The news is not a bombshell; it is merely an uncomfortable whisper. Through Deputy Foreign Minister Carlos Fernández de Cossío, Cuba acknowledged that there has been no progress in its contacts with the United States.
The Cuban official stated this with painful frankness: no progress can be identified. Serious diplomacy is measured by actions, yet Washington does not negotiate—it imposes.
Fernández de Cossío noted that new unilateral coercive measures arrive every week; the economic war continues, and the blockade—that collective punishment which the global community terms a crime and genocide—remains intact, gnawing at the daily lives of Cubans.
This punishment is evident in the people's lives: in food prices, in 30-hour blackouts, in water failing to reach household taps, and in the shortage of essential medicines. All of this is compounded by the greed of those who profit from scarcity.
Thus, Cuba’s admission holds twofold significance: on one hand, it dispels any illusion of rapprochement; on the other, it serves as an indictment, for it is difficult to engage in dialogue with someone who wields a club while sitting at the negotiating table. Trust cannot be built with those who issue threats; that is not diplomacy—it is an empty charade.
Meanwhile, President Trump—and the long shadow he casts—label Cuba a "failed state" and vow to seek "fundamental change" on the island.
It sounds grandiloquent, it sounds like campaign rhetoric, but the question is simple: fundamental change for whom? For the would-be overlords who dream of returning as conquistadors? For the "illustrious" families who wish to reclaim their privileges?
Fruitless dialogue also unmasks the situation; it reveals who sets the terms and who bears the brunt of them, making it clear that the problem is not a lack of communication. The United States does not want to negotiate; it wants surrender. Cuba cannot surrender; it resists.
The island has its own unfinished business: economic and social transformations that not everyone yet understands—changes that must be explained time and again; a bureaucracy that is cumbersome—truly heavy-handed—and sometimes seems to sit right on top of the blockade. Of course, one thing does not cancel out the other; bureaucracy does not create the major ills, but it exacerbates them all—the big ones and the small ones alike.
Never has such faith been seen; Cubans withstand the siege because they have not stopped believing, because the system is theirs—their own creation, built with pride, hard work, and happiness, but also with tears and a great deal of sweat.
Despite the assault on the collective conscience, the constant sowing of doubt, the missteps caused by immense pressure, the misunderstandings, and the internal differences, Cuba resists. Indeed, no one can deny that, from the moment we emerged as a nation, we set out to achieve the greatest possible justice—and dared to reach for even that which seemed impossible.
That has been the driving force for generation after generation—the vital spirit that, alongside the achievement of independence and sovereignty, has moved a people to seek full justice for all. It is no wonder, then, that preserving it is the foremost concern of Cubans today.
The news, therefore, is not merely a diplomatic update; it is a reminder: the dialogue remains trapped in a dead-end labyrinth. The Cuban deputy foreign minister’s words resonate with uncomfortable clarity: there is no progress, yet the ball is in Washington’s court—in a game where they have never played by fair rules.
We, however, know our own rules well.
