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The propaganda tried to save its president and ended up exposing him. The official Facebook page of the program ‘Chapeando bajito’, usually accustomed to repeating slogans without any fuss, turned into a fiery public square this week.
What was intended to be a "clarification" regarding the video in which the leader Miguel Díaz-Canel responded with anger and harshness to Francisca -an elderly victim of Hurricane Melissa- turned into a public trial.
The question that headed the publication —"What did Díaz-Canel say to a woman in Granma when she mentioned not having a bed or mattress?"— received an avalanche of responses.
Hundreds of Cubans, both on the island and abroad, filled the official program's wall with phrases that would have hardly passed censorship in the past: "It's not about what was said, but how it was said".
“Play the video”; “Video defeats narrative”; “Don't clarify; it darkens”, were responses that were repeated in various forms, all fueled by the outrage caused by the blatant manipulation of the “soul sister” of Díaz-Canel, the official journalist Arleen Rodríguez Derivet.
A "denial" without a video
The text of 'Chapeando bajito' provided a transcript, but not the complete video. That was enough to ignite the spark. “Why don't they just show it? Are the face and the tone also edited?”, a woman wrote.
Another user summed up the general sentiment: “If you claim to have the original video, show it. Otherwise, it's just a story”. The request was repeated over and over: “Post the video”; “Nothing has been edited” [in response to the regime's argument of partial dissemination of what happened]; “Is the footage also manipulated?”.
The wall became a kind of virtual manifestation where transparency was the new political cry.
From paternalism to discredit
For the first time, many commentators who used to speak cautiously expressed themselves with devastating frankness.
“Neither bed nor empathy”, wrote a user, in what became almost a motto. Another woman expanded on it: “Díaz-Canel was not criticized for not having a bed in his pocket, but for responding with disdain. When someone tells you ‘I lost everything’, the response should not be ‘I don’t have anything to give you either’. You should say ‘I’m sorry, we will find a solution’. That is not populism, it is humanity”.
The text has been shared, copied, and quoted dozens of times, with small changes and new nuances. Some referred to it as “the masterclass that the government will never understand”.
The contrast between the official discourse —which spoke of "character assassination"— and the popular interpretation was absolute: "Character assassination? The reputation committed suicide on its own.", responded a commentator.
Another remark: “The people do not kill reputations, they bury them”.
Humor and rage
Humor, that old Cuban valve, burst forth as a weapon of resistance. When a user defended the president by saying that "the response was correct," a flurry of replies ensued: "What do you have for breakfast, comrade?"; "Celia rises from the grave and gives you a cookie of continuity"; "Poor wife if he responds like that at home".
Between laughs and sarcasm, a bitter truth slipped in: even in the most controlled environments, the official language evokes more mockery than respect. Another commented: “Netflix would love to hire the writer of this post”.
Some wrapped up with corrosive humor: “He went with empty hands to say he had nothing to give”; “Summary of the trip: neither mattresses nor compassion”.
The myth of "continuity" is cracking
Several users invoked the contrast with the dictator Fidel Castro, not out of nostalgia, but to emphasize the fall of the myth.
“Fidel would never have responded like that”; “The commander had charisma; this one only has arrogance”; “They fill their mouths with the word ‘continuity’, but what they truly continue is the lack of shame”.
The use of the past (“Fidel was”, “Fidel did”) served as a mirror where the present reflects more distorted. And between irony and anger, many users uncovered a shared idea: the so-called “revolution” no longer represents anyone; it only defends the interests of those who govern a totalitarian regime.
From defense to disintegration
The few government defenders attempted to salvage the rhetoric of "unity" and "serenity." Their comments were overwhelmed by a flood of responses.
“Beasts have no feelings”; “Equanimity in hunger does not exist”; “Unity? First, show respect”, responded the internet users.
The language of the readers oscillated between moral indignation and political criticism. Many did not resort to insults; they reasoned: “A good politician does not need to have all the answers, but they do need respect”; “Do not talk to us about an economic blockade when the most cruel blockade is the daily contempt”.
That last phrase —repeated and applauded— summed up what the official apparatus never seems to grasp: the problem is not just material, it is moral.
"The bed can wait. Dignity cannot."
Among the hundreds of comments, that line became almost an emblem. It appeared in replies, memes, and hashtags.
Someone wrote it in capital letters: “THE BED CAN WAIT. DIGNITY CANNOT.” Others adopted it as a closing in their personal profiles, a kind of shout for self-respect.
The episode transcended the anecdote and became a metaphor: the bed represented material possessions, while dignity was what the people felt had been taken from them.
The digital mirror
The release of ‘Chapeando bajito’ ultimately became an unintentional portrait of the real country: a space where people speak freely, where fear breaks apart, and irony becomes a means of argumentation.
“We are not the enemy, we are those who no longer want to remain silent”; “Before they deceived us with speeches. Now we have the internet”; “Play the video and be quiet”.
Censorship did not manage to halt the tide. The most critical comments disappeared from the page within hours, but many users had copied them before that. The effect was the opposite of what was intended: the attempt to hide only amplified the outrage.
A failure in its own territory
The case 'Chapeando bajito' revealed something that the Cuban power still does not know how to manage: the loss of the emotional monopoly.
For decades, the State dictated what to feel: gratitude, resistance, faith. Now, the people respond with irony, clarity, and pain.
On its own wall, the regime heard what it never wanted to hear: that its rhetoric no longer convinces, that empathy cannot be manufactured with slogans, and that no denial can erase the truth of a gesture.
“It wasn't what he said. It was how he said it. And that how says it all.”
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