New Adventures of the Latest Guanajo

Sandro Castro is a fool, there is no doubt about it. His stupidity is inversely proportional to his shame, and his malice is typical of a clown on steroids without any dignity. Sandrito is "the scrape of Fidel," an abortion of the "new man" who survived by consuming his grandmother's ham sandwiches and his great-uncle's caviar lollipops.

The times of his debut on social media are behind him, showcasing his “toys” made in Germany that conquer the road, only to later appear regretful, still marked by the slap from the officer of the State Security who deals with such sensitive matters, moaning about his status as a "simple person".

It was late February 2021, with the pandemic disrupting global paradigms and putting "continuity" on the ropes, dismantling the myth of "medical power". There was nervousness in the air, and Counterintelligence could already sense what was brewing on the streets. The signs of the outbreak of 11J, which happened five months later, forced State Security to rein in the incredibly foolish grandson.

But the pandemic passed, the world emerged from confinement eager to celebrate, at the Palacio they showcased the “grandeur of the revolution” that had managed to produce abdalas and soberanas, and the 11J also came, with its brutal and exemplary repression afterward, one that strengthened in Cubans the fear of freedom of expression, led to the largest migration exodus in history and the disconnection of virtual spaces where civil society activism had flourished, and ended with social media returning to its usual nonsense.

And the irreverent guanajo reappeared. On vacation in Cayo Santa María, or partying at his bar with Yomil Hidalgo while Cuba was in shock over the fire at the Supertankers Base in Matanzas. People began to short-circuit. Hadn't he already received a good scolding? How dare he show his face again? Well, simply put, with the trunk of his car full of water bottles to help those fighting the fire and Sandro Castro leading a "caravan of entrepreneurs".

Seventeen people had died in the fire and thousands during the recent pandemic, with no oxygen in the hospitals and no medications in the pharmacies. How was it possible for that spoiled little fool to go out partying again, showcasing his "hospitality ventures" and behaving like the new Scarface, king of the Havana nightlife?

A new distraction strategy by the regime was beginning to take shape; Counterintelligence had recognized the distracting potential of the brash Castro, whose social media posts diverted attention away from the outrage and indignation caused by the trajectory of the so-called "socialist revolution," now reduced to a wasteland for sale, in the hands of a mafioso kleptocracy leaning toward "crony" capitalism, the emergence of private enterprise, the distribution of profits, and the unchecked construction of hotels.

Y, voilà, Sandro Castro became the "useful fool" that the regime needed to channel the hatred and anger of the Cubans. Was the electrical system collapsing? Well, it was a green light for the abnormal, with his duck lips in a pool in Siboney and his little plastic doll showing its bottom. And from there on, Sandrito's endless string of pearls began. His shopping abroad, his Cohiba cigars and tequilas at his EFE bar, the entourage of hangers-on, the selfies with Lázaro, Yarelis, with Santy Ogbetua, or with Flor de Cuba.

Is there a new energy crisis? Wait, wait... get the fool out of his laser hair removal session and let him announce a grand birthday celebration, you'll see what happens. Turned into an asset of Counterintelligence, he no longer has to apologize for his parties and excesses. Now he can cynically explain that he is a businessman who does whatever he wants with his polished spheres. “I'm celebrating like a young revolutionary Cuban.”

“Long live Canel, long live the Revolution!,” muttered a green-haired dwarf with an ironic surname (Bolufé) who acted as the master of ceremonies for Sandrito in a display of mock indignation. To the greater glory of the strategists, the Fool of Cuba emerged, calling for disdain towards Sandrito, that normalized aberration paving the way, like a post-communist pioneer, towards the fierce state capitalism.

It will be the biggest party in years, concluded the bewildered birthday celebrant, who, with his mediocre social media show, was partially diverting attention away from the collapse of the national electrical system.

“Drink as if there were no tomorrow,” Sandrito congratulated the Cubans at the end of the year. And that is the plan: to leave the Cubans in an endless present/past, in a loop, a “continuity” that bites its own tail, where the Castro-Soto del Valle family -including a new jester named Issuan- takes it upon themselves to mock the sovereign, supposedly, the people without a future.

Now, in the midst of the anal phase, Sandrito is playing at giving the middle finger to the Cubans, something that amuses the companion attending to him, a genius who must have been awarded by Alejandro Castro Espín (alias The One-Eyed). He does this on February 14 with two small bouquets of flowers in hand, and repeats it days later with two bottles of beer while dancing a challenge with his crew singing They not like us, cracking up with the masses.

“I believed we were equality, but we are inequality,” he said in one of his last live broadcasts, initiating the Putrump operation of Counterintelligence, where the transgressions of the past will seem like child's play compared to those of the future. We are entering the next phase of the strategy, the distracting playing field opens up, and new “actors” like Humberto López (actually, a veteran), Manuel Anido Cuesta, and the star of La Colmenita join the scene.

Cuba, a state captured by a mafia elite, remains paralyzed, watching as a hellish abyss opens at its feet, while hotels rise left and right, as some fat cats shout that "we need foreign currency" and "no one will be left unprotected," only to then dismantle the regulated basic basket and embark on the "partial dollarization of the economy."

The grotesque takes on new shades of wickedness; propaganda follows its old playbook with fresh twists.