Much the same might be said about Cuba’s economy. In the five decades that followed the 1959 revolution, more than 90 percent of the nation’s retail outlets were shuttered, as calculated by Joseph L. Scarpaci, the co-author of Marketing Without Advertising: Brand Preference and Consumer Choice in Cuba. In lieu of shopping, consumers were offered the libreta, a rationing booklet, to acquire basic food supplies and brandless household staples through state-run distribution centers. But because the libreta could not cover all needs—despite the communist party line—“over time, it came to symbolize not only a culture of equality but also one of scarcity and inefficiency,” writes Julia E. Sweig, a senior research fellow at the University of Texas at Austin’s Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs.

After assuming the presidency in 2008, Raul Castro initiated a series of economic reforms in an attempt to slim down the public sector, liberalize the sale of homes and cars, and spur entrepreneurship in sundry fields, from shoe repair to souvenirs to pizza stands. Notably—from the perspective of consumer activity and tourism—these efforts spawned a bump in casas particulares, or bed-and-breakfast lodging, and paladares, or in-home restaurants.

“But they don’t advertise,” says Kirby Jones, the president of Alamar Associates, a U.S.-based consulting firm that specializes in Cuban trade. “You have the service industry—particularly barbers, seamstresses, tutors, plumbers, construction people—all who are coming out of the closet and the woodwork to do their own business. They compete against each other. But they don’t advertise.”

Now, during Barack Obama’s landmark visit to Cuba—the first by an American president in nearly a century—there is hope on the island for further diplomatic reforms, including an end to the U.S. embargo. It is unclear whether the government would even consider easing the restrictions on advertising amid the broader normalization of U.S. relations. Some experts think that’s unlikely. But Cubans themselves speak hopefully of a moment of change that may well be at hand, but it is one that leaves thousands of small businesses in the communist nation facing an enduring capitalist challenge: how exactly to get the word out.

“You never know what is sold in our country, in Havana, just a few blocks away from where you live,” gripes one Cuban I talked to, the owner of a small bakery. Yarmila, a veteran freelance designer I spoke to, concurs: “Out in the world, the traditional media doesn’t work,” she says, referring to a common complaint among the world’s advertisers that there’s too much clutter and not enough credibility for messages delivered via TV or billboard. “And here, we don’t have traditional media.”

The statement that there is no advertising allowed in Cuba is at once technically apt, if meaningfully imprecise. Certainly, there is no advertising to be found on billboards—only propagandistic edicts like “Socialism or Death!” as appearing on one roadside sign on the highway from Jose Marti airport to Havana. There is no advertising on television, either, save for the occasional government-sponsored public service announcement that might bookend—but would never interrupt—a program. Historically, too, there has been no advertising in newspapers and only one FM station, Radio Taino, reportedly hosts promotional spots.

“According to the constitution, the media cannot be used against the system, and advertising is capitalism, which goes against the system,” explains Yoan Karell Acosta Gonzalez, a professor at the University of Havana. He pulls a booklet out of a backpack and flips to Article 53, which protects freedom of speech and the press “within the objectives of socialist society.”