Darío Hernández – Translating Cuba

The Mansions of Vedado Open Their Doors, But Not All Their Secrets

During an event organised by Unesco, former Republican-era palaces converted into state offices revealed stained glass, marble, staircases – and sealed-off areas

“The hardest thing is the contrast with the rest of Havana, which is falling apart.” / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Havana, Darío Hernández, 31 May 2026 — The first thing they ask of you before entering is not silence, nor respect for the heritage, nor care for the old floors. It is your identity card. At the entrance to each building, an official photographs visitors’ documents, as if a visit to a heritage property were also a bureaucratic formality – or entry to the Embassy of the Past. Only after that gesture, so routine in a Cuba under surveillance and so ill-suited to a cultural outing, does the tour of several Vedado mansions begin, opened to the public for the Open Doors Day organised by Unesco.

There were quite a few people. Families, curious passers-by, students, neighbours who had spent years walking past those facades without ever being able to cross the threshold. Some stared upwards, as if trying to take in all at once the cornices, balconies, columns and black ironwork. Others walked with the discretion of someone entering a stranger’s home – even though that home no longer has a visible owner, only acronyms, custodians, offices and official portraits of Raúl Castro and Miguel Díaz-Canel.

The Mansions of Vedado Open Their Doors, But Not All Their Secrets

In each building, students and professors of Art History were on hand to explain mouldings, stained glass, styles, dates and materials. At times the tour felt like a living lesson in Republican-era architecture; at times, like an excursion through the inventory of a private wealth converted into state heritage. The guides’ voices tried to impose order upon the beauty, but visitors could not help looking also at what was not being explained.

“The hardest thing is the contrast with the rest of Havana, which is falling apart,” murmured a man as he crossed one of the reception rooms. Outside, the city peels, is propped up, collapses, or survives patched together with breeze blocks, corrugated zinc and miracles. Inside, by contrast, there remain chandeliers, sweeping staircases, interior courtyards, gardens and high ceilings – that sense of spaciousness which today seems almost obscene in a capital where so many families live crammed together amid leaking roofs and power cuts.

Some were expropriated; of others it is said, with the convenient formula of the official narrative, that their owners left the country and “left no heirs.” / 14ymedio

The route included some of the most imposing mansions in Vedado: the headquarters of the Ministry of Culture; the Federation of Cuban Women (FMC), on Paseo and 13th Street; the Casa de la Prensa, headquarters of the Union of Cuban Journalists (Upec), on 23rd and I; and the Fidel Castro Ruz Centre. All share the fact that they were built or inhabited by wealthy families during the Republic – many of Spanish origin or descent from Spaniards – and after 1959 passed into the hands of the new power. Some were expropriated; of others it is said, with the convenient formula of the official narrative, that their owners left the country and “left no heirs.”

At the headquarters of the Ministry of Culture, the former home of Ernesto Sarrá and Loló Larrea commands attention even before one enters. It occupies almost an entire block and still retains the air of a family palace it must have had when the owner of one of Cuba’s largest pharmaceutical fortunes lived there with his wife. From the street, the building promises a novel of money, parties, alliances, servants, china and automobiles pulling through the gateway. Inside, however, the mansion no longer functions as a home. It is a collection of offices from which the culture of the island is administered – and kept under watch.

“What beauty, and what a waste not to be able to see it in its entirety,” commented a woman as she left one of the rooms. / 14ymedio

Many areas were closed to the public. Some because they are offices; others because they are “not in a fit state.” This was a constant throughout the tour: half-open doors that could not be passed through, staircases leading nowhere, sealed-off corridors, or areas that the guide mentioned without showing them. Visitors could barely reconstruct, from fragments, the scale of what once was.

At the FMC headquarters, amid stained glass windows, a female sculpture and rooms altered by bureaucratic use, the guide explained ornamental details while visitors raised their eyes to the ceilings, the doors and the columns. “What beauty, and what a waste not to be able to see it in its entirety,” commented a woman as she left one of the rooms. The remark hung in the air with an unintentional precision. The heritage is shown, but with caution; conservation is spoken of, but the history of ownership is barely touched upon.

The Casa de la Prensa, headquarters of Upec, preserves an uncomfortable memory for official journalism. The building on 23rd and I is associated with the García Osuna family, connected to Republican-era politics. From 1963, the organisation that brings together pro-government journalists was installed there. In its salons, where private life, receptions and family conversations once took place, propaganda subordinated to the single Party is now produced. The architecture, with its ornate iron grilles and its old-world elegance, seems to retain more freedom than the institution that occupies it.

The former mansion of the Conill family has become a civic temple to the leader who governed the country in which properties such as this one were confiscated. / 14ymedio

The starkest contrast appears at the Fidel Castro Ruz Centre. The former mansion of the Conill family, with its restored grandeur, its well-kept gardens and its museum-style displays, has become a civic temple to the leader who governed the country in which properties such as this one were confiscated, seized or absorbed by the State. Official sources acknowledge that the house belonged to the Hidalgo de Conill family and that Enrique Conill Rafecas was a captain in the Liberation Army. They also admit that, after 1959, the family left the country and the property was put to uses connected with the Ministry of the Interior.

Here the paradox achieves an almost theatrical clarity. A Republican-era palace, born of private wealth, converted into a shrine of the Revolution. A building that must once have held family albums, china, bedrooms, parties and inheritances, now transformed into the stage set of a single, carefully illuminated memory. “You spend your whole life walking past this place and you have no idea what’s inside,” said a visitor standing before the mansion in which Fidel Castro’s Mercedes-Benz is displayed as if it were a relic.

That detail alone would be enough for a different tour – less ornamental and more honest: one that passes not only through the columns, the stained glass and the ironwork, but through property records, nationalisations, exiles, emptied houses and the official versions that explain too much with too little. Who exactly were the owners? What became of them? What documents prove the transfer of ownership? Was there confiscation, abandonment, donation, seizure, litigation? Where are those archives? On the visit, that part appeared only as a footnote, as if the social history of the mansions were less important than the marble.

The public, however, did not seem indifferent. Many entered in amazement; others, with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. They walked slowly, photographed stained glass, discreetly touched a banister, lingered before a staircase, looked up at the ceilings as if discovering a hidden city above the visible one. For decades, a large part of the Republican residential heritage has remained behind railings, custodians, ministries, mass organisations, embassies and state offices.

The Unesco open day has value because it allows one to look. And in Cuba, looking inward is already something. But looking is not enough. A country that prides itself on its heritage should also account for how that heritage came into state hands, who built it, who lived in it, who lost it and through what mechanisms. Without that information, the tour remains an incomplete postcard of a Havana that is beautiful, deteriorating and under surveillance – where the visitor hands over their identity card before entering and leaves with more questions than answers.

Translated by GH.

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“These Are the Same ‘Balitas’, But in Dollars”: A New Propane Sales Business Emerges in Cuba

The KMCERO platform appears to be a private small business, but it uses the logistics of the state company Cupet

A 10-kilogram liquefied gas cylinder is being offered for 24 dollars. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Havana, Darío Hernández, May 27, 2026 – “Those balitas, just as you see them, are from here. The same ones they distribute through the ration book system. Don’t let them fool you.” The remark came from a woman standing in line in San Miguel del Padrón, in Havana, while several customers waited to pick up a propane cylinder purchased online in dollars. She pointed to the usual balitas, the same ones that for decades have circulated through Cuba’s state liquefied gas distribution network.

In theory, that product arrives through a regulated system. Each contracted customer receives one when their turn comes, hands over the empty one, and waits for the next cycle. But delays are frequent, and many families spend weeks waiting for a delivery that can determine the rhythm of an entire household. Without propane, cooking becomes an obstacle course, especially with the increase in blackouts.

That overloaded and sluggish system now has a parallel outlet. On the KMCERO platform, presented as a digital marketplace for petroleum derivatives, a 10-kilogram liquefied gas cylinder is being sold for 24 dollars. The buyer must hand over another empty cylinder in good condition. Payment is made with Clásica, AIS, Tropical, Visa, or Mastercard cards. The operation excludes the Cuban peso, even though the product is the same one many families are waiting for through the regulated system.

When asked whether other pickup sites would be available, the person in charge replied that there were plans to open one more. / 14ymedio

The only pickup point visible so far is in a small alley at Ciudadmar and 7th Street, in San Miguel del Padrón. When asked whether other pickup sites would be available, the person in charge replied that there were plans to open one more, although it was still “in process.”

