Before We Forget Some of These Greats

 

A couple of months ago, I was catching up with two good friends, Yeow Teck Chai and Tan Koon San, over dim sum at a restaurant in Mutiara Damansara. Teck Chai is about my age, while Koon San is several years our senior. Both spent their careers in public service. Teck Chai rose to become Deputy Director-General of the Malaysian Industrial Development Authority (MIDA), while Koon San retired as Malaysia’s ambassador to a European country and as a representative of an international agency. He is also a prolific author and, although he didn’t say it, a Datuk.

As close friends often do, we exchanged stories and laughed over the idiosyncrasies of some of the movers and shakers we had known personally. I was particularly happy to share my experiences with several of my former bosses. During the conversation, I mentioned that I had once written a manuscript entitled On the Emperor’s Shoulder, but never succeeded in getting it published because it was deemed unpublishable by my most formidable editor and critic—my wife, Saw Hwa.

Naturally, they wanted to know about the title.

I explained that my late father was a devoted follower of spiritual Daoism. At the beginning of every lunar year, he would acquire the latest edition of the Tōng-shū (通书), the traditional Chinese almanac, and diligently study its many prescriptions, taboos, and cultural observances for the year ahead. Villagers frequently sought his advice when selecting auspicious dates for ceremonies, weddings, house-moving, or the commencement of important ventures.

According to my father, the almanac classified my birth under the category of being “on the emperor’s shoulder”. The interpretation was straightforward: I should never aspire to become a great lord or a powerful boss. However, I could expect a reasonably comfortable life.

There was, however, a caveat. The emperor’s robe, my father liked to remind me, was made of silk and therefore difficult to cling to. One could easily slip and fall. Looking back, his prediction turned out to be remarkably self-fulfilling. My career and life unfolded very much along those lines.

The stories in this proposed book are not all entirely factual. Like everyone else, I am susceptible to moods, biases, and the distortions of memory. Some episodes may have been embellished for dramatic effect, while others have been softened or abbreviated for reasons best left unsaid.

My intention is not to disparage anyone. Rather, I hope to share with readers both the greatness and the human quirks of a number of remarkable corporate leaders with whom I had the privilege of working. Yet beauty, as the saying goes, lies in the eye of the beholder. Some individuals may not appreciate my portrayal of them. For that reason, certain names and organisations have not been fully identified. Nevertheless, discerning readers may still recognise the fingerprints of people and institutions they know. I shall leave the guessing to them.

I remain deeply indebted to many of the personalities featured in these pages. I learned much from them—lessons in leadership, business, ambition, resilience, and, occasionally, human folly. Whatever modest successes I may have achieved owe something to their influence. Unfortunately, I could never quite rise beyond the limits that the Tōng-shū appeared to have ordained for me.

It is therefore fitting that I begin with one of the greatest entrepreneurs I have ever had the privilege to work with—the legendary Tan Sri Lim Goh Tong.

If readers are happy to indulge these recollections, I shall continue to share more chapters from this “unpublishable” book.

 

4

Genting Sempah

 

I joined the Genting Group in September 1977. It was already a formidable name by then. The name Genting was, and still is, synonymous with its founder, the late Tan Sri Lim Goh Tong. Moreover, its former general manager, Tan Koon Swan, had also made a name for himself in politics as well as in the corporate world. With the Supreme and Multi-Purpose groups, he was heading to big leagues as well. Tan became the president of Malaysian Chinese Association (MCA) but never made it to the cabinet. His saga is too well documented for me to bore readers here.

But few know how the name Genting came into being. In Chinese it reads 云顶or Ying Ding. Ying by itself means ‘cloud’ and ding means ‘top’, as in rooftop. It certainly sounds appropriate—with the resort sitting right at the top of Gunung Ulu Kali and clouds hugging it. So, Genting is ‘Cloud-top’ to those reading the name in Chinese. But I believe the name was derived from Genting Sempah. If you look at the Pahang map, you will find Genting Sempah right at the foothill of Genting Highlands. This name was in existence well before Tan Sri Lim developed Genting Highlands. I may be wrong, though.

But the pioneers of Genting should be saluted for choosing a very tasteful name for the resort. Whether in Romanised form or in Chinese, they sound good. They could have settled for ‘Silver-top’ or ‘Money-top’, for ying in Chinese can also mean ‘silver‘ (银, yin) or ‘money‘. Fortune is the obsession of many, but only those with wisdom know the value of subtlety.

 

Hello, it is Saturday

It was Saturday. I was ready to pack up for home when the phone rang. Silly me, how could I be so assuming?

