Blackouts Over Havana, Light in the Soul: What Alejandro’s Journey Teaches Us in Cuba’s Darkest Hours

Dear readers, friends, fellow exiles, and all who hold onto hope amid the storm,

As I write this from Miami Lakes on this March 27, 2026, morning, Cuba remains gripped by a crisis that feels painfully familiar. For the third time this month, the island’s electrical grid collapsed—most recently on Saturday, March 21—plunging over 10 million people into total darkness for hours. Rolling outages continue to stretch 18-20 hours daily. Hospitals scramble with limited power, food spoils without refrigeration, families cook over makeshift fires, and frustration spills into rare protests, including one where a local Communist Party office was set ablaze.

This is not just failing infrastructure. It is the bitter harvest of decades of mismanagement, now worsened by severe fuel shortages and the tightened U.S. oil blockade. The regime speaks of resistance and partial restarts, while confirming talks with Washington and releasing some political prisoners. Yet President Trump’s direct words ring loud: he could “do anything I want” with Cuba and may have “the honor of taking Cuba”—a “friendly takeover,” perhaps, or something more decisive. The hinge of 2026 swings with both peril and possibility.

These scenes of darkness echo straight from the pages of Alejandro’s Journey: From Cuba’s Communism to America’s Freedom—the story I wrote to honor the real suffering and unbreakable spirit of so many Cuban families, including my own.

In the book, young Alejandro Ramirez grows up under the weight of Fidel Castro’s revolution. He knows the terror of soldiers’ boots at the door, the betrayal that shatters a family, the ration cards that mock dignity, and the constant scarcity that hollows the soul. He watches his father murdered by the regime for daring to whisper “¡Viva Cuba Libre!” Then, at just ten years old, Alejandro and his mother risk everything on a fragile boat crossing those treacherous ninety miles of sea—waves crashing like accusations, salt stinging their faces, prayers whispered against the roar.

They arrive in Miami exhausted, disoriented, and met not with open arms but with prejudice: “No Cubans” signs, suspicious glances, the sting of being seen as outsiders. Yet in that hardship, something profound awakens. Faith becomes Alejandro’s shield. It instills defiance against despair, perseverance through prejudice, and gratitude that turns exile’s pain into purpose. He studies by the dim light of whatever he can find, works tirelessly, learns relentlessly, and rebuilds a life of dignity and contribution—not because the system gave it to him, but because a free society allowed his determined heart to seize opportunity.

That same contrast lives today. In Cuba, survival still depends on the whims of those in power—when the lights will flicker on, when fuel might arrive, whether basic needs will be rationed by political loyalty. Across the Straits in America, personal initiative, hard work, and faith still determine one’s path. The scars of communism fade when opportunity meets grit.

Alejandro’s story is not distant history. It is mirrored in every darkened home in Havana right now—mothers praying over sleeping children by candlelight, fathers refusing to let scarcity steal their children’s future, quiet acts of sharing the little that remains. Faith is not extinguished by a blackout. It burns brighter in the absence of man-made light.

I wrote Alejandro’s Journey to shine that light: to show that socialism and communism do not deliver equality—they erode human dignity and prosperity. Free markets and personal freedom, when paired with moral character and faith, have lifted more people than any system of control ever could. Alejandro’s arc—from loss and terror to hard-won success—proves that resilience isn’t a gift from circumstances. It is forged by clinging to faith while taking courageous, determined steps forward.

To my brothers and sisters enduring this trial on the island, and to anyone facing your own “blackout”—whether political oppression, personal loss, economic hardship, or deep doubt—hold fast. Faith is your anchor in terror and loneliness. It is not passive; it is fuel for action. Pray, yes—but then rise. Share what little you have. Speak truth quietly but firmly. Work diligently even when the lights are out. No system of control can forever bind a spirit anchored in faith and fueled by grit.

If a scared boy from Havana could cross stormy seas, face prejudice in a strange land, and transform profound loss into a lasting legacy, imagine what God and your own unbreakable will can accomplish in your storm.

If Alejandro’s Journey speaks to you—especially in these darkening days—I invite you to read it. Available on Amazon (hardcover, paperback, eBook), Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, and more. Search “Gerardo Manuel Fundora” or look for Alejandro’s Journey: From Cuba’s Communism to America’s Freedom, A Motivational Journey of Faith and Perseverance.

Share your own stories of resilience in the comments below—I read them and draw strength from them. Has faith carried you through a personal “blackout”? What moment in Alejandro’s story resonates most with Cuba’s current trial? Together, we keep the light burning.

With gratitude for America’s refuge, unquenchable hope for #CubaLibre2026, and prayers for all enduring the darkness,

Gerardo Manuel Fundora

Miami Lakes, Florida