A nearly two-minute sketch published on TikTok by Cuban creator Yoandry Quintero imagines what would have happened if the Titanic had sunk with Cubans on board, resulting in a devastating—and hilarious—portrayal of the most recognizable vices of Cuban society: nepotism, bureaucracy, blackouts, long lines, and the unwavering desire not to return to the island.
The video published on July 16 begins with the announcement of the collision with the iceberg. Before anyone can react, a passenger already has the explanation ready: it’s the fault of the embargo. The response from the person in charge is immediate: "Security, drown him."
Since that first hit, the sketch doesn’t stop. The protagonist—a woman who self-proclaims herself the head of the lifeboat without anyone having chosen her—justifies it with an impeccably Cuban logic: “I was the aunt who handed out the pieces of cake at the birthday party.”
From that point on, the sinking of the Titanic becomes a chain of situations that any Cuban will instantly recognize.
Felita's nephew slips in easily thanks to family connections. A woman is shouted at and expelled because "she thinks she's in a line for chicken," and she had reserved spots for five people while the ship is sinking.
A 98-year-old woman is turned away on the grounds that only those over that age can enter "if accompanied by their parents." A tall child cannot go up because he is required to show an ID to prove he is underage—the ID, of course, "got lost on the boat"—and the attendant tells them to go look for it and return when they have it.
The group of Cubans on board is identified in the sketch by an unmistakable signal: they are complaining about the ship's blackout. "Where in Cuba were they from that they are complaining if there's never any electricity in Cuba?" asks the person in charge.
The final move comes when everyone is already in the boat. The makeshift leader gives her last instruction: "I need you to grab your documents, throw them in the water, and make it look like you drowned." And to quell any doubts about the destination, she concludes with a phrase that summarizes decades of Cuban exodus: "No, my love, I'm sorry, we’re not going to Cuba. I'm the one steering the boat, and we’re not going back, not even to gain momentum."
Quintero's humor is part of a well-established tradition on social media, where satire about blackouts, long lines, scarcity, and bureaucracy serves as a social chronicle of the crisis. Comedians like Chequera, with his sketches about the electric blocks, have turned everyday collapse into highly impactful comedic material.
The context, for its part, does not inspire optimism: blackouts of up to 20 hours a day are projected for August in Cuba, which has intensified the phenomenon of viral humor as a release valve in the face of a crisis that shows no signs of relenting.
The video from Quintero had surpassed 2,734 likes and 490 shares at the time of this article, numbers that reflect the immediate impact of a sketch that, using the Titanic as an excuse, manages to portray in less than two minutes what many Cubans experience every day.
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