Dictatorship Of The Proletariat Or Over the Proletariat?

For over six decades, the Cuban state has hidden behind a semantic shield. To the outside world, the ruling apparatus identifies its governance as the “Dictatorship of the Proletariat.” In Marxist-Leninist theory, this phrase implies that the working class holds absolute sovereignty, suppressing bourgeois elements to pave the path toward an egalitarian paradise. Yet, the moment this theory touched the island, it was transformed. The terminology became a rhetorical mask concealing systemic corruption, greed, and an unrelenting assault on human dignity.

The architect of this brutal inversion is the Cuban Communist Party (PCC). Operating not as a traditional political body, but as an evil machinery of absolute control, the PCC weaponized this ideological banner to enforce collective subjugation. While claiming that the nation belongs to the workers, the regime actually functions as a corporate monopoly owned by a select political elite. Because the party and the state are inextricably linked, any individual grievance is swiftly redefined as an act of treason. The “roaming bear” of Proverbs translated to politics, does not liberate the working class; it tracks their movements, controls their food supply, and punishes their defiance, becoming the ultimate enemy of the Cuban society and its citizen.

The accounts detailed in the following sections serve as an overview of how this predatory state behaves across different tiers of civil society. It must be understood, however, that these documented cases represent merely the tip of a vast and dark iceberg. The historical and ongoing trauma inflicted upon the Cuban population is so vast that to record every stolen future, every silenced cry, and every shattered family in detail would require a library at least a thousand times larger than the ancient Library of Alexandria. What follows is a window into the systemic ruin of Cuban communism.

Ideological Purges in Employment

The Cuban state does not just dictate the law; it controls the sole means of survival. Because the communist government functions as the ultimate and only legal employer, the machinery of the state can starve anyone who disagrees with it. If a citizen’s way of thinking deviates from the party line, they are systematically stripped of their livelihood.

This is not an unwritten rule; it is institutionalized policy. In 2019, the Vice Minister of Higher Education, Martha del Carmen Mesa Valenciano, publicly formalized the ideological requirement to hold a job in the state’s educational sector:

“El que no se sienta activista de la política revolucionaria de nuestro Partido, un defensor de nuestra ideología, de nuestra moral, de nuestras convicciones políticas, debe renunciar a ser profesor universitario.” ¹

English Translation: “He who does not feel like an activist of the revolutionary policy of our Party, a defender of our ideology, our morality, our political convictions, must resign from being a university professor.”

That way of doing things is not new at all. Since the early years of communism in Cuba professionals, who refused to compromise their intellect, were summarily fired and blacklisted, unable to legally support their families anywhere else on the island. Dimas Castellanos, a political scientist, lived this cycle of ideological persecution firsthand:

“Soy politólogo. Me gradué en 1975 en la Universidad de La Habana en la carrera de Ciencias Políticas. Fui profesor de Filosofía Marxista desde el año 75. En el año 77 me separaron de ese trabajo; gané un proceso judicial, me reincorporaron y, en 1992, fui expulsado definitivamente.” ²

English Translation: “I am a political scientist. I graduated in 1975 from the University of Havana with a degree in Political Science. I was a professor of Marxist Philosophy from ’75. In ’77 I was separated from that job; I won a judicial process, they reinstated me and, in 1992, I was permanently expelled.”

The Gatekeeping of the Universities

The machinery of the Communist Party demands absolute ideological submission from the youth too. In Cuba, higher education gated. If a student does not belong to the Union of Young Communists (UJC) or the PCC, or simply expresses disagreement, he or she can be deprived from finishing his or her career or simply from entering university altogether. The official state doctrine dictates that “la universidad es para los revolucionarios” (the university is for revolutionaries).

