By Gabriela Castillo on November 10, 2026
Gabriella Castillo
What a joy to be back! And for those who may be reading my words for the first time, my name is Gabriela Castillo. I’m a Cuban diplomat and second secretary at the Cuban Embassy in the United States. I’m also a Black woman, a mother and a Cuban who is deeply proud of her roots.
First, I want to give a heartfelt thank-you to the wonderful team at the San Francisco Bay View for welcoming me back and giving me this space to share my thoughts. After several interviews and conversations through this publication, I’m happy to be back, this time with a story that’s a little more personal. It happened more than a decade ago, but today it means something very different to me.
Back in 2014, when I was still a university student, the Semester at Sea academic and cultural exchange program returned to Cuba with a group of U.S. students. It was the first time in almost a decade that this kind of exchange had taken place.
I especially remember the day of the basketball game. I was sitting in one of the common areas at my university when a classmate came running up to me, full of excitement, and said: “Hey, let’s go to the stadium! A bunch of yumas just got here on a cruise ship, and they’re coming to play basketball!”
(Yumas is a very Cuban slang word we use to refer to Americans. No offense intended!)
And off we went.
What I remember isn’t just the game. I remember the noise, the laughter, the energy, the curiosity and how naturally we all ended up sharing that space. We were young people from two different countries, with different histories and realities, enjoying something as simple as a basketball game.
And yes, our Cuban university team won!
But looking back, more than 10 years later, I can honestly say the score was the least important part.
At the time, Cuba and the United States were beginning to experience a historic moment. After decades of confrontation, the Dec. 17, 2014, announcement opened a new chapter in relations between our two countries. There was talk of normalization, spaces for dialogue were reopening and opportunities for exchanges were beginning to grow. For those of us who were young at the time, meeting U.S. students, talking with them and sharing our experiences was one of the most direct ways to understand what was happening.
If someone had told me that day that, more than a decade later, we would look back with such nostalgia on something as simple as a basketball game between Cuban and U.S. students, I probably would have thought they were exaggerating.
How could we have imagined that something as natural as meeting, talking and spending time together could once again become so difficult?
The opening that began in 2014 showed that a different kind of relationship between Cuba and the United States was possible. The reopening of embassies, the expansion of academic and cultural exchanges, the return of direct flights and closer connections between different sectors of both societies created expectations that went far beyond political dialogue.
It didn’t mean our differences had suddenly disappeared. And it certainly didn’t mean either country had to give up its positions. It meant recognizing something pretty basic: We can disagree without turning those disagreements into permanent roadblocks to dialogue, cooperation and friendship between our peoples.
Unfortunately, that momentum began to unravel during Donald Trump’s first term. Restrictions piled up, opportunities became fewer and the relationship once again moved toward confrontation.
Since January 2026, the current Trump administration has taken things even further. The pressure is no longer limited to Cuba’s access to energy and financial resources. It also reaches third countries, companies, institutions and individuals who maintain ties with the island.
On Jan. 29, Trump signed Executive Order 14380, declaring Cuba an “unusual and extraordinary threat” to the national security and foreign policy of the United States. That’s quite a claim to make about a small neighboring country that has never attacked the United States and poses no military threat to it.
But the consequences of that order went far beyond the political statement. It opened the door to additional tariffs on products from countries that supply oil to Cuba, either directly or indirectly. In other words, the goal wasn’t just to put pressure on Cuba. It was also to send a warning to other countries: Doing business with the island could come at a price.
On May 1, Executive Order 14404 expanded the sanctions even further, giving the U.S. government greater power to target foreign individuals and companies doing business with Cuban entities in sectors such as energy, mining, finance and construction.
After that, the restrictions reached Cuban officials and companies, banks, businesses involved in oil supplies and strategic sectors such as nickel. Regulatory changes also created new obstacles to holding professional meetings and conferences in Cuba and to the financial operations of small Cuban private business owners.
The message is hard to miss: Maintaining economic, professional or institutional ties with Cuba is becoming an increasingly risky business, even for people who are not U.S. citizens and are not directly subject to Washington’s decisions.
So much for the principle that every country should be free to decide who it trades with, cooperates with and builds relationships with!
Now, beyond executive orders and government regulations, let’s think about what these measures actually mean for people.
Think about a professor who can no longer organize an academic exchange with Cuban colleagues. A group of students who lose the chance to experience Cuba firsthand. A researcher who runs into new roadblocks while trying to carry out a joint project. A small business owner who loses access to a banking channel that could help keep their business going.
We’re not just talking about distant political decisions. We’re talking about real opportunities, relationships built over many years and people who simply want to get to know one another, work together and share what they know.
And when those restrictions are combined with measures aimed at preventing oil supplies from reaching Cuba, the consequences become even more serious.
Cutting a country off from energy resources doesn’t just affect its institutions or economic figures. It affects the everyday lives of millions of people: homes, schools and hospitals that need electricity; families that need food and clean water; patients who depend on medicines, medical equipment and treatment.
The hardships caused by these policies have made already troubling indicators even worse, including infant mortality and survival rates among children with cancer. Cuban families are facing the heartbreaking reality of not being able to guarantee their children the medicines and treatments they need.
If the stated goal is supposedly to support the Cuban people, how can that possibly be achieved by restricting the very things people need to live, develop and overcome their difficulties?
