Cuba’s Geopolitical Abandon and Forced ‘Independence’

By Kate McDonough, writing from the University of Georgia.

(This article was originally printed in the Spring 2026 edition of our print magazine. To see the entire magazine, click here.)

The capture of Nicolás Maduro by United States forces in early 2026 was a seismic geopolitical event that did far more than disrupt Maduro’s reign: it severed the primary lifeline of the Cuban government. For over two decades, the partnership between Caracas and Havana functioned as the essential heartbeat of the Cuban economy. The partnership provided a unified ideological front and heavily subsidized crude oil that was primarily processed at the revived Cienfuegos refinery. Venezuela was the bedrock of the island's material and psychological stability, offering a sense of regional belonging and a guaranteed energy floor. With the conclusion of Operation Absolute Resolve, that foundation has disintegrated, forcing Cuba to navigate a period of profound isolation that is fueled by the United States of America. 

To understand the magnitude of this shift, one must look at the trajectory of Cuban history over the last century. Since the 1959 Revolution, the island’s survival in terms of governmental stability has almost always been based on a symbiotic relationship with a larger, ideologically aligned power. Initially, the Soviet Union provided the massive subsidies and favorable trade terms (sugar for oil) that allowed the revolutionary government to build its social safety nets. With the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s, Cuba plummeted into the Special Period, an era of drawback and near-famine. It was a time of regular blackouts and drastically decreased automobile usage, but it was also a time when the state of Cuba, along with the Cuban people, remained the central, if struggling, providers. 

The emergence of Hugo Chávez in Venezuela at the turn of the millennium provided the second helpline for the Cuban system. In 2000, Castro and Chávez signed a landmark agreement that traded Cuban human capital (doctors, teachers, and security advisors) in exchange for a steady flow of Venezuelan oil. This was the birth of the Patria Grande vision—a dream of a socialist Latin America that would challenge northern hegemony. Venezuela became Cuba's primary trading partner, at one point supplying over 100,000 barrels of oil per day. This partnership not only fueled the lights of Havana but also reinforced the revolutionary narrative that Cuba was part of a larger, unstoppable continental movement. 

However, the foundation of this partnership began to erode long before the events of 2026.

Following the death of Chávez, the Venezuelan economy entered a tailspin under the management of Nicolás Maduro. Mismanagement of the state oil company, PDVSA, coupled with plummeting global oil prices and tightening international sanctions, caused production to drop from nearly 3.5 million barrels per day to less than 800,000. By 2025, the once heavy flow of oil to Cuba had slowed, barely meeting a third of the island's demand. 

The final blow came in the early hours of January 3, 2026. In a mission referred to as Operation Absolute Resolve, United States military units conducted a high-precision strike in Caracas, where 32 Cuban intelligence officers were killed. The operation involved over 150 aircraft and utilized advanced electronic warfare to neutralize Venezuelan air defenses, allowing Delta Force operators to capture Maduro and his inner circle from their fortified residences. This was seen as the beginning of the total dismantling of the regional socialist axis. Delcy Rodríguez was sworn in on January 5, 2026, and is currently leading Venezuela under the oversight of the United States of America. The new transitional authorities in Venezuela, under heavy international influence, immediately terminated the oil-for-doctors program, leaving Havana completely stranded. 

Cuba now exists in a state of isolation that some observers call geopolitical orphanhood. Deprived of Venezuelan fuel and the protection of its most powerful regional ally, the island is navigating a transition far more severe than the one that occurred in the 1990s. This era is different because there is no longer a looming benefactor on the horizon. Russia remains preoccupied with its own conflicts in Eastern Europe, and China has shown increasing hesitation to invest in an island with mounting debt and crumbling infrastructure. 

This isolation is most visible in the darkness that has gripped the island. By March 2026, the country was engulfed in near-total blackouts following the repeated failure of the Antonio Guiteras power plant. This facility, the largest in the country, has been crippled by a lack of spare parts and the absence of high-quality Venezuelan fuel. In the wake of an executive order from the United States authorizing tariffs on any nation supplying oil to the island, even secondary suppliers like Mexico have begun to pull back. As of late February, the U.S. Treasury Department is allowing U.S. companies to apply for licenses to sell or resell oil to Cuba’s private sector and non-governmental entities, but that has proven to not be enough. 

