"I can’t waste time assembling and disassembling old rifles."complains an MTT reservist

Matanzas/On the corner of a dusty street in Los Mangos, near the Matanzas Pediatric Hospital, Yosvany wipes sweat with the back of his hand and looks down the block as if he expects someone from the Military Committee to appear at any moment. It is not the first time they have visited it. From time to time, when strategic exercises, “mobilizations” or national defense days are announced from Havana, his name reappears on the list of reservists of the Territorial Troops Militias.

“This time I did tell them not to count on me anymore,” he says, standing in front of a house with a faded façade, while on the sidewalk a neighbor fanns herself with her hand and another observes the street sitting on a plastic chair. “I have five plates to fill every day. I can’t waste time putting together and taking apart old rifles.”

The recent mobilization of reservists, announced after the worsening of the energy crisis and the increase in tensions between Havana and Washington, exacerbated since the capture of Nicolás Maduro in early January, has stirred memories of other similar calls. On state television there is talk of “combative disposition” and “defense of sovereignty”, but in the neighborhoods the issue is mixed with blackouts of up to 18 hours and endless lines to get liquefied gas or a bit of chicken.

Yosvany became redundant – unemployed – as an accountant at the Provincial Directorate of Commerce two years ago. Since then he has fished clarias in the San Juan River, pushed a food cart along the Tirry road and even acted as a colero at the Banco Popular de Ahorro on Medio Street. “Less stealing, I’ll do whatever,” he insists. “My war is to look for money so that my children do not lack the basics. I am not going to be just another number for the bosses to say that everyone here is ready to fight.”

In Pueblo Nuevo, Magalis listens to these stories and nods. At 73 years old, he lives on 3,000 pesos a month, which is barely enough for rice, some beans, and rationed bread from the market. Sitting at the entrance of a small neighborhood pizzeria, under a faded mural where a smiling chef holds a steaming tray, the woman looks out onto the street, where the sun beats down.

“On the News they appear with well-ironed olive green uniforms, calling for resistance,” he says. “I resist, yes, but in an 18-hour blackout, eating four tablespoons of white rice and saving the bread ball for breakfast.” For her, the mobilizations do not solve the lack of fuel or the deterioration of her roof, which has been awaiting repair for years.

Daily life in the city contradicts the epic tone of official reports on military exercises. On a bridge over the river, a man tries to catch something to take home; on another corner, two old men talk in the shadow of a peeling wall, under a sign advertising a shoe store. Beyond, a woman wearing a mask walks quickly, avoiding potholes and loose cables.

Antonio, almost 65 years old, was also called on other occasions. Former combatant in Angola for five years, survivor of a mine that damaged his eye and left him with psychological consequences, he views any call-up with distrust. “I fulfilled an internationalist mission and returned with my life unarmed,” he says, sitting on the porch of his house. “Afterwards no one remembered us.”

He says that a few years ago he asked for the resignation of the Communist Party and the Fighters Association. “They only call meetings and collect the contribution.” For him, the word “mobilization” has a bitter echo. “Thousands of us gave what we had and more. Now that I’m old, the only thing I want is peace of mind.”

The energy crisis has served as a backdrop for this new call-up. The lack of fuel paralyzes buses, slows down production and multiplies blackouts. The Government insists on the need to “prepare for any scenario”, while Washington toughens its discourse towards Havana and versions circulate on social networks about a possible domino effect after the fall of the Venezuelan ruler.

But in Matanzas the conversation takes place at ground level. At the doors of the houses, on improvised chairs, people talk about the rise in prices, about packages that do not arrive and about the children who emigrated. The epic is diluted in the face of daily urgency.

“If they want me to defend something, they should start by giving me reasons to stay,” says Yosvany before saying goodbye. The afternoon sun reflects on the blue walls and tired faces. No one seems willing to enroll in a mock battle; They have enough to survive.