The platform published a photograph of the teenager in prison playing the piano on Wednesday, accompanied by a text accusing the “subversive cluster and political operatives funded by the United States government” of lying when they claim the young man is ill. “Now we ask, using logic: if he were truly so ill, if his immune system were as destroyed as they falsely claim, if he were dying of dyshidrosis, intestinal parasites, and bedbugs… How does he have the strength to be there, standing, playing the piano at a cultural event? How does a boy on the verge of death participate in a benefit concert in prison? How does he spread smiles while moving his hands with such precision?” the text stated.
In a message sent to Cubanet, the young man’s father asserts that the images were taken under false pretenses. He claims they promised him “a day of visitation as a reward.” “They used him, they took his picture, they recorded video, they even recorded his blood type to do these horrendous things. I denounce them, I denounce all of them. And this also involves the prison authorities,” Muir Ávila maintained, after calling the dissemination of the photograph “a big lie, a big fallacy.”
The father, who is a pastor at the Tiempo de Cosecha evangelical church, defended his son, describing him as someone who is held in the highest regard and with the best opinion in his neighborhood. Muir Ávila accused Cuban authorities of trying to create “a very denigrating image of him, portraying him as a delinquent, a vandal, and a criminal, in order to prosecute and incriminate him.” continue reading
“Please, I ask the whole world (…) not to allow such injustice, my child is not a criminal; my child is a teenager, a child going through adolescence who is very sick and needs to be released now to be treated,” he insisted.
Yurisel Montes de Oca, who considers himself the young man’s brother, expressed a similar sentiment, although his testimony differs slightly from Muir Ávila’s. According to his version, Jonathan plays the piano in prison, encouraged by his family “to clear his mind,” which doesn’t mean he doesn’t “desperately ask when they’re going to let him out,” or “the times that, due to the poor digestion of the terrible food they give him, he vomits and has diarrhea,” or the times he says he goes hungry. “He refused to be recorded,” he adds.
“Playing piano does not negate the truth of a chronic illness that, without treatment, can become complicated,” he argues in response to the insistence of Razones de Cuba, which mentions the word piano up to four times in the post .
According to the official platform—which ignores the fact that the young man has been in a maximum-security prison for almost two months for participating in a protest—the fact that the young man engaged in a recreational activity “demonstrates what Cuba has been denouncing for years: the subversive group and its operatives are not trustworthy and lack any credibility. They spread fake news in order to tarnish our country’s image.”
The dissemination of that photograph, in any case, contravenes four rules approved by the Government of Miguel Díaz-Canel, starting with the Constitution itself, which enshrines in article 48 the right to “privacy, honor and one’s own image,” and mentions in article 86 the duty of the State to provide protection to minors.
More specific is the Family Code, approved in 2022, which makes it clear that parents or guardians are the custodians of their children’s image and that a third party cannot disseminate it without their consent. The same principle is established in the 2023 Social Communication Law, which emphasizes the protection of minors when their image is disseminated on social media, and even in the Penal Code. This law punishes anyone who, “with the purpose of knowing, outside of cases authorized by law, or of affecting the privacy or image, voice, data, or identity of another person, without their consent, obtains, facilitates, reproduces, discloses, transmits, or keeps in their possession a recording or reproduction of sound, photo, or video, messages, data, or any other information of a personal or family nature, with the penalty being aggravated if the person is a minor.”
Just a few days ago, the state-run newspaper Cubadebate published a lengthy article accusing the media outlet Cibercuba of using images of minors to “exploit childhood as a high-impact narrative resource.” The article condemned the dissemination of photographs of children enduring hardships to earn money and, at the same time, to impose a narrative contrary to the regime. Furthermore, it made it very clear that “in light of current Cuban regulations, [this] offers strong evidence of a practice that may constitute a violation of the right to one’s image and the dignity of children and adolescents.”
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The measure seeks to eradicate potential asylum requests from non-immigrant travelers
Asylum applications at the border were suspended before the court’s decision, although the government plans to appeal. / EFE
14ymedio, Madrid, April 30, 2026 — Cubans applying for a US visa will now find themselves between a rock and a hard place. When consulate officials ask them if they fear what might happen to them in their home country, they will face the dilemma of lying—which would result in a permanent prohibition on entering the country—or telling the truth, in which case the visa will be denied.
Embassies and consulates received a diplomatic cable this week from the State Department indicating that visas should be denied to those who declare fear of their country’s regime.
“Consular officials must prevent abuse of the immigration system by visa applicants who misrepresent their purpose of travel, including those attempting to obtain nonimmigrant visas for the purpose of seeking asylum upon arrival in the United States,” the document states, as reported Tuesday by the Washington Post and confirmed Wednesday by CNN. Both outlets had access to the instruction and, in CNN’s case, to a White House source.
In the interview, applicants for all nonimmigrant visas—including tourist, worker, and student visas—must answer “no” to the questions: “Have you suffered harm or ill-treatment in your country of nationality or last habitual residence?” and “Do you fear harm or ill-treatment upon returning to your country of nationality or permanent residence?” If they do not, the official must not proceed with issuing the visa, the document states. continue reading
In the interview, applicants for all non-immigrant visas – including tourist, worker, or student visas – must answer “no” to the questions
Shortly after taking office, Donald Trump halted asylum applications, claiming there was an “invasion” from the border with Mexico. But last week, a federal court declared the measure illegal and reiterated that immigration laws give people the right to seek asylum at the border and that the president cannot restrict it.
With this decision, the asylum route is open again, hence the Administration is looking for another way to reduce the possibilities, since no one who has claimed fear of the Government of their country of origin, an essential requirement to qualify for international protection, will be able to reach the US.
“Consular officers are the first line of defense for U.S. national security, and the State Department uses every tool and resource available to determine whether each visa applicant qualifies under the law,” a Washington spokesperson told CNN.
The Washington Post also sent its questions to the State Department, which responded similarly, adding: “As Secretary Rubio has made clear on numerous occasions, a U.S. visa is a privilege, not a right. People who do not intend to comply with our laws, including leaving the United States before their authorized period of stay ends, should not apply for a visa.”
“They are trying to systematically destroy any means by which a persecuted person can seek protection and safety in the United States,” Jeremy Konyndyk, president of Refugees International, told the media outlet.
The activist lamented how “any pretense that the United States cares about protection from persecution is completely abandoned. Someone is explicitly asked, ‘Are you being persecuted in your country?’ And if they answer ‘yes,’ the official response from the US government is, ‘Okay, stay there.’”
Konyndyk added that if such a measure had been in place years ago, it would have prevented Iranians from entering the country in the 1970s, Soviet dissidents during the Cold War, and German Jews in the 1930s.
To emphasize the seriousness of the measure, Konyndyk added that if such a measure had been in force years ago, it would have prevented the entry of Iranians in the 1970s, Soviet dissidents during the Cold War, and German Jews in the 1930s.
For her part, Camille Mackler, an immigration policy expert, told CNN that the new directive “is going to put people in really bad and terrible positions of having to make decisions that ultimately affect their safety and that of their families.”
This week, an analysis published by the Cato Institute revealed that the number of monthly asylum seekers at the border fell from nearly 40,000 in December 2024 to just 26 in February 2025, a 99% drop. Similarly, green card issuances —permanent residency—have plummeted by 99.8% in the last year, and family reunification applications have fallen by 20%.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
Alejandro Jacomino González, 41, had been wanted by the FBI since his truck was found abandoned without him and missing part of its cargo.
According to people close to the family, the truck driver leaves behind two children: a 17-year-old girl and a 12-year-old boy. / Facebook
14ymedio, Havana, April 29, 2026 / Cuban truck driver Alejandro Jacomino González, 41, was found dead in Georgia after being missing for several days while transporting vehicles between that state and South Florida. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) confirmed that a body found in the Georgia coastal area was identified as that of the driver, although it has not yet revealed the exact location or cause of death. The news ended the search, but opened a new phase in an investigation that was treated as suspicious from the beginning.
The FBI had released a wanted poster for the truck driver, which was no longer publicly available on the agency’s original website on Wednesday. Jacomino González was born in Cuba and had resided in Port St. Lucie, Florida, in the United States since at least 2024, according to records cited by local media. He worked as a commercial driver and transported vehicles on interstate routes.
According to Telemundo 51, the victim’s cousin, Juan Carlos Forcade, confirmed that Jacomino González’s wife was notified by the FBI of the discovery of his body in Georgia. According to people close to the family, the truck driver leaves behind two children: a 17-year-old daughter and a 12-year-old son. His parents, who live continue reading
in Cuba, also received the news.
Jacomino González stopped answering calls and was reported missing.
The case began on April 16, when Jacomino Gonzalez picked up several vehicles at the port of Brunswick, Georgia, to transport them to Miami. During the early morning hours of the following day, the truck arrived at a rest area in Grant-Valkaria, in Brevard County, on Interstate 95 South, where it remained for several hours.
According to the timeline released by the FBI, the driver arrived at the rest area at 1:21 a.m. on April 17. At 7:49 a.m., the vehicle’s GPS system registered an unusual movement: the truck headed south for just one exit and then changed direction to north, heading toward Jacksonville. Shortly afterward, Jacomino Gonzalez stopped answering his phone and was reported missing.
That same day, the truck was found abandoned in Port Wentworth, Georgia. The driver was not inside. Several cars were also missing from the cargo. Authorities reported that three of those vehicles were later recovered in Florida, though they have not definitively clarified how many were stolen or if all of them have been found.
The truck driver’s death has caused shock among members of the driving community, a sector in which many immigrants work.
The official report described Jacomino González as a Hispanic man, bald, with brown eyes, a brown beard and mustache, 5 feet 11 inches tall and weighing about 200 pounds. He had several tattoos, including a full sleeve on his left arm, another on his right forearm, and the name “Elisia” on his right forearm. He spoke Spanish and English.
The FBI asked anyone who was at the Brevard County rest area in Grant-Valkaria between 1:00 and 8:00 a.m. on April 17 to turn in photos, videos, or any useful information, especially from the southern part of the rest area near the ramp back to I-95 South.
The truck driver’s death has shocked Cubans in Florida and members of the trucking community, a sector where many immigrants work. Long routes, overnight stops, and the transport of valuable cargo are part of a work routine marked by loneliness and risk.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The grass is encroaching on the train tracks and the children’s center is no longer open, but they are calling on us to “celebrate May 1st with joy.”
Many assume that living among palm trees and fine sandy beaches guarantees happiness. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Havana, Yoani Sánchez, April 30, 2026 — The daycare center in my neighborhood is in ruins. Hardly any children are being born. Although no one has publicly decreed its closure, the gate has rusted since it was last opened, the building is starting to lose its blinds, and a neighbor tells me she hasn’t heard any crying or laughter coming from the center for months.
The place is called Los Pequeños Microbrigradistas (The Little Microbrigade Members) in homage to the thousands of workers who, needing a home, built their own houses in the high-rise buildings of this neighborhood. I can’t imagine a small child trying to pronounce such a phonetically complicated name. I remember how difficult the word “proletarian” was for me. There was no way. My tongue and my soul were all tangled up.
Hanging on the fence of the daycare center this Wednesday was a scribbled piece of cardboard that read, “We joyfully celebrate May 1st.” No one knows who wrote it. Has the old administration of the state-run center returned, among the ruins, to commemorate Labor Day? Is someone, driven by ideological fidelity, trying to divert attention from a space with a great potential to be occupied by homeless families?
