Ferran Torres of Spain celebrates after scoring the first goal of the game against Argentina at New York New Jersey Stadium on Sunday, July 19, 2026,  David Ramos / Getty Images

Por Veronica Vega

HAVANA TIMES – Cuba is sinking amid 20-hour blackouts (or longer) and the widespread exhaustion of a struggle that has undermined domestic life and, months ago, turned grotesque and obscene.

And yet, because human nature always manages to surprise us, amid the silence and suffocating heat, I hear shouting and am disappointed to discover that it is not a protest, but a group gathered in front of a television connected to an alternative power source.

So, what I hear are not demands for justice, but cheers of excitement. For a goal scored by a soccer player who has never been to Cuba and has no interest in our calamities.

For the winding runs after a ball by some twenty men, in a stadium dazzling with lights and athletes produced by a star system much like that of any entertainment industry. Demonstrating how the media can manipulate the attention of millions of people, fostering a culture of obliviousness and stupidity.

Entertainment is important, yes, when your most basic needs have been met.

But here we are in the middle of a war. Even if no bombs are falling. Even if the aggression comes from any direction. Even if you cannot physically see the aggressor.

And who, in the middle of a battle, would remain hypnotized in front of a television, forgetting his misery, the helplessness of his wife and children, who do not even have any entertainment during these disjointed school vacations? Forgetting that he cannot even follow the event in his own home, not by choice, but because we have already lost the right to be part of civilization.

Since early morning, I also hear the rumbling of chivichanas, that quintessentially Cuban invention that allows children to ride downhill through the streets, shouting with excitement as they go.

At least the children are shouting about something of their own. An effort, an achievement, a shared fall as speed carries them, for a few fleeting seconds, into a country of joy rather than darkness and sadness.

I remember the only time I followed a World Cup, Italia ’90, influenced by my boyfriend at the time, who was a Maradona fanatic.

We would go to a neighbor’s house because she had a color television, since he believed that soccer, that visual feast for the eyes, could not be fully appreciated in black and white.

The truth is, I would lose track of the ball amid so many feet, and when a goal was scored, I did not really know which team had scored it until the excited announcer said so. But I tried as best I could to share in the anticipation that Argentina might win despite so much adversity, including questionable refereeing decisions and the almost heroic skill of its goalkeeper.

I worried, suffered, cried… over a victory that would not change my life in the slightest, even as my own relationship with my boyfriend was falling apart.

Today, I see all of this in a very radical way. I think soccer is a hugely profitable business. But not only for athletes who become millionaires and wield more influence than any genuine activist. It is especially useful for directing the attention of the masses, serving as a convenient smokescreen.

I am convinced that the most atrocious genocide could be carried out while the attention of every country is absorbed by whatever World Cup happens to be taking place.

A large portion of Cuban men join in a celebration that ignores them, cheering in someone else’s living room, a private business, a café… anywhere there is a television connected to a battery. Meanwhile, the blackout spreads, spoiling food, causing rashes to multiply on children’s bodies as they ask again and again, “Why isn’t the electricity coming back…?” Destroying sleep, peace of mind, the Cuban people’s natural joy and outgoing spirit, and even the sense that there is any point in getting up each day.

I understand perfectly the need to escape, but everything has a limit. And I do not find it logical or dignified to cooperate with this mass manipulation, reinforcing the utterly false image that things are not so bad and that we can still enjoy this worldwide sporting celebration, when the reality is that we are being crushed.

Read more from the diary of Veronica Vega here on Havana Times.