These lines have been circling my thoughts since I returned from Cuba last January. This morning, after reading an article about the cancellation of flights to the island, following the recent U.S. ban preventing any country from supplying Cuba with fuel, I was overcome by sadness, anger, and frustration. My powerlessness compelled me, at last, to finish this travel diary.
Honestly, on this morning of February 10, 2026, I cried. I cried for Cuba. I cried for Haiti. I cried for that slow, grinding injustice that seems to repeat itself across borders and through history. And through my tears, I came, reluctantly and with deep regret, to a conclusion I wish were not true: in this world, might too often decides what is right.
Arriving in Cuba
When I first set foot in Havana, I was struck by the strange beauty of the city — its cars from another era, its colorful crumbling facades, its streets alive despite everything. There is in Cuba a quiet dignity, a silent resistance that can be read on faces, in gestures, in the music drifting from open windows.
But behind this beauty, I quickly sensed the tension of a people living under pressure. The endless queues outside grocery stores, the frequent power cuts, the hushed conversations about the future — all of this speaks to a difficult reality that tourists don't always see.
Human Warmth
What moved me most in Cuba was the generosity of its people. Despite the hardships, the Cubans I met welcomed me with genuine warmth. They share what they have, even when it isn't much. This solidarity, this ability to find joy in small things, deeply touched me.
I thought of Haiti. I thought of all these Caribbean peoples who, for centuries, have shown extraordinary resilience in the face of forces beyond their control. There is something common in these stories — the same struggle for dignity, the same resistance to erasure.
The Chokehold Tightens
Then came that February morning, with the news of cancelled flights. The reinforced American embargo now prevents airlines from refueling to serve Cuba. Air Canada suspended its flights. Others will follow.
For Cubans, this means even more isolation, even more difficulty receiving loved ones from the diaspora, even more obstacles to overcome. For me, it was the trigger for the tears I had been holding back since my return.
I do not claim to have all the answers about Cuban politics, human rights, or government choices. These questions are complex and deserve nuanced analysis. But what I know is that ordinary people — the women, men, and children I passed on the streets of Havana — are the ones paying the price for these geopolitical decisions.
A Reluctant Conclusion
In this world, might too often decides what is right. It is a conclusion I do not accept, that I refuse to accept. But it is a reality I cannot ignore.
This travel diary is my way of bearing witness, of not forgetting, of keeping alive the memory of those faces, those smiles, that beautiful and wounded island. Cuba deserves better. Haiti deserves better. All these peoples deserve better.
— Léonne Valantin, February 10, 2026
Source: CNN — Cuba: Air Canada flights suspended amid fuel supply ban (February 2026)