State Security harasses an evangelical pastor for allowing “subversive ideas” in his congregation.
Pablo Padilla Cruz, Matanzas, March 17, 2026 – The “City of Bridges” does not sleep, not because of the bustle of its cultural life or the flow of its rivers but because of the weight of a security operation that reveals an unprecedented institutional vulnerability. Following the appearance of a sign in the central Playa del Tenis where the word “Communism” was intertwined with a Nazi swastika, the repressive apparatus in Matanzas has gone on maximum alert, revealing that, for the regime, a can of paint is now more dangerous than a weapon.
Less than 72 hours after the protests in Morón and just one day after the incident at Playa del Tenis, Matanzas woke up militarized at its key points. The speed with which State Security agents covered the anti-communist graffiti was not enough to contain the paranoia. According to internal sources, the security perimeter has expanded to public buildings and strategic locations, attempting to shield a normality that exists only in official discourse.
The fear is not only of crowds but of symbols. The appearance of posters with the word “libertad” [freedom] in the neighborhoods of Naranjal and Los Mangos has triggered a disproportionate response that combines worker coercion, technological sabotage, and religious persecution.
The appearance of posters with the word “libertad” [freedom] in the neighborhoods of Naranjal and Los Mangos has triggered a disproportionate response that combines labor coercion, technological sabotage, and religious persecution
The escalation of tension reached a critical point this Sunday, March 15, when surveillance shifted from walls to religious institutions. In what worshippers describe as “an assault on faith,” an evangelical pastor in the city was the target of a violent repressive operation as he prepared to carry out his pastoral duties.
Eyewitnesses reported that State Security agents intercepted the religious leader, accusing him of allowing “subversive ideas” to filter into his congregation under the cover of the social crisis affecting the province. This attack is not isolated; it is part of the dictatorship’s strategy to decapitate any figure with moral leadership who could channel public discontent. The detention or harassment of the pastor, whose name is withheld for fear of further reprisals, confirms that the regime now fears not only paint on walls but also words from the pulpit.
The telecommunications company Etecsa, an enforcement arm of digital control on the Island, has turned its workers into ideological custodians. According to employee testimonies, management has formed “shock brigades” made up mostly of members of the Communist Party of Cuba (PCC).
Despite the collapse of the national electric system (SEN), these brigades remain on guard at bases and telecommunications antennas. “Each antenna will now have reinforced guards,” said a worker speaking on condition of anonymity. The fear is twofold: physical attacks on the facilities or the use of these structures as canvases for public discontent.
Even more alarming is the confirmation of a mass disconnection protocol. Yesterday afternoon, a “drill” left the city without internet access or landline service for two hours. The order is clear: at any sign of protest or anti-communist action, the city must be cut off to prevent the contagion effect that social media facilitated in July 2021.
The most surreal symptom of government fear is visible in commercial areas. Places that have remained closed and abandoned for months are now lit by rechargeable lamps and guarded by civilian personnel linked to the PCC.
In the Peñas Altas neighborhood, the former Mercado Ideal, turned by neglect into a public urinal and out of service since the pandemic, is now a strategic target. Local residents confirm that the government is paying one thousand pesos per shift (from 7:00 PM to 7:00 AM) to trusted individuals to guard the ruins.
“That place has been abandoned for a year, no one has taken care of it. The fact that they now spend money to guard it only shows they are more afraid that someone will paint a sign there than that someone might steal something that no longer exists”
“It’s absurd,” said a local resident. “That place has been abandoned for a year, no one has taken care of it. The fact that they now spend money to guard it only shows they are more afraid that someone will paint a sign there than that someone might steal something that no longer exists. The fear is of ink, not vandalism.”
The deployment in Matanzas reveals a government that knows it is being watched and rejected. The mobilization of PCC members to guard empty buildings, the repression of religious leaders on a Sunday of worship, and the preparation to cut off national communications are tactics of a power that has lost consensus and retains only force. While State Security rushes to erase posters, the reality of the province is laid bare: a city where the government watches the shadows, fearing that any wall or any voice might tell the story of an ending already felt in the streets.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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