“Yu Bok, we have to go Pahang to see the menteri besar today. Get ready.” The voice was distinctly that of the Old Man (no derogation intended; it was a just a way of showing respect when we referred to our ultimate boss those days.) He hung up as soon as he finished what he had to say. You were simply not given a chance to waste his time.

The drive to Kuantan was a pleasant one, especially if you were travelling in a big Mercedes. It still took a few hours, though. The sun had already set by the time we reached Kuantan. We called on the director of the Land and Mines Office and he was happy to receive us in his home. A few more meetings followed. By the time we checked into the Hyatt, it was already close to midnight.

My wife must have been concerned, as I did not have a chance to call her before I left the office (there were no mobile phones back then). But I have the most understanding wife. Saw Hwa always takes these things well. She was already fast asleep when I reached her.

After a quick bath, I headed for the bed straightaway. There was still some revelling going on in the hotel. Someone told me earlier that the sultan would be around. I was too tired for anything.

Few hotels were thoughtful enough to provide toothbrushes and toothpaste those days. The next morning, I had to use my fingers…

I had nothing clean to change into. I thought I would be able to pick something up from the arcade, but I had to wait, as the shops would only open at around 9 or 10 am. I bought a batik shirt, and I could not find any briefs. Too bad. I had to make do with the one I had been wearing.

 

* * *

 

Sunday was not an off day for some of us in Genting. It was the day Tan Sri Lim would go around inspecting all the civil and engineering works that were being carried out around the resort. As always, he started his day early. He would gather the key construction executives in the coffeehouse or the theatre restaurant, give a few instructions here and there, and jump into his waiting car. Everybody would scramble towards his vehicle to try to catch up with him. The resort is quite a sprawling mass of land but lose him at your own risk!

Wherever he went, you just had to follow, and make sure you brought a notebook along. By the time he headed for his suite, your Sunday was as good as gone. But Tan Sri Lim was not an inconsiderate man. You could take a day off every week if you wanted to, as long as it wasn’t a Sunday.

 

* * *

 

The resident architect CH and I decided to go up to Genting by helicopter one Sunday. We wanted to catch the first flight. But the weather was simply impossible. Segambut, where the helipad was situated, looked very sunny, but the traffic controllers at the resort advised us that visibility there was too poor. So, we waited.

The resort was staging a big show. It was one of the first big-money affairs for its very impressive new theatre restaurant. The girls were from France, all very pretty. Two of the showgirls were also waiting at the helipad to go up. CH and I chatted them up. They were very friendly. Weathermen at the resort continued to give ‘no-fly’ advice. Before long, we ended up having lunch with the two girls in one of the nice restaurants in town. By the time we finished lunch, it was too late to head up the hill.

The next day was Monday. Tan Sri Lim was early as usual. The phone soon rang. The secretary said, “Yu Bok, Old Man wants to see you. Where is CH?”

I never missed my Sunday outings with Tan Sri Lim again, no matter how bad the weather was.

 

* * *

 

“Yu Bok, ask Captain to bring a few 955s and RBs to the golf course. I want to do something there.”

The golf course at the resort was not very great then. Enthusiasts had it that the course was not well-designed. Some remodelling work was therefore ordered. Ron Fream, a leading golf course architect, was commissioned to do the job.

There was an undulating tract behind the clubhouse. Nobody had any earthwork drawings. But Captain Lim was one of the few who had the uncanny ability to do exactly what Tan Sri Lim had in mind as far as earthwork went. And the 955s and RBs just cut and cut…

Tan Sri Lim was like an army commander and I, his aide-de-camp, had no choice but to stand next to him. But I did not have the slightest idea of what he had had in mind for this battle front. A few colleagues who happened to come by asked me what was being built. A new swimming pool? A new clubhouse?

Honestly, I did not know. And none of the above.

After one week of sunbathing, I looked over-tanned. Tan Sri Lim had also run out of steam. Before he walked back to his car, I heard him telling Captain Lim, “Plant grass.” Or did I hear him wrongly?

 

955s, 977s and Alab-Bee

“I want you to buy some second-hand 955s, 977s and alab-bees, you see so-and-so.”

This was the instruction given to me by Tan Sri Lim. I was still quite new at Genting. Although I had some project management experience, it was basically on high-rise buildings. I had never done land development before. But how could I ask Tan Sri Lim what 955, 977 and alab-bee were? I would be out of my mind. Did I want to lose my job?

