CUBA UNDER SEIGE UPDATED
Another nationwide blackout plaguing Cuba - first this year
16.03.2026, dpa

Photo: Nick Kaiser/dpa
Cuba has experienced another nationwide power outage, with the cause under investigation and work underway to restore power, the Ministry of Energy announced on Monday.
It was the first island-wide blackout in Cuba since the beginning of the year. A blackout just under two weeks ago had affected around two thirds of the Caribbean nation.
The country, which has a population of just under 10 million, suffers repeated total collapses of its power grid. Large parts of the outdated infrastructure in the socialist island state are in poor condition. As a result, power plants frequently go offline and have to be hastily repaired.
Power outages a fact of daily life
The government attributes the crisis to the US trade embargo, which has been in place for more than 60 years.
The situation has worsened amid recent tensions between Cuba and the United States.
For months, the country has been receiving no oil from Venezuela, after US President Donald Trump ordered a complete blockade on sanctioned oil tankers carrying deliveries from Cuba's South American ally. The country depends on oil for its power supply.
Cuba's national electricity system suffered a complete collapse on March 16, state utility Unión Eléctrica announced, plunging the entire island into darkness as the country grapples with an acute fuel shortage.
The utility said "protocols for the restoration of the system are beginning to be implemented" but did not provide a timeline for when power might be restored.
The total grid failure represents the most severe disruption yet to an electricity system that has been buckling under the weight of dwindling petroleum reserves. Blackouts affecting up to 70% of the country during peak hours had already become routine in recent weeks, with residents in several provinces enduring outages of up to 20 hours daily.
Cuba has received no oil shipments in over three months following a de facto US fuel embargo. Venezuela had supplied the bulk of Cuban petroleum for over two decades until the January 3 US operation that resulted in President Nicolás Maduro's capture and severed Caracas's subsidised oil flows to Havana.
President Donald Trump signed an executive order on January 29 declaring Cuba an "unusual and extraordinary threat" to US national security and threatening punitive tariffs against any country supplying oil to the communist-run island. This prompted Mexico, another key oil supplier, to halt deliveries, fearing retaliation from the US.
The island generates roughly 40% of its petroleum from domestic sources but requires imported oil to meet energy demand, with electricity production dependent on ageing Soviet-era oil-fired plants.
On March 15, Trump told reporters aboard Air Force One that Washington could reach an agreement with Cuba imminently. "Cuba also wants to make a deal, and I think we will pretty soon either make a deal or do whatever we have to do," he said.
Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel confirmed last week that officials had held talks with US representatives aimed at resolving bilateral differences through dialogue, marking the first public acknowledgement of discussions between the two governments.
The total blackout comes amid mounting social unrest. Over the weekend, protesters in the central city of Morón stormed a provincial Communist Party building, setting it ablaze in anger over soaring food prices and relentless power cuts
President Donald Trump has said that Washington could reach an agreement with Cuba imminently, a few days after Havana's leader publicly confirmed for the first time that the two governments are holding discussions.
"Cuba also wants to make a deal, and I think we will pretty soon either make a deal or do whatever we have to do," Trump told reporters on March 15 aboard Air Force One. "We're talking to Cuba, but we're going to do Iran before Cuba."
The comments follow an announcement on March 13 by Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel that officials had held talks with US representatives. "These talks have been aimed at finding solutions through dialogue to the bilateral differences we have between the two nations," Díaz-Canel said in a video aired on state television.
The Cuban leader described the contacts as being in an "initial phase" and conducted with strict discretion.
Díaz-Canel said the objective was to identify bilateral problems requiring solutions, explore possible remedies, assess both sides' willingness to take concrete actions, and identify areas for cooperation. He emphasised that exchanges were proceeding "based on the principle of equality and respect between both countries" and with adherence to international law.
The acknowledgement marks a significant shift for a regime that had previously flatly denied or dismissed as "speculation" reports of discussions with Washington. The talks come as Cuba confronts its gravest crisis since the 1950s revolution, with the island teetering on the edge of humanitarian catastrophe.
The severity of the emergency was laid bare over the weekend when protesters in the central city of Morón stormed a provincial Communist Party building, setting it ablaze in an unprecedented act of defiance.
The violence reflects deepening public anger over soaring food prices and relentless power cuts, with blackouts of up to 15 hours daily now commonplace across the island.
In Havana and other cities, residents have increasingly resorted to nighttime protests by banging pots and pans. In a rare public acknowledgement, Díaz-Canel recognised the legitimacy of public grievances over living conditions but warned that acts of violence and vandalism would not be tolerated, whilst pinning blame for the energy crisis on the United States.
