This interview was conducted by El Estornudo on June 23, 2025, with Raymar Aguado. Aguado is an artist and activist with Socialismo Crítico, a left-wing Cuban group that opposes the Castro dictatorship. In this interview, Raymar discusses the recent student mobilization in Cuba, expanding the conversation beyond the art scene on the island.
By Senén Alonso Alum
Raymar Aguado Hernández was born in Havana in October 2000. He became interested in art and literature at an early age. In 2019, he enrolled in the Faculty of Psychology at the University of Havana (UH), but he only studied until his third year. “I left the program in 2022 for several reasons,” he tells me. “The main reason was all the chaos that ensued with ‘La Peor Generación.'”
In October of that year, a group of young Cuban authors planned to present a volume of their own writings. The collection included chronicles, essays, narratives, and poetry. Among the members were Lisbeth Moya, Julio Llópiz-Casal, Adriana Fonte, Hamed Toledo, Manu de la Cruz, Jairo Aróstegui, Mel Herrera, Ricardo Acostarana, and Alexander Hall.The literary panel on which the anthology was to be “premiered,” coordinated by bookseller Alejandro Mainegra and Raymar Aguado, was postponed several times until it was finally canceled.
La Peor Generación (which can be translated as “The Worst Generation”) was, before and after, a gesture—an unfinished gesture—that liminal or sublime space where weariness and rupture often coincide.
“Those were weeks of intense pressure from State Security,” says Raymar Aguado, who was a visual arts specialist and critic with the Hermanos Saíz Association (AHS) at the time. “They sent me threats through friends or people involved in the issue.” After these events, he requested to leave the AHS and abandoned his institutional responsibilities. “The association officials who confronted me didn’t even have the decency to respond to what was happening.” For state bureaucrats, such a scenario seems the least compromising: a “voluntary resignation.” Either way, his “sentence had been handed down.”
Raymar Aguado has been writing for independent online media outlets for years. He published an article about the AHS National Congress in La Joven Cuba that caused a “tremendous uproar.”
Over the next three years, his opposition to the Cuban regime grew stronger. In June 2025, following the “tarifazo” (rate hike) imposed on June 1 by the Empresa de Telecomunicaciones de Cuba S.A. (Etecsa), he became one of the most prominent voices supporting the university protests against the measure. Aguado has aligned himself with student discontent, the most recent symptom of the country’s socio-political weariness. As a result, State Security has interrogated him and accused him of being a “mercenary,” a “worm,” and a “failure.” He remains steadfast and will not back down.
Raymar Aguado is currently pursuing a degree in Humanities at the Félix Varela Center in Havana.
In your Instagram bio, you identify yourself as an “eternal student,” among other things. Is this why you supported the Cuban university students’ strike against Etecsa’s rate hike? In other words, are your motivations solely based on your affiliation with certain groups, or is there something more universal in your motivations?
My support for the student strike is simply an extension of my activism. As an activist and a Cuban citizen affected by the Etecsa rate hike, staying on the sidelines of such an important event was never an option. Of course, there is also generational sympathy that influences how much I identify with those who had the courage to take action in their university classrooms, which will undoubtedly have consequences. We know the Cuban state’s repressive apparatus never hesitates to retaliate against any sign of rebellion.
I will always be a student. I believe it is the fairest price for people like me—intruders who are uncomfortable everywhere and have no respect for dogma or convention. We are conflictive by nature and by luck. Without friction, there can be no growth.
Anyway, I am now 24 years old. I should have graduated with a degree in psychology about two years ago, if not for my decision to drop out in 2022. Multiple factors led me to act impulsively at that time. One of those factors was the pressure exerted by the Department of State Security (DSE) against me and several others involved in the literary panel La Peor Generación (LPG). At the time, I didn’t know how to deal with the threats, and unfortunately, paranoia got the better of me. During my last interrogation, one of the officers reminded me that I “was not and never would be” a university student and that they had already expelled me from the University of Havana.
This is why supporting this generation of university students who led the strike is essential. By standing by their side, sharing experiences and advice, and implementing support protocols, students will be less vulnerable to repression and to desperate ideas, such as dropping out of their studies. There are other ways to outsmart and confront the repressors.
Was the student strike merely a protest against Etecsa’s monopolistic arbitrariness, or are there other interpretations of this event? In other words, would everything have returned to “normal” if Etecsa had reinstated the previous, more affordable rates?
There are many interpretations of the strike. Some are blunt and simplistic, while others are overly optimistic. But the truth is that the strike happened. Perhaps it did not happen on the expected scale, and perhaps it did not achieve its objectives. Still, the mere occurrence was a victory against political arbitrariness in Cuban universities.
The strike was a total victory for Cuban university students. In three or four days, the DSE and various officials were running around most universities trying to explain the rate hike. This measure, like any impoverishing and arbitrary adjustment, has no justification other than violence. This led to the repression and intimidation of students, the blackmailing of family members, the threat of expulsion, and the incitement to emigrate—in short, the coercive practices typical of Cuban authoritarianism.
