14ymedio, Havana, Yoani Sánchez, 3 February 2026 — The cold is the talk of the town in Havana. But dictatorships don’t understand low temperatures or freezing winds. This Tuesday, there’s a political police operation in the basement of our building to prevent us from leaving our homes. What’s the reason for this blockade that restricts our freedom of movement and condemns us to not being able to buy food or take out the trash? We don’t know. It is not a significant date on the official calendar, we are not invited to any diplomatic reception, and in our neighborhood, no visitors are expected other than the battalion of flies and mosquitoes that buzzes around the mountains of garbage.

A neighbor told us it might be the Cuban regime’s nervousness in the face of pressure from Washington and the events that have been unfolding in Venezuela for the past month. However, I struggle to define what danger my husband and I could pose on this international political chessboard where we are, at best, tiny, defenseless presences. Is some official coming to inaugurate a project amidst the dirty, dilapidated streets of this area? Is a military exercise about to take place in the trenches formed by the potholes in the sidewalks that surround us? Is the stench emanating from the garbage piled up on the street corners about to multiply in the coming hours?

With the thread of internet we have, we confirm that other journalists and activists suffer the same harassment at their homes.

We have no answer, because Cuban State Security behaves with impunity, failing to explain to citizens the reasons for violating their rights.

With the thread of internet we have, we confirm that other journalists and activists suffer the same harassment at their homes: Dagoberto Valdés in Pinar del Río, Wilber Aguilar Bravo in La Güinera, and Camila Acosta and Ángel Santiesteban in central Havana. From Camagüey, reports indicate the arrest of Henry Constantín, director of La Hora de Cuba , and Alejandra García, whose whereabouts remain unknown.

When a state blocks defenseless people from walking freely through a city, it demonstrates its fear. That repressive forces must spend hours stationed outside our building, disrupting our daily lives, reveals the fragility of a power that fears a couple of journalists armed only with their words.

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

The numerical disproportion between those who cling to the current model and those who want political openness is overwhelmingly in favor of the latter.

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Generation Y, Havana, 11 February 2026 — Next to me in the shared taxi, a young man is listening to a YouTube video at full volume on his cell phone. The video harshly describes Alejandro Castro Espín, mentions the word “dictatorship” several times, and denounces the repression of the Cuban regime. No one bats an eye. No one tells him to turn off the device. No one confronts him ideologically. A few minutes later, in a long line outside an office of the Etecsa monopoly, a woman is listening to a song by Los Aldeanos that criticizes Castroism. The state employees aren’t even bothered, and some people in line are even singing along to the chorus

When I get home, a neighbor who for years has been an obvious informant for the political police approaches me to say that “something has to happen, because this can’t go on.” On the stairs to the 14th floor, without electricity and with the elevators out of service, another neighbor jokes that the fictional character Cuco Mendieta, a Cuban supposedly a member of the U.S. Delta Force who participated in the capture of Nicolás Maduro, is about to arrive in Havana on a mission very similar to the one in Caracas. We laugh, and the climb becomes easier.

Never before has the Cuban government been criticized so openly. I don’t recall a single moment in our recent history when criticism of the Communist Party was so widespread, so corrosive, or so loud. ” Gusanear,” that verb borrowed from official insults, is the daily practice of millions of people on this island. They “gusanear” at bus stops, at workplaces, and in lines to deposit a few dollars onto that Clásica card that allows them to buy what little gasoline remains in the country. They ” gusanear” at the rationed bodega, at school meetings where they announce the suspension of in-person classes, and on the bus terminal platform, empty of vehicles and hope.

‘Gusanear’, that verb taken from official insults, is the daily practice of millions of people on this Island.

Defenders of the system are at a significant disadvantage in Cuba. Nothing remains of the ideological fervor they once displayed. Many are silent, scanning the horizon for the change that is inevitably approaching, while others have joined the ranks of the critics at a surprising speed. Masks are falling away, medals are being hidden, and patting the neighborhood opposition member on the back is a way of making one’s position clear. The numerical disparity between those clinging to the current model and those who want political opening is overwhelmingly in favor of the latter. We are, in the end, the majority, and “they” know it.

