Cuba: institutionalized crime, the revolution of outrage

The world is silent. And this silence is not innocent: it is complicity. While an entire nation is consumed by misery, there are those who, from comfortable ideological positions, still dare to justify the unjustifiable.

The dogmatic left knows everything, sees everything, but remains silent or applauds. And that applause is a form of participation in the outrage. It's not about ignorance, but rather a conscious choice: to uphold a narrative that has not been grounded in reality for decades.

In Cuba, crime is not an accident or a deviation from the system. It is the system itself. The repression, surveillance, induced poverty, and the systematic denial of the most basic rights have become institutionalized. There is no mistake, there is design. There is no failure, there is method.

The data cannot be ignored. More than 7,000 crimes have been documented over decades of political repression. It is estimated that over 15,000 people have died, victims of shootings, extrajudicial executions, disappearances, and other forms of state violence, in a process marked by the will to power and the cult of Fidel Castro's personality. A significant portion of these deaths occurred in wars in Africa, where Cuban blood was used to sustain geopolitical interests and satisfy Fidel Castro's pathological ego. In addition, there are more than 1,200 political prisoners today (*), men and women punished solely for thinking differently, for exercising their right to dissent, for refusing to submit their conscience.

Crimes against humanity do not always require gas chambers or extermination camps to be recognized. They are also committed when a people is condemned to hunger, when freedom of expression is denied, when dissenters are persecuted, when those who think differently are imprisoned.

The Cuban citizen lives trapped in a structure where dissent is a crime, and survival is an act of resistance. Dignity has become a luxury, and truth a constant threat to power.

Meanwhile, outside the island, many continue to play at revolution from the comfort of their homes. They speak of social justice with full stomachs, defending systems where they would never accept living. That is the true cynicism: preaching other people's sacrifice from the safety of one's own.

History, however, does not forget. And when it is finally written without censorship or fear, it will be clear who the victims were, who the executioners were, and who, through their silence or applause, helped to uphold one of the most oppressive systems of our time.

Strengthening memory is a moral obligation. Naming the victims, quantifying the horror, exposing the mechanisms of institutionalized crime is not a rhetorical exercise: it is an act of justice. Because where numbers are hidden, responsibility fades. And where the truth is lost, abuse is perpetuated.

For this reason, remembering is not a passive act; it is a form of resistance. Every figure, every name, every story taken from silence restores humanity to those who were reduced to statistics. And at the same time, it dismantles the discourse that seeks to justify the unjustifiable.

Cuba is not a romantic symbol nor a frustrated utopia. It is a concrete reality, marked by pain, deprivation, and fear. To deny this is to betray its victims. To minimize it is to prolong their suffering.

The world owes a debt to the Cuban people. A true debt, a debt of acknowledgment and justice. And that debt starts by calling things by their names: crime when it is a crime, repression when it is repression, and tyranny when there is no other term possible.

Only then, when the truth ceases to be silenced, can the true process of moral and historical repair begin. Because no system built on fear and the denial of humanity can endure indefinitely in the face of memory and truth.

(*) According to figures from the Non-Governmental Organization Prisoners Defenders.