This chronic lack of power is reshaping the national psyche. When electricity is unavailable for 18 to 20 hours a day, the ability to plan for the future diminishes. Daily existence is reduced to a series of tactical maneuvers: finding water, locating a charging source for a phone, or salvaging food before it spoils. In a virtual interview with Alissa Scheer, who is the founder of CubieBag and Experiences By Alissa, a digital creator, and an expatriate who has lived in Havana for the past 7 years, it was noted that: “The biggest invisible effort is simply organizing everyday life. Many small tasks that take seconds elsewhere require patience here. Even something like internet access can be exhausting. And if you happen to be in an area experiencing a blackout, it can stop your work completely. Shopping is another example. In many places you assume stores will consistently carry the same products. In Cuba that’s rarely the case. A shop might suddenly have shelves full of toilet paper one week and then none for two months. You never know exactly what you’ll find, so everyday errands often feel a bit like a lottery. And of course there are things people in many countries take for granted that simply don’t exist here — online shopping, delivery services, or ordering something from Amazon. Many modern conveniences just aren’t part of daily life.” 

The Cuban government’s official position attributes the current humanitarian crisis primarily to external pressures, specifically citing a three-month lapse in fuel shipments which President Miguel Díaz-Canel linked to U.S. sanctions. In a significant public acknowledgment of the domestic impact, Díaz-Canel recently reported that electricity outages exceeding 30 hours have paralyzed water pumping and forced the postponement of tens of thousands of surgeries, including those for children. While the state has previously intended to promote a narrative of collective endurance, this message often conflicts with the logistical demands of daily survival. Furthermore, the government has recently admitted to talks with the United States representing a departure from its traditional rhetoric of self-sufficiency. This shift suggests that the leadership is increasingly forced to balance its historical political stance against the practical urgency of addressing a systemic collapse that has left the country’s economic activities in a state of heightened stagnation. 

This infrastructure trauma has effectively eroded the state’s primary mechanism for social control. When a government cannot provide basic necessities such as light or running water, it loses its ability to justify its existence. Ms. Scheer adds, “The blackouts themselves have also evolved over time. In the beginning they were scheduled, with timetables that told people exactly when electricity would be cut in each neighborhood. That allowed people to plan. Now it’s often the opposite — the electricity goes out first and information comes later, if at all. People rely on Telegram groups or word of mouth to understand what’s happening. And it can vary dramatically: some parts of Havana rarely lose power, while others experience outages for hours every day, sometimes even within the same street depending on the electrical grid.” 

In the darkness, the traditional social safety nets—healthcare and education—are in a state of advanced decay. Hospitals struggle to run life-saving equipment on failing generators, and schools are frequently closed. This has led to a more extreme localism, where Cubans are retreating from national politics into the sanctity of the family and the micro-community. The sense of collective identity once championed by the state is being replaced by a survivalist mindset defined by the individual. As Anthony DePalma suggests, the Cuban sociolismo (the art of getting by via connections) has mutated from a cultural strength into a survivalist trap; by finding ingenious ways to fix what is broken, the individual inadvertently buffers the state from the consequences of its own failure. 

This shift is visible in the smallest neighborhood inequities. For the average citizen, the unseen labor of navigating a lottery-like economy—where toilet paper or stable data are fleeting luxuries—leaves little room for the collective identity once championed by the state. As Ms. Scheer notes, "the day-to-day logistics of life can be exhausting," and in that exhaustion, the grand political project is replaced by a solitary focus on making it through the next twenty-four hours. 

Theodore Henken, a Baruch College professor with an expertise in Cuban Studies, notes that it is key to “have fe, or faith. But what they really mean is familia en el extranjero, or family abroad.” The colloquialism of having “fe”, or faith, now refers directly to this external support. With the state-run libreta (ration book) providing less than a week’s worth of food, and the U.S. Navy intercepting fuel shipments, the digital bridge of remittances has become the primary social safety net. This represents an outsourcing of national welfare, creating a stark class divide between those with external links and those who are left in the dark. Ultimately, the most resilient bond on the island is no longer between the citizen and the state, but between the migrant and the home they are keeping alive. 

