Cuba’s tourism minister has declared the sector “alive and kicking” even as the island grapples with its deepest economic crisis since the Cold War, a collapse the government insists is being halted with signs of recovery on the horizon. The backdrop is stark: a pandemic that shuttered borders, the continuing impact of harsh U.S. travel policies, and a broader struggle to unlock foreign currency needed to fix aging infrastructure, energy blackouts, and vital public services. The minister, Juan Carlos García Granda, frames tourism as Cuba’s economic locomotive—an assertion he argues remains valid despite daunting headwinds. He points to the second quarter of the current year as a potential inflection point, where he says positive trends should materialize after a brutal 2024.
The message seems simple and defiant. Tourism used to power Cuba’s economy with record visitor numbers that approached five million in the relatively recent past; it was a beacon that helped fund hospital energy upgrades, hotel construction, and a broad push to diversify away from sugar, tobacco, and nickel. Yet the recent years have delivered a sharp reversal. The pandemic collapsed travel demand globally, and since then, Washington’s travel restrictions and the long-standing embargo have continued to shape who can visit, how easily, and at what cost. In Cuba, tourism remains the country’s primary source of foreign currency after remittances, so every fluctuation in arrivals reverberates through the state budget and the ability to import essential goods like fuel, medicines, and food staples.
From Havana’s Malecón to Varadero’s pristine beaches, the minister’s optimism sits against a campus of evidence that the sector has not simply slowed down—it has had to reinvent itself under pressure. There has been substantial hotel-building activity in Havana and in the main beach resort, Varadero, including the newest high-rise towers in the Vedado district. The Torre K, the tallest structure on the island, stands as a visible symbol of Cuba’s ambition to upgrade its hospitality stock and offer five-star experiences that could lure high-spending visitors back. But for many Cubans, the gleaming new towers feel like a stark contradiction to daily life inside a country still grappling with rolling blackouts, shortages of basic goods, and a state budget stretched thin. A student who studies urban planning and a local architecture student describe Torre K as a striking addition to Havana’s skyline that is not without controversy. They argue that the project, while impressive, may not align with urgent domestic priorities or the city’s existing energy and housing needs.
García Granda’s insistence that tourism is “alive and kicking” comes with a candid acknowledgement of the obstacles Cuba faces that many rivals do not. He emphasizes that the winter and spring months often bring stronger tourism flows, but he frames these gains within a broader narrative: the intensity of the economic war launched by the United States continues to complicate recovery. He notes, in particular, the enduring impact of measures aimed at Cuba’s tourism sector, arguing that restrictions have kept foreign visitors away from pre-pandemic norms. He highlights a period of drastic reductions that could have been avoided with different policy choices at the peak of policy shifts, insisting that foreign investment remains the engine of much of Cuba’s tourism expansion—more than seventy percent of tourism activity is based on foreign capital, and there are more than nineteen international companies operating on the island to attract travelers.
Yet the minister’s argument collides with lived experience and broader regional realities. Tourists who would once have boarded U.S.-based services or traveled directly to Cuban ports now face a more layered visa and travel authorization process, especially for travelers from the U.K. and certain European countries. The shift in U.S. policy, including the designation of Cuba as a State Sponsor of Terrorism (SSOT) and the complicated implications for travelers who hold British or European passports, has rippled through the travel plans of many would-be tourists. Some travelers have turned to longer, more circuitous routes through other countries to reach Cuba, and a significant number—perturbed by visa and entry complexities—have postponed or canceled plans altogether. The minister notes, almost rhetorically, the paradox of a traveler who can freely move to many destinations but finds it more difficult to reach Cuba, which he describes as an unintended consequence of Washington’s policy approach.
The dialogue around policy has evolved into a broader debate about Cuba’s development strategy. On one hand, there is the argument that the investment in tourism infrastructure was a necessary bet to diversify the economy and reduce reliance on traditional sectors that have struggled for years. On the other hand, critics argue that rapid hotel construction and flashy skylines may not translate into sustainable improvements for the average Cuban household, particularly when energy reliability remains inconsistent and the cost of living continues to climb. The public spirited voices on the streets—fewer in number and often more critical of the pace of domestic reform—echo a more urgent call: that funds be directed to essential services, energy resilience, and wage growth that can improve everyday life. In interviews near the capital, residents acknowledge the benefits of new hotels and job opportunities on some fronts, but they challenge whether the timing and distribution of these investments truly address the most pressing needs of ordinary families—especially when outages and shortages persist.
García Granda is careful to separate the two narratives. He argues that the tourism sector’s revival will depend on a mix of internal reforms and external conditions—where better access for travelers and more predictable policy environments could unlock a rebound. He frames the past two years as a complex convergence of external shocks and policy choices that complicated Cuba’s path back to pre-pandemic tourism levels. He asserts that the gap in hotel supply revealed during the Obama era underscored a clear need for more accommodation in Havana, a claim the minister defends by pointing to foreign investment and the involvement of multiple international companies in the sector. Still, he acknowledges that the price of not correcting structural weaknesses—like the aging energy grid—could erode consumer confidence and deter travelers who would otherwise contribute to the economy.
