Tensions between the U.S. and Cuba are rising again. This is not new, but the current moment feels different. Recent measures from Washington aim to further restrict the Cuban government’s financial channels, limit its sources of revenue, and apply pressure to key sectors of the economy. This is not symbolic. It is a deliberate policy.

From the U.S. perspective, the message is clear. The goal is to force change that has not happened in more than six decades. There is also a domestic political dimension, shaped by sectors of the Cuban exile community that have long demanded a tougher stance. All of this is part of the landscape.

But that is only one side.

On the Cuban side, the response follows a familiar script. The government speaks of external aggression, economic warfare, and a tightening embargo. Each new measure becomes an opportunity to reinforce that narrative and close ranks. There is no room for public self-criticism. The blame always points outward.

Meanwhile, life on the island follows a different logic.

The energy crisis Cuba is facing today did not begin with these recent measures. It has been building for years. The electrical system is deteriorated, poorly maintained, and increasingly unreliable. Blackouts are not new. What has changed is how severe and how constant they have become.

For years, oil entered Cuba, especially from Venezuela. There were supply agreements. There were resources. And yet, the daily life of ordinary Cubans did not improve. Electricity remained unstable. Fuel was rationed. Transportation was still a daily struggle.

So the question is not new.

If the oil was there, why didn’t anything change?

Where did those resources go?

Where is the money that was generated?

Today, restrictions on oil are often presented as the main cause of the current crisis. They are not. They make an already fragile situation worse, but they do not fully explain it.

There is a deeper, longer story that cannot be ignored.

The same applies to Cuba’s international medical missions.

For years, they were presented as acts of solidarity. And in many cases, they were. Cuban doctors worked in difficult conditions, saving lives and supporting health systems abroad. That is real.

But they also functioned as one of the Cuban state’s main sources of income.

Many of these professionals did not receive the full salary for their work. A significant portion was retained by the government. In some cases, they had little or no control over the money they generated.

And there is a harsher reality.

If a doctor chose not to return to Cuba, that income often did not reach their family. It was withheld.

Today, several countries are reevaluating or canceling these agreements. Once again, the official response is to point outward. But the same question remains.

Is this the loss of international cooperation, or the collapse of a system built on control over its own professionals?

Inside Cuba, the conversation sounds very different.

People are not speaking in geopolitical terms. They are talking about survival. About getting through the day. About blackouts, food shortages, transportation problems, and a life that keeps getting harder.

Some see the new U.S. measures as a form of pressure that could lead to change. Not because they want more hardship, but because they feel the system does not change on its own. There is a deep sense of stagnation.

But that sense of expectation exists alongside a harsh reality.

Sanctions do not hit decision-makers first. They hit ordinary people. The ones standing in line. The ones losing food during power outages. The ones who cannot move because there is no fuel.

That is the contradiction.

The Cuban government calls for international solidarity. And it receives it. Countries send aid. Organizations mobilize. Public voices defend the island.

But another question is also present.

Does that aid actually reach the people?

The lack of transparency in how resources are distributed is part of the problem. Because this is not only about what enters the country, but about what actually reaches those who need it.

Reducing Cuba’s reality to a dispute between two governments avoids the core issue.

There are shared responsibilities, but they are not equal.

The U.S. exerts external pressure with real economic consequences. That cannot be denied. But inside Cuba, there is a system that has had decades to reform, to respond, to open, and it has not done so.

That part cannot continue to be ignored.

I write this as a Cuban. From what I lived. From what I know. From the people who are still there trying to make it through each day.

Because at the end of the day, beyond what governments say or decide, the reality is something else.

Cuba today is under more pressure, yes. But it has also spent years carrying problems that no one has seriously confronted.

And as long as that remains the case, it does not matter what comes from outside. The problem is still inside.

When Scott Silverii began his career as a police officer, he faced daily exposure to traumatic incidents with little guidance or support, particularly in distressed neighborhoods where officers were expected to respond decisively under pressure.

