Rolando Pérez Betancourt has just closed the seventh door of his life to stay in the dark room of all his favorite films. And if an afterlife exists, he must now seek out Eisenstein, Chaplin and Kurosawa, Fellini, Bergman and Buñuel, to tell them, with that sharp scalpel of a film critic and the glorious grace of a hormonal chronicler, what it was like to suffer and enjoy; In short, to live, feel and think on a lovingly complex island worthy of the best surreal scenario.
Rolandito, as he was forever dubbed by the union because of his stubborn youth, left a bright mark on the Cuban journalism of the Revolution. His work will protect him until the end of time if time runs out. He has always been his own voice in the Granma newspaper, to which he gave all his donations. A resounding voice that breaks the silver charms of the seventh art, or between the lines of his memorable chronicles as he passed through the kingdom of this island.
It was clarity and passion, with a strange serenity and serenity that persuasion gives. He never shut up either his deep thought or his restless mood. His reflections, almost always succinct and very sharp, will always be a summary of the honesty that the Revolution will always need in order not to grow old.
“If the truth is revolutionary, if Cuban journalists are revolutionary, they must apply this truth, even if they sometimes become uncomfortable subjects,” he said in an interview. He understood that it was not easy to create a type of journalism ninety miles from imperialism, a journalism that cares about them and at the same time is quite critical. He was a rebel in his political convictions, without half-measures and simulations. I was where I wanted to be.
The main chronicler of all these years, the winner of the José Martí National Journalism Award for his great work in a fruitful life, Rolandito has always been true to his humble origins. Frank and direct, he never suffered from vertigo and vertigo from heights. A man and a friend, a good man, a gentleman of the epic era, so resonant. Long ago, he crossed the threshold of the history of Cuban journalism and continues to urge us to dreamily open that seventh door without latches in our memory.
Source: Juventud Rebelde
