The banging of pots was played by workers, government employees, and even officials who live in this area of El Vedado.
“Last night this neighborhood changed,” says Yoani Sánchez, after yesterday’s protest near the 14ymedio newsroom. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Generation Y, Havana, July 17, 2026 / On Thursday night, after 28 hours of blackout and a brief period with electricity, the people in my neighborhood reached a state of collective rage unlike anything I had never before experienced. The power was restored for barely 90 minutes, by which time the refrigerators were completely thawed, the water in the rooftop tank had run dry, and the heat had turned our bodies into dirty, sweaty surfaces.
Then, after that brief burst of light, the power went out again, and the banging of pots and pans erupted in indignation. I had never heard in this area of Nuevo Vedado, in Havana, banging pots and pans with such force, frequency, and duration. I couldn’t film the chorus of anguish spreading everywhere because my phone hadn’t managed to revive from the coma it was left in by the previous power outage. But it is enough for me now to recall that melody of social anger etched in my memory. I even heard the clanging from balconies, windows, and terraces where I had never before heard anything dissenting, not even a curse word thrown into the wind.
I even heard the clanging from balconies, windows and terraces where I had never before heard anything dissenting, not even a swear word thrown into the wind
The potbanging came from the workers, government employees, and even civil servants who live in this part of the Cuban capital. In a neighborhood of high-rise buildings, constructed under the microbrigade system and with apartments often awarded based on work and political merit, we find everyone from bureaucrats who share their workday with ministers and secretaries of the Communist Party to retirees who once helped build the repressive apparatus that subjugates us all. They, too, banged their pots and pans. Hidden in the darkness, without going out into the street, without even looking out from their balconies, they banged the pot hard, pounding on the pan as if it were the wall of the Electric Union or the facade of the Ministry of Energy and Mines.
Last night this neighborhood changed. Will my neighbors take to the streets to protest like they do in San Miguel del Padrón, Regla, Guanabacoa, Luyanó, or Cayo Hueso? I don’t rule it out, although the geographical proximity to the Council of State, the Ministry of the Armed Forces, and the Ministry of the Interior might be a reason why many are still hesitant to take that step, for fear of a more violent repression than in other parts of Havana. But last night my neighborhood resonated, vibrated, and shouted through a long, furious banging of pots and pans, with moments of a symphonic anxiety that helped to dispel some of the fear.
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The artist and political prisoner has been missing for ten days after being removed from Guanajay prison by State Security.
Otero Alcántara was arrested on July 11, 2021, while trying to join the anti-government protests that erupted that day. / Facebook
14ymedio, Madrid, July 17, 2026 — The U.S. has approved the parole requested by Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara so that he may enter the country. A U.S. Embassy official in Havana confirmed the news to 14ymedio after the artist’s relatives and friends, who say his whereabouts have been unknown for the past ten days, announced it Friday through social media accounts in his name.
“If the Cuban regime allows it, Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara will travel to Miami on Saturday and enter the United States under humanitarian parole or Significant Public Benefit parole,” the consular source said.
The social media post from the artist’s relatives and friends states that the approval came “after several weeks of constant efforts.” “Since early 2023, Luis accepted exile as the only way to continue his work as an artist and activist after enduring all the repression directed against him,” the post says. His friends also reaffirm that his release is being granted only in exchange for exile: “State Security has left him no other option for being released from prison.”
A U.S. official, speaking anonymously to 14ymedio, said that by keeping Otero Alcántara confined after he had completed his sentence while awaiting parole to travel to the United States, the Havana regime intended to “put the ball in Washington’s court and make it appear that the artist remained imprisoned because of delays by the Trump administration.”
On July 7, Otero Alcántara’s relatives reported that the artist had been removed from the maximum-security prison in Guanajay, Artemisa Province, where he was serving a sentence with only two days remaining. Days later, the artist managed to contact continue reading
“If the Cuban regime allows it, Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara will travel to Miami on Saturday and enter the U.S. under humanitarian parole or Significant Public Benefit parole”
According to the activist and art historian’s own social media account, Otero Alcántara called her “from a State Security cellphone, an unknown number, and the call was on speakerphone.” When she asked how he was doing, the artist replied “fine,” Ramos said, “in the tone we use to indicate that we’re as well as possible under the circumstances.” He was unable to answer the second question she asked: “Where are you?”
The activist explained at the time that the parole application for Otero Alcántara to travel to the U.S. was still “being processed” and that the artist would remain “in that unknown location until it is resolved.”
Today’s post recalls: “Luis should have been free since July 9, when his unjust five-year sentence expired, yet he remains in the hands of the political police at a location we cannot identify.” It adds, suggesting the possibility of an imminent trip to the United States: “As soon as we have any clear information about his possible departure from Cuba, we will share it through this channel.”
Otero Alcántara was arrested on 11 July 2021, while attempting to join the anti-government protests that broke out that day in numerous Cuban cities. In 2022, he was sentenced to five years in prison on charges including insulting national symbols, contempt, and public disorder. His case, along with that of rapper Maykel Castillo Osorbo, became one of the most prominent symbols of the repression that followed the 11 July protests.
Three days after Otero Alcántara’s release from prison, Castillo himself was transferred to Guanajay prison from Kilo 8 prison in Pinar del Río, where he had been serving his own nine-year sentence.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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Dozens of protests over power outages continue across Havana.
The Government’s response remains repression: Cubalex warns of the enforced disappearance of six protesters in Guantánamo.
Stones and trash were left blocking the road after the protest on Avenida México, popularly known as Cristina, in El Cerro, Havana. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Juan Diego Rodríguez, Havana, July 17, 2026 – Power outages and protests now go hand in hand in Cuba. This Friday, on México Avenue in Havana’s Cerro municipality, 14ymedio came across the remnants of the previous night’s protest: large rocks, piles of garbage, and even a chair remained in the roadway, forcing vehicles to maneuver around them. As shown in videos shared on social media, dozens of residents took to the streets banging pots and pans and blocked the road after spending 24 hours without electricity. Several hours later, the barricades had still not been removed. When contacted by this newspaper, one resident declined to comment out of fear of police surveillance.
The sector chief went to speak with the residents, who were blocking the street with a sign demanding “Water and electricity.” / 14ymedio
This newspaper also documented another protest in Luyanó this Friday, in broad daylight. Residents who had gone more than 24 hours without electricity blocked several side streets with empty buckets, branches, and metal objects. Their main demand was summed up on a sign: “Water and Electricity.” According to one resident, the lack of water was what angered the neighborhood the most. “I’m about ready to go to the Malecón and drink salt water,” he said. The neighborhood police officer arrived to speak with residents, and shortly afterward electricity service was restored. Authorities promised to send a water tanker, but by midday it had still not arrived. Residents decided to keep one street blocked until it did.
Residents will keep the side street blocked until the water tanker arrives. / 14ymedio
On Thursday night, from the 14ymedio newsroom, loud pot-banging protests could be heard coming from several apartment buildings in Nuevo Vedado, near Boyeros and Conill. Residents had been without electricity for more than 28 hours. Service was restored for only about an hour and a half, by which time refrigerators had already thawed and the building’s water supply had been completely exhausted. When the power went out again, the largest and longest pot-banging protest the neighborhood could remember began, something unusual given that it’s inhabited mostly by government officials and state employees.
In some parts of the capital, blackouts now exceed 72 hours. The lack of electricity has also worsened the water crisis: residents in numerous municipalities report going weeks without water. The outages occur one after another, and the few hours of electricity available are barely enough continue reading
to recharge batteries, much less pump water.
The sector chief went to speak with the residents, who were blocking the street with a sign demanding “Water and electricity.” / 14ymedio
Along with the energy crisis, reports of illegal payments within the electric utility have also begun to surface. “Corruption in the National Electric Union is running rampant,” a Luyanó resident told this newspaper. “Not long ago, the neighbors here had to pay for workers to come repair a breakdown. We had been without electricity for almost 24 hours and had to pay them to do what is supposed to be their job.” According to residents, the practice of paying to be connected to privileged circuits in order to reduce blackout times has also become widespread.
