Protesters in Cuba gather to demonstrate against blackouts, shortages and long waiting lines for food and supplies. Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons.
By Lisett Bonilla ’22
Contributing Writer
After decades of lost hope, Cubans in the island and the diaspora are displaying their flags and chanting for freedom again. For anyone who is unfamiliar with the Cuban struggle for freedom, it’s simple: For 62 years, the Cuban people have endured the oldest dictatorship of the Americas. Fidel Castro’s 1959 revolution forced thousands of Cubans into exile, fractured families and made Cuba an exclusive society: “The streets belong the revolutionaries,” as President Miguel Díaz-Canel said. However, on July 11, 2021, thousands of Cubans have said “basta ya,” or enough is enough. At the heart of Havana, the crowds screamed, demanding “libertad,” or liberty, and a young Cuban boy could be seen waving a flag drenched in blood, possibly from beatings by police and Cuban security forces. As phones were lifted in the air, one could notice protesters were young — tech savvy, one could argue; a new generation exposed to increased internet access, and unafraid to use it in their defense. As a sign of support to those in the island, Cubans around the globe have waved their flags to show pride for the new generations who took to the streets. There is also a desire to see an inclusive Cuba, where human rights are respected and repression is not an option. Still, many wonder how a seemingly peaceful society got to the point of defying such a repressive regime.
I vividly remember, on that Sunday of freedom protests, I had spoken to a friend from central Cuba. In her tone, I could perceive her desperation under the present conditions, her lost hope of recovery after a deep economic and healthcare crisis. I remember she said, “esto se tiene que caer,” or, “this system has to come down.” It was only 30 minutes after our brief conversation I learned through fellow Cubans active on Twitter that massive protests were happening in the island. As the protests became imminent, the regime started to shut down internet access, and I lost communication with all family members. And even though I was relieved to hear fellow Cubans experience freedom for the first time, I was also afraid of the violence initiated by Cuba’s president Miguel Díaz-Canel, who called for combat against peaceful protesters.
Minutes later, it appeared the entire Cuban community outside the island had its eyes on Cuba. Thousands of Cubans from the diaspora mobilized in a few hours, a phenomenon I insist to describe as “esperanza,” or hope. They used their social media platforms to type #SOSCUBA. I was fortunate to be a part of this experience as hundreds of Cubans from my community organized a protest around the statue of our national hero for independence, José Martí. To see so many people united, hoping for a better future for their families on the island, was — to say the least — something I had never dreamed of. Even though I had been to several protests before, demanding freedom for artists and political prisoners in the island, I had never seen so many Cubans united, chanting and praying for freedom. This was truly unprecedented.
On July 11, 2021, as a looming healthcare collapse made its way through Cuba, thousands of protesters took to the streets. The masses chanted phrases familiar to all Cubans: “Libertad,” meaning freedom, and “Patria y Vida,” meaning homeland and life, instead of the revolutionary slogan, “Homeland or Death.” Others demanded food and medicine, expressing, “we are hungry, there is no food,” and “we need vaccines.” Even though Cuba had been praised for its control of COVID-19, reporting low cases due to the closure of borders for six months, this measure was lifted around November 2020. After that period, cases rose substantially, placing it as the country in Latin America with the fifth most cases per capita. The situation quickly escalated due to the lack of medical equipment in hospitals and the current economic crisis. Amongst the masses, one could notice the dominating demographic: younger generations, including teenagers and those most affected by the crisis, predominantly Afro-Cubans from marginalized neighborhoods.
Many of the protesters demanding change do not have any family abroad to save them from Cuba’s severe economic crisis — a crisis caused by the Cuban government's poor management of the economy and reluctance to allow the private sector to flourish. Amongst these are increased sanctions imposed by the U.S. due to Cuba’s meddlings in the Venezuelan crisis. Cuba’s economic crisis was announced in late 2019, but it wasn’t until the COVID-19 pandemic that regular Cubans started to experience the worst of it. Lines for food became a part of daily life, most lasting very long hours with more demand than supplies. A change in the country’s currency system made it difficult to access basic necessities, like soap and shampoo, because they were only sold in foreign currency, such as dollars, which most citizens did not have access to. In the past months, blackouts lasting four hours and more have become routine. Outside of Havana, often known for its privilege and availability of resources, scarcity is constant, and blackouts are a real issue affecting Cubans everyday.
Frankly, as a student of international relations, having dedicated some research and work to Cuba, I am still perplexed at what has happened. Never in my 21 years of life would I have thought people younger than me would take to the streets, even when doing so can cost them several years in prison. But, at the same time, I remember my last trip to Cuba, walking down the streets of San Isidro in Havana, where many fear their roof will fall over their heads in their sleep. I remember watching the children playing in the streets with clothes that had already shrunk on their bodies. The voice of the lady hosting my Airbnb also comes to mind, apologizing that her breakfast is not what it used to be, because she doesn’t have a card with U.S. dollars to enter the stores with the supplies she needs. The Old Plaza of Havana, where there are many restaurants open but few that can afford the food sold, is also with me. I turn my head to the other side because I can’t bear to see the hopeless vendor ask me if I want to buy something. Yet now, for the first time, I have hope, not because I know that many young people are prosecuted for demanding freedom or change, but because I know there is a light in my generation no authoritarian regime can tame.
To conclude, I want to say, “the night will not be eternal,” as the late Cuban opposition leader Oswaldo Payá once said.