About 15 people, each carrying an empty balita, stand in a discreet line. One question circulates among them: if someone buys now in dollars, continue reading

will they later be able to use that same cylinder once distribution through the ration book system resumes?

One woman answered without hesitation. “Last time, as I remember, when they distributed balitas, nobody asked for the numbers anymore. You handed one over and that was it. Besides, if half the population is now going to buy them here, it’s obvious they’ll allow it.” She then added the detail that most concerned those present: “They’re not like the white ones that Supermarket23 used to send; these are the same ones from the regular service.”

The comparison with Supermarket23, another foreign-currency shopping platform used by Cubans inside and outside the Island, helps place the new business in context. There, a balita can cost around 30 dollars. The KMCERO one costs 24, although it requires traveling to the pickup point. For those without a compatible card, the final cost rises. A man sitting at the site explained that he had to buy dollars from a friend through a Clásica card, so he ended up paying more.

“To get a balita, you have to be ready at 7:00 am, do everything quickly, because the cylinders disappear immediately.” / 14ymedio

The website adds another obstacle: availability. According to reports collected by this newspaper at the delivery point, the cylinders sell out quickly. “To get a balita, you have to be ready at 7:00 am, do everything quickly, because the balitas disappear immediately,” one customer commented. Even after paying, customers do not receive the product right away. Pickup is scheduled for the following day.

The supplier listed on KMCERO is Progas. However, many questions surround that company. The website does not provide a clear explanation of who is behind the operation. The “Who We Are” section is either inaccessible or fails to provide enough information. The commercial brand appears on one side, the platform on another, and the promotion comes from state-linked entities.

That last detail is key. KMCERO was promoted by Tecnomática together with the state SME TM-NEXGEN as a virtual store for purchasing fuels and lubricants in Cuba. Tecnomática is part of the business ecosystem linked to Cupet, the state conglomerate that heads the petroleum sector on the Island. The platform itself markets products associated with fuel, oils, and gas, a business that requires permits, specialized transportation, secure storage, and access to infrastructure rarely available to a small private enterprise.

“What exactly does Progas contribute besides a new label and a way to charge in dollars?” / 14ymedio

Suspicion grows when examining the details closely. Customers hand over cylinders identical to those used in the state system and receive similar ones in return. The logistics point to already existing facilities. The transportation observed by neighbors and customers resembles that historically used by Cupet. None of those elements alone proves that Progas is a front for the state company. Together, however, they sketch an operation difficult to present as an independent private business.

“If the product, the cylinders, the logistics, and the promotion belong to the state system, what exactly does Progas contribute besides a new label and a way to charge in dollars?” asks one customer while waiting in line.

Progas appears precisely within a gray area that several observers of the Cuban economy have been pointing out for years: the creation or use of formally private companies to operate where state entities carry a poor commercial reputation or seek to evade U.S. sanctions. Under that model, a company with the appearance of a non-state actor can import fuel, hire services, or present itself to foreign suppliers as an independent business, even though in practice it depends on state assets, permits, logistics, or decisions.

What is clear is that the balitas can no longer be obtained in national currency. / 14ymedio

In strategic sectors such as fuel, where official control has historically been nearly absolute, an opaque brand forces observers to look beyond the commercial name. The question is not only who delivers the cylinder, but who owns the product, the containers, the trucks, the warehouses, and the money entering from each sale.

No one knows where the gas comes from, whether from the Energas plant in Varadero or from a private import operation in partnership with the Cuban state, the only economic actor authorized to charge in dollars. What is clear is that the balitas can no longer be obtained in national currency.

For Cuban families, the immediate answer lies not in corporate documents but in the kitchen. Those with cards, internet access, and foreign currency can try to buy. Those dependent on salaries paid in pesos must continue waiting for the regulated distribution. The balita that once formed part of a rationed system now appears in a digital store, with another name, another currency, and one unanswered question: who is really collecting the money for the gas?

Translated by Regina Anavy

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In the Real Life of Cubans, the Crisis Is Not Measured in Megawatts, but in Hours Without Sleep

“They give us 15 minutes of electricity, several times like that over the last three days, but yesterday was too much, and everyone came out together to bang their pots.”

An improvised kiosk keeps a small generator running, roaring like an old engine. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Darío Hernández, Havana, May 25, 2026 / “Havana wakes up with bags under its eyes,” says a resident of Regla, though he makes it clear he is not trying to be poetic. The bags under their eyes are not from a night out, nor from age, but from that sticky darkness that falls over homes when the power goes out and turns the night into a test of endurance.

In his neighborhood, as in so many other parts of the Island, residents came out to bang pots after 27 hours without electricity. The noise of the pot-banging is the way of raising their voices for people who no longer know what to do about the heat, the mosquitoes, the spoiled food, the children unable to sleep, and the rage.

“The pots were ringing out on every block,” the resident tells this newspaper. According to other residents of the Havana municipality, the neighborhood had been without service for more than a day. When it was supposedly time for power to be restored under the block rotation system, a fault appeared. Then came the “on and off”: a few minutes of power, another blackout, another attempt, another wait. Until patience went out too.

“In the end they were giving us 15 minutes of electricity,” says the man, with those same bags under his eyes. “Like that, several times over the last three days, but yesterday was too much, and everyone came out together to bang their pots.” continue reading

“What the Electric Union reflects in its Telegram messages does not come anywhere close to reality,” another witness says

“What the Electric Union reflects in its Telegram messages does not come anywhere close to reality,” another witness says. Out on the street, the crisis is not measured in megawatts, but in hours without sleep.

A woman from the same neighborhood sums it up without metaphors: “Sleeping in Cuba has become a privilege.” Sleep depends on having a rechargeable fan, on having been able to charge it beforehand, on the battery lasting, on having a generator, on having fuel, on living in a house where some air comes in, and on the mosquitoes granting a truce.

“The power went out at 4:30 in the afternoon and came back at 7:30 in the morning,” one Havana woman says. “The whole night without power.” She puts the rechargeable fan on the lowest speed to stretch out the battery. But the heat is already starting to bear down. She opens the windows. At one in the morning she wakes up because of the mosquitoes, even though she lives on an upper floor. She closes the windows again. She turns up the fan speed. Then another problem appears: the noise will not let her sleep. Two hours later, the charge runs out.

“Then you turn on the generator and put the fan to charge,” she says. “And that is how the whole night has gone until the power comes back, and you have slept only a couple of hours.”

At dawn there is no rest. The plans for the following day are cancelled before they even begin. “There is no way anyone can cope with this,” she says. And then she immediately qualifies it, with a mixture of guilt and clear-headedness: “I consider myself privileged. I have a fan and a generator. Most people have nothing.” The question hangs in the hot room: how do the others sleep?

A teacher gives a simple and devastating answer. Adults no longer sleep. They spend the night fanning the children with a piece of cardboard so the mosquitoes do not bite them. When the power comes back, nobody celebrates anymore. People run.

Adults no longer sleep. They spend the night fanning the children with a piece of cardboard so the mosquitoes do not bite them. When the power comes back, nobody celebrates anymore. People run

“When the power comes on, whatever time it is, there is a mad rush: to charge everything, to cook, to put the washing machine on, always with the fear that it will not last long,” says the teacher, who spent 15 hours without service. She speaks from a house that gets sun all day and where the heat clings to the walls. The night before she tried to sleep, but she could not either. “I fell asleep from exhaustion, an uncomfortable sleep, not deep at all,” she says.

“I now know almost as much as Lázaro Guerra,” the woman says ironically, referring to the official face who gives the daily report on the energy crisis. “Until a few years ago I was a complete novice when it came to megawatts, circuits, synchronizations, deficits. Now I could give the energy report myself if I set my mind to it.”

“I woke up about five times in the early hours,” the same woman says. “Each time I checked the Telegram channel, hoping to see: ‘Block 1 begins the gradual restoration of service.’” The bureaucratic phrase has become a kind of civic prayer. It is waited for the way one waits for a sign.

“Look what we have been reduced to,” she says. “I feel as though I am begging for crumbs of a service that is a right and that is not free, because I pay for it every month.” Electricity thus appears like an intermittent handout. A concession that forces people to live with body and soul hanging on a switch.

