Chapter Ten - Cigars and Sanctions

CHAPTER TEN

Cigars and Sanctions

ASK TEN AMERICANS why we still embargo Cuba and you’ll get ten different answers.

Communism.
Dictatorship.
Human rights.
Cold War legacy.
Election politics.
Revenge.

But the truth?

Nobody knows anymore.

The embargo stopped being strategic a long time ago.
It became symbolic. Spiritual.
A ritual. A habit. A stubborn ghost.

And the longer it lasted, the harder it was to undo.

In 1996, after the Cold War was over and the Soviet Union was long dead, Congress passed the Helms-Burton Act.

It locked the embargo into law so tight that only Congress could lift it.

Not the president.
Not the UN.
Not even logic.

It also made the embargo extra-territorial, threatening to punish foreign companies that did business with Cuba.

It wasn’t just isolation.
It was an attempt to freeze Cuba in place, permanently.

It doesn’t hurt the government.

It hurts the people.

Medical supplies? Choked off.
Building materials? Banned.
Trade with allies? Penalized.
Banking access? Denied.
Basic infrastructure? Strangled.

Cuba has to reroute shipping, smuggle spare parts, and operate entire industries using outdated tools.

You want to fix a broken tractor? Good luck. It was built in 1958 and you’re not allowed to order a bolt.

You want to import asthma medicine? Better hope Canada helps out.

The embargo froze Cuba in time.

Not metaphorically, literally.

The old American cars? Still running.
The 1950s radios? Still playing.
The buildings? Crumbling but colorful.

Tourists call it “charming.”

But it’s not charm.
It’s survival.

Everything beautiful in Cuba comes with a price tag of scarcity.

And yet, that scarcity became part of the brand.

Cigars. Rum. And revolution.

Those are the three exports that survived.

Cuban cigars, especially Cohibas, became global contraband.
A black-market luxury. A symbol of rebellion.

You couldn’t buy them legally in the U.S., which only made them more desirable.

They became political smokes.
A defiant puff.
A flex.

Presidents banned them.
Actors flaunted them.
Che and Fidel made them iconic.

The cigar became Cuba’s flag.
Smoldering, stubborn, illegal, and still burning.

Every few years, someone suggests ending the embargo.

Business leaders want trade.
Younger Cubans want change.
Even former Cold Warriors admit it’s outdated.

But every time it comes up, the vote gets blocked.

Usually by politicians in Florida still clinging to the wounds of exile and revenge.

The embargo remains.
Not because it works.
But because it’s not allowed to end.