“When I started, the only thing they offered was to suck it up and get over it,” Silverii said. “Any indication that you were hurt meant that you were weak, and if you were weak, it meant you could not be trusted.”

Years later, when Silverii became a police chief, he chose a different approach. Rather than reinforcing silence around trauma, he made mental health support a visible part of his leadership.

“In every critical incident that we had, I would bring the critical incident stress debriefing team in — and I would participate in it,” Silverii said. “I wanted to promote it from the top. That’s what it’s going to continue to take to change the culture.”

Silverii’s experience reflects a broader reality in law enforcement. Across the country, police officers face ongoing mental health challenges linked to repeated exposure to violent crime scenes, fatal accidents, and human suffering — experiences that most civilians never encounter. Long shifts and the responsibility of protecting the public have long been documented to further intensify emotional strain, particularly when officers fear making mistakes with serious consequences. 

Silverii, former Thibodaux, La., chief of police and current National Law Enforcement Initiative Manager at Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD), said coping mechanisms in the past were often unhealthy. 

“A lot of officers, they would drink — sometimes prescription drug use, just different ways,” of coping, he said. Today, he said, the trauma can linger long after an incident: “…you become affected by the trauma. It doesn’t have to happen to you. But when officers respond to a crash, you’re involved… You carry this trauma.” 

In some cases, he says, the impact resurfaces every year. “My body begins to manifest physically, through depression, through stress… once I realize it’s the anniversary, I can start dealing with it,” he said.

For decades, police culture discouraged officers from seeking mental health support, often treating emotional distress as a weakness rather than an occupational hazard. In recent years, however, departments have begun expanding access to counseling, peer-support programs, and crisis-intervention training.

In Baltimore, a shift in police culture is tackling the long-standing “shrug it off” mentality toward officer mental health. The Baltimore Police Department’s Officer Safety and Wellness Section, started in 2018, changed how the agency handles trauma, depression, and substance abuse by treating these issues as medical needs rather than disciplinary failures. 

A core component of the program is its confidential alcohol addiction treatment, which has seen more than 250 officers voluntarily sign themselves in without fear of termination. This proactive approach has led to a dramatic drop in internal interventions — falling from 250 in 2018 to 48 in 2024 — alongside a decrease in citizen complaints and use-of-force incidents. 

The need for such programs is underscored by national data from the Police1 2024 State of the Industry report, which found that 76% of officers cite a lack of time due to heavy workloads as the primary barrier to maintaining their health.  More than 50% of respondents report that a significant stigma still surrounds seeking mental health services. Perhaps most telling — 12% of officers nationwide report having no access to mental health resources at all, and 33% have considered calling themselves out of service due to emotional distress or exhaustion.

Chris Asplen, executive director of the National Criminal Justice Association, is a former Washington prosecutor who handled child abuse and other high-stakes cases. He said the emotional weight of the work eventually led him to step away after becoming a parent.

“It became too mentally and emotionally difficult after I had my own child,” Asplen said.

Asplen said his understanding of trauma was also shaped in part by his upbringing. Raised by a parent who struggled with mental illness, he described growing up feeling overlooked. “My father’s mental health issues made me essentially invisible to him,” he said — an experience that later informed how he approached victims in the justice system.

Asplen also pointed to disparities in how mental health crises are handled. His family’s middle-class background, he said, afforded protections and support not available to many others. “Mental health issues for people who are not white and middle class are often treated as criminal matters,” he said.

Experts warn that when mental health challenges go unaddressed, they can affect officers’ judgment, job performance, and interactions with the public. In response, lawmakers and communities have begun exploring preventive approaches. In 2023, Congress passed the De-escalation Act, providing funding for training focused on crisis response, de-escalation, and officer wellness.

In addition to legislative efforts, some communities are turning to violence intervention programs aimed at reducing harm before police are required to respond. One such organization, Roca, was founded in Massachusetts in 1988 and has operated in Baltimore since 2018.  According to the organization’s impact data, 87% of its participants have had no new incarcerations after entering the program for at least 24 months. 

