She knows she shouldn't be burning plastic, but she has run out of alternatives.
In Santiago de Cuba, an island already long acquainted with scarcity, the energy crisis has crossed into a new and more intimate threshold — one measured not in blackouts or fuel gauges, but in the lungs of ordinary people. As U.S. economic pressure tightens its grip on the communist government's ability to import fuel, Cubans like fifty-eight-year-old Yusimi Castellano are burning charcoal and plastic indoors simply to feed their families, trading their health for a meal. What unfolds in her eighteenth-floor apartment each evening is not merely a story of poverty or politics, but of the quiet, compounding cost that geopolitical decisions impose on the bodies of those furthest from the rooms where those decisions are made.
- A woman with asthma burns plastic and styrofoam indoors to cook spaghetti — not by choice, but because every safer option has disappeared.
- Across Santiago de Cuba and the wider island, power cuts are routine, cooking gas has grown scarce, and people are burning whatever they can find — wood, charcoal, plastic waste — just to prepare meals.
- The crisis is not simply a product of mismanagement; escalating U.S. sanctions have directly restricted Cuba's ability to import fuel and maintain the infrastructure that once kept kitchens and lights running.
- Children, the elderly, and those with respiratory and cardiac conditions are now breathing air that would trigger public health emergencies in most of the world — with no relief, no alternative fuel, and no timeline in sight.
- If the deterioration continues at its current pace, more Cubans will turn to more dangerous fuels, and the public health toll will accumulate in ways that are slow, invisible, and irreversible.
On an evening in Santiago de Cuba, Yusimi Castellano crouched over an iron stove, arranging charcoal and scraps of styrofoam and plastic to light a fire. Toxic smoke rose from her eighteenth-floor apartment and drifted across the city — past the old barracks where the Cuban Revolution began, toward the mountains beyond. Across a makeshift wire-hanger grill, she cooked spaghetti for her family.
Castellano is fifty-eight and has asthma. She has been short of breath more often lately, coughing constantly. She knows that burning charcoal and plastic indoors is dangerous. She has simply run out of other options.
Hers is not an isolated situation. Throughout Cuba, the deepening energy crisis has pushed ordinary people into survival practices with real physical consequences. Fuel shortages have intensified as the United States has escalated economic pressure on the government, tightening sanctions that restrict Cuba's ability to import fuel, access international markets, and maintain basic infrastructure. Power cuts are now routine. Cooking gas has grown scarce. People burn what they can find.
What makes this moment distinct is not scarcity itself — Cubans have lived with scarcity for decades — but the speed of the collapse and the deliberateness behind it. The U.S. pressure campaign is not incidental to the energy shortage; it is a direct cause. And the cost is being paid in the lungs of people like Castellano, who must choose in real time between eating and breathing safely.
Children are inhaling fumes from burning plastic. The elderly are exposed to smoke that worsens existing conditions. No alternative fuel is being distributed. No timeline for relief exists. The smoke rising each evening from one apartment in Santiago is a small, visible signal of a larger unraveling — and a warning that as the crisis deepens, the public health consequences will accumulate quietly, in ways harder to see than a burning stove, but no less devastating.
On an ordinary evening in Santiago de Cuba, Yusimi Castellano crouched over an iron stove and arranged pieces of charcoal across its surface. She gathered scraps of styrofoam and plastic—materials meant for trash—and used them as kindling. A lighter sparked. The fire caught.
Toxic smoke began to rise from her eighteenth-floor apartment and drifted across the city, past the old military barracks where the Cuban Revolution is said to have begun, toward the green mountains that frame the island's second-largest city. The charcoal slowly brightened. She placed a makeshift grill fashioned from wire hangers across the top and cooked spaghetti for her family's dinner.
Castellano is fifty-eight years old. She has asthma. In recent months, she has found herself short of breath more often, coughing constantly. She knows, with the clarity that comes from living with a chronic illness, that cooking over charcoal and burning plastic indoors is not something she should be doing. But she has run out of alternatives.
Her situation is not unique to her apartment or her neighborhood. Across Santiago and throughout Cuba, the deepening energy crisis has forced ordinary people into survival practices that carry real physical cost. The island's fuel shortages have intensified as the United States has escalated economic pressure on the communist government, tightening the constraints on an already fragile system. Power cuts have become routine. Gas for cooking has become scarce. People have begun burning what they can find—charcoal, wood, plastic waste—to prepare meals and heat their homes.
The consequences are immediate and visible in the faces and lungs of those who have no choice but to adapt. Those with respiratory conditions like Castellano's are breathing air that would be considered hazardous in most developed countries. Children are inhaling fumes from burning plastic. The elderly are exposed to smoke that aggravates existing health problems. There is no regulatory body stepping in, no alternative fuel being distributed, no timeline for relief.
What makes this crisis distinct is not simply that fuel is scarce—scarcity has been a recurring feature of Cuban life for decades. What distinguishes this moment is the speed of deterioration and the deliberateness behind it. The U.S. pressure campaign is not accidental or incidental to the energy shortage; it is a direct cause of it. Sanctions restrict Cuba's ability to import fuel, to access international markets, to maintain the infrastructure that once provided reliable electricity and cooking gas. The result is that ordinary citizens like Castellano are forced to make calculations about their own health in real time, choosing between eating and breathing safely.
The smoke that rises from her apartment each evening is a small, visible marker of a larger collapse. It is also a warning about what prolonged shortages can do to a population. As fuel becomes scarcer and the crisis deepens, more people will turn to more dangerous fuels. More people with asthma, with heart disease, with compromised immune systems will be forced to inhale air that damages them. The public health consequences will accumulate quietly, in ways that are harder to photograph than a burning stove, but no less real.
Citas Notables
She knows she should not be cooking with charcoal. She has asthma and lately she is short of breath and coughs constantly. But for her, there is no other option.— Reporting on Yusimi Castellano's situation
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why charcoal and plastic specifically? Why not just go without cooking?
Because you have to eat. And charcoal is what's available—it's cheap, it's local, it burns. Plastic is free if you know where to find it. When there's no gas, you use what's in front of you.
But she has asthma. Doesn't she have access to any kind of alternative?
Not really. There's no government distribution of fuel, no emergency program. The shortages are so severe that even if alternatives existed, they'd be out of reach for most people. She's not choosing this because she likes it.
Is this happening everywhere on the island, or just Santiago?
Santiago is where this story is visible, but the energy crisis is island-wide. The difference is that Santiago is the second-largest city, so when it's struggling, people notice. But rural areas and smaller towns are dealing with the same problem.
How directly does the U.S. pressure connect to what's happening in her kitchen?
It's the main driver. The sanctions restrict fuel imports. Without fuel imports, there's no gas for cooking, no reliable electricity. People adapt by burning whatever they can find. It's a direct line from policy to her stove.
What happens if this continues for another year?
More people get sick. Respiratory diseases worsen. You start seeing complications in children and the elderly. The health system, already strained, gets overwhelmed. And people keep burning plastic because they have to eat.