On Wednesday, a piece of cardboard covered in scribbles was found on the fence of the daycare center. / 14ymedio
Before reaching Los Pequeños Microbrigradistas, I had to cross the train tracks. Whenever I do, I stop for a few seconds, looking both ways, hopeful, to see if a fast, powerful locomotive is approaching, but nothing is heard. Grass has grown between the tracks due to the lack of activity. That vegetation would be the bane of my railway ancestors’ existence. “Don’t let it spread, Yoani, don’t let it spread,” they repeat in my dreams, but there’s little I can do. continue reading
Just a few meters away, the state-owned telecommunications monopoly Etecsa has dug a massive hole. In my building, almost no landline phone works. Something burned out, and the lines were cut. The problem is supposedly at the hole where employees in blue uniforms, with their disheartened faces, sometimes work. It couldn’t be more symbolic: a train line without trains and a telephone junction box without a connection. All of this framed by an amazing sky.
Just a few meters away, the state-owned telecommunications monopoly Etecsa has dug a huge hole. In my building, almost no landline phone works. / 14ymedio
The problem with having such a blue sky is that many people can’t believe that beneath such beauty lurks such despair. Tourist postcards have done a great deal of damage. Many assume that living among palm trees and fine sandy beaches guarantees happiness. But beauty and horror, when combined, are worse than a kick in the teeth. Calm sea in Santa María, violence in Villa Marista. Not a cloud on the horizon, blackout behind closed doors.
In my house we haven’t had landline service for months. We barely have mobile phone service, and for a few moments each day, we get a signal that allows us to connect to the internet. Every day we wake up to a new cut, something missing, an amputation of our quality of life. Months ago, we gave up on regular garbage collection, we also said goodbye to the trains at Tulipán station, and tomorrow, we will probably have to say goodbye to something else.
We lose everything except the blue sky. An intense, vibrant hue over a city and a country that are dying.
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
Author: Miguel Coyula. Translator: Cristina Venegas
Elena (Lynn Cruz) wonders about her genetic heritage in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021).David and Diana witness a thunderstorm in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)
The war with Ukraine had not yet begun.[1][open endnotes in new window] During the press conference at the Moscow International Film Festival, program director Kiril Razgolov described my film Blue Heart (Corazón Azul, 2021) as “the most transgressive and irreverent” of the event.[2] Two reviews were published after the film’s screening. Olga Artemyeva emphasized the influence of Soviet director Sergei Eisenstein,[3] and Marina Kopylova that of Andrei Tarkovsky.[4] Was it possible to have two antagonistic styles combined in the same work?
Blue Heart takes place in a uchronia where Fidel Castro tries to build the new man through genetic engineering. These individuals are born with uncontrollable mutations and are united by performing acts of terrorism to destroy not only the system that created them, but seemingly any kind of pre-established structure.
Tarkovsky and Eisenstein represent almost opposite universes, many might say incompatible. Both share a care for the image, but with different objectives. A reductionist impression could define them in this way: one is a poet, the other a brilliant scientist in the service of an ideology. Tarkovsky opts for sensoriality; Eisenstein for rationality. Both are virtuosos with different poetics. In Tarkovsky’s timeless spirituality the individual prevails over the masses. There is nothing definitive. His mysticism is born of human irresolution itself.
While Eisenstein’s symbolic rationality always aimed for a concrete goal, his montage of attractions was ultimately the precursor of an important strategy in agitprop: cinema as an element to transform reality. This was common practice in the Soviet avant-garde of the 1920s, and though he had creative clashes with the cultural authorities, this essence is part of most of his finished work. Although in Alexander Nevsky (1938), he shifts the leading role of the masses to a heroic individual, Nevsky’s essential narrative, stripped of formal scaffolding, responds to that of the most impersonal Hollywood epic. It is not until the second part of Ivan the Terrible (1958), that Eisenstein begins to delve into contradictions never before explored in his cinema. Here Ivan is no longer presented as the untainted hero, but as a glorified tyrant full of contradictions. The tragic interruption of the trilogy by the Stalinist authorities may have played a part in bringing about his premature death shortly before his half-century birthday. We will never know how Eisenstein would have evolved in his twilight. continue reading
Tarkovsky did not live much longer. “The light that burns twice as bright, burns half as long,” says Tyrell in Blade Runner (Ridley Scott, 1982). Tarkovsky was not interested in Eisenstein’s cinema, he considered that the imposition of a planned montage as an emotional-symbolic shock to produce a psycho-ideological effect, had little to do with poetry. He relied on an experience dictated by the senses where man and his relationship with nature prevailed.
In Eisenstein’s defense, it must be recognized that while his contributions to cinematic language could have been used to generate greater contradiction in the content, they laid the groundwork for others to do so. It is difficult to encompass the extent of his mark on cinema.
I mention these two great masters that I admire, to arrive at how I assimilate their work. When it comes to a cinema with strong political content, many critics demand balance or neutrality in the treatment of conflicting sides. My approach is to look in the darkest areas to show what is not mentioned, even if it means deliberately going against all flags. The mistake would be to assume this strategy from the political, when it should always begin with human contradictions. The political will inevitably emerge.
Inspiration begins with an intuitive impulse, rationalization arrives later. I have always thought that the most effective way to deal with the political is to look at it from the future. Imagine that half a century has passed, and then you are able to strip away any attempt at sacralization.
Let’s say that one could inject Godardian strategies into an Antonioni film. Apparently, they share very distant poetics. Cuban director Tomás Gutiérrez Alea’s Memories of Underdevelopment (1968) is notable for hybridizing European authorial voices of the 1960s: French new wave, English free cinema, Antonioni’s bourgeois alienation, Godardian breaking of the fourth wall, even the by then outmoded Italian neorealism makes some intervention. Everything works because each element represents worlds that are alien to the protagonist, as representative effects of different realities. The multiple voices also serve as a dynamic window into the complexity of the world surrounding an essentially passive character.
Cuban documentary filmmaker Santiago Álvarez’s montage in Now (1965) responds to Eisensteinian strategies, although its author might have arrived at them regardless, without direct influence. Distances aside, Álvarez had something in common with Eisenstein: both had a communist background, wanted to transform reality and had the relative support of their respective institutions. Nicolás Guillén Landrián took Santiago Álvarez’s agitprop and reversed its meaning. His irreverence–in analogical times–cost him the ability to film in Cuba.[5] Normally, irreverence is understood in the face of governmental, religious or institutional power. But what if we were to launch irreverence equally against all sectors involved in a conflict, be it political, religious or human? This would generate greater complexity, which could result in barely tolerable discomfort. When it comes to political cinema, it is well known that audiences generally come to a film to reinforce a pre-existing view on the subject.
Literary agent Andre (Jeff Pucillo) overwhelms Sergio in Memories of Overdevelopment (Miguel Coyula, 2010)
How are intuition and science combined? There is no ideal form of filmmaking, and in any case, it should not start from a predetermined model. I feel that narrative unpredictability can be enhanced by changing editing techniques within the same work.
Lily (Talia Rubel) seduces her long-lost brother Adam (Adam Plotch), in Red Cockroaches (Miguel Coyula, 2003)
In my film Memories of Overdevelopment (2010) and even more so in Blue Heart, I worked with an eclectic polyphony that leans towards the baroque, both in the composition of image and sound, as well as in a montage based on changes in format, genres, styles and perspectives.
I have always considered it dangerous to rely solely on an ability to build atmospheres in order to create the illusion of a stable narrative for the viewer through an audiovisual seduction. This can end up being a conservative device when it numbs the viewer’s senses and conspires against a vision of the cinema as an uncomfortable art, both in content and in narrative form. I think that’s why my first film, Red Cockroaches (2003), ended up being much more conventional despite the incest story.
It is not for nothing that it is the only one of my films that has had commercial distribution. When faced with a lack of creative control, I declined to make a Hollywood horror film for Ghost House Pictures and producer Robert Tapert could not understand my lack of interest. He asked if I had other offers. That was the only time the industry came around. At the time, I was preparing Memories of Overdevelopment, a film with a more fragmented structure. I decided that narrative subjectivity must be sabotaged when you barely settle into a rhythm or style. We live in an age of multitasking, media bombardment, post-truth and fragmentation. Here past and present take turns with the impossibility of creating a truly new future. Far from smoothing over these rough edges, the film’s language must reflect the dynamics and contradictions in a cognitive spiral where symbols and subsequent rationality can also emerge and be processed by the viewer.
Book cover for Mar Rojo, Mal Azul (Red Sea, Blue Evil, 2013)
Different narrative voices have always been a concern of mine. More than two decades ago, I wrote my first novel titled Red Sea, Blue Evil. Almost the entire narrative is constructed from my friend’s experiences and extrapolated to a science fiction universe with fabricated situations, while keeping intact their psychologies and speaking style. I wrote it under the precept that each sentence was equivalent to a cinematographic shot. I also translate this practice to an audiovisual language by never repeating a frame in the editing. This is based on the fact that my first short film was made on a VHS camera. I had to film in chronological order because I didn’t have a computer to edit. This artistic discipline was a strategy born from an obstacle. After each cut, I looked for more expressive framing that would enhance the sensorial nature of each sequence. Each moment of life is unrepeatable and each image concatenated in a film must also possess that unique quality.
I feel that I have made an aesthetic cocktail from the anime of my childhood and the classic film sequences that film critic Enrique Colina deconstructed in his Cuban television show 24xSegundo. During my adolescence, I discovered the cinematheque with Tarkovsky, Michelangelo Antonioni, Orson Welles, David Lynch, David Cronenberg, Jean-Luc Godard and the photo-animation of Santiago Álvarez, while simultaneously reading Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Albert Camus, Ray Bradbury and the Strugatsky brothers. I also discovered the expressionist visual artist, Antonia Eiriz.
Rafael Alcides inside a painting by Antonia Eiriz in Nadie / Nobody (Miguel Coyula, 2017)
David’s (Carlos Gronlier) painting watches over him in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)
Tomás (Hector Noas) shares his son’s drawings with a psychologist in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)
How can anyone of these strands reach a rhizomatic coherence to integrate the apparent chaos? If you are going to achieve any originality today, it is from cooking up a gigantic hybridity out of your own blood in order to have an unfiltered dialogue with your subconscious. Only in this way can a voice of your own be born to liberate the content of your genetic storm. Even when you maintain the power of association, sometimes it is necessary to suppress rationality until the later stages of the creative process.
In Memories of Overdevelopment, which is also based on the novel of the same name by Edmundo Desnoes, subjectivity is positioned from the perspective of a protagonist who is a writer and photographer who makes collages and records his voice. The film that we watch could be seen as a construction of the protagonist. But in Blue Heart, I wanted to go further. The multiplicity of characters and points of view, television channels with diverse editorial policies, constant ellipses, point to a rhizomatic polyphony, a territory of shifting sands where it will be more difficult for the viewer to predict how the narrative evolves, and from which perspective. Gone is the unifying effect of the voice-over of the sole protagonist in Memories of Overdevelopment. The fragments of the nation today are also the result of the disintegration of the Soviet Union. The Special Period was also the beginning of my adolescence. I feel that somehow, I am still trying to collect the fragments of the chaos in order to recombine them.[6]
Making films outside of institutions has led me to shoot guerrilla style and without permits. In this scenario it is necessary to remain alert for any documentary event which could be imbricated in the fictional narrative. This instrumentalization of reality was part of Memories of Overdevelopment and Blue Heart. In the latter, I used the Occupy Wall Street protests as background, inserting actors in strictly documentary shots. Then using digital effects, I transformed some of the elements of the environment.
Occupy Wall Street original footage.