Residents of San Miguel del Padrón voiced similar complaints during Thursday’s protests, which also took place in broad daylight. Neighbors alleged that some utility workers prioritize restoring power to certain circuits in exchange for money. “People pay them to come restore the electricity, and that’s why other neighborhoods are left without stable power,” one resident told Martí Noticias. “The workers know how desperate we are because of the energy crisis, and they’re charging money.”
Similarly, videos shared from Calabazar, in the Boyeros municipality, show several residents detaining two people who, according to witnesses, were electric utility employees negotiating to prioritize certain circuits in exchange for payment. According to accounts from local residents, the two individuals were later arrested by police. Other videos show dozens of neighborhood residents gathered in the streets chanting slogans demanding the restoration of electricity service and denouncing the lack of transparency in the operations of the state utility.
Barricades remained on the avenue after Thursday’s protests in El Cerro. / 14ymedio
Guanabacoa was another of the capital’s major flashpoints. There, residents marched through the streets in groups after three days without electricity and one month without water, chanting, “Water and electricity!” According to accounts shared on social media, residents from different neighborhoods joined the same protest. Those posts say that government officials arrived to try to calm the demonstrators and promised that service would be restored.
In San Isidro, Old Havana, videos show residents shouting directly against the Government and Miguel Díaz-Canel, denouncing that they have gone four days without electricity or water. One woman, shouting with a trembling voice, urged the “tough guys” of the neighborhood to bravely stand up to the police.
Engineer and private entrepreneur Yulieta Hernández Díaz also wrote on her social media profile this Friday that residents in her Playa neighborhood held a pot-banging protest that lasted an hour and only ended when electricity returned. According to her account, residents had accumulated nearly 100 hours without power, regained electricity for just two hours, and then endured another 31 hours in darkness. “I think we’ve gone 13 days without water and counting. I’ve already lost track; my neighbors tell me it’s been 16 days. We’ve even collected rainwater,” she wrote.
The Government’s response to the protests continues to be repression. Activist Gisselle Ordoñez, known on social media as Zea Gisselle, wrote a detailed account this Friday explaining that she had been summoned and questioned by State Security agents at a police station in Havana, where she was interrogated about her participation in protests and her social media posts.
“I have no President, no Homeland, and no country; what I have is the neighborhood where I was born, the place where I came into the world and where I grew up, an island, a piece of land”
According to her account, the agents accused her of “exercising leadership” during protests in her neighborhood, documenting police operations, and sharing content on social media that they claimed served opposition interests. The activist denied belonging to any organization or receiving funding but clearly expressed her position: “I have no President, no Homeland, and no country; what I have is the neighborhood where I was born, the place where I came into the world and where I grew up, an island, a piece of land.”
According to the activist, the interview ended with her signing a formal warning. In it, Gisselle wrote that she pledged “not to change her way of thinking” while trying not to commit offenses established in the Penal Code.
Pressure against those who take part in protests has also spread to other provinces. This Friday, the independent organization Cubalex reported the enforced disappearance of at least six people detained after a protest over power outages that took place Tuesday night in the Loma del Chivo neighborhood of Guantánamo. According to the organization, State Security and police officers filmed the protesters and later arrested them.
So far, two of the detainees have been identified: Yeansg Carlos Pérez George and Cristian Jesús Bergondo George. Cubalex says their relatives do not know the whereabouts of any of the six detainees and have remained outside the State Security Department’s Operations Unit in Guantánamo, where they report having been mistreated by authorities.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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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.
‘The Economist’ tells the story of the ordeal facing Cuban doctors through the tale of two siblings who chose different paths: staying on the mission and leaving it
In May, the medical mission in Mexico was warned that doctors could be brought back to Cuba given the current situation. / Government of Michoacán
14ymedio, Madrid, July 17, 2026 / In the midst of the US State Department’s offensive against Cuba’s medical cooperation programs, the prestigious British weekly The Economist published an extensive report this Friday that portrays, through the cases – very distant in time from one another – of two siblings in the medical field, the human and economic fracture that this lucrative labor-export mechanism has bequeathed to the island.
The journalist, a correspondent based in Mexico, spent six months talking with about thirty Cuban doctors who have taken part in the government’s programs, at least half of whom have deserted, while the rest remain in Cuba. The story that anchors the report is that of two siblings, both doctors, who recount very different experiences, though both reflect a shared outlook: choosing a path that would lift them out of poverty, only to end up wanting to flee.
Jorge, 40, is the one who doesn’t manage to leave. He has been working since the start of this year – when he received a call from a Health Ministry official proposing it to him – in a rural enclave in Mexico. He was given only hours to pack his bags, but he didn’t hesitate. He would earn 1,700 dollars in the country, compared with the 14 dollars he receives in Cuba, where he lives with his partner, Bryan, in a province identified only as “far from Havana.” It wasn’t the first time he had done this either, but on this occasion what weighed most heavily was his exhaustion with the blackouts, with living off remittances and gifts from patients: tamales and beans. He recalls from the previous time, in Mexico City during the pandemic, how he would look at stores packed with everything. “I ate so much I felt sick,” the article states.
He now works in a remote region rife with violence, but one that lets him send all kinds of things back to Cuba: a small motorbike, a hard drive full of pirated content, and even solar panels. “I would rather be in Cuba with my family,” he says, admitting that what drives him isn’t humanitarianism but continue reading
money. He believes that is what motivates everyone, though the journalist notes that among those interviewed she found a bit of everything.
He recalls from the previous time, in Mexico City during the pandemic, how he would look at stores packed with everything. “I ate so much I felt sick,” the article states.
Jorge likes the work in Mexico. Patients appreciate him, he lives simply – he doesn’t pay rent – and he has hot water and internet, things that are impossible in Cuba. He also works fewer than 35 hours a week, since workers head home early before violence takes over the streets. Even so, he keeps turning over in his mind whether or not it’s in his interest to desert. He lives with the nagging doubt of whether, by staying calm and compliant, he is helping to prop up the regime.
In Cuba, the journalist meets Bryan, Jorge’s partner. He laughs when asked whether the doctors are slaves, as the US claims, or humanitarian heroes, as the regime portrays them. “Both things are true. Calling them ‘slaves’ is an exaggeration, especially in a country marked by slavery. Doctors should earn more, but it’s also fair that they contribute,” he says. He adds: “I’m the son of a poor Black woman who cleaned floors to make a living, but thanks to the Revolution I was able to become an engineer. I never paid a cent.”
Jorge, meanwhile, has begun to consider the idea of fleeing. But he is afraid. He recounts the insults hurled, in the brigade’s WhatsApp group, at one of the doctors who abandoned a mission. “We have a rat,” the group leader wrote, asking everyone to send in their opinions. “They wrote horrible things about him. They called him a deserter, a traitor, scum,” he says.
He has that experience within his own household. His half-sister Elisa is the other central figure in this story. She was 24 in 2013, when she joined the medical program to go to Venezuela. At that time there were about 32,000 health workers in the Barrio Adentro mission. She left immediately. “I didn’t have time to grasp how dangerous it was. I felt it was the only option,” she says. Her faith in the Revolution was far greater than Jorge’s, who was raised by their grandparents. She was influenced by her father, a state worker firmly committed to Fidelismo.
Elisa internalized “the idea that she was going to help the Venezuelan people” and left full of enthusiasm, but that wasn’t the only reason. She earned 200 dollars a month, ten times what she made in Cuba, though calm was in short supply where she was posted. Her schedule was 24 hours on duty and 24 hours off, she treated between 60 and 100 patients, and on one occasion a member of a local gang dragged in his unconscious leader, who was bleeding from a gunshot wound. “Save him or we’ll kill you,” he told her.
When she returned to Cuba on vacation she felt euphoric. She bought her mother an air conditioner, a washing machine, and a television, she had a debit card and a 30% discount on household goods purchases. She even put up a Christmas tree, her first “counterrevolutionary” act. But by the end of her vacation, back in Venezuela, she started to think. “I left Cuba with my mind caged. In Venezuela, I began to wake up,” she says.
What bothered her most was how well the Venezuelan elite lived while the population went hungry. There were also other conditions, such as the housing – the back room of a police station shared with 14 other Cubans – the curfew until six in the evening, being unable to leave the state, being unable to have relationships with local people and, of course, being unable to voice a different opinion. When her superiors discovered that a member of the group wanted to desert, they interrogated everyone. “It’s a horrible feeling. You start to distrust everyone, even your own countrymen.”