“977, 977, alab-bee” were exactly the figures and words I wrote in my notebook. They had had to do with earth-moving equipment, I was convinced. After the ‘class‘ had been dismissed, I took the company car, a Peugeot 503, and went around the grounds searching for these beasts.

I was not disappointed—Caterpillar 955 and 977 tractors were busily at work everywhere. And you could not possibly miss Captain Lim’s alab-bees either—the always reliable RB draglines.^[1]

 

* * *

 

When you have a boss like Tan Sri Lim, you learn to be very resourceful.

CH came to me one day, “Yu Bok, you know Chinese. Do you know what the Old Man wants?” It was Tan Sri Lim’s own handwriting, in Chinese of course. He wanted us to do some improvement to the 脚死诺 (chiao-sei-nor). What is chiao-se-nor? He had gone around asking; nobody could help.

That was easy. Without hesitation, I enlightened him. “Casino.” You have to be a Hokkien to understand another Hokkien. Tan Sri Lim was thinking in Hokkien when he wrote the three Chinese characters.

Leg in Chinese character is pronounced chiao in Mandarin, but when it is read in Hokkien, it becomes kar. 死 (se) is pronounced xi in Hokkien, which means ‘die‘ or ‘dead’. Nor (like in Mohamed Noah Omar) is more abstract, it formed part of the name of Tan Sri Lim’s Malay partner, written in Chinese. Taken together and read in Hokkien, it simply means ‘casino’.

I heard this from another acquaintance the other day. He also had the ‘privilege’ to be in Tan Sri Lim’s Sunday entourage when he went round inspecting works at the resort. Tan Sri Lim wanted some work to be done at “C 楼.” He wrote it clearly on a piece of paper: the letter ‘C’ and楼 (loah, for building, storey, or apartment block, depending on usage). Pronounced in Hokkien, it should mean ‘C Block’. Or so everybody thought! But there was no C Block there. What he meant was see lau—in plain Hokkien, the fourth level!

 

* * *

 

This also came from a colleague: After a visit to one of the work sites, Tan Sri Lim wrote 刘 (liu, surname), and 水 (shuĭ, water). In Hokkien, 刘水 is pronounced lau chwee.

Everybody was asking everybody else, “Who is this contractor Lau Chwee? Tan Sri Lim is looking for him.” Tan Sri Lim was furious; he had pointed out a water leakage problem at one of the sites and it had yet to be rectified after a whole week.

But he was not looking for a contractor named Mr Lau Chwee. He was saying that the place was 漏水 (lau chwee), or had ‘water leaking through’!

 

Oops, maybe?

All our architects, engineers and surveyors were a very qualified lot, but each time a plan was submitted to the Old Man, I noticed that he would for sure show some disapproval; few drawings survived without the need for amendments. This tendency of his did cause anxiety and uncertainty. I also observed that he did not bother to refer to the plans when he himself directed work at site, which he often did on Sundays.

Something did not look quite right to me; his dismissal appeared too sweeping. Maybe he didn’t really know how to read technical drawings? My team was asked to suggest how a parcel of a hillock had to be cut. That should be a fairly simple do; nonetheless, I asked for four sets of drawings to be prepared, with minor variations (in contours and colours). True enough, the Old Man expressed ‘concern’ over the first drawing.

“Never mind, Tan Sri, maybe you can take a look at the second proposal?” I asked.

Turning to the second drawing, he immediately said it was better. I asked him if he would like to see more. He signed on the third drawing! Onsite, none of the drawings were used when we did the actual cutting. And yes, I found a way to handle the Old Man!

 

5

What, the Old Man Wants to Change the Provincial Boundary?

 

I had a dream. I dreamt I worked for a company called Above-the-Clouds Berhad in a country called Bumiland…

 

* * *

 

The company was founded by a great entrepreneur Tan Sri Lin. Above-the-Clouds owned a hill resort that went by the same name.

“What, the Old Man wants to change the provincial boundary?”

This was CH’s reaction when I told him that Tan Sri Lin wanted us to realign the boundary of some of the lots in the Above-the-Clouds resort to make them more efficient in terms of land utilisation. CH was the in-house architect, and I was the development manager of the company developing the Above-the-Clouds resort, the most popular holiday destination in the country.

Tan Sri Lin originally had some 15,000 acres of land straddling two provinces in Bumiland—Gnahap and Langoser—alienated to him. He had to favour some friends and associates, but the bulk of the land, about 12,000 acres, still remained with Above-the-Clouds and its related companies, of which about 80 percent was in Gnahap, and the rest in Langoser.

