In Cuba, inflation has eroded the value of the average salary of 4,000 Cuban pesos, equivalent to about $10 USD, making it impossible to cover basic needs. The government has allowed partial dollarization through foreign currency stores, creating a divide between those with access to hard currency and the rest of the population. This has led to a new social stratification based on access to dollars or euros.
Inflation in Cuba is not an abstract concept but a corrosive force dominating family conversations and emptying pantries. The average salary hovers around 4,000 CUP ($10 USD), enough a few years ago to get by, but today a cruel joke. On the informal market, a liter of oil costs 1,000 CUP, a chicken 3,500 CUP, and a carton of 30 eggs another 3,500 CUP. Doing the math is a daily exercise in terror: a month's wages aren't enough to fill the fridge even once a month.
The ration book, once a symbol of equality in lean times, now offers tiny portions of basics at subsidized prices, insufficient for a decent diet. People develop a sixth sense for spotting products 'just come off the boat' (sent from abroad), forming lines reflexively at whispers of chicken or soap available. Inflation has broken the value of work: what's the point of being a doctor, engineer, or teacher if your salary is worthless? Professional dignity has been devalued along with the currency.
Facing the peso's collapse, the government pragmatically opened the door to dollarization with Tiendas de Recuperación de Divisas (TRD) and MLC stores in dollars or euros, selling food, appliances, medicine, and spare parts. Cuba has split in two: the national peso economy and the dollar economy. Those receiving remittances, working in tourism, or running private businesses for foreigners live connected to the world, accessing goods in relative abundance, though stressed by maintaining hard currency flow.
Ordinary Cubans, reliant only on pesos—state employees, retirees without family abroad—inhabit scarcity and desperate inventiveness. They see dollar store products through the glass like unreachable luxuries, though they are essentials. A new social stratification has emerged, monetary rather than ideological, replacing merit, education, or political loyalty with foreign currency possession.
Consequences include professional loss: why stay in a classroom earning 5,000 CUP ($12 USD) a month if driving a tourist taxi earns that in a day? The labor force shifts to hard currency activities, abandoning essential professions. Revolutionary solidarity crumbles under need; family is the only safety net. A generation of young Cubans knows only precariousness, viewing emigration—legal or dangerous—as the only escape. Cuba lives a heartbreaking paradox: state discourse of sovereignty against the 'empire,' yet dependent on its currency, tacitly admitting the model's collapse and creating deep social wounds.