In Cuba, hardship is not abstract. On my most recent visit, I watched residents use metal rods to probe beneath the pavement for water lines because municipal pump failures had left them scrambling for access to drinking water.

If U.S. policy is meant to help the Cuban people rather than merely punish the Cuban government, it should expand humanitarian channels that actually reach local communities.

I have traveled to Cuba in recent years through church mission partnerships, working with Cuban religious leaders and seminary leadership. Those visits have allowed me to see daily life beyond the official rhetoric that often dominates debate in Washington. On my most recent trip, the signs of hardship were impossible to miss.

At José Martí International Airport, customs and immigration were unusually quiet, with only a handful of travelers arriving. On the highway from Havana to Matanzas, trucks sat lined up for fuel. Across the island, shortages of gasoline, food, and basic goods shaped daily life. Scarcity reached into nearly every corner of ordinary existence.

I asked a Cuban colleague what tightening oil restrictions on Venezuela might mean for the island. His answer was immediate and haunting:  “Many people will die. They will die from starvation and violence.”

Cuba’s suffering cannot be explained by U.S. policy alone. The island’s authoritarian political system, state inefficiency, and long history of economic mismanagement have all contributed to today’s crisis. But policies designed in Washington have consequences far beyond the halls of government. They land on ordinary people.

Although few people spoke to me openly against the government, it was clear that they had lost trust in a regime that fails to provide even basic services.  Yet even amid extreme hardship, many continue to trust the church.

Across Cuba, churches have become quiet lifelines. They distribute food, offer social support, and create places where communities can gather. They are not a substitute for a functioning economy or responsive government, but they are among the few institutions that still have credibility at the local level.

The purpose of our most recent visit was to support the opening of a new ecumenical seminary campus in Havana, funded by American churches in partnership with Cuban religious leaders. The new campus includes classrooms, housing, and a water purification system that provides clean drinking water not only for the seminary but also for the surrounding neighborhood. In a country marked by shortages and uncertainty, it stands as a small oasis of stability and service.

Its dedication brought together an unlikely mix of people: American church leaders, Cuban clergy, members of the Cuban press, and even a representative of the Communist Party. In a political climate defined for decades by hostility and mistrust, the event offered a simple but important reminder that cooperation between Americans and Cubans is possible, and it can produce tangible benefits for ordinary people.

That should shape U.S. policy toward Cuba.

Economic pressure is a blunt instrument, and policymakers should never forget who bears the heaviest burden. In Cuba, as in many places, the people who suffer most are rarely the officials at whom the pressure is aimed. If the United States wants a policy that is both principled and practical, it should start by helping the Cuban people live with more dignity, stability, and hope.

Specific steps the United States could take now include partnering with churches and other trusted civil society organizations to provide food, water, medicine, and basic support, as well as protecting Internet connectivity and access to information. It should also revisit policies that deepen fuel shortages and economic isolation for ordinary Cubans.

Cuba does not need to be the next geopolitical talking point. It needs practical solutions, and it needs them now.

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