Venezuela is collapsing — and don’t look now, but so is Cuba
Rolling blackouts. A worthless currency. A once-mighty industry on life support. Doctors, engineers and students leaving in droves in search of a future. That all sounds like Venezuela, but I’m talking about Cuba.
As Venezuela’s crisis deepens, another — quieter but just as dangerous — is unfolding just 90 miles from Florida. The drama may be smaller, but the danger is real. If Venezuela is wobbling, Cuba is starting to fall.
On Sept. 10, Cuba’s entire electrical grid failed, plunging nearly 10 million people into darkness. It was the island’s fourth nationwide blackout in less than a year. Even before that, much of the country was losing power for half the day. Officials blamed machinery; Cubans blamed the system.
The country’s energy network has become a patchwork of corroded plants and emergency repairs. Over the past 14 months, it has suffered a dozen nationwide outages. Years of neglect and the burning of high-sulfur crude have crippled its power stations. As U.S. sanctions tighten on Nicolás Maduro, Venezuela’s ability to keep its ally supplied with oil has withered.
Fuel shipments from Venezuela — Havana’s economic lifeline for two decades — now fluctuate wildly, sometimes dropping below 10,000 barrels a day before rebounding. Russia and Mexico have stepped in with emergency cargoes, but neither offers stability. Without steady deliveries, plants sputter and nights become suffocating. In some towns, residents cook by candlelight, charge phones at work, and sleep on rooftops to escape the heat.
The currency collapse has ground down daily life. Even average state salaries amount to less than $20 a month at the informal exchange rate, far below the cost of living. Gasoline is scarce and ruinously expensive. In rural areas, bicycles and horse carts have replaced cars. Tourism, once the island’s economic engine, has fallen by more than half over the last decade. Even middle-class Havana now endures rolling blackouts, empty shelves, and rising petty crime.
The peso trades near 400 to the dollar on the street, its weakest rate on record. Prices for staples climb relentlessly, and stores selling imported goods increasingly demand hard currency that most Cubans cannot earn. The result is a two-tiered economy that mirrors Venezuela’s descent into dollarization, where access to dollars — not work, skill or effort — determines who eats well and who doesn’t.
Cuba’s signature crop has fared no better. This year’s sugar harvest is expected to fall below 200,000 tons, the lowest since the 1800s. In the 1980s, sugar harvests topped 8 million. Today, Cuba is importing raw sugar, a stunning reversal for a former agricultural superpower. The collapse gutted exports, weakened the peso and idled thousands of rural workers.
The losses aren’t just economic. Over the last four years, roughly two million Cubans — nearly 20 percent of the island’s population — have fled. Hospitals lack doctors, universities lack professors, and small businesses lack skilled workers. Families are scattered, classrooms empty, innovation stalled. What appears to be a pressure valve for the regime is really a slow bleed of the nation’s lifeblood.
The parallels with Venezuela are unmistakable. Both regimes chose political control over prosperity. Both leaned on external lifelines — oil, credit, remittances — that are now fraying. Both crush dissent when policy fails. Venezuela’s decay hollowed out a once-rich state. Cuba has the same script, only with a much larger arc and without the oil money.


































