It is tempting to view Cuba as a relic of the Cold War—an island suspended between revolution and ruin. But Cuba’s story is not static. It is a living case study in power, race, ideology, and the enduring question of whether any system—capitalist or socialist—can deliver justice without reproducing inequality in new forms.
Before the 1959 revolution, Cuba was a study in contradiction. On the surface, Havana glittered with casinos, tourism, and cosmopolitan flair. Beneath that veneer lay a deeply unequal society marked by racial discrimination, entrenched corruption, and autocratic rule under Fulgencio Batista. Afro-Cubans, in particular, faced systemic exclusion from economic opportunity, education, and political power. The island functioned, in many respects, as an appendage of American economic interests—prosperous for a few, while the majority labored in poverty with little access to power or mobility.
The revolution led by Fidel Castro promised a rupture with that past. One of its most consequential early moves was the formal abolition of racial discrimination. The new government proclaimed a commitment to equality, embedding it within a broader socialist project aimed at redistributing wealth, expanding education, and providing universal healthcare. For a time, these efforts appeared transformative. Literacy campaigns reached the rural poor, healthcare became widely accessible, and the state projected an image of racial harmony as part of its revolutionary identity.
Yet revolutions do not erase history; they reconfigure it. Over time, the promise of racial equality in Cuba revealed its limits. Cuba, like much of the Caribbean, is an amalgam of races. Unlike the United States, where racial lines have been more rigid, Cuban society operates along a fluid spectrum of color. But that fluidity has not produced equality. Instead, it has entrenched a hierarchy rooted in color prejudice, where lighter skin often confers advantage and darker skin carries a persistent disadvantage. Studies and reports have consistently shown that darker-skinned Cubans are disproportionately represented among the poor, have less access to remittances from abroad, and are underrepresented in sectors tied to tourism and foreign currency. In a society that long denied the existence of racial inequality, confronting these disparities has proven especially difficult.
Today, the Cuban people face a different but equally suffocating set of pressures. The decades-long U.S.-led embargo has contributed significantly to economic hardship, limiting access to goods, capital, and global markets. At the same time, internal inefficiencies and state controls have constrained growth and innovation. The result is a society where scarcity is pervasive, opportunity is limited, and frustration is mounting. As before, these burdens fall unevenly, with darker-skinned Cubans often bearing the heaviest weight.
Speculation about Cuba’s future increasingly centers on the prospect of U.S.-driven economic restructuring. The emphasis is on opening markets and encouraging private enterprise. What is notably absent is any serious framework to ensure that such changes would benefit the population broadly rather than reinforce existing inequalities.
History offers a cautionary tale. Cuba before the revolution was shaped by external capital and internal elites; without safeguards, a return to market dominance risks restoring those same dynamics in new form. Market reform alone does not correct inequality. Left unchecked, it often magnifies it.
The question, then, is not whether Cuba should change, but whether the model being advanced is capable of producing just outcomes. A Trump administration, marked by limited commitment to racial equity, tolerance of corruption, and a strained relationship with democratic norms, is ill suited to guide progressive change in Cuba. There is little in its governing philosophy to suggest that equitable distribution, racial justice, or democratic institution-building would be central priorities.
Can such an administration improve conditions for the majority of Cubans, resolve entrenched colorism, and support democratic reform? Fair-minded observers would see the contradiction. Systems that concentrate power and privilege capital without accountability do not produce equity—they deepen division.
To expect otherwise is a bridge too far.
Cuba remains in the crosshairs—not only of geopolitical interests but of competing visions of what a just society might look like. Its future will depend on confronting inequality directly and ensuring that any reform—internal or external—serves the many rather than the few.
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