In the face of this panorama, Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel should think twice before asking for sacrifices and calling for “creative resistance.” His ability to rally support is at an all-time low, the Party he leads is experiencing a period of extremely limited backing, and those who until yesterday were preparing for the front lines will no longer answer the call to self-sacrifice. Not only has fear shifted sides, given the regime’s dwindling numbers, but the hope that this difficult moment will give way to “a free Cuba” has taken root in the collective consciousness. “It won’t be long now,” another neighbor tells me from her balcony. “We’ll get rid of them this time,” she adds before hanging up the sheet she washed by hand, amidst the blackout.

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

The arrest of Ernesto Medina and Kamil Zayas is a warning to Cubans under 40: emigrate before repression catches up with you

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Generation Y, Havana, 7 February 2026 —  My generation has packed its bags. And the few of us who remain on the island have had to learn another kind of heartbreak: saying goodbye to our children. Watching them leave not only with a backpack on their shoulder, but with the certainty that staying means the risk of being silenced, perpetual poverty, or prison. Young Cubans today face a cruel dilemma: remain in the country where they were born, silenced and subjected to a crisis with no end in sight, or leave for places where everything starts from scratch, but where at least one can speak without fear. The arrest yesterday, Friday, of Ernesto Medina and Kamil Zayas, members of the El4tico project, is a stark warning directed at Cubans under 40: emigrate before the repression catches up with you

“If you are seeing or reading this, it is because they have finally found a way to silence me, to try to temporarily muzzle me,” Zayas says in a message written before his arrest and released this Saturday. “I am not being arrested for theft, assault, drug trafficking, or any common crime,” he clarifies. “I am being arrested for the only ‘crime’ that a dictatorship cannot tolerate: daring to look directly and say aloud what we all notice: its egregious failings, its chronic inefficiencies, its systematic injustices, and the oppression that crushes the dignity of an entire people.”

Standing in front of an old blackboard and with a fan that seems more intent on stirring up social inertia than blowing air, Medina and Zayas have connected with an audience fed up with slogans.

This testimony is not mere rhetoric, but rather an accusation. In a country where too many young people are trapped in the clutches of el químico [the chemical], others spend hours sitting on sidewalks with nothing to do, and a majority dream of throwing themselves into the sea or boarding a plane to get them out of here as soon as possible, these two men from Holguín have chosen the most dangerous path: to stay and speak out. With their videos, they have unsettled the authorities because they have abandoned coded language, fear, and self-censorship. In front of an old blackboard and with a fan that seems more intent on stirring social inertia than providing air, Medina and Zayas have connected with an audience fed up with slogans and in need of stories grounded in real life.

While official channels insist on clinging to the tired slogan of “creative resistance,” El4tico has shown a country where the Communist Party’s unpopularity is growing, patience is wearing thin, and the imposed political model is garnering increasingly less support. Where Miguel Díaz-Canel takes hours to string together clumsy phrases that provoke a prolonged national yawn, Medina and Zayas have opted for a direct, approachable, even engaging style. Their videos are devoid of posturing and scripted phrasing: they offer spontaneity, irony, and a sincerity that the system doesn’t know how to handle.

“Speak louder. Be dignified. Because history does not pardon those who remain silent out of convenience,” Zayas wrote before a police operation culminated in his and his colleague’s arrest. That phrase resonates today in a society marked by absences, by empty seats at family tables, and by the fear of ending up behind bars for an opinion, a social media post, or a criticism spoken aloud.

Repression doesn’t just imprison bodies; it also forces people into exile, cancels their future, and empties the country of its youngest voices. Every arrest like this confirms that speaking the truth remains, in Cuba, the most dangerous and most necessary act.

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

Lacking a sense of humor, vengeful towards anyone who dared to challenge him, Fidel Castro’s image is at an all-time low in the social imagination.

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Havana, February 4, 2026 — Her photo with Fidel Castro hung in the living room for decades, and Rita proudly displayed it. But a few years ago, the frame was used to hold a portrait of her newborn granddaughter, and the snapshot, faded by time, ended up in a drawer. A retired engineer enduring more than ten hours of daily power outages, this 80-year-old Cuban now feels a mixture of shame and annoyance every time she comes across that image where a man in military uniform is pinning a medal on her.

