By Amado Viera
HAVANA TIMES — Until October 21, most of the clients at Consultores y Abogados Internacionales (Conabi) legal offices were families seeking to legalize documents for their Spanish citizenship applications. However, the demand for their services continues unabated.
At that time, Conabi was one of the most sought-after law firms in Havana—especially among those trying to complete their naturalization paperwork before the Spanish Democratic Memory Law expired. Speed was the reason many preferred that firm. Dozens of young people continue lining up every morning outside its offices, most of them to have academic degrees and other documents validated for use outside Cuba.
“Here, getting my degree apostilled and my transcripts certified takes at most a month. Doing the same process from my province would take up to six months,” said Jennifer, a young psychologist from Cienfuegos. When we spoke in early February, we were both waiting our turn at Conabi. That same dawn she had traveled the 300 kilometers separating her city from Havana to attend her appointment at the capital’s law office.
“Traveling under the current conditions is an enormous sacrifice, but I need those papers as soon as possible because I’m applying for a master’s program in Mexico,” she explained.
Having academic documents certified through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is the first step Cuban university graduates must complete when planning to pursue postgraduate studies abroad. It is one of the most commonly used pathways for young professionals to emigrate.
“For me it had three big advantages: it was cheaper than other alternatives, it guaranteed a scholarship that allowed me to cover my expenses and devote myself fully to studying, and when I graduated I would have a degree recognized in many countries in Latin America and Europe,” explained David by email, a telecommunications engineer from Camagüey who traveled to Brazil in 2015 to pursue a master’s degree. Eleven years later, with that diploma and a PhD, he lives in Chile, where he works for a multinational technology services company.
On average, Cuban students need about $2,000 to complete the academic and migration procedures and travel to the country where they will pursue their graduate studies. They recover part of that investment after they begin receiving their scholarship stipends. Emigrating through other routes often requires a larger investment. For example, airline tickets to Guyana—one of the few countries that does not require visas for Cuban citizens—are resold for as much as $1,000, and once there Cubans face numerous additional expenses before finding work.
“I’ll never forget the huge sacrifice my family and I made to gather the money that allowed me to travel to Brazil, but I’ll also always congratulate myself for having done it. If I had stayed in Cuba, I’d probably spend all my time ‘inventing’ ways just to cover daily expenses. Honestly, that’s not a life,” David reasoned.
From the classroom to the airport
In 2019, Pew Research Center, a prestigious US social research institution, revealed that 27% of Cuban Americans had university degrees. That percentage was the highest among all Latino communities living in the United States and was largely due to migrants arriving from the island since 2000, who represented nearly 60% of that demographic group.
According to the US Census Bureau, at the beginning of the pandemic there were 2.3 million Cuban Americans. Another 850,000 joined the community between the end of 2021 and the start of the current Trump administration in January 2025. More than half were young people, and among them university graduates predominated.
A common strategy for leaving was to apply for postgraduate programs in Mexico, which guaranteed temporary residence visas. But many of the supposed students never even showed up at the universities that had admitted them. Instead, once they arrived in Mexico they continued directly to the border to request entry into the United States and then a year later apply under the Cuban Adjustment Act for permanent residency. This practice became so common that many universities tightened their admissions rules specifically for Cuban applicants.
The virtual closure of the United States to citizens of the island, ordered by Trump as part of his “maximum pressure” policy against Havana, has not stopped people from leaving the country—it has simply redirected their destinations.
With her job as a child psychologist in a clinic in Cienfuegos and a second job as a waitress at a nightclub, Jennifer barely manages to make it to the end of the month.
“And it’s just my boyfriend and me, and he earns well,” she added. Her partner, who holds a degree in industrial engineering, worked for four years at the port of Cienfuegos for salaries that “barely covered food and toiletries.” Today he does much better driving a private taxi, although his income is still far below what they would need for a descent budget.