The strike ended, perhaps prematurely. But it was stopped by the influence and dirty tricks of the state’s repressive instruments. This is why the deceitful “victory” over the students means nothing more than another chapter of the political power’s arbitrariness over the people. In a totalitarian context like ours, any popular movement that exists at all can be considered a victory. Fear, legal helplessness, and the impunity with which the government acts were defeated. The false narrative of well-being imposed by the government, the discourse of social benefit, and the supposed support of the majority were defeated.
As the repressive scenario was predictable, the fight was no longer against the rate hike from the moment faculties such as MATCOM (Mathematics and Computing) at the UH declared a strike, but rather against repression and its consequences. Little or nothing was achieved beyond the symbolic level. However, it is an unprecedented milestone in the history of Cuba over the past 60 years. In terms of realpolitik, little or nothing was achieved on July 11, 2021, except in the history of Cuba under Castro.
Are students a strong or organized enough civil subject to achieve “change” in Cuba, whatever that may mean?
That is a difficult question because, as you rightly point out, what constitutes “change” in Cuba? Furthermore, how would you measure it? If we compare Raúl Castro’s presidency with Fidel Castro’s, we find many differences. For example, the economic and political models were substantially different. They had nothing in common, not even at the level of discourse. One could almost say that Raúl built everything his brother rejected. On the other hand, can we say that anything changed in Cuba beyond illusions? Authoritarianism, the disproportionate enrichment of the military caste (which also became entrepreneurial under Raúl), the precariousness of most people, extractivism, and economic dependence on monopolies or other regimes continued. In short, nothing changed, yet everything was different. The same can be said of the Díaz-Canel period.
This “change” is too abstract to measure, too symbolic and subjective to define. Events such as “Words to the Intellectuals,” Playa Girón (Bay of Pigs), the Literacy Campaign, the October Crisis, the blockade/embargo, the microfaction, the Escambray Cleanup, the Ten Million Ton Sugar Harvest, the Padilla case, the 1971 Congress on Education and Culture, the 1976 Constitution, the events at the Peruvian embassy, the Mariel exodus, the fall of the USSR, the rafter crisis, and the Special Period, El Maleconazo, the Eliánn González case, Raúl Castro’s interim takeover in 2006, the 2011 guidelines, GAESA, normalization of relations with the United States, the Obama era, Trump’s first term, the March 11 Pride march in Prado, the pandemic, the San Insidro Movement (MSI), the November 27 protests, economic restructuring, January 11 and the subsequent cycle of protests, an unprecedented mass exodus, and the current structural crisis…are all events that have meant change in every sense of the word.
A change of government or the end of the Castro regime is another matter entirely. I sincerely do not believe it will start with the student body. However, at the point Cuba is at, any spark could be the catalyst needed to ignite the popular movement that will dethrone Castroism.
What has the University Student Federation (FEU) become?
For decades, the FEU has been an appendage dependent on the dictates of the UJC (Union of Young Communists), which is an extension of the authoritarian PCC (Cuban Communist Party). In short, the FEU is a dysfunctional organization that survives on government impositions, subsidies for ideological activities, and the perks its senior officials receive. It is sad to see an organization with a long tradition of student struggle become a tool of a regime that denies students their rights while silencing and repressing them.
This is why the impact of the student strike is so significant. For at least a few days, the FEU—or at least part of it—aspired to be a bastion of rebellion for the student body once again. Those who claim that the FEU and the political powers that be had already agreed upon it are speaking out of ignorance. It bothers me to see opinion makers bring up pseudoscientific and misinformed texts about the strike without having the decency or courage to go to universities and learn the truth from students.
The strike was an organic movement that arose from within the student body. As part of the FEU, the student body has significant legal tools for confronting political power. It’s easy to criticize from a position of comfort and question the legitimacy of their demands to organizations controlled by the state. It is difficult to be a university student in Cuba and expose yourself to a government that hides behind convenient narratives to clean up its image, such as its supposed support for students.
After the student strike, you shared videos in solidarity with Cuban university students that were sent by progressive collectives in Latin America. Who are they? Are you the link between these groups and Cuba? Much of the left on our continent has, at some point in its political existence, supported or subscribed to Castroism, at least in terms of its media presence or official discourse. What has changed, if anything, to make some spokespeople take a stand against the Cuban government now?
Like the right, the left is not monolithic or uniform in all its variants. Naturally, there are nuances, different philosophical approaches, rival groups, and conflicting agendas. In short, talking about “the left of the continent” is like talking about people who wear Nike sneakers in Patagonia. This is not descriptive because there is no sample study; we are not talking about something specific. Can I say that people who wear Nike sneakers are athletic? Of course not. Therefore, saying that “the left of the continent” has historically been pro-Castro ignores the infinite differences between leftist groups in Latin America. This homogenization is all too common in the independent Cuban press. It shows a total ignorance of the political stances of many leftist groups, their relationships with Castroism, and their programs for the struggle with respect to Cuba.
