Cuba: Raul Castro, 95, Is Still Alive and in Command
HAVANA TIMES – No, this isn’t a trailer for the next Universal Studios movie, set against the backdrop of ancient Egypt. It’s reality—or at least the version of reality that Cuban state television decided to show us last Saturday.
Raul Castro, our beloved 95-year-old Generalissimo, has risen from the dead. Or rather, he has reappeared, because, as we well know, in Cuba no one from the top military brass ever dies; they simply change uniforms.
It turns out that the usual suspicious minds in Miami and on social media had been spreading some rather inconvenient rumors: that Raul had suffered a stroke, that he was on life support, that he was already keeping his brother Fidel company in the pantheon of national heroes, with another boulder piled on top.
Of course, in the absence of an official medical report—because transparency isn’t exactly the custom on the island—the popular imagination took off as usual, with echoes from the other side of the Florida Straits.
But the regime, true to form, wasn’t about to let a trivial matter like the death of its supreme leader ruin the 65th anniversary of the Interior Ministry’s Personal Security Directorate. No sir, something had to be done, and done it was.
The state newscast showed us footage of a military ceremony, and there was Raul, in his inseparable olive-green uniform, whether held together with pins or propped up no one could say, trying to walk energetically and delivering some of his favorite slaps on the back—the hard kind, the kind that can leave a hole in your back—just so you can feel his energy and power, and the most naïve might believe it’s a sign of affection.
The military officers, like the good professionals they are, cheered him fervently, and everything would have seemed normal if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve seen the script for this theatrical production before.
Cubans, who are no longer so easily fooled, quickly took to social media to point out the inconsistencies. The first detail that stood out was the handpicked president Miguel Diaz-Canel.
The president appeared in the video at a weight he hadn’t been seen at in months. Reliable sources—meaning X users with plenty of time on their hands—recalled that Diaz-Canel has lost several kilos in recent months, probably because of the stress of having Donald Trump breathing down his neck and an economic crisis that gives him no respite. Seeing him suddenly so cheerful and plump raised the first suspicions: either the video was old or he was using a double.
But it’s none of that. It’s the usual staging when the rumors have been circulating for too many days, and they bring out the mummy just so the US Empire knows he’s still here.
It’s no secret that Raul Castro’s health is treated as a matter of national security, and that he cannot be shown convalescing because that would be seen as a sign of weakness before the giant to the north.
But the purpose of this farce was not so much to convince ordinary Cubans as the regime’s “enemies.” Specifically, the US government, because you don’t have to be a genius to understand the message: “Look, we’re still here. The General is still standing. You can forget about invading us or celebrating my death.”
The paradox is that the spectacle seemed so forced that it was almost a parody of itself. It was as though they were trying to reassure the world by displaying a mummy and saying, “Look, it’s alive, don’t be afraid,” when what they really demonstrate is a deep fear and an institutional fragility that requires clinging to a 95-year-old man to serve as its public face.
And while Raul Guillermo Rodríguez Castro, known as “El Cangrejo” (The Crab), became emotional on camera, the message was clear: it doesn’t matter whether the video is from 2026 or 2016. What matters is the idea of continuity, that the old leader remains in command, even if only in the form of a frozen image.
Grandpa couldn’t miss the tribute to those who perform the same personal security job as his favorite grandson, and it mattered little that, despite everything, he looked frail amid the applause and cheers of those summoned for the pantomime.
He didn’t even speak publicly. His message was read by someone else—Interior Minister Lazaro Alberto Alvarez Casas—perhaps to keep the seams of this puppet from showing.
Incidentally, the text made no reference to the formal accusation filed in the United States on May 20 over the 1996 shootdown of two small aircraft belonging to a Cuban exile organization and the deaths of their four crew members.
Washington has said it wants to bring him before a court, which has revived fears that an operation might be carried out to capture him like the one involving Nicolás Maduro in Venezuela, but in the Caribbean’s Narnia, it’s as if none of this exists.
In the end, Raul Castro’s umpteenth reappearance since officially stepping down as president is more a declaration of principles than evidence of vitality.
It confirms that, in Cuba, fiction and reality merge into a single narrative of power, because the rumors about his deteriorating health are not actually refuted with transparency, as would be logical in any other country. Here, they are refuted with an act of magic—or video editing.
The curtain went up, the curtain came down, but did they manage to reassure their enemies? Probably not. They, like most Cubans, know that time is relentless and that not even the most vigorous applause in a video can stop it. But in the meantime, the show must go on.
And if that means dusting off old film footage or calling in a stunt double, so be it. After all, the sacred Revolution isn’t going to stop for something as trivial as biology.