The “suspect detector” has been perfected as a management tool, each official calculates how many times per day he should tweet the hashtag ordered by the boss.
14ymedio, Madrid, Yunior García Aguilera, November 18, 2025 — Terror has taken hold of Cuban institutions. Faced with a rumor circulating on social networks about the old and long-known corruption within the Ministry of Culture, the commissioners have come out to respond with a letter of self-vindication, accompanied by some 220 signatures. The answer may seem desperate and ridiculous if you do not understand the context in which it is written: there is an internal purge and all heads feel threatened.
Only panic can explain the clumsiness of those who wrote, signed and decided to make public the pamphlet. The hornet’s nest that can be stirred up behind this letter is far worse than any rumor about a spa in the home of a former deputy minister. Because, although the family business of Fernando Rojas is not news to all of us, there are juicier tidbits hidden in the Cuban cultural muddle. The Squirrel, in honor of his nervous name, far from protecting his henchmen is focusing on them. And there everyone has a glass ceiling.
Therefore, the most reasonable explanation for the official’s reaction may be related to the Gil case. After the accusations against the former deputy prime minister and head of Economy, every bureaucrat suspects that he or she may appear on the list (and not precisely Jeffrey Epstein’s). As they would say in the time of Stalin: “There is no one innocent, only people poorly investigated.” In Cuba it would be translated as: “No one knows the past that awaits him.”
As they would say in the time of Stalin: “There is no one innocent, only people poorly investigated.” In Cuba it would be translated as: “Nobody knows the past that awaits him”
All this paranoia and conspiracy theories have their origin in the obvious disaster that the country is experiencing. But perhaps it got even more complicated from a misunderstanding. A friend who’s a jokester but well-informed tells me that someone confirmed to Raúl Castro that the ship was sinking and it was hopeless. And Raúl, without taking his eyes off the screen of his television, replied that they would look for a scapegoat. So far, everything was normal; after all, his brother had shot his best general (and best colonel) when the trumpets of perestroika and glasnost sounded. What difference would it make to sacrifice a technocrat whom no one had heard of before the pandemic?
But here comes the possible mistake: perhaps the secretary misspelled the word expiar [atone for] and replaced it with espiar [spy]. Once you screwed up, you had to continue with the pantomime, and the former comrade of Díaz-Canel went from being merely insensitive to being a notorious spy, although we still do not know if he sent the alleged information to Agent 007 or to Mortadelo and Filemón [Spanish cartoon characters].
“The Cuban people can never be divided with messages of hate,” proclaims La Jiribilla’s text, refusing to recognize the curvature of the earth. Never before, my friends, had we been so divided! What they call “the people” is made up of the same people they call “enemies.” Their own speech betrays them. The “people” is nothing more than a huge archive where everyone has an open file.
Seeing some roofs burning and others running to hose them down, I remembered a phrase that may have escaped (or maybe not) the officer who questioned me during my last months in Cuba: “I’m itching to finish you off along with the insufferable little groups of your generation, in order to deal with the big shots we’re investigating.” It is possible that his phrase was part of the manual. But it is also likely that the officers were so saturated, propping up a building that was coming down without plans, that they did not give a fig about the manual. The truth is that, if my file was about ten pages long, that of the officials of the apparatus surely occupied several volumes. That’s why they all jump at the first accusation. They’re on edge.
The poor souls who stamp their signature on the pamphlet are old acquaintances of the guild. Some of the elderly included there are dependent on the increasingly meager aid of the “attention to personalities” department, a bureaucratic euphemism for state charity. Others expect a promised house, or hope to be prioritized if a ship arrives with a donation of paper. And there is no lack of those who retain good memories of some cultural drunkenness and feel indebted to the official who brought the bottle. But not a single one of those signatories can say, with his hand on his heart, that cultural institutions are corruption-free territory or that the country is doing well.
Not a single one of those signatories can say, with his hand on his heart, that cultural institutions are corruption-free territory or that the country is doing well.
Nor is it news that some in the world of culture play at being the mascot of power. Even the Austrian painter had several artists who put their talent at the service of horror. In our own history there is no lack of examples: Machado had his salon chroniclers; Batista his pen-pushers who called him “The Man”; and Fidel Castro his army of shaggy bards. But those who used to sing to the bearded man are today still on their knees before a bureaucrat whom they themselves recognize as a mediocre leader, even if he is disguised as someone who will help when a hurricane strikes.
In the corridors of the Ministry of Censorship five-year plans are no longer discussed, but rather daily rumors: who did not applaud enough during the last speech-poem by Alpidio Alonso; who fell asleep listening to Abel Prieto criticizing Shakira and talking nonsense about cultural colonization; who did not post a a heart emoji to the last profile photo of Amauri Pérez, Prieto’s new wardrobe consultant. The suspect detector has been perfected as a management tool, and each official calculates how many times per day he should tweet the hashtag ordered by the boss.
What is coming now is predictable. UNEAC, AHS, UPEC and all those subordinates to G2 will go through the list to collect new names. And after a while, the vast majority of those who stamp their initials will say as usual: “I didn’t know what I was signing.” And the worst is that they will be right, because many of them completely ignore what is hidden behind this pamphlet.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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