Footage after digital surgery in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)
I also edited speeches by political figures to construct new sentences using their own words, thus turning them into actors within the plot. In one sequence, the mutants storm a television studio and their leader delivers a controversial live speech. After shooting this scene, I showed it to natural actors and asked them to react to it in their own words in order to get a variety of genuine voices. I drew anime on paper to emulate the analog Japanese aesthetic, created commercials and newsreels.
Still from Memories of Overdevelopment (Miguel Coyula, 2010)
The fictional story itself gradually permeated the real world, but I always maintained a distance from the strictest manifestations of realism.
Havana skyline before digital surgery.
Havana skyline in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021
It took me 10 years to shoot Blue Heart in Cuba. There were some extra-artistic events of that period that were important to me before I started working on the new film. In January 2017, I finished the documentary Nadie / Nobody (2017), which coincided with the death of Fidel Castro. I like to describe Nadie as a duel between Cuban poet Rafael Alcides and the politician Fidel Castro over of a woman: the Cuban revolution.
The film is built around Alcides’ honesty and the torrent of his thoughts, emotions and contradictions, where humor, lyricism, anger and sadness take turns. The aesthetic of the film itself moves through these registers. Aware of the impossibility of screening the film in a state-owned Cuban movie theater, we tried to show it in a private gallery. We were met with a police raid. In the history of Cuban cinema there are countless episodes of censorship taking place within institutions, but this time it occurred in a private house. We denounced the attack. Colleagues turned away and the critics remained silent. Except for a handful of timid exceptions, the institutionalized island intelligentsia buried the event. Curiously, the Miami Film Festival also did not want to program the film. When Nadie was finally shown in that city as part of the exhibition “The Forbidden Fruit,” I understood that the political honesty of its protagonist, Rafael Alcides, who still considered himself a socialist, did not allow any side to assume the film as their respective banner.
Jeff Pucillo’s character from Red Cockroaches (Miguel Coyula, 2003) is transformed into an anime for Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)
I was criticized by the most reactionary sectors of the left and right. This has been a typical response to my work that has political content. So, the only way to materialize these works has been outside of Cuba or through foreign institutions.
Alcides was an orphan born in the extreme poverty of Barrancas, Cuba. In the film, he did not want to promote his books out of fear of self-praise. He believed in building a better world, and his honesty led him to fall into disgrace. He turned to the monastic construction of his pages on a typewriter with homemade ink, renouncing compromise and/or opportunism. He never knocked on publisher’s doors, inside or outside the island. Utopia had taken hold of him. Nor was he one of those writers who blurred his own history with demagogies. He had nightmares because he also knew how to have big dreams. His open-hearted contradictions made him a being of peculiar transparency. The poet remained in Cuba until his death.
Lynn Cruz in Nadie (Miguel Coyula, 2017)
A filmmaker friend once told me: “I want to continue making independent films, but I don’t want to spend ten years making a film. I also want to be able to go to a restaurant, to a bar, to have money to travel.” In Cuba, we can only choose one of the two variants. He decided to emigrate. It is true that living in Cuba limits your freedom of movement. Not having a credit card narrows your travel possibilities to those made possible by scholarships, film festivals or academic events. My camera and computer models are obsolete under any industrial parameters. But cinematic language is not determined by the number of pixels. For me, technological obsolescence is breakage beyond any possible repair. We are on the earth for a very short time. I chose to exist with austerity, in order to create freely.[7]
Years later, when the political-cultural situation of the country worsened, I understood the phenomenon better. At that time, I met a visual artist who felt uncomfortable showing his work in state-run spaces. He was considering emigrating. Without understanding his point of view, I told him that I did not discriminate between spaces, that the work speaks for itself. He explained with exemplary sincerity: “But my work is not as political as yours. How can I justify myself morally while using state institutions and still call myself independent?”
In 2019, the Cuban Institute of Art and Film Industry (ICAIC) implemented Decree Law 373 for cinema, which intended to bring together independent filmmakers who were operating in a legal limbo.[8] The document contained pragmatic advantages for producing, but it also straitjacketed filmmakers by framing the content of each work within “the objectives of the Revolution that makes it possible…” Even so, almost all filmmakers signed on to obtain their independent audiovisual creator’s card, granted by a state industry with a long list of censored films.[9]
The definition of independent cinema in Cuba has been controversial. Most of the works that define themselves as independent are approved by the ICAIC and are made possible by international funding that is inscribed in a predetermined socio-political aesthetic that circulates in mainstream independent markets. As with much mainstream-independent films, they do not cross the thresholds of discomfort. Here I am referring to the limits imposed by both the Cuban government and the profile of the relevant international institutions that decide what Latin American art cinema should be.
Lynn Cruz and Rafael Alcides in Nadie (Miguel Coyula, 2017)
The cultural situation after Fidel Castro’s death became more complex as more artists were censored. Activism increased on the island, heightened by the pandemic. An eclectic group of people led by the artivist Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara of the San Isidro Movement, went on a hunger strike during a collective confinement in the neighborhood and demanded, among other things, freedom for Cuba. The official news source of the regime disqualified the veracity of the hunger strike. But, does anyone pay attention to vertical newscasts anymore? The state security raided the house and evicted everyone, leading to the largest spontaneous protest of artists in front of the Ministry of Culture on November 27, 2020, which created the 27N movement. Finally, on November 29, Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara announced the deposition of the strike from prison, which he said he had started on November 18.
Lynn Cruz and Rafael Alcides in Nadie (Miguel Coyula, 2017)
On July 11, 2021, popular protests erupted throughout the island as a response to the lack of food and medicine. They also demanded freedom and used the title of the song “Patria y Vida” (Homeland and Life) as their anthem. President Miguel Díaz-Canel told the authorities that “The order for combat has been given.” A wave of repression was unleashed that included mass imprisonments with arbitrary sentences. What was previously practiced against a small sector of the opposition, became a general practice.
The subsequent exodus was massive. Many important artists left the island. Others returned to the institutional fold and lowered their voices. At the same time, artists and intellectuals began to be censored not for the political radicalism of their work, but for taking an active role and demanding changes from the standpoint of civil society. The playwright Yunior García Aguilera also emerged along this line with his platform Archipiélago. Garcia Aguilera’s theatrical work, had circulated within institutional channels. His activism combined with his eloquent discourse garnered the sympathy of many intellectuals across generations, achieving a remarkable synergy. On November 15, 2021, he called for a “peaceful march for change.” But on that date, his followers would be disconcerted when they discovered that their leader was no longer on the island. Garcia Aguilera had negotiated his departure quietly under pressure from Cuban state security.
Book cover for the novel The Vertical Island (2022)
In September 2022, Ediciones Deslinde published my novel The Vertical Island in Madrid.[10] At the book’s launch, the presenter, artist Lester Álvarez Meno declared that the novel was “beyond saving.”[11] He recriminated me morally for debasing figures of the Cuban opposition, which appeared in the novel as secondary characters, sometimes in cameos. Curiously, the rest of the book showcases its protagonists in more grotesque behavior and situations, and they too were inspired by real people. What was happening here? That none of these other characters were media celebrities with a foothold in the opposition’s political arena? Maybe Álvarez, a member of the 27N movement, expected a mea culpa from me.
With The Vertical Island, I envisioned a narrative that was more focused on the psychology of its main characters. When I finished it, I thought to myself…well…it’s okay, it’s readable. I was happy with the idea that, just as with my film Red Cockroaches, any lover of dystopian anime could understand it without any knowledge of Cuba. But I did not feel that it would generate much political controversy, since despite its multiple narrative voices, its anecdotal essence was a twisted love triangle. My interest in including the secondary characters referenced by the book presenter was essentially based on the fact that I found their contradictions dramaturgically attractive and added stylistic variety to the social dynamics of the environment through satire. But the presentation-recrimination at the book event was revealing: I discovered that I had injected inflammable political content into 4 of the book’s 158 pages. I had arrived at the conflict intuitively: from the gestation of the characters. Not only that, I had entered uncharted territory. My last three films had deconstructed the myth of Fidel Castro, instrumentalizing him as a character, because I felt that there was a critical silence about his figure in the island’s cinema.
Álvarez, the presenter, published a text pointing out the problematic sentences about the opposition celebrity figures referenced in the novel, among which was also the artivist Tania Bruguera. But the text gave prominence to Lumoa, a character inspired by the mutation of Charles Manson and Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara (LMOA). The novel has several narrative voices. In his description of Lumoa, the narrator in question, was accused by Álvarez of being sexist and classist. Interestingly, Álvarez thought this a more serious offence than the incest, violence and murder committed by the protagonists in the rest of a novel where the narrator himself is also “the very expression of uncertainty and failure.”[12] Then, Álvarez makes reference to an excerpt about machismo: “he always kept a brood of women around him,”[13] which rang even more strange since LMOA himself has publicly confessed: “Yes, I care about having money, dressing in my own style, traveling, having women… the good life.”[14] Álvarez also failed to mention that when the book’s protagonist visits Lumoa, he discovers that, in reality, his “brood of women” keeps him doped up in a bed, and one of them informs him: “There is no single leader here. We are a collective.” (La Isla Vertical)
Álvarez’s criticism of the depiction of Lumoa’s humble origins was equally debatable, because it is unrelated to the professional life of LMOA himself, who has never denied his origins, and has since won numerous awards, including the $50,000 prize awarded by Prince Klaus. Then again, in the novel, Lumoa is a mafioso who controls food supply, in a world where the protagonists live a perennial famine. What was the real problem then? Towards the end of the text, the presenter tried to persuade me: “Coyula should not try so hard to destroy a country and people already in ruins, and should devote himself to erasing the traces of his references and frustrations.”[15]
Facebook collage piece by artist Lester Alvarez, depicting Miguel Coyula and his partner Lynn Cruz with added Che Guevara hats.
During the presentation he hinted that I sympathized with the Cuban government by saying “It’s OK if you are a communist and love Fidel Castro, surely in Miami you will be eaten alive.”
I felt embarrassed for him, but I confess that his reverse ideology left me with a growing curiosity. Why had Álvarez agreed to present a novel that he so detested? Why was there such an insistence on an edifying and positivist art in the style of socialist realism or of the most conservative Hollywood productions? Was there something beyond mere moralism, or political correctness? I have never been interested in journalistic writing because it kills the possibility of creation. But now it seems a pertinent resource to analyze my sources of inspiration, since there also seems to be a critical silence on the subject.
Days after the book’s presentation in Madrid, page 80 of La Isla Vertical was circulated on WhatsApp among some members of the 27N movement. A sentence was circled in red where a character, referring to Lumoa, confesses to have “taken food and water to the future martyr during his hunger and thirst strike.” Had reality cracked inside the fiction?
During the collective confinement in San Isidro, the non-governmental mainstream media had already written the epic of LMOA, his 10-day hunger strike,[16] and the eviction that gave rise to the protest, spurring the 27N movement.[17] The resistance had thus already created a mythic figure, who also happened to be imprisoned.
Was there a pact to hide a “minor fissure” for the sake of a greater cause? Two narratives circulated: a public and a private one. Obviously, I was inspired by the later. In this one, some of his followers alluded to LMOA’s vulnerability to power as an excuse to lie. In a private conversation, one woman tried to justify him: “If the Cuban dictatorship has lied for 60 years, why doesn’t he have the right to lie too, and thus give them some of their own medicine?”
Page 80 of La Isla Vertical, WhatsApp screen capture
Cuban dissidents have died from hunger strikes. Others have come close. Sometime after the events in San Isidro, opposition scientist Ariel Ruiz Urquiola, held a live broadcast on Facebook to dismantle the LMOA strike as “a farce to create a theatrical atmosphere.”[18] He was bombarded by negative comments and ignored by the so-called independent press.
