Cuba's history is rich in frustrated hopes. A Spanish colony for almost 400 years, it gained its independence in 1898, three quarters of a century after its Latin American neighbours, and only then partly through the intervention of the US. For another 60 years it was something of an American protectorate, often ruled by thuggish and corrupt politicians and military men, the last of whom, Fulgencio Batista, was finally ousted in 1958.

Fidel Castro, the young politician turned guerrilla fighter who succeeded him, promised his people "bread and freedom without terror" but quickly revealed an unlimited appetite for power.

The result was the first full-dress Communist regime in the Western hemisphere, complete with militarisation of the economy, rationing, collective farms, neighbourhood spy networks and all the stylistic trimmings, including red flags, portraits of Marx and Lenin, and the goose-step for youth brigades. At its peak, Castro's influence, financed by Moscow to the tune of about R44 billion a year, extended to Latin America, Africa and the Middle East.

From bad to worse
Since the disappearance of the Soviet Union, however, things haven't been quite the same. The country's global reach has drastically shrunk. And despite an opening to tourism, remittances from Cubans abroad and (lately) deeply discounted sales of oil from Venezuelan strongman Hugo Chávez, Cuba has yet to recover the extremely modest living standard it enjoyed in 1989, the last year of full subsidies from the Soviet Union. It is no longer possible for Havana residents to drink water from the tap; some must wait for government tankers to make their rounds.

Ration books for food and other basic necessities rarely last longer than the third week of the month. Almost no new housing has been built in nearly a half century. The country's road system is full of potholes; buses run so infrequently that Cubans waste hours, sometimes even days, waiting for them.

Hospitals give priority to foreigners, who can pay in dollars. Many doctors and dentists have been dispatched to Venezuela, Bolivia or African countries to earn hard currency for their government. Despite having trained 7000 veterinarians and 11000 agronomists, Cuba – an island once known for exporting foodstuffs – is far from able to feed itself.

Waiting for better times
Cubans on the island and Cubans who have fled the dictatorship – more than a million strong – have been waiting many years for Castro's death and the end of his regime. One assumption common to the two communities is that with Fidel Castro's disappearance, the suffocating political authoritarianism and top-down economic controls will be relaxed, and the country will gradually evolve towards a more open society, perhaps with normal relations with its neighbours and, in particular, with the US.

The Cuban exile community, based largely in southern Florida, nourishes more ambitious dreams – having succeeded brilliantly in its country of adoption, it talks of investing, even massively, in the island and playing an active role in its reconstruction.

But the two halves of the Cuban family have been separated for a half-century. It may not be easy to reconcile conflicting visions or bridge the gap between radically different historical experiences.

Expectations could be dampened
Fidel Castro has often boasted that his revolution has taken such deep root among his people that it will easily outlast him. But his actions betray his words; far from grooming another generation of younger leaders, he chose as his successor his brother, General Raúl Castro, who was vice-president of the Council of State, second-secretary of the Cuban Communist party, Defence Minister and in charge of the Ministry to the Interior, in which capacity he controlled Cuba's military, police and prisons. Because the armed forces administer the island's tourist industry, this meant that Raúl Castro controlled one of the country's most productive enterprises.

If his health endures – Raúl Castro is said to be a heavy drinker and suffer from liver ailments – he can look forward to perhaps a decade of power on his own. His challenge, perhaps a big one, will be to dampen the expectations of change that his people are known to harbour.

If a seamless transition from one Castro to another is one scenario, at the other end of the spectrum there is speculation, particularly in Miami, that Fidel Castro's disappearance will unleash a massive uprising against the regime, perhaps even a civil war. These projections are mostly wishful thinking; after nearly 50 years of Communist rule and Fidel Castro's repeated purges of potential rivals, there are no leaders capable of provoking such an event, much less leading it. Special military formations trained to squelch demonstrations have done so more than once.

