Cuba 1958

I remember it like the day before yesterday, Cuba 1958. Batista,
the corrupt dictator, had fled, but this was revenge time and
many of his collaborators were rounded up and shot; and what
often happens on such occasions, there were onlookers cheering
and having their bloodlust satiated.
 
There was one man holding a panama hat in his left hand,
refusing to wear a blindfold or have his hands tied behind his back.
On top of some steps he stood against a white wall, ready, but
there was a hesitation; waved his hat to the weary executioners.
A volley of fire, blood trickled down the steps, deep red, rich.
 
They put the body in a coffin, but there was silence, one man’s
courage had shamed onlookers and soldiers into pensive silence.
The revolution didn’t matter anymore, but human dignity did…

Is this all, does nothing change?
Have we just ended one dictator
with another one in the name of the people?