In the year of Fidel Castro's centennial, Cuban authorities seek to revive his legacy, yet many citizens prefer to bury it in oblivion. An 80-year-old Cuban woman stored away her photo with him in a drawer, replacing it with one of her granddaughter, mirroring a broader sense of shame and rejection.
The figure of Fidel Castro, who ruled Cuba for over half a century, is reaching its lowest point in popular opinion. Born in Birán, Holguín, in 1926, the revolutionary leader is now linked to hatred toward differences, revolutionary bravado, and contempt for dissent—traits that shaped Cuba's domestic policy and international diplomacy.
A personal story highlights this shift: Rita, an 80-year-old retired engineer, proudly displayed a photo with Castro in her living room for decades. Yet years ago, she replaced it with a portrait of her newborn granddaughter, and the faded snapshot ended up in a drawer. Facing more than ten hours of daily power outages, she now feels shame and annoyance upon seeing it, depicting the uniformed man pinning a medal on her.
Despite photos of him in government offices and calls to celebrate his centennial, most Cubans avoid mentioning his name, as if it were a spell that could bring him back. Few homes still show his images; 'This is your home, Fidel' posters linger only in memories, and diplomas bearing his signature are tucked away out of sight. Grandparents steer clear of talking about him, exiles swear they never supported him, and those named after him claim their parents honored a young deceased uncle instead. No one wants that bearded shadow over their lives.
A century on, Cubans aim to fully bury the man who sought to imprint himself on every second and millimeter of national life. He has become so irrelevant that he no longer appears even in everyday curses.
