Friday, July 31, 2026

From India to Gaza: Youth Revolts and the Struggle to Break Open the Future


 July 31, 2026

Photograph Source: Subin Siby – CC0

“What if all the cockroaches come together?”

Abhijeet Dipke

Marx and Engels issued the historic call: “Workers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains!” Today, that summons returns with renewed urgency and takes a new form: Young people of the world unite and resist. Youth today possess the courage, imagination, anger, and numbers to change the course of history. They have grown up in societies paralyzed by cynicism, loneliness, desperation, and hatred, conditions that isolate people from one another and teach them to regard cruelty as inevitable. Yet even amid this desolation, a radical possibility remains: the recovery of solidarity as a passion for justice and love as a public and collective force. This militant love begins with the recognition that our lives are profoundly interconnected, that freedom cannot be reduced to individual escape, and that none of us can be secure while others are rendered vulnerable and disposable. It creates bonds strong enough to break through isolation, connect private suffering to public responsibility, and transform compassion into organized resistance. As James Baldwin and Malcolm X understood in different ways, learning to live requires learning to love, not as sentimentality or a retreat into private life, but as a refusal of hatred, racism, and the machinery of disposability.

Militant love takes the side of justice. It finds expression in solidarity, shared struggle, and the willingness to assume responsibility for lives beyond our immediate experience. It transforms loneliness into connection, despair into collective courage, and anger into a disciplined struggle for a world in which no human being is considered expendable. With catastrophe no longer on the horizon but at their doorstep, young people must build a worldwide movement of resistance that neither propaganda nor repression can silence. It is time to bring to a halt the machinery of death sustained by governments and their military-industrial-academic institutions, all stained by the suffering of children, women, the elderly, and those condemned as disposable.

But solidarity becomes a radical force only when moral conviction takes the form of organized struggle. Student-led protests in India have demonstrated how culture can become both a pedagogical weapon and a vehicle of collective resistance. After Chief Justice of India Surya Kant contemptuously referred to unemployed young people as “cockroaches,” Abhijeet Dipke  answered with a provocative challenge on Instagram: “What if all cockroaches come together?” The question spread rapidly, transforming an insult meant to humiliate into a rallying cry of defiance. Confronting the corrupt and increasingly authoritarian Modi government, students, unemployed young people, and their supporters used memes, satire, and Instagram reels to expose corruption, puncture the mythology of power, and mobilize mass protest. Met with tear gas, police violence, and detention, they refused to abandon the streets. Their resistance revealed that domination is sustained through more than force. It also depends on images, narratives, and a manufactured common sense that teaches people what to fear, accept, and obey. By turning culture against power, the protesters entered the very terrain where identities are formed, anger finds a language, and private suffering becomes public outrage and collective action.

The youth-led Cockroach Janta Party converted this defiance into a rapidly expanding movement.  With more than 20 million followers on Instagram, it built an alternative public sphere beyond the government’s propaganda machine.Young people turned digital ridicule into political solidarity and carried it from the screen into the streets.  Images of police repression widened public outrage, while the movement’s growing power forced the resignation of India’s education minister and placed educational reform and public accountability on the national agenda. As Arundhati Roy notes, “the student protesters who have swarmed Delhi are showing us a different future for India.”

What began as an insult became a symbol. What began as a meme became a movement. What began online became a material force capable of making an authoritarian government retreat. This was more than a new style of protest. It was a restructuring of politics from below, one that seized the cultural technologies of domination and turned them against the systems of power that produce censorship and dispossession. It showed that culture is not an ornament to politics; it is one of the decisive sites where power is challenged, solidarity is created, and collective agency is born.