The fall of the Maduro administration effectively ended the narrative of socialist collectivism as a viable regional future. This shift is visible in the changing social discourse. The revolutionary slogans of the past, like Socialismo o Muerte (Socialism or Death), are increasingly viewed as relics, and in their place, a decentralized, survivalist mindset has taken root. Cubans are no longer looking to the state for solutions; they are engineering their own through informal markets and neighborhood barter systems. This extra-state agency is particularly prevalent among the youth, who use VPNs and illicit satellite connections to link with a globalized world. Their resilience is not revolutionary in the state-sanctioned sense; it is entrepreneurial and individualistic. They are not necessarily protesting the government so much as they are rendering it irrelevant to their daily survival. 

The international community has recognized this shift. As previously mentioned, a strategic license was issued allowing international companies to sell oil specifically to Cuba’s private sector. This move was designed to bypass the state and empower the private sector, further accelerating the decentralization of power. As the center fails to hold, the provinces and black markets take over.

However, this transition brings peril. While the survivalist mindset allows for incredible ingenuity, such as the ability to maintain 1950s engines with improvised parts, it also stretches the moral fabric of society thin. The need to resolver—a euphemism for bartering or stealing to meet basic needs—can undermine social cohesion. “What helps a lot — and this is true for many Cubans as well — is community,” emphasizes Ms. Scheer. “Meeting friends in the evening, going out, or simply leaving the house for a while helps you reset and forget about problems for a bit. Cuban culture already has a strong ‘fix what you have’ mentality. People grow up learning to repair things, reuse things, and make them last far longer than they normally would. That mindset is deeply ingrained. At the same time, many people are simply tired of the daily struggles. That feeling exists across generations. Between roughly 2022 and 2024, many people left the country — especially those between their mid-20s and 50s. Among my own friends and acquaintances, a significant number left during that period. Right now, the mood I observe is less about a sudden rush to leave and more about people trying to manage the reality they are in and finding ways to cope with it day by day.” 

The capture of Nicolás Maduro signaled the end of the 20th century for Cuba. The island is no longer a strategic outpost of a global movement. This radical self-reliance is not a choice, but a biological and social necessity. The Patria Grande is gone, and in its place, millions of individuals are defining a new national identity based not on the system they live under, but on the ways they have learned to outlive it. 

The psychological pivot currently underway is one of both mourning and awakening. Among some, there is still a mourning for the relative stability of the past, however repressive it may have been. Above all, this is an awakening to the reality that the future belongs solely to the Cuban people, independent of their leaders’ rhetoric. Whether this leads to a democratic rebirth or a fragmented, failed state remains to be seen, but the era of the ideological umbilical cord is over. 

While the current geopolitical isolation is objectively grim—a direct consequence of the U.S. energy blockade and the aggressive blocking of aid and detention of humanitarian aid

workers returning to the United States—to view this moment solely as a funeral for a nation is to fundamentally underestimate the Cuban people. For decades, the island has been a crucible of adaptation, but this current era has catalyzed something deeper than endurance. We are seeing a fierce reclamation of agency, evidenced by the Morón protest on March 14, where the burning of a Communist Party headquarters signaled that the population is no longer willing to suffer in silence for a failing government body. This is more than waiting for the lights to come back on. In the shadow of a neighbor that intercepts fuel ships and blocks aid from entering, Cubans are redefining their national identity through sheer, unyielding ingenuity. They are not just outliving a failing system; they are outgrowing it. Whether the transition ahead is a democratic rebirth or a period of prolonged hardship, the era of ideological solidarity and partnership is over. Although it appears that the future of the island belongs to the state or the sanctions of Washington, it truly belongs to the people who have learned to survive total isolation. In the face of terminal trauma, the Cuban people are expected to exhibit a fierce, renewed agency that suggests the island will not only endure this darkness, but eventually emerge from it redefined.