(Read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3)

Marcel Villa does not come from academia; he holds no formal degree certifying him as a journalist or photographer. Perhaps that is precisely why he is, today, one of the most intriguing communicators on the island — someone who does not take for granted the postmodernist dogmas prevalent in state-run higher education or in courses designed for the independent press. And that stance has come at a cost.

He recalls his teenage years as those of an undisciplined youth, “without much sense of future direction.” At age 21, he sat for the entrance exams and enrolled in law school through a special program for working students. He admits he chose the major “more out of family influence than any true vocation.”

In 2018, while in his third year of studies, his older brother — who has lived in Spain for the past 20 years — gifted him a camera. Almost simultaneously, he discovered the small world of the non-state press in a Havana that was experiencing the ultimately fruitless apertura (opening) initiated by Barack Obama.

The profession he chose is not an easy one. Practicing independent journalism in Cuba remains a pursuit subject to a level of persecution rarely seen elsewhere in the hemisphere. The Cuban Institute for Freedom of Expression reported that in the month of March alone, there was a surge in internet outages, arbitrary detentions, incarcerations, attacks, threats, and both psychological and physical assaults.

On the island — currently a focal point of international attention due to the potential for political change under pressure from the Trump administration — Villa uses video interviews, travel chronicles, and photojournalism to document a fractured nation that continues to survive despite socialism.

Here is the final part of my interview with Marcel.

In Cuba, beyond the well-known state-sponsored attacks on independent journalists, there are other forces that punish content creators who do not adhere to certain narratives. In 2026, your YouTube channel was suspended following an interview that challenged a specific political and legal dogma introduced by the Castro regime.

It all stemmed from an interview I conducted with a young man who detransitioned — that is, he went from identifying as transgender to once again reconciling with his birth sex. A detransition, incidentally, that was prompted by his conversion to Christianity.

I found it to be an interesting topic — one that is rarely discussed — and a personal testimony that could potentially help others going through similar situations. It was an interview that caused quite a stir at the time. Cuban LGBT activists did not take kindly to it; some even went so far as to label it hate speech.

The backlash it generated wasn’t so much about the detransition itself but rather about certain statements made by the interviewee that could be characterized as “politically incorrect” — such as his explicit opposition to same-sex marriage.

The interview was reported, and the platform decided to penalize my channel. From that point on, my videos stopped being recommended by the algorithm, and they wouldn’t even appear in my subscribers’ feeds. That is why I decided to create a new channel, which I named “Sírvete un café” (Pour Yourself a Coffee).

I hadn’t planned on launching it quite so soon, as I wanted to build up a backlog of content before getting started.

However, things took an unexpected turn in early February, when the guys from El4tico — whom I had interviewed back in October — were thrown in prison. That video made it clear that the accusations under which they had been imprisoned were false — as was the entire smear campaign the dictatorship had mounted against them.

The video also showcased their more human side — the people they were outside of the political and anti-establishment content they produce, and for which they are so well known in Cuba. This led many people to empathize with them even more deeply. That is why, during that period, I decided to launch the new channel as soon as possible, featuring that video as its very first premiere.

With the exception of a report I produced about the town of Gibara, I have spent these past few weeks uploading — via “Sírvete un café” — the videos that were originally on the channel that was penalized. It is a process of rebuilding from scratch.

I also have to go through the identity verification process once again — a requirement YouTube imposes to enable monetization. This latter step is quite cumbersome for those of us living in Cuba, as you are required to link your channel to a bank account located abroad. Consequently, you need to rely on a family member or friend to assist you with the entire process.

What is the situation in the country today? What do you experience living on the island, and what do you see others going through?

The situation in the country is catastrophic.

Havana looks like a war zone, so utterly destroyed and desolate has it become. Added to the landscape of ruins and empty avenues is the smoke billowing from burning garbage dumps, along with elderly people collapsing from exhaustion on the sidewalks. I regularly go out to walk the city and take photos, and many of them could easily pass for images of a neighborhood in Gaza.

As a journalist, covering the reality of life in Cuba right now is truly emotionally draining. You are constantly in contact with genuine tragedies, and eventually, that takes its toll. If I were anywhere else, it wouldn’t affect me quite so deeply; but this is my country, and these are my own people.

Cuba is in the midst of a full-blown humanitarian crisis: people endure power outages lasting 20 hours or more; they must walk for kilometers, lugging containers, just to access a little potable water; the health care system lacks supplies and medicines; the minimum wage amounts to less than one-tenth of the cost of a basic basket of goods; and state repression keeps more than a thousand political prisoners — some of them teenagers — languishing in jail.

I believe I share the sentiments of the vast majority of Cubans when I say that I am filled with conflicting emotions: rage, despair, helplessness, and hope. Our country has been hijacked by a mafia that has driven it into total bankruptcy, and it will have no future unless a drastic change occurs — and soon.