The hum of generators is the new soundtrack of Havana. For the thousands living in the concrete towers of Vedado, the blackouts arrive without warning. The lift stops mid-floor. The water pump falls silent. Elderly residents are trapped in their apartments, unable to descend 15 flights of stairs. This is not a one-off crisis. This is the daily reality for a nation crushed by fuel shortages and a crumbling infrastructure. The lights go out, and the uncertainty begins.
The blackouts, which began as planned rolling cuts, have become erratic. Whole neighbourhoods are plunged into darkness for 10 to 18 hours at a time. The government blames the decades-long US embargo, which has blocked essential supplies for the power grid. But those on the ground see a deeper failure: a state unable to provide the most basic necessities. The economic crisis, exacerbated by the pandemic and the collapse of tourism, has pushed Cuba to the brink. Food and medicine are scarce. Now, even the electricity has become a luxury.
For residents of the high-rises, the situation is uniquely dangerous. These buildings, once symbols of Soviet-era ambition, were designed with centralised systems. Without power, there is no running water. The lifts become iron coffins. Emergency supplies cannot reach the most vulnerable. “We are prisoners in our own homes,” one woman told me, her voice a whisper. She has not left her apartment in three days. The fear is palpable, and the government’s response has been piecemeal. Generators are reserved for hospitals and state buildings. The rest must adapt or wait.
UK aid agencies have now mobilised. The British Red Cross, Oxfam, and CAFOD have launched appeals, sending cash for food and water purification kits. But they face their own barriers. The US embargo makes it difficult to transfer funds. Shipping delays and sanctions complicate logistics. “We can do small things,” said a spokesperson for a UK charity. “But the scale of this is enormous. The blackouts are a symptom, not the cause. The underlying crisis is economic, and that requires political solutions.”
The blackouts have also exposed the deep inequality in Cuban society. Those with connections can access dollars to buy fuel for private generators. The rest queue for bread by candlelight. The black market thrives. A small generator can cost a year’s salary. For most, the cost is simply too high. The government has announced new solar projects, but they are years away. For now, the people of Havana sit in the dark.
The mental toll is immense. The constant uncertainty, the fear of being trapped, the inability to plan. “You don’t know if the lights will come on tonight,” a young father told me. “So you can’t promise your children a hot meal. You can’t even promise them light.”
UK agencies are calling for an immediate end to the embargo, but they know change will not come quickly. In the meantime, they are preparing for the long haul. The blackouts will continue. The high-rises will remain dark. And the people will wait, trapped between a failed state and a world that cannot reach them.