The lesson extends far beyond India. It must not be lost on young people in the United States or elsewhere, especially as the genocidal assault on Gaza is accompanied by an accelerating campaign of state and settler violence in the occupied West Bank. The catastrophe in Palestine is not confined to Gaza. It is part of a broader colonial project of dispossession, forced displacement, territorial theft, and the destruction of Palestinian life, a logic of domination increasingly visible across the globe. It is also a warning of what awaits the rest of the world as emerging fascist states answer economic crisis with racist paranoia, militarism, and fantasies of purification. This violence involves more than the crushing of dissent. A gangster form of neoliberal capitalism is merging with colonial violence and authoritarian rule, producing a criminogenic order in which law serves power, cruelty becomes policy, and entire populations are abandoned to injury, exile, and death.  Azeezah Kanji is right to insist:

We speak often of the “Palestine exception”: the extreme repression of Palestinian and Palestine solidarity speech and activism. We ought also to speak of the Palestine example: understanding Palestine not simply as an exception, but as an emblem of the colonial modern condition.

The assault on the village of Tell, southwest of Nablus, gives concrete meaning to this “Palestine example”: colonial power operating through the combined forces of the military, the state, and armed settlers to dispossess a people and destroy the conditions necessary for collective life. Following a deadly confrontation involving Palestinians, armed settlers, and Israeli forces, the Israeli government imposed collective punishment. Four Palestinians were killed, dozens were detained, homes were raided, and military operations spread across neighboring communities. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu ordered a wider military campaign, while members of his far-right government demanded further settlement expansion and the depopulation of Palestinian villages. UN Special Rapporteur Francesca Albanese described the combined army-settler attacks as pogroms against defenseless civilians.

Tell is not an isolated incident. Since October 2023, Israeli forces and settlers have killed more than 1,000 Palestinians in the occupied West Bank, including roughly 200 children. Thousands have been injured, and more than 10,000 have been displaced by military operations, demolitions, settler attacks, and restrictions on access to their land. Entire Bedouin and rural communities have been driven from their homes, while settlement construction and the seizure of Palestinian territory have proceeded at an unprecedented pace. The violence of armed settler mobs cannot be separated from the government that protects, arms, and politically enables them. Nor can it be separated from Israel’s widening military assaults across the region, including Lebanon. These are not disconnected eruptions of violence but expressions of a larger politics of colonial expansion, collective punishment, and permanent war.

What is unfolding across Gaza and the West Bank is a crime against humanity made possible by weapons, diplomatic protection, media indifference, and the shameful complicity of powerful Western governments, especially the United States. Universities invest in and collaborate with the institutions that sustain the war machine. Corporate media turn mass suffering into background noise. Political leaders empty the language of human rights of all meaning by applying it selectively. Under these conditions, silence is not neutrality. It is a form of collaboration, and the normalization of genocide becomes a rehearsal for further crimes.

The young people of India have shown what becomes possible when a generation refuses the future imposed upon it.They are not alone. The resistance emerging among young people across the world offers a language for confronting this global regime of violence. Although sparked by specific grievances, these revolts are rooted in widening inequality, unemployment, economic insecurity, corruption, censorship, and the shameless nepotism of political elites.

What is often missed in the mainstream press is that young protesters are revolting against a global form of gangster capitalism that has denied them a meaningful place in the present and robbed them of a future. Commenting on the Cockroach uprising, Vijay Prashad identifies the deeper economic forces driving this revolt:

The young protesters are not in revolt because they possess shorter attention spans or a special cultural aversion to authority. They are in revolt because capitalism cannot integrate them into dignified economic life. They have been told to study, acquire degrees, learn new skills, remain competitive, and become ‘entrepreneurs.’ Their families have borrowed money, sold land, postponed medical treatment, and reduced household consumption to pay for education and coaching. At the end of this punishing journey, many discover that the promised job does not exist. Others find only temporary contracts, unpaid internships, platform work, or jobs whose wages bear no relation to their qualifications.

This crisis is not confined to India. In Bangladesh, student protests brought an end to Sheikh Hasina’s fifteen-year rule. In Nepal, resistance to corruption and digital censorship forced the prime minister’s resignation. In Madagascar,protests that began over water and power cuts grew into demands for “a complete overhaul of the political system” and drove President Andry Rajoelina from the country. In Kenya, a decentralized youth movement compelled the government to withdraw a punishing finance bill and continues to challenge state power and shape the country’s politics.

