‘We can’t take it anymore’: How Trump is pushing Cuba to the brink

‘We can’t take it anymore’: How Trump is pushing Cuba to the brink

A Cuban man approached me on the street, his voice a hushed murmur. “Let the Americans come, let Trump come, it’s time to get this over with,” he said, almost as if afraid of being overheard. This is risky speech in Cuba—especially amid the intense pressure from a U.S. president who has revived threats against the island with renewed force since the Cold War era. I glanced around, scanning for potential eavesdroppers, and checked if my cameraman, documenting the transportation crisis, was close enough to capture his words. The man, a bicycle-taxi operator, spoke further. “We can’t take it anymore,” he added. “People can’t feed their families.”

Cuba has endured decades of turmoil: past CIA attempts, nuclear standoffs, and mass departures. Now, Donald Trump’s policies are intensifying the strain. In a recent interview with CNN’s Dana Bash, Trump declared, “Cuba is going to fall soon,” a claim that feels familiar yet strikingly abrupt in its execution. His oil embargo, imposed swiftly and precisely, has crippled the island’s already fragile economy. During his second term, he has escalated efforts to destabilize Venezuela and Iran, and Cuba is now the next target. Despite its resilience through prolonged U.S. sanctions and internal challenges, the country now faces an unprecedented crisis.

Unlike the 1962 missile crisis, which saw naval blockades, the current situation lacks such barriers but delivers the same economic toll. With the U.S. targeting Venezuela and pressuring Mexico, oil supplies from Havana’s remaining allies have dwindled. Once bustling with new hotels funded by the government, the island now sees many of these venues shuttered. Workers are laid off, and tourists are scarce—no fuel remains for planes to carry them away. “Cuba is not alone,” the government insists, but the nation appears as desolate as it has been since the Soviet Union’s collapse.

Blackouts, once brief, now stretch for days. When power flickers on at night, Cubans struggle to prepare meals or press clothes. During a recent 36-hour outage, a group of men cooked a pot over burning branches on a Havana street. “We have returned to the Stone Age,” one man remarked, his tone oddly upbeat. Without fuel, most vehicles sit idle. Government rentals for tourists are the only cars that can reliably access state gas stations, prompting Cubans to siphon fuel for the black market. A single tank sells for over $300—more than the average annual income.

Trump asserts the Cuban government is desperate for a deal, but officials I spoke with reject this. “The homeland or death. We will be victorious!” still echoes in speeches, a defiant mantra. Yet, among the populace, weariness is palpable. Some Cubans yearn for change, regardless of its source. When my cameraman finally reappeared, I asked the taxi driver if he wished to share his thoughts. He walked away quickly, unwilling to voice his concerns above a whisper—at least for now.