The dissident movement, though growing in size and quality, is deeply divided and infiltrated by the police. The willingness of the US to take unhappy Cubans – under the 1994 migration agreements it now accepts a floor of 20000 each year – acts as a safety valve for the regime. Potential rebels either languish in jail or opt to leave.

Cuba open to influences
A third scenario would follow the Chinese path, which is to say, an economic opening to foreign, particularly US, investment while keeping a firm lid on political expression. Raúl Castro is sometimes said to favour this solution. It already exists on a small scale in the tourist industry, much of which is financed in joint ventures with European or Mexican investors.

But Cuba is not China; it is culturally exceptionally porous, open to influences from Spain, Mexico and the US. Unlike China, in Cuba the political spinoffs of economic liberalisation would probably be impossible to contain. Even Venezuela – with whom Cuba now has intimate relations and whose president is a relentless if somewhat unimpressive candidate to be Fidel Castro's successor on the world scene – remains by Cuban standards a dangerously open society with a contentious press and competing political parties.

But even if Raúl Castro consolidates his political succession, at 75, what will happen after his death? Where would the regime look for leadership? Could Cuba come to resemble an Eastern European country during the Cold War, with faceless bureaucrats serving the all-powerful secretary-general? It is unlikely. With all its Communist trimmings, Cuba is still very much a Latin American country, where personalities are more important than parties.

Perhaps for this very reason the Cuban media have lately begun to feature articles on Fidel Castro Díaz-Balart, a nuclear physicist and former head of the Cuban atomic energy agency, and Antonio Castro, a surgeon. Both are sons of the dictator by different mothers. The dynasty, like the Somozas in Nicaragua, may extend to the next generation.

Problematic relationships
Cuba's relations with the US have always been intensive and often problematic. Although the island enjoyed considerable prosperity before 1958, thanks to the US-Cuban Reciprocity Treaty of 1934, which assured the sale of its sugar crop to the US at artificially high prices, it never achieved political maturity on its own, and Washington often took a hand – without much success – in trying to straighten out its internal life.

Castro's decision to ally his country with a mortal enemy of his northern neighbour was a high-risk strategy that led to the missile crisis in 1962 and poisoned relations ever since. Much of US-Cuban relations since Castro came to power can be understood as a contest to see which side will have the last word before history.

Washington has its own best-case scenario for Cuba, one in which it wakes up one morning to find an island version of Costa Rica, Chile or Uruguay – sophisticated Latin American democracies – floating off the coast of Florida. It has plans to assist a presumably pro-American, democratic Cuban government to reconstruct the country, should such a government emerge. President George W. Bush has even appointed a special commission for this purpose, which has recommended a range of pro-democracy programmes that the US would fund at between $60 million and $80 million (R440 million and R580 million).

An uncertain future
In effect, US policy leapfrogs over the immediate future. Meanwhile, it fears unrest on the island almost as much as the continuation of the Communist regime, since that would lead to a massive migration crisis, swamping public facilities in Florida and other areas of the American Southeast. Thus its current policy emphasises punitive measures – trade embargoes, aggressive diplomacy and public pronouncements, none of which is likely to bring about serious change in Cuba.

Western Europe, Canada and much of Latin America have long complained that US policy was excessively negative; lift the trade embargoes and engage constructively with the Cuban government, they have often advised, and the relaxation of tensions will lead to inevitable change on the island. Unfortunately, just such a policy has already been tried by Spain, Mexico and Canada without budging Fidel Castro an inch. How his brother would respond to such initiatives remains to be seen.

Much of Fidel Castro's appeal to Cubans has been his ability to convince them that he held the eventual key to the solution to all their problems. Over nearly five decades, he failed to deliver on his promises, but he has apparently never fully lost credibility with the vast majority who remained on the island. For them he remains a hero, the great vindicator of their nationality.

Now, going forward, Cubans must face their future alone, either with the Castro dynasty in one form or another still in charge, or sailing towards an unknown and unknowable destination.