The Cuban leader attributed the emergency to US restrictions, stating no petroleum shipments had arrived in over three months. "The government is not to blame, the revolution is not to blame. The energy blockade they have imposed on us is to blame," he said, adding that the fuel shortage has had an "immeasurable impact on the lives of our people".
Cuba generates roughly 40% of its oil needs from domestic sources but requires imports to satisfy demand, with electricity production dependent on ageing Soviet-era oil-fired plants. Venezuela, once a close ideological ally, had supplied the bulk of Cuban petroleum for over two decades until the January 3 US operation that resulted in Nicolás Maduro's capture and severed Caracas's subsidised oil flows to Havana.
Mexico, another key supplier, halted shipments after Trump signed an executive order on January 29 declaring Cuba an "unusual and extraordinary threat" to US national security and threatening punitive tariffs against any country supplying oil to the communist-run island.
Cuba's electricity system has reached crisis levels, with blackouts affecting up to 70% of the country during peak hours and residents in several provinces enduring outages of up to 20 hours daily. Hospitals have curtailed surgical procedures, schools have cancelled classes and rubbish goes uncollected on Havana's streets as fuel-dependent municipal services grind to a halt.
Jet fuel became unavailable last month at all airports, forcing international airlines to suspend service and dealing a severe blow to the tourism sector, a vital source of foreign currency. Meanwhile, a massive US naval deployment in the Caribbean has reinforced Washington's pressure campaign, successfully deterring multiple attempted fuel deliveries.
The island's economic downfall has been exacerbated by over 60 years of crippling US sanctions, economic mismanagement and the recent disruption of oil imports.
According to Axios, Secretary of State Marco Rubio, a Cuban American and longtime advocate of overthrowing the communist regime, has been conducting backchannel discussions with Raúl Guillermo Rodríguez Castro, grandson of former Cuban leader Raúl Castro. The engagement circumvents formal diplomatic contacts and demonstrates the administration's belief that the 94-year-old former leader wields more influence than Díaz-Canel.
CNN reported that Rodríguez Castro made a notable public appearance on March 13 alongside Díaz-Canel at multiple official functions, prompting speculation among analysts about his position within Cuba's power structure. The younger Castro was present both at a session with Communist Party and Council of Ministers leadership and at the subsequent press conference during which the president acknowledged ongoing discussions with the White House.
The 41-year-old previously served as his grandfather's personal security chief and is widely known in Cuba by the nickname "Raulito". His father, General Luis Alberto Rodríguez López-Calleja, who died in 2022, headed GAESA, the sprawling military-run business conglomerate that controls significant portions of Cuba's economy.
"What strikes me is that it's happening publicly now, but what we should really ask ourselves is how long he has been acting as this channel of communication," said Diana Correa, director of the international relations programme at Tecnológico de Monterrey, as quoted by CNN.
Speaking to reporters on the sidelines of a Caribbean Community gathering in St Kitts and Nevis in late February, Rubio addressed the Cuba crisis without confirming specific discussions. "Cuba needs to change. It needs to change. And it doesn't have to change all at once," Rubio said on February 25. "And they need to make those dramatic reforms that open the space for both economic and eventually political freedom for the people of Cuba, obviously the United States would love to see that."
Trump has made a series of increasingly bold statements about Cuba in recent weeks, suggesting the island was on the verge of collapse and eager to reach an agreement. He has floated the possibility of a "friendly takeover" of Cuba before adding: "It may not be a friendly takeover."
During the “Shield of the Americas” summit with conservative Latin American leaders on March 7, Trump declared that "Cuba's at the end of the line, they're very much at the end of the line. They have no money. They have no oil. They have a bad philosophy; they have a bad regime that's been bad for a long time."
Despite the renewed contact, significant differences remain between the two governments. US officials have suggested any easing of pressure would likely depend on political and economic concessions from Havana, whilst Cuban leaders insist negotiations must respect the island's independence and sovereignty.
Trump told reporters last week that he expected developments within approximately two weeks. As he welcomed Inter Miami's Major League Soccer championship team to the White House, he told Cuban-American businessman Jorge Mas Santos he would soon be able to fly to Cuba without presidential approval.
However, the president has not yet decided on a specific course of action, with his attention currently directed primarily toward the escalating conflict with Iran following joint US-Israeli airstrikes that killed Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei on February 28.
Trump has set regime change in Cuba as a goal by the end of 2026, though unlike Venezuela with its vast oil reserves and functioning opposition parties, Cuba offers Washington fewer levers for engineering political transformation.
