Cuba finds itself once again in the crosshairs of United States foreign policy, with recent operations in Venezuela seen as a precursor to similar actions on the Caribbean island. U.S. military activity near Cuban waters and repeated official statements demanding “Cuba to be free” have heightened attention on the island, though the timing and nature of any action remain uncertain.
Beyond the immediate geopolitical tension, the Cuban Revolution has played an outsized role on the world stage for over six decades. Its story mirrors the archetype of Eshu, the trickster spirit from Cuban Santeria and Yoruba tradition—a divine messenger who guards the crossroads and mediates between past and future.
In tradition, Eshu is a mischievous force whose antics teach humility and morality, challenging established norms and subverting power structures to reveal hidden truths. Cuba, as trickster, has fulfilled this role compellingly: at its best, it forced open debate on the kind of world to aspire to and held empires to account, even prompting the United States toward its better angels, however grudgingly; at its worst, it held up an uncomfortable mirror to U.S. power.
This dynamic emerged from the revolution’s earliest days. In September 1960, newly arrived in New York to address the United Nations General Assembly, Fidel Castro was denied service at several prominent hotels under government pressure. Rather than retreat, the Cuban delegation found refuge at Harlem’s Hotel Theresa, sparking a media sensation. Castro seized the moment to draw parallels between the delegation’s experience and that of Black Americans facing segregation in the South, landing like a bomb in the burgeoning civil rights movement and highlighting the awkward contrast of a socialist state being treated with more dignity than oppressed U.S. citizens.
In the years that followed, the revolutionary government cultivated a program of Cuban Internationalism that stood as a counterweight to U.S. soft-power efforts through the Peace Corps and USAID. Cuba dispatched as many as 400,000 doctors, engineers, and agricultural technicians to 164 countries worldwide. This material solidarity earned deep affection for Cuba across the Global South, where figures like Castro and Che Guevara are recognized alongside national heroes such as Simon Bolivar, Nelson Mandela, and Ho Chi Minh. In these same nations, U.S. leaders are often remembered in far less flattering terms.
Cuba’s trickster antics extend to military and revolutionary support. The Cuban armed forces famously defeated the U.S.-backed Bay of Pigs invasion, and from 1975 to 1991, over 300,000 Cuban soldiers fought alongside Angolan forces, emerging victorious in a proxy conflict that precipitated the downfall of South African apartheid. As former South African President Nelson Mandela observed, Cuba’s intervention “destroyed the myth of the invincibility of the white oppressor.”
Castro himself embodied the Eshu spirit, surviving an estimated 600 assassination attempts and dying of natural causes at age 90. Beyond symbolism, Cuba has repeatedly defied the “third world” label by achieving literacy rates, infant mortality figures, and life expectancy that have at times surpassed those of the United States—an especially remarkable feat given the world’s longest-running economic embargo, intensified particularly after the Soviet Union’s collapse.
Despite these accomplishments, the revolution has faced significant criticisms. Political rights have been denied, and freedoms of expression and assembly heavily restricted. Access to information and the internet is tightly controlled, and recent popular protests have been violently extinguished. Detractors point to these dynamics as evidence of inherent authoritarianism.
However, Cuba is not the U.S.’s opposite but rather its peer. The United States in 2026 faces its own rash of unfreedoms: high levels of corruption, erosion of democratic institutions, the expansion of AI-enabled panopticon surveillance, continual attacks on free speech and voting rights, extrajudicial killings by masked agents, and an increasingly monarchical presidency. The infamous detention facility at Guantanamo Bay, still holding 15 detainees from the “global war on terror,” resurfaces in connection with the current administration’s brutal immigration crackdown.
In this light, the Trump administration’s apparent emulation of the very countries it rhetorically maligns—Cuba, Russia, Iran—reveals a paradox. Cuba, as trickster, continues to serve as a foil to American power. Its repression reflects the creeping authoritarian inclinations characteristic of the U.S. administration, and tricksters, by nature, are morally ambiguous. If the greatest flaw of the United States has always been its failure to live up to its most laudable ideals, then, in this regard, it is no different from Cuba and its revolution.
With the U.S. poised and ready, and conditions in Cuba deteriorating rapidly, the final days of the revolution may be approaching. This raises a profound question: When Eshu no longer guards the crossroads, what becomes of a world defined by unquestioned empires and techno-feudal overlords? Without tricksters to confound power, will society revert to a revanchist past or tumble into a dystopian future?
If and when the revolution finally falls, there will be cheering on the streets of Miami and tears elsewhere—not just for the revolution, but for the alternative it represented, however flawed. Perhaps, had the U.S. listened more or differently, the lesson Eshu was trying to teach would have been heard.
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