Elderly Cubans left to fend for themselves as the latest crisis deepens

In the cobblestone streets of Old Havana, a group of elderly Cubans files through the wooden doors of the Church of the Holy Spirit three times a week, drawn by more than spiritual sustenance. They gather in the church’s dining hall for a modest but vital meal: ground meat, rice, red beans, and crackers topped with mayonnaise, followed by strong Cuban coffee.

“May the Lord bless from his height, the meal our belly will take with delight,” they chant in unison before beginning their lunch, a ritual that has become increasingly important amid Cuba’s deepening economic crisis.

Among them is Carmen Casado, an 84-year-old retired chemical engineer whose monthly pension of 2,000 Cuban pesos—equivalent to just $4 at the informal exchange rate—barely covers her basic needs. Living alone with no children and no remittances from relatives abroad, she depends on these communal meals.

“This is a lifeline for us retirees with small pensions,” Casado explains. “What we get from the bodegas alone is not enough.” The state-provided rations of bread, rice, and beans have grown increasingly meager as Cuba’s economy continues to deteriorate.

Cuba’s elderly population has found itself particularly vulnerable in the latest economic downturn, which has worsened dramatically since the beginning of the year following oil embargo measures imposed during the Trump administration. Most retirees are former government employees—teachers, doctors, nurses, technicians, and other professionals—whose pensions rarely exceed $10 monthly.

These seniors, who came of age when Fidel Castro entered Havana triumphantly and lived through all of revolutionary Cuba’s defining moments, now find their revolutionary spirit tested by circumstances forcing them to sell cigarettes on streets, queue for bread, and seek free meals from churches and state institutions.

After lunch, Casado walks four blocks to her home, a dwelling on the upper floors of a crumbling 19th-century building typical of Havana’s aging infrastructure. Born in 1942, her life spans the island’s most transformative events—from the 1962 Missile Crisis to the economic collapse following the Soviet Union’s dissolution. She also recalls the relatively prosperous 1970s and 80s when Soviet subsidies bolstered the Cuban economy and the revolutionary system appeared sustainable.

“This is our life; we were born and raised here,” she reflects.

Cuba’s demographic challenges predate the current crisis. Even before the recent wave of emigration, the island was already among Latin America’s oldest populations, a trend driven by high life expectancy and low birth rates. According to Cuba’s National Bureau of Statistics, nearly 26% of the population is now aged 60 or older—almost double the regional average of 14.2% reported by the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean.

The past five years have witnessed a dramatic population decline of nearly 1.5 million people, primarily due to emigration. Cuba’s population has fallen from 11.1 million to approximately 9.7 million, leaving behind an increasingly elderly society.

The impact is visible throughout Havana. Elderly people walk the streets alone—some searching through garbage, others standing in long lines for the bread and rice provided through the state’s ration system. The youth exodus has left many seniors without traditional family support networks that once offered care and financial assistance.

The situation has grown so dire that the government recently authorized private entrepreneurs to operate elder care services and residential facilities—a significant departure from the island’s traditional model of state control over social services and a tacit acknowledgment of the state’s inability to meet the growing needs of its aging population.

Despite these challenges, Casado considers herself fortunate. She remains mentally sharp and physically independent, requiring no mobility aids. Her only medication is a half tablet for blood pressure, which she notes is “so far” still available at state-run pharmacies.

Through poverty and loneliness, Casado maintains faith in the Cuban government, attributing the country’s problems to U.S. policy. “We’re doing everything we can here to move the country forward,” she insists. “But the thing is, we have a very powerful enemy, and he’s right there, right on our doorstep.”

As Cuba navigates this complex intersection of economic crisis, demographic change, and political isolation, its elderly population—the generation that built revolutionary Cuba—finds itself increasingly dependent on charity while clinging to the revolutionary ideals that shaped their lives.