The Cuban story is not occurring in isolation. Several Southeast Asian economies, including Thailand, share a common theme: tourism as a major economic pillar but one that is vulnerable to global shocks and policy environment shifts. Thailand weathered its own pandemic slump and, like Cuba, has sought to balance expansion of hospitality capacity with improvements in infrastructure and services. The Thai experience shows that while new hotels and airports can boost competitiveness, the real lifeblood of recovery lies in dependable energy, predictable regulatory settings, and consistent public services. The Cuban case offers a mirror for Thai planners: how do you sustain growth when external and internal pressures tighten, and how do you ensure that the benefits of growth reach families and communities rather than being concentrated in the hands of a few developers?
From a public policy perspective, there are salient lessons about managing expectations and communicating strategy to a broad audience. The minister’s emphasis on foreign investment signals a continued strategy to lean on international capital to accelerate infrastructure upgrades and hospitality capacity. However, the human-side concerns—energy reliability, affordability, and access to essential goods—underscore the importance of coupling capital-intensive projects with social investment that yields tangible improvements for daily life. In this sense, the Cuban narrative echoes a timeless truth across many developing economies: growth in one sector can be a catalyst for broader transformation, but only when it aligns with the household-level realities of the people who live there.
For Thai readers, the story raises questions about how to translate macro-level growth into broad-based improvement. How can a country attract investment and develop world-class tourism destinations while ensuring steady power, safe neighborhoods, and reliable public services for residents? And how can policy-makers communicate a credible plan that balances growth with social protection, particularly in the face of external shocks? In Cuba, the minister frames resilience as a virtue—an attribute deeply ingrained in Thai culture as well, where patience, communal support, and respect for authority often shape collective responses to challenge. The Thai concept of “taking care of each other” underpins expectations that growth should translate to better health, education, and living standards for all, not just the most visible symbols of progress.
Looking ahead, the Cuban case invites a longer-term view about diversification and resilience. If the tourism sector can stabilize and begin to grow anew, what might be the consequences for the rest of the economy? Will increased hotel occupancy translate into steadier electricity supply, safer communities, and more reliable access to medicines and food? The minister’s optimism about the second quarter’s potential improvements is a signal that Cuba may be turning a corner, but it remains to be seen whether these early signs will translate into a durable recovery. Analysts in Havana caution that a sustained rebound will require continued political commitment, deeper reforms to improve energy security, and more flexible travel policies that make Cuba a more accessible destination for travelers from around the world.
Meanwhile, the human stories behind the statistics remain essential. A young professional working in hospitality talks about the pride of contributing to a national revival while worrying about long hours, wage levels, and job stability. A family in Havana’s poorer districts speaks to the daily struggle of keeping the lights on and affording meals, while acknowledging the potential for new jobs in a revived tourism sector. These voices remind readers that the true gauge of success is not only arrival numbers or hotel occupancy rates, but whether the economic benefits of tourism trickle down to households—whether the money from booming hotels helps pay for a mother’s medical bills, a child’s school supplies, or the next generation’s opportunities. In Thai terms, the narrative resonates with the shared aspiration that wealth generated by tourism should contribute to the well-being of families, communities, and the common good.
In drawing lessons for Thailand, the core takeaways center on sustainable growth and energy resilience. Tourism reform works best when it is paired with investments that improve utility reliability and the quality of public services. It also works best when the benefits of growth are widely distributed, not concentrated in a few luxury enclaves. The Cuban case underscores the importance of transparent planning and inclusive policymaking, where communities have a voice in how new hotels and infrastructure projects align with local needs. Finally, it highlights the continued relevance of a diversified economy that can absorb shocks to any single sector and preserve essential services during downturns.
What should Thai authorities consider as they chart a course for the next decade of tourism growth? First, ensure that investment in hospitality is matched by decisive improvements in energy reliability and grid modernization. Second, develop a policy environment that can withstand political and global economic shifts while maintaining predictable visa and travel processes to encourage inbound tourism. Third, prioritize social investments that translate growth into tangible benefits for households, including access to affordable healthcare, housing, and education. And fourth, foster a culture of collaboration among government, business, and local communities so that tourism development reflects Thai values of family, community harmony, and respect for local knowledge. These steps can help Thailand not only attract visitors but also ensure that tourism remains a source of pride and progress for Thai families.
Ultimately, the Cuban experience is a reminder that tourism can be a powerful driver of national development, but only when growth is anchored in resilience, equity, and practical, people-centered policies. The question for Cuba—and for Thailand—is whether the public and private sectors can translate renewed tourist demand into lasting improvements that touch daily life. If Habana’s skyline continues to rise while households see real improvements in energy reliability and wages, the sector’s optimism may hold. If not, the rhetoric of “alive and kicking” risks becoming a public relations shield for a deeper, unaddressed set of structural challenges. In the end, the health of any nation’s tourism sector hinges on the balance between glittering new hotels and the lights that power every home, the power that keeps clinics open, and the jobs that keep families sheltering and fed. The test, as ever, is whether growth serves the common good as fully as it serves the market.