When her superiors discovered that a member of the group wanted to desert, they interrogated everyone. “It’s a horrible feeling. You start to distrust everyone, even your own countrymen.”
Elisa decided to take advantage of the Cuban Medical Professional Parole program, which was in effect between 2006 and 2016 and under which the United States allowed doctors who abandoned the island’s official missions to emigrate legally. More than 8,000 physicians did so. She left through Colombia via a dangerous route, guided by coyotes. In Cuba, her mother soon received visits from State Security, daily for three weeks. They withdrew 4,800 dollars from her bank account. Her friends insulted her on social media, her best friend stopped speaking to her, and, worst of all, so did her brother Jorge, upset because it derailed his own career.
Elisa now lives in Miami, where she works as a medical insurance broker – she chose not to have her degree validated – is married to an Iraq War veteran, and has two children. The whole family are ardent supporters of Donald Trump, even though she admits she fears for her current immigration status. She also doesn’t want to go to Cuba, afraid she would be identified as a doctor and not be allowed to leave again, amid a dire shortage of doctors and medical resources. The Economist also visited hospitals on the island and saw the collapse, amid total darkness.
In Mexico, Jorge admits he envied his sister – “She was so young when she left…” – and regrets the day he showed his contempt for her, though he still resents that she didn’t think of the rest of the family. In May, mission chiefs in Mexico warned the doctors in a video conference that they had to be ready in case they needed to return to Cuba “at any moment” because the island was “at war.” Jorge panicked and, although his colleagues assured him this was routine, he remains afraid. “I don’t want to go back,” he admits. His doubts are so great that, on one hand, he has consulted a lawyer about the possibility of staying in Mexico, but at the same time he has put his name on the list for the next mission, in 2027.
Teresa, Jorge and Elisa’s mother, lives in Cuba. The correspondent visited her there during her time on the island. The house still has the appliances bought with money from the Venezuelan mission, but the roof was torn off in a hurricane and is now covered with a tarp. She sums up her children’s story simply. “They’re good kids, but my daughter is braver than my son.”
Translated by GH.
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The limit will now be set by individual institutions, the Gaceta says, but that is already what was happening in practice
Branch of Banco Metropolitano at Belascoaín and Zanja, in Central Havana. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Havana, July 17, 2026 / As of Monday, the maximum limit of 5,000 pesos for cash payments and withdrawals, established in Cuba two years ago, will no longer be in effect. This is set out in the special edition of the Official Gazettepublished this Friday, in a rule issued by the Central Bank of Cuba (BCC, by its Spanish acronym) containing just two provisions.
The first repeals two articles of Resolution 111, which, on August 2, 2023, amid the country’s cash shortage, imposed a 5,000-peso ceiling on bank transactions and required that, once that amount was exceeded in a single operation, cards or electronic payment channels had to be used instead.
In its statement of grounds, the BCC refers to “the economic and social changes approved” – a clear reference to the 176 measures announced with the aim of liberalizing the economy – and to the “goal of making more efficient use of available cash,” for which reason “it is necessary to amend the aforementioned Resolution 111 by suspending the established limit, until conditions in the country allow for a more flexible scheme.”
As for the second provision, the Central Bank determines that the “petty cash fund for minor payments” will be agreed upon “between the commercial banks and the economic actor
This fund, it continues, will be “managed by mutual agreement between the commercial banks and state enterprises; higher-level business management organizations; budgeted entities; non-agricultural cooperatives; agricultural cooperatives; agricultural producers; individual farmers; commercial fishermen; micro, small, and medium-sized enterprises; local development projects; self-employed workers; artists and continue reading
creators; foreign investment arrangements and associative forms created under the Law on Associations, as well as natural and legal persons if they carry out legally authorized commercial and service activities, described as covered parties under Articles 2 and 3 of the aforementioned Resolution 111.”
As for the second provision, the Central Bank determines that the “petty cash fund for minor payments” will be agreed upon “between the commercial banks and the economic actor, taking into account criteria such as: income received into the checking account for tax purposes; cash deposits made; volume and proportion of transactions carried out through Online Payment; use of the extra cash-window service; nature of the economic activity; conditions in the local area; and cash availability at those banks.”
The new resolution – which takes effect three days after its publication in the Gaceta, that is, on July 20 – in practice simply puts on paper what was already happening: depending on how much cash was available, each branch set its own, different limit. “It was almost never 5,000 pesos,” says a retiree from Nuevo Vedado, in Havana. “The last time I went to a bank, the one at Marino and Conill, they were only giving out 1,000 pesos per person, in 20-peso bills.”
In Luyanó, a neighbor says, a few weeks ago they were only handing out 500 pesos per person. And from Sancti Spíritus people report an even more dramatic figure: a 200-peso limit per person. “That doesn’t even buy a soda,” the affected resident laments.
And that is only if you’re lucky – that is, if the bank branch has a minimum amount on hand, or if it even has power, which is even rarer these days. About thirty people were crowded into the Banco Metropolitano branch at Belascoaín and Zanja, in Central Havana, this very Friday, due to the lack of electricity. “You mean there’s not going to be a limit on withdrawals anymore?” exclaimed an elderly woman upon being told of the new rule. “Not that it makes any difference to me, since there’s no cash anyway.”
Translated by GH.
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Elías recounts how, at age 16, he came to wave the national flag at the corner of Toyo, standing atop an overturned police patrol car
Elías Rizo León visiting Madrid to mark the fifth anniversary of ’11J’ (11 July 2021). / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Luz Escobar, Madrid, July 16, 2026 / Elías Rizo León was just 16 years old on 11 July 2021, but his image -holding the Cuban flag as he stood atop a police patrol car that the crowd had overturned, amid the protest at the corner of Toyo, on Calzada de 10 de Octubre – became one of the most iconic images of that historic day of protest. Five years after that social outburst, and following a clandestine flight that took him through Russia, Serbia, and Greece, Elías now lives in Alicante, awaiting a ruling on his application for international protection. Visiting Madrid to mark the fifth anniversary of July 11, we spoke with him about memory, exile, forced maturity, and the certainty that Cuba’s path to freedom is one with no turning back.
Question: Let’s go back to the day before the outburst. Who were you then? How old were you, what were you doing, and what interested you on July 10?
Answer: The day before July 11 I was just an ordinary kid. I was enjoying my adolescence with my friends, listening to music, going out, meeting up with my friends. I had just turned 16; I had celebrated my birthday only a month and four days earlier, on June 7.
Q: By then you already had a phone with internet access. How did that shape the way you saw the reality of the island?
A: Yes, I already had social media. I got my information through independent Cuban outlets, and once the internet started reaching us, I began researching on my own on websites. I started watching underground documentaries about the erased chapters of Cuban history: the executions, the life of Pedro Luis Boitel, or that of Rolando Cubela, who had been a commander in the Rebel Army. Going through that history, you realized the Revolution had betrayed itself from within. There were Cubans who were patriots, nationalists, and anti-communists, but they were all lumped together under the 26th of July Movement, which in the end turned out to be a lie. That access to information opened my eyes.
Q: Were you aware of the digital campaign that preceded the outburst, the movement under the hashtag #SOSCuba?
A: Yes, I saw it all. The international community and artists began making that hashtag go viral on Twitter to denounce the Covid-19 crisis, the humanitarian collapse, and the repression. What came up most was the collapse of the healthcare system. Seeing popular artists join in was one of the biggest drivers, because ordinary Cubans felt backed up. We thought: “Damn, if these artists are saying it, it’s because continue reading
something big is happening here.”
Seeing popular artists join in was one of the biggest drivers, because ordinary Cubans felt backed up
Q: On July 11 you decide to go out into the street. What was your initial plan, and where did you end up protesting?
A: My mother showed me the first news of what was happening and I decided to go out. My initial goal was to head to the Malecón or the Plaza de la Revolución, because that’s where the core of Castroist power sits: the Central Committee, the Politburo, the Council of State and of Ministers, and the Ministries of the Interior and of Communications. But when I went out and reached Calzada de 10 de Octubre, I ran into the people in the street and decided to stay there. Thank goodness I did, because I believe Toyo was, of all Cuba, the place where the hand-to-hand confrontation and the repression were most intense. The Cuban people there were genuinely rising up and reclaiming their rights. If I had gone to the Plaza or the Malecón, where there were far more agents, I would have been captured immediately.