In some parts of the country, watersheds determine provincial boundaries. This was apparently true in the case of the Above-the-Clouds resort, that sat smack on the Central Range of Bumiland. Looking in the northerly direction, you have Langoser if the rainwater flows westwards; otherwise, it is part of Gnahap.

The flagship hotel actually sat on two provinces. But both the provincial governments were very accommodating; they even formed a joint committee to administer the Above-the-Clouds resort. With the type of building by-laws we had in Bumiland, any building had to be hundreds of feet away from provincial boundaries. That meant that in the case of the Above-the-Clouds resort, you could only build in the ravines in most stretches.

Tan Sri Lin knew every square inch of the Above-the-Clouds resort. He had a vision of transforming the resort into a few thriving townships, one of which would of course be named after him. The ridges had to be flattened!

The telephone rang. It was the Old Man. We trooped into the meeting room equipped with many copies of the contour map of the resort. The inborn surveyor in Tan Sri Lin reached out for his favourite pencil—a hexagonal or octagonal rarity that was red on the one end and blue on the other—and began to draw a new provincial boundary…

The result looked very fair – and a little here to benefit Langoser, and a little there to please Gnahap, all very equitably apportioned. Neither Gnahap nor Langoser seemed shortchanged. But he did not realise that he was drawing a new provincial boundary…

You had to take Tan Sri Lin seriously. When he was drawing those lines, you could feel the intensity of his chi. This concentrated energy could melt all the reservations. You actually believed it could be done!

Tan Sri Lin did not wait for the drawings. The in-house draughtsman took too long to do even a simple thing like this. A day or so later, Captain Lin’s^[2] army of earthmovers and dump trucks began to storm the border. The commander was Tan Sri Lin himself.

 

* * *

 

My dream did not last long enough. Or maybe I couldn’t remember the ending. I am not sure if the provincial boundary had in fact been violated. But come to think of it, after the ridges had been flattened, how could you tell where the watersheds were? There was no GPS those days.

Not everybody has the opportunity to contemplate changing provincial boundaries. You have to be someone in Tan Sri Lin’s class to do that. He is indeed an extraordinary man. He makes the impossible happen. Even if you were afforded Tan Sri Lin’s opportunity, would you be able to do what Tan Sri Lin had done?

---

[1] Mechanised crawler-excavators manufactured by Ruston-Bucyrus.

[2] Tan Sri Lim’s cousin. 

礼义廉耻，光明正大 (Lǐ Yì Lián Chǐ, Guāng Míng Zhèng Dà)

The first part of the phrase “礼义廉耻” (lǐ yì lián chǐ) reflects core Confucian moral values.

• 礼 (lǐ) — ritual propriety; respect for social norms and order
• 义 (yì) — righteousness; moral duty and justice
• 廉 (lián) — integrity; honesty and rejection of corruption
• 耻 (chǐ) — a sense of shame; avoidance of disgraceful behaviour

Together, these four virtues form the foundation of personal and social ethics in traditional East Asian thought, emphasising self-discipline, moral accountability, and social harmony.

The second part “光明正大” (guāng míng zhèng dà) means “open and upright” — acting with transparency, fairness, and without hidden motives.

The philosophy behind the entire phrase is that a virtuous person or ruler must cultivate inner moral qualities (礼义廉耻) while outwardly conducting himself with honesty and justice (光明正大). It rejects selfishness, deceit, and corruption, advocating instead a society built on ethical clarity and mutual respect.

The phrase first appeared in Guanzi (《管子》), a foundational text attributed to the school of thought of Guan Zhong (管仲), the legendary reformist statesman who served as prime minister of the State of Qi during the Spring and Autumn Period (c. 725–645 BCE).

In one chapter, it states: “礼义廉耻，国之四维；四维不张，国乃灭亡” – Propriety, righteousness, integrity, and shame are the four cardinal pillars of the state. If these four pillars are not upheld, the state will collapse.

Guan Zhong regarded these virtues not merely as personal qualities, but as the essential foundations of stable governance.

From the Han Dynasty onward, “礼义廉耻” became a standard phrase in imperial edicts, legal codes, and moral textbooks. It was used both to train officials and to educate the public.

Later Confucian scholars, especially during the Song and Ming dynasties, deepened and popularised the concept. Each virtue acquired a more defined moral significance. During the Ming and Qing dynasties, military codes often included these four virtues as essential qualities for soldiers and officers.

The phrase remains widely recognised in China, Taiwan, South Korea, and Japan. Even today, it is still taught as a foundation of civic virtue and anti-corruption ethics.

