Of the building built in the 19th century, only the facade remains, hiding rubble and piles of rubbish.
14ymedio, Juan Diego Rodríguez/ Yunior García, Havana/Madrid, 13 May 2025 — Although Havana – like almost all of Cuba – is today a catalogue of rubble, it remains particularly painful to see the ruins of what was once the Instituto Superior de Diseño Industrial (ISDi). The facade still resists, while its interior collapses under the weight of abandonment. Among the rubble and piles of garbage, the building sinks into its own history, converted today into a metaphor for a country that is also crumbling.
The remains of the ISDi, behind the fences, have created a microclimate of insalubrity. “One should by now be accustomed to building collapses, but this is impressive,” says Yamila, a former neighbor of the area, in statements to 14ymedio. “From the outside it looks strong, but if you look out at it from San Carlos Street it seems like a bomb fell on top. If this happened with the ISDi, what awaits the rest of this city?”
Yamila is worried about the coming rains. “This is going to become a breeding ground for rats and mosquitoes; look at the neglect there.” Shee is also afraid of another collapse or that the pile of garbage will clog the sewer and cause flooding. “I avoid going through this street at night,” she adds. “Imagine what can occur in the middle of a blackout. Anything could happen here.”
The building, originally a military hotel and club for officers of the Spanish Army, was home to the School of Cadets (1874-1878), the Asylum of Widows and Orphans, the barracks of the General Staff during the First American Occupation and the Ministry of Health in 1940. In 1982, it was transformed into the headquarters of the Polytechnic Institute of Industrial Design, the predecessor of the ISDi.
Its architectural, historical and educational value was unquestionable. But decades of idleness, poor renovations and lack of maintenance slowly condemned the property. In March 2022, the building was closed after an “architectural failure” was detected that endangered students and workers. Then, however, the official press was full of optimism: “The Revolution founded the universities and always accompanied them,” it said, as if words were enough to sustain cracked columns.
That speech fell apart 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. Although there were no fatalities, the symbolic impact was profound: not only was the building sinking but also a promise, an institution and an era.
More accurate were the words of the architect Lourdes Martí, founding rector of the ISDi until 1988, who in 2022 had launched a public complaint:
“What happened during these last 33 years? Was it never maintained again? What architectural fault is it that does not allow the restoration of the building, or part of the building? Do you want to destroy the building or eliminate the training of industrial and information designers? Are we witnessing the end of the country’s industrial development?”
The answer to his questions are not in a technical report but are on the face of Yamila, who looks at the rubble with resignation: “I feel very sorry for the kids who studied there. Do you think this will ever return to what it was? This will likely remain a place that is destroyed, for tourists to take pictures of or people to ’plunder’ little by little. Or they will turn it into a hotel. But it will never be a school again.”
Translated by Regina Anavy
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