COLUMN: Cuba in a Bind: When Trump Strangles an Island to Consolidate His Power

Forced Stopovers: A Symbol of Isolation

As of February 10, international airlines were ordered to stop refueling with jet fuel in Cuba. This drastic measure, announced to last for one month, could extend for much longer. Regional flights are exempt, but long-haul flights must now make a stopover in a third country to refuel before continuing their journey. Air France, Air Canada, and others have had to urgently reorganize their routes. “A technical stopover,” the press releases say. “A logistical complication,” spokespeople downplay. But the reality is far harsher: Cuba is becoming an island cut off from the world. An island where even planes can no longer land without the risk of getting stranded. An island that Trump wants to isolate, suffocate, and wipe off the radar. And every additional stopover, every canceled flight, every dissatisfied passenger is a victory for him. Proof that his strategy is working. Proof that Cuba is buckling.

I think of those pilots, those airlines, forced to fly around Cuba as one would fly around a war zone. As if the island had become forbidden territory. Cursed territory. A place where nothing works anymore. And I tell myself: this is where we’ve ended up. This is what a country becomes when one man decides to punish it. When one man decides it no longer deserves anything. Not even the right to receive visitors. Not even the right to stay connected to the world. Because that’s Trump’s real goal. To cut Cuba off. To isolate it. To make it disappear. Not with bombs. Not with soldiers. But with sanctions. With executive orders. With threats. And the worst part is, it’s working. Because when a country runs out of fuel, it has nothing left. No more transportation. No more electricity. No more normal life. All that’s left is survival. And that’s exactly what Trump wants: to reduce Cuba to ruins. So the world can see. So the world can know. So the world can tremble.

When the lights go out, life comes to a standstill

In Havana, power outages now last up to 12 hours a day. Hospitals are operating at a snail’s pace, schools are closing, and factories are shutting down. Cubans, accustomed to shortages, have learned to adapt. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s a collapse. The lines at the few gas stations still stocked stretch for kilometers. Black-market prices are skyrocketing. Generators—if you can find them—cost a fortune. “We’re living as if we were at war,” says a Havana resident. “Except that here, the enemy is a man. A man who, 150 kilometers off our coast, decides whether we eat or go hungry.” And Trump, for his part, watches from afar. Unmoved. Indifferent. As if all this were just a minor detail. As if entire lives were nothing more than collateral damage from his policies.

I remember those reports on the blackouts in Cuba. Those exhausted faces. Those children doing their homework by candlelight. Those doctors performing surgeries by the light of flashlights. And I wonder: how can anyone watch this without reacting? How can anyone inflict this without shame? Because Trump, for his part, feels no shame. He stands by it. He boasts about it. He says, “It’s necessary.”
He says, “They had it coming.”
As if an entire people deserved to suffer. As if millions of people deserved to live in the dark. In the cold. In fear. And I tell myself: no. No one deserves that. No one deserves to be collectively punished. No one deserves to be used as a bargaining chip in a political war. Because that’s what true barbarism is: turning lives into weapons. Turning families into hostages. Turning an entire country into a battlefield. And that—that’s not politics. That’s a crime.

Tariffs as a Weapon of Division

On January 29, 2026, Trump took things a step further. He signed an executive order declaring that “the Cuban government poses an unusual and extraordinary threat” to the United States. This served as a pretext to impose tariffs on any country daring to sell oil to Cuba—a measure directly targeting Russia, Mexico, and even certain European countries. “No one will sell another drop of oil to Cuba,” he warned. “Otherwise, they’ll pay.” The threat took effect immediately: oil tankers began rerouting their cargoes. Insurers refused to cover the shipments. One by one, the countries caved in. Because when it comes to Trump, no one wants to risk retaliation. No one wants to be the next target. So Cuba remains alone. Abandoned. Suffocated. And Trump, for his part, is savoring his victory. Because for him, that’s what power is all about: making others bend to his will. Even if it means crushing an entire people to achieve it.

There is something deeply cynical about seeing Trump use tariffs as a weapon. As a means of pressure. As a tool to impose his will. Because behind these executive orders, behind these threats, there are lives. The lives of Cubans, of course. But also the lives of Mexicans, Venezuelans, Russians—all those who, in one way or another, are caught in the grip of his sanctions. And I wonder: how far will he go? How far will this scorched-earth logic go? Because Trump, for his part, knows no limits. He has no red lines. He has only his thirst for power. His thirst for victory. His thirst for domination. And so what if, to satisfy it, he has to plunge millions of people into misery? So what if, to satisfy it, he has to destroy economies? So what if, to satisfy it, he has to shatter lives? Because in Trump’s world, only two things matter: winning. And crushing those who resist.

A People Who Refuse to Give In

Yet, despite everything, Cuba is holding out. The Cuban people, for their part, are not giving up. They’re organizing. They’re sharing the few resources they have left. They’re coming up with solutions: makeshift generators, creative ways to conserve electricity, and solidarity networks to help the most vulnerable. “We’ve survived worse,” they say. “We’ll survive this, too.” And that, perhaps, is what drives Trump crazy. Because despite his sanctions, despite his threats, despite his executive orders, Cuba isn’t falling. Cuba isn’t surrendering. Cuba, despite everything, continues to fight. And that is an insult. An insult to his power. An insult to his omnipotence. So he tightens the noose even further. He tightens the sanctions. He ramps up the pressure. Because he can’t stand the idea that a people, however small, could resist him.

