Cuban society under the new regime

The 'revolution' of 1959 was not limited to changing a government. It progressively transformed the structure of Cuban society, its institutions, its education, its culture, its family relationships, and above all, the relationship between the citizen and the State.

The initial promise of social justice, sovereignty, and democracy ultimately gave way to a single power system that began to occupy spaces formerly belonging to society. Politics infiltrated schools, universities, the media, unions, professional organizations, culture, and, ultimately, daily life. The transformation was profound. And it was also painful.

Education: to teach and indoctrinate

One of the significant achievements claimed by the regime was the expansion of education. The literacy campaign of 1961 mobilized thousands of young people and brought education to rural areas that had historically faced shortages. However, there was a fundamental question:  what is the purpose of education?

Education gradually ceased to be only a tool for shaping citizens and also became a mechanism for ideological training. The student was required to learn mathematics, sciences, and history, but also the official interpretation of the past, the sanctioned heroes, the enemies of the Revolution, and the stance they were expected to take towards power.

The school began to produce a politically defined citizen in advance. The goal was not just to teach: it was to shape the so-called "new man."

When a state dictates what a citizen should think, education ceases to be fully free.

Health: a social right and political showcase

Public health experienced a significant expansion of state coverage and reached previously underserved sectors. However, the healthcare system also became one of the main arguments for legitimizing the regime.

Each favorable indicator was presented as evidence of the superiority of the socialist model; the deficiencies were primarily attributed to the U.S. embargo, economic difficulties, or external aggression.

Meanwhile, everyday difficulties increased: deteriorating hospitals, lack of medication, material shortages, and doctors subjected to the decisions of a state that dictates where they work, how much they earn, and under what conditions they operate.

Universal health can be a social achievement. However, when it is used to justify the absence of freedoms, it ceases to be merely a right and also becomes a political instrument.

Culture: When creating requires asking for permission

Culture underwent an even deeper transformation. From the early years, it became clear that the new power was not willing to tolerate a cultural creation independent of its political goals. The phrase spoken by Fidel Castro in 1961, “Within the Revolution, everything; against the Revolution, nothing,” ultimately defined the boundaries of creation.

The writer, the musician, the painter, the university professor, and the journalist began to confront a question that does not belong to the world of art: Are you with the Revolution? The answer could determine jobs, publications, exhibitions, professional careers, and even personal freedom.

There were marginalized intellectuals, censored artists, and entire generations forced to learn the prudence of silence. Culture ceased to be merely about creation and became subject to oversight as well.

From that reality emerged a social behavior that would become characteristic: publicly saying one thing while privately thinking another. The so-called double standard was not a distortion of national character; rather, it was largely a strategy of adaptation in the face of a system where certain opinions could have consequences.

An organized society from the top down

Political control reached virtually all areas of national life. Trade unions were integrated into the state system; student organizations were tied to the revolutionary apparatus; the Committees for the Defense of the Revolution infiltrated neighborhoods; the Federation of Cuban Women organized women under official guidance; the Union of Communist Youth took on the political education of new generations.

The independent civil society began to fade away. And when independent civil society disappears, the State ceases to encounter social limits. The 1976 Constitution formalized the superior position of the Communist Party within the political system. Citizens could vote, participate, and express opinions, but they could not freely organize a political alternative to the established power.

It was a mobilized society, yes. But mobilized from above. The Revolution had promised to free man from old power structures and ended up building a new structure that penetrated practically every aspect of national existence.

The family broken by exile

The political transformation also reached the most intimate sphere: the family. Thousands of families were torn apart by exile. Parents who stayed behind. Children who left. Siblings separated for decades. Grandparents who met their grandchildren only through photographs. Emigration ceased to be an exceptional phenomenon and became a structural characteristic of Cuban society.

Camarioca, Mariel, the rafters of 1994, and the subsequent waves of migration are part of a story that continues to this day.

During the Mariel exodus, more than 125,000 Cubans left the island. But behind the numbers lay a human tragedy. It was not just individuals who emigrated; a nation was being fractured. Every plane that took off, every ship that departed, and every makeshift raft represented a reality that propaganda could not erase: there were Cubans who preferred to leave their country rather than continue living under that system.

Emigration was, therefore, much more than an economic phenomenon. It was also a social and political consequence.

The citizen in confrontation with the State

Antes de 1959, con todos los defectos y contradicciones de la República, existía una sociedad plural: partidos políticos diversos, prensa privada, asociaciones independientes, instituciones religiosas, sindicatos con diferentes orientaciones, universidades con espacios propios y discusión pública.

After 1959, the trend was reversed:

A party.
An ideology.
An official press.
A dominant political organization.
An official interpretation of history.
A monitored culture.
A society organized by the State.

The 'revolution' not only changed the institutions. It changed the incentives for living. It learned to reward obedience and to punish dissent. And it created a society where many people discovered that surviving could require more than just working: it could demand silence.

The human price

Here appears one of the deepest tragedies. A revolution that promised to create a new man ended up creating generations that learned to distrust: their neighbors, their coworkers, officials, public discourse, and ultimately, the system itself.

For decades, millions of Cubans learned to participate in events, chant slogans, march, and publicly demonstrate their loyalty. However, public allegiance did not always translate to private conviction. This gave rise to one of the regime's significant moral fractures: the citizen who pretends to believe in order to survive.

A system can control an economy. It can control the media, institutions, schools, and culture. But when it needs to control even what the citizen says to maintain itself, it reveals a fundamental reality: it has lost the ability to convince.

A nation that began to empty out

Emigration became a symptom. The country began to lose professionals, entrepreneurs, intellectuals, artists, technicians, young people, and entire families. Each generation that emigrated left behind an uncomfortable question: Why did a system that claimed to have built paradise need so many exit doors?

Not all emigration can be explained by political reasons, but it would equally be wrong to deny the impact of economic, social, and political restrictions on the decision to leave Cuba.

A system that eliminates plurality, restricts freedoms, controls the economy, conditions culture, and turns dissent into suspicion ultimately produces not only opponents. It produces emigrants.

The established tragedy

The great tragedy of the 'revolution' was not merely the disappearance of certain institutions. It was the gradual transformation of the relationship between Cubans and their own nation. The homeland began to be confused with the State. Criticizing the government could be portrayed as betraying Cuba. Thinking differently could turn a citizen into an enemy. Wanting to leave could be interpreted as desertion. Dissent could turn an opinion into a crime.

That was the true social change. The 'revolution' did not only intend to govern Cuba. It aimed to define what Cuba should be and what Cubans should think. More than six decades later, Cuban society continues to pay the price: an aging population, a youth that looks outward, dispersed families, a culture wounded by decades of censorship, and institutions without true independence.

Millions of Cubans live on the island while millions more build their lives outside of it. This is the social outcome that we must examine without slogans and without fear. Because history should not be used to justify power. It should serve to explain its consequences. And when a revolution profoundly transforms a society, the historian's question cannot be limited to what was promised.

It must be much more uncomfortable: What did she do with the country she received? What did she do with its citizens? And what did she leave after more than six decades of control?

The answer lies in the schools, in the hospitals, in the censored books, in the silenced artists, in the separated families, and above all, in the millions of Cubans who one day decided to leave.

Because a nation does not become empty only when its inhabitants emigrate. It also becomes empty when its citizens no longer feel free within it.