Another Dictator?
HAVANA TIMES – I’ve always had questions I don’t dare say out loud—uncomfortable questions that hurt, or because at that moment the majority is applauding. It takes courage to stop a collective ovation! In an instant, you go from being one of the crowd to being “the crazy one,” the distrustful one, the bitter one who “doesn’t understand that finally someone is doing something.”
But if you come from an island where applause was long ago replaced by silence, you learn early to distrust—that’s my case. My mother always says: “When you see your neighbor’s beard catch fire, put yours to soak,” and ours has been burning for 66 years.
One day the savior everyone was waiting for arrives, with a fresh face, a clear, almost mocking speech, and a way of talking to people naturally, without intermediaries. A face with no known political past, who says what others don’t dare, and promises order, justice, and dignity. And, at least at first, he delivers what everyone longs for.
Fear disappears from the streets, crime takes a step back, statistics improve, and the population starts to breathe again. Everything feels real, and that carries a lot of weight in a country already used to chaos. No one questions the methods if the result is peace.
The problem is that absolute power always starts with good intentions, but if no limits are set, it ends up showing its true nature. One day the rules are changed; the next, those who should provide oversight are dismissed. Soon the judges say only what the powerful want to hear. The constitution is gradually bent, and without realizing it, one day you discover there’s no turning back.
Long ago there was another leader who promised a new country from the mountains. His voice trembled with fury and hope. The people believed him, applauded his reforms, justified the silences, and when the uncomfortable questions finally appeared, it was too late—they had lost the space to speak. In another time and another country, the crowd also celebrated that leader who promised justice. History doesn’t repeat the same names, but it does reaffirm the same silences.
Of course, there are factors that make them different—times change, circumstances and each country’s history aren’t the same. And besides, this leader is “cool” because he wears a modern disguise. He doesn’t dress in uniform or give six-hour speeches—he uses social media, memes, short provocative phrases. He mocks the system while reconfiguring it in his favor.
He laughs at everything, even at being called a dictator. People laugh with him, they don’t yet feel him as an adversary. Now the fear is suffered by “the bad guys,” and order has become more important than freedom. I come from a place where order was imposed through decrees and slogans, that’s why I understand how fragile the line between security and obedience can become.
“And what if one day he decides not to give up power?” I asked a friend recently. She looked at me as if I were talking nonsense, then explained—like to a small child—that over there it’s not like here, and he can’t govern indefinitely, even if the people want him to.
“I hope I’m wrong,” I told her then, but a few days ago I left her a message on WhatsApp and still haven’t gotten a reply. So, my friend, what does the newly approved constitutional reform mean?
Embarrassing questions keep coming to me. What happens if Bukele decides to stay forever, if criticism becomes treason, if journalists end up as enemies, if elections become empty ceremonies? What happens if one day you are on the other side and can no longer speak?
I won’t deny what has been done well. The point is not to repeat the same mistakes out of naïveté. Too often what begins with applause ends in whispers—and then the price of being safe is losing the right to be free.