Un saludo a todos. Estas palabras no buscan votos, sino ofrecer una reflexión a quien desee acompañarme en ella.
Vivir con fidelidad a las propias convicciones suele traer consigo momentos de incomprensión e incluso de conflicto. Sin embargo, el regocijo íntimo de permanecer fiel a uno mismo no tiene precio. Este principio, que aplico a mi vida, me parece que contiene una verdad más amplia, capaz de proyectarse sobre el cuerpo colectivo de los pueblos.
Desde hace ya muchos años, no soplan vientos favorables para nuestra América en su conjunto. Lo digo con la perspectiva de quien ha tenido el privilegio, o tal vez la condena, de recorrer diversos rincones de este continente. He visto la resistencia silenciosa en viviendas humildes, con paredes de cartón y esperanza de barro, y también he caminado, con asombro, por mansiones opulentas que nunca pensé pisar. Alguien dijo que "la vida es loca", y quizás esa locura me permitió contemplar los abismales extremos en los que habitan los hijos e hijas de esta tierra.
Esta desigualdad no nace de la nada. Desde tiempos inmemoriales, los seres humanos luchan por sus ideales en su propio terreno, buscando soluciones a sus contradicciones. Existen conflictos casi centenarios, heridas que aún supuran y que claman por una salida viable, nacida del diálogo entre quienes, a pesar de pensar distinto, comparten un mismo suelo. La clave está en esa premisa: deben ser los coterráneos, los que comparten la historia y el territorio, quienes encuentren la salida a sus propias diferencias. No puede ser un forastero quien, con actitud prepotente, se erija en juez y parte, sintiendo el poder de hacer y deshacer en un territorio ajeno como si fuera su feudo particular.
África y América son las regiones que más han padecido este flagelo. No se necesita ser un erudito para verlo. La pérdida forzosa de la autonomía y la soberanía de una nación es un acto de violencia equiparable, en el plano individual, a la humillación sistemática que busca arrebatar la dignidad de una persona. Las sociedades, como los individuos, pueden estar o no de acuerdo internamente; si no lo están, su deber es luchar por lo que creen correcto, demostrando con argumentos y acciones que su camino es viable. Es un proceso doloroso, pero propio. Lo que nunca debería ocurrir es que un actor externo irrumpa para imponer "su orden" y resolver "a su manera" los problemas ajenos. En ese instante, la comunidad violentada pierde algo fundamental: su autonomía, su derecho a decidir, a equivocarse, a aprender y, en definitiva, a ser.
Esto, lamentablemente, se ha vuelto una costumbre arraigada entre los poderosos. Una práctica cínica que opera bajo una lógica perversa: "Entro, hago lo que me place, y si alguien se queja, respondo con bombas o con sanciones". Es la negación misma de la diplomacia y el respeto. Frente a esto, la defensa de la soberanía no es un nacionalismo rancio, sino la extensión colectiva de aquel principio personal con el que empecé: la dignidad de decidir el propio camino, con los propios errores y aciertos, es un espacio sagrado que ningún poder externo tiene derecho a profanar. Defenderla es, en esencia, defender nuestro derecho a ser nosotros mismos, en toda nuestra complejidad y lucha.
Acá dejo la letra de una de las canciones que han marcado época en la Trova Cubana.
El necio
Canción de Luis Eduardo Aute y Silvio Rodríguez ‧ 1994
Letra
Para no hacer de mi ícono pedazos
Para salvarme entre únicos e impares
Para cederme un lugar en su Parnaso
Para darme un rinconcito en sus altares
Me vienen a convidar a arrepentirme
Me vienen a convidar a que no pierda
Mi vienen a convidar a indefinirme
Me vienen a convidar a tanta mierda
Yo no se lo que es el destino
Caminando fui lo que fui
Allá Dios, que será divino
Yo me muero como viví
Yo me muero como viví
Yo quiero seguir jugando a lo perdido
Yo quiero ser a la zurda más que diestro
Yo quiero hacer un congreso del unido
Yo quiero rezar a fondo un "hijo nuestro"
Dirán que pasó de moda la locura
Dirán que la gente es mala y no merece
Más yo seguiré soñando travesuras
(acaso multiplicar panes y peces)
Yo no se lo que es el destino
Caminando fui lo que fui
Allá Dios, que será divino
Yo me muero como viví
Yo me muero como viví
Yo me muero como viví
Como viví
Yo me muero como viví
Dicen que me arrastrarán por sobre rocas
Cuando la Revolución se venga abajo
Que machacarán mis manos y mi boca
Que me arrancarán los ojos y el badajo
Será que la necedad parió conmigo
La necedad de lo que hoy resulta necio
La necedad de asumir al enemigo
La necedad de vivir sin tener precio
Yo no se lo que es el destino
Caminando fui lo que fui
Allá Dios, que será divino
Yo me muero como viví
Yo me muero como viví.