First, I would like to review some history. From the early years of the revolution, Castroism’s most staunch critics were left-wing groups, including Trotskyists, anarchists, and socialists. Even before 1959, these groups firmly opposed the authoritarian, Stalinist Popular Socialist Party (PSP). Many leaders of the PSP would define the political and party lines of the new government. Notable among these groups are the members of the Trotskyist Revolutionary Workers’ Party (POR-T). Since its founding in February 1960, the POR-T has opposed the government’s top-down measures imposed on the working class and Castroism’s authoritarian approach to promoting the revolutionary project. They denounced the exclusion of popular sectors and the working class from decisions regarding production models and labor processes. They also pointed to centralization and arbitrary state planning as the main causes of low production rates in the early years. Additionally, they called for trade union independence from the state, the establishment of workers’ and popular democracy, and the right to a multiparty system and freedom of expression.
Castro quickly responded with repression to these uncompromising positions, an essential formula for the imposition and subsequent maintenance of the regime. In 1960, a union purge removed thousands of representatives elected by their rank and file in 1959 and replaced them with more compliant ones. This unmistakable feature of Stalinist authoritarianism sparked left-wing opposition. Even Che Guevara, one of the highest-ranking opponents in those years, denounced the lack of union democracy that had been imposed and the pantomime that emerged in its place. To prove this, one need only study his reports, economic and strategic analyses, public debates, and correspondence with Fidel Castro and other leaders.
In 1960, the same year, the firm Trotskyist opposition to the creation of a single party uniting the M-26-7 (July 26 Movement), the Revolutionary Directorate, and the PSP unleashed massive state persecution against Trotskyism, particularly against the POR-T. PSP officials mainly carried out this persecution, accusing the Trotskyists of being provocateurs, instigators of US aggression, instruments of the FBI and the CIA, and counterrevolutionaries. These are classic labels that have been repeated throughout the history of the regime to discredit Trotskyists.
Furthermore, the Bay of Pigs invasion in 1961 served as an excuse to accelerate the repression of Trotskyism politically. They censored the tenth issue of the POR-T newspaper Voz Proletaria, confiscated printing plates and other equipment, and attempted to ban Leon Trotsky’s book The Permanent Revolution.
Che Guevara was one of the main architects of this campaign. He tried numerous times to discredit the Cuban Trotskyist movement, calling its members “subversives” and denying them their civil rights. However, he later had to retract his statements when his own position began to clash with institutionalized Stalinism. In 1964, he rescued several victims of the 1961 Trotskyist witch hunt and the purge carried out the following year by Aníbal Escalante. The repression of Trotskyism took various forms, including expulsion from workplaces, internment in forced labor camps, compulsory exile, arrests, criminal penalties, intimidation, physical violence, and public ridicule. In short, these were the totalitarian practices that Castroism continued to employ for decades.
By 1966, without Che Guevara’s internal support—he had matured politically with regard to Stalinism and could undoubtedly be considered one of its greatest enemies by then—the repressive weight against Trotskyism and the rest of the leftist opposition rested with Fidel Castro himself. Castro described Trotskyism as “that discredited thing, that anti-historical thing, that fraudulent thing that emanates from elements proven to be at the service of Yankee imperialism, such as the program of the Fourth International.” Fidel’s interest in these groups on the island stemmed from his increasingly close relationship with the USSR and the ideological dependence it imposed. With Castro’s protection, PSP leaders such as Blas Roca and Lázaro Peña launched another offensive against the left, knowing they could act with impunity. This led to new imprisonments. After 1966, the repression of Trotskyism and its affiliates was repeated countless times.
Anarchism fared even worse, having been banned by the new government in 1960. They were expelled from the Confederation of Cuban Workers, now the Cuban Workers’ Central (CTC). Anarchists’ and libertarian socialists’ opposition to Castroism stems from anarchism’s fundamental principle of horizontality, which is completely contrary to the totalitarian practices that took root in Cuba even in the early years of the Revolution. Many anarchist militants were imprisoned with harsh sentences of up to 20 years for alleged “counterrevolutionary activities”; some were sentenced to death or life imprisonment. Another number died in suspicious circumstances: in prison, a few days after being released, or alone in their homes. Many more died in suspicious circumstances: in prison, a few days after being released, or alone in their homes. From the beginning of the Revolution, the PSP’s alliance with the state was dedicated to eradicating anarchist militancy in Cuba, as it was a left-wing position contrary to the centralized and authoritarian Stalinism to which the Castro leadership would cling.
