In the utility room of an apartment building in Havana facing the sea, someone had spray-painted one of the rare signs of dissent visible anywhere in Cuba on the wall. One could imagine the hand that did it trembling with anxiety and haste. The protester had chosen a ruse to protect himself at the moment of action: He drew the two Chinese characters for the word “freedom,” just as Hong Kong’s pro-democracy demonstrators had proclaimed and written them in their resistance to China’s grip. The reference slipped past the ever-watchful eyes of Cuban censors. In two weeks of traveling across the island, there were not many other signs as clear in their intent.

Constant surveillance by various agents, some more discreet than others, hinders any form of exchange with Cubans. These agents are always vigilant and ready to intervene. In fact, their presence has become an absolute feature of daily life in the country. So, when leaving the capital, along the road that runs along the coast, that word “liberty” sounded strange, like a strangled cry. Many people confessed their fear of public speaking, or even of speaking up at all, including when offering honest and reasoned criticism of the Communist Party during these times of national collapse.

Setting out from Havana by bicycle, we sought to discover the state of a nation in the midst of a historic crisis, with a quarter of its population having voluntarily fled in less than five years. All the while, the full weight of the American giant, intent on doing it harm, presses down on Cuba like a grizzly bear sitting on its neck.

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