"My brother Pánfilo has passed away", with those words Daisy Ortega confirmed on the night of this Thursday the death of Juan Carlos González Marcos, the Cuban who in 2009 became an involuntary symbol of hunger on the island after he burst into a recording and shouted what millions kept silent.
Pánfilo died in Havana, in the same Vedado where for years he was known as a popular neighborhood character, defined by hardship, alcohol, and a phrase that resonated throughout the country.
His death has prompted immediate reactions among those who knew him or followed his story.
"I will remember him this way, although in his later years his figure was deteriorated by life and alcohol. A famous and popular character in my neighborhood, everyone knew him for his food call: 'What we need here is JAMAAA!!'. Rest in peace, my friend Pánfilo," wrote Carlos Espinosa Betancourt.
Also, from social media, another user expressed: “Fly high, brother. May God have you in Glory, alongside Berta. Pánfilo (Juan Carlos González Marcos) has just passed away in Cuba. My deepest condolences to Daisy Ortega, who was like a second mother to him in this world.”
The cry that made it a symbol
The moment that propelled him to fame occurred in 2009 when he interrupted an interview about reguetón in Havana.
Visibly drunk, but with a clarity that would become legendary, Pánfilo then made a statement that encapsulated the everyday reality of many Cubans.
“What we need is a bit of food, because we're on fire, record it, hey, food... come over here, food”, he said while slipping into the recording.
He left the room, but only to return seconds later and insist:
“I'm going to chip in; we need food, there's a huge hunger. It's Pánfilo in Cuba, food”, he added while mentioning “soy picadillo” and “an old chicken” as the only options.
Her final phrase became etched as a raw portrait of the country:
"There's a tremendous hunger, my friend, a tremendous hunger!"
That video—just a few seconds long—went viral, turning him into a recognizable figure and a sort of spontaneous spokesperson for scarcity.
Reappearances and the same demand
Over the years, Pánfilo reappeared on various occasions, always with the same message, but with an increasingly desperate tone.
In 2015, now established as a street character, he continued to appeal with his most famous shout: "Hey, how's it going... Jamaaaa!".
In 2021, more than a decade after the first video, it went viral again with an update to its complaint:
"Now there really isn't even any picadillo", he said then, comparing the situation to that of previous years.
"I'm telling you, film over here, December 2021, tremendous hunger. Food. We're really in trouble here, buddy. The hunger we're experiencing is huge, and the lines. I haven't been able to get a pack of chicken."
From viral symbol to marginality
Over time, Pánfilo visibly deteriorated. In September 2023, an activist reported that he was living on the street, sick and without care.
"It seems he is very ill. He is outside of Carmelo; if anyone is going to help him, I have clothes and shoes that I could donate," wrote the activist Yamilka Lafita.
The image of the man who once highlighted hunger in Cuba has now merged with that very reality: poverty, neglect, and social exclusion.
Since its emergence in 2009, Pánfilo was not just a viral phenomenon.
His figure became an uncomfortable reflection of the country’s structural crisis, a crack in the official discourse through which the reality of millions of Cubans slipped in, unfiltered.
For years, his phrases "What we need here is food, food!" and "There's an incredible hunger, my friend!" became part of popular language, repeated in neighborhoods, social media, and everyday conversations.
Not as mere mockery or joking, but as a way of saying -between laughter and resignation- what continues to be impossible to ignore: that eating in Cuba remains a daily struggle.
Its relevance is not coincidental.
In a Cuba today marked by rampant inflation, chronic shortages, and the collapse of purchasing power, Pánfilo's cry accurately describes what many are experiencing.
Prohibitive prices in the informal market, the intermittent disappearance of basic products, and dependence on remittances have turned the act of feeding oneself into a constant uncertainty.
What was seen in 2009 as a spontaneous, even picturesque moment, is now understood as a denunciation ahead of its time.
Pánfilo was a prophet, he was not exaggerating: he identified a problem that not only remained unresolved, but worsened to unimaginable levels.
It was a living testimony—and now posthumous—of a reality that is prickly and spreading.
Like him, thousands of Cubans have been pushed to the margins, trapped in a relentless crisis.
Pánfilo spoke from the sidelines, with humor, irreverence, and alcohol involved, but also with brutal clarity.
And although his voice is no longer here, his shout continues to echo in Cuba: “Jamaaaaaa… what we really need is jamaaaa!”
Rest in peace, Pánfilo.
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