Being young in Cuba

Navigating the world as a young person anywhere is not simple. In Cuba, it is particularly arduous. I spoke to several young twenty-something Cubans attempting to carve out livelihoods on an island struck by persistent imperialism, the Covid-19 pandemic, the death of Fidel Castro, and global economic crisis. Predictably, the effects of this noxious mixture are disastrous for the material and spiritual wellbeing of the country, not least for its young people.

Cuba has the largest percentage of people aged over 60 in Latin America, with predictions from the National Office of Statistics and Information suggesting that more than a third will be over 60 by 2030. Between 2022 and 2023, 425,000 Cuban emigrants arrived in the U.S alone. On top of this, 36,000 submitted asylum applications in Mexico. These figures mark a significant increase in emigration since 2021, in large part owing to the removal of visa requirements for Cubans travelling to Nicaragua in 2021. 

These statistics speak volumes, but say nothing about the drivers of emigration, nor the personal stories behind the numbers. 

Bleak employment prospects

‘Knowing that you can’t achieve your goals in your own country brings about an almost suicidal sensation. I have forgotten how it feels to be happy,’ says Lucia, capturing the extreme but pervasive psychological state of many young Cubans. Her comment relates to the lack of attractive job opportunities bringing down standards of living for young Cubans. Employment is hard to come by, poorly remunerated, and increasingly insecure and low quality. What’s more, state employment, once a bastion of Cuban national identity and pride, has now been replaced with a growing private and informal sector characterised by precarity, poor conditions, and deregulation.

For university graduates, the job market tends to offer roles bearing little to no correlation with their studies, as well as no ‘graduate premium’ (when graduates are rewarded for their university qualifications through higher paid jobs). The value of university degrees has plummeted. 

Cubans often quip that their country boasts the most qualified hospitality sector. Not only is the salary unspeakably higher, with one day’s wage of bar work equalling approximately one month as a professional doctor, but it is also often paid in valuable ‘hard’ currency such as the dollar or euro. ¹⁾ Hard currency refers to currencies with a strong exchange value: these include the dollar, euro and pound I spoke to Julietta, who had reluctantly left her role as a qualified medical doctor to work on the door in a bar. She explained that it’s impossible to live comfortably with a doctor’s salary, and that even jobs within the broader umbrella of health, such as Cuba´s world-renowned biotech industry, are too poorly paid to consider. 

My classmates echo this concern of their degree being futile: ‘I’m studying a degree in economics to become a barman’. Another explained the barriers impeding Cubans from obtaining work abroad, despite their qualifications: ‘In Cuba there isn’t the possibility of doing internships so I can’t compete with people from other countries…I really envy foreigners.’ Since Cuba is listed as a ‘terrorist’ state by the U.S., companies, NGOs and other governments don’t want to risk the possibility of a U.S-imposed fine, or simply the added bureaucracy which would come with hiring a Cuban. Subsequently, young Cubans apply for international jobs from a stunted position. 

Fabio, an exceptional bassist, was denied a visa for a job he had been offered at a festival in Italy. This case is an example of the Cuban government denying visas on the basis that they could be used as a way of leaving the island permanently. This fear is not unfounded, given that many musicians have moved abroad. Though many young people find solace and collective resistance through Cuba’s spectacularly diverse music scene, it has visibly lost much of its vibrancy. As such, despite the barriers in place, it is unsurprising that musicians look outside of Cuba.

‘Hay que inventar’ 

Cuba’s shift towards greater permissiveness of private enterprise since 2018 has facilitated a turn to entrepreneurial pursuits. In some ways this is an organic continuation of the Cuban saying ‘hay que inventar’, expressing a need to be resourceful in a context of persistent material scarcity. But it has now taken on a more capitalist meaning. I knew students and young people with their own businesses, ranging from selling ice cream to importing and selling branded clothes. Others tap into the global thirst for ‘authentic’ Cuban goods, with my friend grinning ear-to-ear when he told me he had managed to sell a Cuban avocado for thirty-five euros in Hampstead Heath, London. With the public sector hollowed out, the private sector is advancing, breeding a new crop of young people enticed by free markets and entrepreneurialism. 

Others turn to more desperate measures. One classmate was working as a prostitute, loitering outside clubs and approaching foreigners in a bid to extract hard currency from them. Her exasperated and resigned tone showed that it was not what she wanted to be doing but ultimately ‘here in Cuba you have to earn a living’. Another explained to me that ‘my sister sells her breastmilk and so has to give powdered milk to her baby’. 

Against the paucity of jobs for young people, and desperate measures, there is one very enticing alternative: joining the state police and military. Working for the state’s armed guard is unparalleled in terms of the (relative) comfort it affords those who pursue it. The salary is key: $15,000 Cuban pesos is the average monthly salary, which is around five times the average of those working in the state sector in Cuba. A member of an anarchist collective lamented the alarming disparity between public sector workers: ‘They earn $15,000 pesos per month to be in the military. I only earn $5,000 for my work as a teacher. I’m not asking for a raise, only more equality.’ 

The candidates for policing and military roles come almost entirely from Eastern provinces, a historically agricultural region. The combination of hefty salary prospects in the capital, and the increasing difficulty of establishing a viable agricultural economy, means that the influx of young people from the East to the capital is sure to continue. ²⁾In Cuba the U.S blockade makes importing raw materials (namely fuel) and machinery (both key to agriculture) difficult and expensive. This, combined with the effects of climate change and the global increase in imports, has severely debilitated the agricultural sector. From there, it is only one more step to leaving the country altogether.

A restless population

With so many people leaving, and the bulk of young people still on the island wanting to leave too, an uneasy atmosphere of impermanence is being cultivated. Javier and Mirabela explained how destabilising it can be to not have a circle of friends. They tell me that the people they hang out with are not their close friends, but rather a motley assemblage of ‘half’ friends. 

Today, the most ardent defenders of the revolution, and therefore most willing to remain in Cuba, are to be found amongst the older generation. Some lived through the Batista dictatorship, meaning they witnessed and experienced a tangible transformation from 1959 onwards which they want to preserve. Young people born in the 1990s onwards however have almost exclusively associated the Cuban revolution with shortages and difficulty, with no evidence of how the socialist revolution has actually benefited them. In spite of the unquestionable centrality of U.S imperialism to Cuba’s historic and continued plight, the repeated insistence by government officials that there is a glory in ‘resisting’ the imperial power is losing purchase for Cuba’s young people. 

For young people in Cuba, the present is inadequate, and the future is too. Despite the unknown prospects of life in another country, and the often dangerous journey required, this nonetheless still trumps the known reality of life in Cuba. 

N.B the names of interviewees in this article have been changed. Header image: Ken Walton

Alex Doyle (Tw: @doyalix) is a researcher and writer based in the UK. He has published texts on the formation of the Cuban state, national identity, and labour history. More broadly, he has an interest in political theory, global political economy and left wing movements.