Largely leaderless and digitally connected, these movements have transformed social media into a counter-public sphere and translated online networks into political power in the streets. Different in their histories, demands, and results, they share a crucial lesson: when young people refuse silence, organize across differences, and connect their courage to a broader public outrage, governments can be forced to retreat and seemingly immovable structures of power can begin to crack.

 The challenge now is to turn these scattered revolts into a common struggle. Young people everywhere must transform these lessons into an international movement capable of bringing millions into the streets and interrupting the institutions that make mass violence possible. They must organize peaceful demonstrations across borders, build student-worker alliances, occupy public spaces, radicalize the social imagination, and expose the systems of propaganda that sustain it. They must demand an immediate end to the slaughter, an arms embargo, international sanctions, and freedom and justice for the Palestinian people. Moral outrage must become organized power.

Such a movement must be joined by educators, artists, cultural workers, trade unionists, journalists, faith communities, and public intellectuals. Resistance cannot remain fragmented by national borders or confined to isolated campuses and cities. Demonstrations must become global, coordinated, sustained, and impossible for governments to ignore. Boycotts, divestment campaigns, labor actions, teach-ins, and mass civil disobedience must converge into a broad democratic front capable of imposing a political cost on complicity. The capitalist and reactionary nationalist  institutions that sustain oppression must be confronted wherever they operate: in government ministries, corporations, universities, media systems, financial networks, and the arms industry.

The Indian youth movement thus offers a lesson that is both cultural and political.  Images, algorithms, digital platforms, and political spectacles are expressions of power, but they can also be seized as instruments of resistance. Cultural critique must move beyond exposing how consent is manufactured and desire is organized.  The cultural realm can be reclaimed from below and transformed into a public pedagogy of resistance, collective courage, and radical democratic possibility. But digital resistance reaches its limit unless it enters the streets, builds durable organizations, joins workers and communities, and converts visibility into lasting political power.

The power of young people lies not in youth alone, but in their capacity to awaken the rest of society from the paralysis of cynicism, fear, and manufactured helplessness. They can expose the lie that nothing can change, connect struggles that power works to keep apart, and give global solidarity an organized and material form. Yet youthful rebellion cannot be sustained by the rush of collective energy and the explosive reach of digital culture alone. As Vijay Prashad rightly warns, “spontaneity and digital reach alone cannot overcome entrenched power.” If the Cockroach movement is to become a lasting political force, it must link examination reform to what Prashad calls “broader struggles for employment, public education, labour rights, and economic redistribution.” The question, then, is no longer whether young people possess the power to ignite change, but whether people across generations will join them in building a movement capable of sustaining it.

The burden of resistance does not rest solely with the young. Their movements provide a map, not an alibi for the inaction of others. They have revealed the language, imagination, courage, and forms of struggle required of everyone who refuses a future organized around genocide, colonialism, and permanent war. Gaza is being destroyed. The West Bank is being emptied village by village. The politics of genocidal violence is spreading across the globe. The time for isolated gestures and ceremonial outrage has passed. What is needed now is a worldwide uprising of conscience transformed into disciplined, sustained, nonviolent mass resistance. Young people of the world must unite with workers, educators, artists, and all those who refuse a world ruled by cruelty, dispossession, and war. They must organize to shut down the institutions that feed the war machine, making complicity impossible and solidarity unavoidable. At stake is whether the future will belong to the merchants of death or to those with the courage to stop them. Neutrality is no longer an option. Resistance is an imperative.


Henry A. Giroux currently holds the McMaster University Chair for Scholarship in the Public Interest in the English and Cultural Studies Department and is the Paulo Freire Distinguished Scholar in Critical Pedagogy. His most recent books include: The Terror of the Unforeseen (Los Angeles Review of books, 2019), On Critical Pedagogy, 2nd edition (Bloomsbury, 2020); Race, Politics, and Pandemic Pedagogy: Education in a Time of Crisis (Bloomsbury 2021); Pedagogy of Resistance: Against Manufactured Ignorance (Bloomsbury 2022) and Insurrections: Education in the Age of Counter-Revolutionary Politics (Bloomsbury, 2023), and coauthored with Anthony DiMaggio, Fascism on Trial: Education and the Possibility of Democracy (Bloomsbury, 2025). Giroux is also a member of Truthout’s board of directors.