As for the philosophy behind “光明正大” (guāng míng zhèng dà), the term first appeared in the writings of the Southern Song Neo-Confucian scholar Zhu Xi (朱熹, 1130–1200).

Zhu Xi used the expression to describe the character of a true sage — someone whose thoughts and actions are transparent, morally clear, and free from deception or selfishness.

Perhaps the most iconic physical representation of this principle is the “正大光明” plaque hanging inside one of the palaces of Beijing’s Forbidden City.

The plaque was inscribed by the Shunzhi Emperor (顺治皇帝, reigned 1643–1661), the first Qing emperor to rule over China proper. It reinforced a succession system formalised earlier by the Yongzheng Emperor (雍正皇帝, reigned 1722–1735) to pre-empt brutal struggles among imperial princes for the throne.

(Yongzheng decreed that the emperor would write the name of his chosen heir on two copies of a will. One copy would remain on his person, while the other would be sealed and hidden behind the “正大光明” plaque. Upon the emperor’s death, the two copies would be compared to verify the legitimate successor.)

The process was intended to symbolise fairness, transparency, and upright governance — literally “open and upright.” In short, “光明正大” represents both a personal virtue — transparent integrity — and a principle of governance: conduct that is public, fair, and aboveboard.

Why Does 礼 Seem So Remote Among Many Mainland Chinese Today?
Out of these virtues, 礼 (lǐ) — propriety and civility — appears, at times, to be absent in the behaviour of some mainland Chinese. One often reads reports of uncouth conduct on airplanes, in public spaces, and in other social settings.

I believe the Cultural Revolution played a major role in disrupting the transmission of traditional social norms in mainland China.

During that period, many aspects of traditional Chinese culture associated with Confucius — respect for hierarchy, ritual propriety (礼), restraint, civility, and moral self-cultivation — were denounced as “feudal.” Teachers, intellectuals, elders, and traditional authority figures were publicly humiliated or persecuted. For roughly a decade, social trust and continuity between generations were severely damaged.

Concepts such as self-cultivation and family order, which had long sustained Confucian ethics, were no longer systematically taught in public life. In many families, survival and political caution became more important than moral refinement or classical etiquette.

Several other factors also contributed.

The speed of economic transformation after the reforms of Deng Xiaoping moved hundreds of millions from rural areas into cities within one or two generations. Rapid urbanisation often weakens traditional etiquette in any society.

The trauma of poverty and scarcity before the 1980s also left a deep psychological imprint. Societies emerging from prolonged hardship can become more transactional and competitive in behaviour.

Ironically, many overseas Chinese communities — in Singapore, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Malaysia — preserved certain behavioural norms more continuously because they did not experience the Cultural Revolution. As a result, some observers perceive overseas Chinese societies as retaining stronger traditions of courtesy and public discipline.

That said, I should also be careful not to generalise too broadly about “many mainland Chinese.” China today contains both highly refined and rough social behaviour, often existing side by side. Younger urban Chinese are frequently well educated, internationally exposed, and increasingly conscious of civility and public etiquette.

It should also be noted that the mainland Chinese leadership itself has, in recent years, attempted to revive Confucian language and traditional values. President Xi Jinping often speaks about traditional culture, social harmony, civility, and “中华优秀传统文化” (“excellent traditional Chinese culture”). Schools today also teach more classical texts than they did several decades ago.

The Weak Queue Culture
Another related phenomenon is the weak queue culture sometimes observed in China.

Part of this behaviour may stem from historical insecurity formed during periods of hardship — the final years of the Qing dynasty, the civil war era, the Japanese invasion, and later the famine and shortages during the Maoist campaigns.

Decades of scarcity fostered what might be called a “scarcity psychology.” In overcrowded environments, people learned that hesitation could mean losing access, and that waiting politely might allow others to seize opportunities first. Systems did not always guarantee fairness reliably.

However, there are also practical explanations unrelated to historical trauma.

For many years, China’s transport infrastructure lagged badly behind demand. Public transport systems were often extremely crowded, with very limited boarding and exiting time. Many migrants also came from rural areas where orderly queue norms were less emphasised.

Singaporeans, Japanese, and Taiwanese often notice the contrast because those societies invested heavily in public-order campaigns and queue discipline over many decades.

Postwar Japan, for example, developed a strong civic culture centred on public consideration and collective order, while Singapore consciously shaped public behaviour through education, law, and social campaigns.

Be that as it may, two months ago, I took the Aeroline coach service from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur. After clearing Singapore Immigration, I was astonished to see a large crowd suddenly rushing towards the buses. Instinct dies hard.

