“Dead people belong to the live people who claim them most obsessively.” -James Ellroy
In his 1950s trip through the socialist bloc, Gabriel García Márquez visited Lenin’s tomb. At the time Stalin’s corpse was on display, close by. The Colombian author was surprised at how ordinary most of Stalin’s body was, but equally surprised at how refined and delicate his hands were. He describes Stalin as having the hands of a woman. Both García Márquez and other observers have made the same comments about the hands of Fidel Castro. We will have to take their word for it, or examine the evidence through film or photos, because Fidel is one of few major Communist leaders not to be embalmed and placed on view. Lenin, Mao, Ho Chi Minh, Kim Il Sung, Kim Jong Il are still all on display. Stalin was removed from Lenin’s mausoleum and buried in the Kremlin in 1961. At least his hands will not meet the fate of Perón’s, which were sawed off in 1987 for a ransom (never paid) and to this day have never been recovered. Fidel’s delicate, feminine hands have been Cuba’s hands of fate for over six decades.
Nothing conjures up the term “the body politic” more than the embalmed corpses of great revolutionary leaders.
But Fidel has been cremated and buried at Santa Ifigenia cemetery in Santiago de Cuba, not far from Martí’s mausoleum. Yet his image is ubiquitous in the Cuban social imaginary, despite the fact that he was critical of personality cults and that there are no statues of him on the island, nor any image of him in Revolution Square, where Martí, Che, and Camilo form a kind of kitsch-Marxist trinity. That might soon change.
Fidel was the indisputable leader of Cuba for forty-seven years and a living revolutionary ghost for the last decade of his life. Marx and Marxists are fond of specters, particularly as metaphors. Maybe we need to distinguish between ghosts (which haunt us) and spirits (which guide and talk to us, especially those of the orishas which also dance with us). In his most celebrated writing, Marx and Engels spoke of the specter of communism haunting capitalism and Europe. What about Fidel? Was he a ghost or a spirit by the time he passed away? For many Cubans he was a ghost that haunted their past and present, a living specter of intolerance, persecution, and division—in short, a demon. For many others —if not more— he was the animating spirit (still speaking to us) of the Cuban Revolution, the Red Prince of social justice, the guardian angel of Latin American sovereignty.
Derrida, in his renowned work Specters of Marx, argues that specters, despite being animated by spirit, are different because they are visible. They have a body. One could say that specters have a body, where spirits inhabit bodies. At the most elementary level, the death of Fidel reveals the fragility of all human life, that even the most dedicated revolutionaries, even the most extraordinary leaders, even becoming a myth in your own lifetime does not exempt you from the ravages of time and death. And yet it was Fidel’s body as athletic, energetic, tireless that fed the popular imagination of Cuba that he was somehow “immortal”. He was often depicted playing baseball or basketball, but he loved deep-sea diving, soccer, track and field, and chess: he was an outdoorsy Robespierre. Recall that he was often referred to as “El Caballo,” known for his strength, stamina, perseverance, and sheer determination.
Artist José Angel Toirac certainly had this in mind when he depicted Fidel in fatigues and with a cigar in his mouth, mounting a horse with the Marlboro logo on the bottom. The other paintings in this series called “Nuevos Tiempos” include one of Fidel in his dark suit shaking hands with Pope John Paul II with Opium (Yves Saint Laurent) on top; a smiling Fidel with a newspaper headline revealing another (failed) plot to kill him, titled Obsession (Calvin Klein); and another of the Calvin Klein cologne Eternity that features a classic Fidel shot giving a speech with his right arm up and the index finger pointing out. In these works, similar to Chinese artist Wang Guangyi, Toirac combines the fire of militant imagery with the visual language of commodities. Toirac’s works perhaps suggest an underlying question: can revolutionary ideology become a commodity?
No doubt we have seen the commodification of Che Guevara but Fidel’s case was different. He became a revolutionary icon in life, not after death, like Che. As the leader of the Revolution and head of state, as Comandante en Jefe, Fidel quickly became a tireless and hands-on ruler, visiting schools, supervising building projects, inspecting factories, cajoling campesinos to produce more, asking questions about new technologies in a hospital, or trading jokes with foreign dignitaries. Much of this wound up on the evening news and so for Cubans, Fidel could turn up anywhere (and often did). Dressed in his well-pressed and snugly-fitting fatigues, combat boots, cap, often with a cigar, and an entourage that usually included a photographer, his bodily presence was as ubiquitous as air. The fact that he was 6’ 2” or 6’ 3” contributed to this ubiquity, since he towered over most Cubans.
Fidel was an extremely skillful politician, imbued with dazzling oratorical skills, as well as being a master manipulator of the media. He was probably the first modern revolutionary figure to handle the media, be it TV, radio, press, or one-on-one interviews, as if he had been doing it all his life. His ability to animate crowds at mass rallies with great ease was unparalleled.
His political dexterity was astounding, as he often would turn what seemed like a political problem to his advantage. Among his more significant political moments were the first speeches after the Revolution; the Literacy Campaign; the Bay of Pigs invasion; the Second Declaration of Havana; the building of internationally reputable education and health systems; an energetic promotion of culture and the arts; his role in the Non-Aligned movement; Cuba’s intervention in Angola which eventually led to the demise of apartheid; support for revolutionary movements in Central America; his insistence on the cancellation of Latin American debt in the 1980s; holding Cuba together during the Special Period; and the Elián González Affair.