In the centennial year of Castro’s birth, Cuban authorities are doing everything possible to resurrect a legacy that the popular will insists on burying. The man who ruled the destiny of millions on this island has become synonymous with everything that must be avoided in the nation’s future. Uncompromising voluntarism, hatred of those who are different, revolutionary bravado, and contempt for dissent were not only his personal hallmarks but also the defining characteristics that shaped his domestic policy and international diplomacy for more than half a century.

The “This is your house Fidel” signs only remain in the memory of a few, and those diplomas where his signature was written on the paper have been stored away from prying eyes.

Lacking a sense of humor, incapable of even the slightest bit of dancing, vengeful towards anyone who dared challenge him, averse to personal affection, and prone to tantrums when he didn’t get his way, Fidel Castro’s image is at an all-time low in the public consciousness. Despite the display of his photographs in government offices and the calls to celebrate the centenary of his birth, the man born in Birán in 1926 has been more than buried by most Cubans, who avoid even mentioning his name, as if it were a spell that could bring him back to life.

Few family living rooms still display his photographs, the “This is your house, Fidel” signs only survive in the memories of a few, and those diplomas bearing his signature have been tucked away, out of sight. Grandparents avoid mentioning him, emigrants swear they could never stand him, and even those named after him insist their parents actually chose it in honor of an uncle who died young. No one wants that bearded shadow cast over their life.

A century later, Cubans are trying to completely bury the man who attempted to leave his mark on every second and every millimeter of national life. He’s so absent from public discourse that he’s no longer even mentioned in curses.

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

The external context has hardened just as the internal legitimacy of the system appears to be most eroded

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Generation Y, Havana, 25 January 2026 — I have lost count of the times the Cuban regime has been “on the verge of collapse.” I’ve heard it in diplomats’ after-dinner conversations, in expert analyses, and in the predictions of soothsayers who change their tune as easily as they change their shirts. One day it was the physical disappearance of the “supreme leader”; another, the supposed “imminent” fracture within the Armed Forces; then, the definitive economic collapse that, this time for sure, Castroism could not withstand. And yet, the country continued to wake up to its long lines, its managed fear, and its political inertia.

However, now, unlike in other times, those oracles might be right. The discontent is no longer a whisper; it is street corner conversation, arguments in the ration store, and exasperation in the bus line. Records of social conflict and protests reported by independent observatories paint a picture of 2025 with increasing numbers of public complaints, a barometer pointing to widespread and persistent unrest.

Is this the highest level of discontent since January 1959? No one has a scientific instrument to measure and compare decades of enforced silence, but I am convinced that three circumstances have never coincided so visibly: sustained material precariousness, the loss of fear in growing segments of the population, and the breakdown of the official epic narrative that for years served as anesthesia and a gag.

The scenario is unprecedented and fragile, because social unrest has ceased to be an exception and has become an everyday occurrence.

To this internal situation is now added a harsher international environment for the authorities. The capture of Nicolás Maduro on January 3rd has put the Havana leadership up against the ropesn and reactivated pressure from Washington.

That is why, when people ask me if the regime is in its final moments, I don’t respond with unbridled optimism or fireworks about an imminent end. I say that the situation is unprecedented and fragile, because social unrest has ceased to be the exception and has become commonplace; because the economy no longer offers a margin to buy loyalties through perks; and because the external context has hardened just as the system’s internal legitimacy seems most eroded.

Endings, however, rarely happen as experts or prophets imagine. Sometimes they are not a sudden blow, but a drip by drip, a slow erosion that leads to extinction. In Cuba, the question is not only when the regime will fall, but what kind of country will remain standing when the dictatorship finally collapses upon us.

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

Havana reacted quickly, but it did so following a familiar, almost automatic script.

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Generation Y, 3 January 2025 — In the early morning hours of Saturday, as darkness descended across large zones of the island, the political landscape of the Cuban regime’s main ally was being shaken. The United States carried out an attack on military installations in Venezuela, and shortly afterward, President Donald Trump announced that Nicolás Maduro had been captured and removed from the country.

