One doesn’t need to hold any position to represent true power
14ymedio, Yunior García Aguilera, Madrid, April 23, 2026 — It is true that power in Cuba is no longer as concentrated as before, that command has fragmented, and that the country seems to have moved from absolute verticalism to a kind of collective management of disaster. Today, more operators, more layers, more intermediaries, and more sectoral elites are visible than in the years of classic Fidel Castroism. But this does not imply that power has ceased to be concentrated. Management has fragmented, but what has not fragmented is command. And that command, even today, still points to a single name and his inner circle: Raúl Castro.
The Cuban regime no longer functions as it did in the years when the bearded leader monopolized the discourse and transformed every governing problem into an extension of his personal will. That model, for both biological and historical reasons, is exhausted. In its place has emerged another architecture, less charismatic and more bureaucratic. But opacity does not equate to a distribution of power. The fact that today the administrators of the apparatus, the trusted technocrats, the military-businessmen, the guards, and the ideological commissars have a greater presence in public affairs does not mean that they all carry equal weight or that they collectively decide the strategic direction of the system.
This nuance corrects the illusion that true power simply erodes through attrition. Sometimes the opposite occurs. The disappearance of the founding leadership opens the door to new, more discreet concentrations of power. In Cuba, authority no longer needs to appear as frequently as before to maintain its monopoly on power.
Raúl Castro unquestionably determines when to set limits, order successions, or bless high-risk contacts
Last March, in the midst of negotiations with the United States, Miguel Díaz-Canel was quick to emphasize that the talks were being led by him — with an almost anxious emphasis on that “by me”—along with Raúl Castro and other officials. The inflection in his voice betrayed more than it clarified. It seemed to reflect the increasingly widespread perception that he plays a largely decorative role, not truly occupying the center of power. His formal titles—President of the Republic and First Secretary of the Communist Party—are not enough to dispel that suspicion. Even less so when, at those same crucial moments, the presence of Raúl Guillermo Rodríguez Castro, Raúl’s grandson and bodyguard, served as a reminder that the truly sensitive areas of power still revolve around the old inner circle, and that no official position is necessary to represent the true authority.
In fact, when one looks at where Raúl Castro appears, he always appears in the decisive position. He unquestionably determines when to set limits, order successions, or bless high-risk contacts. It was he, and no one else, who chose Díaz-Canel for all his posts and who has allowed him to remain there. It was also he who proposed indefinitely postponing the Party congress scheduled for 2026, and then the Central Committee unanimously approved the proposal. To call that “collective leadership” requires a rather generous imagination.
And yet, that is precisely the formula that Díaz-Canel repeats. Last April 12, in the interview with NBC, he said that the leadership of the Revolution was not “personalized in one person” and affirmed “we have a collective leadership,” with unity, cohesion, revolutionary discipline, and hundreds of people capable of assuming responsibilities and making decisions collectively.
In Cuba there is collective administration, yes, but in the sense that an apparatus distributes functions, not in the sense that it distributes ultimate command. The collegiality serves to share responsibilities, so that several cadres bear the weight of deterioration and so that no one appears indispensable on the surface. But when the matter touches on the regime’s security, the relationship with Washington, or the architecture of succession, the system does not revert to a horizontal collective; it gravitates once again toward the intimate center where family, security, and historical trust converge.
Outside the family, all those who occupy these positions of micro-power do so precariously. They can disappear with the snap of a finger.
During the thaw with Obama, the key player was Alejandro Castro Espín, Raúl’s son, who was then linked to the national security apparatus. And now, all eyes are on Raúl Guillermo, known as El Congrejo, [The Crab]. In other words, when Washington wants to know who to talk to so that a conversation isn’t just a formality, it ends up reaching into the orbit of the Castro family and their most trusted contacts.
The same thing happens within the country. There are, of course, the administrators of the apparatus: Díaz-Canel, Roberto Morales Ojeda, Manuel Marrero, governors, ministers, and Party secretaries. There are the reliable technocrats, promoted to manage critical areas without altering the logic of command. There are the military businessmen, heirs to the economic power concentrated for years in Gaesa and in the circle of the late López-Calleja, Raúl Castro’s son-in-law and father of El Cangrejo.
But outside the family, all those who occupy these positions of micro-power do so precariously. They can disappear with the snap of a finger. The list of officials, cadres, and technocrats wiped off the political map is too long for this space, but a quick glance reveals inevitable patterns. No matter how high an administrator has climbed within the system, nothing protects them from a swift fall. There are the cases of Arnaldo Ochoa, José Abrantes, and the de la Guardia brothers, but also, on a different scale and at a different time, those of Carlos Lage, Felipe Pérez Roque, and Alejandro Gil.
No one is certain that Donald Trump will drastically end Castroism
Nor is the supposed “unity” within the power structures real. In the digital-propaganda sphere, the irreconcilable differences between Iroel Sánchez and Abel Prieto were well known. Internal struggles to eliminate competitors, gain influence, or secure exclusive patronage have always been intense. Today, the battle for the narrative is not only cultural; it also involves surveillance, defamation, mobilizing alliances, and managing fear.
Cuban power no longer takes the simple form of the one-man rule of previous decades. But when Fidel Castro died, everyone knew who his successor was. Now, new concentrations of power have emerged, various groups that manage different parts of the system, while a small core retains the ability to dictate the essentials. The big question is what will happen when Raúl Castro physically disappears.
No one can be certain that Donald Trump will drastically end Castro’s regime. But even surviving his threats, the regime doesn’t seem capable of sustaining itself indefinitely. If social and external pressure continues, it is unlikely anyone will be able to demonstrate sufficient credentials to proclaim themselves the legitimate heir to the dictatorial power. And that moment is inevitably approaching at full speed.
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