'Burn It All Down': How Cubans Are Reacting to the Blackout

As Cuba plunged into its third major blackout in four months on Monday, the reaction across social media and on the streets has been raw, angry, and increasingly defiant. From Havana's darkened neighborhoods to Miami's Cafe Versailles, the crisis has unleashed a wave of voices that paint a vivid picture of a nation at breaking point.

On the streets of Moron in central Cuba, videos circulated on social media showing protesters attacking the local Communist Party headquarters on March 14-15. Demonstrators could be heard shouting "Freedom! Freedom!" and "Burn it all down!" as they threw stones and set fire to furniture dragged from the building. The human rights group Justicia11 reported hearing gunfire in some of the footage and claimed a man may have been shot. State outlet Vanguardia de Cuba denied these claims. Five people were arrested.

Cuba's state newspaper Invasor offered a telling description: "What began peacefully, after an exchange with the authorities in the area, degenerated into vandalism."

The cacerolazo — the traditional Latin American protest of banging pots and pans — has returned to Havana's streets. Videos show residents throughout the capital participating in the nightly ritual of defiance, now in its tenth consecutive day.

In central Havana on March 16, residents ignited garbage at the intersection of Belascoain and Jesus Peregrino, just blocks from the Ministry of Energy and Mines. Students at the University of Havana staged a sit-in after the government suspended in-person classes due to energy restrictions.

Perhaps nothing captured the gulf between Cuba's elite and its people more sharply than Sandro Castro — grandson of Fidel Castro — posting on social media during a blackout. The images showed him enjoying dominoes, beer, and a barbecue while 11 million of his grandfather's countrymen sat in darkness. The backlash was swift and furious.

Cuban influencer Lizandra Plaish posted a video celebrating having "revolution" despite the blackouts, prompting outrage and accusations of propaganda. One commenter cut through the noise: "The little food we have is starting to spoil." Others debated whether the post was satire meant to highlight the absurdity of the government's narrative.

In Miami, the Cuban diaspora mobilized. Crowds gathered outside Cafe Versailles, the iconic Cuban-American meeting point, to show solidarity with island protesters. The Assembly of the Cuban Resistance and the Cuban Freedom March organizations kept the spotlight on political prisoners. Organizer Ramon Saul Sanchez declared: "If Cuba is in the streets, we are too." Cuban-Americans formed human chains, organized solidarity marches, sent remittances, and lobbied Congress.

Rey Rodriguez, a butcher still working in Cuba, offered a ground-level perspective: "The situation here is going to become very difficult. Less oil, more blackouts. Young people are going to become even more pessimistic."

A 61-year-old resident expressed concerns about mass migration — a fear shared across the island. With each passing day without power, the calculus of staying versus leaving shifts for thousands of Cubans.

Not everyone sees change coming. Content creator Pedro Luis Garcia believes government stability will persist, pointing to decades of crisis management dating back to 1962. "They have survived worse," he argues.

More than 100 communist and workers' parties worldwide issued a joint statement rallying to Havana's defense, blaming US imperialism for the crisis. The international solidarity stands in sharp contrast to the increasingly desperate voices emerging from the island itself.

What social media reveals is a population that has moved beyond frustration into something more volatile. The protests, the pot-banging, the attacks on party buildings — these are not the actions of a people who believe the lights will come back on soon. They are the actions of a people who have decided that darkness, in every sense of the word, has lasted long enough.