Havana didn’t delay in reacting, but it followed a familiar, almost automatic script. From his account on X, President Miguel Díaz-Canel denounced “the criminal attack by the US on Venezuela” and demanded an “urgent” response from the international community. “Our zone of peace is being brutally assaulted,” he asserted. “State terrorism against the brave Venezuelan people and against our America,” he added in the hasty message, resorting to a rhetorical repertoire that is activated in Cuba whenever Washington makes a move on the continent. The biological clock of Cuban power was calibrated to respond before the sun rose and uncomfortable questions arose.

The speed of the pronouncement contrasts sharply with its lack of nuance. For Havana, the narrative has been clear from the first minute: imperialist aggression and violation of sovereignty. The old reflex of closing ranks with Caracas has once again prevailed, even though the regional and global context is very different today than it was a decade ago.

While the Cuban government is refining its condemnation, the reaction on social media has been less solemn and more down-to-earth.

While the Cuban government is finalizing its condemnation, the reaction on social media has been less solemn and more down-to-earth. As soon as the news broke, groups on Telegram and WhatsApp erupted. “Venezuelan oil is gone!” a young woman wrote to her family, bluntly and without slogans, putting her finger on the wound that really hurts on the Island. In a country plagued by daily blackouts, where the energy crisis is measured in hours without power and food spoiling, Maduro’s capture was immediately interpreted in domestic terms: what will happen now to the fuel that, for better or worse, keeps the Cuban electrical system afloat?

That popular interpretation says more about the current situation in Cuba than any official statement. The alliance with Caracas is not merely ideological; it is, above all, about energy and survival. That is why Havana’s inflammatory rhetoric sounds increasingly defensive, like someone shouting to ward off a very real fear.

Another phrase has also been repeated in the phone calls between friends that began before dawn: “Cuba is next,”a retiree from eastern Cuba said an audio message sent by Messenger, with a sense of finality  from one who has been waiting for decades for the fall of Castroism.

The diplomatic and political alliance between the two regimes has been very close since the beginning of this century, which is why the “extraction” of the Venezuelan president leaves Havana more isolated in a regional landscape where it has lost much influence in recent years.

What happens in the coming hours is crucial for both nations, but it is already clear that the boastful and arrogant Nicolás Maduro is a thing of the past. The Cuban dictatorship will be watching him closely in his next appearances, like someone looking in a mirror.

A version of this text was published on DW

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

Everywhere you hear: “So-and-so was knocked down by a fever” or “So-and-so hasn’t been able to move her legs for a week”

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, 26 November 2025 — Just a few months ago, “chikungunya” was an unpronounceable word for most Cubans. It sounded like a distant term, one of those exotic diseases that appear on international news reports. But today, that strange term dominates conversations in the  lines, on social media posts, and, worst of all, in the concerns of millions of people on the island. It has become, without question, the word of the year in Cuba.

Everywhere you hear: “So-and-so got knocked out by the fever,” “So-and-so hasn’t been able to move her legs for a week,” “The children in the building have swollen joints,” or “The neighbor can only manage to swallow gelatin.” The illness is no longer a statistic but a face, a voice, a weakness. It has the smell of homemade insecticide that families use to try to defend themselves and the sound of the insistent buzzing of mosquitoes that come in through the windows.

According to recent data, more than 50,000 Cubans were hospitalized last week with arboviral diseases, including dengue and oropouche. The extent of the problem can no longer be concealed. In provinces like Villa Clara, Camagüey, and Holguín, hospitals are at capacity, and in many municipalities, family doctors quietly admit that “this is out of control.” But while chikungunya spreads, the authorities have opted for caution. First, they downplayed the presence of the virus, then limited themselves to vague references to “local transmission.” Between one ambiguous statement and another even more confusing one, the country became increasingly filled with fever, rashes, and aching knees.

In many cities, garbage collection has ceased to be a daily task and has become a sporadic event.

The deteriorating epidemiological situation surprises no one. It is accompanied, like an inseparable shadow, by the collapse of basic services. In numerous cities, garbage collection has gone from a daily task to a sporadic occurrence. Mountains of waste rot in the sun. Adding to this visible decay are the power outages, which force people to open doors and windows to cope with the nighttime heat, precisely when the Aedes aegypti mosquito is having its feast.

