In his seminal work “The Politics of Nonviolent Action,” political scientist Gene Sharp cataloged 198 methods of nonviolent action. Wherever tyranny existed, the American scholar found a hopeful and creative form of civic resistance emerging from diverse populations. Through sit-ins, musical performances, and countless other forms of expression, men and women across the globe voiced their dissent against specific policies or systems.

Among these methods, Sharp included the “protest or support assembly.” He classified it as a method of “protest and persuasion,” aimed at making public support — or opposition — to a specific cause visible, while seeking to mobilize citizens and exert pressure on opponents without resorting to violence.

In Cuba, the long history of resistance against totalitarianism has involved recourse to both violence and peaceful demonstrations. And within this civic landscape, the protest or support assembly has carved out a space — one that is currently being championed by young Christians.

There are precedents. In April 2021, evangelical leader Marcos Antonio Perdomo was interrogated by the National Revolutionary Police (PNR) in Santiago de Cuba. He was reprimanded for continuing to hold worship services, thereby defying the Castro regime’s COVID-19 lockdown orders.

In solidarity with Perdomo, a group of some twenty believers gathered outside the Micro 9 Police Station and remained there until he emerged from the building.

Recently, there has been a surge in such displays of solidarity; their primary inspiration is a movement of young evangelical and libertarian influencers in Cuba that first emerged in late 2025.

The Christian content creators — Anna Bensi, Ernesto Ricardo Medina (of El4tico), Iván Daniel Calás, and David Espinosa — and, on the other side, the four members of the widely followed program Fuera de la Caja (Outside the Box), did not initially know one another. However, the thematic overlap in the issues they address eventually led them to collaborate, both on-camera and behind the scenes. The discourse of the Cristario axis — a blend of “Christian” and “libertarian” — is anti-socialist and pro-free market; it champions Cuba’s Christian heritage and envisions a future free from the leftist propaganda that has dominated the country for nearly seven decades. They represent a sort of crystallization of the “New Right” concept articulated by political scientist Agustín Laje: sovereigntists, patriots, conservatives, and libertarians united against totalitarian ideologies.

Since late 2025, this group has engaged in public education through videos disseminated via Facebook profiles and YouTube channels, covering topics such as the separation of powers, public service, totalitarianism, and religious and financial freedom; they have also dispelled myths surrounding the much-maligned concept of capitalism. This activity has placed them squarely under the regime’s microscope.

In an unfortunately familiar cycle — one seemingly lifted straight from the socialist political police’s playbook — repression begins in concentric circles radiating outward from the targeted individual.

First, the victim is “interviewed” and warned to abandon their dissident discourse; next, an attempt is made to recruit them as an informant for the intelligence apparatus; should they refuse to compromise, threats inevitably follow. The next circle to be targeted consists of friends and family members, who receive summonses and threats, pressured to “counsel” their loved one.

Thus, in April, the political police summoned Yusleidy Bosques — mother of Karel Daniel Hernández, a member of the group Fuera de la Caja (Outside the Box) — to the National Revolutionary Police (PNR) station located at Infanta and Manglar in Havana.

Caridad Silvente and Elmis Rivero (a U.S. citizen) — the mother and sister, respectively, of Anna Bensi — were also summoned and subjected to intimidation regarding the repercussions Bensi would face if she continued posting criticisms of the socialist system. Subsequently, both Silvente and Bensi were held under house arrest for a month and placed on the blacklist of “regulated” individuals — those barred from leaving the country.

However, alongside this subsequent wave of repression came a surge of solidarity. By my count, five solidarity gatherings took place within a span of seven weeks (from March 11 to April 25, 2026). On each occasion — during a summons issued to a member of the Eje Cristario or a family member — each woman gathered friends, followers, and leaders or brethren in the faith outside the police stations where the interrogations were taking place, remaining there until the interrogated individual emerged.

The solidarity assemblies held during this period were characterized by public prayers offered on behalf of the summoned individual, performed in circles formed directly in front of the police stations — all of which were located in Havana. Furthermore, each gathering was documented through selfies and photographs, which were uploaded immediately to social media; this revealed a shift in attitude regarding resistance to the totalitarian state — no longer marked by cautious apprehension, but rather by an openly displayed courage.

Another noteworthy element is that, from the very first assembly on March 11 (when Silvente went to the PNR Station in Alamar) to the one held on April 25 (the Bosques gathering at Infanta and Manglar), the number of participants steadily increased. While images from the first event show nine people gathered, the final assembly drew 19 attendees — an event that even featured a sort of bicycle caravan carrying a portion of the participants as they made their way to the police station.

Could these assemblies grow to become events involving dozens or even hundreds of citizens?

The regime shifted its strategy regarding summonses to police stations in May. Early that month, Castroist henchmen interrogated Amílcar Andrés Bravo — father of Abel and Bety, the young members of the Fuera de la Caja (Outside the Box) collective — but this time, the interrogation took place at his workplace: the Cuban Sports Research Center. Had the military authorities changed the location of the interrogation to prevent another solidarity assembly — one that might have been even larger than previous ones?

Alfredo G. Fominaya Roig, a student at the Pentecostal Theological University of Cuba, has participated in three of the recent solidarity assemblies held in Havana. Having himself become a influential figure — particularly through his Facebook profile — he has faced threats due to the videos he posts criticizing the regime.

The first solidarity assembly he attended was held in support of Anna Bensi, even though he knew her only through social media.

Alfredo recalls how the regime attempted to sabotage an assembly organized in support of the young woman. He was unable to attend another of the content creator’s summonses (on April 12) because the political police had — in a move described as “simultaneous and malicious” — issued a summons to David Espinosa; consequently, many people were already en route to support him in a different part of Havana.

Reflecting on the solidarity assemblies he has attended, he notes that while each offered a distinct experience, they shared certain common nuances. “The one constant is that we pray before the person who was summoned goes inside,” he says. “Then, during the wait, conversations spring up — along with mutual understandings, shared affinities, and friendships that grow increasingly solid with each passing time.”

Alfredo believes that “the dictatorship, in its attempt to sever that connection, has only succeeded in making us more united and stronger.”

These gatherings conclude only when the summoned individual emerges from the police station, where they are greeted “with joy and a keen curiosity to hear about their latest encounter with those Orwellian dogs,” recounts the young man affiliated with the Assemblies of God. In his case, he attended for the first time because he had asked a friend to let him know when the next solidarity assembly took place. He had seen photos of people gathered at a previous one and told himself that he was one of them. “In hard times, I couldn’t help but be where those who thought the same way I did were.”

The example of others who had come before him — spread through an open channel like social media — combined with ideological alignment and, most importantly, shared faith as a unifying bond, drew Alfredo to more than one of these acts of resistance. It remains to be seen whether the courage of others proves contagious and activates the civic responsibility of other Cubans during this decisive hour for the island.