The phrase Make Cuba Great Again has sparked a new controversy on Cuban social media after the government program Con Filo identified several young individuals for wearing a cap with that slogan, directly associating them with Trumpism, political extremism, and even alleged calls for violence against the Island.
In response to these claims, an answer came from the account of Instagram out_of_the_box_cuba, where the young individuals mentioned published a video in which they denounce what they consider a media manipulation of their message and explain, in simple words filled with everyday experience, what that cap truly means to them.
"It seems that certain media outlets are distorting our message," they say at the beginning of the video, before showing a clip from Con Filo where it is stated that "the abuse and extortion need to stop."
The host of the program went further by stating that there are people who "ask for bombs for the country they came to or who use the Cubanized version of the Trumpist cap."
For the youth, that association is not only false but also deeply offensive. "Let us explain to you what this cap truly means," they respond, before delivering a phrase that captures their irritation with the official discourse: "These people have less edge than a spoon."
Unlike the slogan Make America Great Again (MAGA), popularized by Donald Trump and transformed into a deeply polarizing political brand in the United States, the guys insist that their message has no ideological or electoral ties to American politics. Nor does it involve calls for violence. "Our cap doesn't mention bombs or foreign politicians," they clarify.
The parallelism, however, is not coincidental. In the United States, the MAGA slogan has been interpreted in opposing ways. For many Republicans, it symbolizes the recovery of jobs, industry, national strength, and traditional values.
For broad democratic sectors, however, it represents nostalgia for an exclusionary past, white supremacy, and an authoritarian shift in power. This is evidenced by recent research from political scientists at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, based on national surveys conducted in 2025.
In Cuba, the meaning that these young people attribute to their cap takes a different direction. They talk about an "explosion of prosperity" where effort is rewarded and studying is not a futile act. They speak of living with basic necessities guaranteed, not as a privilege, but as normalcy. Light, water, gas, healthcare, transportation. "Things that in a normal country are not luxuries," they emphasize.
The speech directly connects with a generation caught between precariousness and forced exile. "Dreaming of a prosperous Cuba does not make us Trump supporters. We are young people who do not want to flee in order to live with dignity," they assert. They describe themselves as children of professionals who struggle to make ends meet, young people who refuse to spend their entire lives without knowing their own country.
The contrast they denounce is painfully familiar to many Cubans. While they survive amidst blackouts and shortages, they watch as foreigners traverse the Island and enjoy its landscapes, often inaccessible to the locals themselves. "While others, who don't even speak our language, enjoy the beauty of our lands," they say.
Far from being an imported slogan, the cap thus becomes a symbol of frustration, aspiration, and rootedness. "Our cap signifies that we want a Cuba where staying is a source of pride, not a sacrifice," they conclude.
In a country where dissent often leads to public stigmatization, the debate surrounding a simple cap once again reveals the clash between an official narrative that criminalizes disagreement and a youth that insists, despite everything, on envisioning a different future without having to leave.
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