madeleiny Fuentes León, 30, a resident of Santa Isabel de las Lajas, Cienfuegos, was arrested last Friday by agents of the Technical Investigations Department (DTI), under orders from Cuba’s Ministry of the Interior, after she recorded a video of a police search of her home and sent it to her sister, Madeley Fuentes León, in the United States. According to a complaint filed Tuesday by the legal advice center Cubalex, although the video was never released, authorities threatened the woman with three to five years in prison for recording the police.
According to the NGO, agents arrived at the residence with a search warrant, entered the home, and confiscated two cell phones and cash. The reason for the operation, according to the group Freedom For Cuba, based in West Palm Beach, Florida, and to which Madeleiny’s sister belongs, was “retaliation because Madeley, from the United States, publicly defends freedom in Cuba.”
In another post on their Facebook page, the group even claims that the agents arrived at Madeleiny Fuentes’ house “with photographs taken from the US, where Madeley appears participating in activities of the movement for the freedom of Cuba.”
Fuentes León’s family members “continue to lack access to clear information about her situation”
Cubalex also reported that the young woman is being held at the detention center known as El Técnico in Cienfuegos, after spending more than 72 hours in custody, awaiting formal charges. In this regard, the Cuban Institute for Freedom of Expression and the Press (ICLEP) stated that Fuentes León’s family “continues to lack access to clear information about her situation, following the authorities’ refusal to provide details for at least 72 hours.” continue reading
Meanwhile, Justicia 11J reported that they contacted Madeley in the United States, who stated that she “fears the possible arrest of her mother, Mabel León Fonseca, after she attended a summons from authorities of the
14ymedio, Havanam 24 Aril 2026 — Political prisoner Lizandra Góngora Espinosa, arrested for the Island-wide protests of 11 July 2021 [’11J’], ended her hunger and thirst strike on Friday. She had begun the strike on April 22nd at Los Colonos prison on the Isle of Youth, according to the Cuban legal organization Cubalex. The protest, which lasted 48 hours, was a response to the prison conditions, the lack of medical attention, and the prolonged isolation from her family.
