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The XI Plenary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Cuba (PCC) took place, like all previous ones, amidst slogans, euphemisms, and phrases that sound more like consolation than political direction of that “rare dictatorship” that Miguel Díaz-Canel defined during the III Plenary held in December of the infamous year 2021.
In the midst of an unprecedented national crisis—blackouts, rampant inflation, repression, chronic shortages, and an exodus draining the country—the power elite repeated the old script of the so-called "revolution": resist, blame the enemy, defend unity, and promise corrections that never materialize.
While Cubans attempt to survive an increasingly precarious reality, their leaders cling to a discourse that no longer describes the country, but rather obscures it.
The PCC plenaries have become ceremonies of ideological reaffirmation rather than spaces for real politics. Each new meeting confirms the same: the regime's power does not know how to coexist with reality and facts, and it takes refuge in the empty and deceitful rhetoric of a supposed "battle of ideas," where only the "heirs" and architects of "continuity" have a voice.
"Unity" as a mandate of silence
Díaz-Canel, in his dual role as ruler and first secretary of the PCC, reiterated that "unity is the guarantee that Cuba will remain free, independent, and sovereign," according to a report from the website of the Presidency.
He did so without mentioning the social fracture, the loss of trust, and the growing rejection felt across all sectors of the country. In his view, "unity" is not a common purpose but a mandate for submission. Speaking of it is, in practice, akin to asking for silence.
The leader dedicated a significant portion of his speech to denounce the "disinformation campaigns" and the "media war" that —according to him— are being waged against Cuba by the media and social networks.
The narrative of the external enemy, the same one that has served as a political refuge for the tyranny for six decades, remains the most effective tool for the government to avoid accountability. Instead of explaining the energy collapse, inflation, or the decline in national production, Díaz-Canel preferred to speak of "ideological battles," the need to "rectify," and the "dignity of resistance."
There were no data, measures, or even a minimal acknowledgment of daily despair. Only rhetoric, built on the idea of a supposed heroic Cuba that no longer exists beyond the old Castro propaganda.
The technocracy of failure
The Prime Minister, Manuel Marrero Cruz, tried to give the Assembly a tone of modern and efficient management, but his speech ended up being yet another exercise in empty bureaucracy.
He presented the so-called "Government Program to correct distortions and revitalize the economy," filled with numbers — "106 specific objectives, 342 actions, 264 indicators" — that don't mean much. His most quoted phrase was that "the main challenge is not the design of the program, but converting planning into concrete results."
However, Marrero Cruz did not question why those results never materialize or what prevents planning from translating into tangible improvements. The issue is not with execution, but rather with the model.
But in Cuba, no one can say that without risking their position or their freedom. And the Prime Minister – a possible successor to Díaz-Canel – knows this, so he prefers to fill his speeches with empty phrases and remain in the sidelines of "continuity."
The program presented by Marrero Cruz emerged more as an exercise in self-persuasion or collective illusion than as a real economic strategy.
Its technocratic language—“perfection,” “management mechanisms,” “exchange transformation”—served as a mask to conceal structural paralysis. In the hands of the regime, technocracy is not a tool of governance; it is a new form of propaganda.
The Ministers of Collapse
The Minister of Energy and Mines, Vicente de la O Levy, acknowledged that the country is experiencing "extremely high blackout hours," but attributed the crisis to a "lack of fuel and installed technology."
He did not talk about the deterioration of thermal power plants or about specific plans—complete with figures and deadlines—for the recovery of the electricity infrastructure, nor about the total lack of investment in a sector that relies on subsidized fuel from struggling allies or donations, which are becoming increasingly rare.
The intervention by Minister De la O Levy was a sequence of carefully crafted technicalities designed to avoid the forbidden word: collapse.
On his part, the Minister of Public Health, José Ángel Portal Miranda, used a similar tone. He described a "complex epidemiological situation" and an "accumulated vulnerability," using terminology that conceals the spread of diseases, the shortage of medications, and the collapse of the hospital system.
Instead of taking responsibility, he chose euphemisms and praised the "heroism" of healthcare workers, a way to transform failure into moral virtue.
Both speeches were perfect examples of how the regime has transformed public management into defensive rhetoric. It is not about governing with initiatives arising from debate and social dialogue, but rather maintaining the illusion that governance is based on "scientific" Marxist criteria and with the supposed support of a "heroic people" that "creatively resists".
Language as a refuge of power
In Cuban politics, words do not serve to describe reality, but to replace it. "Distortion," "pressure," "limitation," "complexity," "vulnerability": these are all ways to avoid the true terms—crisis, hunger, blackouts, corruption, negligence.
The language of power seeks not communication, but containment. Its goal is not to explain, but to control.
That rhetorical strategy is as old as the system itself. For years, the so-called "revolution" transformed every difficulty into an epic tale and every mistake into a heroic lesson. Now, that formula is repeated like an automatic reflex.
What was once an epic tale of "emancipation"—which led to the loss of popular sovereignty at the hands of a despotic power submissive to Moscow—today serves as an excuse for stagnation.
And the regime insists on its wildcard of the "external enemy," betting on its symbolic function: maintaining the idea of a constant threat and, with it, the necessity of obedience, under the penalty of committing treason.
A country that no longer listens
Outside the air-conditioned rooms where the plenary sessions are held, Cuban life flows at a different pace.
The words of power no longer find resonance. Long lines, inflation, power outages, inadequate healthcare, and mass emigration define the daily lives of millions of people. The gap between official discourse and reality has never been wider.
Most Cubans no longer subscribe to the "revolutionary" dogma. They do not trust the leaders, the plans, the promises, or the system. People listen out of habit, but they expect nothing. This disaffection is perhaps the most silent form of rebellion. Power continues to speak, but the populace has turned its back.
The Party as Structural Distortion
In this scenario of systemic ruin and decay, the Communist Party continues to define itself as "the superior leading force of society."
That phrase, repeated in every document and speech, summarizes the main obstacle for Cuba to transform itself. As long as the PCC is above the state and the law, no reform will be possible. The Party does not correct the distortions; it creates them.
Marrero Cruz inadvertently hinted at it by stating that the government program must be implemented "while preserving political stability and sovereignty."
In other words, any economic change is conditioned on not jeopardizing political power. The economy thus becomes an instrument of control, not of development.
A regime trapped in its own narrative
The XI Plenary of the PCC did not provide answers or signs of renewal. It simply made clear that the Cuban power structure remains trapped in its own rhetoric.
Díaz-Canel, Marrero Cruz, and their ministers manage the crisis as if it were a story: they name the problems to neutralize them, transform scarcity into sacrifice, and turn incompetence into resilience.
But words are no longer enough. No speech can hide the blackouts, the long lines, the hunger, or the desire to be free. No slogan can cover up the migration of an entire people seeking the life that despots deny them within the Island.
Cuba needs fewer slogans and more truth; less ideology and more freedom; it needs to turn the page and start writing a new story based on a political project that restores dignity, hope, and human rights, recognizing the plurality of society within the framework of a democratic state governed by law with a capitalist economy.
The regime knows it, but cannot acknowledge it. That’s why, while the country dims and suffers, and the nation dwindles, the PCC continues to “talk nonsense” and create a parallel reality to keep the new oligarchs of “state capitalism” in power, which the communists try to sell as “necessary” to, now indeed, “build socialism.”
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