The material deterioration brings another, more silent one: damage to health. One of the accounts speaks of a stomach ache after ordering food for delivery. He suspects it was in bad condition because of lack of refrigeration. “Or who knows how many times that food was frozen and thawed,” he says. He has gone days without drinking cold water. He has no strength. He feels “wrecked.”

“After 12 hours of continuous blackout, my mood changes. All you think about is how to get out of this. You don’t feel like reading, going out, watching something. Nothing. The body goes into survival mode.”

“After 12 hours of continuous blackout, my mood changes. All you think about is how to get out of this. You don’t feel like reading, going out, watching something. Nothing. The body goes into survival mode.”

“Does anyone think about that, about the mental health of Cubans?” his partner asks. “The bags under my eyes are already part of my look, and with no cucumbers or potatoes to improve them.” The humor appears, but it does not save them. It barely lets them breathe amid the annoyance. “That is why people in the street are in a bad mood. The quality of sleep determines many things,” she insists.

“The worst thing is not the heat, or the mosquitoes, or the anxiety, or tossing and turning in bed at three, at four, at five,” the woman says. “The worst thing is opening your eyes and seeing everything dark, feeling that the night is swallowing you, along with the neglect, the lies of a Government that thinks about itself but not about its people.”

At seven in the morning, light begins to come in through a crack. But that is not a sign of relief either. It is the announcement of another day of work, queues, walking, finding something to eat, accumulated tiredness, and supposed normality. And, at the same time, the certainty that when night falls everything may happen all over again. “In Cuba you cannot sleep, much less dream,” says the resident of Regla, and he brings his fingers to the bags under his eyes, trying to rub them away.

Translated by GH

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An Exhausted Bussed-in Crowd Attends the Rally in Defense of Raúl Castro in Havana

The main speaker was Gerardo Hernández, one of the five former spies accused in the US of participating in the conspiracy to shoot down the Brothers to the Rescue planes

Tired and disinterested attendees during the demonstration. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Dario Hernandez, Havana, May 22, 2026 / In a new attempt to display popular support, increasingly weakened, the Cuban government called for another mobilization this Friday at the so-called Anti-Imperialist Tribune – located in front of the US Embassy in Havana – “to condemn the despicable and infamous act of the United States Department of Justice” –referring to the indictment made this Wednesday against Raúl Castro for the downing of the Brothers to the Rescue planes – “and to support the declaration of the Revolutionary Government.”

The official media presented it as a novelty that the call for the mobilization came from the Union of Young Communists, “along with other student organizations, mass groups, and youth movements.” The official statement also framed the event within the celebrations for Raúl Castro’s 95th birthday, on June 3rd.

For these mobilizations, the government spares no resources or fuel. / 14ymedio

Despite the severe fuel crisis that the Island is experiencing and that worsens every day, the Government has found resources to organize these mobilizations, which are coordinated in a mandatory way through state institutions and workplaces.

While Havana residents deal daily with the lack of transportation and authorities have applied drastic reductions to public mobility, a long line of buses waited in the early hours of this Friday after transporting attendees to the event, as shown in the photographs taken by 14ymedio.

Buses used to transport attendees during the demonstration. / 14ymedio

The leak of an internal document from the Havana Electric Union, ordering the mobilization of workers, reveals the mandatory and controlled nature of these calls, with which the regime attempts to project an increasingly less credible image of popular support.

The mandatory nature of the rally is also evident in the large presence of uniformed military personnel and attendees wearing propaganda T-shirts distributed by state entities. “Raúl is Raúl” is one of the slogans of this propaganda campaign, which aims to counteract the effects of the indictment.

However, the Army general was not present at the ceremony, which has sparked speculation on social media. The nonagenarian is no longer continue reading

in good enough health to make public appearances, and his presence at the May Day parade had already drawn similar comments due to his visible physical decline.

Young athletes fatigued during the mobilization, after having been called up since dawn. / 14ymedio

Miguel Díaz-Canel led the ceremony in military uniform, and among those present was the general’s grandson, Raúl Guillermo Rodríguez Castro, known as “El Cangrejo” (The Crab). Also in attendance were the president of the National Assembly of People’s Power, Esteban Lazo; the prime minister, Manuel Marrero; and the commander of the Rebel Army, José Ramón Machado Ventura.

The five former Cuban spies were also present; their activity in US territory was fundamental for Cuban intelligence services to obtain information on all the movements of Brothers to the Rescue during the nineties, until the fateful February 24, 1996, when a MiG-29 shot down two planes of the humanitarian organization in international waters, causing the death of the four crew members, three of them with US nationality and one with legal residence in Florida.

To begin, the pro-government musician Raúl Torres performed a song dedicated to Raúl Castro. Following this, the pro-government lawyer Rolando López Meriño took the floor to express, on behalf of the legal profession, their rejection of the “scoundrelly accusation” against the former president and to reiterate the regime’s arguments against the legality of the charges brought by the U.S. Department of Justice.

Attempts to chant slogans sounded half-hearted, mostly coming from the soldiers themselves. / 14ymedio

“It is absolutely fraudulent and illegitimate,” stated López Meriño, who invoked the 1944 Chicago Convention on International Civil Aviation to justify shooting down the planes as an act of defending national sovereignty. The lawyer also held the United States responsible for the incident, arguing that Washington ignored warnings from the Cuban government about alleged violations of national airspace by the Brothers to the Rescue aircraft.

López Meriño’s speech added nothing new to the official discourse, which has historically rejected Washington’s version that the downed planes were in international airspace, a conclusion supported by reports from the International Civil Aviation Organization (ICAO) and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR).

Gerardo Hernández Nordelo, one of the five former Cuban spies and accused in the US of participating in the conspiracy linked to the downing of the Brothers to the Rescue planes, was the main speaker at the event.

A large military presence was seen attending the demonstration. / 14ymedio

He paraphrased a “message from our comrade, the Army General,” to those present: “He tells us that he sincerely appreciates the solidarity of the people and of friends around the world, and that we can be certain that as long as he lives, he will continue marching at the head of our people, defending the revolution, with his foot in the stirrup.”

The former Cuban agent also lashed out at Cuban-American José Basulto, founder of Brothers to the Rescue and one of the figures linked to the current accusations against Raúl Castro. Hernández called him “one of the real culprits behind those tragic deaths” and accused him of seeking a confrontation between the two countries.

“Who do they think they are to judge Raúl?” Hernández Nordelo asked before launching into extensive praise for Castro. He also reiterated the official position on the downing of the Brothers to the Rescue planes, maintaining that the Cuban government had repeatedly warned Washington about violations of its national airspace. “We had and have a moral obligation to preserve the security of our people,” he said.

Hernández Nordelo questioned when US President Donald Trump will be tried “for ordering the killing of 200 people and 57 vessels in international waters of the Caribbean and the Pacific without showing evidence, solely on suspicion that they are drug traffickers.”

After the former spy finished his speech, the attendees dispersed to attend to their daily needs. / 14ymedio

As soon as the former spy finished speaking, many attendees immediately began to leave the square, tired and eager to get on with their daily needs. Attempts to chant slogans were lackluster, mostly coming from the soldiers present.

Once again, the population, already tired and desperate in these long months of scarcity and prolonged daily blackouts, has taken on the obligation of attending these types of events, in order to avoid consequences in their respective state institutions, and so that the Government can demonstrate some popular support before public opinion.

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The Gas Cylinders That Aren’t for Everyone in Cuba

Residents of a street in Guanabacoa watch the Supermarket23 delivery truck with longing

The gas cylinders it carries are not for everyone, and even less so for the impoverished pockets of most residents on that block. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Havana, Darío Hernández, May 15, 2026 — A liquefied gas delivery truck passes through Guanabacoa, in Havana, under the longing gaze of most of the neighbors. The gas cylinders it carries are not for everyone, and even less so for the impoverished pockets of most residents on that block of Delicias Street, between Potosí and Gloria.

It is liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) that can be purchased through the online store Supermarket23, in dollars and from abroad, at a price of 29 dollars per cylinder, including home delivery. The recipient is a woman whose son lives in the United States. On the same street, people have no choice but to cook with charcoal, or eat only bread.