“To start with, we live in a rental without a contract where we spend a large part of what we earn, and we’d have to leave if I got pregnant [most Cuban landlords don’t allow children in their properties because they fear losing them, since the law prohibits evicting minors and other vulnerable people]. As if the blackouts and garbage dumps weren’t enough reason, there’s also the simple math: applying for a scholarship and leaving the country is cheaper than buying a small apartment or house, opening a business, or starting almost any other life project,” Jennifer reasoned.
For years the government has claimed to be aware of the country’s difficult economic situation and how discouraging it is for essential population groups such as young professionals. But so far it has not adopted policies aimed at solving it.
In May 2025, Antonio Aja, director of the Center for Demographic Studies at the University of Havana, emphasized the seriousness of the phenomenon during a meeting of academics with Prime Minister Manuel Marrero:
“Population decline must be seen as a reality that already affects every sphere of Cuban society and the economy in our country. Decision-makers must take it into account. We are even seeing sectors such as tourism and private entrepreneurship—traditionally attractive because of their relatively high wages—facing difficulties meeting their labor needs.”
Not to become like them
The other side of the coin is retirees, whose pensions and lifetime savings collapsed after the monetary reform known as the “Tarea Ordenamiento” beginning in 2021. Among the most publicized measures of that economic reform was the “unification of exchange rates,” intended to end the multiple rates governing the conversion of dollars to pesos. To accomplish this, officials said a temporary devaluation of the peso was necessary.
It was the first step in a chain of decisions that would dismantle the social protection system that for decades had, to some degree, safeguarded the elderly and other vulnerable sectors. The reduction in the value of the Cuban currency went hand in hand with the elimination of subsidies, the dismantling of much of the rationed basic foods, and chronic shortages of medicine. Over the last five years it has become common to see elderly people rummaging through garbage in search of items to sell or food to eat, while the internet fills with reports of many others living in abandonment.
Nominally, pensions are higher than before 2021. In 2019 the minimum pension was 280 pesos; today it is 3,056, and in general all Social Security payments increased up to tenfold compared with the pre-reform era. But when their real value is analyzed, the facts show a different picture. With the current minimum pension one can buy about six dollars, while seven years ago it was equivalent to $11.50.
If the same comparison is made using consumer goods, the contrast is even harsher. While today the minimum pension buys barely nine kilograms of rice, 5.5 kilograms of chicken, or two liters of cooking oil, in 2019 it guaranteed 26 kilograms of rice, seven kilograms of chicken, or 5.6 liters of oil.
Few realities have such a devastating impact on how young Cubans perceive their future on the island.
“I worked my whole life, and I have what could be considered a good pension. Even so, if it weren’t for my children helping me from the United States, I probably would have already died of hunger or from any of the epidemics we’ve had in recent years,” said Joaquín, a retired mechanic who lives in Camagüey.
The reality that most jobs cannot provide a living—and the prospect that pensions will not either—is behind the economic frustration that drives the emigration of tens of thousands of Cubans each year, most of them educated young people.
There is also underlying discontent about the prohibition on legally practicing professions such as architecture, journalism, social communication, and certain health-related fields.
“It’s a shattered dream,” Havana architect Edilberto Diaz, with more than 20 years of experience, told Marti Noticias last year. “The aspirations to build new housing, restore homes that require it, and design and construct cities cannot be carried out without the assistance of independent architects,” he said.
This is not a new demand. His profession has been one of the most active in calling for the right to organize autonomously. Since at least 2021, successive proposals requesting authorization have been submitted to the Ministry of Labor and Social Security, either individually or by groups. Addressing them has not been a priority for the authorities, who appear more comfortable with the idea of professionals emigrating than with the idea of them organizing independently here on the island.
Containing the migratory hemorrhage the country is suffering—particularly among its youngest and most educated population—would require Cubans to have their basic needs met and spaces for professional and human development, conditions that are now more unlikely than ever in recent years.
Everything suggests that the lines of young university graduates outside international law offices, trying to legalize their degrees, will continue to be the norm. For many, leaving is the only viable path.
Read more from Cuba here on Havana Times.