VIEWPOINT: Cuba Teeters on the Brink of Collapse

By Alfredo Merat

I just returned from Havana — and the situation is dire. The people seem resigned to their fate.

COVID-19 and inflation have hit harder there than almost anywhere else. For the first time, I was approached by people on the street, asking for food. A couple of teenagers rummaging through garbage simply said one word to me: “Hungry.”

The desperation is palpable, pushing people to their limits. I saw videos on TikTok back in June or July showing people taking to the streets in protest. The response was immediate repression. I was told that those involved were beaten severely or simply disappeared. Both children and adults faced these consequences, and the military — still receiving a relatively stable salary — was used to quash the unrest.

Friends told me about their struggles working in government-run small factories for only 3,000 Cuban pesos per month. Security guards working 24-hour shifts earn even less, around 2,400 pesos.

Many doctors have fled to other countries, while others attempt to escape by flying to visa-free destinations. A list of over 20 countries is available for those willing to sell all they have to buy a plane ticket. From places like Mexico or Nicaragua, they either apply for a visa to the United States or settle in Mexico, where better jobs and wages await. Mexico welcomes Cubans and is happy to receive them.

Some Cubans with family in the United States apply for “parole,” a sponsorship program introduced by the Biden administration. Others seek political asylum. On my flight to Miami, a third of the passengers seemed to be tourists or officials, while the rest were Cuban residents traveling with coveted European passports or proper visas. Many of them return with goods, entering the import-export trade to address the island’s severe shortages of everything from medicine to food to basic consumer goods.

The government largely has abandoned agriculture, directing its meager resources toward the military, select schools, government employees and decaying infrastructure. As I walked through Havana, I saw collapsing buildings just steps away from the iconic National Hotel, a monument that now only accepts digital currency or credit cards.

For solo travelers like me, navigating the island requires cash and connections. At the airport, the official exchange rate is 110 Cuban pesos per dollar. On the black market, it’s 340 pesos per dollar. When I exchanged 100 euros, I received a plastic bag filled with over 34,000 pesos in 50-peso bills. Imagine paying for a meal — two pizzas and a chicken Milanese, costing 6,000 pesos — using only small bills.

In government stores, shelves are often empty. Even local restaurants struggle with shortages. Meanwhile, Russian, Chinese and Canadian tourists continue to flock to Varadero resorts, enjoying man-made white sandy beaches and outdated hotels.

During my stay in Havana, power outages were a daily occurrence, lasting four to five hours. Friends in rural areas reported receiving only three hours of electricity per day, often without warning. They must cook at odd hours, like 2 a.m., if the power happens to be on. Many go hungry, and children in schools are fed poorly.

The government seems unconcerned about agricultural production, and the talent drain of artists, doctors, and skilled workers continues unabated.

The entertainment industry is a shadow of its former self. Television is dominated by poorly acted shows featuring the children of the political elite, while most musicians and artists have fled to Spain, Mexico, or other Latin American countries.

Two weeks ago, a total electrical failure plunged the island into three days of darkness. Food spoiled as refrigerators stopped working, and even hospitals without generators were left inoperable. Patients must bring everything they need — gloves, blood, medications, and even their surgeon.

Health care is in crisis. A person with stage 2 cancer might only receive treatment once they progress to stage 4, by which time survival is unlikely.

Pensioners receive a meager 1,000 to 1,600 pesos per month — the equivalent of about $4 to $5 — while basic items like a sandwich or hamburger cost 1,200 pesos.

Natural disasters further compound the island’s suffering. Recent earthquakes and hurricanes have caused extensive damage. With buildings already in disrepair, a Category 4 or 5 hurricane would be catastrophic.

Foreign investment, once a lifeline, has dried up. Russia sent ships with generators and supplies, but Cuba couldn’t secure the loans needed to complete the transactions. Meanwhile, rumors of Vladimir Putin placing nuclear weapons on the island are growing, as the Cuban government becomes increasingly desperate for survival.

The U.S. Embassy in Havana remains open, but its future is uncertain. Florida U.S. Senator Marco Rubio has advocated for its closure, citing Cuba’s designation as a state sponsor of terrorism. Attempts by the Cuban government to be removed from this list have failed, and human rights conditions remain abysmal.

Cuban banks limit withdrawals to 120,000 pesos per month, per account, barely enough for a family dinner at a restaurant. Long lines form at banks, embassies and government offices, often ending with people being turned away after hours of waiting. Gasoline shortages force people to join WhatsApp wait lists just to refuel.

The mood on the island is grim. People seem resigned to their fate or too afraid to voice dissent. For the first time, I felt unsafe, worrying that my inquiries could attract unwanted attention or consequences.

No one knows the whereabouts of Raúl Castro, or even if he is still alive. The current president appears powerless and ineffective. Corruption is rampant, with the elite and their families enjoying luxuries abroad, while the Cuban people endure unimaginable hardships.

Crime also is on the rise. A friend of mine was mugged in broad daylight by someone armed with a knife, losing his phone and valuables. Even the police are rarely seen, as many officers have left their posts due to low pay and dangerous working conditions.

Despite the chaos, Russian tourists loudly enjoy cigars, rum and the company of locals in resorts far removed from the harsh realities of everyday life. The Cuban government clings to tourism as one of its last sources of income, maintaining a façade of normalcy — while the island teeters on the brink of collapse.

Alfredo Merat is an East Hampton-based musician who recently returned from Cuba, where he recorded his latest album, “Cubanismo Illegal: Songs of Protest.”