A Strongman’s Last Ride: Capturing the Funerals of Fidel Castro
Perhaps one of the most controversial moments I have ever had the opportunity of photographing was the period of national mourning following the days after the passing of Fidel Castro. It all took place from the moment of his death until his funeral processions went from Havana to his final resting place in Santiago de Cuba.
Many people —mainly with the idea that doing that job was a way of paying tribute to him— think that I should not have photographed those days. Others —having the strong thought that he was the greatest thing ever to happen to Cuba— believe that he had to be paid such “tribute” and more.
In my opinion, both sides are completely wrong. Photographing the days following any dictator’s death is a moral obligation for anyone owning a camera and having basic knowledge or experience in documentary photography. It is not about deciding to photograph the event because you liked the man, nor is it about opting out of doing it for the opposite reason.
First Reactions
Despite his advanced age, his death came to all by surprise. He had been out of office for over ten years, and although he still held a fair amount of clout in Cuba, his protagonism had been dwindling. At first, many felt shocked, and there was even a sense of sadness even among many who hated the man —every death, including that of an enemy’s— involves some sort of mourning, particularly if in their vision the deceased has not atoned for his sins.
Castro was polarizing, but even within this polarization, there were too many layers to peel off the onion. Between those who cried for his death like that of a dear and close relative, and those who celebrated it like winning the lottery, there was a sea of people with mixed feelings. However, it is clear that the vast majority of people felt surprised.
The first two days there was a sensation of shock and uncertainty. He had been the face of Cuba (for better or for worse) for over fifty years. He had also dominated the sociopolitical landscape within the country and among its community of exiles, most of whom had left the island precisely because of him, his actions, his policies and his politics.
So, it was common sense that the first day of mourning was voluntary. People did not want to be caught playing music and be judged for it or even get into trouble. The public acted more out of caution and prudence than they did out of genuine sadness or respect. Even local private bars were closed the day after his death was announced. The possibility of being informed on by your neighbor was a frightening one; and everyone, all the time, had the feeling of being watched by someone ready to report to the authorities that they were “celebrating the death of our beloved Comandante en Jefe”.
A private bar in Holguín shows a sign stating they were not selling alcohollic beverages until further notice.|Credit Reynaldo Cruz Diaz
Years later, a friend told me something that essentially summarizes how different generations reacted to his passing. His parents, he told me, reacted with sadness, tears and despair. He was shocked, but not sad, nor unconsolable. His daughter said, “Well, at least we might see some change now.” The change she (as well as many others) was hoping for would not come, at least not in the status quo, and hasn’t come to this date.
Many private business owners, maybe scared of possible repercussions, displayed Cuban flags and photos of Fidel Castro outside their homes.|Credit: Reynaldo Cruz Diaz
Shortly after, the government imposed a national mourning state that included half-staff flags, cancelation of sports and cultural events, prohibition to carry out any type of celebration (birthdays, quinceañeras, weddings), and the prohibition of selling alcohol or consuming it in public. This decree and its enforcement would lead to some arrests, as people’s plans—many of which had involved wasted money on rented venues or bought food that would go bad—would be placed on hold.
Production was the other front that would be compromised: following his death, the government of his brother Raúl Castro would organize a wave of nation-wide tributes. Such included people coming to a designated place in every city and town where they could come to look at his picture, bring flowers, and pay their respects. Those instructed to do so, would wait hours in line, skipping work for a whole morning or afternoon, just to look at a photograph.
Dissidents and political activists were either targeted for tight surveillance or arrested.
Media Coverage
Right after the mourning was declared, media coverage became massive and constant. There was not a single media outlet in Cuba that was covering anything but the Castro funeral and the tributes to him. Hours of camera time, newsroom time, turned into long days of incessant work.
You would think that the only media involved in this would be the government-run outlets, but the reality was different. Alternative media from the country —which had then been on the rise— and foreign media credited to operate in Cuba took deep dives into the impact of Fidel Castro on the nation he ruled for so long. The communist newspapers and stations spent countless hours digging up stories about his “greatness”, his “kindness”, his “intelligence”, using recycled features and interviews of people who had had feel-good experiences with him.
Interviews were posted, one after the other, both online and on national television. Celebrities of all fields (music, arts, literature, sports, science) were placed on camera and questioned on their one time talking to Fidel, or that other one time when Fidel saved their careers from going downhill and disappearing. What many failed to understand or comprehend was the fact that Fidel’s regime and the Communist system were both responsible for putting those people in the situations he would later save them from.
Normally critical to the government, alternative media threaded carefully, and so did most of the foreign media accredited in the country. While not supportive of Castro, many simply focused on the newsworthy part of the tribute he was being given.
As a photographer, I shot, shot, shot and shot. The distance from the place where he was being paid tribute in my city, the Provincial History Museum “La Periquera”, was a seven-to-ten-minute walk from my newsroom. At the time, I was shooting with two cameras and lenses that, although not too powerful, helped me get a wide range of distance and angles. Sometimes I carried one, sometimes I carried both.
