When Donald Trump once again branded Cuba as a "failed state" and subsequently called it a "failed nation," he reignited an uncomfortable debate that had seemed confined to academic and diplomatic circles. This wasn't just political rhetoric; it was a deliberate move to bring the issue back into the spotlight.
In just under a week, the U.S. President used these descriptions on three separate occasions—first on January 30th, while signing an executive order that declared a national emergency concerning the Havana regime; then on February 2nd and 3rd, stressing that the island "no longer has anyone supporting it" and that "Mexico has ceased sending them oil."
The repetition was no accident. In the White House's discourse, the term "failed state" serves as a political and moral framework for a strategy of maximum pressure. Beyond its strategic use, Trump's statements compel us to revisit a fundamental question: how close is Cuba to reaching that threshold?
Understanding the "Failed State" Concept
The classical literature on failed states doesn't simply equate the term with impoverished or authoritarian countries. Scholars like Robert I. Rotberg define it by a state's inability to provide essential political goods: effective security, rule of law, basic public services, and an economic framework that supports societal sustainability.
When such functions cease to be fulfilled, legitimacy erodes, even if institutions remain intact. In its most extreme form, William Zartman describes state collapse as the implosion of authority: loss of territorial control, fragmentation of coercive power, and dissolution of order.
At present, Cuba is not at that point. The state retains its monopoly on force and maintains a significant capacity for control. However, the contemporary debate has shifted. Over the past decade, international bodies such as the OECD and the World Bank have preferred to speak of fragility, understood as a gradual and multidimensional process rather than a sudden collapse.
Control Without Protection
The most distinctive feature of the Cuban case is the disconnect between control and protection. The state apparatus remains effective in coercive terms, but this control no longer translates into human security. Prolonged blackouts, food and medicine shortages, transportation collapse, persistent inflation, and the deterioration of the healthcare system sketch a daily life marked by precariousness.
In modern state theory, security extends beyond the repression of disorder to include the ability to ensure minimum living standards. When security is exercised almost exclusively as coercion, the state may continue to rule but loses functional legitimacy.
Operational Failure of Public Goods
The deterioration of basic services in Cuba is profound and sustained. While healthcare, education, and supply systems exist in form, their effective operation is severely compromised. Analytically, a service failing its basic function—even if retaining administrative structures—can be deemed failed.
For decades, the regime sustained its legitimacy on a narrative of performance: the promise of relative well-being and social security. Today, that legitimacy is exhausted. The state not only offers less but also fails to generate credible expectations of improvement. The social contract, though not formally broken, is devoid of content.
Opacity, Capture, and Paralysis
The fiscal and administrative weakness of the Cuban state is not solely explained by external sanctions. Internal factors such as structural opacity, lack of accountability, and the capture of the state by military-business elites—especially the GAESA conglomerate—have diminished its capacity to convert revenue into public goods.
This pattern consolidates an extractive elite whose survival does not depend on general well-being. The result is not necessarily immediate chaos, but a balance of sustained impoverishment and reformist blockade: a state that continues to control but functions less each day.
Energy, Fuel, and the Threshold of Paralysis
The energy crisis has made the debate over collapse tangible. Blackouts lasting up to twenty hours, unstable electrical networks, and near-paralyzed transportation describe a scenario of partial paralysis. Added to this is the tightening of U.S. measures to cut oil supply—confirmed by Trump’s assertion that Mexico and Venezuela will stop sending oil to the Cuban regime.
The effect is clear: the lack of energy simultaneously erodes production, services, and daily life. The state may retain formal authority but loses real operational capacity. At this point, the line between fragility and collapse becomes a matter of time and additional shocks.
Exodus as a Measure of Failure
No indicator better reflects the loss of state functionality than mass emigration. In recent years, hundreds of thousands of Cubans have left the island—the largest exodus in its recent history. This is not merely migratory pressure; it is a structural flight of human capital and youth, further weakening the country's productive and social capacity.
In the theory of state fragility, an exodus of this magnitude equates to a silent plebiscite: the population votes with their feet against the lack of internal prospects.
Official Narrative vs. Empirical Evidence
Reactions in Havana to those daring to speak of a "failed state" have been predictable. During the emergency caused by Hurricane Melissa, Miguel Díaz-Canel rhetorically asked, “What failed state could organize and do everything we are doing in such a difficult time?”
His defense contrasted with visible reality: 650,000 evacuees, blackouts, fuel shortages, and collapsed hospitals. The popular retort was even more direct: “Cuba is not a failed state; it is a deceased country.”
This spontaneous response better summarizes than any technical report the disconnect between official discourse and everyday experience. In practice, the state no longer protects, provides, or barely sustains its own infrastructure.
The question isn't just semantic. If a strict definition is adopted—total loss of the monopoly on force—Cuba doesn't yet fit. But if a functional definition is favored—systematic failure in providing public goods, loss of legitimacy, and institutional capture—the diagnosis becomes more uncomfortable.
Cuba hasn't collapsed, but structurally fails in essential functions. Its administration operates as an exhausted system surviving on inertia and coercion, not efficiency. Between intact control and the risk of collapse, there lies a gray area where the state exists but doesn't function.
Beyond the Label
Trump’s declarations don’t invent this reality; they amplify it and integrate it into the logic of his foreign policy. By labeling Cuba as a "failed state" or "failed nation," Washington not only delegitimizes the regime but anticipates a justificatory framework for a directed transition.
But even if the term's use is political, the question it raises transcends rhetoric: What happens when a state retains coercive power but loses the ability to ensure its population's daily life?
This question encapsulates the current Cuban dilemma—and perhaps also the most precise sense of the "failure" that Trump now voices and reality confirms.
The Current State of Cuba and Its Future
What defines a "failed state" according to scholars?
Academics like Robert I. Rotberg define a "failed state" by its inability to provide essential political goods, such as security, rule of law, and basic public services, leading to a loss of legitimacy despite existing institutions.
How is Cuba's energy crisis impacting its stability?
The energy crisis in Cuba, characterized by extensive blackouts and fuel shortages, erodes production and daily life, pushing the state towards a threshold where its operational capacity is severely compromised.
Why is mass emigration considered a sign of state failure in Cuba?
Mass emigration reflects a structural flight of human capital and youth, indicating a lack of internal prospects and functioning state capacity, serving as a silent plebiscite against the regime's failures.