When the consequences of a policy fall on an entire population, including its most vulnerable members, it’s only fair to ask: How is this anything other than collective punishment?
There’s another side to this effort to isolate Cuba that particularly concerns me: its impact on the longstanding ties between Cuba and African American communities.
For me, this story is personal, too. I’m a Black Cuban woman. My identity is shaped by a history that doesn’t stop at my country’s borders. When I think about the ties between Cuba and Black communities in the United States, I think about a relationship that existed long before I began my diplomatic career and that, I’m convinced, will continue long after we’re gone.
Our peoples share African roots, the memory of slavery and resistance to it, cultural and religious traditions, music and literature, and a long history of struggles for dignity, equality and recognition of our rights.
Throughout history, Cuban and African American intellectuals, artists, writers and revolutionaries have found reasons to come together, recognize one another and stand in solidarity. Those connections didn’t grow out of one particular political moment. They were built on shared historical experiences, common concerns and a deep understanding of our peoples’ struggles.
That tradition is still alive.
In Cuba, the fight against racism and racial discrimination means acknowledging the legacy of centuries of slavery, colonialism and exclusion, while also working to overcome the inequalities that still exist. It doesn’t mean ignoring our challenges or pretending that the experiences of Afro-descendant communities in Cuba and African American communities in the United States are exactly the same. Each society has its own history, contradictions and realities.
And that’s precisely why we need more spaces to talk, exchange experiences and learn from one another.
Young African Americans should have the opportunity to get to know Cuba beyond the headlines, connect with its communities, discover its diversity and form their own opinions. In the same way, young Cubans should be able to experience firsthand the richness of the African American experience in the United States, its cultural expressions, its struggles and its contributions to society.
When academic, cultural and community exchanges are restricted, it’s not just travel opportunities that disappear. The spaces where new friendships, projects, research, cultural initiatives and expressions of solidarity can take shape are weakened, too.
And that matters.
It matters because the history of solidarity between Cubans and Americans, and especially between Cubans and Black Americans, has a value of its own. It matters because younger generations deserve more than decades of mistrust and separation.
In my work at the Cuban Embassy, where I have the privilege of building relationships with African American and Afro-descendant communities across the United States, I have seen firsthand how meaningful these connections can be. One experience that stays especially close to my heart is my visit to Oakland. It is a city with a deep African American identity, a strong cultural spirit and a history that you can feel in its streets and its people. Although I was thousands of miles away from Cuba, there was something about being there that felt deeply familiar. I could recognize parts of my own history, my roots and my identity in the people I met and the stories I encountered. In a way, I felt that I could breathe in my own identity, even so far from home. That experience reminded me that these connections are not abstract ideas or diplomatic goals. They are human bonds that allow us to recognize ourselves in one another, learn from each other and feel a little less distant.
We cannot allow this kind of connection to become casualties of a U.S. policy toward Cuba that is as outdated as it is cruel: the blockade.
Normalization isn’t about making concessions. It’s about recognizing our right to have a relationship as the neighboring countries we are.
Standing up for the normalization of relations between Cuba and the United States doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to the problems in either country. Cuba has its own challenges, difficulties and contradictions. Acknowledging that is part of having an honest conversation about our reality and our commitment to making our society better.
But it is up to the Cuban people alone, in the full exercise of our sovereignty, to decide how to face our problems, set our priorities and build our future.
None of those difficulties justifies a blockade that holds back our development, collectively punishes our people and limits our opportunities. Problems and differences cannot be solved through coercion or outside pressure. They must be addressed by respecting every people’s right to decide their own future.
That should be the foundation of a good-neighbor relationship between Cuba and the United States: respect for sovereignty, noninterference, dialogue and recognition of both peoples’ right to build relationships with one another.
Normalization should not be treated as a concession from one administration to another, or as a goodwill gesture that depends on the political interests of the moment. It is a necessary alternative to a history of confrontation that has shown, time and again, just how high the human cost can be.
The opening of 2014 wasn’t one people making a concession to the other. It was a recognition that another path was possible. Getting back to that path doesn’t mean forgetting history or giving up our differences. It means having the political will not to let those differences keep standing in the way of cooperation and understanding.
Lately, I’ve found myself thinking again about that afternoon in 2014. I guess that, in the face of this extreme aggression against my people, my mind keeps taking me back to happier moments. I think about my classmate rushing into the classroom, the stadium, the laughter and those U.S. students who had crossed the ocean to get to know us.
We didn’t know we were living through a historic moment. We didn’t need to know. We were simply young people who wanted to spend time together, talk, play and discover something new.
Today, more than a decade later, I look back on that game with more than just nostalgia. I understand that it represented a possibility: The possibility of building relationships without allowing political tensions to decide how far we could go.
I would love for other Cuban and U.S. students to have similar experiences. To have the chance to meet, debate, play, make friends and discover how much they can learn from one another. And it would mean a great deal to me to see younger generations of African Americans and Cubans keep building those bridges, recognize themselves in a shared history and bring their own ideas to a future built on greater understanding.
Because we are not enemies. We are neighboring peoples, with intertwined histories and so much to share.
That day, our university team won the game. But I believe we all won something much more important: the chance to meet one another.
And it would be a tremendous loss to let future generations forget what that means.
Gabriela Castillo is a Cuban Diplomat and 2nd Secretary to the Cuban Embassy
Source: SF Bayview