The sale of gas cylinders in Cuba recently took a turn when, for the first time, Supermarket23 began offering the product in dollars / 14ymedio

The sale of this fuel in Cuba recently took a turn when, for the first time, the digital sales platform began offering the product in dollars and outside the rationed system, amid this unprecedented energy crisis. This has marked a turning point in the commercialization of a product that, until now, had been tied to a state-regulated distribution system and available only in pesos.

It has also created a new social divide between those who have relatives abroad, who can avoid the long lines and uncertainty of the domestic supply system, and the rest of the population, forced to depend on a completely ineffective system. On this street in Guanabacoa, only one family is privileged.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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The First Private Nursing Home in Cuba Opens Its Doors

The lowest price in TaTamania is $1,080 a month, but the law requires it to reserve 10% of the places for the “vulnerable” at a rate set by the State.

TaTamanía nursing home in El Vedado, Havana. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Havana, Dario Hernandez, May 3, 2026 / The TaTamanía Senior Residence is a hive of activity in recent days. “I’m not going to show you the whole house, I’m going to take you to a room so you can see how we have it equipped. Each room has its own bathroom, with hot and cold water. There’s a split air conditioner and a fan, because some of the elderly residents don’t like air conditioning…,” an employee of what will be the first private nursing home in Cuba tells 14ymedio.

“We are an agency that has been operating for four years. This permanent home service is a new experience for us, because we just received authorization, but we have been working in homes and hospitals for some time. So far, everything has gone well; we have quite a few clients. We are all healthcare professionals. Those who aren’t doctors are nurses, or if not they are are physiatrists. That’s why people seek us out,” the employee adds, alluding to the company’s experience in the Dominican Republic, as they boast on their social media. In fact, TaTamanía’s contact number has a Dominican country code, and the account where they request the required fee be deposited is also in Santo Domingo.

Its founders are pediatrician Yadira Álvarez and her husband, Rolando Pérez, a computer engineer

TaTamanía arrived in that country last year, opening a branch and establishing an alliance with Saritacelestec Homes, a group of senior living facilities. However, TaTamanía was founded in Guantánamo in 2023 and was the first private micro, small, and medium-sized enterprise (MSME) to offer this service on the island. Its founders are pediatrician Yadira Álvarez and her husband, Rolando Pérez, a computer engineer. It is registered with that name and purpose in the Ministry of Economy and Planning’s list of economic actors: “to provide care services for the sick, people with disabilities, and the elderly.”

On February 26 , legislation was finally approved formally authorizing the private sector to manage long-term and day care facilities after decades of state monopoly. The law was complemented by a resolution published in April —and which comes into effect on May 21—establishing the operating and oversight rules for these services, as well as the construction, personal care, and healthcare standards they must meet.

The law specifies that 10% of the places must be reserved for people continue reading

considered “of social interest due to their vulnerable status,” whose rates will be those set by the State for their own homes. If the beneficiary cannot afford the price, the Government will pay, the law states.

One of the rooms in the TaTamanía residence in Havana’s Vedado district. / 14ymedio

This is the Achilles’ heel of TaTamanía, whose prices are currently almost a state secret. The staff avoid answering the question of how much a private room will cost and simply hand out an advertising brochure outlining the services, which cover five main areas: accommodation, food – with adapted menus; hygiene and care – laundry, haircuts, assistance with bathing; medication and health; monitoring at the center and support outside of it; and activities – including physical and cognitive activities as well as leisure.

Finding out how much it costs is complicated, although if you search online you can eventually find the – restricted – profile that provides this information. The lowest cost is for a triple room, at $1.35 per hour, and the highest is for private rooms, at $1.75. At the Senior Residence in El Vedado, which a contributor to this newspaper visited, there are currently only double rooms available, whose price, according to this employee, is $1.50 per hour, totaling $1,080 per month if there are no additional charges.

The amount is unthinkable for any of the many elderly people living in Cuba without remittances from abroad, so the target audience can only be those with family living outside the island. Of the ten beds that TaTamanía has in its five double rooms, one would be reserved by law for a vulnerable person, who would pay the 1,260 pesos stipulated in the official rate, compared to the 535,680 pesos that — with the official floating exchange rate — the private room costs.

So far, TaTamanía has been very successful on the island. The very law that authorized the existence of private residences acknowledged in its preamble that “given the accelerated aging of the Cuban population, which demands increased care, and the need to expand the scope of social care services for older adults or people with disabilities, it is necessary to authorize the provision of such services by non-state economic actors.”

Some of the services offered by TaTamanía in Havana. / 14ymedio

This reform has allowed TaTamanía to expand services that, until now, could only be offered at home and in hospitals. “The elderly are assessed by a geriatrician who works three times a week in different municipalities, and, depending on that assessment, she determines whether or not they qualify to start here at the center. There are three options: permanent residents, daytime residents – the hours are from 8 am to 6 pm – who come and go on the same day, and temporary residents.” The latter are for those who stay for a short period of time while their caregiver is away on a trip.

It is noteworthy that the company’s advertising highlights some of its professionals as “doctors and nurses formerly employed in the public sector.” The salary of a nurse working at TaTamanía is unknown, but various accounts published in the independent press indicate that salaries in this market can range from 20,000 to 30,000 pesos for a nurse, compared to 5,000 to 7,500 pesos in the public sector. For nursing assistants, the salary can be up to five times higher in the private sector. To obtain certification, a course is mandatory, the price of which is set by the government at 500 pesos, and which TaTamanía has been offering in recent days.

The residence in El Vedado, with its ten beds, is a start, but the needs on an island where the serious problem of aging is compounded by the massive exodus of young people overwhelms not only the state sector, but also nascent private ones with serious difficulties in growing in a context of deep economic crisis.

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Half a Million, According to the Cuban Government; Weariness and Disinterest, According to the Street

The peace petition campaign took center stage at the event, while official rhetoric alternated between calls for dialogue and threats of bloodshed and violence.

The new location offers the advantage of being easier for cameras to handle and less risky in the event of low attendance. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Dario Hernandez, Havana, May 1, 2026 / “Practically half the people had already left when it started,” says an attendee at the May Day parade in Havana. The José Martí Anti-Imperialist Tribune, in front of the U.S. Embassy, was once again this year the stage chosen by the government to represent a unanimity that is increasingly difficult to maintain.

The change of venue, traditionally the Plaza of the Revolution, was justified by the authorities as due to the energy crisis. But the new location also offers the advantage of being more manageable for cameras, less risky in the event of low attendance, and easier to transform, through close-ups and enthusiastic narration, into a picture of massive support.

The event revolved around two obsessions: the fear of a US intervention and the desperate need to demonstrate popular support. Under the slogan “The homeland defends itself,” repeated ad nauseam, and with the centennial celebration of Fidel Castro’s birth as a backdrop, thousands of workers were mobilized from dawn toward Havana’s Malecón. The parade was presented by the official press as a combative, patriotic, and voluntary march. On the street, however, the scene resembled more of an obligation and a logistical operation than a display of civic fervor.

With the centennial celebration of Fidel Castro’s birth as a backdrop, thousands of workers were mobilized from the early hours of the morning. / 14ymedio

The demonstration had been organized from four points in Havana, culminating at la Tribuna. One of the attendees, who left from the gathering on Infanta Street around 6:30 a.m., described his experience to this newspaper: “There were mostly conga lines. I counted about five. The usual. Lots of shirts from state-run schools, and a ton of military personnel.” According to what he heard from the participants, many people had been called as early as 2:00 or 3:00 a.m.

When the main event began at 8:15 a.m., many of those invited had already left. “By the time it all started, after listening to Silvio Rodríguez’s entire discography, with the sun already beating down, easily half the people had left,” recounts one attendee. During the speeches, he adds, participants continued to leave. “When the groups came down and gathered on the stage, they stood there for almost an hour. And people were already exhausted.”

Despite this, official media announced the presence of 500,000 workers in the capital. However, the images do not support this figure. The density visible in photos and videos, the gaps in the crowd, the spaciousness continue reading

of the side areas, and the very layout of the location do not correspond to half a million people concentrated in that area, unless they spread out much more massively along adjacent avenues.

“They were stopped for almost an hour. And people were already exhausted.” / 14ymedio

“The government needed half a million. The images show considerably less,” one observer summarized. And, above all, they show something more damaging to the official narrative, because the crowd no longer seems convinced to even stay until the end.

