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Neither the intellectual solemnity nor the "revolutionary" rhetoric saved Abel Prieto from public scorn this time. In less than 24 hours, his defense of President Miguel Díaz-Canel turned into a tsunami of digital outrage.
More than five thousand comments —mostly expressions of outright rejection— flooded social media following his tweet in which he claimed that “the enemy lies shamelessly” and that “our people love him, admire him, and recognize him as a worthy successor to Fidel and Raúl.”
The former Minister of Culture, now president of Casa de las Américas, aimed to contribute to the image rehabilitation campaign of the ruler with the hashtag #YoSigoAMiPresidente, launched in response to the discredit caused by Díaz-Canel's remark to a victim of Hurricane Melissa: “I also don't have a bed to give you right now.”
But the effect was devastating. The people literally responded to him.
“Yes, we want it, but very far away”, wrote a user. “Let him hold elections and see if they really want him”, said another. “Don't speak for me or for the people”, was repeated dozens of times.
The wall of CiberCuba on Facebook, where the news was shared, turned into an impromptu town hall meeting, a digital catharsis where thousands of Cubans, both on and off the island, expressed their frustration over the affected rhetoric of the former minister.
The reactions ranged from irony to fury: "We want him like yucca, underground"; "They admire him in their wet dreams"; "If you love him so much, take him home with you"; "Stop mocking the people".
A reader, in a pleading tone, summarized the general sentiment: “Please, Abel, stop speaking for those who have neither electricity, nor medicine, nor a bed.”
Others took the opportunity to dismantle the fiction of unanimity that the regime tries to maintain. "Let them hold free elections and they will know how many support them."; "The people who admire him are the ones with air conditioning and a full fridge."; "You live in a parallel Cuba.".
The irony blended with a deep social outrage. "This is already tropical surrealism." said one. "Abel Prieto doesn't need a script, because he writes himself as a caricature."
The tone of the critiques left no room for doubt: the majority accused him of hypocrisy, disconnection, and servility. “Another groveler”; “Chicharrón of the year 2025”; “Parrot of power”, it was read time and again.
“You, who were the Minister of Culture, should be ashamed of using language to lie,” wrote a retired professor from Camagüey. “Speaking on behalf of the people while the people are starving is an unforgivable disrespect.”
The repudiation was so widespread that the phrase “The people do not support you, Abel” became a trend, while other users mocked: “The people love you as much as Díaz-Canel”, or “Only the people from Casa de las Américas admire you”.
Some comments, more extensive and reflective, hit the nail on the head: "Díaz-Canel is the reflection of the failure of the system that imposed him: without leadership, without empathy, appointed to sustain an exhausted machinery. Speaking of admiration is an insult to reality."
The public anger was fueled not only by daily frustrations but also by the stark contrast between propaganda and lived experience: blackouts lasting more than 20 hours, a shortage of basic medications, crushed salaries, and a regime that responds to criticism with coercion or mockery.
Prieto's praise came just as the country was still discussing the video of the elderly woman from Granma who had confronted Díaz-Canel. The coincidence served to ignite the fuse.
For many, his tweet is the symbol of an irreversible divorce between the official discourse and the streets. “They live in another Cuba, the Cuba of air conditioning and imported goods”, wrote a user. “We live in the one of blackouts, long lines, and tears”.
Social media, once again, served as a thermometer for discontent. What was whispered in lines in decades past is now shouted in the comments: "We want him, yes, but imprisoned or far away"; "We neither want him nor admire him, we endure him"; "Let’s see if one day they hold a plebiscite and stop speaking in our name".
The episode confirms an increasingly visible phenomenon: the Cuban regime has lost its monopoly on the narrative. Every message crafted to strengthen the image of power ends up amplifying citizens' outrage.
Hashtag campaigns, obedient communicators, organic intellectuals— the entire propaganda apparatus— no longer convinces an audience that laughs, gets angry, or responds with sarcasm.
“The people spoke, and it was not on Mesa Redonda”, wrote a commentator, summarizing the scene. “They spoke on Facebook, without fear and without censorship, and what they said is simple: enough of lies”.
What was intended as a gesture of political loyalty ended up being a public humiliation for one of the most recognized cultural figures of Castroism. Prieto's publication, which was supposed to showcase a grateful and loyal people, revealed just the opposite: a weary society, disillusioned and increasingly willing to speak out about what was previously silenced.
Among thousands of messages, one stood out for its simplicity and impact, serving as an epitaph for an entire era of empty propaganda: “Abel, you do not speak for Cuba. Cuba is speaking, and it does not say what you do.”
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