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The Cuba that our grandparents knew is fading away. The exodus is not only felt in airports and the deserted streets of towns; it is also happening within the country, quietly, as thousands of Cubans leave the countryside and the most impoverished provinces in search of a future that, for now, still remains elusive.
The alert has just been raised by Antonio Ajas, director of the Demographic Studies Center at the University of Havana, who warned that Cuba is currently experiencing an intense internal migration process, which adds to the massive migratory flow abroad.
According to what was explained to Prensa Latina, mobility within the country is greater than ever: from east to west, from the countryside to cities, or between rural areas in search of better economic opportunities.
“Rural areas are depopulated and aging. This mobility presents a significant challenge for economic development, food production, and the sustainability of the country,” stated the expert.
While international headlines often focus on the external exodus of Cubans, another equally dramatic phenomenon is occurring within the island: internal depopulation. Entire municipalities are losing their workforce, their youth, their future teachers and farmers. Communities are aging without generational replacement, and the fields are becoming almost ghostly landscapes.
The data is compelling. In 2024 alone, over 250,000 Cubans left the island, according to the National Office of Statistics and Information (ONEI), marking the year with the lowest number of recorded births in six decades. Independent studies, such as that of economist Juan Carlos Albizu-Campos, raise this figure to over 545,000 emigrants in a single year, and assert that the actual population of Cuba may have dropped to just over eight million residents, a decrease of 24% since 2020.
"Demographic emptying": like a country at war
Albizu-Campos does not hesitate to describe the situation as a catastrophe of historical magnitude. "This level of population contraction has only been observed in contexts of war,” he warns.
The phenomenon is not only quantitative: those who emigrate are, for the most part, young people of working age, which exacerbates the crisis in the labor market, the pension system, and the already deteriorating national economy.
Official figures confirm the demographic collapse: birth rates continue to decline, the population over 60 years old now represents 25.7% of the total, and since 2020, more than 1.4 million people have vanished from the Cuban population registry.
And meanwhile, the institutions seem overwhelmed: without a census since 2012, lacking effective policies to curb emigration or encourage birth rates, and with official speeches that barely acknowledge the severity of the issue.
The migration of young people is perhaps the most poignant sign of this crisis. Not only does it represent a loss of human capital, but it also reflects an emotional and existential break with the island. Those who should stay to build, cultivate, teach, and heal are leaving. Instead of a future, many only see long lines, blackouts, inflation, and frustration.
“It is necessary to understand migration, seek a return, and foster a connection with Cubans who are abroad and want to come back,” Ajas said. However, that reunion still seems distant as long as the structural causes that drive people away persist: poverty, repression, lack of opportunities, and an economic crisis that shows no signs of relief.
Cuba is emptying, both inside and out. It is not enough to acknowledge this in the Council of Ministers or at some press conference. The real question remains unanswered: What country is left when those who dream, work, and raise families leave?
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