Students who slip through the cracks but dare to think independently or associate with dissenting organizations are brutally expelled, their futures erased by the system claiming to educate them. As one among the countless examples if this we have the case of Karla Pérez González. In 2017, the state targeted Karla Pérez González, a first-year journalism student. She was expelled solely for publishing articles on a blog and associating with the independent political group Somos+. In her testimony she expresses:

“Me expulsaron por no comulgar con las ideas comunistas… Me han llamado ‘mercenaria’ que recibía dinero de los Estados Unidos, ‘enemiga del pueblo’ y otras barbaridades desde la oficialidad de la universidad y de otros sectores, pero también tengo la solidaridad de mis compañeros.” ³

English Translation: “I was expelled for not sharing communist ideas… They have called me a ‘mercenary’ receiving money from the United States, ‘enemy of the people’ and other atrocities from the university officialdom and other sectors, but I also have the solidarity of my classmates.”

The Family and the “Gusano” Stigma

During the 1960s, 70s, and 80s, the state reached into the most sacred human institution: the family. As hundreds of thousands of Cubans fled the dictatorship, the regime weaponized blood ties. Those who left were officially branded gusanos (worms) or escoria (scum).

For those who stayed, survival demanded sacrifice. To maintain a “normal life”, keep a job, or be allowed to study, Cuban citizens were forced to sever all contact with their exiled relatives. Hiding letters and destroying family photographs became common practice to avoid being reported by neighborhood informants. During the Mariel boatlift of 1980, the state went further, forcing citizens to participate in Actos de Repudio (Acts of Repudiation)—mob violence where people were coerced into publicly insulting, beating, and throwing eggs at their own fleeing family members to prove their loyalty to the Revolution.

The psychological toll of abandoning one’s family to appease the Communist Party broke more people than we can count. In a testimony documented by the podcast El Hilo, a Cuban woman named Inés recounted the devastating price she had to pay to be accepted into the state’s youth organizations:

“Y con relación a mi hermana, era cierto que ya yo sí dejé de escribirle. Y así entré yo en la Juventud… Por supuesto, pasaron los años y me fui decepcionando bastante, pero era muy difícil uno tomar la decisión.” ⁴

English Translation: “And regarding my sister, it was true that I did stop writing to her. And that is how I entered the Youth [Communist organization]… Of course, the years passed and I became quite disappointed, but it was very difficult for one to make the decision.”

Another testimony captures the quiet tragedy of this state-mandated separation:

“Aquellos eran tiempos de esconder los sentimientos. La vida siguió para todos: los de allá y los de aquí… Nunca pude recuperarme totalmente de mi decisión de dejar de escribirle.” ⁵

English Translation: “Those were times to hide feelings. Life went on for everyone: those over there and those here… I could never fully recover from my decision to stop writing to her.”

The Eradication of the ‘Other’: The UMAP Camps

The UMAP (Unidades Militares de Ayuda a la Producción) camps of the 1960s stand as one of the clearest historical examples of the regime acting as a meat-grinder for human lives. Under the guise of forging the “New Man,” the Cuban state established forced labor concentration camps to “re-educate” homosexuals, religious minorities, and political dissidents through physical labor, psychological destruction, and torture.

The atrocities committed within these camps directly mirror the predatory violence of the ruler in Proverbs. The government weaponized medicine and psychology against its own people. Playwright and survivor Héctor Santiago recorded the exact nature of these experiments in his journals:

“El plan psicológico y médico era curarnos… A veces te dejaban sin agua y sin comida durante tres días mientras te mostraban fotos de hombres desnudos, y luego te daban comida y te mostraban fotos de mujeres. Si no eras diabético y te inyectaban insulina, entrabas en shock, te orinabas, te defecabas, vomitabas… Descargas eléctricas… Perdías la memoria, y dos o tres días después no sabías quién eras, estabas catatónico y no conseguías hablar.” ⁶

English Translation: “The psychological and medical plan was to cure us… Sometimes they would leave you without water and without food for three days while they showed you photos of naked men, and then they would give you food and show you photos of women. If you weren’t diabetic and they injected you with insulin, you would go into shock, you would urinate, defecate, vomit… Electric shocks… You lost your memory, and two or three days later you didn’t know who you were, you were catatonic and couldn’t speak.”