Some of his not so memorable political decisions —by no means an exhaustive list— were the Cuban Missile Crisis (where we should be thankful that the Soviets had the ultimate say on pressing the nuclear button); the Great Revolutionary Offensive (which closed over 55,000 small businesses and put a real strain on the economy); his support for the Soviet intervention in Czechoslovakia (and later Afghanistan); the failed 10 million ton sugar harvest; the Agricultural Cordon around Havana; the Mariel boatlift crisis; the Balsero crisis; shooting down Hermanos al Rescate planes, which led to a tightening of the embargo (Helms-Burton bill); the Ochoa trial and execution; and the incarceration of 75 dissidents in 2003.
While Cuban state media might present a unified image of Fidel, like all historically significant figures, he embodied many different things. The first image is Fidel as the redeemer of the Cuban nation. This fits squarely with his image as nationalist icon, as well as someone who had delivered on the promises of Martí. Second comes Fidel as the voice of social justice and defender of the downtrodden, which not only has currency within the island, but globally as well. Third is Fidel as a man of the people, accessible to all and an implacable foe of the elites and imperialists. Fourth is Fidel as upholder of ideas of truth, justice, and social change. These concern issues of injustice, corruption, lack of health and education that have been cornerstones of the Revolution’s social policies. And finally, Fidel as guardian of the revolutionary process itself, as its leader from the very beginning.
For those whose politics are inimical to the Revolution, one can read these images with the opposite interpretation. First, Fidel as someone who has destroyed and divided the Cuban nation; second, as an undemocratic ruler who has only socialized misery; third, far from being a man of the people, he was a populist demagogue who talked about the people, but did little for them, while blaming all of Cuba’s problems on the U.S. and the bloqueo. And finally, instead of being an upholder of ideas and guardian of the Revolution, another interpretation might argue that Fidel has betrayed not only notions of truth, justice, and social change, but also betrayed the Revolution.
It makes no sense to say that the truth lies somewhere in the middle.
Which middle, a “leftist” one or a “rightist” one? Or one that tacks safely to the center, avoiding issues of why revolutions are not perfect, or, even worse, why revolutions have to be perfect (or else they’re worthless)? It is more than annoying that critics of Cuba (from right, center, and left) expect it to be something greater than what the USSR or China were able to accomplish (or not) without the labor force, resources, industrial development, scientific achievements, or technical infrastructure of either. Or conversely, to castigate Cuba for not being a full-blown parliamentary democracy, which it has no intentions of being. (This does not mean we cannot point out that there are certain political and civic freedoms lacking in Cuba, but that we need to explore and use the word democracy more carefully, especially when many automatically associate it with capitalism. The recent U.S. election and the Electoral College, plus the fact that many ex-felons are expunged from voter lists should caution us about giving lessons in democracy to Cuba or anyone else).
Though this had been happening long before Fidel’s death, Cuba has been drifting away from its “heroic era.” Although the events of the Revolution are often described in sacrificial or heroic terms, Cuba seems to have left behind this phase. It reminds me of Brecht’s “Galileo,” where Andrea says “Unhappy is the land that breeds no hero”, to which Galileo responds “No, Andrea. Unhappy is the land that needs a hero.” I quote this passage form Brecht when I talk to my students about Cuba to explain that the Revolution has gone beyond the heroics of Che, Camilo, and Fidel; I explain that the country has become more “normal” and that one cannot view Cuba either positively or negatively through the prism of one individual. Is this what the Spanish newspaper “El País” was referring to in its headline “Murió Fidel Castro El Último Revolucionario” (Fidel Castro Died, The Last Revolutionary)? What does it mean to say that Fidel was the last revolutionary? Of the 20th century? Are there no revolutionaries in the 21st century? The headline seems to be the epitome of TINA (there is no alternative).
Fidel’s fate and legacy are intertwined with that of Che. Will Cuban pioneros in the future chant “Somos pioneros del comunismo, seremos como el Che y Fidel”? Che is the spirit of the revolution, Fidel is the body. Che is bone, Fidel is ash. Fidel is nationalism, attachment to the soil. Che is internationalism, attachment to an ideal. Both were men of action, but Che had a more theoretical bent, whereas Fidel was enmeshed in being a man of state. Fidel was always aware of his mortality, and tempered his spirit of sacrifice with a certain pragmatism; Che was a mystic of revolution, always aware of death, almost inviting it. Fidel was a warrior, but as a statesman he had to pick his battles within international constraints. He was a son of Elegguá and Changó. Che was a warrior in ever-vigilant mode. Imperialism, like New York City, never sleeps. But he had a reckless side, like Oggún. Che was a communist in the purest sense of the word; no compromises, create one, two, three many Vietnams. Fidel was more focused on a victory that could be won (Angola, South Africa); though he was aware of realpolitik he was no Brezhnev with a beard. Fidel was keenly aware that politics was a performance art and he practiced it like few political figures in history. Che, while aware of the of the performative nature of politics, was an apostle of authenticity, impelled towards a politics of pure action.
“I will have more to say when I’m dead.”
Fidel is now, literally speaking, the embodiment of Cuban history. His ashes will lie close to Martí at the Santa Ifigenia cemetery in Santiago de Cuba. None of this is coincidence. (One can imagine a Cuban future where his detractors will want to remove those ashes as far away from Martí as possible). Critics will say that his dead body symbolizes the death of the Revolution and that his physical decay over the last decade was symbolic of the decay of the Cuban Revolution. While one can understand the attractiveness of these analogies, we have to be careful with them because they lack historical depth. Invoking the definition of spirit, the words of Edwin Arlington Robinson might seem appropriate: “I will have more to say when I’m dead.” Like it or not, Fidel will keep speaking to us, if only because injustice, racism, sexism, homophobia, and exploitation are still with us.
Featured image by KJ based upon a 1950s photo of Fidel Castro.