‘We can’t take it anymore’: How Trump is pushing Cuba to the brink
‘We can’t take it anymore’: How Trump is pushing Cuba to the brink
A Cuban man approached me on the street, his voice a hushed whisper as though revealing a secret long kept. “Let the Americans come, let Trump come, it’s time to get this over with,” he said, nearly inaudible. This remark carries risk in Cuba — particularly as a U.S. president intensifies pressure on the island in a manner not seen since the Cold War era. I glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping, and checked if my cameraman, documenting the transportation crisis, was close enough to capture his words. “We can’t take it anymore,” he added, “People can’t feed their families.”
A Nation Under Strain
For over six decades, since Fidel Castro’s revolutionaries seized Havana, the island has endured a series of crises: CIA-led attempts to overthrow the government, the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, and waves of mass departures. Now, Donald Trump’s policies threaten to add another chapter. “Cuba is going to fall soon,” Trump declared to CNN’s Dana Bash on Friday, a statement that feels more urgent than the histrionics of past U.S. leaders. The swift and targeted oil embargo has exacerbated the island’s already struggling economy, cutting off vital resources with startling efficiency.
Cuba’s Silent Struggle
Trump’s administration has already launched aggressive measures against Venezuela and Iran. In his second term, these efforts have set a precedent for what’s coming next. The Cuban government, resilient through decades of U.S. sanctions and internal challenges, now faces renewed threats. Unlike the 1962 missile crisis, which blocked ships from reaching the island, Trump’s tactics focus on economic suffocation. The result? A collapse in oil imports from Havana’s last reliable allies. New government-funded hotels, once symbols of prosperity, now sit vacant or shuttered. Employees have been laid off, and tourists have vanished — leaving the city with no fuel to sustain its flights.
“Cuba is not alone,” echoes the government’s slogan, yet the island appears as isolated as it did after the Soviet Union’s dissolution. Power outages, once brief, now stretch for days. Cubans rise at night to cook and iron clothes under flickering lights, a ritual born from necessity. During a recent 36-hour blackout, a group of men cooked a stew over burning tree limbs on a Havana street. “We have returned to the Stone Age,” one man remarked with unexpected cheer.
The Cost of Survival
With fuel scarce, few cars remain on the road. Government-issued T-Plate vehicles — leased to tourists — are the only ones consistently refueled at state stations. Cubans siphon the gas, selling it on the black market for prices exceeding $300 per tank — a sum surpassing the annual income of many. Scavenging through trash for food has become a daily norm, sometimes involving children. Despite claims that Havana seeks a deal to ease the crisis, officials insist the U.S. will not dictate terms again. The government still rallies with the cry, “The homeland or death. We will be victorious!”
When my cameraman finally rejoins me, I ask if the taxi driver is willing to voice his concerns for the story. He turns away quickly, choosing to keep his frustrations muted. For now, he prefers to speak in whispers, as if the very act of expressing dissent carries the weight of a revolution waiting to ignite.
