For sixty-six years, the assets Cuba seized from American companies after Fidel Castro's revolution have existed in a kind of legal purgatory—acknowledged as stolen, never recovered, occasionally weaponized in diplomatic negotiations but never seriously litigated. The Supreme Court just ended that stasis.
In a decision that aligns technical statutory interpretation with geopolitical consequence, the Court ruled that Exxon Mobil may proceed with its lawsuit against the Cuban government over oil refineries and other properties nationalized in 1960. The case turns on the Foreign Sovereign Immunities Act and whether Cuba's expropriation falls within its exceptions, but the implications extend far beyond one energy company's balance sheet.
The legal mechanics
Cuba had argued it was immune from suit under the general principle that foreign governments cannot be hauled into American courts. Exxon countered that the FSIA's expropriation exception applies when property is taken in violation of international law and the foreign state engages in commercial activity in the United States. The Court agreed with Exxon, finding sufficient nexus in Cuba's ongoing commercial dealings—however limited—to strip sovereign immunity.
The ruling does not guarantee Exxon will collect a dime. Cuba has no meaningful assets in the United States to seize, and Havana will presumably default rather than participate in litigation it considers illegitimate. But the judgment itself matters: it establishes precedent, quantifies damages on the public record, and creates leverage.
The queue behind Exxon
Exxon's claim is substantial—analysts have estimated the seized properties' modern value in the hundreds of millions—but it is hardly unique. The Foreign Claims Settlement Commission certified nearly six thousand American claims against Cuba decades ago, collectively valued at roughly $1.9 billion in 1960 dollars. Adjusted for interest and inflation, that figure balloons into the tens of billions.
If other claimants follow Exxon's path, Cuba faces a cascade of judgments that would complicate any future normalization of relations. The Obama-era thaw required careful choreography around these claims; the Trump and Biden administrations largely shelved the issue. Now the courts have reopened it unilaterally.
Havana's options
Cuba can ignore the ruling, which it almost certainly will. It can continue to argue that American sanctions, not Cuban policy, are the true obstacle to resolution. It can wait for a future administration willing to negotiate a global settlement that extinguishes claims in exchange for diplomatic and economic concessions.
But waiting has costs. Every year the judgments accumulate, the political price of a deal rises. And every year American claimants age out, their heirs less emotionally invested but no less legally entitled.
Our take
The Court's ruling is legally defensible and strategically awkward. It hands future presidents a heavier anchor to drag into any Cuba negotiation, while offering current claimants a symbolic victory they cannot cash. The Cold War ended thirty-five years ago; its property disputes, apparently, did not.