Police officers in Baltimore and several other cities have been trained by Roca’s nonprofit coaching arm, the Roca Impact Institute, to use cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) to regulate their emotions and understand the impact of trauma on officers and community members. The training reduced stress, loss of temper and use of force incidents, according to the institute.  

A 2024 report by the D.C. Office of the Attorney General showed the city’s violence intervention program’s efforts contributed to an 18% decrease in shootings and a 26% decrease in gun homicides across its target neighborhoods in 2023. Based on the national Cure Violence Global model, the programs treat violence as a public health epidemic through the use of what it calls “credible messengers” to de-escalate conflicts.

But a Washington Post investigation published Feb. 3 found excessive spending that City Administrator Kevin Donahue called a “completely inappropriate use of public money.” A week later, the publication reported that two DC violence interrupters were charged with murder in the death of a Baltimore man in a DC nightclub in 2023.  

When done correctly, these programs can offer a secondary benefit by reducing the volume of high-stress calls handled by law enforcement. Advocates say such approaches can lessen the emotional toll on officers by preventing traumatic encounters altogether. 

“If we can reduce the amount of trauma that occurs at the scene,” Asplen said, “then we’re a lot further along.”

(Carl Barbett is a senior at Bard High School Early College DC, one of Youthcast Media Group’s journalism class partners. This story was produced under the mentorship of Edith Mwangi, a Kenyan multimedia journalist based in D.C. with a background in international reporting and politics.)

A South Carolina man remains in custody on a more than $300,000 bond after he allegedly opened fire at a Myrtle Beach nightclub on April 1, according to WMBF.

Reports say 37-year-old Timothy James Truett Jr., of Clover, S.C., was detained by the Myrtle Beach Police Department after the April 1 incident outside Pulse Ultra Club. He was later arrested and charged with possession of a weapon during a violent crime, discharging a firearm into a dwelling, discharging a firearm within city limits, malicious injury to real property valued over $5,000, and assault or intimidation due to political opinions or the exercise of civil rights.

At 10:57 a.m. on April 1, officers responded to a call about a possible shooting at Pulse Ultra Club, located in the 2700 block of South Kings Highway.

In an affidavit released later, the club’s owner, Ken Phillips, said he was doing paperwork that morning when he heard “five or six” gunshots. He went outside and found a window and the windshield of his SUV shattered by bullets. An SUV with blue plastic covering one window was left at the scene.

Police later reviewed footage that showed a silver vehicle stopping in the middle of the road. The video appeared to capture muzzle flashes coming from the passenger-side window.

According to the affidavit, an officer later pulled over a vehicle driven by Truett and found spent shell casings in the back seat, along with a gun.

Documents do not detail why Truett was ultimately charged under the state law covering assault or intimidation tied to political opinions or the exercise of civil rights.

As of April 1, records show Truett is being held in Horry County on a combined bond of more than $312,000.

WMBF spoke with Phillips after the incident and asked whether there was any prior conflict that might have led to the shooting.

“I don’t know if it’s personal, I don’t know if it’s related to being gay, I don’t know if it’s related to the bar issues,” Phillips told WMBF. “Anybody with a mindset of pulling out a weapon in broad daylight is not right.”

“My primary concern has and always will be the safety of my community and my customers,” he added. “It’s given me great concern … as to how far people will go.”

WMBF also spoke with Adam Hayes, vice chair of Myrtle Beach’s Human Rights Coalition, who was involved in pushing for the ordinance. He said that while the incident itself is troubling, it shows the policy is being put to use.

The ordinance is intended to deter “crimes that are motivated by bias or hate towards any person or persons, in whole or in part, because of the actual or perceived” identity, in the absence of a statewide hate crime law.

“It’s nice to see that something we put into policy is not just a piece of paper, that it’s actually being used,” said Hayes.

He said the shooting underscores the need for a statewide hate crime law in South Carolina and added that the incident has left the local LGBTQ community shaken.

South Carolina and Wyoming are the only two states in the U.S. without a comprehensive statewide hate crime law.

Truett remains in jail as of publication.