The post-truth that Fidel Castro practiced for analogical decades, and which Donald Trump had popularized in the U.S. political arena, seemed to circulate in the veins of many in the Cuban opposition. This was symptomatic of an era where words transmute their meaning in the face of facades erected and demolished indiscriminately, sometimes with a gentle blow, in order to achieve circumstantial objectives.
All cultures have idiosyncrasies that are to some extent immovable. Today Vladimir Putin continues the expansion started by Ivan the Terrible. We in Cuba are partially descended from a tradition-betrayal-idiomatic, a quixotic saga destined to failure, which Edmundo Desnoes in Memories of Overdevelopment says is the nature of all of us who speak Spanish. In short, we inhabit a continent of endemic corruption.
But I want to move the calendar back a bit. Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara, had stood out as the most prolific artivist in the country until his last imprisonment on July 11, 2021. In 2018, he announced that he had had a “vision” where Fidel Castro appeared to him in a dream to tell him that in his final days, he had written a testament and had chosen him to make it public because he was “an ordinary Cuban, with a sense of the historical moment.”[19] This work premiered at the Pompidou Center in Paris and consisted of the recording of a comedian imitating Fidel Castro’s voice while reading his fictional mea culpa. Almost all of LMOA’s subsequent performance work responds to a compulsive immediacy, with strategies that can fluctuate from draping himself in the Cuban flag while sitting on a toilet, to wearing the American flag as a cape, or covering himself with his own excrement in front of the capitol in Havana. He is part of a trend of performance art, where notions of quality, inscribed in traditional criticism, are irrelevant. His greatest coherence is to put the dictatorship in check while demanding freedom for Cuba. The independent press constructs him as a popular hero, young, black, of humble origin, charismatic, a self-taught man guided by his intuition and courage. This type of press coverage occasionally confers a certain mystical aura on him.
Under this precept, LMOA is produced as a bearer of virtues that are mostly innate, but such a definition ignores that LMOA was equally produced by the harshness of the post-Soviet urban landscape. We could see it as a gigantic mural of economic, ethical and moral contradictions like the grotesque humans illustrated in Antonia Eiriz’s painting. In other words, the LMOA phenomenon in the idealized independent press, becomes a spontaneous sprout of the current island nature, an earthquake miraculously germinated in infertile soil, to consolidate the imminent liberation of the island. It was a success story that sold the possibility–promised and frustrated by the Cuban revolution itself–to finally give power to the people, awaken them from their lethargy and ignite them like a volcano.
Curiously, the populism intrinsic to this construction is also aligned with the utopian dimension of capitalist neoliberalism. LMOA grew up in a state capitalism that had a socialist facade. He has no creed other than his own person:
I always wanted to be a superstar, I like recognition, fame. I’ve always said that. I don’t hide it. If you go to Cerro, where I was born, and show them the Mona Lisa, everyone will recognize her… But if you show them Da Vinci’s self-portrait, no one can tell you who it is. I don’t want that to happen to me. I want them to associate my work with me, to know who I am. A famous guy! But back then I wasn’t. What was I? Well, I was black, with no academic training, the kind of guy who put himself forward for an event and was almost never accepted. I was ‘de pinga’ and ‘a pinga’ I did so that they would know me.[20]
His actions in public spaces and outside academic or institutional ties, place his body in uncontrollable, unpredictable ways, establishing himself as an element of chaos against the regime, inspiring a good many artists of his generation in need of a voice and a space in the totalitarian society, and also in need of a shield to withstand the bigger blows. The official media defames him and the independent press sanctifies him. During this narrative bipolarity, LMOA’s performances gradually moved into a hardcore activism that was no longer under the blanket of art. His race to destroy the regime seemed to reach an unstoppable rising climax, incited by Cubans inside and outside the island, until Icarus was burned by a midnight sun. His sentence: 5 years in prison.
Simultaneously, young artists, academically trained writers and LMOA followers were breaking ties with Cuban institutions. Some emigrated, others engaged in activism until state security–using their most recent strategy–pressured them to negotiate their own exile. For much of this group, the boundaries between left and right are archaic or deliberately blurred. Some align themselves with a social-democratic discourse, yet their actions are neoliberal. Today, they carry out actions from a distance for the sake of LMOA’s liberation. Exhibits are curated in his name, poems dedicated, documentaries made and banners bearing his likeness are raised in demonstrations outside of Cuba. But the echoes on the island are virtual. The regime has assumed them as collateral damage that has no immediate impact on the physical reality of the country. For this group, LMOA seems to represent indistinctly symbolic capital, and sometimes, capital itself. The aestheticization of courage instrumentalizes his figure and freezes the instant before departure in order to postpone their individual impact in exile. In many cases, the drama of such dislocation also responds to a hedonistic longing whose generational imprint is represented by the authors of the song “Patria y Vida.”[21] This is also the consequence of a regime that has tried to hide its economic failure and the material welfare of its elite, under the iron-clad preaching of self-sacrifice. The freedom of the masses is no longer an idea. Contemporary life has turned it into an abstraction.
I am not too much of a follower of José Martí, but I cannot help quoting him now: “Just as he who gives his life to serve a great idea is admirable, he who uses a great idea to serve his personal hopes of glory and power is abominable, even if because of them he exposes his life.”[22] Cuban leaders have created a sad tradition with these words, and Fidel Castro was their maximum exponent. LMOA now dwells in the shadow of his prison. To date, he has not been able to negotiate his exile. Alongside him await hundreds of other political prisoners without the same media protection. The light at the end of the tunnel has not changed in size. Many of the most valuable artists are no longer on the island.
What then is the function of art in Cuba? Tomás Gutiérrez Alea in the 1960s saw cinema as an instrument of change to develop critical thinking in the population in order to build a better society. Like Eisenstein, he had (including the ups and downs) the support of the official industry. Alea achieved a masterpiece with Memories of Underdevelopment. But in this gregarious tableau there was little room for individual poetics, where the excessive illumination of an inner world could be labeled as ideological diversionism and the commitment to an artistic discipline, as exaltation of the spirit, was often interpreted as egoism, or simply as being disconnected from reality.
The artivist Tania Bruguera has likewise referred to the need for a useful art, able to transform the current Cuban reality. Bruguera now confronts the once luminous Cuban revolution of 1959, turned into authoritarianism with chronic metastasis. In 2016, Bruguera created INSTAR in Havana: an institute that promised to align and provide space to multiple artistic disciplines, alternatives to the governmental discourse. For a while, the space attracted many young creators and thinkers. But the growing activism of its members caused the regime to collimate the space to the point that face-to-face activity was made impossible, nullifying its objective of disseminating critical art. On the face of it, INSTAR could itself be seen as a work of performance. Perhaps its ephemeral physical nature, in the face of the regime’s repression, was part of its strategic budget to denounce it. Today INSTAR continues virtually from abroad, but the country’s primitive, costly and controlled level of connectivity makes it difficult for the Cuban islander to interact with the space.
I confess that my reaction to activism is controversial. I respect the tenacity of some activists, because I recognize my own tenacity to create. But as a creative engine, I do not find it a vehicle for inspiration. I have done activism on a few occasions. In January 2020, the artist Javier Caso was summoned to an interrogation after taking photographs during a shoot for Blue Heart, the audio of which he recorded with a hidden cell phone. On top that audio, I edited a visualization in photo-animation to ironize the exchange he had with two police agents. I posted it on YouTube and it went viral, far surpassing the views of all the videos on my channel.[23] An acquaintance told me “Now, that is political art.” I think it is activism, maybe even artivism, but I don’t think it is Art. Even if the form was novel, when seen from a broader perspective, its dramaturgical essence adheres to a scheme: rebel artist versus two cartoonish cops.
# Javier Caso VS state security in Chronicles of the Absurd (Miguel Coyula, 2024).
Good versus evil in a revealing document of the workings of state security. It is terrible and funny. But as a work of art, it is not polysemic. Its gestation arises as a denunciation and this unique objective made it an aestheticization of a political tool. With some exceptions, the essence of this type of expression is generally contextual and therefore ephemeral. Political art is, at a semantic level, a term that could be problematic, since an art about politics is not necessarily a political art, if we understand the latter as a tool designed strictly to denounce power, or to navigate it. If art has some utility, bravo. But preconceiving its usefulness beforehand has little to do with a state of grace; that which true inspiration achieves, the terrible purity that can emerge from a subconscious that erupts in multiple directions. I feed on dreams; and if I ever had a dream or nightmare that was political in essence, I cannot remember it. The ones that stay with me are connected to the darkest zones of human nature.
# Gabriela Ramos and Carlos Gronlier in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021).
In this mode of expression there are no pragmatic goals or answers. To claim them would be a betrayal of the creative act. Let us take this very text. I started this essay trying to talk about art and I have ended up dirtying it with politics. I could divide it in two, but I would lose the essence of this organic sabotage. I remember Cuban poet Heberto Padilla in his mea culpa: “Can one be a poet in Cuba?”
I turn off the monotony of social networks. The virtualities of the postmodern world do not inspire me. On desolate streets, people wander terrified by the new penal code. The science of the future has failed on the island. Some claim that poetry has been buried. Others continue to wait for a new messiah. But I am not into ideologies, parties, religions, political corrections, movements, sects, guilds, herds, or crowds. I could say that one of my creative gratifications is to burn the ships down over and over again. Only I have never needed other people’s ships. The material world is not a priority for me. I know that such an attitude can complicate life, but it facilitates creation. And that is my raison d’être. I am attracted to protagonists who are misfits for a number of reasons that include destabilizing narrative perspective. A good number of audience members expect a film to reinforce their political convictions and are rarely interested in a debate with themselves.
An American flag burning in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)
A burning Jesus in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021).
A Cuban flag burning in Blue Heart (Miguel Coyula, 2021)
The brothers Boris and Arkady Strugatsky, a scientist and poet respectively, wrote science fiction books together in the Soviet Union. Tarkovsky would adapt their novel Alien Picnic in his film Stalker (1979), a culmination of science being devoured by cinematic poetry. Would something like that be possible in Cuba? Perhaps not. But the mistake is to try to mold beauty strictly under foreign cultural patterns. We are a young, fragmented culture, a fetus that has not germinated satisfactorily. The poet Rafael Alcides said that behind true beauty there is always drama. Finding beauty in Cuba can be a traumatic experience for someone who does not know how to appreciate the terribleness of the discovery.
Sergio (Ron Blair) in Memories of Overdevelopment (Miguel Coyula, 2010).
Gorki Aguila and Lynn Cruz in Where is freedom? (Miguel Coyula, 2022)
Is this masochism? Migration is not an option for me. I have already “lived in the monster and know its entrails…,” although I insist that my vision of the human being is too dark to be aligned with José Martí. (Obras Completas). I return to another hell, but it is my hell. I felt that my multidisciplinary independence would allow me to make films that otherwise would never materialize here. For a while I assumed that I had to continue creating in Cuba like a fanatical monk on a romantic mission to contribute to the national culture from the margins. Today, I am tempted to say that I no longer care about national culture, nor about the country. I recently finished a music video with the Cuban rock band Porno para Ricardo covering Pappo’s Blues’ “¿Adónde esta la libertad?”[24]
WTC in Memories of Overdevelopment (Miguel Coyula, 2010).
In it, I blow up the island in a nuclear explosion. An unnecessary underlining, since the war of time is palpable and the worst destruction is that of the soul. Why am I still here? There are a few artists left, but I trust that others will emerge. That helps me to continue as a witness. This is not 19th century nationalism. I took the plunge to film 9/11 in New York. Now I wish to go to Ukraine, even if I end up documenting my own annihilation.
