There are cities that age with dignity and others that simply bleed out. Havana —once a showcase of the Caribbean, a cosmopolitan port, an architectural laboratory, and a cultural capital— now seems to live in a state of permanent urgency: an urgency to prevent the next collapse, to secure water, to cross the city without spending half a day in line, to dodge piles of trash that have become part of the landscape.
It's not about cheap nostalgia. Havana before 1959 was not a paradise: glamour and inequality coexisted, elegant neighborhoods and crowded tenements, modernity and marginality. But it was undeniable that the city was growing, expanding, modernizing, connecting. In contrast, today’s Havana —after 66 years of a political and economic model that centralizes everything and is accountable to no one— is crumbling, fading, getting stuck, and emptying.
When Havana was being built forward
In the late 1950s, Havana was experiencing the momentum of a post-war urban boom that transformed its appearance: apartment buildings, hotels in Vedado, and entire neighborhoods that became symbols of social ascension —Miramar, Country Club, Biltmore— featuring modern homes, wide layouts, and an urban life that was looking toward the twentieth century.
That push was not just aesthetic. It was infrastructure. In 1958, the tunnel under Havana Bay was completed, opening the connection to historically isolated areas in the east and promising new development zones.
It was also a city that allowed itself to dream big: in 1956, the FOCSA building was completed, an emblematic work of Havana's modernism, which encapsulated technical ambition and a metropolitan vocation.
And Havana already had symbols that upheld its status as the capital: the National Capitol, officially inaugurated in 1929, remained an emblem of republican monumentalism and a reminder of a city designed to endure.
La Habana was, in short, an imperfect yet vibrant city; a city that debated, built, and imagined itself.
1959: the state took control of the city… and the city was left without an owner
The break occurs when the power decides that Havana is no longer a citizen project, but rather an ideological cog. Urban development and construction come to rely solely on the State as the only major actor. After the Revolution, speculative development was banned, land was expropriated, and the construction industry was nationalized, abruptly halting the private real estate dynamics that had been driving growth.
In 1960, the Urban Reform Law fundamentally changed the housing market: it prohibited property owners from renting urban properties and reorganized the ownership of houses and apartments under rules imposed from above.
That was presented as social justice; and for many families, it meant immediate stability. But over time, the system revealed its hidden cost: when everything belongs to the State, no one is responsible; when everything depends on permits, no one invests; when the economy becomes impoverished and militarized, maintenance ceases to be a priority.
La Habana didn’t begin to decline overnight. It has been worn down, decade after decade, by the lack of real investment, the inadequacy of materials, wages that are unable to support repairs, bureaucracy as a form of governance, and impunity as a method of administration.
And when a coastal city lives without maintenance, the salt and humidity show no mercy. Cyclones, tropical rains, and the passage of time over centuries-old buildings also show no mercy. But it is not the climate that brings things down; it is neglect that causes the collapse.
Havana today: collapse as routine
In contemporary Havana, building collapses have ceased to be extraordinary news and have become a daily threat. The most cruel fact is that it kills.
In October 2023, the partial collapse of a building in the historic center resulted in three fatalities, including two firefighters who were assisting with an evacuation. Structural deterioration and a lack of maintenance have become a part of everyday life in Havana.
And 2025 has not been better: this year, there have been reports of collapsed buildings with victims, including children, in a sequence that confirms that the city is crumbling from within.
Even what does not lead to a “total collapse” becomes Russian roulette: balconies that fall, walls that give way, cornices that detach. A recent example in Old Havana highlighted the direct risk to any pedestrian —and even to a parked car— in the event of a partial collapse.
The most painful thing is the normalization: the person from Havana learns to look up before walking, to identify cracks as one would identify storm clouds, to live with a silent fear that should not exist in a capital.
The housing crisis: massive deficit and official deterioration
While the regime speaks of "plans," the numbers speak of paralysis.
In July 2025, it was reported that Cuba has a deficit of over 800,000 homes and that only about 2,700 had been built so far this year, representing minimal growth.
And even where there are houses, safety is not always guaranteed: it is estimated that more than a third of the housing stock is in regular or poor condition, which amounts to over 1.4 million homes.
This is not just "a lack of paint." It is structure, electricity, leaks, columns, roofs, pipes: the city that was built to last now stands with fixes, patches, and faith.
Trash in the streets: the capital turned into a landfill
The decline doesn't always sound like collapse; sometimes it smells. The trash crisis has degraded everyday life in Havana, turning uncleanliness into a part of the landscape.
For months, the garbage piled up in several Cuban cities —including Havana— became part of the environment due to a lack of machinery, supplies, fuel, and personnel.
In Havana, official data indicates that the volume of waste in the capital exceeds 30,000 cubic meters daily.