Nevertheless, it should also be recognised that China has changed enormously over the past 15 to 20 years. In many cities, queueing behaviour and public etiquette are often far better than foreign stereotypes suggest. Subway systems now employ barriers, lane markings, announcements, and social messaging to encourage orderly boarding.

Conclusion
I personally believe that unless some Chinese can overcome this lingering “lack of common courtesy” mindset, reservations will continue to exist about the greatness of Chinese civilisation, regardless of its long and distinguished history.

Yet it would also be unfair to judge an entire civilisation by the worst behaviour of some of its people. China today is still evolving socially, just as it has transformed economically. The enduring ideals of 礼义廉耻 and 光明正大 may yet regain their fuller place in Chinese public life.

End 

A personal anecdote: 
The present Vibe Hotel Rushcutters Bay Sydney was once known as the Rushcutters Harbourside Hotel, then owned by Malaysia’s Low Yat Group. It was developed in anticipation of the boom expected from the 2000 Summer Olympics. Unfortunately, the good times did not fully materialise, and the hotel had to rely heavily on lunch bookings from tour groups from China and Japan to supplement its revenue. At the time, I was the regional director of the group in Australia.

We particularly enjoyed handling the Japanese tour groups. They would arrive punctually, alight from their coaches quietly, walk into the restaurant almost like a line of penguins, and queue patiently for their buffet lunch. After the meal, they would return to their coaches in the same orderly manner. Their discipline, consideration for others, and collective sense of order left a deep impression on me.

A Leopard Cannot Change Its Spots

 

A good friend in Sydney once called all the way to suggest that I should write something about the injustice of the US towards the long-suffering Cubans. Cuba has not been on my radar all along, save for knowing that recently Trump has been trying to think of reasons to destabilise Cuba.

However, the headlines carried in most of today’s mainstream media say it is time for me to write something about the Cuba-US relationship.

CNN’s headline screams: “Raúl Castro indicted in a prosecution that has been in the works for 3 decades.”

It is an old story. Castro is already 94 years old. In 1996, more than 30 years ago, Cuban fighter jets shot down two small planes – belonging to a group of Cuban exiles in Miami – in the waterway between the Caribbean island nation and the US state of Florida, killing all four on board. Castro was Cuba’s armed forces minister at that time. It led to the US tightening sanctions against his brother Fidel Castro’s regime, plunging the island into severe economic hardship marked by blackouts, food shortages and fuel scarcity.

The Cubans maintain that the incident occurred over their airspace. The movement “Brothers to the Rescue” posed a threat to national security because of its repeated air incursions.

The indictment is likely to trigger a sharp escalation in tensions between Washington and Havana. The Trump administration is applying the same playbook used against Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro. By establishing a formal criminal indictment against Cuba's senior leadership, Washington has effectively created what it views as a legal basis for aggressive intervention or even a potential takeover. Acting Attorney General Todd Blanche underscored this by saying the US expects Castro to appear in a US courtroom “by his own will or by another way.”

Regardless, the move probably extinguishes any remaining hope for diplomatic normalization between the two countries. The indictment comes as Cuba is already enduring its worst economic crisis in six decades, and intensifying pressure could push the island towards a major humanitarian emergency. Yet in the US, anti-Castro and Cuban-American exile communities in South Florida are celebrating what they see as a 30-year-delayed act of justice for the four pilots killed in 1996. But are they condemning their compatriots to further misery?

All for the sake of the mid-term elections?

How badly are the Cubans already suffering today?
Economically, Cuba is in its worst condition since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. This is not merely a period of low growth but a systemic breakdown affecting electricity, transport, food supply, healthcare, and daily life.

It is said that Cuba’s economy has contracted another 5% in 2025 alone, after years of stagnation and decline. Since 2020, total contraction may exceed 15%. Inflation has devastated purchasing power. Official inflation was about 14%, but estimates for basic necessities are far higher, with some placing food inflation at around 70%.

Blackouts are routine because Cuba lacks fuel and its Soviet-era power plants are deteriorating badly. In some regions, outages reportedly last 12–16 hours daily. Food, medicine, and fuel shortages are severe, while public transportation has periodically collapsed in Havana because diesel simply was not available. Tourism, once a major hard-currency earner, has also not fully recovered after COVID and worsening sanctions.

Cuba is experiencing a major demographic exodus as well. Roughly 1.5 million people are estimated to have left over five years – enormous for a country of only about 11 million people.