Q: In the images from that day you’re seen holding a Cuban flag. Where did that flag come from, and what did it mean to carry it?
A: At protests all over the world, citizens come out with their flag. In Cuba, people manipulated by propaganda believe the flag is a
symbol of the Communist Party, an icon of obedience to the dictatorship, but that’s not so: the flag belongs to all Cubans. I was one of the few civilian protesters carrying one. When the Party cadres showed up to stage the counter-demonstration, they also brought out Cuban flags. That made me furious. But there was a fundamental difference between us: ours had the blood of the wounded protesters on it, and theirs was clean.
But there was a fundamental difference between us: ours had the blood of the wounded protesters on it, and theirs was clean
I had that flag at home, hanging in my room. I had taken it two years earlier from my secondary school. I took advantage of a day when the staff left the entrance desk unattended and made off with it; it was the one used for the morning assembly and the national anthem. When my mother showed me the protests on 11 July, I took it down and hid it under my T-shirt. She was terribly afraid something would happen to me and asked me not to “mark myself,” but in the end I took it with me anyway.
Q: Do you still have that flag?
A: It’s in Cuba. What is no longer preserved is the blood; my mother washed it out of fear and for safety’s sake. I wanted it to keep the blood from that moment so that, in a free Cuba, it could be donated to a museum. Even so, it retains immense historical value.
Q: Many of those who were out in the streets describe a feeling of euphoria, as if the regime had already fallen. Did you feel the same way?
A: We all felt exactly the same thing. We thought it was going to end that very day. Before the outburst, people tended to be very guarded out of fear of informants and State Security; there was a lot of self-censorship. But that day I saw every sector of the population — children, women, men, the elderly — united, demanding one single thing: freedom and an end to the tyranny. It was a single voice, one single voice reverberating. That is true unity, the kind that is born around freedom, not the obedience the Party demands.
It was a single voice, one single voice reverberating. That is true unity, the kind that is born around freedom, not the obedience the Party demands
Q: At what point did you realize you were in real danger?
A: I realized it when we were behind a column on Calzada de 10 de Octubre, near the intersection with Vía Blanca. There the dictatorship set up a repressive cordon with officers from the National Special Brigade (the “black wasps”) and the National Police. They marched against us, set the dogs on us, and started shooting. They fired into the air, but also toward the front. State Security confiscated almost everyone’s phones and deleted the videos of the shooting, but they used the fragments that had already been uploaded online, along with facial recognition, to identify us. Even though I was wearing a cap, a mask, and glasses, they recognized me. Three days later they were already at my house.
Q: What was it like returning home that day, and how did your family manage the fear?
A: On the way back, the people fleeing with me were already scattering. I got home and was completely honest with my parents; I told them everything I had done. I have always believed that with your parents you have to be upfront, because if you stay silent out of fear and the dictatorship comes for you, they won’t have the information they need to respond to the repression.
Things turned very ugly just a few hours after the demonstration. Miguel Díaz-Canel gave the “combat order” at four in the afternoon. We held our ground in the street until six or seven at night, but the protest dissolved as massive repressive forces began to surround us. They were coordinated by radio and walkie-talkies; we only had word of mouth, and they had already cut off our internet. From that first moment, I knew I was marked.
Elías Rizo León holding the Cuban flag as he stands atop a police patrol car that the crowd had overturned during the July 11 protests.
Q: Your mother played a crucial role in deceiving State Security and buying you time to escape. How did she manage it?
A: When the authorities came to my house to question her, I was already hiding somewhere else. They asked her where I was and she told them I had gone outside Havana, to Santiago de Cuba. They wanted her to give them the exact address so they could summon me there, but my mother stood firm and told them: “I’m not giving you any address, because he is 16 years old, he’s a minor, and he needs the legal representation of his guardian.”
She used that same apparent trust the repressive apparatus tries to instill in you to win the agents over. She let them believe she would cooperate and would turn me in as soon as I came back, but it was all a strategy to buy time. On the very day I was supposedly due to report to the police station, I was boarding a plane bound for Russia.
If it hadn’t been for the coordination of the people who supported us inside and outside the island, my story today would be very different
Q: You spent more than a month in hiding inside Cuba before flying out. How do you remember that period?
A: It was a month or so in hiding, living like a fugitive. I even shaved my head to change my appearance; in my passport photo I’m completely bald. At that time I didn’t even have a passport, only my mother did. We had to pay for and rush paperwork at the last minute, in the middle of the bureaucratic paralysis caused by Covid. We had tremendous luck. If it hadn’t been for the coordination of the people who supported us inside and outside the island, my story today would be very different: I would be serving a sentence of somewhere between 15 and 30 years in prison, like so many other young people my age. I would have lost my life in prison for the simple act of asking for freedom.
Q: Your initial destination was Russia, where Cubans didn’t need a visa in 2021. What was the journey like from there to Spain?
A: We flew out of Varadero airport on August 25, 2021. We spent five months in Russia (with his mother, father, and sister). I kept close track of the news and warned my mother: “Russia is going to invade Ukraine, we need to leave before the war breaks out.” She worked her contacts, and in January 2022 we managed to leave for Serbia. From Serbia we crossed into Greece, where we spent two months. Since Greece is part of the Schengen area, we were able to take a direct flight to Madrid. At the airport they just checked our photo to confirm our identity. Once in Madrid, we went to an office and formally applied for political asylum, presenting press clippings, photos, and evidence of the persecution. That’s how we obtained the red asylum card for all four members of the family.
Q: What has it been like interacting with young people your age here in Spain? Do they understand what you went through?
A: Spanish young people my age are stunned when I tell them the reality of Cuba. Many of them, even if they’re not left-wing, have a romanticized or distorted view of the island; they think there are bad things, but that “at least you can get by.” When I explain what happened to me, they put themselves in my shoes, show empathy, and understand the real context, because I’m not speaking to them from ideological theory but from the human and moral suffering of what it means to struggle and be persecuted. Thanks to that, a lot of young people who didn’t used to care about politics now stand up for our cause.
The day I left my country I cried a great deal. I wanted to build my life there; my wish was to live and die in a free Cuba
Q: It’s often said that the great aspiration of Cuban youth today is to emigrate. Was that your goal before July 11?
A: No, I never wanted to leave Cuba. The day I left my country I cried a great deal. I wanted to build my life there; my wish was to live and die in a free Cuba. Forced exile is a banishment that tears away part of your soul, your culture, and your experiences. Activists and rebellious young people are put in a noose by the dictatorship, forcing us out. I know I had to leave to protect my life, but it wasn’t by choice. That’s why exile isn’t surrender, it’s transformation. Out here, you study, you educate yourself, you acquire tools for political communication, and you prepare yourself with greater strength for when the moment comes to return and rebuild the country.
Q: How do you assess the protests and pot-banging demonstrations, smaller but constant, that are happening on the island today?
A: That never used to happen. The dictatorship has driven the people to such an extreme and precarious situation that people already know protesting is the only way to at least get the power turned on or the water restored. Even so, we can’t limit ourselves to demanding basic resources. Those pot-banging protests are sparks of legitimate resistance. The dictatorship is very clever and manipulates language; it asks the people to “endure” the misery, but true political resistance is the kind used to confront and overthrow a totalitarian regime, like the French or Italian Resistance in the Second World War. The ultimate goal has to be the end of the Communist Party’s monopoly on power.
Q: What role does the exile community play at this stage of the struggle?
A: The best way to support Cubans inside the country is to expose the repression to multilateral bodies, to speak with human rights rapporteurs, and to demand the release of political prisoners through diplomatic channels. We also have to fight the media battle. The dictatorship accuses us of waging “cognitive warfare” or “information warfare,” but all we do is expose the truth, backed by evidence, against the Castro-regime propaganda that they fund throughout Europe and Latin America to silence the opposition.
Q: If the situation changes and Cuba becomes a democracy, under what conditions would you return?