How States Can Protect People From Harmful Pesticides


July 31, 2026

Photo by Houcine Ncib

For decades, when a pesticide manufacturer’s product made someone sick, families had a path to justice: their day in court. But this summer, the Supreme Court closed that door for millions of Americans harmed by toxic pesticides.

In a 7-2 ruling in Monsanto v. Durnell, the Court sided with chemical company Monsanto, ruling that state courts can no longer hold the manufacturer accountable for failing to include a warning label on its products if the federal EPA hasn’t required one — no matter what the science shows or what a jury decides.

For a Court that has granted enormous authority to the states over the last decade, this ruling is a turn about from decades of precedent.

The ruling is more than a loss for the farmers and rural residents who have developed non-Hodgkin lymphoma and other cancers after long-term exposure to chemicals. It is a direct assault on states’ authority to protect their own residents. For years, states have been the last line of defense for communities harmed by dangerous chemicals, especially as existing federal law remained inadequate.

In 2005, the Court’s decision in Bates v. Dow Agrosciences affirmed that people harmed by pesticides could seek damages. This new ruling abandons that precedent, siding with a chemical industry that has already paid out billions of dollars in settlements to people it knowingly put at risk.

The timing is no accident. This decision arrives as the same industry has spent several years pushing “failure to warn” immunity bills — often called the “Bayer bill” — in statehouses across the country. Bipartisan coalitions of lawmakers in states from Iowa to Florida have successfully beaten back these bills.

Now, with the Court effectively handing the industry what it couldn’t get from the states, the stakes for proactive state action are even higher.

First, states should ban or restrict the sale and use of the most dangerous pesticides. Paraquat, linked to Parkinson’s disease and already the subject of a nearly $200 million legal settlement, could be phased out. Vermont, for example, became the first state in the nation to ban paraquat this year — and other states including Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Minnesota, hope to follow suit.

Second, states could explore policies that reduce the risk of pesticide exposure in communities. Some states including Hawai’i, Utah, and West Virginia are considering establishing mandatory buffer zones and pre-application notice periods around schools, day cares, homes, waterways, and other sensitive sites to limit pesticide drift. These policies could be effective in protecting residents who never chose to be exposed in the first place.

Third, state legislators could work with their congressional delegation to support the federal Americans vs. Poisonous Pesticides Act introduced in Congress in response to the ruling. This straightforward and protective bill, introduced by Rep. Anna Paulina Luna (R-FL), would streamline the process for manufacturer-initiated pesticide label changes that are more transparent of hazard risks than the current EPA-approved label.

None of this will be easy. The chemical industry has enormous resources, as shown by the coordinated state, federal, and court campaigns to limit their liability. Chemical companies like Monsanto and their allies will keep pushing to weaken regulation and accountability mechanisms for the over 50,000 chemicals used regularly in our food system.

However, it is important to remember that part of the reason the pesticide industry pushed so hard to get immunity through the Supreme Court was because they were losing in state courts and in state legislatures. All thanks to the power of communities and state policymakers refusing to be victims of corporate greed.

It’s important to remember that Durnell does not eliminate state power to legislate on this issue. While we will see the ramifications of this decision for decades to come, it’s made one thing clear: states’ power to protect their residents is more important than ever.

The Supreme Court has made its choice. Now states must prove that when Washington fails to protect people, state legislatures will.

Emma Newton is the Director of Organizing, Food, Agriculture, and Rural Economies at State Innovation Exchange(SiX), which partners with state lawmakers to promote sustainable, people-centered solutions. 

Cuba: Who will govern the market?

Cuban market

First published at La Joven Cuba. Translation by LINKS International Journal of Socialist Renewal.