ENGLISH
Greetings to all. These words do not seek votes, but rather offer a reflection to anyone who wishes to join me in it.
Living faithfully according to one's convictions often brings moments of misunderstanding and even conflict. However, the intimate joy of remaining true to oneself is priceless. This principle, which I apply to my own life, seems to me to contain a broader truth, capable of being projected onto the collective body of nations.
For many years now, favorable winds have not been blowing for our America as a whole. I say this from the perspective of one who has had the privilege, or perhaps the curse, of traveling to various corners of this continent. I have seen silent resistance in humble dwellings, with walls of cardboard and hope of clay, and I have also walked, with amazement, through opulent mansions I never thought I would set foot in. Someone said that "life is crazy," and perhaps that madness allowed me to contemplate the abysmal extremes in which the sons and daughters of this land live.
This inequality is not born from nothing. Since time immemorial, human beings have fought for their ideals on their own ground, seeking solutions to their contradictions. There are conflicts almost a century old, wounds that still fester and cry out for a viable way out, born from dialogue between those who, despite thinking differently, share the same soil. The key lies in that premise: it must be the compatriots, those who share the history and territory, who find the way out of their own differences. It cannot be an outsider who, with an arrogant attitude, sets himself up as judge and jury, feeling the power to create and destroy in a foreign land as if it were his private fiefdom.
Africa and America are the regions that have suffered most from this scourge. One does not need to be a scholar to see it. The forced loss of a nation's autonomy and sovereignty is an act of violence comparable, on an individual level, to the systematic humiliation that seeks to strip a person of their dignity. Societies, like individuals, may or may not agree internally; if they do not, their duty is to fight for what they believe is right, demonstrating with arguments and actions that their path is viable. It is a painful process, but it is their own. What should never happen is for an external actor to burst in to impose "their order" and resolve "their way" the problems of others. At that moment, the violated community loses something fundamental: its autonomy, its right to decide, to make mistakes, to learn, and, ultimately, to be.
This, unfortunately, has become a deep-rooted custom among the powerful. A cynical practice that operates under a perverse logic: "I go in, I do as I please, and if anyone complains, I respond with bombs or sanctions." It is the very negation of diplomacy and respect. Faced with this, the defense of sovereignty is not a stale nationalism, but the collective extension of that personal principle with which I began: the dignity of deciding one's own path, with one's own mistakes and successes, is a sacred space that no external power has the right to desecrate. Defending it is, in essence, defending our right to be ourselves, in all our complexity and struggle.
Here I leave the lyrics of one of the songs that have marked an era in Cuban Trova.
El necio (The Fool / The Stubborn One)
Song by Luis Eduardo Aute and Silvio Rodríguez ‧ 1994
Lyrics
So as not to shatter my icon to pieces
To save myself among the unique and odd
To cede me a place in their Parnassus
To give me a little corner on their altars
They come to invite me to repent
They come to invite me so I don't lose
They come to invite me to become undefined
They come to invite me to so much shit
I don't know what destiny is
Walking, I was what I was
God willing, what will be divine
I will die as I lived
I will die as I lived
I want to keep gambling recklessly
I want to be more left-handed than right
I want to hold a congress of the united
I want to pray deeply an "Our Father"
They will say madness has gone out of style
They will say people are bad and don't deserve it
But I will keep dreaming of mischiefs
(perhaps multiplying loaves and fishes)
I don't know what destiny is
Walking, I was what I was
God willing, what will be divine
I will die as I lived
I will die as I lived
I will die as I lived
As I lived
I will die as I lived
They say they will drag me over rocks
When the Revolution comes crashing down
That they will crush my hands and my mouth
That they will tear out my eyes and my clapper
It must be that foolishness was born with me
The foolishness of what today seems foolish
The foolishness of acknowledging the enemy
The foolishness of living without having a price
I don't know what destiny is
Walking, I was what I was
God willing, what will be divine
I will die as I lived
I will die as I lived.