Then there’s the water: it either arrives dirty, or only once a week, or with such low pressure that it forces people to store it in every container they can find. In this precarious ecosystem, breeding grounds multiply, while the old vector control program—that army of fumigators and inspectors—disappeared for years. The sound of fumigation wasn’t heard until just a few days ago, when the health crisis forced the reactivation of a tiny fraction of that massive campaign.

The streets know more than official bulletins. They know about the elderly man who spent ten days with a fever, unable to be admitted because there were “no beds” available. They know about the mother who, faced with the lack of state-provided insecticide, paid a private company 1,200 pesos for fumigation—a quarter of her monthly salary. They know about the young man who, despite his physical strength, shudders in pain, as if each bone had been replaced by a piece of rusted metal. And they know about the accounts that spread out from overflowing funeral homes, always faster than the official press, always more honest than any part of the Ministry of Public Health.

That is why, when someone says “chikungunya,” no one asks what it means anymore. It means a country that can barely move and is at the mercy of the mosquito. A word that was unspeakable yesterday has become commonplace today. A word that, unfortunately, sums up better than any other 2025 in Cuba .

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

Here are my modest tips, which, while not intended to work for everyone, have helped me maintain my sanity.

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, 13 November 2025 — One day the face on the screen was that of the poet Armando Valladares; then came the prime-time attacks against Martha Beatriz Roque, Elizardo Sánchez, and Dagoberto Valdés; until the moment came when I saw my own name on the news surrounded by the worst adjectives, and now it is the turn of the editors of El Toque and the economist Pavel Vidal. The bonfire of media stoning and reputational execution, which the regime needs to keep burning, is in dire need of fuel, new fuel to add to the fire of official victimhood and those flames that seek to shift the blame for the failure of the Cuban model onto others.

Each and every one of us born on the Island is a potential candidate to appear on one of those programs designed to morally and socially destroy a person. I wasn’t spared, nor were those convicted in the Black Spring case, nor were the Ladies in White spared the public humiliation, without the right to reply, and neither will you, the reader of these lines. All it takes is for you to say or publish something that displeases a group of intolerant individuals who have hijacked the nation’s name, and the full weight of a power that acts with the complete impunity of those who know they hold a monopoly on television broadcasts, control over the courts, and, sadly, still under their thumb are hundreds of thousands of docile citizens who will fall upon you.

Respond little or not at all to insults, because one of their goals is to distract you from your daily tasks.

Since we can’t change the way they look at us from that fortified dome where a few men in olive-green uniforms have locked themselves away, all that is left for us, the vilified ones, is to decide what attitude we’ll take in the face of such attempts to crush us. Here are my modest suggestions, which, while not intended to work for everyone, have helped me maintain my sanity, my inner peace, and my smile.

If you have already become “radioactive” and have been affected by the animosity of the Cuban dictatorship, I suggest the following:

Respond little or not at all to insults, because one of their goals is to distract you from your daily tasks, to drag you down into the dark pit of justifications and rebuttals. Don’t believe the saying “silence implies consent” and instead opt for a less neurotic approach to reacting to offense: “to hurtful words, turn a deaf ear.”

Focus on your work. Work heals everything, or almost everything, even the wounds left by not being able to access those same microphones from which they try to violate you.

Don’t resort to personal attacks against those who denigrate you. You don’t play by the same dirty rules as those who insult you. Don’t let them drag you into the mud of their slander.

Never think it’s personal. You’re just the latest target of infamy, but you should know that official propaganda always needs someone to blame; it can’t grease its indoctrination and submission machine if it doesn’t have a name or a face to pin the responsibility for the national debacle on.

Don’t wallow in self-pity. See it as if you’ve been given an award, the precious prize of being despised by a stale authoritarianism.
Think of it as a cycle that comes and goes. Today it was you, tomorrow they’ll insult someone else.

Think of it as a cycle that comes and goes. Today it was your turn, tomorrow they’ll insult someone else.