A: I would go back, but only if the enforcers, the henchmen, and the senior communist officials are tried before the courts as they should be. I am not going back to negotiate with the enemy. We need to set up truth commissions and preserve official reports and evidence so that no one can hide behind the classic “I was just following orders.” A person of principle cannot be coerced into repressing their own people. The dictatorship must be surrounded and dismantled with the truth, since they survive on lies -because no legend can withstand the truth.
Translated by GH.
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In a country where the state no longer provides electricity, water, medicine, or bread, each family tries to survive however they can.
A boy has taken a small flock of goats out to graze among the grass that has sprouted on the ruins of a collapsed building. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Havana, July 16, 2026 / Today I couldn’t take the trash down the stairs. It wasn’t any heavier than usual, but my body sent me a telegram, brief and forceful: “Don’t even try. Every cell is carrying too many days of accumulated fatigue.” So I left the bag by the door and went out with only my purse, umbrella, water bottle, mosquito repellent, and the garbage bags. I also threw my cell phone in my bag, increasingly useless in a country where connecting to the internet or making a call can take longer than delivering the message in person.
As I descend the building’s more than 120 steps, the greetings become increasingly brief, almost whispers. Few dare to say “good morning” or “good afternoon” anymore, because there’s very little goodness left. Conversations revolve around the accumulated hours without electricity, the unbearable heat that barely allowed anyone to sleep a wink the night before, or the problems with the water supply. One neighbor sums up the collective mood with a phrase that has become a greeting: “Here, surviving.” He says it as if we were all participating in one of those reality TV shows where you have to cross raging rivers, hunt for food, and find a cave to spend the night.
Few dare to say “good morning” or “good afternoon” anymore, because there’s very little good left.
I advance along Tulipán Street toward Ayestarán. The bakeries at the rationed market, which I pass every morning, remain closed. A woman warns another not to waste her time going back to the dark counter because today, she assures her, “they won’t even have enough to tie up the goats.” Coincidentally, just a few meters ahead, a young man has taken a small flock of goats out to graze among the grass that has sprouted on the ruins of a collapsed building. In this Cuban version of televised survival, that urban shepherd would have a good chance of becoming a finalist.
While some wage their daily battle in the streets and on the sidewalks, others have decided to barricade themselves indoors. Since no one places much hope in thermoelectricplants nor in the national energy system anymore, everyone is trying to construct their own island of stability. Those who can afford it buy a rechargeable battery; those with more resources install a generator or solar panels.
A friend, fed up with paying up to 640 pesos for a bag of bread at some private businesses, ended up buying a bread maker. To the initial investment, she’s had to add the price of flour, yeast, and the uncertainty of power outages. “I’ve used it three times,” she tells me. “Only once did it manage to complete the entire cycle.” The other two times, the power went out before baking, and the machine was left guarding a sour, inedible mass.
A friend, tired of paying up to 640 pesos for a bag of bread at some private businesses, ended up buying a bread maker. / 14ymedio
Another acquaintance has covered his roof with solar panels and designed an electrical system that allows him to power his entire house with a simple switch. “Now I run my electricity from the Indio, the Amarillo, the one whose boiler never breaks down or trips due to a fault,” he jokes, mocking the endless stream of explanations offered by the National Electric Union to justify each blackout. “I actually carried out an energy revolution,” he boasts, showing off the inverters and batteries that have restored something resembling normality to his life.
Even leisure activities continue to be organized independently. Faced with constant television signal interruptions, several young people in the neighborhood have improvised a small room in the basement of their building to watch the World Cup. An EcoFlow, a television, and some planks converted into benches are all that’s needed to gather the fans. From an apartment on one of the upper floors, a cable runs down to one of those satellite dishes that remain illegal, even though they’ve become almost as commonplace in Cuba as the daily insults hurled at Miguel Díaz-Canel.
After fracturing her collarbone, a former university classmate decided to prepare for a possible hospitalization. What she keeps in several boxes isn’t exactly a first-aid kit. There are urinary catheters, IV catheters, saline solutions, sutures, syringes, disposable gloves, and other supplies that any hospital should provide. “If I’m hospitalized again, I prefer to arrive with everything,” she explains. She, too, is trying to protect herself against shortages.
Every story seems different, but they all follow the same logic: to create, within the confines of the home, a small, functional country.
Every story seems different, but they all follow the same logic: to create, within the confines of their home, a small, functional country. A home bakery. A private electric company. An improvised cinema. A private medical supply store. As if each family were building a tiny republic where it was still possible to address what the State had ceased to provide.
But no house can become a country. There’s no bakery capable of replacing a network of bakeries baking every morning, nor enough solar panels to replace a national electricity grid, nor a dedicated medical supply depot to feed a healthcare system in ruins. Nor can we fit between four walls the hospitals, transport, communications, and much less the pieces of the nation we gather from the outside world each day.
When I got home, the trash bag was still by the door. Tomorrow, if my body allows it, I will try to take it down. In this competition, nobody wins a prize. The goal is simply to make it to the next episode alive.
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.
The television network includes among the U.S. options an operation “carried out by the 101st Airborne Division.”
The United States’ greatest military capabilities are in the Middle East, and they are expected to remain there for the time being. X/@CENTCOM
14ymedio, Madrid, July 16, 2026 – Cuban Deputy Foreign Minister Carlos Fernández de Cossío has described CBS News as an “unofficial mouthpiece of the U.S. government,” accusing the network of “beating the drums of war against Cuba.” On Wednesday, CBS published a report citing Pentagon sources about possible military plans against the Island. Although it was presented as an exclusive, it did not actually reveal anything new beyond what had already been stated: that Washington is keeping all options on the table.
“They do not even question what sufficient reason there could be to lead to a scenario that could end in a bloodbath against a country that has neither attacked, threatened, nor caused the slightest harm to the world’s greatest nuclear power,” he wrote on his Facebook account.
CBS News cited U.S. officials as saying that military planners have examined “various options for possible action against the island, including an Army-led air assault involving thousands of U.S. troops carried out by the 101st Airborne Division, the only unit trained for such a mission.” The sources emphasized that no orders have been issued and there is nothing to suggest such an attack will take place, especially since the military is focused on Iran. continue reading
The sources emphasized that no orders have been issued and there is nothing to suggest such an attack will take place, especially since the military is focused on Iran
This idea had already been raised in April, when USA Today reported an intensification of “military planning for a possible operation in Cuba should President Donald Trump order an intervention.” In June, during Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth’s visit to the Guantánamo Naval Base, he insisted that regardless of the decision made, his department would be “ready and prepared for any possible contingency.”
The CBS News report revisits and expands on this idea, which Brian Fonseca, director of the Jack D. Gordon Institute for Public Policy at Florida International University, previously described as a “communications strategy.” According to the article, written by four reporters, the U.S. armed forces held a briefing in late June “to review initial military planning options for specific missions that could be carried out.” The report notes that such briefings are routine at these meetings and examine mission objectives, required troop levels, the sequence of events, logistical considerations, and associated risks.
Since the Pentagon has shifted significant military and intelligence resources to the Middle East because of the war with Iran, the sources told CBS that “it is unlikely that attention will be focused on Cuba.”
The network argues that the renewed operations in the Middle East are part of Hegseth’s more hawkish strategy, which has reportedly led to disagreements with Trump. According to White House sources, the president is frustrated by how poorly the operation has gone and believes that earlier this year the U.S. should have accepted a proposal from Tehran to limit its nuclear program. At the time, against the advice of General Dan Caine, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the defense secretary favored military action, which has proven to be longer and more complicated than expected.
CBS, citing its sources, also reports that Trump is dissatisfied with the entire department, including Admiral Brad Cooper, head of U.S. Central Command, whom he accuses of overstating U.S. military capabilities against Iran. Officially, however, the White House continues to express unwavering support for Hegseth and his team.
CBS, citing its sources, also reports that Trump is dissatisfied with the entire department, including Admiral Brad Cooper, head of U.S. Central Command, whom he accuses of overstating U.S. military capabilities against Iran
The report also discusses the new development involving the alleged 300 Iranian drones that Cuba is said to possess and goes on to list the major events of the year so far, beginning with Nicolás Maduro’s fall in Venezuela, followed by the prosecution of Raúl Castro over the shootdown of the Brothers to the Rescue aircraft, and, of course, the series of sanctions imposed on the Cuban regime and its principal business interests.
