José Martí is with no doubt one of the most important figures in our history; his ideas are today as relevant as they were when he was physically alive, he still guides the peoples of Our America in the pursue of its definite independence.
The Cuban independence hero preached the meaning of the necessary war against the Spanish colonialism in order to reach the political sovereignty of the nation he aspired to: a republic with all and for all.
One day before he died in combat fighting to free Cuba from the colonial rule of Spain, in an unfinished letter to Manuel Mercado, a close friend of his, José Martí wrote:
“I am in daily danger of giving my life for my country and duty, for I understand that duty and have the courage to carry it out- the duty of preventing the United States from spreading through the Antilles as Cuba gains its independence, and from overpowering with that additional strength our lands of America. All I have done so far, and all I will do, is for this purpose”.
Martí, with incredible clarity, always alerted the people not only from Cuba, but also from further away, of the immense danger of the developing US capitalism, especially urging Latin America to unite against the power of the monster he knew so well for he had lived in its entrails. The best tribute to his life is that his dreams, as well of those of Bolívar, Fidel and Che Guevara, are closer than ever of becoming a reality: a united Latin America.
I want to share with you a poem by José Martí entitled “I have a white rose to tend”, which speaks of the simplicity, generosity and nobility of the man who embarked in the gigantic task of liberating his country with his mind and all his power.
I have a white rose to tend
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
And for the cruel one whose blows
Break the heart by which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I give:
For him, too, I have a white rose.
In July as in January;
I give it to the true friend
Who offers his frank hand to me.
And for the cruel one whose blows
Break the heart by which I live,
Thistle nor thorn do I give:
For him, too, I have a white rose.