“They have been fearing that voice for 60 years, terrified of its extraordinary power to draw a crowd”
14ymedio, Reinaldo Escobar, Havana, 10 November 2025 — Spectacular. There is no other word to describe the tribute paid to Celia Cruz this Sunday night at the El Cabildo cultural center, near the Almendares River in Havana. The gala, commemorating the centennial of the Queen of Salsa, had been previously censored when it attempted to be presented on Sunday, October 19, at the Fábrica de Arte Cubano (FAC).
With all the seast occupied, and dozens of people standing because they couldn’t get a seat, despite transportation problems and the arboviruses that continue to plague the population, the show organized by the El Público theater group began. The baritone, Ulises Aquino , founder of the Ópera de la Calle company and promoter of El Cabildo, took the microphone and thanked the theater company for their courage in finally presenting the play dedicated to the Queen of Salsa
During the night, there was dancing, applause, and enjoyment. Few managed to remain seated during the parade of musical themes, as infectious as they were representative of a woman who symbolizes the most optimistic, sensual, and festive part of the Cuban soul, so battered after decades of feigned severity and public discourse that glorifies resentment and hatred of those who are different. Artists including Roberto Romero, Estrellita, Freddy Maragoto, Lucho Calzadilla, Georbis Martínez, Daniel Triana, and the dancers Brian Ernesto Pérez and Chay Deivis shone, and made the show shine.
While the official discourse was gray and subdued, the songs that resonated this Sunday at El Cabildo were expansive and direct
The show was not only a moving tribute to Celia Cruz, but also the best possible response to the National Center for Popular Music, which, in a terse message that didn’t even mention the name of the Queen of Salsa, announced last October that the gala at the FAC would not take place. While the official statement was subdued and timid, the songs that resonated this Sunday at El Cabildo were expansive and direct.
With the direction of Carlos Díaz and with the dramaturgy of Norge Espinosa, the show “Celia” found a fitting venue at El Cabildo. Among the foliage of the area, the event had a certain air of rebellion, of something done even though the dogs of censorship were barking nearby, very nearby. “We’ll see what they publish tomorrow,” commented a woman, who danced all night, alluding to possible official attacks against El Público and El Cabildo for preparing and hosting the gala.
“Quimbara, cumbara, cumba quimbambá” blared from the loudspeakers of the cultural center, and hips, as if possessed by a spell, swayed and swayed without rest. Amid the somber times being experienced in Cuba, with the fear that a mosquito bite might end in fevers, swollen joints, or a funeral, what happened at El Cabildo was more than a balm; it was a true injection of life, hope, and enthusiasm
An enormous mouth, bright red and with teeth peeking out in festive laughter, appeared on the stage screen. Contagious laughter that defined the evening from the start as a time to have fun, enjoy oneself, and let loose, dance and be happy. Creating that kind of festive atmosphere is no small feat these days, but the tribute to Celia Cruz achieved it. It transported the audience to a state of boisterous celebration that lasted even after the stage lights had gone out and people began to leave the venue
“I’m still a little sore, but I couldn’t miss this,” commented a young man still recovering from chikungunya, who could barely sit still at the table he shared with a couple. “I found out through a WhatsApp group, and even though I live far away, I arranged with some friends to pay for a ride here. Of course, we came covered in insect repellent, just in case,” he joked.
There was no lack of glances toward the entrance of the place, fearing that at any moment some guayabera-clad bureaucrat with a stern face might burst in and order the microphones turned off. “I came for Celia, but also to make sure this show was really going to happen because after what happened at the Fábrica de Arte, I couldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes,” commented Ana María, a Havana native born in 1960, the same year Celia Cruz left Cuba.
“In my house, we never stopped listening to her. My parents had their Communist Party [PCC] membership cards on one hand and their adoration of Celia Cruz on the other,” she told this newspaper. “When my mother died, she had long since left the PCC, but she never stopped being a fan of Celia. That was one of her lifelong dreams. The last New Year’s Eve we celebrated as a family before she died, she danced to ‘La Negra Tiene Tumbao‘.”
For some of those who attended Sunday’s tribute, it was the first time they had heard the Queen of Salsa in a space other than a private party or family gathering. Hearing her in a space packed with people, practically under the open sky, without subterfuge or hiding, proved to be a liberating experience. No musical closet can withstand a shout of “Azúuuucar!”
The affection for Celia Cruz and the joy of dancing to the rhythm of her voice acted as a magical connection among those attending the tribute. The atmosphere was very different from that of the attacks that, these days, government spokespeople are launching against the artist. If in the dark offices of ministries and institutions they decree to silence her, in El Cabildo she resonated powerfully; they could not muzzle her
Rosa Marquetti, a specialist in the life and work of the Queen of Salsa, had already warned that Cuban censors “have spent 60 years fearing that voice, trembling with fear at the mere mention or writing of her name, terrified by her extraordinary power to draw people in.” According to the expert, the songs popularized by Celia Cruz “are far more compelling and convincing than the bitterness and karmic negativity with which they impose orders, wield power, and threaten with the only thing they possess: the force of de facto power.”
That contrast between joy and anger, jubilation and resentment was more than evident at El Cabildo, transformed on Sunday night into a magical space where insults, hatred, and pessimism were banished. The gala’s closing couldn’t have been more in tune with that atmosphere of happiness. “I will live, I will be there/ As long as a comparsa passes by, I will sing my rumba,” was heard over the loudspeakers. “Oh, I want that to be the national anthem of Cuba,” a young woman said as she left, with tears and a smile on her face.
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