Externally:

• The long-standing US embargo remains a major constraint.
• The Trump administration has tightened sanctions again, including measures targeting shipping, finance, and fuel flows.
• Venezuela, which once supplied subsidised oil, is no longer able to support Cuba at previous levels.

Internally:

• Cuba’s economy suffers from chronic low productivity, over-centralisation, currency distortions, weak incentives, and decaying infrastructure.

The country is exhausted!

Are the current Cuban leaders a corrupt lot?
There are allegations of corruption, privilege, and opaque wealth among parts of Cuba’s ruling elite. However, the situation differs from the openly oligarchic systems seen elsewhere.

Under Fidel Castro and later Raúl Castro, the Cuban state officially promoted egalitarianism and anti-corruption discipline. Compared with many Latin American countries, Cuba historically had relatively low levels of visible street-level corruption in areas such as policing or tax administration. The state also maintained harsh penalties for officials accused of graft.

However, like everywhere else, senior political and military circles enjoy privileges inaccessible to ordinary Cubans – special stores, better housing, imported goods, private transportation, and foreign currency access. The military conglomerate GAESA – historically linked to Raúl Castro’s inner circle – also controls large sectors of the economy, including tourism, retail, ports, hotels, and remittances. Corruption scandals periodically emerge, usually involving mid-level managers, customs officials, or state enterprises, though top leaders are rarely implicated publicly.

One notable episode was the 1989 case involving General Arnaldo Ochoa, a decorated military hero executed after being convicted on drug trafficking and corruption charges.

Economic hardship has naturally intensified public resentment towards elite privilege.

However, unlike some post-Soviet or authoritarian states, there is little hard public evidence that Cuba’s top leaders personally possess enormous offshore wealth on the scale associated with oligarchic regimes elsewhere.

The “Latin American” disease
The racist in me loves to generalise about cultural weaknesses. I have only been to South America once, many years ago. I visited Argentina, Chile, Peru and Brazil. I thought I sensed a great degree of lethargy in these Latin American countries.

They never seemed in a hurry to change, hence my coining of this “disease.”

While Russia and China have evolved with their own brands of Communism, Cuba still appears trapped in inertia and reluctant to embrace reform on the same scale. The reasons are political fear, ideological rigidity, geography, and the structure of the Cuban state itself.

Deng Xiaoping launched China’s “reform and opening up” from 1978 onward, and post-Soviet Russia moved toward a market economy. Cuba, by contrast, only introduced limited reforms over the years – small private businesses, farmers’ markets, tourism partnerships, dollar shops, foreign investment zones, legalisation of some private restaurants and rentals, and more recently, legal recognition of small and medium enterprises.

Even though Cuba admires aspects of the Chinese and Vietnamese models, it never went nearly far enough. The leadership has long feared that large-scale economic liberalisation could eventually undermine political control. Yet the economy itself is structurally weak, heavily dependent on tourism, remittances, nickel exports, and imported fuel and food. Decades of US sanctions and financial restrictions have further compounded these weaknesses.

Today’s crisis is pushing Cuba towards reform anyway, though only in a hesitant and piecemeal fashion. Private businesses are growing, inequality is widening, informal dollarisation is expanding, and limited capitalism is increasingly tolerated. But the leadership still appears trapped between two fears:

• fear that reforming too slowly will collapse the economy, and
• fear that reforming too quickly will collapse the political system.

Havana may simply have waited too long. By the time deeper reforms became unavoidable, the country’s infrastructure, demographics, and productive base had already deteriorated severely.

Russia and China’s helping hands
Russia has helped, but far less than many Cubans hoped. After the Ukraine war began, Moscow spoke about reviving Soviet-era ties with Havana through investments in sugar, energy, transport, and tourism. Yet many projects have stalled because Russia itself is under heavy economic and military pressure.

Russia has supplied some oil shipments, wheat, credit arrangements and tourism income, but this is nowhere near the scale of Soviet-era subsidies during the Cold War. Russia simply lacks both the resources and strategic bandwidth to rescue Cuba economically.

China, meanwhile, has become more important. Rather than providing open-ended subsidies, Beijing appears focused on strategic infrastructure and targeted assistance. The most significant involvement is in energy, with China financing and helping build dozens of solar parks while also modernising parts of Cuba’s electrical grid and telecommunications systems.

China has also extended loans, increased trade, supplied industrial equipment, and expanded Belt and Road cooperation with Cuba. But unlike the USSR during the ideological Cold War, modern China behaves far more commercially and pragmatically. It does not appear willing to pour in unlimited subsidies without meaningful reforms and repayment prospects.