Cuban anarchism had a long tradition of worker and student struggles during the republican era. The movement achieved significant civil rights victories in the 1930s and 1940s and played a crucial role in overthrowing the Machado and Batista dictatorships. Additionally, it demonstrated incredible assertiveness in finding horizontal and democratic solutions to the people’s problems. Thus, Cuban anarchism posed a threat not only to Castroism but also to the emerging totalitarian system.
Nevertheless, the efforts undertaken during the second decade of the 21st century, particularly by groups centered around the Alfredo López Libertarian Workshop and the ABRA social space, demonstrated that the anarchist spirit remained alive in Cuba. Despite constant harassment and repression by the political police and the DSE, this movement left behind valuable lessons in self-management and ways to undermine authoritarian bureaucracy.
A notable example is the abrupt closure of the Marxist magazine Pensamiento Crítico by the DSE in 1971, accompanied by the dissolution of the Philosophy Department at the University of Havana. Founded in 1967 by the Grupo de la Calle K, this magazine was a space for philosophical, political, and economic debate that brought together intellectuals linked to the Department of Philosophy and Letters. What was their crime? They rigorously applied Marxist and post-Marxist economic and philosophical analyses to the management of the self-proclaimed socialist government. They also critically analyzed every detail of the political, social, and cultural landscape of the island. According to the Sovietized and static model promoted by Castroism, the influence of heterodox Marxism on Cuban youth and intellectuals always represented a danger. Official propaganda accused the magazine of being “revisionist and counterrevolutionary,” and its members were ostracized and subjected to political blackmail. The main objective of the attack on Pensamiento Crítico was to eliminate spaces for socialist positions that diverged from the institutional narrative.
After the events of the “Padilla case,” much of the international left, especially in Latin America, broke with Castroism. Thus, little by little, Castroism has lost its mask and has found it increasingly difficult to hide from international opinion. This is especially true since the revolutionary mystique that made Cuba a tourist attraction for the international left, mainly in Europe and the United States, is now a distant memory. The remaining expressions of support for Castroism within the left mainly come from Stalinist groups that spout revolutionary rhetoric more as a way of being “cool” than as a way of being consistent or sincerely committed to the left.
I won’t discuss the support of groups affiliated with Latin American progressivism, such as Peronism (Kirchnerism), Chavism, Correísmo, Bolivia’s MAS, Brazil’s PT, and the rest of so-called “21st-century socialism,” because their members don’t consider themselves leftist, and none of their practices align with socialist principles.
The groups that expressed solidarity with the student strike are mostly anti-Stalinist leftist collectives from Latin America and other countries around the world that are also anti-authoritarian and democratic. They oppose models such as Castroism and other centralized bureaucracies or militarized dictatorships, like those of Ortega-Murillo and Maduro. In their respective countries, these groups represent a significant opposition to ruling parties. Some have gained substantial political influence through coalitions. For example, the Left Front in Argentina won one of the top seats in the primaries in the last election. These groups have a historic link to Cuba, especially the Trotskyist wing, which has opposed Castroism since the 1960s following the repressive crackdown on Cuban movements.
Recently, the connection between the internationalist leftist movement and the Cuban case has intensified following the popular protests of July 11, 2021. Left-wing groups opposed to Castroism have emerged, including the Socialist Affiliation in Struggle, of which I am a member. Working with various organizations on the international left has enabled us to carry out numerous actions within Cuba, including supporting families of political prisoners, launching campaigns against repression and for the release of activists and prisoners of conscience, publishing texts and statements on the current situation in Cuba in the international press, and releasing the book Cuba 11J. Contrahegemonic Perspectives on Social Protests (Marx21.net, 2023) was coordinated by Alexander Hall Lujardo and aims to dismantle the government’s narrative on the July 2021 protests in the eyes of the international community. Mass collectives, such as the International Socialist League (LIS), the International Workers’ League–Fourth International (LIT-CI), the Socialist Workers’ Movement (MST), Marx21, the International Socialist Current (IST), and the International Workers’ Unity–Fourth International (UIT-CI), as well as various student organizations—from which the videos in support of the strike were sent—support the people of Cuba and the political collectives on the island constantly and selflessly.
For example, we are currently collaborating with the LIS on a campaign to free political prisoners. This campaign is a continuation of an initiative from about two years ago that resulted in the release of approximately 200 political prisoners held by the Ortega-Murillo dictatorship in Nicaragua. This campaign has the support of international judges, high-ranking officials from human rights and international organizations, and countless left-wing political figures and leaders. This campaign is a significant step in undermining Castroism. For years, the LIS has engaged in diplomatic efforts regarding Cuba, primarily focusing on political prisoners but also addressing censorship, persecution, and international smear campaigns against activists. To this end, the LIS has carried out actions in front of Cuban consulates in several countries and submitted reports on the Cuban situation to the relevant authorities. Likewise, the LIS and other organizations support exiles and victims of systems such as Castro’s. They collaborate with activists on the island against precariousness and authoritarianism to promote democratization and justice in Cuba.
