On October 21, 2025, the 100th birthday of Celia Cruz—Cuba’s legendary “Queen of Salsa”—was marked by a striking paradox in her homeland. While fans, artists, and diplomats gathered in Havana to honor her enduring legacy, the Cuban government maintained an unwavering silence, and official tributes were conspicuously absent. The centennial celebrations that resounded across the globe were, in Cuba, reduced to a single, emotionally charged Catholic mass, a testament to both Cruz’s indelible influence and the persistent shadow of censorship that has long shaped her story on the island.
The sole public commemoration unfolded at the Parish of Our Lady of Charity in Centro Habana, a church revered by Cubans for its spiritual and cultural significance. The mass, themed “United for Celia,” drew a diverse crowd—artists, diplomats, and everyday admirers—who gathered to pay homage to the woman whose voice once filled Havana’s streets and now reverberates worldwide. Among those present were renowned singer Haila María Mompié, musician and Latin Grammy winner Alain Pérez, and U.S. Chargé d’Affaires Mike Hammer. Their attendance underscored the event’s importance, both as a cultural milestone and a subtle act of resistance. According to EFE, the ceremony was organized by a small group of artists, with Father Ariel Suárez, parish priest and deputy secretary of the Cuban Bishops’ Conference, presiding over the proceedings.
Father Suárez’s homily captured the bittersweet spirit of the day. “She was an ambassador of Cuban music, of Cuban rhythms in the world... of our flavor, of our dances, of our joy, of ‘that’ contagious thing,” he told the congregation, recalling Cruz’s signature exclamation: “Azúcar!”—a word that has become a rallying cry for Cuban identity and resilience. “I thank God because she brought joy to many people, because she made Cuba a presence in the world,” Suárez added, according to the Associated Press.
Yet the mass was more than a religious ceremony; it was a quiet act of defiance against decades of official erasure. As reported by EFE and CubaNet, the event was the only tribute permitted on the island after other planned commemorations were abruptly canceled. Most notably, the Cuban Art Factory (FAC), one of Havana’s most prominent cultural venues, had scheduled a special show in Cruz’s honor for October 19, 2025. Just hours before curtain time, however, the state-run National Center for Popular Music announced the performance would not take place, offering no explanation. The FAC responded by placing an empty chair on stage, illuminated by spotlights, and observing an hour of silence—a symbolic gesture they later described on social media as “the art of resistance.” The phrase “Celia Lives” accompanied their post, a message that echoed through the city and across digital platforms.
The cancellation of these events sparked swift backlash. Musicologist Rosa Marquetti, author of “Celia en el mundo,” condemned the incident as “another chapter in the history of censorship and political control over Cuban culture.” On Facebook, she wrote, “They have spent 60 years trying — without success — to tarnish one of the most extraordinary trajectories of life in the cultural sphere in defense of an identity, with an unflinching sense of belonging.” Her words resonated with many artists and ordinary Cubans who took to social media to protest what they viewed as an arbitrary act of censorship.
Celia Cruz’s complicated relationship with her homeland is rooted in her decision to leave Cuba in 1960, shortly after Fidel Castro’s revolution. Settling in the United States, she became not only an international superstar—with hits like “La vida es un carnaval” and “La negra tiene tumbao”—but also a symbol for the Cuban exile community and a vocal critic of the communist regime. The government’s response was swift and unforgiving: Cruz was barred from returning, and her music received little to no coverage in Cuban media. Even after her death in 2003, official recognition remained elusive.
Despite these barriers, Cruz’s legacy endures among the Cuban people. According to the Associated Press, hundreds attended the centennial mass, their faces reflecting the emotion of a reunion that censorship could not prevent. Attendees like Fredesvinda Marrero, 58, expressed their enduring affection: “I play her music every day. She was beloved by her people, by Cuba, by the whole world.” Her friend María Piñeiro, 48, added, “Cubans love her very much. She loved her people and was always humble and kind.” Their sentiments were echoed by Alain Pérez, who criticized the lack of official recognition, telling EFE, “It’s regrettable. Institutions are making a mistake by trying to ignore Celia’s meaning and limit her legacy.”
The mass itself was imbued with both reverence and subtle protest. Images shared by journalist Wilfredo Cancio captured a scene where faith, music, and memory intertwined. “Glory to Celia, from Cuba and the world,” Cancio wrote, reflecting the sentiment of many who see Cruz as a symbol of identity, resilience, and hope. The independent outlet CubaNet highlighted the atmosphere of respect and joy prevailing in the church, noting that the tribute unfolded peacefully, even as it quietly challenged the censorship that had stifled other commemorations.
For many Cubans, Cruz’s catchphrase “¡Azúcar!” remains more than just a word—it’s a declaration of joy and a reminder of cultural heritage. As the BBC and EFE have noted, the phrase continues to resonate as a symbol of Cuban identity, especially for those who have experienced exile or repression. Despite the government’s efforts to minimize her presence, Cruz’s songs can still be heard in Cuban hotels and tourist venues, often at the request of foreign visitors. These moments, though fleeting, serve as reminders that her voice—banned in official channels—still finds ways to return home.
The centennial mass was not just a tribute to an artist, but a reflection of a nation’s ongoing struggle with memory, identity, and political control. As Marquetti and others have pointed out, the attempt to erase Cruz from Cuba’s cultural landscape has ultimately failed. Her music, her spirit, and her story continue to inspire new generations, both on the island and in the diaspora.
“Her songs give hope and joy, but she also wanted freedom for all the Cuban people, which is something we all desire, so for me it is a great honor to be here today, to remember her life,” said Mike Hammer, the U.S. Chargé d’Affaires, after the mass. His words captured the broader significance of the event: a moment of cultural and spiritual reunion that even decades of censorship could not prevent.
As the final notes of Cruz’s music faded into the Havana night, it was clear that her centennial had become more than a date on the calendar. It was a powerful reminder that, even in silence, some voices refuse to be forgotten.
