Luis Robert Jr. has made his stance clear: he won’t suit up for Team Cuba in the next World Baseball Classic unless all Cuban players-no matter where they live or how they left the island-are given the chance to represent their country.
It’s a powerful message from one of Cuba’s brightest baseball stars, and it speaks volumes about the ongoing tension between Cuban baseball tradition and the global stage it now finds itself on.
Robert was part of Cuba’s 2023 WBC squad, helping push the team to a semifinal appearance. He went 7-for-27 at the plate, drove in four runs, and scored twice-a solid showing in a tournament that marked Cuba’s return to the international spotlight.
But his participation wasn’t straightforward. It only happened because the Cuban Baseball Federation made a rare exception, loosening long-standing restrictions that had kept many of the island’s best players from ever wearing the national colors again.
For decades, Cuban baseball operated under strict rules shaped by politics as much as sport. Under Fidel Castro’s regime, athletes who left the island to pursue professional careers abroad were blacklisted, labeled traitors, and barred from returning. That policy forced many players to make dangerous escapes-risking their lives at sea for a shot at freedom and a future in Major League Baseball.
Take José Abreu, for example. In 2013, the former White Sox first baseman fled Cuba with five family members in a small boat, navigating treacherous waters and massive cargo ships during a 12-hour journey. It’s a story Abreu rarely talks about, but it underscores the kind of sacrifice players have made just to chase their dreams.
Over time, the talent drain became impossible to ignore. Yet for years, Cuban baseball officials refused to budge. Players who defected were still barred from the national team, and even those who weren’t seen as political threats were subject to an unwritten rule that prevented them from returning to the island for years-recently shortened from eight to five.
That changed, at least partially, in November of last year. The Cuban Baseball Federation reached out to a small group of MLB players, offering them a chance to represent their homeland in the WBC.
Four players accepted: Robert, Yoan Moncada, Roenis Elías, and Yoenis Céspedes. But the invitation list was limited, and some of the biggest names in Cuban baseball were left out entirely.
The decision to participate sparked backlash, especially from exiled former players and critics of the Cuban regime. Many pointed to the fact that professional sports were banned in Cuba in 1961, forcing athletes to survive on meager state salaries. For them, the national team has long been a symbol of propaganda-used by the government to project strength and unity while ignoring deeper social and political issues at home.
Now, Robert is drawing a line in the sand. He’s not just speaking for himself-he’s echoing the voices of countless Cuban players who’ve been shut out of the national program simply because of where they live or how they left.
“Until everyone is allowed to play, I won’t play for Team Cuba again,” Robert said in a recent interview.
It’s a bold move from a player in his prime, and it could put pressure on Cuban officials to further open the door to the diaspora of talent that has defined Cuban baseball for the past two decades. Whether or not the federation responds remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: if Cuba wants to field its best possible team in 2026, it’ll need to reckon with the reality that some of its best players no longer live within its borders-and haven’t for a long time.
Luis Robert Jr. isn’t just demanding change. He’s standing for a generation of Cuban players who’ve earned the right to wear their country’s jersey, no matter where they call home.