The solidarity of the international left is not an “unusual” or isolated gesture, as several independent media outlets and the right-wing opposition have portrayed it. Rather, it is the result of many years of struggle against impoverishing, anti-democratic, anti-popular, and anti-worker systems like the Cuban regime, which paints itself as “socialist” while starving, repressing, silencing, and impoverishing its people. Much of the press and many sectors of the opposition have failed to research the work of the left against Castroism. Because of this lack of research and support for left-wing activists like me, we have often found ourselves vulnerable to state repression. Only our dignity and determination have kept us standing.
A few days ago, I mentioned in a WhatsApp group that, since my first interrogation by the DSE several years ago when I was still a teenager, the harassment and repression against me has only increased. Throughout these experiences, my left-wing political stance has often been used by many people, primarily activists, as an excuse not to support me. For years, other friends and I have been exposed, sometimes having to give in so that we are not permanently wiped off the map. However, we have a clear conscience and are willing to give our lives to the bitter end.
Disagreeing with Castroism from the left is a politically consistent position.
You always document your encounters with Cuba’s State Security apparatus in great detail, whether on social media or other platforms. Is there a special reason for this? How many times have you been interrogated? Why? Are you afraid?
About two years ago, in the lead-up to Professor Alina Bárbara López Hernández‘s unjust trial, several of us who had accompanied her in her political activities were summoned for questioning by DSE officers. Others were surrounded by police at their homes to prevent them from moving freely. I received a summons to the Zanja y Dragones unit in Havana, where First Lieutenant Evelio was waiting for me.
As usual, that day Evelio made countless threats and told me that from that moment on, they would be watching my every move and nothing would escape them. In response to such insolence, I could only be more insolent. I told him that from that moment on, my life would be public and no detail of it would be off social media. I was then taken in a patrol car to my home, where I was detained without freedom of movement until “further notice.” That is where my autobiographical task began (hahaha).
Before November 2023, I had three meetings with DSE officers and was harassed during the LPG panel. At the time, I thought making public accusations would leave me vulnerable to repressive powers. However, I then discovered that the opposite was true: only public denunciation guarantees a certain degree of protection against the state’s coercive apparatus. This way, the independent and international press, as well as activists and observers, can be aware of the situation and denounce it. This is one of the most effective ways to confront repression. For this reason, I will always publicly denounce any attempt at state violence against me.
It is also a way of showing the Cuban people that confronting the DSE and other repressive state agencies is not an impossible task, despite the legitimate fear of repression. Castroism and its henchmen have always portrayed themselves as impenetrable and unbreakable to the world and to us. However, the work of many activists belies this pseudo-triumphalism, which survives only through blackmail and threats. Confronting a repressive power requires solid convictions, of course, but above all, it requires a comprehensive sense of justice. I no longer keep count of how many times I have been interrogated. It has happened many times for various reasons. Each time I leave an interrogation, I am convinced it will not be the last.
You always feel fear, though it becomes less intense. The day will come when I will feel no fear at all. As I always say, when you fight for dignity and justice, there can be no fear.
Now, let’s talk about words. Carlos Manuel Álvarez wrote in Los intrusos (Anagrama, 2023): “Both those who did not dare to say anything and those who believed that something had to be said were slaves.” Earlier in the text, Álvarez explicitly refers to the term “dictatorship,” a word that is constantly disputed in the Cuban public sphere. Is it necessary to use this or similar words to describe the island’s government? Why don’t some progressive leaders use it, even though they acknowledge that the Cuban state “is not democratic”? Do you use the term?
There is an authoritarian, repressive, and anti-democratic military regime in Cuba, which is undeniable. Whether to call it a dictatorship is disputed due to the term’s manipulation in relation to regimes that are just as evil or worse than Castro’s.
The so-called New Right has revived the somewhat sexualized fetishization of regimes such as Franco’s and Pinochet’s under the misinformed argument that they were not dictatorships but rather governments that “saved their countries from the evil of communism.” This explains why they support the programs and rhetoric of authoritarian, repressive, and anti-democratic leaders such as Nayib Bukele, Javier Milei, and Viktor Orbán. They idolize figures like Donald Trump and aspire to be like others such as Elon Musk. This reactionary rise is symptomatic of the erosion and near collapse of Western liberal democracies, as well as the persistence of models like the one in Cuba.
The term “dictatorship” loses all descriptive rigor when used to describe Miguel Díaz-Canel’s mandate in Cuba but not Rafael Videla’s in Argentina. Similarly, the adjective “dictator” is used to describe Gustavo Petro in Colombia, who was democratically elected under his country’s laws, yet not used to describe Nayib Bukele, who is serving an unconstitutional, highly repressive mandate contrary to Salvadoran law. When Castroism is unequivocally labeled a “dictatorship,” while Pinochetism, the Argentine Military Junta, and other regimes established and sponsored by U.S. policies in Latin America during Operation Condor are referred to as “military governments,” the term “dictatorship” loses its meaning and becomes an opportunistic and malicious instrument of discursive manipulation.
