It started with a headline and ended with a tidal wave of emotion. On November 19, 2025, CiberCuba published an article referencing a report from The Telegraph that claimed President Donald Trump's true target was not Venezuela, as many had assumed, but the Cuban regime. The news, picked up and amplified by CiberCuba, quickly ignited a wildfire of debate among Cubans both on the island and in exile. In less than 24 hours, more than 1,200 comments poured onto CiberCuba's Facebook page, making it one of the most intense and revealing discussions about Cuba's political future in recent memory, according to CubaHeadlines.
The reactions were as varied as the Cuban diaspora itself, ranging from fervent hope to deep skepticism, from biting humor to raw despair. For many, the article’s headline was more than just another piece of news—it was a spark that reignited long-held dreams of freedom and redemption. “God willing,” “Let it be so,” and “We can’t take it anymore” were just a few of the heartfelt messages that flooded the thread. Some saw the news as a sign, almost divine, that a new “day zero” was at hand—one that could finally put an end to more than sixty years of repression and scarcity. As one commenter put it, “If I must die, let it be seeing my homeland free.”
But for every voice full of hope, there was another steeped in disbelief. Skeptics quickly chimed in, dismissing the story as yet another in a long line of empty promises and political maneuvers. “This is just pure blah blah blah,” wrote one reader. Another added, “They’ve been saying the same thing for sixty years.” The skepticism wasn’t just directed at the news itself, but at the entire cycle of anticipation and disappointment that has defined Cuban politics for decades. “Neither Venezuela nor Cuba: this is internal politics of the United States,” summarized one of the most shared comments, suggesting that Trump’s alleged plan was more about U.S. domestic affairs than genuine change for Cubans.
Amid this swirl of hope and cynicism, humor found its way into the conversation—as it so often does in Cuban discourse. “What does Trump want in Cuba, dengue and mosquitoes?” joked one user. Another quipped, “If he comes, he should bring bleach and catfish.” Even the island’s lack of military might became fodder for laughs: “Missiles? There isn’t even any pain reliever,” and “Cuba’s rockets have been rusty since the ’80s.” These jokes, while providing a momentary escape, also revealed a deeper truth: for many, humor is the last refuge in the face of hardship. “We are dying of hunger, but we keep making jokes. It’s all we have left,” one commenter observed with a bitter smile.
The conversation, however, was far from lighthearted. The specter of foreign intervention revived old wounds and moral dilemmas. Some warned, “An invasion will bring death, not freedom,” and “Bombs have no name.” Others countered, “Isn’t this already war?” and “The people are already dying in another way, without medicine or food.” The debate exposed a wrenching question: is the risk of violence and destruction worth the possibility of freedom? As one user wrote, “Freedom comes at a cost of blood.” Others pushed back, “We don’t want any more deaths,” only to be met with resignation: “But if nothing changes, we will still die.”
Trust—or the lack thereof—was another recurring theme. Accusations of “fake news” and “clickbait” abounded, with some readers doubting both the intentions of the media and the motives of politicians. “Trump does nothing without profit, and Cuba has nothing to offer,” one skeptic declared. Yet, others defended the publication, noting, “At least here we speak without censorship,” and “CiberCuba says what the news outlet there hides.” The debate also revealed an emotional rift between Cubans on the island and those in exile. “You ask for it from Miami, but here is where the bombs fall,” wrote one, while another replied, “We are also the people, and we also suffer from afar.”
History, too, was never far from the surface. References to the Cold War and the Cuban Missile Crisis appeared, sometimes as dire warnings and sometimes as the butt of jokes. “If they touch Cuba, there will be another missile crisis,” warned one commenter. Another shot back, “We don’t even have rice, and you’re going to talk about missiles.” For many, the invocation of history was less about reverence and more about exhaustion. “We’ve been listening to the same tune for sixty years, but the record is already scratched,” lamented a weary reader.
Yet, beneath all the political sparring and historical references, there was near-universal agreement on one point: the crushing reality of daily life in Cuba. “There is no food, there are no medicines, hospitals are overwhelmed,” wrote one. Another echoed, “People are dying of hunger and unnamed diseases.” The country, many agreed, is “a dump,” “disappearing without bombs, due to neglect.” For some, international intervention was seen as the only hope left: “If they don’t come, we will be extinguished.” For others, the call was for “international help before it’s too late.” The sense of desperation was palpable, cutting across lines of faith, optimism, and skepticism.
Through it all, the online debate became more than just a reaction to a news story. It was, as one commenter put it, “a mirror.” In the words of another, “Here we see how we are: desperate, incredulous, and alive.” The digital conversation served as a barometer for the real Cuba—a space where, for a few hours, Cubans could speak without fear, airing their hopes, frustrations, and fears in public view. Amidst the prayers, jokes, and bitter retorts, one thing became clear: hope, however fragile, still flickers among Cubans everywhere.
And so, the refrain echoed on: “I hope so. But let it be soon.” For a people battered by decades of hardship, the longing for change endures—sometimes as faith, sometimes as skepticism, but always as a stubborn refusal to give up on the dream of a better future.