The print version of the Communist Party newspaper will be published only once a week
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Havana, 2 March 2026 — I leave my house and come across a woman placing food for a stray cat on a page of the Granma newspaper, a scene that will soon disappear in a country where the official organ of the Communist Party is now printed only once a week. With its few pages and triumphalist headlines, the Cuban regime’s main propaganda outlet is the latest victim of the energy crisis hitting the island. But its reduction, more than a loss of information, is a sign of the end of a model of indoctrination
I leave Rancho Boyeros Avenue behind and approach the Havana Printing Plant, one of the main printing facilities for periodicals in Cuba. Several windows are missing from the upper floor, and neglect seems to pervade a place that was once the heart of the country’s information policy. The facade is dirty here and there, and from inside, the sounds of the machines where paper and ink once combined to give shape to official statements, lengthy speeches, and calls to resistance are gone.
For a system that has based its control primarily on repression and propaganda, the current state of its official media represents a rapid loss of social influence. My curiosity leads me to walk around the building, and I don’t see a soul entering or leaving. The nearby institutional parking lot is filled with broken-down cars. Some vehicles have been sitting out in the open for years, never driven on the streets of Havana. The nearby headquarters of the newspaper Juventud Rebelde, which resembles a fish stall, also shows no signs of activity.
In a few months, the enthusiasm faded, the presses stopped, and the fuel to carry the dogma of the Central Workers’ Union of Cuba to every proletarian ran out.
The faded poster for Bohemia magazine catches my eye. The entrance is dark, and a nearby garbage dump has begun to encroach on the building’s access ramp. A fence in the vicinity has lost its color, and others have simply vanished, leaving only the metal scaffolding from which, until a few years ago, we were bombarded with slogans. I’m just a few meters from Revolution Square, where ideological propaganda should be more prevalent, but what I find are a few neglected and outdated posters.
At a nearby bus stop, across from the Ministry of Communications, a homeless man has improvised a place to sleep. He has some blankets and pages from the newspaper Trabajadores. I manage to read a few headlines printed on its pages. They are phrases that sound like they came from a distant land, where plans were made and victories were celebrated. But, in just a few months, the enthusiasm faded, the presses stopped, and the fuel to carry the dogma of the Cuban Workers’ Federation to every proletarian on the island ran out.
On Ayestarán Street, a closed and rusty newsstand has lost the stickers that once advertised the magazines sold there a few years ago. Further down the street, another newsstand has been handed over to a private vendor who, instead of official publications, offers small tubes of instant glue, colored pencils, and school supplies, all imported. Along the way, I don’t encounter a single newspaper vendor, a nearly extinct occupation in Havana.
A herbalist wraps a sprig of basil for me in a page of Tribuna de La Habana. The printed version of the official newspapers will also be missed in home repairs, where they were used to avoid getting paint on the floor, and in toilets throughout the country, where they replaced toilet paper. Now, with their reduction, what’s lost is not just a news source, but a practical resource for cleaning windows or picking up dog waste.
Provincial media outlets, with few exceptions, copy and paste the articles written in Havana.
A friend’s son is about to graduate with a degree in Journalism, but classes at his faculty have been suspended due to the power outage. The young man began his studies full of passion, eager to become a reporter, investigating stories, gathering testimonies, and compiling sources. Along the way, however, he lost hope of practicing his profession in Cuba and now only wants to obtain his diploma and emigrate. While waiting for in-person classes to resume, he writes for an independent newspaper that pays him in foreign currency.
The worst situation is that of the older journalists. In my neighborhood, a photographer for an official magazine complains that he’s no longer given gasoline to ride his motorcycle out to take photographs of events. Coverage on-the-ground is at a minimum in media that, until a few decades ago, enjoyed abundant resources and priority in receiving perks. Credentials to attend festivals, welcome cocktails at exhibitions, and even the occasional “little gift” upon completing a report on an industry with foreign investors were part of the profession’s allure. However, being a state reporter today brings more headaches than benefits.
My neighbor complains that his newsroom is empty. “The last few times I’ve been there, I’ve only seen the security guard,” he tells me. Provincial media outlets, with few exceptions, simply copy and paste the articles written in Havana. Some news headlines go days without updating, while others survive by rehashing posts from social media where a resident reports a water leak or thanks a bus driver for stopping at the bus stop. Instead of those powerful, tireless voices, publications controlled by the Cuban regime have become clumsy digital spreadsheets with hardly any well-known bylines, in-depth reports, or news.
Next to me in line for the elevator, a neighbor is looking at the front page of a Miami-based newspaper on her phone. The headline that catches her eye speaks of “economic collapse” in Cuba, and the photo shows the gaunt and sad face of an elderly man. Granma has not only lost the battle for print media, it was defeated long ago in its attempts to monopolize the Cuban audience. The elderly woman neither informs nor persuades, and from now on, she’s no longer of any use in Cuban bathrooms.
Chronicles:
The Anxiety of the Disconnected Cuban
One Mella, Three Mellas, Life in Cuba Is Measured in Thousands of Pesos
It Is Forbidden To Leave Home in Cuba Today Because It Is a “Counter-Revolutionary Day”
Vedado, the Heart of Havana’s Nightlife, Is Now Converted Into a Desert
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