Where does this death drive originate? It is not from José Marti. There is no other reason than the pursuit of art as a collage of contradictions. Independent art should be uncomfortable. This friction is essential as my creative engine.
My life has never been important. Partial brain blackout: I return and try to observe my city divorced from any historical political context. Sensory memory survives. I inhabit the apartment where I was born, with the same view of the ocean from the window. The buildings no longer matter. I rescue the scarce smells of the green, I swallow particles of saltpeter. The nature of this land will last until the sun explodes. I still believe in an art free of utilitarian expectations: Annihilation in order to be reborn. I start filming again on the Vertical Island.
Poster of Chronicles of the Absurd (Miguel Coyula, 2024)
Epilogue: June 5th 2025 began a strike of Havana University Students soaring into a magnitude of dissent never seen since the previous regime of Fulgencio Batista, more than six decades ago. It is a lifetime, but as poet Rafael Alcides once said in Nadie (2017): “We are but an instant in history. Logically this government will end.”
The comments highlight the publicity given to a minor corruption case while crimes committed by high-ranking officials are being tried in secret.
Work area of the Vegetable Canning Company. / Vegetable Canning Company / Facebook
14ymedio, Madrid, april 27, 2026 / Three state employees were sentenced to 10, 14, and 15 years in prison for embezzlement by the First Criminal Chamber of the Provincial People’s Court of Santiago de Cuba. In the same trial, a citizen was also convicted of illegal trafficking in Cuban pesos and foreign currency and ordered to pay a fine of 24,000 pesos in 600 installments of 40 pesos each.
The case was reported this Sunday by the provincial media outlet Sierra Maestra and replicated by Cubadebate in yet another example of the eagerness to publicize corruption affecting lower-ranking officials compared to the secrecy applied to those at a high level.
The defendants were, on one side, Amarilis Tellez Torres, an accountant, and Julio César Palacios Peralta, head of the accounting and finance group of a business unit belonging to the province’s Vegetable Canning Company. On the other side was María Luisa Creme Quiroga, an economist at the Rodolfo Rodríguez Benítez Credit and Services Cooperative.
The three agreed to split part of a 20 million peso bank loan that a bank had granted to the cannery. Tellez Torres and Palacios Peralta made four transfers to Creme Quiroga’s account totaling 5,175,504 pesos, and divided 3,986,504 pesos between themselves. continue reading
The three agreed to split part of a 20 million peso bank loan that a bank granted to the cannery.
In addition, Creme Quiroga used 1,195,434 pesos from his card to buy 2,000 US dollars from Kenly Hierrezuelo Tellez, who was accused of currency trafficking, for whom the sentence was one of the lightest provided for by the Penal Code, since he was only sanctioned with a fine.
The state employees were accused of repeated falsification of bank and commercial documents to commit embezzlement, crimes which the court found proven. The cannery workers have also been penalized with a ban on holding public office, and all must repay the full amount of money obtained through the fraud.
The note specifies, as usual, that “procedural guarantees and respect for due process enshrined in the Constitution of the Republic of Cuba and in the Law of Criminal Procedure were fulfilled” and that this sentence may be appealed.
The news has generated countless comments in the press and on social media, where many have recalled the case of the former Minister of Economy and Planning, Alejandro Gil, convicted last year for espionage and corruption in two cases that were initially shrouded in secrecy and with the doors of the Supreme Court sealed off to prevent the presence of onlookers.
Never before have so many details been available about the crimes committed by Gil, not only beyond the sentence itself. The trials were conducted almost in secret because the acts were considered crimes against the security of the State.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
Of the total proposed in the Allocations Law, 40 million are earmarked for Radio TV Martí and the remainder for the National Endowment for Democracy (NED).
Office of Transmissions to Cuba (OCB) earns 40 million, the same amount as last year. / Capture
14ymedio, Madrid, April 29, 2026 / The US will allocate at least $75 million of public funds to Cuba next year. The National Security, State Department, and Related Programs Appropriations Act for 2027 was approved Tuesday by committee by a vote of 35 to 27, though it still needs to pass through the House of Representatives and the Senate before President Donald Trump signs it into law.
It does not appear likely that the amounts allocated to “support democracy” on the island will change, as the total is exactly the same as last year. However, it does represent a larger percentage decrease, since the funds have fallen from a total of $50 billion in 2026 to $47.32 billion this fiscal year, which ends in September of next year—a 6% reduction overall.
The two main allocations related to Cuba are divided into two parts. On one side, $35 million will be earmarked for programs that promote democracy and strengthen civil society on the island through the National Endowment for Democracy (NED), including support for political prisoners. The remainder goes to the Office of Cuba Broadcasting (OCB) for two purposes. The first, $35 million, is for broadcasting information via radio, internet, and television, of which $5.2 million can be retained until the next fiscal year.
The second item is an additional five million for the production of special programs about the Island, which come from the international communication activities budget, whose total value is 540 million.
This money can also be used for “capital improvements for broadcasting, which may include the purchase, rental, construction, repair, maintenance and improvement of facilities for the transmission and reception of radio, television and digital media; the purchase, rental and installation of equipment necessary for the transmission and reception of radio, television and digital media, including to Cuba, as authorized; and physical security worldwide.”
The second concept is an additional five million for the production of special programs about the Island, which comes from the international communication activities budget, whose total value is 540 million.
In addition to these subsidies, the law specifies limits on the allocation of public funds to Cuba, which remain substantially continue reading
unchanged. The use of federal funds to revoke Cuba’s designation as a state sponsor of terrorism is expressly prohibited. It also prevents the removal or reduction of the State Department’s “blacklist” of Cuban entities, closing any avenue that permits, facilitates, or encourages transactions with companies and individuals on the list, particularly those linked to the Armed Forces or intelligence services.
Private individuals are also affected by the restrictions, as sanctions are imposed on any individuals or legal entities that maintain any economic or commercial relationship with the Cuban Army or Ministry of the Interior. This includes those who participate in activities that benefit international business operations or generate income for both ministries, companies controlled by them (any of the GAESA military conglomerate), and those who collaborate to help them circumvent the imposed sanctions.
The exemptions also appear in the document, which outlines the sale of agricultural products and medical supplies authorized by law and the payments corresponding to the lease and maintenance of the naval base in Guantanamo Bay, as well as the expenses of the Embassy in Havana, the processing of authorized remittances and aid to independent civil society.
The bill notes that all these measures are contingent upon a possible regime change that would allow for free elections in Cuba.
Among other sections dedicated to the island, the one concerning international medical missions stands out. The bill requires that, within 90 days of its enactment, the Secretary of State submit a report on the countries and international organizations that pay the Cuban government directly for the work of medical professionals, which the text considers “forced labor and human trafficking.” The document must be public, although it may contain classified information, and inclusion in it will have direct consequences for those involved, including a ban on travel to the United States.
In addition, countries and organizations that figure in the report for two consecutive years will lose access to funds for economic assistance and security included in the budget, a measure that can only be avoided by ceasing payments to the regime for medical services.
Finally, the document includes two more specifications related to the Island. One is the prohibition of using funds for “activities that contravene executive orders related to border security,” and the other is the inclusion of economic incentives for the capture of individuals linked to the 1996 downing of the Brothers to the Rescue planes.
Mario Díaz-Balart, chairman of the subcommittee responsible for the bill, said Tuesday that the document was drafted with a policy of “responsible spending, with a clear focus on national security.” He added that the work was done prioritizing U.S. interests and subtly criticized anyone who questions the proposed budget. “If you are a friend or ally of the United States, this bill supports you. If you are an adversary or are getting too close to our adversaries, then you won’t like this bill.”
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
Henry Constantín has been invited to receive the award in Sweden, but he will not be able to travel because Cuban authorities are keeping him under ‘regulation’.
Part of the ‘La Hora de Cuba’ team, headed by Henry Constantín [far right] / Facebook14ymedio, Havana, April 29, 2026 / The magazine La Hora de Cuba [Cuba’s Hour] was awarded the Civil Rights Defender Award 2026 by the Swedish organization Civil Rights Defenders (CRD) on Wednesday. The award recognizes the publication, directed by Henry Constantin, for its “exceptional resilience and courage in defending freedom of expression, free and independent journalism, and democracy.” The Georgian platform Netgazeti was also among the recipients of the award .
As CRD highlights in its press release, La Hora de Cuba “operates in one of the most closed media environments in the world.” It notes that on the island, “independent journalism is, in practice, criminalized,” yet the platform works “immersed in the reality it reports.” Similarly, the organization continues, “they document arbitrary arrests, political trials, and how repression permeates daily life—stories that state media do not tell.”
On its website, the NGO highlights the work the media outlet has carried out for more than a decade, in which “hundreds of people have contributed, from journalists, artists and photographers. Many have been forced to stop collaborating after being arrested, interrogated or receiving threats against their families. Others have left the country, but some remain.”
“Many have been forced to stop cooperating after being arrested, interrogated, or receiving threats against their families.”
Henry Constantín, who has suffered several arrests for his work leading La Hora de Cuba – just two in 2026 – has stated that his media outlet has received many “awards” before this one: “More than 40 arrests, hundreds of police summonses and interrogations, thousands of threats, several defamation campaigns, a few bans on leaving Cuba for years, continuous surveillance, vandalism against my house, physical violence and police accusations.
The communicator asserted that “these are the rewards that the Cuban regime has given us for sharing the truth for almost 14 years, the same number of years that a diverse team of people has accumulated with whom I have been able to build and maintain this media outlet in the extremely harsh conditions of rural Cuba.”
Regarding the Swedish award, he said the team is deeply grateful, as it “strengthens us to continue sharing freedom and information from deep within the country, from Camagüey and every city where our team operates. Thanks to the dozens of Cubans who have worked with La Hora de Cuba over the years , thanks to the thousands of people who read us daily, and thanks to my family, always by my side.”
He also said that, “for La Hora de Cuba, this award means increased visibility and also greater responsibility. People as far away as Sweden, who work with activists and journalists in difficult situations around the world, believe that we at La Hora de Cuba deserve it. That means we must take our work even more seriously.” continue reading
“I don’t plan to leave Cuba. I’m going to continue working here, doing journalism for the freedom of Cuba.”
The award ceremony is scheduled for May 18 in Stockholm, Sweden. Although Constantín—who received the 2021 Press Freedom Award from the Inter-American Press Association (IAPA)—has been invited to attend, he will be unable to travel because Cuban authorities have kept him under travel restrictions since 2019, prohibiting him from leaving the country unless he emigrates, an option he rejects. He reaffirmed this stance after his latest arrest: “I don’t plan to leave Cuba. I’m going to continue working here, doing journalism for freedom in Cuba.”
For Iris Mariño, deputy director of La Hora de Cuba and who was under house arrest for participating in the Island-wide 11 July 2021 protests, the award “signifies that fear cannot be an obstacle in your life. Living under a dictatorship and having been subjected by the repressive apparatus to various acts of psychological, verbal, and even physical violence has not been the defining factor in my daily life. Every repressive action I have experienced, every obstacle, has made me desire freedom and democracy for Cuba even more and work towards achieving it.”
Regarding the Georgian media outlet Netgatzeti, CRD points out that one of its founders, Mzia Amaglobeli, has been in prison since last year for practicing journalism in a country that has been warned to be on the verge of a dictatorship, following the Georgian Dream party’s rise to power in 2012.
Mzia Amaglobeli has been in prison since last year for practicing journalism in a country that has been warned is on the verge of a dictatorship.
The award, a benchmark in Europe in the area of human rights, has been given since 2013 to those who defend civil rights in restrictive environments.
