The remains of the building are sold among the neighbors of the area
14ymedio, Havana, 3 October 2025 / The Higher Institute of Industrial Design (ISDi), in the heart of Centro Habana, was under guard on all four sides by plainclothes officers on Thursday. The security came late, and just after graphic designer Esteban Aquino, in a message on social media illustrtaed with photos, reported that numerous documents from the institution — including theses, books, and catalogs — were scattered in the nearby Carlos J. Finlay Park.
“These archives were, and are, the historical and technical reference for the academic training of students. The work of those who are today excellent exponents of design, professors, tutors, authors, and great personalities is coming to an end,” lamented Aquino, himself an ISDi graduate. Sadly, he exclaimed: “The truth is, I don’t know who is inside that building, nor do I know what they do, much less what the fate of the building will be, but I believe that being ignorant does not mean being insensitive. Not knowing is not synonymous with disrespect.” And he asked: “What is the motivation that drives these people who, supposedly, were educated with principles based on respect for social property, education, and culture? What values are we talking about?”
What the undercover police are now guarding, in any case, is nothing more than a place being slowly “cannibalized,” as one neighbor told 14ymedio. “The scavengers were going to demolish the entire building,” says the woman, who watched day after day as people crept in through the gap left at the back by one of the building’s partial collapses. “They had already taken the windows and were taking the doors. If you let them, they’ll end up taking the bricks one by one.”
“I’ve been offered doors, toilets, blinds, and even bars.”
Another neighbor, who lives a few meters from the nearby bus stop, has also witnessed the building’s dismantling. “I’ve been offered doors, toilets, blinds, and even bars,” she tells this newspaper, referring to the informal market that has been fueled by ISDI spoils in recent months. “There are houses here that look like a small school inside because they’ve been built with whatever came out of there,” she says, pointing to what remains of the structure.
For decades, neighborhoods where an official institution or state building is falling into disrepair have been nourished by its remains or construction materials. “I have a neighbor who reinforced her bed frame with a slate board, and in this same tenement there are now several doors of the same color, all taken from there.”
The most deteriorated wood has also yielded benefits. “The other night, when we had a very long power outage, the neighbors around the corner built a bonfire in the street to cook on with some ISDI planks.” Despite the momentary benefit, the woman fears that the ruin will end up becoming a huge dump, and “this whole neighborhood will look even dirtier than it is.”
The building, which was originally a military hotel and officers’ club for the Spanish Army, later served as the headquarters of the Cadet School (1874-1878), the Widows and Orphans’ Asylum, the General Staff headquarters during the First American Occupation, and even the Ministry of Health before the Revolution.
In 1982, it was transformed into the headquarters of the Polytechnic Institute of Industrial Design, the precursor to ISDI, and, despite its great architectural, historical, and educational value, it was left to die over decades of neglect, poor renovations, and lack of maintenance.
In March 2022, the building was closed after an “architectural flaw” was discovered that endangered students and workers. “The Revolution founded the universities and always stood by them,” the official statement read, as if words alone were enough to sustain the cracked columns.
That narrative literally collapsed in July 2024, when part of the interior facade collapsed. And in January 2025, another partial collapse left an elderly woman injured and four families without access to their homes. Despite no fatalities, the symbolic impact was profound: not just a building, but a promise, an institution, and an era, had collapsed.
Even more accurate were the words of architect Lourdes Martí, founding rector of ISDi until 1988, who in 2022 had issued a public denunciation: “What happened during these last 33 years? Was it never maintained again? What architectural flaw is this that prevents the building, or part of it, from being restored? Is the goal being to destroy the building or eliminate the training of Industrial and Information Designers? Are we witnessing the end of the country’s industrial development?”
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