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In Cuba, miracles last as long as it takes for the power to go out again. This December 2nd, while Miguel Díaz-Canel changed his "emergency" olive green uniform for a pristine white guayabera to inaugurate a solar park in Mayabeque, the national electrical system decided to pay tribute to the ruler's civilian attire... by disconnecting once more.
The day before, an article published on CiberCuba with the headline “Why does Díaz-Canel wear a military uniform in his recent public appearances?” sparked a flurry of mockery, criticism, and expressions of outrage from readers on this outlet's Facebook page.
With the blackouts, there’s no time to iron the guayaberas; “It’s the campaign against Aedes aegypti”; “La Machi doesn't wash his clothes”; “The uniform doesn't make a commander, just as the guayabera didn't make him civilized,” said some of the thousands of comments.
The image consultants from the Palace, avid readers of CiberCuba, rushed to remove the National Defense Council uniform from the appointed leader and showcase him the next day "in a guayabera" of immaculate white, to demonstrate that the first secretary of the Communist Party indeed has someone to iron his guayaberas.
The scene—both symbolic and unfortunate—took place at the political-cultural event organized by the Presidency to commemorate the 65th anniversary of diplomatic relations between Cuba and Vietnam.
Amid flags, fraternal speeches, and carefully lit enthusiasm, a starched Díaz-Canel and Vietnamese Deputy Prime Minister, Ho Quoc Dung, laid the "first stone" of the photovoltaic park "Vista Alegre."
A few hours after its dazzling appearance, the entire western region of the country was left in the dark.
From the sun of Vietnam to the blackout in Pinar del Río
According to the triumphalist post published on social media by the official account of the Presidency, the event was “memorable for the nation's history.”
Indeed, it was memorable, but not for the technological advancement; rather, it was for the almost poetic coincidence between the inauguration of a solar park and the collapse of the national electric system.
While the ruler spoke of "new energy victories" and thanked the Vietnamese donations, the Electric Union reported—less poetically now—the disconnection of the western part of the island, from Pinar del Río to Cienfuegos. Another "unexpected interruption" that, by this point, has become a national routine.
The contrast was so absurd that even Cuban popular humor didn’t need to exert itself: the headline alone was enough to set social media on fire. “Díaz-Canel puts on his guayabera and the country goes dark,” users quipped amid memes and blackouts.
From olive green to hope white
The change in the president's attire also caught attention. After a month of public appearances dressed in military garb — with excuses ranging from the hurricane Melissa to supposed "defense tasks" — Díaz-Canel has now reappeared in a white guayabera, in a carefully arranged setting with solar panels and friendly flags.
But the guayabera, a symbol of tropical elegance and institutional calm, ended up being just another disguise of the "control" that the regime tries to project amid the energy chaos. And while the leader spoke of "fraternity, brotherhood, and solidarity cooperation," Cubans crossed their fingers hoping the power wouldn't go out before the scheduled time.
The rhetoric that does not enlighten
According to the official statement, the four solar parks donated by Vietnam—each with a capacity of 20 megawatts—“will contribute to improving electricity generation in the country.” In practice, this contribution would cover less than 2% of the daily deficit of the system.
But the figure matters little when the purpose is not to generate electricity, but rather propaganda.
In a country where blackouts are measured in hours, not in megawatts, the government continues to focus on ceremonies, anthems, and declarations of “unbreakable brotherhood.” What matters less is whether there is power or not: what’s important is that there are cameras.
The country of the "first stones"
The episode adds to the long list of inaugural acts that never yield tangible results. Like the "strategic projects" for biogas, the "economic reorganizations," or the "food sovereignty strategies" that end up as mere documents and slogans.
Cuba has become the land of the first eternal stones: they are placed, photographed, and forgotten. The stone remains, but the current fades away.
A regime in the dark
Meanwhile, millions of Cubans continue to live in a state of permanent blackout—not only in terms of electricity but also in information and politics. The government's inability to address the energy crisis reflects the structural collapse of a system that relies more on rhetoric than on kilowatts.
Díaz-Canel may change his uniform or guayabera, he may reference Raúl Castro, Ho Chi Minh, or the “eternal brotherhood,” but neither the rhetoric nor the donated panels are enough to light a bulb in Pinar del Río.
Ultimately, the only shine that remains is that of popular sarcasm, the sun that, unlike the regime, never sets.
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