Cuba’s Slow Strangulation and the Empire That Can’t Stop Squeezing
Some catastrophes arrive like explosions; others arrive like a hand on the throat that tightens, loosens just enough to keep the victim conscious, then tightens again. What is happening to Cuba now is the second kind. It is less a “crisis” than the logical endpoint of a relationship Ada Ferrer, in Cuba: An American History, describes as “intimate, explosive, and always uneven”—a history in which the United States could never decide whether Cuba was a neighbor, a colony, or a mirror it couldn’t bear to look into.
If the Iran war exposes how vulnerable the global system is at its maritime choke points, Cuba reveals something just as important: how an empire behaves when the choke point is not a strait half a world away but an island ninety miles off its own shore. It turns out that the methods are the same—sanctions, blockades, energy as weapon—but the blowback is closer, the hypocrisy starker, and the margin for error smaller.
Cuba’s Fuel Blockade Future
The outlines are simple and brutal. A small, import‑dependent island is strangled of fuel. Power plants shut down or limp along on residual stocks. Blackouts spread—at first rolling, then unpredictable, then so widespread that, for stretches, two‑thirds of the country sits in the dark. Refrigerators warm. Buses disappear. Flights are cancelled. Pumps stop pushing clean water uphill. Food that once moved by truck begins to rot in place. UN officials now warn that tens of thousands of cancer patients are missing treatment, nearly a million people are losing piped water when generators stop, and even humanitarian aid is stuck in port because trucks have no diesel.
None of this is an accident. It is the direct consequence of a policy crafted in Washington and justified, as Ferrer might put it, in the same register that once dressed the Platt Amendment as “protection” and the Bay of Pigs as “liberation.” The embargo that has shadowed Cuba since 1960 has been tightened again and again, but the latest turn of the screw is qualitatively different. It targets the literal fuel lines of the society—shipments of oil from Venezuela, Mexico, and any other state bullied or bribed into compliance—on the explicit theory that enough darkness and scarcity will crack the Cuban government before it cracks the Cuban people.
If you cared only about overthrowing a regime on a strategist’s whiteboard, you might call this efficient. If you cared about the texture of ordinary life, you would see something closer to slow‑motion warfare: a weaponization of kilowatts and kilometers that treats 11 million people as leverage.
Cuba as American Project
Ferrer’s book is built around a simple but devastating premise: to write the history of Cuba is to write a history of the United States from a different angle. The island has been central to American fantasies and fears since before there was a U.S. flag to fly over it. Thomas Jefferson dreamed of extending his “empire for liberty” across Florida into Cuba. John Quincy Adams compared the island to an apple that nature itself destined to fall into the Union’s hands. Southern planters saw in its sugar fields a chance to expand slavery’s domain.
Long before 1898, U.S. merchants and shipowners had already plugged Cuba into a transatlantic machine: American hulls carried enslaved Africans to its plantations, American capital financed its mills, and American markets swallowed its sugar. Spain still flew its flag from Havana’s forts, but as Ferrer shows, the island’s economy and future were already wired to the north.
When Cuban separatists finally rose in earnest against Spain in the late nineteenth century, they did so with a vision that would have horrified both Madrid and Washington: a multiracial republic, formally independent, with neither a king nor a plantation oligarchy at the top. The United States entered that war late, reframed it on its own terms as the Spanish‑American War, and claimed the victory. Spanish flags came down on January 1, 1899, but the flag raised in their place was not the lone‑starred Cuban banner that patriots had died for. It was the Stars and Stripes.
Independence did not arrive; it was deferred and rebranded. Through the Platt Amendment, Washington claimed the right to intervene in Cuban affairs whenever it saw fit and carved out Guantánamo as a permanent military foothold. American sugar companies and banks flooded in. By the 1920s, vast stretches of cane, rail, and mill lay in U.S. hands; Havana was reshaped to serve tourists and investors, and the countryside was reorganized around seasonal labor, debt, and the volatility of a single export.
Ferrer is careful not to turn this into a cartoon of passive victims and omnipotent puppeteers. Cuban elites collaborated. Cuban workers, farmers, and radicals resisted. Coups, “authentic” republics, and reformist waves all came and went. But the through‑line is unmistakable: for more than a century, the United States treated Cuba as a project—a place to discipline, develop, entertain, and extract from—not as a sovereign equal.
The Revolution and the Broken Mirror
The 1959 revolution shattered that arrangement but did not end the entanglement. It reversed the direction of power, even though physical proximity remained, and wealthy U.S. properties were nationalized. The Eagle vanished from monuments. Havana turned from client to antagonist almost overnight. For Washington, a socialist Cuba so close to Florida was not just a security problem; it was an insult, a refusal to accept the gravity that Adams once invoked.