La Hora de Cuba is the first media outlet in the Americas to receive the recognition and the second organization to obtain it on the continent, after the Venezuelan NGO Foro Penal, dedicated to the registration of detentions for political reasons and free legal defense, won it in 2023.
Previous recipients of this award include Belarusian activist Ales Bialiatsky, [see also] who received it in 2014, eight years before being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2022. At the time, he was imprisoned awaiting trial for “smuggling and financing actions that violated public order.” The human rights defender was sentenced to 10 years in prison but was pardoned last December, along with 122 other political prisoners, by Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko.
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The property was confiscated as part of the execution of the sentence handed down against the former deputy prime minister, who was sentenced to life imprisonment.
Laura Gil, the daughter, and Gina González wife of former minister Alejandro Gil Fernández / Facebook
The family of Alejandro Gil Fernández, Cuba’s former Minister of Economy, sentenced to life imprisonment for espionage, was evicted this Wednesday from their home in the upscale Havana neighborhood of Miramar. The two-story house, located on 24th Street between 1st and 3rd Streets in the Playa municipality, was occupied by the former Deputy Prime Minister’s wife, Gina González García; their daughter, Laura Gil González; his son-in-law, Álvaro Iglesias; and his young granddaughter, Laura and Álvaro’s daughter.
The property was seized as part of the execution of the accessory sanctions imposed in the sentence against the former deputy prime minister, including the confiscation of assets, as his sister, former broadcaster María Victoria (Vicky) Gil, confirmed to 14ymedio from Spain.
The operation began early, “around seven in the morning,” according to neighborhood sources cited by CubaNet, which documented the event with photographs. At least two trucks were parked in front of the property to load the family’s belongings, destined for their new home, Johnson 160, in La Víbora, Vicky Gil also confirmed.
“Laura is happy, despite all the difficulties, because she says that they never felt the house in Miramar was truly theirs.”
This is the Gil Fernández family home, which the former radio announcer herself had given to her niece when she moved to Spain. “The house has been closed up for two or three years, and it’s full of dust. The child has a terrible cold,” Gil told this newspaper, “but Laura is happy, despite all the difficulties, because she says that they never felt the house in Miramar was truly theirs, and that at least they’ve recovered the property, which they said they weren’t going to get back.”
Regarding this, she explains that during the trial, held in complete secrecy last November – in two separate sessions – “they said that I had made a fictitious donation to my niece, and that therefore the family home was part of the confiscated assets.” The Miramar property, the former radio announcer continues, was given to her brother when he was Minister of Economy and Planning, and in its place, “as a form of exchange with the State,” they handed over the family home, which was returned to them this Wednesday. continue reading
“It was legally proven that it was a legal act, a donation from aunt to niece,” which, she asserts, was made before a notary public in the municipality of Plaza de la Revolución, “with all the required legality.” This, she concludes, “they have been forced to acknowledge.”
Vicky Gil describes the property, inherited from her parents – Esperanza Fernández Castells and Miguel Ángel Gil Castilla – as “a nice apartment” built in 1958, which has been handed over to them “completely painted, doors, windows, ceilings, walls, in perfect condition.” The former radio announcer continues, “It has 80 square meters, a balcony overlooking the street with views of Parque de la Sola, two large bedrooms with built-in wardrobes, a shared bathroom, a very spacious living and dining room, a kitchen, a service patio, and a guest bathroom. It has no adjoining apartments.”
Vicky Gil describes the property as “a good apartment,” which has also been delivered “completely painted, doors, windows, ceilings, walls, in perfect condition.”
They were, certainly, a well-to-do family. Her father was a mining engineer and her mother a prestigious architect, who was part of, for example, the group of professionals involved in the design and construction of the emblematic Havana Bay Tunnel, built between 1957 and 1958. At the time of Fernández Castells’ death, Vicky Gil was living with her, and her brother relinquished his rights to the apartment, which is why it passed into the hands of the former radio announcer.
Agents deployed in the surrounding area prevented residents from recording or taking photographs, according to testimonies gathered by CubaNet. One account indicates that a woman who left her home with her cell phone was intercepted by a man who demanded to see the device’s gallery to verify that she had not recorded any images of the eviction.
The confiscation of Gil’s assets had already been confirmed by the Supreme People’s Court (SPC), although it did not publicly specify which properties would be seized. On December 8, 2025, the SPC issued the sentences against the former minister and imposed additional penalties, including asset confiscation, a ban on holding positions involving the administration of public funds, and the deprivation of public rights. At the end of January, the court upheld the convictions by rejecting the appeals filed by the defense. From that moment, the additional penalties could begin to be enforced.
Gil was initially sentenced to life imprisonment for espionage, acts detrimental to economic activity or contracting, bribery, theft and damage to documents or objects in official custody, violation of official seals, and breach of regulations protecting classified documents. In a second trial, he received a 20-year prison sentence for bribery as a means to commit falsification of public documents, influence peddling, and tax evasion. The combination of charges makes this one of the most serious cases against a high-ranking Cuban official in decades.
Before his rise to the Ministry of Economy, Gil had built a career within the state-run financial and insurance sector. British business records list him as a director, a position he has since resigned from, of three companies in the United Kingdom: Anglo-Caribbean Insurance Agents Limited, ACIA (UK) Limited, and Seaclaim Limited. This documentation proves his corporate positions between 2004 and 2010, although it does not, on its own, establish personal ownership or direct employment. The companies appear to be linked to the insurance and reinsurance sector in London, an industry associated with Cuban financial operations abroad.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The sister of the martial arts champion kidnapped by Cuban State Security denies the alleged complaints from neighbors
Mixed martial arts champion Javier Ernesto Martín Gutiérrez, known as ‘Spiderman’. / Facebook
14ymedio, Madrid, April 28, 2026 — “They call you crazy for shouting the truth to the world, for not being afraid.” Yuny, sister of mixed martial arts champion Javier Ernesto Martín Gutiérrez, known as ‘Spiderman’, has spoken out against the official justification for the violent arrest of her brother on April 24, after eight days of solitary protest from his home in Marianao (Havana).
The young woman completely rejects the version of events disseminated by the website Razones de Cuba to discredit him, namely, that the athlete is being held at Villa Marista, the State Security’s paralegal operations center, “for an evaluation to determine if he suffers from any disorder and to be able to help him.” The same publication revealed the harassment Spiderman‘s family received during the days of protest, but described it as a gesture of support: “Municipal officials approached the mother before the media spectacle, concerned about her son’s abnormal behavior.”
Furthermore, the wrestler’s neighbors were portrayed as victims “overwhelmed” by the athlete’s protests. “Meanwhile, in Marianao, neighbors sleep peacefully without shouting. In Villa Marista, a man receives a clinical evaluation, not torture,” concluded Razones de Cuba.
“All of Javier’s neighbors know him and know what he’s like, and I’d even venture to say that the neighbors are super proud of him.”
“That talk about the neighbors is a lie,” asserts Yuny Martín. His brother, for starters, she explains, lives in a place with few neighbors, on 31st Avenue across from the El Lido bus terminal, “across from an old Rápido [a cafeteria], one of the many that used to be in Cuba, and downstairs there’s just a bakery.” On the contrary, she affirms, “all of Javier’s neighbors know him and what he’s like, and I’d even venture to say that the neighbors are incredibly proud of him.” continue reading
Martín Gutiérrez, she continues, “has always been a very loved and respected young man, because he won everyone’s affection from a young age, so I seriously doubt everything that State Security wrote.” The woman is aware of how the system works. “They’re going to try to minimize Javier’s image as much as possible.”
The young man, she says, “what affected him most in this whole situation is precisely seeing that he has so many friends and loved ones and that everyone has his back.” The “disorder” argument, she argues, is easier to make “with someone who isn’t normally like that, shouting, having those kinds of outbursts, because it wasn’t common for him to do those things.”
“What affected him most in this whole situation is precisely seeing that he has so many friends and so many loved ones and that everyone has his back.”
Nobody imagined, she concedes, that Javier would be capable of protesting in that way, but everyone has to understand that “everyone gets tired”: “It was as I explained in a video: everything in life has a limit and what the Cuban is going through has never been seen.”
Before his arrest, the activist spent days shouting “Freedom!” from the solitude of his balcony, with no company but his cell phone and a mostly digital audience. “The communist system is dead! Did you see State Security? It’s you! Look at yourselves! Nobody’s coming!” he shouted toward the street, while challenging the police: “Come and get me! Shoot me with whatever you want!”
What the family did expect, starting with Javier himself, were the consequences of such a demonstration: “We knew from the moment Javier went viral on social media what was going to happen, especially because of who he is, because he’s an MMA [mixed martial arts] fighter, because he’s a national champion.” Yuny says, “My only role as his sister, because it’s my responsibility, because it’s my pain, was to help him. And to tell him a thousand times that I was incredibly proud of him for what he was doing.” However, she admits that in the last few days she asked him to stop the protest: “You have to stop, because in the end you see that you’re alone, nobody joins you, what we didn’t want was for it to get to this point.”
Yuny now asks that people continue to talk about her brother: “We can’t give up, because Javier is alive thanks to social media, and I’m not going to get tired of helping him. I’m going to go as far as I have to.”
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
Electric tricycle drivers in San José de las Lajas face long waiting times, few passengers, and rising costs that threaten their daily sustenance.
Tricycles at their starting point at the old train station in San José de las Lajas. / 14ymedio
14ymedio, Julio César Contreras, San José de las Lajas (Mayabeque), April 29, 2026 / The taxi stand at the old train station in San José de las Lajas wakes up before the rest of the city. At that early hour, when the sun is just beginning to warm the asphalt and the first bicycles listlessly cross the avenue, several electric tricycles are already lined up as if waiting for the order to leave. Under the green, blue, or red tarpaulins, the drivers converse in hushed tones, drink coffee from small plastic cups, and anxiously watch the road, waiting for the first customer of the day to appear.
“Most people have no idea how much time and money it takes to earn four pesos on these three-wheeled critters,” says Alexander, a tricycle driver who arrives early every day at the taxi stand without a fixed route. His vehicle, painted a bright blue and with a freshly charged battery, sits alongside others like it, forming an irregular line, like a small, makeshift parking lot.
Alexander explains that he always tries to arrive before 6:00 a.m. so the line of drivers isn’t too long and he has enough time to make a few trips before noon, when passenger numbers drop considerably. At that early hour, there’s still some activity: workers heading to their jobs, students with backpacks, and elderly people walking slowly to the pharmacy or clinic. But after nine or ten, the scene changes, and the taxi stand falls into a kind of lethargy. continue reading
“Although there are very few cars on the road, people can’t afford the luxury of spending 300 or 400 pesos either.”
His daily route can take him anywhere from Cotorro to Catalina de Güines, or even as far as Madruga, if he can find enough customers willing to pay the fare. Sometimes, these longer trips are the only way to make ends meet, because within the city itself, the rides are short and customers haggle over every peso. “Even though you see very few cars on the road, people can’t afford to spend 300 or 400 pesos to go from the farmers market to the Pastorita neighborhood,” he says. “We can’t ask for less than that either, because then it doesn’t add up. It’s a vicious cycle where everyone, in some way, loses out.”
The everyday scene around the terminal confirms his words. By mid-morning, several tricycles are parked in the shade of a leafy tree while their drivers seek refuge from the sun. Some check their battery cables, others discuss the price of spare parts. A young man gets out of his vehicle, stretches his legs, and observes the almost empty road with resignation.
