Bold statement: Cuba stands on the edge of a chilling, self-imposed crisis as fuel runs dry and the tourist flow stalls, threatening to rewrite the island’s fate. But here’s where it gets controversial: the path the outside world chooses to take could push Cuba toward a deeper collapse or spur an unexpected reset in regional power dynamics.
Across Havana’s leafy diplomatic zone, Siboney, ambassadors from nations traditionally friendly to the United States are voicing mounting frustration with Washington’s push to topple Cuba’s government while simultaneously plotting to shrink their own missions. Cuba is in crisis. Already dragged down by a four-year economic downturn, compounded by hyperinflation and the emigration of nearly a fifth of its people, the 67-year-old communist regime appears at its weakest moment yet. Following a US military action against Cuba’s ally Venezuela in early January, Washington has escalated efforts aimed at regime change.
The Guardian spoke with more than five senior diplomats from different countries who described how the US charge d’affaires, Mike Hammer, has offered little more than a grim aim: starving Cuba of oil to bring the country to a standstill. One official remarked, “They talk about human rights and this being the year Cuba changes, but there’s scant discussion about what comes after.”
Some diplomats hold onto a flicker of possibility that rumored high-level talks in Mexico between the Cuban government—represented by Gen Alejandro Castro Espín, son of the long-serving Raúl Castro—and US officials could yield a deal. Yet there are no tangible signs of progress yet.
In Havana, officials are preparing a different tactic: to push Cuba toward a climate of scarcity so that people rise up and the US can intervene. “We’re trying to keep a cool head,” said one ambassador. “Embassies are built to plan for the unexpected—ideally before it becomes expected.”
Concerns have grown as news spreads that the fuel shortage is hindering the UN World Food Programme’s relief efforts for last year’s Hurricane Melissa. The WFP, which maintains a relatively low profile on the island, now faces planning for a much larger crisis. “We’re already seeing a drop in fresh produce in the cities,” noted Étienne Labande, the WFP’s country director.
Diplomats warn that the fuel shortage could trigger severe hardship within weeks, affecting electricity, water, and the transport of food. “It’s a matter of weeks,” said one observer. “Rural villages like Viñales may fare, but urban residents would be in grave danger.”
The latest Cuban crisis comes on the heels of an executive order signed by Donald Trump in January, imposing tariffs on oil shipments to Cuba from any country. The move drew outrage from longtime allies China and Russia, but it appears effective in constricting Havana’s foreign exchange earnings.
Even Mexico, which had displaced Venezuela as Cuba’s largest supplier last year, has halted oil shipments, though Mexican president Claudia Sheinbaum warned of a humanitarian disaster and dispatched 800 tons of aid. “No one can ignore the suffering the Cuban people are experiencing because of US-imposed sanctions, which are unfairly applied,” she said.
At a January 28 reception at the US residence, Hammer referenced the 68-year embargo heat and told guests that “the Cubans have complained for years about the ‘blockade,’ but now there is going to be a real blockade.” He then toured eastern Cuba, handing out US aid, while small groups of government-backed protesters hurled abuse. He is reportedly headed to Rome for talks with the Vatican, which has grown increasingly influential on the island.
A spokesperson for the embassy said they regularly meet with colleagues but do not discuss the specifics of their meetings. The oil blockade’s consequences are arriving faster than anticipated, compounding diplomats’ concerns. This week, all three Canadian airlines serving Cuba suspended flights due to fuel shortages; two Russian carriers followed, and all five carriers began repatriating travelers.
In 2025, Cuba welcomed nearly three-quarters of a million Canadian visitors, by far the largest tourist contingent, while Russians ranked third in visitor numbers after Cuban expatriates. The UK Foreign Office has revised its travel advice to suggest only essential travel to Cuba.
As the embargo erodes Cuba’s ability to earn foreign currency, ordinary Cubans outside Havana’s diplomatic bubble are preparing for life with limited fuel. “It feels like the 1962 missile crisis,” one resident noted, recalling a time when the sun still shone but the nation lived under anxious clouds.
The Cuban government has already shut universities, secondary schools, and nonessential state offices, while cutting back public transport to conserve resources.
Adrian Rodriguez Suárez, a 22-year-old nuclear physics student at Havana University from Holguín, was told to return home for distance learning. He said, “We heard the news on Thursday, and those who can have left since. Many are using their own means to get home. What worries me is the situation in my province. Studying will be harder as electricity is scarce outside Havana.”
Social media is alive with worries. A Facebook user announced wedding plans for March and asked for information about cancellations. Others share practical help—ambulatory travelers with chemotherapy, dialysis, or emergencies at Calixto hospital in Havana travel free. Locals are also adapting, such as a Havana man selling affordable cast aluminum and galvanized zinc burners for wood-fired cooking—popular at $8 for a single burner and $15 for a double.
Some residents have embraced the situation with ingenuity. In Sancti Spíritus, a resident described preparing for a charcoal-based kitchen as a reluctant but necessary adaptation, even joking about bequeathing a charcoal stove as a future heirloom.
Meanwhile, diplomats continue to weigh their options. Some anticipate leaving if conditions deteriorate further, asking, “What is the point of us staying if we can’t work?” And they remain vigilant, hoping common sense will prevail.
In central Havana, beloved tourist hubs have quieted. Yarini, a famed rooftop bar named for a 20th‑century anti-American figure, normally buzzes with energy but on a recent warm evening drew only two small groups—none of them regular locals or tourists. Instead, they were war correspondents retreating from winter in Ukraine to witness what might become a pivotal moment in one of the world’s last remaining communist regimes.
Additional reporting by Eileen Sosin