“The intelligence community’s 2026 Annual Threat Assessment describes Cuba primarily as a favorable environment for larger geopolitical competitors rather than as an independent strategic threat. Notably, the March assessment does not identify Cuba as possessing military capabilities that materially threaten the United States. It does not portray Havana as an independent driver of instability,” the report adds.
Regarding negotiations, CBS News continues to regard them as the preferred option not only for Trump but also for Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who is leading the talks. However, the situation remains deadlocked.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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A base-level farming unit in Pinar del Río goes from producing 0.8 tons per hectare to 8, thanks above all to the supplies, they say
Vietnam has signed several agreements with the island to invest in rice cultivation. / Granma
14ymedio, Madrid, July 16, 2026 / Eliecer Silva, head of a state agricultural enterprise in Consolación del Sur, Pinar del Río, is today the unwitting protagonist of a news story on Vietnam.vn. The government portal recounts the story, originally published by Granma, of this man from Pinar del Río, originally published by Granma, whose base-level unit -Agrícola Caribe- has seen its yields multiply since it partnered with the Cuba-Vietnam rice cooperation project. What in the Cuban version is titled “Rebirth in Caribe,” Hanoi presents under a long headline extolling the Asian country’s work.
“Vietnamese experts arrive and help Cuban farmers plant rice using an ‘unusual’ method, resulting in seedlings half a meter tall that multiply yields tenfold.” Thirty-three words, no more, no less, that do a good job of summarizing the benefit of the collaboration. The Cuban base-level unit has gone from producing 0.8 tons per hectare to 8 tons per hectare.
“The Vietnamese have come to give us major help. They’ve gotten us out of a terrible bind,” says Silva. María de las Nieves Sánchez, the company’s director, describes the situation of recent years as “maddening.” “Each season, yields kept dropping; we would plan for a certain number of hectares and we wouldn’t reach it,” she notes. The low point came in 2024, with the aforementioned 0.8 t/ha. In 2025, there was little improvement: 0.9.
Agrícola Caribe then decided to join the bilateral rice project -it is the second enterprise of its kind to do so- and planted 21.7 hectares last September, on an experimental basis. The result has been like the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. The eight-ton yield had “never before been reached here,” says Sánchez. continue reading
“So far, we have 158 hectares on the flat terraces and we need to reach 295,” they report. The expansion took place in spring following the impressive results achieved, but in the upcoming dry-season campaign they hope to reach 2,000 hectares, the result of combining the 473 hectares held in usufruct by the independent producers associated with the enterprise.
Sánchez explains the arrangement to the press. The Cubans provide the land, the machinery, and the labor, while the Vietnamese provide technical advice and supplies. The latter has been essential, in the growers’ view, since they had gone years without access to the technology package -fertilizers, fuel, pesticides, and other products needed for cultivation. “We had never had this before,” they say, praising the quality of the supplies. “That’s why this rice stands almost 1.80 meters tall. You can’t even see the workers who go in there to spray.”
The partnership has also created jobs. Planting and fertilizing on this scale used to be done by plane, but the fuel shortage -amid a full-blown fuel siege- has forced it to be done by hand, with the hiring of 200 people from Alonso de Rojas. “Thanks to this project, we have work today,” says one of the workers, Osberto Pedroso.
The bilateral cooperation project between Cuba and Vietnam began in 2002 and had one of its notable chapters in La Sierpe, in Sancti Spíritus, where production was successful for years and helped many base-level units improve their yields. In 2023, however, the Asian technicians withdrew from the site, weary, according to accounts, of Cuban inefficiency. The fuel shortage and lack of labor officially finished off the partnership. At its peak there, yields reached five tons per hectare, when three tons was the norm in the area. Just one year later, production fell by 62%, and in 2025 the Vietnamese returned to resume the project, though in a more controlled manner.
The experience does not discourage the farmers of Pinar del Río, who remain focused on their own territory. Silva takes pride in the fact that Cuban personnel handled both the planting and the fertilizing, and believes that this, together with the results, breaks the myth that Cubans cannot do the work well. “Where there is no organization and discipline in the work, there are no results, no matter what you throw at the field,” he warns.
The project -at the national level- differs from the one under way in Los Palacios, where a private company, Agri VMA, was the first foreign company to obtain a 1,000-hectare lease, with plans to reach 5,000 hectares within three years. There, too, very high results are being achieved, with more than 7.2 tons per hectare, compared with 2 to 2.5 tons for producers elsewhere on the island.
Translated by GH.
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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.
“If you distribute the bulletin, the next time I call, kiss your wife on the belly, because you’re going to prison.”
Austin Llerandi said the threat also hangs over the rest of the team. / Iclep
14ymedio, Havana, July 15, 2026 – Austin Llerandi, director of the community news outlet Amanecer Habanero [Havana Sunrise] was threatened with imprisonment by a State Security agent during an interrogation this Tuesday at a police station in Marianao, Havana. The Cuban Observatory for Freedom of Expression (OCLE), part of the Cuban Institute for Freedom of Expression and Press (ICLEP), reported that the officer, identified as Rodrigo, warned the journalist that he would be jailed if he continued distributing the publication.
“If you distribute the bulletin, the next time I call, kiss your wife on the belly, because you’re going to prison,” the agent threatened at the end of the interrogation, which lasted more than an hour, according to Llerandi’s testimony.
The journalist said that during the summons, the officer showed him a criminal investigation file opened in his name for alleged crimes against State Security, as well as the latest edition of Amanecer Habanero stored on his mobile phone.
According to OCLE, the threat also extends to the rest of the team, as the agent said the authorities “know the addresses and movements of the publication’s journalists” and warned that they could face consequences if they continued taking part in distributing the publication. continue reading
On Monday, the same officer went to Austin Llerandi’s father’s home to locate him
According to the observatory, the harassment began one day before the interrogation. On Monday, the same officer went to Austin Llerandi’s father’s home looking for him. According to the organization’s account, the agent said that although he knew the journalist’s address, he had not acted against him because of his wife’s pregnancy. During that meeting with the father, he claimed to know how often the couple goes to the hospital for medical checkups.
For ICLEP, the explicit reference to the journalist’s wife’s pregnancy and the surveillance of his family constitute a form of psychological pressure intended to discourage him from continuing his journalistic work.
The organization described these actions as an attempt to prevent the practice of independent journalism on the Island and argued that they constitute violations of freedom of the press, freedom of expression, and the rule of law.
For that reason, it reported that the case has been added to its monitoring system for violations of freedom of expression and concluded that the use of prison threats, the display of a criminal case file, and surveillance of the journalist’s family are part of a pattern of intimidation against independent journalists in Cuba.
OCLE demanded that the Cuban Government “immediately cease the threats and harassment against Austin Llerandi”
OCLE demanded that the Cuban Government “immediately cease the threats and harassment against Austin Llerandi and the Amanecer Habanero team,” as well as provide guarantees that they can carry out their journalistic work without reprisals. It also urged United Nations human rights mechanisms, international rapporteurs, democratic governments, and organizations that defend freedom of expression to monitor the case and hold the regime accountable.
It also called for “an end to the use of the criminal justice and police apparatus against the publication’s director, including summonses and the display of criminal investigation files as a form of coercion,” as well as an end to surveillance of the director’s family, including his father and his pregnant wife.
The regime’s harassment of independent journalists and activists has increased in recent months. ICLEP itself documented 1,188 violations of freedom of expression and press freedom in Cuba during 2025, making it one of the most repressive years recorded by the organization.
According to the organization’s annual report published last June, the total represents a 54.7% increase over 2024, when 768 violations were recorded. On average, the Cuban regime committed 99 attacks per month against the exercise of freedom of expression, with a peak of 184 cases in July, the most repressive month of the past three years.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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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.
The El Rampeño project is yielding results on a very small scale in waste collection with a small fleet of tricycles.