Buses, work summonses, union orientations, and administrative pressure are all part of a familiar choreography at every political event of this magnitude. The ability to mobilize people remains one of the few organizational skills the state apparatus retains, even amidst the energy crisis and when daily public transportation continues to be a nightmare for millions of Cubans.

“Lots of people were drinking alcohol, ignoring the event,” the source said. In some sections, the honking horns seemed to be trying to compensate for the lack of enthusiasm with noise. “The avenue was empty, with the horns blaring,” the attendee summarized.

“They spoke of peace, of dialogue, and at the same time of whether the people were willing to die, of ‘give me my rifle,’ of whether they would collect blood.” / 14ymedio

The central moment of the event was the symbolic presentation to Raúl Castro and Miguel Díaz-Canel of the signatures collected in the “My Signature for the Fatherland” campaign, which, according to the state registry, totaled 6,230,973 signatures “for peace and sovereignty.” The figure was celebrated as proof of national unity. However, according to testimonies gathered, this support was not as voluntary as the propaganda proclaimed. “My neighbors and I have been practically harassed all week to sign. They came by three times in the last three days,” complained a resident of Diez de Octubre.

State television repeatedly insisted that the rally represented the true Cuba, in stark contrast to the discontent visible on Facebook, in independent media, at civic protests, and in recent polls. “On social media, they’re attacking the Revolution, but that’s not reality; this is reality,” said a commentator on Canal Caribe, while anticipating that criticisms would later emerge claiming that the attendees had been forced to go.

“The government needed half a million. The images show considerably less.” / 14ymedio

The official discourse inadvertently acknowledged the deep divide. “Everyone here is struggling: there’s no transportation, sometimes there’s not enough bread, but people keep persevering,” one commentator remarked. The statement was intended to extol resilience, but it ended up describing failure. In a country with prolonged blackouts, inflation, decimated wages, precarious transportation, impoverished retirees, and mass emigration that empties neighborhoods and families, calling on workers to celebrate their day feels somewhat mocking.

The day was also marked by a police crackdown on critical voices. The offices of this newspaper in Havana were surrounded by a police operation from the early hours of the morning to prevent journalists Yoani Sánchez and Reinaldo Escobar from leaving their homes on May 1st. This action confirms that, while the government attempted to project an image of popular support at the Anti-Imperialist Tribune, it was keeping independent journalists and dissenting citizens under surveillance and control.

The biggest contradiction lay in the language. The white shirts were presented as a symbol of peace, and the signatures as support for dialogue and sovereignty. But this pacifist appeal coexisted with a bellicose rhetoric of “the people’s war,” sacrifice, blood, and rifles. “They spoke of peace, of dialogue, and at the same time of saying the people are willing to die, ‘Give me my rifle,’ that they’ll collect blood. The discourse was quite incoherent,” the attendee concluded.

May Day parade in Havana: fewer people and more tiredness under the sun

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In Guanabacoa, Havana, the Eggs Arrive Escorted by Police and There Aren’t Enough for Everyone

A carton of 30 eggs is sold for 900 pesos, while on the street its price is around 2,800.

Two officers move near the line, next to the truck, making sure no one cuts in line and the disorder doesn’t escalate into a fight. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Dario Hernandez, Havana, April 4, 2026 — The truck hasn’t even fully opened this Saturday and the line already curves around the wall that is barely standing. The scene repeats itself every time the sale appears in San Juan Bosco, between Delicias and Barreto Este, in the Havana municipality of Guanabacoa. Papers, bags, and invisible marks from other waits are scattered on the asphalt. It looks chaotic, but it is something very simple: the egg line.

In Cuba, saying it like that, in the singular, isn’t an exaggeration. It’s as if it were a mystical figure that, every so often, makes a miraculous appearance. When the egg arrives, it sets off the same stampede as always. People line up before the merchandise. First the rumor spreads, then people mark their places, then the vehicle appears; but by then everyone has to be ready hours before the product is even seen. And between one thing and another, the morning and patience are gone.

Everything happens at the corner of the Amphitheater, also known for another, less noble reason: the infamous dump across from the music school and the elementary school, the same spot where fairs are often held. There, in that stretch where garbage, children, and makeshift commerce coexist, the miracle appears.

Even with police and restrictions, more than half of those waiting will go without eggs.

This time, there are uniformed officers on site. Two agents are moving near the line, next to the truck, making sure no one cuts in line so the chaos doesn’t escalate into a fight. The last time the eggs came, there were arguments, disputes, and even pushing. Necessity can also lose its manners when the difference between buying and not buying can be measured in a family’s stomachs.

A carton of eggs [30 eggs] sells for 900 pesos, a real bargain. On the street, the same carton goes for around 2,800. It sounds simple, but that amount exceeds the average monthly pension of a retiree. The gap between the two prices accurately reflects poverty. In an economy continue reading

where almost everything is scarce, any opportunity becomes a business opportunity. That’s why, at first, some people bought several cartons. Now they only allow one per person. Even so, with police and restrictions, more than half of those waiting will go without eggs.

The line knows this, and that is perhaps the hardest part. No one is unaware that they can waste time and get stuck in that situation. That’s what happened to Mercedes the previous week. She got distracted, arrived late, and there was nothing left. “People mark their names before the truck arrives. If it didn’t show up that weekend, tough luck. If it arrived and you found out too late, even worse,” she tells this newspaper. In a matter of minutes, merchandise that in any reasonably normal country is bought without protocols, without witnesses, and without law enforcement officers, vanishes. Not here. Here, the egg is unloaded from a truck as if it were a celebrity.

Neither proximity nor waiting increases the number of egg cartons

There are children in the line. That detail, this 4th of April, carries more weight than it seems. It is Pioneer Day, a date that for years was filled with morning school assemblies, bandanas, propaganda, slogans, and promises of the future. But on this street, the future is reduced to the next meal. The children watch, get bored, run around a bit, and return to the adults. They grow up like this, among lines, learning to “mark,” “reach,” “solve,” and “wait their turn.”

The back door of the truck opens, revealing the merchandise, and people press closer, as if getting nearer might multiply the number of eggs. But neither proximity nor waiting increases the number of cartons. The math is simple and cruel. There is less supply than need.

“This is the real made marvelous,” says another neighbor who, perhaps, has never read Alejo Carpentier nor knows The Kingdom of This World. But “marvelous” doesn’t seem to be the precise word to describe the reality of the average Cuban. In San Juan Bosco, in Guanabacoa, the future fits in an egg carton.

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Outrage Among State Workers Over Cuban Government’s “Relocation” Offers

Among the few options are standing guard duty and taking on garbage collection

“How are we supposed to relocate if most of our companies are affected by the lack of fuel, electricity, and transportation?” / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Darío Hernández, Havana, April 4, 2026 / “For you to tell me that after five years of university I have to go collect garbage is unbelievable.” The speaker is Miguel, a Cuban worker outraged by the government’s proposal to reassign employees to tasks such as waste collection rather than leave them “idle.” “They can go farm, produce, and collect garbage, those who are strong, healthy, and in optimal condition,” he snaps.

Barely two weeks after the Minister of Labor and Social Security, Jesús Otamendiz Campos, said that job “relocation” was the “number one priority,” complaints have multiplied, and layoffs, especially in tourism, have been massive. “That possibility isn’t for all regions,” says Yudith, from Melilla in the province of Holguín, a community that depends heavily on a sector that has been steadily collapsing over the past five years, culminating in the final blow: the suspension of the vast majority of international flights on February 11 due to a lack of jet fuel.

Most workers in that sector, she says, “were sent home as idle workers without guaranteed pay after that first month.” Ángel, formerly a bartender at a hotel in the heart of Holguín’s tourism hub, says the current situation reminds him of the worst of the coronavirus pandemic. “From working surrounded by people, making cocktails until two or three in the morning, to just watching reels on my phone, because everything here in Cayo Coco and Cayo Guillermo is closed,” he explains.

“That’s what they said during the COVID-19 pandemic, when companies and organizations did whatever they wanted. They left half the town unemployed.” / 14ymedio

“I’ve seen this movie before,” says Alfredo, also a worker in the sector. “That’s what they said during COVID-19, and companies and institutions did whatever they wanted. They left half the town without jobs,” he says. “How many people lost long-held jobs because of the so-called multi-employment policy, leaving many unprotected? Get ready for season continue reading

two.”

