The collapse of Cuba’s tourism sector under renewed American sanctions is not merely an economic event. It is a historical tragedy, a replay of the Monroe Doctrine with a sun lounger and a mojito. For a decade, Havana played a clever game: invite the world, let the Yankees grumble, and let the dollars roll in from Canada, Europe, and Russia.
It was a post-modern balancing act, a neoliberal dream within a socialist shell. But the empire does not forgive defiance. The latest round of sanctions, targeting third-party transactions and cruise lines, has ripped the lifejacket from Cuba’s drowning economy.
Hotels that hummed with Russian chatter and British package tourists now stand empty. The Varadero beaches, once a playground for the global middle class, are silent. What we witness is the deliberate strangulation of an island that dared to open its doors while retaining its soul.
The architects of this policy in Washington would call it pressure. I call it a blockade with a tan. And the historical echo is deafening: when Rome starved Carthage, it did not use tariffs; it used a fleet.
But the result is the same. A nation is taught that sovereignty has a price, and the bill is presented in lost holidays. Cuba will survive, of course.
It has survived hurricanes, embargoes, and the collapse of the Soviet Union. But this blow, delivered to its most promising post-Covid industry, shows a new ruthlessness. The age of innocent tourism is over.
Every plane ticket to Havana is now a political statement. And the world, as always, will choose comfort over conscience.
