Everything relies on fuel. There is simply no other way.
In the shadow of an energy crisis that has reduced a sprawling national zoo to horse-drawn carts and rationed diesel, four Bengal tiger cubs — among them only the second white tiger ever born on the island — have arrived at Cuba's national zoo, offering workers a moment of grace amid prolonged scarcity. For a staff that receives a quarter of the fuel it needs to feed its animals, the births are not merely biological events but quiet acts of continuity, proof that life persists even when the systems meant to sustain it are failing. The cubs have become, in the language of those who care for them, a reason to keep going.
- Cuba's national zoo operates on just 5 of the 20 daily liters of diesel it needs, forcing workers to distribute food by horse-drawn cart across nearly a thousand acres of enclosures.
- Prolonged power outages and medicine shortages have pushed the facility to the edge, where 'stability' no longer means thriving — it means the animals are still alive.
- The birth of four Bengal tiger cubs, including a rare white tiger seen only once before in Cuban history, has cut through the exhaustion and given staff something to hold onto.
- Private businesses have begun stepping in with supplies, offering an improvised lifeline that the zoo's director credits with keeping the animal population intact.
- Proposed free-market reforms could unlock foreign investment and scientific partnerships, but for now the zoo runs on dedication, ingenuity, and the stubborn fact of four new cubs.
Ángel Cordero has worked at Cuba's national zoo for forty-four years, long enough to understand what crisis looks like from the inside. The current fuel shortage, he suggests, is unlike anything before it. The zoo's nearly thousand acres house buffalo, zebras, rhinoceroses, hippopotamuses, and big cats — all of them requiring daily feeding across grounds that demand twenty liters of diesel to function. The zoo receives five. Workers now move by horse-drawn cart and electric tricycle, improvising what was once routine.
Into this exhaustion came something unexpected: four Bengal tiger cubs, including only the second white tiger ever documented in Cuba. For Cordero, who was present for the birth, the moment carried a weight beyond biology. It was a small vindication — proof that the work he and his colleagues have sustained through shortages and power outages still produces something worth witnessing.
Zoo director Juan Carlos Santos credits the staff's dedication and an emerging network of private businesses contributing supplies for keeping the animal population stable. The word 'stable,' here, carries its own quiet gravity — it means survival, not comfort.
Cuba's government has begun discussing economic reforms that could open the island to foreign investment and scientific partnerships, which might eventually bring the zoo the resources it needs. For now, the tiger cubs serve a more immediate purpose: they are a reason, in a season of scarcity, to keep going.
Ángel Cordero has spent forty-four years at Cuba's national zoo, long enough to see the island weather multiple crises. But nothing quite prepared him for what the current fuel shortage means for the animals in his care. When four Bengal tiger cubs were born recently—including only the second white tiger ever documented in the country—Cordero felt something shift. Standing in the heat, watching the cubs tumble over each other in their enclosure, he allowed himself a moment of uncomplicated pride. "I was there for it," he said, speaking of the white tiger's arrival as though it were a personal vindication.
The births matter because they are rare, because they are beautiful, and because they arrived at a moment when the zoo's workers desperately needed something to believe in. The island is strangled by shortages: fuel runs out, medicine disappears, power vanishes for days at a time. The zoo's 375 hectares—nearly a thousand acres—house buffalo, zebras, rhinoceroses, hippopotamuses, and the big cats that Cordero helped build enclosures for decades ago. All of them need feeding. All of them need care. The math is brutal: the zoo requires twenty liters of diesel fuel each day just to distribute food across the grounds. It receives five.
That gap between need and supply has forced a kind of regression. Zoo workers now move through the grounds on horse-drawn carts and electric tricycles, the vehicles they once relied on sitting idle or moving only when fuel can be spared. Cordero's words carry the weight of someone describing a system under siege: "Everything relies on fuel. The animals' movements, and the distribution of food—such as in the African savannah enclosure—which must be transported on wheels; there is simply no other way." The problem is not abstract. It is the difference between animals eating and animals going hungry.
Yet the zoo has not collapsed. Juan Carlos Santos, the zoo's director, credits both the dedication of workers like Cordero and an unexpected lifeline: partnerships with small private businesses that have begun contributing supplies. The animal population has remained stable, he said, though stability in this context means something different than it would elsewhere. It means survival. It means making do.
The births of the tiger cubs—ordinary in a zoo anywhere else—register here as something close to defiance. A white tiger is exceedingly rare. The fact that one was born in Cuba, in a facility operating on a fraction of its required fuel, under the weight of an oil blockade and cascading shortages, transforms the event from a simple biological occurrence into something more like a small assertion of continuity. Cordero's pride is not misplaced. He witnessed something that should not have been possible under these conditions.
Cuba's government has begun discussing economic reforms that could shift the island toward free-market structures, potentially opening doors to foreign investment and scientific partnerships. If those reforms take hold, they could mean new resources for the zoo, fresh supplies, and the kind of stability that would allow Cordero and his colleagues to do their work without constant improvisation. For now, though, the tiger cubs remain what they are: a reason to keep going, a small miracle that arrived despite everything working against it.
Notable Quotes
It's only the second time white tigers have been born in Cuba. And I was there for it.— Ángel Cordero, zookeeper
The animal population has remained stable thanks to the efforts of zoo workers and new partnerships with small, private businesses that contribute supplies.— Juan Carlos Santos, zoo director
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What does it mean that this happened now, in the middle of a crisis? Why does the birth of these cubs matter beyond the obvious?
Because it's proof that something can still grow here, still thrive, even when the system is barely functioning. For Cordero, it's personal—he's been there forty-four years. This is vindication.
But the zoo is still operating on a fifth of the fuel it needs. How long can that last?
That's the question no one wants to answer. They're managing through partnerships with private businesses, through improvisation, through people like Cordero who refuse to let the animals starve. But it's not sustainable indefinitely.
Do the workers talk about leaving?
The source doesn't say, but you can read between the lines. Cordero has been there through decades of hardship. He's still there. That tells you something about commitment, or maybe about having nowhere else to go.
What happens if the economic reforms actually work?
Then maybe the zoo gets real resources again. Foreign investment, scientific partnerships, proper fuel supplies. The cubs become symbols of recovery, not just survival.