A truly failed state could not survive what Cuba survives
For more than six decades, a small island nation has endured an economic siege that its president now describes not merely as policy but as a sustained act of cruelty — one whose consequences are written in the faces of children awaiting surgery and hospitals darkened by blackouts. Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel, speaking to Spanish journalists, placed his country's suffering within a broader human question: whether the powerful may indefinitely strangle the vulnerable while narrating the victim's collapse as self-inflicted. His call for unconditional dialogue between equals is less a diplomatic overture than a philosophical demand — that the world decide what kind of international order it wishes to inhabit.
- Cuba's healthcare system is buckling under the blockade's weight: over 100,000 patients await surgery, including 12,000 children, while hospitals operate through rolling blackouts caused by chronic fuel shortages.
- Infant mortality — once a source of national pride at 3.6 per 1,000 births — has more than doubled to nine, marking a painful retreat from decades of hard-won public health achievement.
- International hotel chains Iberostar and Meliá are withdrawing from Cuba under American pressure, eroding tourism infrastructure and forcing the island to reinvent its hospitality economy with Cuban-owned models and blockade-immune foreign partners.
- Díaz-Canel warns that Washington is pursuing one of three escalating strategies: economic asphyxiation to justify humanitarian intervention, coercive dialogue aimed at political transformation, or outright military aggression — each carrying catastrophic regional consequences.
- Cuba is extending an offer of commerce, cultural exchange, and full diplomatic normalization, but insists any dialogue must be unconditional, between sovereign equals, and accompanied by a meaningful lifting of the blockade.
When Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel sat down with Spanish journalists to speak about the American embargo, he chose his words with the weight of sixty years behind them. He called the blockade 'brutal and criminal' — not as rhetoric, he insisted, but as a description of lived reality. What troubles him most is not only the embargo's severity but the story told alongside it: that Cuba's suffering is Cuba's own fault, the product of a failed state rather than a deliberate stranglehold.
The human cost is measurable. More than 100,000 patients await surgical procedures, among them over 12,000 children. Infant mortality has climbed from 3.6 to nine deaths per thousand live births — still competitive by global standards, Díaz-Canel acknowledged, but a retreat from what Cuba had built. In over five months, a single Russian fuel ship arrived at the island, improving the energy situation for roughly two weeks before the blackouts returned. That one ship, he argued, disproves the failed-state narrative: a country that can deploy resources effectively when they arrive is not failing — it is being denied.
The pressure extends beyond Cuba's shores. International hotel chains have withdrawn not by choice but under American coercion, and European banks, businesses, and tourists face mounting obstacles. Díaz-Canel pressed Spain and the European Union to recognize that extraterritorial enforcement of American law harms their own citizens and interests — and that no single nation has the right to appoint itself the world's enforcer.
On the possibility of military invasion, he was unambiguous: Cuba is a nation of peace, but it maintains a people's war doctrine involving the entire population. An invasion would cost hundreds of thousands of Cuban lives and destabilize Latin America and the Caribbean. The threat to American national security, he said plainly, is a lie.
Díaz-Canel outlined three scenarios he believes Washington is pursuing — economic collapse followed by humanitarian intervention, coercive dialogue aimed at political transformation, or direct military aggression — and drew parallels to what he sees unfolding in Venezuela, Palestine, Lebanon, and Iran. Cuba's situation, he argued, is not isolated but part of a broader pattern of multidimensional aggression from Washington.
Yet he closed with openness rather than defiance. Cuba could have civilized relations with the United States — commerce, culture, science, tourism, academic exchange. But dialogue must be unconditional, between equals, free of demands for political change, and accompanied by a genuine easing of the blockade. As a revolutionary, he said, he maintains optimism. He believes in the growing number of people and governments worldwide who reject supremacy and want a more just international order — and he believes history, eventually, will not permit otherwise.
Miguel Díaz-Canel sat down with Spanish journalists to talk about something that has defined his country for more than sixty years: the American embargo. The Cuban president did not mince words. He called the economic, commercial, and financial blockade imposed by Washington "brutal and criminal"—a policy, he said, that his people do not deserve.
The weight of those six decades hangs over everything. Díaz-Canel pointed to the cruelty embedded not just in the embargo's intensity but in its sheer permanence. What troubles him most, he explained, is the narrative that accompanies it—a story told by American officials that blames Cuba's problems on the island itself, on what they call a "failed state." This, he argued, is the deepest cynicism: the embargo strangles the economy while a parallel story erases the hand doing the strangling.
The consequences are concrete and measurable. Hospitals across Cuba lack the electricity they need because of rolling blackouts. More than 100,000 patients are waiting for surgical procedures, among them over 12,000 children. The infant mortality rate, once a point of national pride at 3.6 deaths per thousand live births, has climbed to just above nine. Díaz-Canel acknowledged that nine remains competitive by international standards, but it represents a retreat from what Cuba had achieved. In more than five months, he noted, only one Russian fuel ship has arrived at the island—a delivery that improved the energy situation for roughly two weeks before the shortages returned. That single ship, he argued, proves something: a truly failed state could not survive what Cuba survives, nor could it demonstrate that resources, when available, can be deployed effectively.