For many, this state-sponsored terror left permanent scars. The renowned Cuban writer Reinaldo Arenas, who suffered immense persecution for his homosexuality and writing, ultimately fled to the United States. Yet, the trauma of the regime followed him. Before taking his own life, he left a devastating indictment of the Cuban Communist Party:

“Mi mensaje no es un mensaje de derrota, sino de lucha y esperanza. Cuba será libre. Yo ya lo soy… Al pueblo cubano tanto en el exilio como en la isla los exhorto a que sigan luchando por la libertad… No quiero dejar de agradecer a todos los amigos que me ayudaron en el exilio. La vida es corta y vale la pena vivirla si se vive como uno desea, o es mejor no seguir viviendo.” ⁷

“My message is not a message of defeat, but of struggle and hope. Cuba will be free. I already am… I urge the Cuban people both in exile and on the island to continue fighting for freedom… I do not want to fail to thank all the friends who helped me in exile. Life is short and worth living if one lives as one wishes, or it is better not to continue living.”

The Illusion of Rights: Pinkwashing and the Family Code

Today, the regime attempts to distance itself from the legacy of the UMAP camps by projecting a progressive facade. In 2022, the Cuban government passed a new Family Code legalizing same-sex marriage. However, independent journalists and activists warn that this is just another mask. It is a calculated “pinkwashing” strategy—an effort to signal democracy to the international community while the state continues to imprison and exile LGBTQ+ activists who oppose the dictatorship.

Writing for the independent outlet Diario de Cuba, writer Yania Suárez laid bare the regime’s true intentions behind the legislation:

“Los derechos de esta comunidad, largamente negados o postergados por la dictadura, no deberían someterse a referendo sino otorgarse sin más. Pero al poder le hace ilusión lucir democrático ahora… algunos se saben instrumentos de la operación de pinkwashing que el régimen procura con el Código de las Familias.” ⁸

English Translation: “The rights of this community, long denied or postponed by the dictatorship, should not be subjected to a referendum but simply granted. But power loves the illusion of looking democratic now… some know they are instruments of the pinkwashing operation that the regime seeks with the Family Code.”

The Industry of Political Imprisonment

Political imprisonment in Cuba is not an anomaly or the result of a single event; it is a permanent, premeditated industry. For decades, the Communist Party has weaponized the penal code to criminalize dissent. Under vague charges such as “contempt,” “public disorder,” and “enemy propaganda,” the regime continually fills its dungeons with human rights defenders, independent journalists, artists, and religious figures.

Groups like the Damas de Blanco (Ladies in White)—wives and mothers of political prisoners who march silently holding gladioluses—are routinely arrested and beaten by state security. Artists like Luis Manuel Otero Alcántara and Maykel “Osorbo” Castillo were sentenced to five and nine years, respectively, simply for expressing dissent through their art and music. Those people called “disidentes” (dissident) are thrown into maximum-security facilities designed to break them psychologically.

The Aftermath of the July 11 Protests

On July 11, 2021, mass protests erupted across the island, demonstrating the breaking point of a population pushed to starvation. The regime’s response was swift and ruthless. Thousands of everyday citizens were violently swept off the streets and “snared in holes.”

To ensure the population would never rise up again, the state orchestrated a campaign of legal terror. Peaceful protesters—including teenagers and minors—were dragged before kangaroo courts and charged with “sedition.” The state handed down draconian, life-destroying sentences, with many individuals condemned to serve between 15 and 30 years in prison for merely walking down the street chanting for freedom.

Cuba’s penal system remains heavily populated by these citizens. Human rights organizations gathered harrowing testimonies from those imprisoned. The verbatim testimonies collected by Human Rights Watch reveal the unvarnished reality of the PCC’s jails.

Regarding the food and conditions, one detained protester stated under condition of anonymity:

“El picadillo tenía mal olor… la comida venía con gusanos. Si la familia de uno no le lleva comida a uno, uno pasa hambre.” ⁹

English Translation: “The ground meat had a bad smell… the food came with worms. If one’s family doesn’t bring food to you, you go hungry.”

Regarding the physical beatings during interrogation and containment, another protester recounted:

“Yo tengo en mi cuerpo marcas que son indelebles. Yo tengo mi tobillo lleno de hinchados por los tonfazos que me dieron. Tengo en los muslos marcas de tonfa… un compañero de celda me ayudaba a subirme y bajarme de la cama. Yo personalmente no podía hacer esas cosas.” ⁹

English Translation: “I have indelible marks on my body. My ankle is full of swellings from the baton blows they gave me. I have baton marks on my thighs… a cellmate helped me get in and out of bed. I personally couldn’t do those things.”