I would like to pause on the case of Augusto Pinochet, who came to power in September 1973 by staging a coup d’état against Chile’s democratically elected government led by Salvador Allende. I focus on this case because the new right touts it the most, arguing that it gave rise to the “free market” and “saved” the Chilean economy.
Pinochet’s government was a pantomime designed and directed by the evil mastermind behind the world we know today: Henry Kissinger. Chile was the neoliberal project that would serve as an example for expansion into Argentina, Brazil, Uruguay, Paraguay, and, to a certain extent, Peru during the Condor Plan. Then, it was implemented on a global scale from the 1980s onward. This process involved extractive dependence and widespread impoverishment, and murderous governments ensured its effectiveness.
For example, poverty in Pinochet’s Chile never fell below 40 percent of the population. It reached its peak during the five-year period from 1980 to 1985, remaining at around 45 percent until 1987. A huge crisis occurred in 1982 when “economic growth”—so applauded by Pinochet—was -12 percent. Not to mention the management of mining, labor and wage rights, and the nationalization of companies and banks for subsequent sale to foreign investors. It was akin to selling the country off piece by piece while torturing, murdering, and impoverishing its citizens. The death toll from politically motivated killings during the Pinochet regime exceeded 2,000 people, including 150 minors. More than 1,000 people disappeared, and hundreds of thousands were exiled. Similarly, during Argentina’s dictatorship, between 15,000 and 30,000 people were killed or disappeared. In Brazil, there were more than 430 deaths and disappearances, as well as more than 8,000 other victims of direct state action.
The same is happening in the contemporary era. Pathetic figures like Javier Milei receive frenzied applause while their countries become poorer. They impose discriminatory measures, commit economic fraud, repress the civilian population and opposition organizations, and censor and impose ideological frameworks. Yet, the media and the hegemonic press do not dare describe them as authoritarian. What can be said about Benjamin Netanyahu in Israel? Over the past year and a half, he has been responsible for the deaths of over 60,000 people in Gaza, approximately 20,000 of whom were under the age of 18. He leads a militarized country with compulsory military service regardless of gender. He is the main architect of the most reckless military crises in recent years. He represses those who oppose his policies and maintains a state of apartheid against the Palestinian civilian population. So, is Netanyahu a dictator? Western opinion rarely questions this when Netanyahu is more accurately described as a genocidal maniac
Many people in the United States and Europe call Hugo Chávez, Néstor Kirchner, Cristina Kirchner, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, and Rafael Correa dictators. Meanwhile, they tremble at the slightest suggestion of pointing out the crimes against humanity committed by governments such as those of the United States and Israel. This is why we hear people shout the word “dictator” as if saying it explains everything. “Fidel was a dictator!” Yes, of course; there’s no doubt about that. But dare to say that Pinochet was a dictator, that Franco was a dictator, that Netanyahu is a dictator, or that the foreign policy of the United States is the deadliest dictatorship of the contemporary era. To not recognize this is to be dishonest, to ignore history, and to be anchored in the opportunism of a discourse in which we call someone a dictator whenever it suits us, regardless of whether they actually are one.
Cuba is ruled by a military, business, and partisan dictatorship. To claim otherwise is to ignore the reality the island has endured for decades. However, it is biased and despicable to label Castroism as such while applauding or justifying other much more authoritarian, repressive, impoverishing, and deadly regimes and systems of government. It’s a matter of ethics and historical accuracy. Words are a technology at the service of power, which is why knowing how to use them is an act of courage.
In one of your social media posts, you talk about “taking a partial stance against the injustices of the world.” You mention Cuba, Palestine, Haiti, Sudan, the Congo, and Trump’s anti-immigration policies in the United States. You also assert that “activism is consistency and political dignity.” What do you mean by this?
If there is one thing that Castroism has imposed on us, it is the false exceptionalist identity with which Cuba is always portrayed. This practice has been adopted by both the historical opposition sectors in exile and a large part of the population. Under this logic, within the bipolar game of extremes in which we find ourselves, Cuba is either the worst dictatorship in Latin American history or the greatest Western revolution. In either case, laughter would be understandable.
The established narrative that Cuba’s problems are insurmountable, that life would be better anywhere else, and that Castroism is one of humanity’s worst evils, is an institutionalized “truth” in many opinion forums and in part of the independent press. This press fights against the triumphalism of the official media. Ultimately, we are witnessing a preposterous performance in which all the world’s evils rest in Cuba or in the sacred bonanza of an ever-victorious revolution. This is why it is so difficult to stop focusing on Cuba and pay attention to the realities of other regions, where life is a daily struggle for survival, as in the examples you cite.
