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The words of the Communist Party secretary in Gibara, Nayla Marieta Leyva Rodríguez, following the protests over power outages in that Holguín locality, have ignited a wave of criticism on social media.
His call to “trust in the tremendous Revolution we have” was met by Cubans with indignation, sarcasm, and accumulated anger after decades of unfulfilled promises and increasingly deep shortages.
On Facebook of CiberCuba, where the news sparked over 4,000 comments in less than 24 hours, the phrase was harshly reinterpreted: “a tremendous revolution of hunger, misery, and need.” A slogan that summarizes the sentiment of a people exhausted from surviving in the shadows, with empty refrigerators and no expectations for improvement.
The official discourse and the appropriation of the homeland
Citizen discontent is not only due to daily hardships or the electrical outages lasting over 24 hours that sparked the protest in Gibara.
What hurts the most is the regime's insistence on equating the so-called "revolution" with the nation itself, an ideological subterfuge that transforms any criticism of the government into an alleged attack on Cuba, on the homeland, or on national identity.
Since 1959, the Castro regime has appropriated symbols, flags, and foundational concepts to equate the Communist Party and the regime's leaders with the homeland.
Thus, anyone who questions government management is labeled as "counter-revolutionary," "anti-Cuban," "traitor to the homeland," or "traitor." This manipulation mechanism turns legitimate dissent into an act of supposed national disloyalty.
The statement from the official in Gibara was not a slip of the tongue, but rather a continuation of a narrative that has been in use for over six decades.
Talking about "the tremendous Revolution we have" is a way of displacing Cuba as a collective subject and positioning the "revolution" as a substitute for the nation. In this semantic game, the people are reduced to obedience, and the government claims the representation of the homeland.
Peaceful protests against propaganda
While the local television tried to portray "calm" in the streets after the meeting between the leader and residents of the El Güirito neighborhood, citizen videos revealed a different scene: dozens of people marching with pots, flashlights, and slogans of "We want electricity!" and "Freedom!"
The difference between both versions highlighted, once again, the abysmal gap between the official narrative and reality.
However, Leyva's response was not to acknowledge the frustration or the precariousness. In his message, he chose patriotic rhetoric, appealing to trust, hope, and resilience. This is a formula that has been repeated by Cuban authorities for decades, reducing social discontent to a test of ideological faith and denying the regime's responsibilities in the collapse of the electrical system and the widespread economic crisis.
Public outrage
Reactions on social media were swift. Hundreds of comments questioned the lack of empathy shown by the official, the privilege of political leaders, and the disconnection of the ruling elite from the hardships faced by the majority.
“From an air-conditioned office, it's easy to demand trust”, lamented a user. Another summed up the general sentiment: “Trust in what, if we've been hearing the same thing for 66 years and we're worse off every day”.
The rejection comes not only from the exile community or traditional critics but also from residents on the island who suffer daily from blackouts, uncontrolled inflation, and shortages. For them, the insistence on talking about a "tremendous revolution" is equivalent to mockery.
Between manipulation and weariness
The regime's rhetorical maneuver is clear: anyone who does not trust the "revolution" is automatically placed outside the nation. The recurring use of expressions like "true Cubans" or "those who do not let themselves be confused" seeks to establish a moral boundary between patriots—those who support the Party—and traitors—those who question it.
But the protest in Gibara and the massive social response on social media highlight a break in that strategy. More and more Cubans are rejecting the equivalence between homeland and revolution, and denouncing it as an empty discourse that justifies structural misery.
What could once be silenced under slogans of unity is now bursting forth in protests and viral posts that dismantle official propaganda.
The limit of patience
The blackout on September 10, which left the entire country in darkness after the shutdown of the Antonio Guiteras thermoelectric plant, was merely the trigger for the protest in Gibara.
Cubans know that the energy crisis is merely a manifestation of a larger disaster: food shortages, collapsing hospitals, precarious transportation, intermittent water supply, and wages that cannot meet basic needs.
In that context, asking for trust in the "tremendous revolution" sounds more like a threat than a promise. Because behind the phrase lies the implicit warning: either you are with the Party, or you are against Cuba.
The problem for the regime is that, after more than six decades of sacrifices without results, Cubans seem increasingly less willing to accept that discursive trap.
The outrage that erupted in Gibara is also a reflection of an uncomfortable truth: the patience of the people is wearing thin, and propaganda can no longer hide the darkness that envelops the island.
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