And while the public demands solutions, the official response has veered into cynicism: the population has been urged to take "personal responsibility" for cleaning up, as if the issue were moral and not a matter of public management.
The result is twofold: urban deterioration and health risks. Where there is uncollected trash, there are vectors; where there is neglect, illness thrives. The capital, which should be a model of services, operates intermittently.
But in a city surrounded by water
La Habana is a city by the sea. Yet, more and more, it lives like a city without water.
Only in Havana can between 40% and 70% of the pumped water be lost, due to a depleted system lacking adequate maintenance.
At the beginning of 2025, more than 600,000 people in Cuba were receiving water through tank trucks, and losses exceeding 40% were reported due to leaks in networks and pipelines.
It is not just an anecdote; it is a collapse of essential services. And when the water fails, everything fails: hygiene, nutrition, health, schools, hospitals, dignity.
Transport: a city that doesn't move
La Habana is also the city of lines: lines for bread, for gas, for the bus. And if people do not move, the economy does not move; life does not move.
The buses in Havana are increasingly fewer and more uncomfortable, and half of the routes to points outside the capital have been eliminated due to a lack of fuel and spare parts.
That same reality drives survival solutions: electric motorcycles, bicycles, battery inventions. Between 2020 and 2022, more than 23,000 electric vehicles were produced in Cuba, and demand surged in direct response to the fuel and public transport crisis.
The city adapts, yes. But adapting is not thriving. Adapting is enduring.
The paradox: luxury hotels in a crumbling city
While the capital crumbles due to lack of maintenance, the regime builds towers for tourism as if they were a national priority.
In 2025, a massive hotel with over 500 rooms and 150 meters in height dominated the skyline and sparked criticism for the obscene contrast: millions for luxury, crumbs for housing, schools, and hospitals.
Even so, the plan to build hotels continued, even when occupancy was low and the country was sinking into blackouts, shortages, and exodus.
Tourism, including these megaprojects, operates under GAESA, a military conglomerate noted for its lack of transparency and exempt from audits.
In a normal city, a tower would be justified by demand and planning. In Havana, the tower is explained by power: by who controls the money, the imports, the cement, the steel, the licenses; by who decides what gets built and what falls into disrepair.
Old Havana: a world heritage site… and a restoration that falls short
La Habana is not just ruins. It is also heritage. And it is also resilience.
The historic center, Old Havana, and its system of fortifications preserve squares and iconic buildings that reflect centuries of urban history.
For decades, a restoration model linked to the social use of heritage was attempted, with urban recovery projects aimed at partially financing themselves through tourism revenue.
Even today, there are restorations that deserve respect, done with professionalism and dedication. But all of that—if not accompanied by freedoms, real investment, transparency, and decentralization— falls short. A city cannot be saved by restoring facades while people live in fear of the ceiling collapsing on them.
Havana is Emptying: Exodus and a City without a Future
A capital is also supported by its people. And Cuba is losing people at a brutal rate.
The exodus is felt in Havana like a blackout: deserted streets, buildings where only the elderly and children remain, professionals who are no longer there, neighborhoods with less life and more resignation.
And still, the Cuban people create networks to support themselves: chains of assistance, solidarity from within and from the diaspora, citizens filling in where the State does not reach.
Havana endures, but it should not have to endure to live.
In numbers: five figures that portray the decline
- National housing deficit: over 800,000; constructed in 2025 (up to July): around 2,700.
- Housing in regular or poor condition: 35% of the housing stock (over 1.4 million).
- Garbage in Havana: more than 30,000 cubic meters of waste daily.
- Water: losses of up to 70% of the pumped water due to system deterioration.
- Priorities: luxury hotel of 150 meters amidst a crisis; tourism 2024: 2.2 million (vs 4.2 million in 2019).
The capital of all Cubans… and the future they owe it
Havana belongs to those who live in Centro Habana and bathe with buckets.
He is one of those who waits for a bus that never arrives.
He is one of those who collect rubble after a collapse.
He is one of those who clean their area because the truck doesn't show up.
He is one of those who emigrated and dreams of it from afar with an unshakeable sadness.
And it should also be —it ought to be— the capital of a nation that deserves normalcy: stable water supply, clean streets, functional transport, safe buildings, transparent investment, and a government that is accountable to the citizens.
There is no magic to save Havana. There are decisions: prioritizing housing over propaganda, services over control, transparency over opacity, citizenship over obedience.
There is a non-negotiable requirement: that the city has owners in the noblest sense of the term —neighbors with rights, businesses that can invest, accountable institutions, a free press that reports without fear, authorities that do not hide behind slogans.
Havana is slowly dying, yes. But it is not dead yet. And as long as there is a Habanero —on the island or in exile— who remembers it as it was and imagines it as it can be again, there is still a possibility: that one day the city will stop merely surviving and finally come back to life.
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