The Tangible Pursuit For Freedom: Part I

“Man loves liberty, even if he does not know that he loves it. He is driven by it and flees from where it does not exist.”-José Martí[1]

We left in the cover of night. My grandfather’s blessing echoed in my ears, plunging my fears into the vastness of my uncertain future. “La libertad se alcanza al interiorizarla y después solo nos toca vivirla”, he said tenderly caressing my shoulder. His eyes burdened and heavy with a profound sadness. “Liberty can be obtained interiorly so we ought to stick to living it out daily”. I contained my tears out of the excitement for the journey to Miami. My decision cost me everything. As a 12-year-old boy of Santiago de Cuba, moving to Havana City drastically changed my life. After the provincial protests of July 2021, my grandfather was iniquitously incarcerated by Fidel Castro’s shadow government. Without trial or due process, he was sentenced to life in prison.

In an explosive confluence of childhood into manhood, I commenced to publicly reject the surfeited propaganda by the Cuban government. Coercibly, I envisaged adopting a career learned by street trade. Not having family left to support and nourish me, I invested my energy on the gift God had bestowed me. In my beloved island of Cuba, the sport of competitive swimming propelled me to a world I was desperate to find, a future every Cuban native courageously seeks, but is drowned out by the inherited chasm of Fidel Castro and his Revolution. I spent most afternoons challenged by my peers, daring me to swim against the strong, ebbing currents and crashing waves at El Malecón[2]. Swimming became an essential leisure time, keeping me out of trouble while distracted from the crippling poverty and misery imposed by the Cuban regime.

Focusing on my impending political dissent, swimming against the currents in the coastal port enabled me to build stamina and prowess for my life’s distant, yet formidable voyage to Miami. Like every great gull in the coastal waters of the island, I wanted to catch freedom and touch it. On the night of September 8th, God gifted me a way of out of Cuba. By joining a group of prospective balseros [3](rafters), 15 of us repaired a community-endorsed boat named “Mater Dei” (Mother of God), clandestinely destined to “La Yuma”, one of many endearing euphemism Cubans call America. The propeller of the boat was assembled by Miguel, the presumed “committee/political enthusiast” and born-again mechanic. The “borrowed” parts for the boat were furtively obtained from the nearby bicycle warehouse on our city block. A masterful esprit de corps. Nowhere in the world was camaraderie more exemplified than in this operation. If any euphemism can be applied to socialism, I would impulsively brand it under the guise of Brotherhood: “Hermandad”. A brotherhood under an ideology not to demean human dignity but amplify its intrinsic desire to obtain freedom.

In a show of arms, we all bolted into the sea, casting ourselves away like gusanos or worms, another derogatory label the Cuban government tags on Cuban natives hoping for the American dream. If being a gusano[4] meant burying my fear and tantalizing my courage for the tangible pursuit of freedom, then: “¡Patria y Vida!”[5]. For “Homeland and Life” meant exactly this: the modern slogan was an open defiance by the Cuban populace, rejecting over 60 years of Communist oppression imposed by the Castro regime. The word “life” was juxtaposed for “death”. People no longer wanted to die for Castro’s pseudo government. They wanted to live! As for me, life consisted in preserving my Catholic Christian identity foremost. While I recited the mechanical, communist incantations in daylight as a pionero[6] (a child communist) at school, I fervently said my Latin prayers at night at home with devotion and faith. The beauty of the Latin prayers brought me closer to my Christian Tradition. Every night I would pray to God and ask Mother Mary for her intercession. Mostly for courage and honor. To keep my soul pure so that I may one day be able to carry out my “Viva Cristo Rey!” [7](Long live Christ the King!) moment. I wanted to become a modern-day Cristero[8]. The night of September 8th took daunting courage as we silently entered the shoreline.

The calm waters welcomed our quest as we sojourned into the deep ocean. We turned the propeller for the boat at a safe distance to not alert the Cuban authorities. While at sea, I realized the Cuban regime is deplorable compared to the might of the ocean. Its beauty breathtaking yet petrifying. As I reflected and looked back at my homeland, I thought of my grandfather. His last words resonated in my heart like a prayer, “My grandson, when freedom is not given, live it interiorly; do this daily.” My life now hung on the promise of this truth: In the tangible pursuit for freedom, choosing between one’s life or death is paramount. Even if the ocean claims my life, I would have died within the confines of pursuing my freedom. ¿Patria o Muerte? Homeland or Death? I choose life.

[1] José Martí (1853–1895) was a Cuban nationalist, poet, and political theorist. Revered as the "Apostle of Cuban Independence," he devoted his life to liberating his country from Spanish rule. He is also celebrated as a foundational figure in Latin American literature and a prominent symbol of anti-imperialism.
[2] El Malecón is a famous 5-mile (8 km) seaside esplanade, seawall, and roadway in Havana, Cuba. Originally built to protect the city from the sea, it has evolved into the city's most iconic gathering place, serving as a vibrant social hub, romantic promenade, and cultural focal point for locals and visitors alike.
[3] Balseros (from the Spanish word balsa, meaning "raft") is the term used to describe Cuban refugees who emigrated without formal documentation, crossing the sea on precarious or self-constructed vessels to reach neighboring states like the US, Bahamas, Jamaica, and the Cayman Islands.
[4] Gusano (Spanish for "worm") is a politically charged, derogatory term used by the Cuban government and Fidel Castro to describe Cubans who fled the island or opposed the revolution. Today, many Cuban exiles and Cuban-Americans in places like Miami have reclaimed the word as a badge of pride or resistance.
[5] Patria y Vida (Homeland and Life) is an anti-communism protest slogan. It inverts the Cuban government's official revolutionary motto, "Patria o Muerte" (Homeland or Death), becoming a rallying cry for freedom and human rights.
[6] In Cuba, a pionero (pioneer) refers to a child or adolescent who is a member of the José Martí Pioneer Organization (OPJM). Established in 1961, this state-run youth organization acts as the primary collective group for virtually all Cuban students from kindergarten through junior high, focusing on education, civic engagement, and socialist values.
[7] “¡Viva Cristo Rey!” is a Spanish phrase that translates to "Long live Christ the King!". It is a famous statement of faith, a rallying cry, and a declaration of allegiance to God
[8] A Cristero (plural: Cristeros) refers to a supporter, soldier, or sympathizer of the Catholic peasant uprising against the Mexican government. The movement, which lasted from 1926 to 1929, took place in response to the anti-clerical policies of President Plutarco Elías Calles.

**WRITER'S NOTE: LISTEN TO THIS BEAUTIFUL SONG WHICH DESCRIBES THE ESSENCE OF WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A CHILD AT SEA IN THE DIRE PURSUIT FOR FREEDOM.

"Thou knowest, O my God, that it is neither from ambition nor the love of glory that I make war on the enemies of Thy name, but in order to strike terror into those that blaspheme it."

-St. Ferdinand III of Castile