Think of it as a cycle that comes and goes. Today it was your turn, tomorrow they’ll insult someone else. Keep in mind that, most likely, right now, that “someone else” is one of those who will distance themselves from you after seeing the libel against you, claiming that they are indeed among the trustworthy and the “revolutionaries.” They’ll probably even use their face and voice as testimony to try to bring you down further. What they don’t know is that their neck could be the next target of a regime that is insatiable when it comes to creating adversaries.

Find a hobby if you don’t already have one. Observing the calyx, petals, stamens, and pistil of a flower will give you a true sense of the immensity in which we are but a mere speck of dust, and of what is truly transcendent and what is not. Believe me, Castroism is an ephemeral event in the course of Cuban and human history. Just look at the constellations above your head for a while, and the official spokespeople, in their pettiness, will provoke more laughter than resentment, more pity than anger.

Don’t let fear of being attacked by regime loyalists paralyze your public life. You’ll be surprised by the number of people who support you, the messages of solidarity that will pour in, and the knowing glances you’ll receive, even from those who until yesterday seemed the most extremist.

Don’t let any soldier disguised as a journalist, mixing images, figures, and falsified data, keep you up at night. They too come and go, some fall from grace and others appear, like replacement puppets in a decaying stage set. Remember so many others who played that deplorable role and are now… in Miami.

Don’t let the corrosive acid of that pamphlet affect your self-esteem. You are not the person they portray in those programs, nor do you resemble the malevolent caricature they’ve painted of you.

Life has given you an experience that will make you more mature, knowledgeable about the human soul, and strong.

Keep in mind that this type of television program is known, if at all, by Cubans living on the island and a few hundred thousand in the diaspora. But in Calcutta nobody knows the names of its presenters, in Sydney nobody cares what the spokesperson on duty says, and in Buenos Aires they would consider such a program a comedy show.

Feel a deep gratitude for having been chosen for this public humiliation. Life has given you an experience that will make you more mature, more knowledgeable about the human soul, and stronger. If you survive this emotionally, you can face almost anything. Put into practice all those psychological resources you had stored away for grief, illness, or a heartbreak. Use this vilification as a training ground to strengthen your mental health.

Perhaps the most difficult test will be trying, each day, to practice compassion for those who have wronged you. Imagine them abandoned and sick in the street, like a dog its owner discarded on a corner after use. Picture yourself approaching them, tending to their wounds, and asking, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

If you are still not comfortable appealing to compassion for these self-appointed aggressors, always entrenched in power, then imagine them in routine, even ridiculous, situations. Picturing one of them sitting on the toilet will make you take the whole thing less seriously.

Take a break from social media for a while, or at least don’t give them so much of your time. They rely on the amplification of public ridicule that thousands of users will generate by sharing and discussing the attacks launched against you. Put a stop to that with a good dose of “virtual disconnection.”

If you have children, pets, and friends, spend more time with them these days. Believe me, the eyes of a baby, the soft fur of a cat, or the hug of an old school friend make any audiovisual material against you sound like a distant, insignificant… fleeting echo.

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

aaaa

One doesn’t reach Machado’s current position without having suffered personal losses and difficult emotional trials along the way. / EFE

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, 10 October 2025 — Friday could not have started better. The Norwegian Nobel Committee awarded opposition leader María Corina Machado the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize “for her tireless work promoting the democratic rights of the Venezuelan people.” The recognition puts the spotlight on Latin America, where three long-standing authoritarian regimes—in Caracas, Havana, and Managua—had come to believe that impunity and international silence would allow them to control their nations until the end of time.

In several government palaces, today’s coffee must be tasting much more bitter. The delay in the reactions of Nicolás Maduro and the Castro regime, who have not commented as of this writing, betrays the surprise they have felt at the announcement. Perplexed and annoyed, the spokespersons for both authoritarian regimes also seem to have frozen, waiting for their superiors to dictate the script they should follow in their statements. No wonder. Machado’s Nobel Prize is like salt in the wounds for all of them.

At just 58, the Venezuelan opposition leader has a long road ahead to do much for her country and the entire continent.