The Castro government, for its part, turned the island into a laboratory for post‑colonial development: literacy campaigns, agrarian reform, universal health care, an attempt—uneven, often harsh—to redistribute the fruits of modernity to people who had spent centuries picking cane for others. It did all this under permanent siege by its northern neighbor: invasion, assassination attempts, embargo, covert operations, and the constant threat of annihilation during the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Ferrer’s point is not that the revolution was pure or painless. It wasn’t. But she insists that you cannot understand it, or its aftermath, without setting it against the long backdrop of occupation, sugar dependency, and thwarted independence. What happens when a people who have been alternately courted and trampled by an empire try to write a different script? Cuba is one answer.
What happens when the empire can’t forgive them for it, even sixty‑plus years on? That answer is being written right now in the darkened streets of Havana.
Energy as Empire’s Last Language
In my Iran essays, the heart of the argument was that a civilization without slack—without spare capacity in its energy systems, soils, finance, or politics—turns every local war into a test of the whole. Cuba shows the same logic at a smaller scale. The island is almost as dependent on imported fuel as a modern industrial country, but without the buffers: no vast domestic fields, no monetary hegemony, no deep capital markets to soak up shocks.
When Washington cuts off oil, it is not just pinching a budget line. It is severing the arteries that keep water moving, food chilled, buses running, and hospitals lit. Blackouts in a wealthy northern city are temporary inconveniences; blackouts in a poor, sanctioned island are existential crises. They turn vaccines into spoiled cargo, surgeries into gambles, and everyday life into a sequence of improvisations around darkness.
There is a grim symmetry here. The United States, which once organized the island’s economy around sugar and steam, now organizes its suffering around kilowatts and barrels. The levers have changed, but the principle has not: control the flows, and you control the future.
But the future no longer has room for such games. In a climate‑stressed, energy‑tight world, weaponizing fuel against an island is not clean geopolitics; it is a rehearsal for broader breakdown. Each tanker turned away from Havana is also a signal to every other vulnerable state about the risks of reliance, and to every other major power about the necessity of finding routes and currencies beyond Washington’s reach.
Blowback, Visible and Invisible
The most obvious blowback is migration. Cuba has already sent waves of exiles and migrants northward in every decade since the revolution, each crest driven by some mix of repression, economic crisis, and U.S. policy. A deliberate fuel strangulation all but guarantees new attempts by sea and land. The same politicians who demand “toughness” toward Havana will soon be standing in front of cameras insisting the border cannot cope with the human fallout of their own strategy.
Then there is legitimacy. Even in a world hardened by Gaza, Yemen, and Iraq, there is something especially naked about starving an entire country of fuel. It is the kind of act that international law was supposed to name and prevent. The UN is already warning in those exact terms: of “possible humanitarian collapse,” of hospitals forced to triage care by generator hours, of aid convoys immobilized because they cannot get diesel. Each blackout in Havana is also another crack in the already fragile story of a “rules‑based order” administered from Washington. If sanctions are the empire’s favorite “non‑violent” tool, it’s because the dying happens offshore, off‑camera, and far from the people signing the orders.
Finally, there is the subtler blowback Ferrer hints at when she describes how Cubans came to see 1898 not as liberation but as theft. Memory accumulates. A people who have lived through slavery, sugar dependency, occupations, revolution, and embargo are not blank slates. They carry stories about who starved them and who stood by. Every night spent in darkness because someone in an office in Washington signed an order will become another story added to that ledger.
Cuba as Microcosm of Collapse
Seen from a distance, the new Cuban crisis might look like a small, if tragic, side plot in a world preoccupied with larger wars. Seen from closer in, it is a concentrated version of the same themes:
- A global system that cannot deliver basic security and dignity without continuous extraction and coercion.
- An empire that reaches for the same blunt tools—blockades, sanctions, proxy pressure—even as those tools corrode the order they are meant to defend.
- A planet whose physical limits—of energy, climate, and ecology—turn every act of economic warfare into a ripple in a tightly coupled web.
Cuba has been, for centuries, a place where big forces show their hand early: slavery, monoculture, corporate imperialism, Cold War proxy conflict, the false promise of “development” under dependency. It is not surprising that it is now an early stage for energy warfare in the age of climate breakdown.
In that sense, the streets of Havana today belong in the same mental frame as tankers stalled near Hormuz or farmers in the Midwest staring at fertilizer quotes. The details differ; the structure doesn’t. A civilization that has built its comforts on other people’s precarity is discovering that the line between “over there” and “here” is dissolving.
Cuba’s blackout is not separate from the slow collapse I have been mapping. It is one more facet of the same weather system: a world in which the engines of empire still turn, but with less fuel, less consent, and less time.
Is there a particular outlet you’re now leaning toward for this piece? That might shape how hard we lean into explicit UN language versus keeping it at the more essayistic level.




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