Yosvany Rosell García worked as a blacksmith for years. He guided the metal through machinery that shaped it, melted it with a blowtorch, rolled it, and riveted it until the shape in his mind translated into the form of the metal. He is a simple man whose happiness lies in his three children and his wife, Mailin Sánchez.

After a week of work, with the sounds of metal and hammer still ringing in his ears, on Sunday, July 11, 2021, Yosvany heard the shouts of protesters in his neighborhood of Holguín. He went out into the streets and joined the many voices crying “Freedom!” in the largest protests that socialist Cuba had seen in decades.

Like hundreds of others, Yosvany saw the batons and weapons of the National Revolutionary Police used against the people, and he was arrested. Weeks later, the iron fist of the Castro regime's judges sentenced him to 30 years in prison for "public disorder and contempt," a sentence later reduced by half after an appeal.

Behind the bars of El Yayal prison, Yosvany has endured isolation, mistreatment, and lack of medical attention. This succession of injustices drove him, as a form of protest, to begin a hunger strike at the end of October. This Monday marked 40 days.

Reports on the hunger strike of Irish nationalist activists in 1981 indicate that 10 individuals died after periods of between 46 and 73 days without food.

Alone and caring for her children, Mailin appeals to God. “We continue our prayer chain for this father. Every second is crucial to saving his life,” she wrote in a post on November 29. She fears that her husband's iron will could lead to his death. “Almighty God, we are in your hands, we trust in you,” she said.

In 2022, as a wife and mother, she spoke out against Castro's policies, such as the “Family Code.” Castroism is the main historical cause of so much family division and involuntary separation due to the exile or imprisonment of dissidents.

After more than a month without food, doctors confirmed that Yosvany is suffering from acute kidney failure.

Opposition member and evangelical Alberto Turís Betancourt published a call to the conscience of Cubans: “If something happens to Yosvany, that blood will fall on all those who could have raised their voices and did not, on those who looked the other way, on those who became accustomed to the suffering of others.”

Cuban socialism has systematically allowed political prisoners to die. Historical cases, such as that of Roberto López Chávez, who died in 1966 after a 70-day hunger strike in protest against prison conditions and mistreatment, are joined by recent examples like that of Yosvany Arostegui Armenteros, known for wearing a sweater with the message: “Christ Yes, Castro No.”

The prayer chain for Yosvany has been joined by relatives of other political prisoners like Marta Perdomo, audiovisual producers like David Espinosa, animal rights activists like Michi García, and journalists like Yaiset Rodríguez Fernández, as part of an inspiring outpouring of messages of solidarity.

The cruelty of Havana, however, has remained unchanged. Mailin told me for this article that Yosvany remains incommunicado in a therapy room at the Lucía Iñiguez Landín Hospital in Holguín — an institution that has remained silent on the case — and that he spends his days with the cold metal of handcuffs on his feet and chained to the bed.

In such a critical moment, the violation of religious freedom is also rampant. “We requested religious assistance from a pastor of the Methodist Church in Holguín,” Mailin confirmed to me. “He has gone to the hospital where my husband is twice, and the authorities have not allowed him in. They say he has to wait until they approve his visit. We are waiting for confirmation.”

Time is another enemy of Mailin. Every morning, she posts a medical update on her social media. The one from 8:00 a.m. today, December 1st, is not encouraging. Her husband's life is increasingly at risk, Mailin recounted. “His blood pressure is low due to his weakness; he's drinking little water and urinating very little. The doctor says it's serious”; he may be on the verge of cardiac arrest.

She and thousands of other Cubans cling to the last resort for the desperate: divine mercy in the face of earthly despotism; the certainty of hope against a bleak outlook. Silence to pray, a voice to denounce. Waiting for a miracle.