I often think about this Cuban resistance. About this ability to get back on its feet. About this dignity that, despite everything, remains standing. And I tell myself: this is what Trump will never understand. Because he knows only force. Only domination. Only submission. But a people doesn’t just submit like that. A people doesn’t buckle under sanctions. A people finds loopholes. Loopholes in the system. Loopholes in the stranglehold. Loopholes in cruelty. And that is the true victory. Not the victory of executive orders. Not the victory of threats. But the victory of dignity. The victory of solidarity. The victory of resistance. Because as long as a people refuses to yield, as long as it refuses to surrender, then it is already victorious. Even if everything seems lost. Even if everything seems bleak. Even if everything seems impossible. Because that is what resistance is: the refusal to let others decide one’s fate.

When the World Turns a Blind Eye

In the face of this crisis, the international community remains strangely silent. The UN has issued a few timid statements. The European Union has expressed “its concern.” But no one is taking action. No one is sanctioning Trump. No one is forcing the United States to lift its blockade. Because in this world, the law of the strongest prevails. Because in this world, U.S. sanctions are too powerful a weapon to be challenged. So we watch. We sympathize. We lament. But we do nothing. And Cuba, for its part, continues to suffocate. Continues to struggle. Continues to cry out. But its voice, today, no longer carries very far. Because on the international stage, Trump has won. He has imposed his will. He has silenced the critics. He has reduced Cuba to silence. And the world, for its part, has looked the other way.

I remember those UN statements. Those EU communiqués. Those hollow words. Those empty phrases. “We are concerned.”
“We are closely monitoring the situation.”
“We call for dialogue.”
And I ask myself: but where is the anger? Where is the outrage? Where is the will to act? Because today, the world is watching Cuba die a slow death. And it does nothing. It doesn’t move. It doesn’t speak out. It merely “monitors the situation.”
As if it were normal. As if it were acceptable. As if an entire people could be sacrificed on the altar of realpolitik. And that is the worst kind of cowardice. Because when we close our eyes, we become accomplices. Accomplices to suffering. Accomplices to injustice. Accomplices to cruelty. And today, the world is an accomplice. Today, the world has chosen its side. And it is not Cuba’s.

A Country on the Brink of Collapse

If the situation doesn’t change, Cuba could collapse within a few weeks. No oil means no electricity. No electricity means no drinking water. No drinking water means no normal life. Experts are predicting riots. Uprisings. A social explosion. “Cuba is going to fall,” Trump predicted. “They have nothing left.” ” And he’s right. On one point, at least: Cuba has nothing left. No more reserves. No more allies. No more room to maneuver. But he’s wrong about the rest. Because Cuba won’t “fall.” Not the way he imagines it. Not the way he hopes. Because a people doesn’t fall. It breaks. It rebels. It rises again. And today, Cuba is on the brink of breaking point. But this breaking point will not be a surrender. It may be an explosion. An explosion of anger. An explosion of despair. An explosion that, perhaps, will finally open the world’s eyes. Because sometimes, everything has to come crashing down for people to realize the full extent of the disaster. For them to realize that, sometimes, cruelty has a face. And that face, today, is that of Donald Trump.

I’ll end this article with a thought for those Cubans. For those men and women who, despite everything, continue to fight. Who, despite everything, continue to believe. Who, despite everything, continue to resist. And I tell myself: they are far stronger than Trump. Far stronger than his sanctions. Far stronger than his cruelty. Because resistance isn’t something that can be decreed. It isn’t something that can be imposed. It is lived. It is shared. It is embodied. And today, Cuba embodies it. Cuba, with its power outages. With its long lines. With its streets plunged into darkness. Cuba, which refuses to bow down. Which refuses to surrender. Which refuses to disappear. And that is the greatest victory of all. Not the victory of decrees. Not the victory of threats. But the victory of dignity. The victory of hope. The victory that says, despite everything: we are still here. We are still resisting. And we will continue.

When Politics Becomes a Crime

The crisis in Cuba is not inevitable. It is not bad luck. It is not an accident. It is a strategy. A cold-blooded strategy. A calculated strategy. A strategy that uses suffering as leverage. That uses scarcity as a weapon. That uses an entire people as hostages. And Trump, for his part, stands by it. He claims credit for it. He says, “It’s necessary.” He says, “They had it coming.” As if the end justifies the means. As if victory is worth every sacrifice. Even those of the innocent. Even those of children. Even those of entire families. But today, Cuba is resisting. Today, Cuba is fighting. Today, Cuba refuses to give in. And that is a lesson for the world. A lesson in dignity. A lesson in courage. A lesson that says: No, we will not submit. No, we will not surrender. No, we will not let one man decide our fate. Because sometimes, true victory isn’t about crushing the other side. It’s about continuing to stand tall. Even in the dark. Even in the storm. Even when all seems lost.

I don’t know what the future holds for Cuba. I don’t know if Trump will ever ease up on the pressure. I don’t know if the world will eventually react. But I know one thing: today, Cuba has already won. Not the war. Not the battle. But something far more precious: its dignity. Because a people that refuses to bow down—even under the worst sanctions, even under the worst threats, even under the worst suffering—is a people that has already triumphed. Triumphed over fear. Triumphed over resignation. Triumphed over barbarism. So today, I choose to believe in them. Not in Trump. Not in his executive orders. Not in his threats. But in them. In their ability to resist. In their ability to say no. In their ability to keep on living, even when everything seems to be against them. Because that is what true greatness is: not in the palaces of Washington. Not in triumphant speeches. But in the streets of Havana. In the eyes of those who, despite everything, continue to fight. In the hearts of those who, despite everything, continue to hope.

Signed, Jacques Provost