Applause in Munich, Blackouts in Havana

It is hard not to feel sickened watching world leaders give Marco Rubio, the U.S. Secretary of State, a standing ovation after his speech at the 62nd Munich Security Conference. Their reaction challenges the comforting belief that bullying doesn’t work. They were pathetically grateful that Rubio didn’t mention grabbing Greenland or hector them as JD Vance did in 2025. Instead, he adopted a softer tone, calling America a “child of Europe” and insisting the two “belong together.” He still pushed “America First” priorities — higher defence spending, tighter borders — but framed them as a shared Western project rather than an ultimatum. And world leaders lapped it up.

In leaping to their feet, they conveniently forgot — or chose to ignore — the abuse of power the Trump administration is inflicting not only at home but across the world, including South America and the Middle East.

Nowhere is this more visible than in Cuba, a country being brought to its knees by a U.S. blockade on oil shipments, backed by tariffs on any nation that dares supply the island. The result is severe fuel shortages, rolling blackouts, and crippling disruptions to hospitals and transport. Cuba is on the brink of one of its worst social and economic catastrophes since the 1959 revolution. Energy sources are dwindling. The electrical grid is collapsing.

The U.S. has targeted Cuba for decades, from the early embargoes of the 1960s to the Helms-Burton Act, which not only barred U.S. companies from trading with Cuba but punished foreign companies that did business with both countries. Yet despite relentless pressure and isolation, Cuba pursued policies rooted in social justice. Shelves were often bare, but the country achieved near universal literacy and built a healthcare system with around 9.5 doctors per 1,000 people — the highest ratio in the world. The U.S., by comparison, has 3.1 doctors per 1000 people and 20% of the adult population with poor literacy. Cuba’s infant mortality rate was once among the lowest in the region; it has since doubled as sanctions have intensified.

But the current assault is on a different scale. In an open letter, a Cuban woman describes what is happening not as a crisis but as “a slow, calculated, coldly executed murder, orchestrated from Washington.” Elderly people are dying prematurely because medications cannot arrive. Incubators are being shut down, putting premature babies at risk. Doctors — the same ones who saved lives during the pandemic — now lack syringes, anaesthesia, and X-ray equipment. Not because they lack skill or knowledge, but because the blockade prevents access to supplies, spare parts, and technology. People are going hungry.

Meanwhile, Rubio — the man receiving warm applause in Munich — is widely seen as a key architect of this policy. His parents left Cuba in 1956, during the Batista era and before Castro’s rise. They were economic migrants, not political exiles. His hostility toward Cuba is therefore difficult to understand. The island poses no direct threat to the United States, yet his public statements consistently support maintaining or increasing pressure until Cuba changes its internal policies.

In the meantime, people in the country of his parents’ birth are enduring extreme hardship as a direct result of policies enacted by his government.

Before smiling so sycophantically at Rubio, world leaders might just ponder the words of a Cuban woman reminding them that America’s actions are a crime. A crime against the Cuban people and a crime against humanity.

“I ask you to stop normalising the suffering of my people.

I ask you to call the blockade by its name: a crime against humanity.

I ask you not to be deceived by the tale of ‘dialogue’ and ‘democracy’ while they tighten the noose around our necks.

We don’t want charity. We want to be left to live.”

In a just world, warm handshakes would be replaced by steel handcuffs.