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The news of the new statement from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MINREX), in which the Cuban regime avoided mentioning the "blockade" and spoke of “cooperation and mutual respect” with the United States, triggered a storm of reactions like few have been seen before.
In just twenty-four hours, over two thousand six hundred comments flooded the networks of CiberCuba. It was not an ideological debate, but an eruption of emotions: disbelief, anger, sarcasm, relief, and above all, exhaustion. The regime aimed to display diplomatic maturity; the people interpreted it as "surrender."
From the very first responses, the tone was marked by mockery. “They gave up and now they're on all fours,” wrote someone, among dozens of laughing emojis. “Seventy years without a blockade claiming there was one, and now that they actually have one, they’re open to dialogue,” another person quipped.
That corrosive irony—so Cuban, so streetwise—was the collective way to express a shared sentiment: no one believes them anymore. Neither those still living on the Island nor those observing it from exile.
The "blockade" has died as a narrative; and with it, the moral excuse of a regime that has used words as a smokescreen for six decades.
The comments express a recurring idea: the MINREX's speech does not represent a genuine opening, but rather a desperate maneuver.
"Every time they are in a tight spot, they bring out dialogue.", wrote a reader. "This is not diplomacy, it's oxygen." Others, more skeptical, call it "theater," "trap," "maneuver," "smokescreen."
For many, the conciliatory language of the government is nothing more than a reflection of fear in the face of the new Washington policy. “They are not seeking peace”, says a comment with hundreds of likes. “They are looking for time”.
That perception that the regime "kneels" to survive is almost unanimous. Where there was once talk of national dignity, today the conversation centers around the survival of power.
“They have no choice but to spread their legs”, someone wrote, with the bluntness of a Cuban who no longer hides their disdain. Others expressed it in a more analytical tone: “When the government stops blaming the blockade and avoids mentioning Fidel, it’s not diplomacy: it’s panic. They change their rhetoric because no one believes them anymore.”
The phrase was restated in various forms, becoming a summary of the collective sentiment: Castroism does not engage in dialogue; it masquerades.
Between sarcasm and indignation, the figure of Donald Trump emerges as a liberating totem. In discussions, his name appears more frequently than that of Miguel Díaz-Canel. They revere him as a symbol of strength, as the man who “does not let himself be deceived,” the only one capable of “tightening the noose” until the Castro regime falls.
Next to him, Marco Rubio is seen as the brains behind the strategy. "Trump doesn't let up, and Marco doesn't get confused.", writes one. "That duo has them scared.", adds another, plainly. In the popular narrative of the exile community, the Trump-Rubio pairing embodies a historical revenge: the moment of reckoning with the regime.
In contrast, the word "dialogue" — which in any other nation would signify hope — in Cuban lexicon translates to betrayal. Hardly anyone defends it. "We don't want dialogue, let them go", is repeated dozens of times. "You don't talk to communists"; "Dialogue only serves them to buy time".
Some even turn it into mockery: "They’re already playing guitar"; "When you see a communist talking, buy some Vaseline". The official rhetoric, rooted in heroic resistance, has become a subject of ridicule. And humor is a form of rebellion.
Disenchantment permeates every tone. Many comments are lengthy, personal, almost confessional. People are declaring themselves exhausted, fed up with the double talk and everyday misery.
“Slogans do not provide bread or medicine”, wrote a woman. “We want light, water, food, and freedom. Nothing more”. Another added: “Hatred does not nourish, but neither does silence. It is time to live”.
There is a rational despair that no longer seeks heroes or speeches, only concrete solutions: electricity, food, stability. Cuba is even tired of the words that used to define it.
Other comments evoke, with nostalgia or resignation, the idea of respect and sovereignty. In them, the old rhetoric of the revolution can be heard, although it now seems to have lost its resonance. Most respond with skepticism or outright mockery: “Sixty years of equality and we're still eating air”.
Polarization is felt even among generations. The younger ones, both inside and outside the country, speak in a brutal, uninhibited manner, devoid of solemnity. “This is over”; “Out with everyone”; “There is no respect that matters”, they write.
The elders call for caution, recalling the difficult years, or emphasizing the need to avoid a war. But they all agree on one thing: the system is not working. Communism, both as a word and as a model, no longer inspires; it elicits rejection or laughter.
Among the thousands of messages, one of the most quoted encapsulates the general sentiment: “After sixty-seven years of manipulating emotions and blaming the blockade, the regime can only offer a piece of paper and a change of tone. But the facts remain the same: hunger, repression, and exile.”
It is the prevailing perception: MINREX can change the words, but not the reality. The statement may sound diplomatic, but the streets hear the echo of an imminent defeat.
In the comments, improvised geopolitical analyses, personal memories, conspiracy theories, and reflections with surprising clarity are also mixed. One user wrote: “There is no external blockade that surpasses the internal blockade. The lack of economic and political freedom is the real wall.”
Another added: “This generation demands to be the architect of its own present and to stop being a child of the past. What lies ahead is called change.” Amid insults, prayers, and sarcasm, a deeper thought emerges: the recognition that the “revolutionary” cycle has come to an end.
The final message, although scattered, is unmistakable. Cuba is no longer debating ideologies. It is discussing its survival. The people are not waiting for promises or dialogues; they demand action. "Release the political prisoners, return what was stolen, hold free elections.", they repeat.
In a country where the official language has always been a trench, the popular reaction to the new discourse of the MINREX is historic: the first time that the people respond en masse, not with fear, but with mockery.
Because when laughter replaces silence, something has been broken forever. The "blockade" no longer serves as an excuse, the word "revolution" has lost its meaning, and the people, amidst sarcasm and spells, seem to have reached a certainty: there is no turning back.
The Cuban regime may talk about dialogue, but the real country—the one that comments, laughs, prays, and complains—no longer listens.
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