At just 58, the Venezuelan opposition leader has a long road ahead of her, and with the renewed prestige this award brings, she can do much for her country and the entire continent. Not only is the democratic opening in Venezuela ahead of her, which will inevitably come despite Maduro’s intentions, but she can also help drive political change in other countries in the region. For a long time the cause of peoples subjugated by totalitarian regimes, supposedly leftist and wrapped in a rhetoric “of the humble and for the humble,” has merited a boost. What happened this Friday is that consecration. The plight of more than 40 million people, under the thumb of these three satrapies, will once again receive the attention it deserves.

But this is, especially, a personal gratification. One does not reach the position Machado holds today without suffering personal losses, harsh emotional trials, successive pressures to go into exile, and an intense boycott of her political career. An intense campaign of reputational destruction has been launched against her, attempting to paint her as a terrorist who called for social confrontation. Her actions before, during, and after the elections more than a year ago shattered the entire image that official Venezuelan propaganda tried to plaster on the minds of voters and the international media. Serene, firm, and with constant calls for calm and peaceful action, the Venezuelan established herself as a leader of nonviolence.

Perseverance has been her greatest virtue. While many grew weary along the way, the opposition leader continued her activism. When exile knocked on the door of so many, she stayed in her country. While the world looked the other way and Miraflores bathed in petrodollars, the industrial engineer never lost hope that Chavismo would not last forever. Her Nobel Prize is not just a medal of gleaming metal; it is an award forged in tenacity. The perseverance of María Corina Machado is a breath of hope for all of us who live under the long night of a dictatorship.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on DW.

COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.

14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Generation Y, 14 May 2025 [delayed translation] – – This Tuesday, one of the few Latin American leaders who, after serving as president, maintained a regional prestige free of accusations and scandals, died. He had been a man who was a model for the politics of service so lacking on our continent. José Pepe Mujica, former president of Uruguay and emblematic figure of the Latin American left, passed away at the age of 89. Upon learning of his passing, I couldn’t help but remember how close I came to shaking his hand, but the demons of political intolerance prevented me from doing so.

It was 2015, and I was visiting Montevideo, invited by the local journalists’ association. The tour’s agenda included visits to media outlets, conversations with reporters and graphic artists, and an extensive cultural program that lasted late into the night. One of the highlights of that stay in Uruguay was, precisely, meeting Mujica, a respected political oracle who delivered opinions and teachings with great ease and a fair amount of authenticity. The moment was also transcendent.

That year, hopes for a possible democratic transition in Cuba had reached a peak. Just a few months earlier, in December 2014, a diplomatic thaw between Washington and Havana had been announced, and the world’s eyes were focused on what was happening on the island. Fidel Castro, recovering from the illness that removed him from power in 2006, barely received visitors, and Mujica was one of the few chosen to access Punto Cero, the heavily guarded estate where Castro spent his final years. The Uruguayan was very reserved about those encounters, but had begun to slip in criticism of the authoritarian nature of the Cuban model.

Talking to Mujica was an opportunity for me to hear the opinion of an informed and sincere political actor who knew my country closely and had a vision of everything that was happening in the region.

Talking with Mujica was, for me, an opportunity to hear the opinion of an informed and sincere political figure who knew my country closely and had a vision of everything that was happening in the region. But we were never able to have that conversation.

One day before the scheduled date for the exchange of views, Pepe told the event organizer that he had to travel a few weeks later to a tribute where he would receive at the Casa de las Américas in Havana. “You know how Cubans are; I don’t want any trouble with them,” he excused himself before canceling the meeting, alluding to the Cuban regime’s traditional intolerance toward any gesture of dissent. The journalist who heard that excuse later told me that the former president was embarrassed and annoyed at having to accommodate the sensitivities of the Castro regime.

That official tribute took place, and Mujica shone before the audience with his ease, but in the years to come, the Uruguayan increasingly distanced himself from the Cuban establishment. In an interview, he revealed part of the chasm that had opened between the pluralism he had embraced and the single party imposed by Castro. “It doesn’t work, this doesn’t work,” he declared with his usual frankness. Reading his words, I felt I was listening to him, and that frustrated meeting had, in fact, taken place, and that we had been talking in Montevideo or Havana for long hours about life, liberty, and the future. Buen viaje, Pepe.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published in Deutsche Welle in Spanish.

____________