The tricycles parked at the taxi stand confirm, indeed, that passengers are scarce. The line of vehicles seems frozen in a prolonged wait that can last for hours. “Giving rides is getting worse and worse, because the number of tricycles keeps increasing and the number of passengers is decreasing day by day,” says Ismael, sitting under the tarp of his motorcycle, shielding himself from the blazing sun. “It doesn’t matter if it’s Wednesday or Sunday anymore, the taxi stand is empty, and you have to be a magician to have a few bills in your pocket at the end of the day, because they disappear like water.”
The daily wage I’m earning is barely enough to buy the essentials for the house.”
The driver explains that he is seriously considering giving up passenger transport and dedicating himself to hauling goods for a local small business. He says his current earnings barely cover basic expenses. “What I make each day is barely enough to buy the essentials for the house,” he says. “If the tricycle happens to break down, I don’t have the money to fix it right now.”
This uncertainty is echoed by many drivers who see how the business, which seemed promising just a few years ago, has become increasingly unstable. The proliferation of electric tricycles has saturated the market, while passengers’ purchasing power continues to decline. The result is fierce competition for every customer that appears on the street corner.
On the other side of the coin are those who approach the tricycles, sweating, trying to negotiate a price that will give them some breathing room. At the side of the road, a man stops in front of one of the vehicles to ask how much the ride to his neighborhood costs. The answer elicits a gesture of displeasure and a brief exchange before the customer decides to continue on foot.
“I don’t understand why electric tricycles are as expensive as those that run on gasoline or diesel,” says Mario, a self-employed worker who makes the daily commute from his home in Tapaste to San José de las Lajas. He explains that he has to use this mode of transportation two or three times a week out of necessity, and the cost, which started at 200 pesos, has been rising rapidly, reaching 800 or 1,000 pesos at certain times and days. “There’s no stopping this,” he complains.
“I don’t understand why electric tricycles cost as much as those that run on gasoline or oil.”
For Mario, the solution to the problem doesn’t necessarily lie in stabilizing fuel prices or increasing the presence of state inspectors who control the prices of fares. In his view, the key is to restore a public transportation system that offers real alternatives to citizens. “As long as transportation is in crisis, anyone with three or four wheels will think they have the right to charge whatever they want,” he emphasizes.
Meanwhile, daily life in San José de las Lajas remains marked by waiting. The electric tricycles sit lined up at the taxi stand as if they were part of the urban landscape, silent witnesses to an economy that barely moves. Under the relentless midday sun, the drivers gaze at the horizon with patience and resignation, hoping that the next passenger will appear at any moment and allow them to set off again.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The study omits the responsibility of the regime, which has drained the health sector of capital to invest in the construction of hotels for tourists.
Infant mortality on the island rose from 4 per 1,000 live births in 2018 to 9.9 in 2025 / ‘Cubadebate’
A report by the Center for Economic and Policy Research (CEPR), based in the United States, published this Monday, asserts that the tightening of US sanctions against Cuba since 2017 “was probably the cause” of the dramatic increase in infant mortality on the Island, which went from 4 per 1,000 live births in 2018, to 9.9 in 2025 , an increase of 148%.
The study, which from its title echoes the regime’s mantra in the face of any problem the country faces (US Sanctions and the Sharp Rise in Infant Mortality in Cuba), quotes Alexander Main, director of International Policy at CEPR and co-author of the report, who asserts that “Trump’s maximum pressure policy on Cuba has caused the death of many babies and, although we do not yet have data for the last few months, it is very likely that more babies are now dying, even at a higher rate than last year, as a consequence of the current US fuel embargo against Cuba.”
The research center, considered left-leaning, supported by economists such as Joseph Stiglitz and Robert Solow, and largely funded by donations, asserts that if the mortality rate on the island had remained at its 2018 level, “approximately 1,800 fewer babies would have died between 2019 and 2025.” The CEPR compares Cuba’s figures with those of countries like Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, Mexico, and Jamaica, which, with the exception of Brazil, experienced declines or leveling off in their rates.
However, without emphasizing it, the report –replicated by Cubadebate on its front page this Tuesday– ends up attributing a good part of the impoverishment of Cuba’s health system to the pandemic –and not to the US embargo– noting that “the growth of the gross domestic product (GDP) per capita was -10.7% in 2020, one of the worst in the region .” continue reading
It ends up attributing much of the impoverishment of Cuba’s health system to the pandemic, and not to the US embargo.
“Unlike most other countries in the region and around the world, Cuba did subsequently experience a sizable post-COVID rebound during the years that immediately followed. Average annual GDP per capita growth from 2020 to 2024 was just 0.4 percent, as compared with the regional average of 3.2 percent. During this period, the quality of health care and access to health care services in Cuba sharply deteriorated amid widespread shortages of medicines and medical supplies and amid the departure of many health professionals,” the report states.
At no point do the authors point out that the Government continues to send thousands of doctors on international missions and that the sale of these services has served in the last decade to finance the construction of luxury hotels for a tourism sector in full decline, rather than dedicating those funds to improving the quality of health care.
For the preparation of the report, CEPR staff visited health centers in Cuba in the spring of 2024 “and observed firsthand some of the mounting challenges that the health care sector was experiencing. There were shortages of basic, critical medical supplies, such as syringes, inhalers, and even saline solution.”
“We met a young doctor who lamented being the only graduate from his class that was still practicing medicine in Cuba, and he attributed this to the shrinking wages for doctors.” Newly graduated doctors, can earn 5,060 pesos, insufficient for the most basic necessities, considering that a carton of 30 eggs can cost up to 3,000 pesos.
It attributed the problem “to the decrease in doctors’ salaries”
“At the National Oncological Institute we learned that medical staff were having great difficulty obtaining basic laboratory chemicals and were unable to access spare parts for radiotherapy equipment; as a result, they were unable to treat many cancer patients in a timely manner. The institute once had a total of 60 medical physicists (who were specialized in cancer treatment) and now had only 16. They previously had 16 anaesthesiologists and now had only five,” the center elaborated.
The report briefly reviews the chikungunya and dengue epidemic that struck Cuba last year, claiming the lives of mostly minors. “The severity of these outbreaks is likely a product of the sanctions,” the text states, omitting, first, the government’s dismissive attitude toward the initial reports flooding social media, including deaths, from mid-year onward, and its silence regarding the magnitude of the problem, which was only seriously addressed at the end of last year, almost four months after the outbreak began.
Nor does it mention that these arboviral diseases, which normally have a relatively low mortality rate, became a greater threat due to the country’s deteriorating hygiene, sanitation, and food conditions. The combination of epidemic outbreaks, a lack of medical resources, insufficient medicines, and the nutritional vulnerability of many children created a scenario that authorities now recognize as a public health emergency.
Another point not addressed by the CEPR is the consequences of government decisions, as the problems plaguing the healthcare system are not solely a result of the “blockade” or the pandemic. Dr. Ernesto René, who worked for 34 years in the Maternal and Child Health Program (PAMI) in Ciego de Ávila, warned as early as 2021 that experienced professionals were being lost “due to policies and decisions made by provincial directors that were completely misguided and lacked both scientific basis and experience.” He added that staff were not being cared for, and that “the lack of motivation has led to job abandonment, which has resulted in mortality rates unacceptable in the country for this century, leading to secondary problems such as depression among the families of those who lose a baby or their mother.”
The problems facing the health system have not only been a consequence of the “blockade” or the pandemic
The research center, in one of the report’s conclusions, points out that the current US fuel embargo, which has prevented almost all fuel shipments from reaching Cuba, “has further worsened an already critical situation.”
A country’s infant mortality rate is considered a key indicator of a population’s overall health and access to quality healthcare. Therefore, the country’s figures are disheartening, given that a decade ago, Cuba’s rate was among the lowest in the Western Hemisphere, even lower than that of the United States, at 4.3, compared to a regional average of 15.6 and a US rate of 5.8.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The activist launches a new Cuban Orthodox Liberal Party from her exile in Madrid
Known for her social media posts denouncing the crisis on the island, Amelia Calzadilla is committed to developing a national proposal for a post-dictatorship scenario. / 14ymedio/Courtesy
14ymedio, Luz Escobar, Madrid, April 28, 2026 / From exile in Spain, Cuban activist Amelia Calzadilla has taken a step that marks a turning point in her career: the launch of her own political project, the Cuban Orthodox Liberal Party. Known for her social media posts denouncing the crisis on the island, she is now committed to developing a national proposal for a post-dictatorship scenario.
Calzadilla herself positions this step as the result of a personal evolution marked by conflict with the establishment. In a recent social media post (with over 17,000 reactions and 2,000 comments), she writes that in 2022 she didn’t consider herself an opposition member or activist, but rather a mother dissatisfied with the state of the country. She also shared this perspective in an interview with 14ymedio, shortly after arriving in Spain, over two years ago.
However, she maintains that the harassment, threats, and smear campaigns against her ultimately pushed her toward political activism. This process, she affirms, has now culminated in the creation of this party, which she defines as a center-right liberal proposal, with an emphasis on José Martí’s ideals, justice, dignity, and the free market, although she says she will reveal the details of its platform and the people who have joined it on May 19th.
“Anyone who wants to join needs to know that we are starting from scratch and that we will have to figure out how to make it viable through our own efforts.”
She asserts that she hasn’t sought funding for the project from anyone. “There isn’t a single peso, literally,” she confesses. “Anyone who wants to join needs to know that we’re starting from scratch and that we’ll have to figure out how to make it viable through our own efforts.”
14ymedio: Why create a new political party instead of merging into an existing one? And why do it now?
Calzadilla: This wasn’t a decision against other projects, but rather a personal and political necessity. Although several initiatives exist within the opposition, they are often not visible enough, or their proposals don’t reach the population clearly. In Cuba, leaders are better known than political programs, and this leaves a significant void.
Creating a political party is, in essence, about organizing ideas for the country and putting them on the table. It doesn’t guarantee governing, but it does allow citizens to have real options to choose from in a democratic future. It also responds to the need to break with the idea that only an elite can engage in politics. Every citizen should be able to build and defend a political project. continue reading
The timing is also a factor. I sense that the system is in a phase of exhaustion and that it is necessary to prepare for the “day after.” It is not enough to confront the regime; we have to think about how the country will be rebuilt when that change occurs.
14ymedio. Your party’s name includes the term “orthodox,” which refers to Cuban political history. What does it mean in your case?
Calzadilla. The term has no connection to the Orthodox Party of the 1940s or to any specific historical figures. It is used in its original sense: returning to the basics, in this case to the principles of classical liberalism. The intention is to make it clear that this is a project centered on ideas such as individual liberty, not on past ideological currents or leftist movements. If there were any name overlap with other organizations, changing it would not be a problem. It is not a question of prominence, but of consistency.
It is a project designed for a democratic Cuba, not for the immediate transition.
14ymedio. What are the fundamental principles of your political proposal?
Calzadilla. It’s a project designed for a democratic Cuba, not for the immediate transition. It’s based on the idea of limiting the role of the State and promoting the free market, private property, and individual initiative.
It also acknowledges that the country is going through a profound crisis, so any transformation will require a complex period of reconstruction. Even so, the goal is to prevent the perpetuation of citizen dependence on the state, because that limits their freedom, even when it comes to voting.
Ultimately, it’s about striving for a society where people can thrive without economic or political constraints, and where decisions are made with genuine freedom. The program’s main points will be presented on May 19th so that anyone interested in joining can do so.
14ymedio. Which sectors of the population is your party trying to reach?
Calzadilla. It is not aimed at any specific group. The idea is for it to be a project for all Cubans, both on and off the island. The defense of individual liberty and economic development should benefit all of society, regardless of differences. It is true that many people initially gravitate toward it out of personal affinity, something common in politics, but the intention is that support be based on the content of the project, not on the person promoting it. The goal is to move from denunciation to concrete solutions.