In Palestine, mainly in Gaza, the population has suffered one of the greatest crimes of the 21st century for more than 600 days. As I mentioned, the State of Israel and its genocidal policies have killed more than 60,000 people, including 20,000 children, under the guise of “fighting terrorism.” They have wounded hundreds of thousands more, left a region in ruins with daily bombings, used hunger as a weapon of war, prevented the entry of humanitarian aid, murdered journalists, doctors, and volunteers from UN organizations, and committed every imaginable act of violence. Nevertheless, much of the Cuban opposition and the right wing align with and subscribe to the victimizing narratives of the Israeli government and its spokespersons. They use lies to justify the dehumanization, apartheid, and death that they impose on the Palestinian people.
This is a consequence of the ignorance, indoctrination, and lack of objectivity to which they are subjected. They apply arbitrary rules of three: “If the Cuban government supports Palestine, and I am against the Cuban government, then I am against Palestine.” For this type of person, it is easier to compare Fidel to Hitler than to recognize that the State of Israel is committing genocide in Palestine. Although this comparison is absurd, it is nonetheless dangerous for this country’s future and its aspirations to live in democracy.
Similar situations are happening in the Congo, Sudan, and Haiti, as you mentioned. Very few people in our country can speak objectively about what is happening in these regions, where unimaginable crimes against humanity are occurring. In the Congo alone, more than ten million people have died from murder, famine, and forced labor in the last 20 years. Human trafficking, child labor, and slavery are rampant in different areas of the country, which are controlled by paramilitary groups financed by multinational corporations such as Apple. Apple is being accused in international courts of incorporating so-called “blood minerals” into its products. Other companies, such as Tesla, Xiaomi, and Huawei, have also been singled out for similar reasons.
Sudan and Haiti are experiencing killing and ethnic cleansing disguised as “civil war.” Foreign powers finance paramilitary guerrillas or regular armies to create internal chaos and destabilization. The death toll and number of displaced persons are extremely high, and the chances of redress are practically nil.
As I wrote a few days ago in the aforementioned article, opposition to various oppressive forces cannot be based on sectoral interests or ideological or strategic convenience. Honest dissent must be directed at all instances of power. Solidarity that ignores different types of oppressive systems and models, or justifies different types of atrocities, is neither real nor sincere.
For example, it is hypocritical to show “solidarity” with Cuban students and the Cuban people facing Etecsa’s rate hikes while applauding the Trump administration’s repressive measures against students and various opposition groups in the United States. Likewise, “solidarity” would not be sincere in the opposite case.
Similarly, it is meaningless to express opposition to Castroism while supporting other authoritarian and repressive regimes, such as those led by Nayib Bukele in El Salvador and Javier Milei in Argentina. Similarly, it is hypocritical to call for “solidarity” with Cubans while supporting Trump’s anti-immigration policies and dehumanizing treatment of Latin American immigrants.
Taking a partial stance on the injustices of the world is hypocritical. This is especially true when there is an ongoing genocide against the Palestinian people, the systematic and murderous exploitation of the Congolese people, and a massacre disguised as a “civil war” against the people of Sudan and Haiti.
The goal is to raise awareness that structural violence is not isolated; most—though not all—are interconnected and driven by the same logic of exploitation and subjugation. These paradigms of domination seek to create divisions among people based on class, geography, politics, race, ethnicity, gender, identity, and other factors. No one is exempt from the hardships suffered in other regions or latitudes. Remaining on the sidelines is naive and denotes a lack of empathy and humanity.
Cubans must unlearn the false notion that we are the center of the world and that we have been given the best or the worst. We must learn to look beyond our own interests to understand reality and recognize that Castroism is not the only evil threatening the island.
In addition to being an activist and a perpetual student, you are also an art critic. You relentlessly defend the “aesthetic/identity” facet of reparto music. Unfortunately, the artists of this genre are not the most committed to social causes. There are a few exceptions, such as Axere, who wrote the song “La hora” in honor of the students who led the strike. Conversely, influential artists such as Bebeshito, Charly, and Johayron prefer to avoid commenting on what is happening on the island. Even so, do you still believe that “reparto is the voice of the people, the voice of Cuba,” as you wrote a couple of years ago?
Reparto is not disconnected from the country’s political reality; it never has been, and it never will be. Reparto largely narrates and measures the social climate on the island. It takes on and describes the rhythm of Cuban neighborhoods, where most people live and survive. The exegesis of a country that goes beyond Castroism is constructed from there because the reparto operates from deep within Cuba, from unexplored areas, and from spaces of total exceptionality. Reparto knows what is happening in Cuba, which is why it amplifies and combats in different ways. However, “enlightened” activists deem anything inefficient or nonexistent if it does not align with their paradigms. Nothing could be further from that canon than the reparto.
