Who are they to threaten us in such a way?
Three decades after Cuban jets downed two unarmed American planes over the Florida Straits, Washington has chosen this moment — with an aircraft carrier in the Caribbean and a Cuban American secretary of state at the helm — to indict 94-year-old Raúl Castro, resurrecting a wound that Havana believed had scarred over into history. The move is less a legal reckoning than a geopolitical signal, arriving as Cuba hemorrhages its population, endures 22-hour blackouts, and watches foreign businesses quietly depart. What unfolds now is an old story in a new register: a powerful nation using law, economics, and military theater to bend a smaller one toward its preferred future.
- A US indictment of the 94-year-old former Cuban president over a 1995 plane downing has shattered any illusion of diplomatic calm, making the prospect of American military strikes feel, for the first time in a generation, genuinely possible.
- Surveillance flights, a CIA director's visit to Havana, an aircraft carrier deployment, and intelligence claims about Cuban drones have stacked pressure on an island already buckling under economic collapse and mass emigration.
- Marco Rubio is running a dual-track campaign — offering $100 million in aid while tightening sanctions, driving out foreign airlines and businesses, and signaling that Washington intends to reshape Cuba's economic future through dependency.
- One of the pilots who shot down the planes in 1995 has already fled Cuba and now sits in American custody, a bitter emblem of how thoroughly the island's crisis has inverted old loyalties.
- Even Cubans who had grown cynical about their own government are rallying against the indictment, while ordinary Havanans quietly note which of their neighbors hold military rank — and what that might mean if strikes come.
In Havana, people have begun paying attention to who lives next door. If a neighbor holds rank in the military or government, the reaction is now a sympathetic grimace. For the first time in decades, American military action against the island feels like a real possibility rather than a rhetorical one.
The immediate cause is a US indictment of Raúl Castro, announced this week, charging the 94-year-old former president over the 1995 downing of two small civilian planes operated by Brothers to the Rescue, a Miami exile group. Four people died. The incident was condemned at the time as both brutal and strategically ruinous for Havana — but it did not emerge from nowhere. The group had spent months conducting provocative overflights, dropping religious medallions and political leaflets over the capital. Cuba pleaded with Washington to stop them. When those pleas went unanswered, the government eventually acted. Now, thirty years later, Washington has decided to prosecute that act.
The indictment did not arrive in isolation. In recent weeks, US surveillance aircraft have circled the island, the CIA director flew to Havana to warn officials away from Russia and China, and an aircraft carrier group entered the Caribbean. Secretary of State Marco Rubio has been orchestrating a campaign that mixes pressure with inducement — acknowledging Cuban suffering, offering $100 million in aid, and pointing out that the military controls fuel and resources while ordinary citizens endure blackouts lasting 22 hours a day. It was a carefully calibrated performance, designed to drive a wedge between the population and its leadership.
The economic dimension is equally stark. Sanctions have pushed out foreign businesses; a Spanish charter airline ceased flights this week, joining a long list of departures. A Canadian mining company with significant stakes in Cuba's nickel industry is reportedly in talks to hand controlling interest to a former Trump adviser. The architecture of dependency is being assembled in plain sight, with Trump having made clear his ambition to 'free' Cuba for his Cuban American allies in Miami.
Among those indicted alongside Castro was Luis González-Pardo Rodríguez, one of the pilots who fired on the planes in 1995. He had already fled Cuba in 2024 — part of a wave of emigration that has stripped the island of roughly a fifth of its population since 2021 — and was facing immigration fraud charges when the new indictment landed. The man accused of defending Cuba against American provocation now sits in American custody.
In Havana, the indictment has stirred something unexpected: anger that cuts across political disillusionment. A teacher who rarely attends official demonstrations said she would march in protest. 'How dare they?' she asked. The question of what comes next — whether Washington might attempt to seize Castro as it did Venezuela's Maduro, how far the pressure will go — hangs unanswered over the city.
In Havana, a simple question has taken on new weight: who lives next door to you? If your neighbor happens to be a general, a minister, or anyone else in Cuba's government or military hierarchy, people now offer sympathetic grimaces. For the first time in a generation, the possibility of American military strikes on the island feels real enough to reshape daily conversation.
The trigger was the US indictment of Raúl Castro, the 94-year-old former president, announced this week. But the charges reach back three decades, to a moment that seemed settled history: July 1995, when Cuban fighter jets shot down two small civilian aircraft belonging to Brothers to the Rescue, an exile group operating from Miami. Four people died. The incident was widely condemned as both a brutal act and a catastrophic miscalculation by Havana. Now Washington has decided to prosecute it.