“I don’t know if this project will be sustainable in the long term or if the vehicles will hold up, but for now it seems to be working,” said a local resident. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Juan Diego Rodríguez, Havana, July 15, 2026 [updated]/ One hundred pesos and a street mark the boundary between living with a garbage dump in front of you and having clean sidewalks. The El Rampeño Local Development Project has just completed its 15th day, and its success can be considered resounding. A tour of the areas included in the garbage collection service provided by the initiative is enough to confirm that hygiene is not utopian.
So far, this involves four very small zones in the Rampa neighborhood of Plaza de la Revolución. 14ymedio walked through the two largest zones this Wednesday and saw only a single bag, apparently left out outside of the scheduled collection times—there are two collections, at 7 a.m. and 8 p.m.—after the electric tricycle used for waste collection had already passed. A few empty cans, a cigarette pack… the small items discarded by people after consuming drugs were the only blemishes on this otherwise clean oasis.
’14ymedio’ walked along the two largest streets this Wednesday and saw only one isolated bag, apparently left by someone outside of the designated hours. / 14ymedio
“I don’t know if this project will be sustainable in the long term or if the vehicles will hold up, but for now it seems to be working and there aren’t any major garbage problems,” said a local resident.
It’s enough to turn the corner to see the striking contrast. At the intersection of 17th and L, where El Rampeño is no longer operating, the garbage dump is the telltale sign. The bins are overflowing and the piles of waste, along with the stench, have returned to the area, once one of the most well-maintained in the capital. In the more distant neighborhoods, the situation is repeated even at the doors of health institutions, such as the mountain of waste accumulating continue reading
in front of the 14 de Junio polyclinic on Acierto Street in Luyanó.
The El Rampeño initiative was announced on June 30th, one day before the service began. Pedro Garcés, the local council delegate and tireless activist, presented the project to the official press. The project is funded through state contributions for the electric tricycles, municipal contributions (including a 1% local tax), and private contributions. The price is 100 pesos per household, except for those whose residents are classified as vulnerable.
At the intersection of 17th and L streets, where El Rampeño is no longer operating, the landfill is the sign. / 14ymedio
The main fees, the amount of which is unknown, will come from state-owned and private companies in the area, and a special rate is charged for nighttime collection. In addition, El Rampeño will also profit from the sale of recyclable materials.
A mountain of garbage is piling up in front of the 14 de Junio polyclinic, on Acierto Street, in Luyanó. / 14ymedio
These funds are being used to hire the staff responsible for garbage collection. The project stated that it had planned for an approximate salary of 15,000 pesos, although this would depend on the specific role. In a report by 14ymedio last December, street sweepers in the capital told this newspaper that their salary was around $10, less than half of what is offered for this service.
The Chinese news agency Xinhuareported on the service this week and interviewed one of its workers, Lile Esperanza Pérez, who applied for the job and says she is more than satisfied. “It’s the best thing we can do,” she says, raising her eyes to the sky as she hopes the service will be extended to the entire city and country so that “beautiful Havana” can be seen again.
In the short video, the workers claim that the population is disciplined and increasingly punctual in appearing with their bags when they see the tricycle approaching. What the Chinese report doesn’t show is what lies on the other side of the street in a Cuba where the differences are becoming increasingly apparent.
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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.
The relevant judicial authorities now have a legal deadline of 72 hours to issue a response, Cubalex reports.
Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara remains at large after being transferred from prison two days before his five-year sentence was due to expire on July 9th / Facebook
EFE (via 14ymedio), Havana, July 14, 2026 / The legal advice center Cubalex reported that it was able to formally deliver in Havana the habeas corpus petition in favor of the artist and political prisoner Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, who as of Tuesday remains at large, after being transferred from prison two days before his five-year sentence expired on July 9.
“The relevant judicial authorities now have a legal deadline of 72 hours to issue a response,” the organization stated on social media, having denounced the previous day the impediments to delivering the appeal “because the Havana Provincial People’s Court, the competent body to hear the request, as well as the Supreme People’s Court, remained closed this Monday despite it being a working day.”
Cubalex explained that “this legal action is presented in a critical scenario of lack of protection,” since “on July 9, the five-year sentence that the artist was serving in the Guanajay prison, since 2021, officially expired.”
On July 9th, the five-year sentence that the artist was serving in Guanajay prison, since 2021, officially expired.
It also denounced that “despite this, on July 7 he was taken from prison by military and State Security forces to an unknown location, and since then there has been no official information about his whereabouts.” continue reading
“From Cubalex we demand that due process and the physical integrity of Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara be respected,” the report said.
The first contact with Otero Alcántara, after it became known that he was taken from the Guanajay prison, was reported on July 9 by the curator Anamely Ramos, who said on social networks that the artist was “well,” after having communicated with her from “a mobile phone of the State Security of Cuba”.
Ramos indicated in her publication that the State Security agents “wanted to know how the process of the requested conditional release is going” so that Otero Alcántara can travel to the United States and explained that “Luis Manuel’s conditional release is still in process.”
State Security agents “wanted to know how the process of the requested parole is going” so that Otero Alcántara can travel to the United States
Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, 38, considered a prisoner of conscience by Amnesty International, was imprisoned for five years in the Guanajay prison from where he had denounced multiple abuses on several occasions.
The leader of the San Isidro movement was arrested on July 11, 2021, when he tried to join the massive anti-government protests of that day, the largest in decades in Cuba.
Amnesty International has been demanding since last week the “immediate and unconditional release” of the artist.
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Actor and opposition figure Edel Carrero tells ’14ymedio’ details about his interrogation by State Security
The activist was arrested after participating in the 11 July 2021 protests and charged with public disorder. / Edel Carrero
Edel Carrero, an actor and protester in the massive protests of 11 July 2021 [’11J’]– who has since denounced recurring threats for his social media posts – was interrogated this Monday at Villa Marista, the main headquarters of State Security in Havana.
In a video sent to 14ymedio, Carrero recounts how the “interview” unfolded, for which he had been summoned last Friday by a major from the Ministry of the Interior, on the eve of the fifth anniversary of 11J. After receiving the summons, the activist published a video in which he held the regime responsible for anything that might happen to him.
In this new video, Carrero explains that he made the recording to feel protected, because “all Cubans know what Villa Marista represents, and it’s not pleasant to be summoned there.” The headquarters of State Security in Cuba is known for holding political opponents in pretrial detention and has been internationally denounced for psychological torture, prolonged isolation, and coercive interrogations.
The activist recounts that during the interview the agents asked him “what he did, if he was working, and what his political position was,” to which, according to his testimony, he responded transparently: “I don’t want socialism, I want free elections, I want democracy, and I want freedom and a multi-party system.”
“I don’t want socialism, I want free elections, I want democracy, and I want freedom and a multi-party system.”
He was also asked about his social media posts and about having shared the summons for that interrogation, to which he replied that he did it to feel protected “because I don’t feel that I have any kind of protection, here in Cuba, from anything.” continue reading
The agents wanted to know if Carrero knew Spiderman, the athlete Javier Ernesto Martín Gutiérrez, currently imprisoned in the Combinado del Este maximum security prison for protesting for eight days from his balcony. Carrero replied that yes, Javier is his friend. The two share a passion for martial arts.
According to Carrero, the officers warned him not to “look for trouble” and to “stay calm.” “I don’t know why they wasted so much of my time,” the activist says, “since they know what I think: that I’m not with this system.”
Carrero clarifies that the officer who interviewed him did not “treat him badly,” nor did he “speak rudely” to him, nor did he threaten him. He thanks those who were concerned about him after the video was released last Friday and apologizes for any anxiety it may have caused.
“To say I’m not afraid would be foolish, but courage is when you, even if you’re afraid, say what you feel and what you think.”
“I’ll be honest with you, I’m afraid. To say I’m not afraid would be foolish, but courage is when, even though you’re afraid, you say what you feel and what you think,” he stated.
The actor concludes with a message of support for political prisoners and expresses his desire for Cuba to change, “because the truth is that we’re fucked.”
Carrero was violently arrested after participating in the 11th July demonstrations and initially charged with public disorder. He also received threats of sedition charges and, months later, was dismissed from his position as an IT specialist at the Havana Theater Center. Since then, he has reported being interrogated, monitored, and threatened for his social media posts.
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Inflation has turned the most anticipated fruit of the summer into a luxury, unattainable for many Cuban families.