Despite consensus on Cuba’s economy needing reform, the measures announced on June 25 have raised more questions than answers. They come amid a crisis combining a drop in production, a collapsing energy sector and a migration exodus, worsened by the tightening US blockade. Under these circumstances, it is impossible not to ask who will be able to accumulate wealth, what will happen to workers in the least profitable sectors, how bureaucratic privileges will be stopped from mutating into oligarchic forms, and what role the market will play.

Can this package of reforms be viewed as a simple technical adjustment to get out of this distressing crisis?

To contribute to the debate, Ariel Dacal Díaz spoke with Cuban researcher Wilder Pérez Varona, a PhD in philosophy, writer and researcher, who has analysed the reshaping of the political imagination in Cuba, particularly within the digital ecosystem. He is a postdoctoral researcher at Argentina’s National Scientific and Technical Research Council (CONICET) from the National University of Quilmes.

Wilder examines how the reform will redefine power relations, the social structure starting to take shape behind the rhetoric of “perfecting socialism”, and whether this can be sustained without transforming the political system.

Cuba is facing the most comprehensive package of reforms in the past 30 years. Are these merely technical or economic measures?

The approved package of 176 measures contains highly technical provisions — exchange rates, joint-stock companies, bankruptcy procedures — but its nature is decidedly political. These measures will not merely change the economy, but who controls the country’s wealth for decades to come.

It is true they stem from an emergency. Cuba is facing an almost unprecedented productive, energy and demographic crisis, which has been worsened by the tightening US blockade. Today, Washington restricts trade, tries to block access to loans, discourages foreign investment and hinders fuel supply — it is a deliberate strategy to close off any scope for economic recovery.

But recognising the blockade’s impact does not mean assuming that the reforms are politically neutral. Any economic reform redistributes power. The problem is not merely how to produce more, but deciding who benefits from that wealth.

The most significant change is not more market, but the redefined relationship between ownership and power. A company can still call itself socialist while workers and citizens no longer have a real say in its affairs, thereby rendering social ownership a legal fiction.

GAESA [a Cuban conglomerate owned by the Cuban Revolutionary Armed Forces] is the clearest example. Beyond recent news regarding the release of assets, under these reforms it could retain its management forms and convert companies it already runs into shareholdings. On paper, ownership will remain with the people; in practice it will be the same people making decisions as before the reform.

There is consensus that the bureaucratic statist model has run its course. Cuba needs more dynamic companies, greater managerial autonomy and new scope for economic initiative. But autonomy for whom and under what controls?

The measures seek to strengthen enterprises and new economic actors, but say little about democratising decisions regarding the wealth they generate. We are decentralising enterprises, but not necessarily power.

This also alters the socialist project’s logic. For decades, despite many contradictions, equality was the model’s starting point. As [Cuban president Miguel] Díaz-Canel stated, this sequence is apparently being reversed: first accumulate, then redistribute. Growth is no longer subordinate to social justice; social justice now depends on growth.

This represents a shift in economic philosophy. The market can be a useful tool for developing a socialist economy, but it cannot substitute for politics. If new opportunities for accumulation are not accompanied by transparency, democratic regulation and social control, we risk replacing an inefficient bureaucracy with a new economic elite closely linked to state power. The National Asset Valuation Program, without an independent judiciary or transparency regarding who is buying what, could turn managers and military officials into legal shareholders of the very companies they currently manage on the state’s behalf. This is, albeit with some nuances, largely what happened in the post-Soviet transition.

That is why the debate should not be reduced to a choice between the state and market. The fundamental question is whether these reforms will further socialise economic power or pave the way for a new structure of privileges.

What impacts can we anticipate on the socio-class structure that has taken shape in recent years?

These reforms, if implemented, will transform society as a whole. Above all, they will alter class relations.

For decades, Cuban socialism built a society that was far more egalitarian than what existed before 1959. That relative equality began to erode from the 1990s onwards, with remittances, tourism and an expanding private sector. Now, that social differentiation has ceased to be a consequence of the crisis and is instead becoming a stable component of the model.

