On July 9, 1991, the rector of the University of Oriente in Santiago de Cuba awarded me a bachelor’s degree in journalism. In the same year, I began my career in the newspaper “Venceremos” in Guantanamo. The light bulb was news; four wheels, originality and a hamburger, good. It was the crisis of the nineties, nobly called the “special period.” This was my premiere.

The touching interview that Florentina (daughter of the poet, Patriarch of Guantanamo Regino E. Boti) gave me and the visit to Loma de Malones, near the US naval base that seized Cuban soil, is one of those works that cannot be forgotten .

After completing the social service in Guaso land, it was time to return. My father, although he recently had an operation, had to go with his brothers to dig a furrow. Times were hard, and I decided to help him: “No, no, keep doing journalism, mi’jo, you who could learn,” were his words.

In the meantime, I had to sell peanuts, I had to advertise what I could get from the land, which I have always been proud of, because honest work always. In 1995 I started again, this time with the Sierra Maestra newspaper. I worked there for five years as the editor-in-chief of the culture page, defending my concept of journalistic passion, the only one I believe in.

I was invited to the 7th. Congress of the Union of Journalists of Cuba (UPEC), 1999. I contemplate on the podium of the hall of the Palace of Congresses in Havana that ardent young man who was me. I talked about the need to call a spade a spade, about the need for arguments and not numbers, about the constant need for beauty, about the many empty slogans that need to be surpassed. I continue to blow this ardor at 54 years old so that it does not blow away with the wind.

On the way back, a man with a book by Raul Gómez Garcia and a flag was waiting for me at the Plaza de la Revolución Antonio Maceo. I have this moment in my memory. However, I prefer to omit those who only want to listen to songs, who could not understand that only what is important to you, what you love is being criticized.

In 2000, my professional career took a turn. It was inevitable. The written word came up to my throat. I started working in radio (in that beautiful medium that radio is), so quickly, so close to the people. Since then, I have worked at the cultural station Radio Siboney, as well as other radio stations, print and digital media in the country that have opened their doors to me.

The desire to interpret, recognize and appreciate the infinite universe of cultural creation (with effort within my reach) continues to set the compass. I have always accepted culture not as a work of art, but as a spirit; not as entertainment, but as a thrill. Culture is life. Culture – Cuba.

There are formidable people in this archipelago of ours. There are formidable people among my fellow journalists. Writing a daily novel under such austerity is no easy task. We are “birthday wrapped” as Nicholas Guillen would say. Journalism is not a separate entity, cut off from this society, which urgently needs to break the tenacious bureaucracy, lose secrecy, order permissions, break any privileges that do not come from honest work.

We have the right to a better country, without any foreign interference, we must dream of a better country; but not to confuse these legitimate aspirations with the country we live in right now, a country that floats amid its brilliance and suffering. Those who sometimes preferred to remain silent or hide the truth defend their place more than a country that is ardently building a people a thousand times heroic.

I left my voice, my years, my word in the name of reviving many utopias, little things, projects carried out with great effort, I tried to touch the country from the land where Maceo was born, where Marty is buried. Each part of this green crocodile is the same height.

Marty’s sermon helps us with its infinite light: “Only those who know about journalism and the price of selflessness can truly appreciate the energy, perseverance, sacrifice, prudence and strength of character that the appearance of a newspaper reveals. Honesty and freedom. And along these paths, despite all the difficulties, we continued to walk.

Source: Juventud Rebelde