On February 14th, as Cuba faces one of its worst fuel crises in recent years, Sandro Castro chose to celebrate Valentine's Day with a performance that blends satire, provocation, and political symbolism.
The grandson of the dictator Fidel Castro –author of the failed “energy revolution”– published a video in which he is alone in a bar, rejecting several women who try to approach him, until he finally finds “true love”: a gasoline canister.
“There’s another day here in Apagonia, and I'm incredibly thirsty,” he says at the beginning of the video, in a tone of internal monologue. The scene depicts him feeling uncomfortable, disdainful, uninterested in the young women around him. “I'm not here for you,” he dismisses one of them. The character seems to be searching for something different, something rare, something almost impossible to find in present-day Cuba.
The twist comes when he discovers his new "partner": a gas canister to which he has painted eyes and added a scarf to give it a human touch. "Oh, what a lovely thing... I've been in love with you since the first time I saw you," he declares dramatically. He offers it a Cristal beer, takes it home for dinner, and ends up in bed embracing the canister, under a Mexican flag hanging on the wall.
The reference does not seem coincidental. Mexico has become one of the main suppliers of oil to the Cuban regime amidst the energy collapse. The image of the heir to the Castro dynasty, enamored with a fuel container and set against the backdrop of the Mexican flag, serves as a visual metaphor for the country's current dependency.
The video is not limited to romantic absurdity. In the bar where the story begins, the wall displays the phrase in English: “Words Create Lies. Pain Can Be Trusted” (“Words create lies. Pain can be trusted”), a quote associated with the Japanese film Audition.
The choice of message, amidst a crisis characterized by blackouts, shortages, and endless lines at service stations, takes on an inevitable political tone. In a country saturated with official slogans, material reality — the everyday suffering — prevails over the discourse.
But the message can also be interpreted as a vote of confidence in the painful oil blockade imposed by the Trump administration on the Castro regime, which would represent yet another mockery and affront from the dictator's grandson to the "continuity" government of Miguel Díaz-Canel.
Today, gasoline has become practically unattainable for most Cubans, turning it into an object of romantic desire. Sandro presents it as a lost treasure and ultimate passion: “There isn’t a moment I can be without you… I hope you never leave again.”
The phrase summarizes the national drama: the inconsistency of supply that disrupts transportation, drives up product costs, and exacerbates social unrest.
The staging oscillates between parody and ridicule. While Cubans spend hours in lines under the sun or experience suspended basic services, the regime's "stray bullet" turns scarcity into a romantic spectacle.
Dark humor can be interpreted as a veiled critique or a simple narcissistic exercise, but in any case, it reveals an uncomfortable truth: in present-day Cuba, gasoline is worth more than love.
In the midst of blackouts and official promises of stability, Sandro Castro found his most revealing Valentine's Day: a canister that symbolizes, better than any speech, the country's energy fragility.
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