The good intentions expressed by the labor minister, who promised to “guarantee labor and salary protection” to safeguard workers’ rights and those of their families and to reassign as many state employees as possible to avoid layoffs, have remained just that: intentions. In that appearance on the Mesa Redonda program, Otamendiz mentioned alternatives such as remote work, telework, adjusted working hours, and reassignment to tasks like food production, communal services, and educational support amid a shortage of teaching staff.

State media, however, is trying to paint a rosy picture. This Friday, the newspaper Escambray boasted that in Sancti Spíritus more than 11,000 workers “have adopted new forms of employment included in current labor legislation.” Most of them, according to Yaiselín Quesada López, deputy director of the Provincial Labor Directorate, are “workers incorporated into remote work” (more than 2,600), followed by employees with “adjusted working hours” (over 1,440), those in “telework” (nearly 870), and only 460 in “other roles within the same entity”; that is, actually reassigned.

“My daughter hasn’t even received a call from the hotel to find out what she can do.” / 14ymedio

Revealing which sectors have been hardest hit by the crisis, Escambray also notes that the main areas where workers have been “reemployed” are tourism, transportation, the food industry, and construction.

“How are we supposed to relocate if most of our companies are affected by the lack of fuel, electricity, and transportation?” Iván asks skeptically. He points out that in the current context, telework and remote work are practically impossible, since most of these “relocations” are for jobs as guards and watchmen. “No one accepts them because of the low salaries and the risks involved, especially since most workers are near retirement age.” Very few young people, he says, are willing to take on guard duty. Nor does he see “an engineer or any professional working in solid waste collection. That’s a punishment.”

Arlenis, mother of a woman who was completing her mandatory social service in the tourism sector, suggests that managers are not transparent when assigning relocations. Her daughter, a mother of a three-year-old, still has no assignment. “Many managers are applying the rules however they want. Some prioritize years of service, favoring those close to retirement, while young people are the most affected. My daughter hasn’t even been called by the hotel to see what she can do.”

The current crisis has also led private businesses to reduce their working hours or close several days a week.

Years of service, however, are no guarantee of anything, says Lisandra. “My husband was declared idle verbally, without any official document. The first month he got 100% of his salary and nothing more. A worker with 42 years on the job and only four months away from retirement.”

In short, workers feel disappointed and warn of deception by the authorities, who force them to accept offers unrelated to their professional profiles and that are not appealing. “If you don’t accept, the State looks good, and the worker has to figure out how to survive,” Lisandra concludes. “It’s sad that the few workers who still believe in working for the State, from professionals to manual laborers, are being left out.”

The situation is not limited to the state sector. The current crisis has also forced private businesses to reduce hours or close several days a week. This is the case of the Fábrica de Arte Cubano, which has limited its opening to Fridays and Saturdays, compared to four days before. Restaurants like El Cocinero have reduced their staff, while images circulating on social media of others, such as El Sibarita, have gone viral due to the evident lack of customers.

Watch video here.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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In Guanabacoa, Cuba, Multicolored Springs of Sewage Water Run Through the Streets

A neighbor improvised a bridge of blocks to be able to leave her house: “You can’t even go out in flip-flops if you don’t want to come back with dirty feet.”

The problem of sewage water in Havana goes back a long time. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Darío Hernández, March 21, 2026 – Havana / Sewage water flows freely through the streets of Guanabacoa, to the point that Corral Falso, the municipality’s main avenue, is impossible to cross in stretches that span several blocks. Overflowing septic ditches have further undermined sanitation in the area, and residents are forced to live with a dark, green, viscous river up to 20 cm deep, under a blazing sun and temperatures above 30 degrees.

Overflowing drains can be seen even in the most unsuitable places. For example, on the corner by the Guillermo Tomás music school, which also has a garbage dump nearly 30 meters long in front of it. Or every weekend, around the agricultural markets, where trucks arrive and distribute food for the population on improvised platforms.

The problem of sewage water in Havana goes back a long time, and in most cases is due to breaks, lack of sanitation, and above all the poor condition of the capital’s sewer system. However, it has worsened with the unchecked proliferation of garbage dumps due to the lack of fuel.

“The stench, the flies, the mosquitoes, and everything that comes with it is something we have to live with.” / 14ymedio

“This is a never-ending war. You call Aguas de La Habana or Communal Services, and they come when they can and unclog the sewer in question, but as soon as the water starts flowing again, the blockage and the rot return,” says Zulema, who has one of those “multicolored springs,” as she ironically calls them,running in front of her doorway.

“That green stuff you see there shows you that the water stagnates here for weeks. The stench, the flies, the mosquitoes, and everything that comes with it is something we have to live with,” Zulema continues. The neighbor has had to improvise a “bridge” of blocks to be able to leave her house. “You can’t even go out in flip-flops if you don’t want to come back with dirty feet.”

Tricycles and electric motorcycles—because there are no longer cars—slow down on these blocks so as not to splash and dirty continue reading

their vehicles. On some corners and along the edges of sidewalks, plants of dubious origin have begun to grow.

Workers from Communal Services broke a pipe while carrying out cleaning work, “and now the sewer overflows more easily.” / 14ymedio

Lázaro, another affected resident, says the problem already existed before, but that “the water was more potable, not as unsanitary.” The problem worsened, he recounts, when workers from Communal Services recently broke a pipe while doing cleaning work, “and now the sewer overflows more easily.” Added to this, he continues, is that at every corner there is a “mini dump.” “If you put those two things together, the result is what we are living through,” he summarizes. “What are we living through? I can’t define it in words, but it’s profoundly immoral.”

“When the agricultural fairs began, I had my stall on that block. They were all around the Amphitheater, but we had to move over here,” says Miguel, who now sells root vegetables and produce on the block next to the Amphitheater. “There was one time when the entire fair was moved to another location, a few blocks from the Municipal Party headquarters, precisely because of this, because of the filth in this place. Apparently there were complaints from residents. It really was just one block that, although wide, was uncomfortable for everyone, and the following week we came back here. In other words, they know this is not the ideal place to sell food, but there’s no alternative.”

River of sewage in Guanabacoa: living among waste / 14ymedio

Translated by Regina Anavy
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Cuban State Security Prohibits a Student Sit-In on the Steps of the University of Havana

The FEU (Federation of University Students) tried to prevent the protest called to express “the students’ dissatisfaction with the current teaching plan”

Image of students on the steps of the University of Havana, this Monday. / X/@CNN_Oppmann

Darío Hernández/Juan Diego Rodríguez, Havana, March 9, 2026 — About twenty students are meeting with education authorities after holding a peaceful protest on the steps of the University of Havana this Monday morning. Around 3:00 p.m. on Monday, the site showed no trace of what had happened several hours earlier, except for the internet connection being blocked

The students, around 25 in number, occupied the stairs in a peaceful protest. As stated on the poster circulated through a WhatsApp group, the “university sit-in” was scheduled for March 9th at 10 am “to publicly and peacefully demonstrate the student body’s dissatisfaction with the current teaching plan.”

The situation, an eyewitness reported to the organization Ciudadanía y Libertad, (Citizenship and Freedom), “remained calm at first,” but “changed when more students began arriving, interested in joining the protest.” Then, the sources continued, State Security agents blocked more people from entering the steps and the university grounds.

Police patrols in the vicinity of the University of Havana, this Monday. / 14ymedio/Courtesy

According to CNN correspondent Patrick Oppmann in Havana, who posted a picture of the protest on his social media, the students who had previously been on the steps entered the center to meet with officials and authorities.

The rector of the University of Havana, Miriam Nicado García, and the first deputy minister of Higher Education, Modesto Ricardo Gómez, approached the place where the young people were gathered.

“How many hours of electricity did you have last week? And do you have a connection when the power is cut off?” a student asked a dean, according to EFE.

“Many students from the provinces haven’t been able to submit anything because there’s no connectivity,” another student said.

These predominantly academic demands were gradually overtaken in the conversation by complaints about how university students can raise their issues and participate in the debate on solutions and decision-making processes.

“The paths to reach the Ministry of Higher Education are obstructed,” a young woman continue reading

stated, to which a student added: “This sit-in, I’m afraid, is a last resort.”

The First Vice Minister of Higher Education directly addressed the young people in an attempt to end the sit-in: “This isn’t going to solve the problems we have. Why this, gentlemen, young men, when my whole life has been dedicated to educating you?”