Chinese support may help stabilise Cuba’s electricity supply, but it is probably insufficient on its own to reverse the island’s broader economic decline. Neither Russia nor China appears prepared to underwrite the Cuban economy indefinitely.

The hostility between the US and Cuba is historical. The two peoples themselves are not natural enemies.

The US naval base at Guantánamo Bay
The US still maintains the Guantánamo Bay Naval Base in Cuba. There was never any permanent transfer of sovereignty. Cuba technically retains ultimate sovereignty over the territory, but the United States obtained perpetual control and use of the area under agreements imposed after the Spanish–American War.

The story begins in 1898. During Cuba’s war of independence against Spain, the US intervened militarily after the explosion of the battleship USS Maine in Havana harbour. Spain was quickly defeated, and Cuba formally ceased being a Spanish colony.

Although Cuba became nominally independent in 1902, the US occupied the island militarily for several years and exercised enormous influence over the new republic.

A crucial mechanism was the Platt Amendment, which Washington forced Cuba to incorporate into its constitution as a condition for ending the occupation. The amendment gave the US broad rights to intervene in Cuban affairs and authorised it to obtain naval stations in Cuba.

Under this pressure, Cuba signed the 1903 Cuban–American Treaty, leasing Guantánamo Bay to the United States for use as a naval and coaling station.

Under the arrangement, the US obtained “complete jurisdiction and control” over the area. And Cuba was supposed to retain ultimate sovereignty in a formal legal sense. But the lease was effectively perpetual unless both governments (meaning the US!) agreed to terminate it. (The annual rent was originally set at USD2,000 in gold coins, later adjusted to about USD4,000 per year.)

After Fidel Castro came to power, the Cuban government declared the treaty illegitimate, arguing that it had been imposed under coercion during a period of overwhelming US domination.

Since 1959, Cuba has repeatedly demanded the return of Guantánamo. Of course, the US has refused, insisting the treaty remains legally valid. Cuba reportedly cashes almost none of the annual rent cheques sent by Washington, treating them as symbolic evidence of an invalid arrangement. (Fidel Castro once claimed that only one cheque had ever been accidentally deposited shortly after the revolution.)

Today, the base remains strategically important to the US. It is the country’s oldest overseas naval base. After the September 11 attacks, part of it became globally controversial as the site of the Guantánamo Bay detention camp for terrorism suspects.

To many Cubans and much of Latin America, Guantánamo remains a lingering symbol of an era when the US dominated Caribbean affairs. To Washington, it remains a lawful treaty-based military installation of strategic value.

A leopard cannot change its spots
The US is determined to vassalise Cuba, much like what it is attempting to do to Venezuela and Panama. To Trump, this may appear the perfect moment, with Cuba’s backer Russia weakened economically and militarily.

After the Xi-Trump summit in Beijing a couple of days ago, one might have expected Trump to show some humility. But true to the saying, a leopard cannot change its spots: he has quickly returned to bullying and threatening those he sees as weaker parties. And today, it is Cuba.

While the world discusses the deals that may or may not have been struck in Beijing, Xi probably understands that agreements with Trump are fundamentally transactional and temporary. Trump wants to show American voters that he has extracted concessions from China, but once the mid-term elections are over, Washington will likely revert to imposing fresh sanctions and restrictions. Indeed, the US has just announced the indictment of four major Chinese container manufacturers and several executives for allegedly “conspiring to restrict production and fix prices during and after the COVID-era supply chain crisis.” What a joke.

Trump even brought Jensen Huang to Beijing to encourage China to buy Nvidia chips. Yet almost immediately afterwards, Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick was again signalling that Washington had no intention of fully lifting semiconductor restrictions on China. He indicated that only lower-tier or specially modified Nvidia chips might be sold to selected Chinese firms under strict conditions. This Epstein pal still wants to have the cake and eat it too. China does not need these chips. (One wonders why none of Huawei’s bosses attended the state banquet.)

Why is Xi still humouring Trump?
I suspect Xi also believes Trump is one of the greatest gifts the American people have delivered to China. Chinese netizens nicknamed him “川建国” (Chuān Jiànguó) – combining “Trump” (川普, Chuānpǔ) with “nation builder” (建国, jiànguó) – humorously suggesting that Trump’s actions have unintentionally accelerated China’s rise. And perhaps Xi sees these gestures in Beijing as only a small price to pay.

The perception that “China is an enemy” has become so deeply rooted across both sides of the American political divide that Beijing probably cannot afford another Joe Biden at this point. Trump may simply be viewed as the lesser evil.

End