There will be more entrepreneurs, larger companies and greater wealth concentration. Of course, every economy needs actors capable of investing, innovating and taking risks. The question is who these entrepreneurs will be: will they emerge as a result of productive labour and innovation, or from converting bureaucratic privileges into private property? The risk is that the line between managing public resources and appropriating opportunities generated by the reform may become increasingly blurred. The removal of the 100-worker cap for micro, small and medium-sized enterprises (mipyes) and the possibility for individuals to own several companies lay the foundations for capital accumulation. The conversion of state-owned enterprises into joint-stock companies, with private individuals buying shares, is the specific mechanism driving this concentration. We do not know yet whether these shares will be bought by entrepreneurs willing to risk their own capital or by managers already running the company.

At the same time, the world of labour will also change. State employees, which until a few years ago were relatively homogeneous, will be replaced by a workforce with vastly different conditions depending on the sector, access to foreign currency, remittances or links to private and foreign companies. The so-called “muro de la divisa” (foreign currency wall) may become entrenched as the main faultline in Cuban society, this time by design.

Inequality will also be defined by race, region and family background, because those with start-up capital, relatives abroad or better economic networks will have clear advantages over those depending exclusively on a salary paid in pesos. This is seen most starkly at the regional level, as decentralisation to municipalities lacking an industrial base or tourist appeal will mainly redistribute deficits rather than autonomy. Social differences will be reproduced from generation to generation if the state does not intervene to address them.

An equally important change is the often-announced shift from universal policies to targeted subsidies, altering the relationship between citizens and the state. A proposed new framework classifies people as “vulnerable” in order to decide who receives support. Workers in profitable companies will somehow be integrated into the new economic circuits; those in so-called “zombie” companies will be left exposed to bankruptcy or liquidation. Equality is no longer understood as a right, and “vulnerability” – that is, poverty – will be treated as a permanent reality. The risk is that the state will stop preventing inequality and instead confine itself to managing its consequences.

The problem is not merely growing inequality, but the kind of power this will generate. As is well known, when wealth becomes concentrated, the ability to influence public decisions also tends to become concentrated.

So, it is not enough to ask whether a new capitalist class will consolidate itself. The crucial question is whether Cuba will have sufficiently democratic institutions to prevent economic power from ultimately capturing political power. The reforms redistribute much more than just income; they redistribute power. This new distribution of power, rather than the economic measures themselves, will ultimately define Cuba’s future.

Why do you say that the proposed model presupposes inequality as a permanent condition of its functioning?

It is not because the government has decided inequality is an objective, but because the new model ultimately makes it a prerequisite for boosting the economy.

This is probably the most profound change these reforms introduce, which, whatever anyone says, departs from previously approved guiding documents.

We can trace, measure by measure, how the logic of organised production according to principles of egalitarian distribution is being reversed in the technical design. The setting of wages has now been decentralised and is subject to each company’s “economic and financial capacity”. This will condemn workers in less profitable sectors to precariousness while allowing for unregulated wages in the dynamic sector. Bankruptcy procedures, with severance pay of barely three to six months’ wages, will turn job insecurity into yet another mechanism of market discipline, even within the state sector. Partial dollarisation creates a stratified system of consumption, even for previously free services; those who can afford it are charged, while there is only a precarious level of protection for the rest. These mechanisms are parts of a single design that requires inequality to function, because inequality generates the market incentive that the state can no longer generate alone.

The risk that wealth may stem from privileged access to information, political connections or control over public resources exists because the reform expands opportunities for accumulation without proposing mechanisms for transparency and social control. This opening up may consolidate an oligarchy born from the state itself. Once that risk becomes real, it is very hard to return as this new capitalist class consolidates its assets — through the National Asset Valuation Program or share purchases. Reversing this concentration would entail a political cost that no actor with veto power will be willing to bear. Inequality, to put it another way, does not dissipate with growth; but tends to become entrenched.

That is why I am worried the debate is reduced to how much GDP grows or how much investment flows into the country. An economy can grow while also losing social cohesion. It can increase productivity while reducing society’s ability to exercise democratic control over the wealth produced.

The crucial question is not how much market an economy can accommodate, but who governs that market. If concentrating wealth ends up also concentrating political power, the problem will no longer be merely inequality, but the formation of a new dominant bloc.