The young people, around 25 in number, took to the stairs in a peaceful protest. / 14ymedio/Courtesy

“Because they haven’t listened to us from the very beginning: that’s the answer you have,” a young man retorted.

In fact, the students had started to feel sidelined last week and, faced with what they perceived as decisions made from above, they created several alternative discussion groups on social media and launched the call for the sit-in.

Both the University of Havana and the FEU quickly came out to say that this initiative was “fake” and stressed that the established dialogue spaces were working.

Several young people highlighted that part of the erosion of trust in the University and in the FEU began last June, when the students’ discontent over a very sharp increase in the rates for mobile service by the state-owned telephone company was not addressed as they wished.

On the other hand, in the early afternoon, in the WhatsApp group for the call, the students posted: “For all those who are following the situation, the group that responded to the call is in dialogue with the Minister of Higher Education, expect more information before the end of the day.”

“Defending institutional dialogue is correct, but pretending that it exhausts all legitimate forms of expression is a mistake.”

In a letter shared on their social media, the organizers addressed the Secretariat of the University Student Federation (FEU), responding to a statement in which the pro-government organization dismissed the call, calling it “completely false” and “unnecessary”.

“We feel an obligation to respectfully disagree with your posture,” the missive stated. “Defending institutional dialogue is correct, but claiming that it exhausts all legitimate forms of expression is a mistake.” In four points, the students explained why the sit-in “is both real and necessary.”

First, they said, because “it is not a denial of dialogue, but rather its deepening.” A sit-in, they explained, is a tool to demand dialogue “when it becomes insufficient or slow” and “means bringing concerns to the forefront,” so that the “actions” taken by educational authorities “do not remain in closed spaces, but rather become the focus of collective conversation.”

On the other hand, they alluded to the fact that the FEU Secretariat told them they had already been “receiving concerns.” “This is valuable, but it’s not sufficient,” they retorted. “The legitimate question many have is: what happens to these concerns once we communicate them to you?” The protest, they argued, “seeks to break down the intermediaries and create a horizontal space, student to student, to compare opinions and reach our own conclusions, unfiltered by a structure.” And they continued: “If the current channels were effective, there wouldn’t be this spontaneous need for hundreds of students to seek an alternative way to organize.”

“We appreciate your work, but the solution to the problems in teaching and the general discontent cannot simply be ‘waiting’ for them to be addressed.”

On a third point, they criticized the FEU for referring to their action as “symbolic,” “as if it were something negative.” They argued: “The history of the University of Havana is built on symbols. Sitting in a common place, looking each other in the eye, and debating the problems of teaching and the situation of the country is a profoundly transformative act.”

Finally, they referred to the “management of solutions” that the Secretariat had offered them. “We appreciate their work, but the solution to the problems in teaching and the general discontent cannot simply be to ‘wait’ for them to be managed. The university community must be an active part in creating those solutions.”

The worsening energy crisis has led to the suspension of in-person classes at all universities, a cancellation that has left thousands of students at home. Maintaining contact with teachers through WhatsApp groups and other virtual platforms is not a viable option in a country where internet access is becoming increasingly unreliable.

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Fires and Pot-Banging Protests: Cuba in Apocalyptic Mode

It doesn’t matter whether the neighborhoods are more central or farther out—the soundtrack of the capital at night is protest, and during the day the smell is burning garbage.

Even though they try to erase them, you can still make out a phrase written on various walls that feels like the final word: “Se acabó” (“It’s over” / “We’re done”).

14ymedio, Darío Hernández, March 9, 2026 – Havana at night these days has an apocalyptic feel. If you walk around after the sun goes down—when the fear of being recognized fades—the soundtrack is pot-banging (cacerolazos) coming from different neighborhoods. It doesn’t matter anymore if they’re more central, more touristy, or farther out, more combative or less. The noise comes from everywhere.

More and more walls are showing up with anti-government slogans. Even though they try to paint over them, you can still read—in several places—that phrase that sounds like the end of the line: “Se acabó.”

Fires are also popping up all across the capital. Some come from people burning trash piles, which has become super common because there aren’t enough trucks or fuel to collect garbage properly anymore. Others are from charcoal fires that families light to cook since there’s no electricity or cooking gas.

Sometimes those fires get out of control. Other times, with the constant power flickers and surges, you get a short circuit.

Sometimes those fires get out of control. Other times, with the constant power flickers and surges, you get a short circuit. People think that’s what caused the fire last Saturday in a pizzeria in central Santiago de Cuba, on Enramada Street between Reloj and San Agustín—it ended up burning down four houses. continue reading

No one knows yet what caused the fire at the Cubos Factory in Matanzas, located in Playa right next to the Cocal substation. Although firefighters put it out in just 20 minutes that Sunday night, people were terrified because right beside the affected area there were piles of plastic waste, neighbors warned.

Meanwhile in Granma province, El Ranchón (a traditional spot) burned down in the early morning at the Guisa lookout point. Alianna Corona Rodríguez, First Secretary of the Communist Party in the province, told the press that “the flames spread easily because this is a traditional structure made of palm thatch and wood.” While the cause is still under investigation, the official added another layer: “carteles con propaganda contrarrevolucionaria” (posters with counter-revolutionary propaganda) were found at the site.

In the capital, blackouts have got much worse over the weekend, with some neighborhoods going up to 20 straight hours without power. The lack of electricity has fuelled people’s anger, and in various parts of Havana the water supply problems have got even more serious because there’s no energy to run the pumps.

Translated by GH

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The Demolition of Havana’s Historic ISDi Building Fills Neighbors’ Homes with Dust

Onlookers crowd together to watch the spectacle, and some take advantage of the situation to carry off rebar and other materials.

Main façade of what used to be the Higher Institute of Industrial Design (ISDi), on Belascoaín Street, Central Havana / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Havana, Darío Hernández, March 4, 2026 – The official demolition of the Higher Institute of Industrial Design (ISDi), now taking place, is in reality the final sigh of a very, very slow death. What the excavators of the Construction Materials Business Group (Geicon) are destroying at number 710 Belascoaín Street, in Central Havana, is barely what remains of the building after four years of closure, partial collapses, looting, and absolute institutional neglect.

This Tuesday, the site, very close to the busy Carlos III Avenue, was packed with people. Workers, police officers, and onlookers crowded into Carlos J. Finlay Park, which faces the building’s façade, or walked around its sides along Enrique Barnet, Maloja, and San Carlos streets. Several, as 14ymedio confirmed, were carrying away rebar under the impassive gaze of the officers guarding the site.

The motionless excavators show that the demolition work is being carried out at a leisurely pace. / 14ymedio

Unlike similar situations in which the police cordon off the area, even prohibiting the use of cell phones, on this occasion people approached, took photos, and recorded videos without being discreet. There were also people inside, ignoring the mandatory safety measures in such cases.

The motionless presence of two excavators, one orange and one yellow, parked in front of what used to be the ISDi, shows that the demolition work is proceeding at a leisurely pace. Many sections still remain to be torn down.

At the back, along San Carlos Street, the rubble reaches the opposite sidewalk, filling the houses across the street with dust and debris. One neighbor complained to this newspaper: “It’s clearly a poorly done job, and we don’t know how long it will last.”

Workers, police officers, and onlookers crowded into Carlos J. Finlay Park, which faces the building’s façade, or walked around its sides. / 14ymedio

Residents have been enduring the deterioration of the ISDi ruins since March 2022, when the building was closed after an “architectural flaw” was detected that endangered students and staff. Without the State taking action to resolve those “flaws,” part of the interior façade collapsed in July 2024, and half a year later, in January 2025, another partial collapse left an elderly woman injured and four families without access to their homes.

In October of last year, authorities had to assign guards after graphic designer Esteban Aquino, a former student of the Institute, reported on social media, illustrating his message with photos, that numerous institutional documents, including theses, books, and catalogs, were scattered in nearby Carlos J. Finlay Park. Not only papers were stolen from the old school but also doors and windows, as neighbors told 14ymedio at the time.