I think it’s important to clarify that reparto is not just the pa-pa-pau-pa-pa and the surrounding aesthetic phenomenon. It is much more than that. In fact, it’s an artistic translation of a lifestyle and a peripheral reality that much of the opposition ignores. This no-man’s-land is denied by both the Castro regime and the mainstream opposition, but it is where most Cubans live. Therefore, it is important to discuss democracy, which, in any sense—even the most opportunistic—always considers what the majority believes and accepts. Reparto is orphaned in the midst of a political debate in which it is not permitted to participate due to the usual discriminatory stereotypes: vulgar, low-class, indecent, and so on. These clichés once again apply to the Cuban majority. It is a peripheral, racialized majority with “low” levels of education by certain standards. They are hungry and forced to commit crimes out of necessity or addiction. They are suffocated by a crisis that, in many cases, is survived through reparto.
There are logics that are impossible to understand or explain outside certain neighborhoods and their dynamics. A picket line around a loudspeaker in Trillo Park playing Wampi is not the same as a Wampi concert at Jhonny’s with a 2,500-peso cover charge. The former is reparto, while the latter is cultural appropriation and extractivism. The former responds to the identity of a genre born in the neighborhood, although its meaning has changed considerably; the latter responds to the mercantilist logic of spaces with strict social exclusion policies that reinforce class discrimination and merely gloss over the widespread impoverishment caused by Castroism.
I firmly believe that political opposition is more prevalent in spaces that resist inequality, hunger, marginalization, and impoverishment than in activism that is considered “political.” For this reason, I also believe that the greatest dissent in Cuba can be found in spaces where reparto is born. This dissent can be seen in the mother who raises her children alone, the older brother who supports his family, and the grandmother who works to earn a few pesos to make ends meet. This is where the main opposition niche in Cuba lies and where legitimized, visible opposition does not reach, but reparto does. The reason is simple: The former connects with people through its popular language, Cuban slang, lack of prejudice, and familiarity. The latter repels people through its positions of privilege, moral high ground, incisive rhetoric, and distance.
These people do not deserve to be lectured by anyone on how to behave in the face of oppressive powers. Much of the aforementioned opposition claims to be “fighting for your rights while you do nothing,” yet it has never stopped to listen to the people’s key questions: On whose behalf are you really fighting? How much influence do you have over people like me? What are you looking for in people like me? Are you like me, or do you think you are better than me? Activists like Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara resonate deeply with people because they speak with them, dialogue with them, and are part of them. They never pretended to be something they were not. They never sought to lecture; rather, they sought to inspire. This explains the success of “Patria y Vida” over any other song: it spoke to power in the voice of the people. The most important thing about “Patria y Vida” is not who sang it, who distributed it, or who won the Grammy. The most important thing about that song is that people made it their own, as they have with so many others.
In Cuba, politics is not just about being confrontational or critical of the system. It’s also about making an impact in neighborhoods, providing social assistance, supporting vulnerable families, and trying to ease the suffering of those enduring great hardship. It’s also often about having the skill and cunning to recognize where you can be most useful, where you can influence and transform reality, rather than being remembered as a martyr in the history books. There are many hidden heroes without capes. Many effective dissidents start with mutual aid or support for the disadvantaged. There are many examples of this, including some of those you mention. Beyond the opulence and dividends they generate with their music, they redistribute wealth and remember that some people in their neighborhoods don’t have enough to eat. They organize ways to ensure that hunger is not another reason for Cubans to cry.
As I said, Castroism is not the only problem in Cuba, and being an activist and collaborating in the construction of a democratic, dignified, and supportive Cuba does not mean shouting, “Down with the dictatorship!” There are effective ways to protect against the legitimate fear of repression, having your career destroyed—which, for most artists still in Cuba, has yet to be established—or being forced to emigrate, as so many others have been. For those who prefer a more direct and irreverent approach, there are plenty of examples in the reparto. Off the top of my head, Chocolate MC, the King of Reparto himself, has a truckload of songs in which he attacks the regime without hesitation.“Fuego con la PNR” is one of them. What can we say about his direct attacks? On July 11, El Chacal, Lenier, Yomil, and others released some very solid tracks. Beyond the gossip about their collaboration with the regime, the songs are there.
Looking beyond the formalities and focusing on the facts, consider the case of Yan Crey. He is a young artist who was sentenced to 22 years in prison for sedition after participating in the July 11 protests. Before his arrest, he recorded with El Choco, Wildey, and Anuvis. He may not be as popular as Charly, Johayron, or Bebeshito and may not have the political awareness of Axere, but he is one of our July 11 prisoners. He was arbitrarily arrested and tried for exercising his right to protest. He is a singer from the reparto network. This should come as no surprise, as it can be said with certainty that the majority of the youth and masses who took to the streets that day and continued the cycle of popular protests against the regime are reparto singers. There are videos of the conga lines in Santiago de Cuba protesting the blackouts where people sing repartochoruses and then shout, “Hey, police, pinga!” A musical genre is much more than its exponents, and reparto is much more than a musical genre.
