“It is the day of the execution (sic) of the Brothers to the Rescue planes,” the State Security agent justifies himself.
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Havana, February 24, 2026 – A man in the basement of our building says that today is a “counterrevolutionary day,” and that’s why we can’t go out. Wearing a hat, dark glasses, and a thick coat, the State Security agent briefly shows us his ID to warn us that he’s there to prevent us from passing through the door of this concrete block. There are likely others deployed around the block and a police patrol car parked nearby. It is bitterly cold, with dry gusts of wind, and sewage is dripping from the roof above the entrance, very close to the security guard. The atmosphere couldn’t be more hostile today for the disciplined repressor.
In the last month, this is the third operation around our building. Although one might think we’ve integrated it into our daily routine, we continue to be surprised that resources are being spent on two peaceful journalists, with no weapon other than words. Just a few meters from where the political police agent is standing stretches one of the four enormous garbage dumps that surround our building. Symbolically, the mountain of waste rises in front of a sculpture that recreates the Cuban flag. Blue stripes here, filth there. A red triangle on this side, stinking garbage on the other.
When the agent approached Reinaldo Escobar around eight in the morning, he asked him if he knew what day it was. “An important date in our wars of independence,” replied this sharp-tongued man with whom I’ve lived for 33 years. “No, no, today is the day of the Brothers to the Rescue planes being shot down,” the seguroso [security guard] pointed out with an air of authority . The fear that activists and independent journalists will take to the streets and commemorate the events of 24 February 1996, is the reason we’re forbidden to set foot outside. They’ve spent resources, gasoline, and manpower to corner two citizens in the middle of a city paralyzed by state neglect and fuel shortages.
My neighbors aren’t accustomed to it either. When we have a police operation downstairs, the informal street vendors can barely offer their wares on the stairs, and hunger hits hardest those who can’t go out to buy things. When the political police surround this building, the frustration grows among those who would prefer to see that efficiency and energy focused on the serious problems plaguing our community. Two dilapidated elevators, a water tank falling apart above our heads, vandalism that steals light bulbs from the hallways and shatters windowpanes, and pipes clogged with salt buildup and decades of neglect are just some of the serious problems we face every day.
My building and my neighbors need attention, but not this kind. How many elevator parts could be bought with the cost of three police operations? Could the pumps that bring the water up from the cistern be repaired with the expenses of a deployment like this? Would the money from a repressive operation be enough to pay for a new lobby door to replace the current one, which is broken and misaligned? The list of needs and urgent matters is long. But the authorities don’t seem to care that this building is becoming a ruin, just like the rest of the city. Improving the lives of Cubans isn’t their priority.
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