Tensions between the U.S. and Cuba are rising again. This is not new, but the current moment feels different. Recent measures from Washington aim to further restrict the Cuban government’s financial channels, limit its sources of revenue, and apply pressure to key sectors of the economy. This is not symbolic. It is a deliberate policy.
From the U.S. perspective, the message is clear. The goal is to force change that has not happened in more than six decades. There is also a domestic political dimension, shaped by sectors of the Cuban exile community that have long demanded a tougher stance. All of this is part of the landscape.
But that is only one side.
On the Cuban side, the response follows a familiar script. The government speaks of external aggression, economic warfare, and a tightening embargo. Each new measure becomes an opportunity to reinforce that narrative and close ranks. There is no room for public self-criticism. The blame always points outward.
Meanwhile, life on the island follows a different logic.
The energy crisis Cuba is facing today did not begin with these recent measures. It has been building for years. The electrical system is deteriorated, poorly maintained, and increasingly unreliable. Blackouts are not new. What has changed is how severe and how constant they have become.
For years, oil entered Cuba, especially from Venezuela. There were supply agreements. There were resources. And yet, the daily life of ordinary Cubans did not improve. Electricity remained unstable. Fuel was rationed. Transportation was still a daily struggle.
So the question is not new.
If the oil was there, why didn’t anything change?
Where did those resources go?
Where is the money that was generated?
Today, restrictions on oil are often presented as the main cause of the current crisis. They are not. They make an already fragile situation worse, but they do not fully explain it.
There is a deeper, longer story that cannot be ignored.
The same applies to Cuba’s international medical missions.
For years, they were presented as acts of solidarity. And in many cases, they were. Cuban doctors worked in difficult conditions, saving lives and supporting health systems abroad. That is real.
But they also functioned as one of the Cuban state’s main sources of income.
Many of these professionals did not receive the full salary for their work. A significant portion was retained by the government. In some cases, they had little or no control over the money they generated.
And there is a harsher reality.
If a doctor chose not to return to Cuba, that income often did not reach their family. It was withheld.
Today, several countries are reevaluating or canceling these agreements. Once again, the official response is to point outward. But the same question remains.
Is this the loss of international cooperation, or the collapse of a system built on control over its own professionals?
Inside Cuba, the conversation sounds very different.
People are not speaking in geopolitical terms. They are talking about survival. About getting through the day. About blackouts, food shortages, transportation problems, and a life that keeps getting harder.
Some see the new U.S. measures as a form of pressure that could lead to change. Not because they want more hardship, but because they feel the system does not change on its own. There is a deep sense of stagnation.
But that sense of expectation exists alongside a harsh reality.
Sanctions do not hit decision-makers first. They hit ordinary people. The ones standing in line. The ones losing food during power outages. The ones who cannot move because there is no fuel.
That is the contradiction.
The Cuban government calls for international solidarity. And it receives it. Countries send aid. Organizations mobilize. Public voices defend the island.
But another question is also present.
Does that aid actually reach the people?
The lack of transparency in how resources are distributed is part of the problem. Because this is not only about what enters the country, but about what actually reaches those who need it.
Reducing Cuba’s reality to a dispute between two governments avoids the core issue.
There are shared responsibilities, but they are not equal.
The U.S. exerts external pressure with real economic consequences. That cannot be denied. But inside Cuba, there is a system that has had decades to reform, to respond, to open, and it has not done so.
That part cannot continue to be ignored.
I write this as a Cuban. From what I lived. From what I know. From the people who are still there trying to make it through each day.
Because at the end of the day, beyond what governments say or decide, the reality is something else.
Cuba today is under more pressure, yes. But it has also spent years carrying problems that no one has seriously confronted.
And as long as that remains the case, it does not matter what comes from outside. The problem is still inside.