The tourism sector tells another story of pressure and withdrawal. International hotel chains like Iberostar and Meliá, which had invested heavily in Cuban infrastructure and trained Cuban workers, are leaving—not by choice but because of American pressure. Díaz-Canel expressed respect for these companies and acknowledged their contributions. But he also signaled Cuba's pivot: the country now owns hotel infrastructure built through its own investment, and he is exploring new business models with Cuban investors willing to manage properties, as well as with foreign entities that have no dependence on American financial systems.
Díaz-Canel turned his attention to Europe, particularly Spain, arguing that the embargo harms not only Cuba but also European citizens, businesses, and banks. Spanish and European investors face coercive obstacles. Spanish tourists find it harder to reach the island. European banks cannot operate freely with Cuba. He pressed a larger point: no single nation should claim the role of global enforcer or dictate rules to others. The European Union and Spain, he suggested, must protect their own interests and citizens against what he called extraterritorial legal impositions.
On the question of military invasion, Díaz-Canel was direct. Cuba wants peace and is a nation of peace, he said, but the claim that Cuba threatens American national security is a lie. He outlined Cuba's military doctrine: a people's war, a defense strategy involving the entire population. An invasion would cost hundreds of thousands of Cuban lives, he warned, but it would also exact a heavy price on the invader and destabilize the entire region of Latin America and the Caribbean.
He identified three scenarios he believes Washington is pursuing. First: economic asphyxiation designed to trigger social collapse, which would then justify intervention under the guise of humanitarian aid—a pattern he sees repeated in Haiti, where poverty deepens and suffering compounds. Second: coercive dialogue under maximum pressure, aimed at controlling Cuba's economy and eventually forcing political change. Third: military aggression. These scenarios, he emphasized, are not Cuban constructions; they exist in American rhetoric and strategy.
On dialogue itself, Díaz-Canel expressed willingness. Cuba could have civilized relations with the United States as Washington maintains with other adversaries, he said. There could be commerce, cultural exchange, academic cooperation, sports, science, tourism without restriction. But any dialogue must be unconditional, between equals, without pressure, without demands for political or social transformation, and with respect for Cuban sovereignty and self-determination. The blockade itself would have to be lifted or substantially eased. American investment in Cuba is theoretically possible, he noted, but the blockade laws themselves prevent it. The asymmetry is historical: the United States has always been the aggressor, Cuba always the aggressed.
Díaz-Canel closed with a broader vision. As a revolutionary, he said, he maintains optimism despite the hardship. Cuba's people have demonstrated resistance and heroism that the world recognizes. He believes in international support for normalized relations and constructive dialogue. He also believes in human nature—in the growing number of people and governments worldwide who reject supremacy and hegemony, who want a more just international order, who respect the dignity of the Global South. What is happening to Cuba, he warned, is not isolated. Venezuela faced it. Palestine faces it daily in Gaza. Lebanon and Iran face it. The world is experiencing a multidimensional aggression from Washington expressed as ideological, cultural, and media warfare. The question, he posed, is whether the world will permit this or learn from history and reject it.
Notable Quotes
The embargo is brutal and criminal, and it is something the Cuban people do not deserve.— Miguel Díaz-Canel, Cuban President
An invasion would cost hundreds of thousands of Cuban lives, but it would also exact a heavy price on the invader and destabilize the entire region of Latin America and the Caribbean.— Miguel Díaz-Canel
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you say the embargo is "brutal and criminal," you're using language that goes beyond policy disagreement. What makes it criminal in your view?
It's the intent combined with the effect. The blockade is designed to create economic collapse, to provoke social breakdown, and then to use that breakdown as justification for intervention. That's not policy—that's a strategy of strangulation dressed up as something else.
But the United States would say it's leverage to encourage political change. How do you respond to that framing?
Because leverage implies negotiation between equals. This is not negotiation. This is one country imposing its will on another and then blaming the other country for the consequences. When a child cannot get surgery because there is no electricity, that is not leverage. That is cruelty.
You mentioned that only one Russian fuel ship arrived in five months. That's a striking detail. What does that tell you about the blockade's effectiveness?
It tells me the blockade works exactly as intended—it isolates Cuba, cuts off alternatives, creates scarcity. But it also proves we are not a failed state. A truly failed state would collapse under this pressure. We survive. We adapt. When resources arrive, we use them well. That survival itself is an answer to their narrative.
You're open to dialogue with the United States, but you've drawn what you call "red lines." What happens if the US refuses to accept those conditions?
Then there is no dialogue. There is only confrontation. But I believe the world is changing. More countries, more people, reject the idea that one nation should dictate to all others. That shift creates space for a different kind of conversation—one based on respect, not force.
You compared what's happening to Cuba to what's happening in Gaza, Lebanon, Iran. Are you suggesting these are all part of a coordinated strategy?
I'm suggesting they are expressions of the same logic: the logic of hegemony, of one power deciding what is acceptable in the world. The methods differ, but the principle is the same. And the world has to decide whether it will accept that principle or reject it.
What gives you optimism, given everything you've described?
History. Resistance. The fact that people everywhere are tired of being told how to live by powers that do not represent them. That is not naive optimism. That is the recognition that change happens when enough people decide it must.