The lights have gone out across Cuba. For the second time this month, the island nation has plunged into a nationwide blackout, its ageing Soviet-era grid unable to meet the demand of 11 million people. As a journalist who has spent years chronicling the intersection of energy policy and climate vulnerability, I find this crisis both a tragedy and a lesson. It is a data point in the broader narrative of infrastructure decay, and it stands in stark contrast to the quiet resilience being built in places like Britain.
The cause is not a single event but a cascade of failures. Cuba’s power plants, many built in the 1980s, run on imported heavy fuel oil that has become scarce due to US sanctions and Havana’s inability to pay. Maintenance has been deferred for years. As temperatures soared above 35°C in July, air conditioning units strained the grid. On July 15, the Antonio Guiteras plant, the country’s largest, tripped offline. The resulting frequency drop triggered automatic disconnections across the country. By midnight, Havana was dark.
This is not a natural disaster. It is a man-made collapse born of economic isolation, political sclerosis, and a failure to diversify. Cuba has some of the Caribbean’s best solar potential, yet renewables account for less than 5% of its electricity. Compare this to the United Kingdom, where, at the time of writing, wind power is supplying 45% of the country’s needs. Britain’s grid, while not perfect, is a study in redundancy and modernisation. Interconnectors link it to France, Belgium, Norway, and Denmark, providing a buffer against local failures. The National Grid can draw on pumped hydro storage, rapid-response gas turbines, and a growing fleet of batteries. When a cold snap hit in December 2022, Britain’s grid operator used a mix of demand-side response and reserve capacity to avoid blackouts. Cuba has none of this.
The contrast is not merely technical but political. Britain has spent decades deregulating its energy market, creating incentives for innovation. The result is a system where private companies compete to build offshore wind farms, and household solar installations have tripled since 2015. Cuba, by contrast, remains a centrally planned economy where the state owns all generation and distribution. There is no market signal for efficiency, no penalty for delay. The blackout is a symptom of a system that cannot adapt.
For the biosphere, Cuba’s blackout is a warning about feedback loops. As the planet warms, demand for cooling increases, putting pressure on fragile grids. More blackouts mean more reliance on backup diesel generators, which spew carbon and worsen the heat. It is a vicious cycle. Britain’s resilience offers a counterpoint: by investing in smart grids and storage, nations can break that cycle. But the window is narrowing. Every year of inaction makes the transition harder.
There is a role for technology. If Cuba could leapfrog to decentralised solar and microgrids, it could bypass the fossil fuel trap entirely. But that requires capital and political will. The US embargo remains a barrier, but so does Havana’s reluctance to reform. The same story unfolds across the Global South: nations with the least responsibility for climate change suffering the most from its effects.
As I write this, the lights are back on in parts of Havana, but the underlying fragility remains. Britain should not be complacent; its own grid faces risks from cyberattacks, gas shortages, and extreme weather. But for now, the contrast is instructive. Resilience is not an accident; it is the product of sustained investment and hard choices. Cuba’s blackout is a reminder that if we do not choose to build a better future, nature and economics will choose one for us.
Dr. Helena Vance, Science and Climate Correspondent.
