Many emigrants have had to wait several days to reconnect with relatives on the Island
14ymedio, Juan Izquierdo, Havana, 23 October 2024 — The patience of Cubans runs out on par with the battery of their cell phones. For their relatives abroad, despair comes when an image, a voice and even messages vanish. That a person is no longer online means that he is submerged in the blackout, and that the silence will last until – indispensable to maintaining sanity at night – he can find a way to charge his phone. Jorge, a resident for four years in Mexico City, knows this well. His phone did not ring until, three days after the announcement of the “total disconnection,” his mother wrote him the first “Hello.” In Santiago de Cuba, she had not been able to find anywhere to connect her phone. In the rain, she managed to walk the four kilometers (2.5 miles) that separated her from her sister, for three-hour’s of light: an “alumbrón*.” There she bathed, prepared some food and dialed her son’s number.
“We could only talk for a few minutes,” Jorge reports. “The video froze, and we saw each other for a second.” If calling Cuba in normal times is cumbersome, – Etecsa does not need hurricanes or energy debacles to disconnect Cubans from one shore to the other – the blackout has made every attempt at communication a series of garbled and cut-off words.
In the short time that the dialogue lasted, Jorge heard from his mother about the first hours of the blackout. The soup she had that day was made on her wood stove. The first signs of decomposition had already begun to appear in some pork she had in the refrigerator, so she threw it in a pan and fried it. “That could last two days,” she told him. Then, we’ll see.”
In Madrid, it took Ana two days to learn that her grandmother – a robust and active woman, 74 years old – had suffered a stroke in Santa Clara
In Madrid, it took Ana two days to learn that her grandmother – a robust and active 74-year-old woman – had suffered a stroke in Santa Clara. “My dad found her passed out on the kitchen table,” she says. He had been surprised that his mother-in-law did not answer the phone and went to her house. With no signal on the phone and in the midst of a transport crisis that the blackout took to a critical point, Ana’s father managed to call an ambulance. Of course, it took a long time to arrive.
“I knew the whole story when my family found a way to call. I hadn’t had any news from them since the disconnection began, and I could barely understand the news when they gave it to me,” says Ana. For the girl, getting sick now in Cuba is like suffering a litany of calamities. Without supplies or electricity, with the doctors overwhelmed by personal and hospital situations, the message after the diagnosis was clear: “They did not give her more than 72 hours.”
For his part, Alfredo – who moved to Seville after the island-wide protests of 11 July 2021 (’11J’) – knew that his cousin, in Cienfuegos, had passed two patrol cars when he went out at night to walk with his girlfriend. According to the young man, the city was “militarized” with the blackout. The phone signal was minimal, and his cousin’s voice reached him intermittently.
“The last time I experienced something like this was during 11J,” Alfredo recalls. The tension in the streets was similar, and the crash of the internet – intentional at that time – made it difficult, as now, for the news of the situation to cross the borders of the country and reach relatives abroad. “My cousin told me that some were now demonstrating and banging on pots and pans, but such a “cacerolazo” can be like an episode of socialist Masterchef, with a wood stove in the middle of the street,” he says sarcastically.
Official journalists accustomed to leaving the country have tried to hide the situation and defend the regime
Official journalists accustomed to leaving the country, such as Yanetsy León from Camagüey, have tried to hide the situation and defend the regime against those who claim that blackouts are “romanticized” in Cuba. “We have spent months resisting blackouts, days without electricity and the weight of uncertainty,” claimed León, who has spent most of the year traveling in Europe.
He also invited Cubans to “take care of their emotional well-being” and ignore those who “from outside or other parts of the country” are emphasizing the seriousness of the national blackout. He admitted that there was a “disconnection” between the Cubans who left and those who still reside on the Island. But he wasn’t looking for culprits. “We are all struggling with our own forms of resistance,” he said, without a single request for accountability from the Government of Miguel Díaz-Canel.
*Translator’s note: “Alumbrón” is a word coined by Cubans that means “the time when the lights (electricity) come on” — that is the opposite of “blackout.” English has no equivalent.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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