Amid blackouts, protests, and empty bus stops, Cubans are receiving the 176 economic measures announced by the government with skepticism.
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Havana, June 20, 2026 / She carefully climbs onto the electric tricycle, while clarifying that she has had knee surgery. At 81, she says she dedicated her entire life to training athletes and that, many days, she has to choose between paying for transportation or buying food. “I won’t live to see any results from these measures,” she declares about the package of economic reforms announced this week by the Cuban government, which has failed to inspire hope or enthusiasm on the streets.
The days have become stifling in Cuba. By day, the sun beats down relentlessly; by night, the bonfires of the protests, fueled by mountains of garbage, dot the horizon with flames. I walk to the Faculty of Arts and Letters, where I graduated a quarter of a century ago. The dust accumulated on the windows and the silence that pervades the hallways reveal the academic paralysis that began last February. I turn to the right and begin to climb the hill that leads to the Calixto García Hospital. Next to the fence of the university stadium, more than fifty people try to share a tiny patch of shade.
“I won’t live to see any results from those measures.”
Some sweat under the sun; others seek refuge under umbrellas. They all share the same expression of annoyance while waiting for a bus to take them somewhere in a city where most of the stops remain empty. People have lost hope that any bus will ever come, and those images of passengers overflowing like bunches of grapes from the doors of the 22, the 30, or the 195 are a thing of the past. If during the Special Period passengers were practically hanging out of the windows, now many don’t even try to get around. They have given up on mobility.
Near the Physics Faculty, a woman and her teenage son sleep on the sidewalk. It’s evident they’ve been there for several days: they’ve improvised a bed, hung bags from a tree, and spread out blankets on which they display items salvaged from the trash, hoping to sell them. There are cables, a doll lacking one arm, and a few books. One of them is a manual of socialist economics, one of those texts that warned us that the market was taboo and that communism couldn’t be built with the tools of capitalism.
How many thermoelectric plants could have been built with the money invested in this giant without guests?
Did Miguel Díaz-Canel study a book like this? Very likely. However, this week he insisted that the new measures aim for more socialism, even though they more closely resemble a roadmap for a crony capitalism, where the future Cuban oligarchs will be the same ones who today ask us to resist and tighten our belts.
I continue walking to J Street and quicken my pace towards 25th. As I approach the Torre K hotel, with its immense ugliness of 42 stories, I’m struck by the desolation of the place. No taxis picking up passengers, no buses unloading tourists to enjoy the views from the top. The access street is completely empty.
How many thermoelectric plants could have been built with the money invested in this giant without guests? I ask myself as I continue towards L Street. I pass a small cafe where “everything is hot because we’ve hardly had electricity,” a young vendor explains to a woman with an obviously thirsty face.
“And now, with all these measures, what about the inspectors?” she asks. The package of relaxations has overturned many of the prohibitions that fueled the fines and bribes of those blue-coated employees who have become the scourge of entrepreneurs.
“They don’t have the time to implement any of that, neither the time nor the desire.”
But the young man doesn’t seem to share the official enthusiasm. “They don’t have the time to implement any of that, neither the time nor the inclination,” he says. While some foreign media outlets are calling the 176 measures approved by the National Assembly “the most profound economic reform” undertaken in seven decades in Cuba, the same optimism isn’t widespread on the streets. The long blackouts and the harshness of reality dampen any jubilation.
“What we need is for them to leave,” the frustrated customer concludes, as she continues searching for cold water.
A very thin boy approaches me offering instant soda for 60 pesos a pack. I give him a 100-peso bill and return the colorful envelope he placed in my hands. Begging and child labor are everywhere. Further on, a teenager plays the violin on the sidewalk, hoping someone from a nearby café will leave him a tip. Inside, everyone looks away and pretends not to hear the melody flowing from the strings.
My mobile phone rings. It’s a call from home: “The power came on at 12:52 and went out at 12:58.”
We no longer have any food in the freezer. It’s not worth it. Food spoils during the long hours without electricity, and we have to cook only what will fit on the plate that we’ll eat that same day. Canned goods, preserves, and dehydrated products are going up in price as fast as refrigerators are becoming increasingly useless. A few days ago, I opened four eggs, one after the other, and they were all bad. The loss was over 400 pesos.
“If they had done all this decades ago, my children wouldn’t have had to leave, but now it’s too late.”
“They’re going to let us wear hats now that we don’t even have heads left,” jokes a neighbor I bump into on my way back to my building. Eight years ago, she saw her son off to the Darién jungle, and two years ago, she watched her daughter leave for Uruguay. “If they had done all this decades ago, my children wouldn’t have had to leave, but now it’s too late.”
The time for possible reforms ended a long time ago.
A few hours later, the flames of accumulated garbage and the banging of pots and pans in indignation once again heated up the night. In Central Havana, a woman threw wood and paper onto a bonfire that grew out of control. The sheets fell and charred almost immediately, just as the measures incapable of quelling the popular hunger for immediate and total change had been reduced to ashes.
Previous Havana Chronicles:
Surrounded by Garbage, Miramar Is No Longer the Glamorous Neighborhood It Once Was
A Circus Facing Off Against Power, and a City Growing Increasingly Lonely
Chronicle of a Monday That Feels Like Wednesday
“We Used to Complain About the ‘CUC’, But Now We Miss It”
The Roar of Despair of a Cuban Woman Returning to Her Country After Many Years
The Tulipán Market Closed: “They’ve Given the Order To Go to the March for Raúl”
Along Carlos III Street and towards Ethiopia
Sleeping Is Also a Privilege in Havana
A Desperate Plea in the Middle of the Dark Havana Night: ‘Light!’
Under a Picture-Postcard Blue Sky, the Country is Crumbling
Fatigue Barely Allows One to Enjoy the ‘Lights On’ in Havana
Dollars, the Classic Card, and a Havana Without Tourists
A Journey Through the Lost Names of Havana
The Shipwreck of a Ship Called “Cuba”
Havana Seen From ‘The Control Tower’
In Havana, the Only Ones Who Move Are the Mosquitoes
Reina, the Stately Street Where Garbage is Sold
Searching for Light Through the Deserted Streets of Havana
The Death Throes of ‘Granma’, the Mouthpiece of a Regime Cornered by Crisis
The Anxiety of the Disconnected Cuban
One Mella, Three Mellas, Life in Cuba Is Measured in Thousands of Pesos
It Is Forbidden To Leave Home in Cuba Today Because It Is a “Counter-Revolutionary Day”
Vedado, the Heart of Havana’s Nightlife, Is Now Converted Into a Desert
_________________
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.