If, in 10 years’ time, Cuba is a more prosperous country but also more oligarchic, we will have changed the economic model without resolving the historical problem of our ailing socialism.

Will these economic reforms be viable without adjustments to the political system?

I have serious doubts. Not because every economic reform automatically requires changing the political system, but because no transformation of this magnitude can be sustained without democratising power. By democratisation, I mean who controls the fundamental economic decisions and the institutions through which society oversees them.

The reform transfers enormous power to companies, banks, investors and new private actors. That may be needed to revive the economy. What is difficult to grasp is why this decentralisation is not accompanied by a corresponding expansion of public oversight.

We are creating more autonomous enterprises, but not necessarily more democratic ones.

This has, precisely, been one of Cuban socialism’s major problems. For too long, we have confused state ownership with social ownership. But a company does not truly belong to society simply because a document says so. It belongs to society when those who produce its wealth and those who depend on it understand how it operates, participate in its decision making and hold its managers accountable.

Economic democratisation is not a luxury reserved for better times, but a prerequisite to remain socialist. This means more than just making enterprises efficient; it needs transparency over the use of public resources, accountability, institutions capable of preventing conflicts of interest, and genuine forums where workers and citizens can have a say in major economic decisions. Otherwise, company autonomy may simply mean autonomy from society.

There is another equally important aspect. If the reform creates new entrepreneurs, new labour relations and new forms of ownership, they must strengthen workers’ organising capacity. A country that profoundly transforms its economy without expanding labour’s participation risks further unbalancing the relationship between capital and society.

All this is even more important given the exceptional conditions imposed by the US blockade. Precisely because Cuba faces extraordinary external pressure, it needs to strengthen internal cohesion. Sherritt [a major Canadian mining and energy company], after more than three decades operating in Moa, withdrew due to sanctions that threatened to block its access to the international banking system. It ended up carrying out a forced sale, under liquidation terms, to a fund linked to a former Trump administration adviser. It is worth remembering that, while Cuba needs foreign currency for the private banking sector and the foreign exchange market to function, whoever controls that flow of capital makes any relief conditional on a political transformation that the government has declared off the table. The market can only be decoupled from the system in a rhetorical sense.

But that internal cohesion, which used to rest on the historical legitimacy of our social project, needs to be built on new forms of participation, transparency and public trust. The margin for error has become very narrow. If, when universal subsidies are phased out, there is no Social Protection Fund already operating, the gap between austerity and direct aid could fuel the same social unrest that erupted in July 2021.

The reform will only bring stability if the majority feels that they not only share in their benefits, but also in making the decisions.

Once again, the challenge lies in preventing the economy’s modernisation from leading to a renewed concentration of power, this time under market-based forms. If socialism remains the long-term goal — despite being virtually absent from the measures announced — then political and economic democratisation cannot come after the reform. They must be part of the reform from day one.

What models, formulas or concepts do you think should have been considered?

The debate has been framed incorrectly from the start. We have been led to believe that there are only two paths: either preserve a failed bureaucratic statism or move to an economy increasingly governed by the market. But the problem has never been a choice between the state and market; it is a question of deciding who exercises power over the economy.

If the Cuban experience has demonstrated anything, it is that state ownership, in itself, does not guarantee socialism. A company can be formally state-owned yet operate with its back turned to society. Similarly, allowing for markets does not necessarily mean abandoning a socialist vision. What matters is whether wealth is subject to democratic control or ends up becoming the property of a minority, whether bureaucratic or private.

For example, if state-owned enterprises are granted autonomy, they should also secure worker participation and effective mechanisms for accountability. If the private sector grows, the state must prevent economic success from turning into political power through progressive taxation, anti-monopoly regulations and strict rules against conflicts of interest. If foreign investment plays a greater role, society has the right to know which national priorities that investment intends to serve.

In other words, without democratic checks and balances, the market ceases to be a tool for the country’s development and becomes a mechanism for concentrating wealth and influence.