The drill was to never leave the place unmanned. Whenever there was no other photographer, I had to stay. Then, when someone else showed up, I would go back to the newsroom, download, edit, recharge my batteries (both, the cameras’ and my own personal batteries), have something to eat and drink, and get back in the game.
It was a long week.
The True Day of Action
Of course, we were all bracing for the passing of the funeral procession through our city. The fact that the Castro brothers had both been born in the province of Holguín always provoked a sense of chauvinistic ego among local Communist Party Leaders, and they wanted a top-notch coverage of the moment when it happened. So, all media photographers and several volunteers grabbed our cameras and were placed on strategic spots of the Carretera Central (Central or Main Road), which goes from Santiago de Cuba to Havana, and which was going to be the path the procession would take.
My crew got to our spot, the cloverleaf that welcomes people coming from Bayamo to the city, at 11am. We looked like a small military squad after being dropped off a helicopter, as our backpacks, tripods, and cameras resembled full military gear. After a thorough inspection of the place (we were the only ones there at the time), we all got to different locations to secure the photos that the powers-that-be had requested us take. My task was to use my vantage point, atop the cloverleaf, to capture an aerial photo of the Russian UAZ jeep pulling the cart with Castro’s coffin. To be able do that, I had to stand on my spot for as long as it was necessary to be able to photograph the moment in which they drove by.
My position was a coveted one, because I had an aerial view of the road, aiming almost exactly at the center, and many foreign photographers who showed up a few hours later wanted it for themselves. It was an unusual position, a vantage point that few were going to have, or would think of. So, I stood there, in the sun, for way longer than I could normally have in different circumstances.
I economized water, not to save water per se, but to avoid finding myself in the need of going to the bathroom, hence giving up my position. I had worn a t-shirt under my long-sleeved shirt to keep the humidity of my first sweat in it and have it cool me off, thus preventing dehydration. It was a game of endurance.
The shoot itself was hectic and random. We had been informed that the caravan would be driving through at around 3:00pm, but 4pm came, then 5pm, and nothing. It was way past five when we spotted the helicopter giving live media coverage to the funeral procession, probably half a mile away. I spied the caravan on the road in the distance, bad lighting already making an impact.
When the sun is about to set, it sets fast. Light was changing almost with every second, and, on top of it all, the caravan was moving way too fast. The problem was that there had been too many delays because artistic performances with tribute songs or the National Anthem had made the procession stop. Therefore, at the time of passing through the city of Holguín, they were already running late. So late that they were speeding through the road.
I realized that my window to take a good photo was slim. So slim that I needed to make sure that the first shot in the burst I was going to use had to be the best. Four frames per second was not fast enough to capture what I needed to capture, even with a vertical angle. Moreover, I also realized that there was no sunlight in the area: the elevation on the left (which is where the sun was coming from) and the very cloverleaf kept any direct sun from hitting the road, the people or the UAZ.
I knew that, shooting manual, my photo was going to come out a little darker than I wanted. I also knew, judging by the speed, that I had to bring my ISO as high as possible if I wanted to have a decent shutter speed to capture the image and freeze the moment. That, in turn, would create a lot of noise in the picture, something that all photographers dread, mainly while doing media coverage. In addition, the lens I had was a Tamron 18-200mm f/3.5-6.3 Di II VC, which constantly narrows the aperture as you zoom in. I shot at f/8 and 1/1000 seconds, with a 3200 ISO.
Fortunately, post-production exists, and I was going to be able to fix some of it afterwards. The downside, however, was that even with post-production, there was very little chance that I was going to be able to eliminate all the grain.
I was also lucky enough to be carrying two cameras and two lenses at the time. The settings for the T3 and the 75-300mm lens were those of better sunlight (which was going to be hitting the procession once they came out to the other side of the cloverleaf). So, I also shot some others, in this case horizontally, of the back of the coffin, and I managed to capture Fidel Castro’s full name in the back of the coffin containing his ashes. Some of those photos would end up being published in the newspaper the following day.
Final Thoughts
Despite the ire some people may feel about the photos, and the hatred many of them can feel for Castro, I have no regrets about having done my best to capture these historic moments. It is always a matter of perception and opinion, and you cannot let any of them keep you from doing a good job, not if you are a photojournalist and want to be a good one.
Following the weeks, I reflected upon what had transpired during those days. I also reflected on the impact Castro had had in reshaping the political landscape in the region, and completely upending the country when he took over. Totalitarianism, as dangerous and as apparently strong as it is, always finds its vulnerability with death. Despite insinuations (by himself and by his blind supporters) that he was larger than life, Castro had just been a mere mortal.
Capturing evidence of that, more than serving as a praise to his “greatness”, is just proof that he was no better than anyone. The fake blanket of his “legacy” vanishes with the passing of years. Many who felt certain admiration or respect for him at some point feel disappointment and sick to their stomachs when looking back and seeing with unbiased eyes all the damage that he caused. Therefore, that moment, that photo, becomes something I am increasingly proud of.
After all, our duty as photographers is to document life events as they unfold.
Me standing at the right spot, looking back to face a fellow photographer as he captured this image.|Credit: Carlos Rafael Diaz