The Invisible Prison: Fear, Ignorance, and Complicity

Beyond the physical walls of the island’s prison network lies a deeper, psychological captivity that grips the rest of the populace. The true success of the Communist Party’s machinery is not just that it locks people in cells, but that it turns the entire island into an open-air prison.

The vast majority of Cubans who do not complain do not stay silent out of agreement, but due to paralyzing fear. They live out their lives under the constant, crushing stress of double-thinking—unable to say what they truly think, forced to nod along to slogans they despise just to protect their children and secure their meager rations.

Meanwhile, another portion of the population remains trapped in a different cell. Brainwashed by decades of centralized state media and a rigged educational system, they continue to support the machinery. For some, it is due to pure, enforced ignorance; for others, it is a lack of moral courage—a willingness to participate in the persecution of their neighbors to retain minor privileges from the ruling elite.

This internal division is precisely where the climax of Isaiah 42:22 comes into play: “All of them are snared in holes, and they are hidden in prisons’”, Because the state has successfully fractured the moral conscience of the nation, the people are prevented from defending one another. In this twisted socialist theater, everyone becomes a captive. The physical prisoners are snared in concrete cells for speaking out, while the silent majority is imprisoned within their own minds by fear and complicity. The prison is absolute; the only difference is the side each individual chooses to take.

Conclusion

Contemporary Cuba exposes the deceptive power of political language. The “Dictatorship of the Proletariat” is not a transition toward liberation, but a permanent mechanism of subjugation. Through the persecution of professionals, the severing of families, the torture of dissidents, the calculated pinkwashing of human rights, and the brutal imprisonment of peaceful protesters, the Cuban Communist Party proves that its sole objective is absolute power. The Cuban regime, thus, is a predatory structure that plunders its nation and silences its citizens. The people have become captives in a closed system where foreign democracies often look away, translating into modern society the devastating prophecy in Isaiah: “…no one delivers, and a plunder, and no one says, ‘Restore them!’”

Sources

Martha del Carmen Mesa Valenciano (Vice Minister of Higher Education). Official statements regarding the ideological requirements for university professors in Cuba, published in the official state media Cubadebate, August 2019.
Dimas Castellanos, political scientist and former university professor. Quote extracted from an interview published by the independent magazine El Estornudo, titled “Dimas Castellanos: La causa fundamental del estancamiento en Cuba” (April 2022).
Karla Pérez González’s testimony regarding her expulsion from the Universidad Central “Marta Abreu” de Las Villas for political reasons. Original exact phrasing reported by BBC Mundo on April 19, 2017: “Me expulsaron por no comulgar con las ideas comunistas”.
Inés, testimony regarding the severing of family ties to join state organizations. Extracted from the documentary podcast El Hilo, episode: “Cuba: la generación que la revolución dejó envejecer sola”.
Anonymous testimony regarding the severing of communication with exiled siblings. Extracted from the independent chronicle “Hermana que se va de Cuba: el alma en la garganta”, published in El Estornudo (April 2021).
Héctor Santiago’s verbatim testimony regarding the UMAP camps, transcribed from his personal memoirs and diaries as cited in historical registers of the Cuban diaspora and academic analyses of the UMAP camps (e.g., Sierra Madero archive documents).
Reinaldo Arenas, renowned Cuban writer and political dissident. Literal text extracted from his official suicide letter written in New York City, December 1990, prior to his death.
Yania Suárez, independent critique on the Cuban government’s “pinkwashing” and the 2022 Family Code. Quote extracted from her analytical piece “El Código de las Familias: la sociedad civil y la ilusión del voto en Cuba”, published in Diario de Cuba (August 2022).
Verbatim transcripts of anonymous testimonies from political prisoners detained during the July 11, 2021 (11J) protests, formally compiled, verified, and published by Human Rights Watch in their comprehensive global reporting ledger: “Cuba: Manifestantes relatan abusos en prisión” (July 2022).