I would also have placed far greater emphasis on genuinely social forms of ownership, such as cooperatives, worker-managed enterprises, local development initiatives and spaces where communities have a say over the wealth they generate. I am thinking, specifically, of networks of cooperative banks and locally managed municipal development funds, capable of channeling remittances and reinvesting them in the community, rather than channeling them towards private wealth accumulated by a handful of actors. Not because these initiatives replace the state or market, but because they distribute power. Ultimately, that is what socialism is all about: stopping economic power being concentrated in a few hands.

There is also a lesson that Cuba should not lose sight of. All economic transitions give rise to new social classes. While this may be unavoidable, steps should be taken to prevent a new economic elite gradually taking over the state. That risk is even greater in a country where a significant part of the economy has historically been managed by highly concentrated state and corporate structures. Transparency, oversight of government institutions at all levels, a free media and citizen participation are mechanisms for safeguarding the public nature of the nation’s wealth.

Of course, none of these discussions can take place while ignoring the US blockade. Cuba needs to grow under extraordinarily adverse conditions and has the right to seek the economic tools it needs to survive. But precisely because it faces this external pressure, it is even more important to preserve what historically distinguishes the socialist project: the idea that development should serve the majority and not a new privileged minority.

Ultimately, I believe that the real debate is not whether Cuba should resemble China, Vietnam or any other model. The task at hand is how to build an economy capable of generating wealth without abandoning the democratisation of power.

The future of Cuban socialism will not depend solely on how much the economy grows. It will depend on whether those who produce wealth also have a say in decisions about its use. If reforms merely modernise mechanisms of accumulation, but leave existing power relations intact or even reinforce them, they will have changed the economy without transforming what, from a socialist perspective, really matters: who governs the collective wealth and on whose behalf.




 

Cuba tourism crisis: An industry brought to ‘almost total paralysis’



By Mike Starling & AFP
Published on

Cuba’s tourism industry has been hit hard by US sanctions and fuel shortages, with nearly three-quarters of hotels now closed on the island.

Cuba’s tourism sector has been brought to "almost total paralysis" by US sanctions and fuel shortages, Prime Minister Manuel Marrero said, with nearly three-quarters of hotels now closed.

Detailing the scale of the tourism crisis for the first time, Marrero said seven international chains, responsible for about half of all hotel rooms, had now left the island.

Tourism had been Cuba's second-largest source of foreign currency earnings, employing more than 300,000 people before the crisis deepened this year.

Today, Old Havana's streets, once clogged with tourists seeking sun, salsa and stirred cocktails, are quiet. Some 73% of hotels have been closed, Marrero said, and about 25,000 workers have been left "in a vulnerable situation".

Following Havana's announcement in February of an aviation fuel shortage, Canadian, Russian and European airlines suspended flights to the island.

The sector's troubles accelerated after Washington imposed sanctions in May on the military-run conglomerate GAESA, prompting several international operators to end hotel management agreements to avoid US penalties.

The decline in tourism in 2026 has been “severe”, said media outlet CiberCuba. Between January and June 2026, Cuba received only 360,000 international visitors – 58% down compared with the same period a year earlier.

This decrease follows an “already catastrophic 2025” for Cuba’s tourism sector. Last year the island received 1.81 million international tourists, “the worst figure since 2002 and far below the official target of 2.6 million”.

Hotel groups leave after three decades

Seven international hotel chains have now ceased operations on the island – this accounts for 46% of the rooms managed under that model.

Although Spanish groups Meliá and Iberostar continued operating hotels in partnership with Cuba's Tourism Ministry, Washington widened its sanctions in July.

Meliá Hotels International informed the Spanish National Securities Market Commission (CNMV) that it would cease operations at its 34 hotels on the island on 24 July, while Iberostar and Barceló confirmed that they no longer operate hotels in the country.

The decision culminates a withdrawal process that began last June and marks the end of more than three decades of prominence of the main Spanish companies in the Cuban tourism sector, one of the pillars of the island's economy.

Meliá explained that the decision stems from the operational, legal, economic, and financial difficulties that have persistently affected Cuba.