Today, depending on the size, quality, and where it is purchased, a single avocado can cost up to 600 pesos. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Havana, Natalia López Moya, July 13, 2026 / The woman watches customers pass by from a plastic crate placed on a corner of Lealtad Street in Central Havana. At her feet, spread out on a piece of cloth on the sidewalk, dozens of avocados display that intense green that for generations heralded summer in Cuba. Just a few years ago, simply arranging the produce would have been enough to attract a small group of buyers. This Monday, however, many more glance over and continue on their way.
Only one elderly woman dares to ask. “How much are they?” The answer comes without hesitation. “There are 200s and 300s. I have some that are ready today,” the vendor says.
The woman barely finishes her sentence when the potential customer’s eyes widen in surprise. She thanks her for the information and continues walking. She doesn’t even try to haggle. The price has transformed the fruit that for decades was a staple of lunch for the poorest families ,into a luxury few can afford. Today, depending on the size, quality, and where it’s purchased, a single avocado can cost up to 600 pesos.
The lack of agricultural incentives, the deterioration of transportation, and the absence of organized production have turned an everyday food into yet another symbol of national impoverishment.
For a long time, simply cutting one in half was enough to complete a plate of white rice, beans, and, with luck, a fried egg. In many Cuban homes, the avocado filled the void left by the absence of meat, provided fat, satisfied hunger, and transformed a modest meal into a decent lunch. It was the perfect ally during the summer months, when the trees in yards and farms seemed to give away their fruit.
But inflation eventually caught up with the green king too.
Rising transportation costs, fuel shortages, and the general increase continue reading
in food prices have driven up the price of a fruit that until recently seemed immune to market forces. Just two years ago, a good-sized specimen could be found for half of what it costs now, and at the end of the season, vendors were practically giving them away to avoid losses. Today, not even the abundance typical of these months has managed to stem the price surge.
The contrast is striking in a country where avocados were never an unusual crop. They grow in private backyards, small farms, and rural areas all over the island. However, the lack of agricultural incentives, the deterioration of transportation, and the absence of organized production have transformed a staple food into yet another symbol of national impoverishment. Like so many other Cuban fruits, the avocado is no longer measured by its seasons but rather by its economic impact.
Inflation eventually caught up with the green king too.
While waiting for a determined buyer to appear, the vendor on Lealtad Street rearranges her merchandise. She separates the ripest avocados from the still-green ones, wipes a speck of dirt from one of the fruits with her hand, and sits back down. Dozens of people pass by a short distance away. Some glance down at the avocados, make a quick calculation, and continue on their way.
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“A country cannot live at the expense of charitable donations, which are appreciated, but do not solve daily problems or foster development,” writes Elsa Ramos in ‘Escambray’
Ramos fears that the end of the ration book will leave many vulnerable people destitute. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Madrid, July 14, 2026 / It is hardly surprising that Elsa Ramos has written the most critical article about the 176 economic reforms announced by the government. The journalist, a multiple recipient of the Juan Gualberto Gómez National Prize, has distinguished herself as one of the most outspoken critics of the regime—from within the system—in the pages of the Sancti Spíritus newspaper Escambray, and her opinion column this Monday is yet another example. The urgent need for change to rebuild the country is a picture painted by the government of the total disaster that everything on the island has become.
Ramos expresses the need to analyze the measures, even though – she begins – “in this scenario of blackouts and disconnections, most people cannot be well informed.” The general panorama is starkly described by the journalist, who mentions how, with “galloping inflation, chronic shortages, no fuel, no transportation, no financing, no access to foreign markets amidst accumulated debt and a blockade more concrete and atrocious than ever due to cuts in fuel supplies and sources of foreign currency income, Cuba cannot continue as it is.”
The question she poses is how all these changes can be implemented while maintaining the socialist model, given that the announcements involve “unprecedented transformations, many of which resemble those of the capitalist model.” Ramos asks why it has taken so long to implement these reforms if they were so necessary to “mitigate the internal gridlock” that has caused so much “damage.” “A country cannot live at the mercy of fuel arriving ship by ship; nor can it depend on charitable donations, which are appreciated but do not solve daily problems or foster continue reading
development,” she asserts.
Still conscious that violations of the previous regulations were constant, Ramos expresses misgivings about how price liberalization will ultimately end.
The journalist emphasizes the need for a more thorough explanation of the measures that most significantly affect citizens, one of which is the elimination of price caps. While acknowledging the constant violations of the previous regulations, Ramos expresses concerns about how price liberalization will ultimately play out. “We’ll have to see if, as in capitalism, the laws of competition, the laws of capital, don’t swallow us up in a free-for-all, with paltry pensions and salaries, and no purchasing power,” she warns.
Another key point for the journalist is the much-touted end of the ration book, announced since the beginning of Raúl Castro’s presidency. “In truth, we’ll just be burying it, since it died months ago, when most of its products began to disappear, dwindling to a pound of sugar, a few peas, intermittent bread, and inconsistent milk for children and pregnant women,” she emphasizes.
The journalist reveals a surprising statistic: according to the Ministry of Labor and Social Security, only 0.5% of Sancti Spíritus residents are considered vulnerable. However, she points out, “due to the nature of daily life, the vast majority, including state workers, live or survive in that condition, and now they will have to eat, wash, bathe, and transition from the subsidized food basket to unsubsidized sales in the retail network.”
Ramos also looks at the process of layoffs that will result from the liquidation of unprofitable companies or entities that will have to merge. “Little attention has been paid to the thousands of workers who find themselves in a state of employment limbo, many at home on indefinite leave, since last February,” she points out. Furthermore, she questions how skilled workers can be attracted to food production “in a country where reselling candy is more profitable than working in the fields,” and she criticizes decades of obstacles, which she refers to as “the bureaucracy and stubbornness that swallowed up thousands of hectares,” which have finally led “to the logical point of granting the real right of usufruct.”
Regarding how foreign investment is to be attracted, the journalist also doubts how it can be achieved “with our history of prohibitions, in a stagnant country, without foreign currency and with obstacles to withdrawing it from banks, in addition to the sanctions imposed by the United States.” And, in that context, Elsa Ramos raises the issue of the contribution of emigrants with unprecedented frankness. “Cuba does need, however, a multinational dialogue between those who left and those who stayed, without bitterness or resentment, and — without ignoring the past — we must, with our hearts on our sleeves, have the courage to forget and forgive. Because if we open the economic doors to everyone without exception, it is because we need them, and urgently.”
“Are we mentally prepared to see the resurgence of landowners, even if it’s in a socialist style? (…) Will we avoid the so-called Russian mistake of the 90s, when many oligarchs were former leaders in various sectors?”
The string of questions continues: “Are we mentally prepared to see the resurgence of landowners, even if it’s in a socialist style? (…) Will we avoid the so-called Russian mistake of the 1990s, when many oligarchs were former leaders in various sectors? How do we stop corruption? Will we fully address the deep gaps between rich and poor and the increasingly inverted social pyramid?” And she alternates with sharp barbs: “Did we have to wait so long to remove the intermediation of importers who (…) have filled a natural process in many countries with obstacles and deviations?”
Ramos welcomes any measure that eliminates absurd prohibitions, but urges close attention to how they are implemented and how they function. “We will have to face the risks and dangers, with the socialist lens that still defines the project in this endeavor to not relinquish the preservation of the Revolution’s main achievements, now crumbling,” he says, acknowledging the erosion of the accomplishments of that era.
She warns, towards the end, that much patience will be needed and that “many of our leaders are not prepared (…) they tend to see the ‘enemy’ everywhere they look or entrepreneurship as a capitalist evil.” But we must be aware that “so many years of anguish, precariousness, and inaction have fueled apathy, and that (…) is as damaging as the pot-banging protests or banging of pots and pans in various parts of the country, which express social discontent.”
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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.
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Generation Y, Havana, July 17, 2026 / On Thursday night, after 28 hours of blackout and a brief period with electricity, the people in my neighborhood reached a state of collective rage unlike anything I had never before experienced. The power was restored for barely 90 minutes, by which time the refrigerators were completely thawed, the water in the rooftop tank had run dry, and the heat had turned our bodies into dirty, sweaty surfaces.
