Cuba is targeted not for what it has, but for what it represents.
For more than seven decades, Cuba has occupied a singular place in the American imperial imagination — not as a source of resources, but as a symbol of defiance. Independent journalist Abby Martin, through two years of documentary work and direct access to Cuban president Miguel Díaz-Canel, argues that this symbolic weight is precisely why Washington's economic siege has never relented, and why the Trump administration chose to intensify it through sanctions, terrorism designations, and the quiet violence of financial isolation. Her film, Cuba After Castro, enters a media landscape where such unmediated access to power is rare, and asks what it means to document a revolution on its own terms.
- The Trump administration layered hundreds of new sanctions onto an already suffocating blockade, then placed Cuba on the terrorism list — a designation that threatens any third-party nation, bank, or business that dares engage with the island.
- Martin frames the current pressure not as policy disagreement but as imperial punishment for Cuba's refusal to submit to capitalist order, calling Washington's posture a form of lawless barbarism backed by nuclear leverage.
- Any forced regime change, she warns, would require Pinochet-level brutality to overcome the millions of Cubans who remain committed to the revolutionary system they built — the achievements cannot simply be deleted.
- Her documentary pushes back against the Western media caricature by showing Cuban leaders appearing in public, fielding criticism directly from citizens — a reality she says dissolves the totalitarian narrative on contact.
- The film's credibility rests on an unusual claim: Díaz-Canel answered difficult questions about democracy and press freedom without pre-screened questions or handlers — a contrast, Martin notes, to how American officials typically manage their own press access.
Abby Martin, an American journalist known for her critiques of U.S. foreign policy, spent two years producing Cuba After Castro — a documentary built around unscripted conversations with Cuban president Miguel Díaz-Canel. The project is less a profile than an argument: that Cuba endures American pressure not because of oil or minerals, but because it represents something Washington finds intolerable — a functioning society that has rejected capitalism and imperial dominance for over seventy years.
The Trump administration, Martin contends, did not create this siege but sharpened it considerably. Hundreds of new sanctions were imposed, and Cuba's placement on the U.S. terrorism list extended the punishment well beyond bilateral relations — threatening any foreign bank, government, or business that maintains ties with the island. The result is isolation enforced by proxy, a mechanism that falls hardest on ordinary Cubans.
Martin is direct about what regime change would actually require. Revolutionary achievements are woven into Cuban society, and millions of citizens remain committed to the system they helped build. Dismantling it by force, she argues, would demand something resembling a Pinochet-style dictatorship — sustained, brutal, and comprehensive.
What sets the documentary apart, she explains, is the nature of the access. Díaz-Canel answered difficult questions — about democracy, press freedom, political structure — without a prepared script or vetted question list. Martin notes the irony: American officials rarely grant interviews on such open terms. She also observed Cuban leaders appearing at public gatherings where citizens offer criticism directly, a detail that sits uneasily alongside the totalitarian image circulated by Western media. Her film offers something the media landscape rarely provides — a government speaking for itself, without hostile interpretation as the frame.
Abby Martin, an independent American journalist and filmmaker known for her sharp critiques of U.S. foreign policy, sat down with MintPress News to discuss her new documentary, Cuba After Castro, which emerged from an extended conversation with Cuban president Miguel Díaz-Canel. The film represents two years of work—not a quick interview, but a full-length examination of how Cuba's leadership sees itself and its place in the world.
Martin's central argument is straightforward but carries weight: Cuba is not under siege for oil, minerals, or strategic resources the way Venezuela or Iran are. Instead, the island nation has become a target precisely because of what it represents—a living, functioning example of a country that has rejected capitalism and U.S. imperial dominance for over seven decades. That symbolic power, she contends, is why Washington has maintained an economic blockade for more than 70 years, a campaign of strangulation that Cubans call el bloqueo.
The Trump administration, according to Martin, did not invent this pressure but dramatically intensified it. Hundreds of new sanctions were imposed. Cuba was placed on the U.S. list of state sponsors of terrorism—a designation that reaches far beyond bilateral relations. When a country lands on that list, third-party nations, international banks, and commercial partners face the threat of American retaliation if they do business with it. The effect is isolation by proxy, a way of punishing not just a government but the entire population.
Martin describes the current moment in stark terms: lawless barbarism, with Washington wielding nuclear threats like a gun to the world's head. She is clear-eyed about what a U.S.-backed regime change operation would require. The revolutionary achievements cannot simply be erased. Millions of Cubans remain committed to the system they built. Any attempt to overturn it by force would demand something akin to a Pinochet-style dictatorship—brutal, comprehensive, and sustained.
What distinguishes her documentary, Martin explains, is access and honesty. She did not submit questions in advance. Díaz-Canel answered difficult questions about democracy, press freedom, and the political system without a script. This openness, she notes, stands in sharp contrast to how American journalism typically works. When U.S. officials grant interviews, they do so on carefully controlled terms, with handlers present, with questions vetted beforehand. The asymmetry is revealing.
Martin also observed something the Western media narrative rarely captures: Cuban leaders are not sequestered in palaces. They appear in public, at mass gatherings, where they receive criticism directly from citizens. The image of a totalitarian dictatorship, the one circulated endlessly by American corporate media, dissolves when you actually go there, talk to people, and film what you see. The reality, she insists, is radically different from the propaganda.
Her film is an act of documentation—letting the Cuban leadership speak for itself, outside the caricatures and clichés that dominate Western coverage. In a media landscape where access to power is usually a transaction, where interviews are performances, Martin's work offers something rarer: a chance to hear directly what Cuba's government believes about itself, without the filter of hostile interpretation.
Citas Notables
Cuba is not attacked for oil or strategic resources, but because it represents a symbol of dignity, sovereignty, and resistance to capitalism and U.S. imperialism— Abby Martin
Any regime change operation in Cuba would require authoritarian methods similar to Pinochet's dictatorship, as it cannot erase the revolutionary achievements or the commitment of millions of Cubans— Abby Martin
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does the U.S. care so much about Cuba specifically? There are other countries with different systems.
Because Cuba proved it could survive without American permission. That's the threat. It's not about resources or strategic position—it's about the example.
But the embargo has been in place for 70 years. Why would Trump escalate now?
Because the example was still standing. Still alive. Each generation of Cubans showed it was possible. Trump wanted to tighten the noose, make it impossible to ignore the pressure.
You mention the terrorism designation. How does that actually work as a weapon?
It's elegant, in a terrible way. You don't just punish Cuba directly. You make any bank, any company, any country that trades with them liable for American sanctions. It's isolation by fear.
In your film, you saw leaders in public, taking criticism. How does that square with the "dictatorship" label?
It doesn't. That's the point. The propaganda requires you never to look. If you actually go, talk to people, film what's there, the image falls apart.
What would it take to overturn the Cuban system?
Force. Real, sustained force. Because millions of people built something they believe in. You can't erase that with sanctions alone. You'd need occupation.
So the embargo isn't working, in those terms?
It's working to cause suffering. It's not working to change the system. That's the gap between the stated goal and what's actually happening.