One neighbor complained to this newspaper: “It’s clearly a poorly done job, and we don’t know how long it will last.” / 14ymedio

That its empty spaces were being used as bathrooms and dumping grounds, with the resulting health consequences for the neighborhood amid an arbovirus epidemic, was the most recent episode in its agony. However, the building’s final expiration has yet to arrive. In 1982, it was converted into the headquarters of the Polytechnic Institute of Industrial Design, the precursor to ISDi. Originally, it had been a military hotel and officers club for the Spanish Army. It later served as the Cadet School (1874–1878), an Asylum for Widows and Orphans, the General Staff headquarters during the first U.S. Occupation, and even the Ministry of Public Health before the Revolution. Even the official demolition is unfolding in slow motion.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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The PAHO Reveals That Cuba Recorded Two New Deaths From Chikungunya in January

The island’s authorities have not reported these figures, which bring the total number of deaths to 67

The PAHO also reported 1,457 cases of chikungunya between January 1 and 31. / 14ymedio

It was the Pan American Health Organization (PAHO) — and not Cuba’s health authorities — that revealed that deaths from chikungunya have been recorded in the country in 2026. Based on the official data reported from the island, the international organization announced this Tuesday that in January there were two deaths from the viral disease transmitted by Aedes aegypti and albopictus mosquitoes, bringing the total to 67 according to the organization’s own records.

In its report, the PAHO also recorded 1,457 cases of chikungunya last month. These figures contrast with the government’s latest update on January 28, when, through Deputy Minister of Public Health Carilda Peña, it claimed that in the latter part of January the country had entered a “safety zone” regarding dengue and chikungunya infections, and only mentioned a 29.3% drop in confirmed and suspected cases of dengue and chikungunya — without providing any figures — compared to the previous week.

More than half of the nearly 70 deaths acknowledged by the PAHO are minors, and a total of 83,366 people have been infected (including those reported in January), although these figures might only be a sample. However, statistical estimates from the Cuban Observatory of Citizen Auditing (Ocac) and Cuba Siglo 21 put the death toll much higher: as of December, they estimated 8,700 deaths in the epidemic.

As for dengue, Cuba is one of the few countries (along with Venezuela, Nicaragua, Guatemala) for which there are still no 2026 data in the PAHO’s public databases.

As for dengue, Cuba is one of the few countries (along with Venezuela, Nicaragua, Guatemala) for which there are still no 2026 data in the PAHO’s public databases.

The Cuban government admitted the country was facing an epidemic on November 12 last year. However, the first chikungunya cases were diagnosed in July, and infections from both arboviruses skyrocketed in September and October. A month later came the peak, when the PAHO itself revealed continue reading

that in just one month the chikungunya infection rate had doubled in Cuba. In an early November report, the country showed a cumulative incidence of 183.43 cases per 100,000 inhabitants, the highest in all of the Americas that year. By the first week of December, the figure had climbed to 350.57, a 91% increase.

Now, although official cases have dropped, reports are starting to emerge about the aftereffects suffered by many of those infected, something that’s gotten worse with the low temperatures on the island at the start of the year. That’s the case for a resident of Centro Habana who, after spending several weeks bedridden with pain and fever, still has many lingering effects more than three months later: “I can’t sleep, I spend nights wide awake with pain in my hands and knees,” she told 14ymedio in January. In Ciego de Ávila, a neighbor also said that “in the mornings I wake up with numb hands, I have to move them a lot just to function halfway decently.”

Cuba was fertile ground for the epidemic to spread due to the country’s severe economic crisis, which limits prevention capacity

Cuba was fertile ground for the epidemic to spread due to the country’s severe economic crisis, which limits prevention capacity — mainly through mass fumigation against mosquitoes — control (with tests to confirm the type of disease), and care for the sick, due to shortages of medicines and other medical supplies. Because of those shortages, many families had to get basic medical items on their own, while others had to keep the sick at home given the rundown state of health centers.

Another factor has been the piles of garbage accumulating in the streets. Various epidemiologists agree there’s a link between the spread of filth and the rise in diseases like vomiting and diarrhea caused by flies; leptospirosis tied to rats; and dengue, zika, chikungunya, and oropouche, caused by different insect vectors.

This has led to people in Havana starting to burn garbage to get rid of it. It’s now common to see piles on fire at every corner at dawn or dusk, day or night, with municipal services and neighbors alike lighting the waste without any caution.

That’s been the “solution” to the shortage of containers in the capital, which has 10,000 but needs between 20,000 and 30,000. On top of that, only 16,000 to 17,000 cubic meters are being collected daily, when in the past it was between 25,000 and 30,000.

Likewise, other problems reported by Cubadebate in early February include not just the lack of fuel but the poor condition of the equipment: out of 106 collection trucks, only 44 are working. “We’re at 37% to 44% technical availability, way below what’s needed,” admitted Alexis González Inclán, an official with Havana’s Communal Services.

Translated by GH

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Cuba: “Two and Even Three Inspectors Show Up Together, and You Have To Give Each One Their Cut”

To avoid fines, private businesses stop selling products with capped prices, while State-run dollar stores are not subject to the same rules.

Customer in a private small business (mipyme) in Havana. / 14ymedio

14ymedio, Havana, Darío Hernández, February 23, 2026 – Alejandro, owner of a small private business in Regla, has been fined 40,000 pesos in less than a week. His “little market” was one of the few businesses in the area that still dared to sell essential goods—chicken, cooking oil, sausage, powdered milk, pasta, and detergent—which, since July 2024, have had “agreed-upon” prices; that is, capped, but which the current crisis makes impossible to maintain.

“Last week, people came from all over the municipality looking for oil, because it’s not sold anywhere. I had it at 1,300 pesos per liter, and its capped price is 990. But how am I supposed to sell it for that, if suppliers charge me an even higher price?” says Alejandro, who prefers to use another name for this report.

The price of a dollar on the informal foreign exchange market did not exceed 400 pesos when the Government imposed, more than a year and a half ago, this limit on six products it considered essential. Today, while the dollar now surpasses 500 pesos on the unofficial market and the Central Bank of Cuba sets the rate above 460 pesos, the resolution to control prices, far from benefiting the population, has encouraged corruption and shortages in businesses.

“They’re expensive products, but at least I had them. Let’s see where people will find cooking oil at 990 now. That doesn’t exist”

“I made the decision to stop selling any price-capped products, like the rest of the businesses. Beer and snacks: that’s how I get those mafiosos off my back. I get screwed, but so do the people. They’re expensive products, but at least I had them. Let’s see where people will find cooking oil at 990 now. That doesn’t exist,” Alejandro says angrily.

His decision, he explains, comes after four inspections in one week. “The Municipal Inspection Directorate came, Hygiene, Finance and Prices… and they all fine you for the same thing: the capped prices, the profit margin, and so on. The worst part is that two and even three inspectors show up together, and you have to give each one their cut. That’s another thing: you give them something, whether cash or products, so they give you the 8,000-peso fine instead of the 16,000- or 32,000-peso fine. I swear I feel defenseless, at the mercy of a gang of mafiosos. My business right now continue reading

is ‘in check’ because of them.”

Cooking oil sold for 3.55 dollars at Casalinda, a State-run dollar store. / Image taken from social media

The Administration Council of Plaza de la Revolución, boasting of its “zero tolerance for indiscipline and illegalities,” a few days ago published on its Facebook profile a fine imposed on a business for 383,000 pesos. Among the violations mentioned were failing to display prices to the public, overcharging, and lacking cost sheets and the required paperwork for commercial activity. The post included photos of some of the business’s prices, where cooking oil could be seen priced at 1,000 pesos. Most of the comments, in a joking tone, asked where that small business was located, since its prices were lower than the current market.

“My theory is that those people live in a parallel reality. Who can afford those prices right now? Either they’re disconnected from everything—which I don’t believe, because later you see them buying the same oil and sausage at 500 pesos—or they’re cynical and have normalized that level of shamelessness,” says Alejandro.

Small private business in the Havana municipality of Regla. / 14ymedio

In a note published this Monday by Invasor, the provincial newspaper of Ciego de Ávila, the author reports that in many cases the shopkeeper openly admits that the posted price is only to pretend compliance with regulations, but if you actually want the product, you have to pay more.

Meanwhile, something very different happens in state-run dollar supermarkets, such as 3rd and 70th or Casalinda. There, a liter of cooking oil can cost as much as 3.55 dollars, which, at either the official or informal exchange rate, far exceeds the imposed cap. “What are inspection institutions for? To help the population or to sideline and control private businesses?” exclaims Alejandro. “They forget that with this ‘zero tolerance’ policy, very soon there will be nothing left to control.”

Translated by Regina Anavy

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