The existence of multiple projects should not be seen as a problem, but as a natural expression of plurality.
14ymedio. How does your initiative stand in relation to other opposition actors and projects such as the Council for Democratic Transition, which you collaborate with?
Calzadilla. The existence of multiple projects should not be seen as a problem, but as a natural expression of pluralism. In a democracy, different proposals can coexist and even collaborate on common goals.
In my case, I may agree with other actors on issues such as the defense of human rights or the release of political prisoners, but that doesn’t mean all projects have to be integrated or fully compatible. This party isn’t designed for the transition, but for a later scenario.
Ultimately, it will be the citizens who decide which project represents them. The important thing is that real options exist and that the idea that Cuba’s future depends on a single structure or leadership is abandoned.
14ymedio. Does it not seem naive to start a political party without money?
Calzadilla. Yes, you’re absolutely right. But you know what happens? If I don’t believe in this, nobody else will, and what usually happens is that you start certain projects without any funding, and then the funding gradually appears. I can’t speak to current or potential members of the party without having presented them with a funding proposal. Because that’s surreal: people don’t trust you or give you money just like that; sensible people listen to your proposals, they either identify with them or they don’t, and if they do, then they make their respective contributions.
On the other hand, I have the duality and advantage of my communication skills. I want to expand my communication channels so that the money generated will allow me to have more resources available to use for the party as well, as a form of self-financing. It’s not some crazy idea of someone saying, “Well, let’s think about this and see what happens,” knowing full well that everything requires resources. Now, I’m fortunate that there are well-intentioned people around me who are willing, for the moment, not to earn money from this party and still wanting to contribute to it. That alone speaks to the need we Cubans have to participate.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The ‘New York Times’ interviews a descendant of a family of industrialists from Santiago, Cuba, who lost a railroad, a sawmill, a shipyard, a cement factory and a farm, valued at nearly $900 million
Former Babún estate, now home to an Arab civic association in Santiago de Cuba. / Facebook
14ymedio, Madrid, 28 April 2026 / Along with political prisoners and internet access via Starlink, the US government maintains a specific demand in its talks with the Cuban regime: compensation for confiscated properties. The amount totals nearly $9 billion, calculated from an original estimated value of $1.9 billion plus 6% annual interest. The bill is impossible to pay, although Havana has responded: If Washington compensates with the $181 billion it estimates the damage caused by the embargo to be, there will be no problem.
The gap between the two positions is long-standing, and this isn’t the first time an attempt has been made to resolve it, but there has never been an agreement, and as time goes on, the difficulty only widens. Teo A. Babún, Jr., knows this well. He is the heir to a family of industrialists who left the island after the triumph of the Revolution. His grandmother managed a large house in Santiago de Cuba, where eight children and twenty-one grandchildren lived, before she left everything behind.
And that is a lot: a railroad, a sawmill, a shipyard, a cement factory, and the farm. Her assets represent 10% of the amount certified by the State Department in its overall claim, valued at $874.2 million in 2018. “We have to find a solution that protects the current occupants if it’s a home and doesn’t displace anyone. And at the same time, justice must be served,” Babún Jr. acknowledges in a report published Tuesday in The New York Times about this long-standing issue.
Raúl Castro himself came to live on the estate, which is now the Arab House, headquarters of an association with a restaurant included.
Raúl Castro himself lived on the property, which is now the Casa Árabe, headquarters of an association with a restaurant included. Ironically, the Babún family was of Lebanese origin. “If someone owns something and then takes it away without any compensation or recourse, it’s simply not fair. My family just wants justice,” he adds.
At 78, he has finally completed a project he began long ago to create a registry to help the State Department pursue claims. He stopped when he had processed 8,000 cases, which were a drop in the ocean. Of the 6,000 cases certified by Washington, ten involve giants, including five sugar companies. The claimants include such well-known names as Exxon, Coca-Cola, and continue reading
Colgate-Palmolive.
The NYT takes a look back at some of the times a possible solution has been addressed, starting with the one in the 1960s. “Cuba did not have the cash to pay and, instead, offered long-term government bonds, which the United States considered neither a prompt nor an adequate solution,” says William LeoGrande, a professor at American University and author of a book on the history of negotiations between the United States and Cuba.
In the 1990s, several experts put forward different proposals, including the creation of public-private funds to rebuild Cuba’s electrical grid and the use of some of the profits to compensate former owners, according to Jason Poblete, an attorney representing both American and Cuban owners. This type of arrangement worked in countries like Vietnam and Germany, where assets frozen in the U.S. were used to pay claims. This was not the case in the USSR or China, where owners recovered very little.
During the era of the thaw in relations, the Obama administration also attempted to find a solution to the issue, but it failed due to the regime’s disconnect from the reality of the problem. “The Cuban government didn’t seem to understand. They would ask me, ‘Richard, why are you making such a big deal about something that happened 50 or 60 years ago?’” says Richard Feinberg, a researcher at Florida International University who was in Havana to conduct a study on property claims. “This shows how little the Cuban government understood about economics and capitalism. They didn’t understand private property,” he adds.
“This shows how little the Cuban government understood about economics and capitalism. They didn’t understand private property.”
The NYT spoke with other affected individuals, including Lisandro Pérez, a Cuba expert at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in New York and author of a memoir about his family’s home in Cuba. Pérez laments that some Cubans who remained did receive some form of compensation for their losses, which was not the case for him.
Nicolás J. Gutiérrez, a Cuban-American lawyer in Miami, recounts estimated losses of $50 million in 1960. His properties included two sugar mills, 15 cattle ranches, a rice mill, a coffee plantation, a bank, an insurance company, and a wholesale food distribution company.
Now, as a member of the National Association of Cuban Landowners in Exile, he is working on the lawsuit against Expedia for operating hotels built on confiscated land. Although he has never been to Cuba, he believes that if things change, his family will try again to revive the island’s economy.
“We’ve waited a long time for this moment and for the right conditions to arise,” says Enrique Carrillo, heir to the owners of the Santa Cruz rum distillery. “My father worked tirelessly for many years to build the company, and I don’t intend to give up. My family doesn’t intend to abandon its history.”
Meanwhile, a NYT correspondent in Havana visited El Vedado, where Nicolás J. Gutiérrez’s family owned a building. There, neighbors—like the experts themselves—reject the idea of the properties being returned. One of them, Jorge González Amores, is emphatic: “If they left the country, that means they weren’t interested in the building.”
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
For asylum seekers, approval rates have fallen by 99%. / EFE
14ymedio “I can’t go back to Cuba because it’s uninhabitable: there’s no electricity, it’s impossible to find food, and, most importantly, I’m the one supporting my brothers and sisters,” Rosa, an economist in Cuba and a cook in Miami, told the Miami Herald. “However, I can’t get ahead in this country either.” Her case puts a face to a study published this Monday by the Florida newspaper, which confirms the massive drop in green card approvals for Cubans in the US.
Since December 2024, the decline is 99.8%, according to data from the Cato Institute, which emphasizes that the Trump Administration has practically “ended green card concessions for Cubans.” In October 2024, permanent legal residency was approved for 10,000 people from the island, compared to just a few dozen per month at the end of last year.
Simultaneously, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) arrests increased from less than 200 per month at the end of 2024 to about 1,000 per month in the same period of 2025. According to these data, the growth in arrests is 463%.
In January 2026, ICE detained 1,008 Cubans and approved residency for 15 of the 7,086 applicants who filed their applications.
The most extreme contrast occurred precisely in the last month covered by the study: January 2026. That month, ICE detained 1,008 Cubans and approved residency for 15 of the 7,086 applicants who filed their applications. Four were rejected, and the remaining thousands ended up in the vast backlog of Cubans who, like Rosa, are still awaiting a decision that could end very badly for them. continue reading
“A necessary factor for mass deportation is taking away people’s right to stay. And the legal immigration system is the path for people to remain in the United States, which is why they’ve targeted it,” David Bier, director of immigration studies at the Cato Institute, told the Miami Herald . “Once you don’t have legal status and there’s no way for you to stay, you either get deported or you self-deport,” notes the report’s author, who emphasizes that the Trump Administration’s policies attempt to persuade migrants to leave.
The Miami Herald article points out that, although Cubans are among Trump’s most ardent foreign supporters, some of his policies are unpopular. A poll published by the newspaper —conducted by Bendixen & Amandi International and The Tarrance Group—revealed that 79% of Cubans residing in Florida would support a military intervention on the island, while 67% support Trump’s administration.
However, they showed strong rejection (68%) of deportations of undocumented immigrants without criminal records and strongly support (81%) facilitating migration.
The Miami Herald cites Rosa’s case as an example. She arrived from Matanzas in 2023 thanks to one of the Joe Biden Administration’s immigration programs and, after a year in Homestead, with her son’s endorsement, submitted her application to take advantage of the Cuban Adjustment Act.
“I’ve submitted my paperwork, but everything has stalled. This uncertainty is agonizing,” she told the media outlet.
“I’ve submitted my paperwork, but everything has stalled. This uncertainty is agonizing,” she told the media outlet.
The Cato report has detected declines in green card approvals for applicants from all countries, not just Cuba. Overall, the reduction is in half. Furthermore, there has also been a 20% decrease in residency permits granted through family reunification. Even worse is the situation for asylum seekers, whose rates have fallen by 99%.
The delays – also linked to staff cuts, according to Cato – expose hundreds of thousands of people to arrests and possible deportations, as well as constant fear for both them and their employers, who face penalties if they hire undocumented immigrants.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.
The unease of Elier Muir Ávila, father of 16-year-old Jonathan Muir Burgos, arrested for participating in the massive demonstration in the town of Morón in Ciego de Ávila on March 13, escalated this Wednesday after seeing the use of images of the minor by the official platform Razones de Cuba, which violates Cuban law.
Álvarez, the presenter, published a text pointing out the problematic sentences about the opposition celebrity figures referenced in the novel, among which was also the artivist Tania Bruguera. But the text gave prominence to Lumoa, a character inspired by the mutation of Charles Manson and Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara (LMOA). The novel has several narrative voices. In his description of Lumoa, the narrator in question, was accused by Álvarez of being sexist and classist. Interestingly, Álvarez thought this a more serious offence than the incest, violence and murder committed by the protagonists in the rest of a novel where the narrator himself is also “the very expression of uncertainty and failure.”[12] Then, Álvarez makes reference to an excerpt about machismo: “he always kept a brood of women around him,”[13] which rang even more strange since LMOA himself has publicly confessed: “Yes, I care about having money, dressing in my own style, traveling, having women… the good life.”[14] Álvarez also failed to mention that when the book’s protagonist visits Lumoa, he discovers that, in reality, his “brood of women” keeps him doped up in a bed, and one of them informs him: “There is no single leader here. We are a collective.” (La Isla Vertical)
I turn off the monotony of social networks. The virtualities of the postmodern world do not inspire me. On desolate streets, people wander terrified by the new penal code. The science of the future has failed on the island. Some claim that poetry has been buried. Others continue to wait for a new messiah. But I am not into ideologies, parties, religions, political corrections, movements, sects, guilds, herds, or crowds. I could say that one of my creative gratifications is to burn the ships down over and over again. Only I have never needed other people’s ships. The material world is not a priority for me. I know that such an attitude can complicate life, but it facilitates creation. And that is my raison d’être. I am attracted to protagonists who are misfits for a number of reasons that include destabilizing narrative perspective. A good number of audience members expect a film to reinforce their political convictions and are rarely interested in a debate with themselves.
