Cargando...Six letters were enough for to leave a record of his desires. Patria was the name of a newspaper and a pretext for dreams, even an argument with which to build walls, because the different imaginaries proclaim themselves to be opposites and not complements.
A nation cannot be torn apart to divide up shreds of its land; nor can geography or history be reconfigured to suit every whim; nor can symbols be recoded to adapt to memories that blur contemporaneity.
Patria is something concrete and intangible at the same time, like the coldness of a polished cement floor where the family used to escape the midday heat; the smells of Grandma’s kitchen, as varied for the sense of smell as they are exquisite for the palate; Grandpa’s drums on a stool, to the rhythm of which three generations of us learned to dance.
It is the erudition and righteousness of Papa Enrique or the roughness of Abuelito Gregorio, great-grandparents on my mother’s side, different as night and day, but united in my mother and my uncles. It is also the taste of grapes, plums and custard apples harvested in the backyard of the house where I lived during my childhood.
Homeland is the ancestral skills of sewing that are born in the hands of my daughter, perhaps the genetic dowry of Pepe, the paternal great-grandfather and skilled saddler; the black humor or irony that we cultivate and enjoy at home.
The memories shared with the family, the friends lost, the daily struggle with my husband to be a little better… but this is mine, cradled in body and soul, as authentic and legitimate as any other born in this archipelago, even if we do not share the same vision.
Today’s journalism demands to be a reflection of the diversity of views that feel part of the nation, inside or outside the geographical space we recognize as a country, of those who understand that happiness is intrinsic to life and not an illusion of the future, that good and prosperity are not sinful or exclusive.
We have a duty to move away from blinding triumphalism and delve into the dark places where pain and hardship rage, so that omission is not an excuse for ignorance. Nor should vain words become a joker that hides reality.
To honor does not fit into the mimicry of set phrases or exclusion, because for him homeland: «It is our veneration, not our pedestal, nor our instrument.
Acerca del autor
Licenciada en Periodismo (1995 Universidad de Oriente). Trabajó como periodista en Tele Cristal (Holguín) hasta marzo del 2003, directora y guionista de televisión.
Periodista del semanario Guerrillero (Pinar del Río) desde mayo del 2003 hasta la actualidad, corresponsal del semanario Trabajadores en esa provincia desde septiembre del 2020.
Creadora audiovisual y cinematográfica independiente.