What few remember is that the downing was not a shock. The planes had been conducting provocative flights over Havana for months—dropping religious medallions and leaflets, buzzing the capital itself. Brothers to the Rescue, founded by a Bay of Pigs veteran named José Basulto, had transformed from a rescue operation spotting refugees on makeshift rafts into something closer to a harassment campaign. In one particularly brazen act on July 13, 1995, Basulto's Cessna Skymaster rained thousands of medallions and pamphlets reading "Brothers, Not Comrades" over the city. Fidel Castro himself had said publicly that the United States would never tolerate such flights over Washington. The Cuban government pleaded with Washington to stop them. When those pleas went unheeded, the leadership eventually snapped.
But the pressure Cuba faces now dwarfs anything from that era. In recent weeks, surveillance aircraft have circled the island repeatedly. Intelligence reports—their credibility uncertain—have claimed Cuba possesses threatening drones. The CIA director landed in Havana to warn officials against deepening ties with Russia and China. An aircraft carrier group entered the Caribbean. And then came the indictment.
Marco Rubio, the Cuban American secretary of state, has been orchestrating a parallel campaign of pressure and inducement. In a speech directed at ordinary Cubans, he acknowledged their suffering—the rolling blackouts lasting 22 hours, the economic collapse—and blamed the government. He offered $100 million in aid, which he claimed Cuba had accepted, though he stopped short of confirming whether Washington would meet Havana's conditions. He also struck a nerve by pointing out that the military controls vast swaths of the economy, buying fuel for generators and vehicles while ordinary people sacrifice. It was a sophisticated performance, well-informed and carefully calibrated.
Meanwhile, the economic noose tightens. US sanctions have driven out foreign businesses. This week, World2Fly, a Spanish charter airline, joined dozens of others in ceasing flights to the island. A Bloomberg report revealed that Sherritt, a Canadian nickel miner and major player in Cuba's economy, is in talks with a former Trump adviser about handing over controlling interest. The pattern is unmistakable: create dependency, then reshape the island's future according to American interests. Donald Trump has made clear his intention to "free" Cuba for his Cuban American allies in Miami, raising fears of a new American protectorate.
One of the pilots accused of shooting down the planes in 1995, Luis González-Pardo Rodríguez, was himself indicted this week. He had fled Cuba in 2024 as part of a wave of emigration that has drained the island of 20 percent of its population since 2021. He was already facing immigration fraud charges when the new indictment arrived. The irony is sharp: the man accused of defending Cuba against American aggression is now in American custody, facing prosecution.
In Havana, anger at Washington has surfaced even among those who had lost faith in their own government. A teacher who rarely attends political demonstrations said she would march against the indictment on Friday. "How dare they?" she asked. "Who are they to threaten us in such a way?" The question hangs in the air: what comes next? Will the US attempt to abduct Castro, as it did with Nicolás Maduro in Venezuela? How far does Washington intend to go? For now, Havana waits, and neighbors eye each other with new anxiety.
Citas Notables
How dare they? I'd never normally go to something like that, but it's despicable. Who are they to threaten us in such a way?— A Havana teacher on the indictment
The indictments should have happened—not in the US, but in a post-Castro Cuba. All these crimes will come out and it should be for the Cuban people to decide whether there are trials or a process of reconciliation and forgiveness.— Manuel Barcia, pro-vice-chancellor at the University of Bath
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does an indictment from 1995 matter so much right now, in 2026?
Because it's not really about 1995. It's a legal hook for something much larger—a coordinated pressure campaign to destabilize the government and reshape Cuba's future. The timing, the carrier group, the CIA visit, the economic strangulation—they're all moving together.
But four people did die in that plane incident. Doesn't that deserve accountability?
It does. But accountability should come from Cubans themselves, in a Cuba that's free to choose its own path. What troubles people here is that this looks like the US using a real crime as cover for regime change, not justice.
The secretary of state seems to be offering help, not threats. Isn't that a softer approach?
It's softer on the surface. But offering aid while simultaneously strangling the economy, driving out businesses, and threatening military action—that's coercion dressed in humanitarian language. It's designed to make Cubans feel abandoned by their own government and dependent on Washington.
What about the military controlling so much of the economy? That's a legitimate grievance, isn't it?
Absolutely. Rubio was clever to point it out because it's true. But he's not offering to help ordinary Cubans—he's offering to hand the economy to American investors and Trump's Miami allies. That's not liberation.
Do people actually believe the US would invade?
For the first time in decades, yes. The surveillance flights, the carrier group, the indictment of a 94-year-old man—it all signals that Washington is willing to escalate. People are genuinely frightened.
What would an American takeover look like?
Based on what's already happening—nickel companies negotiating with Trump advisers, airlines being pressured to leave, aid conditional on political change—it would look like economic colonialism. The island would become a protectorate, not a sovereign nation.