Official songwriter and National Assembly member Raúl Torres took to his Facebook page this Saturday, sharing a poem that reflects on the Cuban diaspora. In his verses, he portrays his fellow Cubans as "broken hearts" and "torn hearts," scattered across various cities and countries such as Panama, New York, Mexico, Paris, and the Dominican Republic.
The poem weaves through the island's rich musical tapestry—son, chachachá, mambo, danzón, guaracha, changüí, guaguancó, and timba—to symbolize a wounded and dispersed people. The sentiment is poignant, yet it stops short of acknowledging deeper issues.
The irony, of course, is that Torres serves as a representative in Cuba's one-party parliament, which for decades has unanimously backed policies leading to this very dispersion. Yet, he sidesteps this contradiction with the line, "Today, I don't want to talk about blame," akin to someone lamenting a bank's collapse while holding the pen that signed away its funds.
The poem concludes with "With a homeland but without a master," a phrase that might resonate as a freedom cry from another Cuban's lips. However, from Torres, who has penned tributes to Fidel Castro ("Riding with Fidel"), Raúl Castro ("The Last Mambí"), and Hugo Chávez ("The Return of the Friend"), it echoes as a jarring contradiction.
The refrain "Today, I don't want to talk about blame" isn't poetic generosity; it's a political stance. It translates from lyrical to plain speech as an omission of the system that caused the exodus. And the system thanks him for it. While Torres crafts his verses, the National Office of Statistics and Information (ONEI) reports 317,320 people left Cuba in 2025, with only 72,056 arriving, resulting in a negative migration balance of 245,264 residents.
The scale of the exodus is even starker over time. A study by the Council on Foreign Relations, published in September 2026, estimates between 1.6 and 2.75 million Cubans departed the island since 2020, based on official data and independent assessments by demographer Juan Carlos Albizu-Campos.
These are the "Cuban heartbeats" that, according to the poem, "must find the path / that elevates the human spirit." Yet, this path seemingly avoids questioning the reasons behind their departure. Hunger, power outages, lack of freedom, and an unending economic crisis could hold answers.
This isn't Torres's first venture into what might be termed "blameless elegy." In August, he acknowledged the population was "breathing its last gasp" and suggested breeding turtles, water buffalo, and hutias to tackle the food crisis. In September, he defended Cuban socialism as a system "in the desert, biting the dust," yet a system nonetheless. Just days ago, he blamed "haters" for the crisis, depicting Cuba as "elderly, frail, impoverished." The pattern is consistent: acknowledge the disaster with metaphors, avoid naming those at fault, and end with a rallying cry for unity.
Torres concludes one stanza with, "We entertained ourselves / digging in our chests / to rip out hearts... / leaving them scattered." An unintentionally accurate depiction of what the regime he represents has done for decades, except the regime doesn't put it to verse.
Understanding the Cuban Diaspora and Its Impacts
What is the main theme of Raúl Torres's poem?
The poem reflects on the Cuban diaspora, portraying Cubans as "broken hearts" scattered worldwide, while subtly avoiding assigning blame for the situation.
How does Raúl Torres's role in the government relate to his poem?
Raúl Torres is a member of Cuba's one-party parliament, which has supported policies leading to the diaspora he describes. His poem avoids acknowledging this connection, focusing instead on poetic expressions of unity and loss.
What has been the emigration trend in Cuba?
According to reports, 317,320 people left Cuba in 2025, with a net migration loss of 245,264. Over the years, millions have left, driven by economic hardship and lack of freedoms.