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Cuban Chancellor Bruno Rodríguez Parrilla reiterated this Wednesday his mantra that Cuba does not pose a threat to the United States, describing the island as a “small,” “peaceful” country and a victim of a “brutal economic war.”
His message, shared on the social network X, is part of a recurring narrative of the regime during times of international pressure: that of portraying itself as a harmless actor in the face of the world's greatest power. However, this rhetoric clearly contrasts with the historical, doctrinal, and political trajectory that the system itself has built over decades.
Far from presenting itself as a neutral country or one detached from confrontation, the Cuban regime has established much of its identity on the challenge against the United States.
From the early years after 1959, the dictator Fidel Castro promoted a rhetoric of active resistance that not only acknowledged the military asymmetry but also turned it into a political legitimacy axis. The central idea was clear: Cuba could not defeat the U.S. in conventional terms, but it could make any attempt at intervention extremely costly.
This principle was institutionalized in the doctrine of the “War of All the People,” conceived as a national strategy to confront a superior enemy through the total mobilization of society.
It was not just about military planning, but a vision for the country. For decades, generations of Cubans were shaped by this logic through mechanisms such as the Territorial Troop Militias (MTT), Initial Military Training (PMI) in pre-university education, and Mandatory Military Service (SMO).
Defense, conflict, and the willingness to sacrifice were not marginal elements, but rather structural parts of the state discourse.
This doctrinal dimension is complemented by an intense symbolic construction. Official propaganda, ranging from revolutionary posters to graphic humor, constantly reinforced a narrative of confrontation, reaching ludicrous levels of aggression, infused with a macho mentality characterized by attributes of "manliness" associated with lower-class bravado, which culminated with the "continuity" in exalting Miguel Díaz-Canel as "pingú".
Slogans like “Fatherland or Death,” “No one surrenders here,” “They will gather the dust of their soil soaked in blood,” “Ready for Defense” and other references to the willingness to resist until the very end were part of the everyday political language.
The military parades in the Plaza de la Revolución, featuring displays of weaponry, troops, and technology, for years replicated an aesthetic inherited from the Soviet, Chinese, and North Korean blocs, projecting an image of strength and deterrence capability.
That rhetoric did not remain purely symbolic. Cuba actively participated in armed conflicts in Africa, especially in Angola and Ethiopia, and supported insurgent movements in Latin America during the Cold War.
These interventions were presented by the regime itself as examples of "proletarian internationalism," but also as evidence of its ability to project power beyond its borders.
The most critical moment of that confrontation occurred during the missile crisis of 1962. In this context, Cuban leadership took particularly hard positions, even suggesting to the Soviet Union the possibility of a nuclear escalation in the event of a U.S. invasion.
“The aggressiveness of the imperialists makes them extremely dangerous, and if they manage to carry out an invasion of Cuba -a brutal act in violation of universal and moral laws- that would be the moment to eliminate this danger forever, in an act of the most legitimate self-defense. No matter how harsh and terrible the solution may be, there would be no other.” (Letter from Fidel Castro to Nikita Khrushchev during the Missile Crisis, October 26, 1962).
This episode reinforced in Washington the perception of Cuba as an ideologically radical and potentially unpredictable actor, an image that the regime never truly attempted to dismantle in the following decades.
In parallel, Havana has also asserted its capabilities in the field of intelligence. Cases like the Red Avispa, whose members were later honored as heroes, have been woven into the official narrative as proof of the Cuban state's ability to infiltrate U.S. territory and operate against its adversary.
All of this is compounded by the most recent strategic ties with adversarial powers of the United States. In recent years, Washington has warned about the existence of facilities in Cuba linked to Chinese intelligence activities, including alleged electronic espionage bases.
Although the regime has denied these accusations, various reports have indicated agreements in technology and security that strengthen cooperation between Havana and Beijing in sensitive sectors.
In the case of Russia, the military relationship is not new either, but it has experienced a renewed momentum. Authorities from both countries have acknowledged defense cooperation agreements, visits of Russian military vessels and nuclear submarines to Cuban ports, and modernization projects in strategic sectors.
These actions have been interpreted by the United States as part of a geopolitical repositioning of the island in the context of global tensions.
This framework of doctrine, propaganda, military history, and international alliances contradicts the image of a country entirely removed from confrontation dynamics.
It is not about asserting that Cuba poses a direct military threat to the United States in conventional terms—something that it clearly does not—but rather emphasizing that the regime itself has cultivated an identity based on active resistance, deterrence, and political and ideological confrontation with Washington for decades.
The contrast with the current discourse is significant. For years, power in Cuba was legitimized by exalting the ability to "stand up to the empire."
Today, in a context of deep economic crisis and increasing international pressure, the emphasis shifts towards vulnerability and victimization. This turn does not necessarily imply a structural change in the nature of the system, but rather a discursive adaptation to adverse circumstances.
In this regard, Rodríguez Parrilla's statements aim not only to address the accusations from Washington but also to reshape the international perception of the island.
However, that narrative encounters obvious limits when confronted with the regime's own historical record, which for decades promoted precisely the opposite image: that of a small actor in size, yet determined to resist, challenge, and, when necessary, confront its main adversary.
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