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José Martí, a man of yesterday and always
José Martí P´rez, a man of yesterday and always. Photo:
As the son of a slave town, he fought for his redemption and died in combat, and that image of the man falling from his horse does not depart from our mind, nor does the street of Paula where the child was born on January 28, the simple school good sun and the sea of foam, and that certainty that will be here forever as river and forest.

José Martí is the altar where we bow our heads, not to be far but closer to the
man of flesh and bone, made in our image and likeness, and if we look for him in kindness and honesty we will surely find him by our side, shaking us in a hug and showing where our duty lies.

It is not that he is a god, he would never have admitted it, but we venerate him because, like Christ, he walked with the poor of the Earth, he trembled with injustices since he was a child, his adolescence was rebellious and then with his old suit and his worn shoes traced paths for the freedom of Cuba.

Certainly he was not crucified like Christ but suffered presided over and carried a shackle as a sign of his struggle against oppression, he wanted in his own way to expel the merchants from the temple of the Homeland, the Spanish colonialists who committed so many abominable crimes on the island.

It is a constant presence among us and its only name is enough to evoke the universe, with its soul it embraces the heart of all Cubans, he can tear down walls with a word, move the Earth with verses, and defeat armies with truth and with the trenches of ideas face the most powerful enemy.

He cannot be a man of yesterday when every day we discover him walking in the sunrises and inspires us to extol the Homeland with truth and disinterest, to find the most useful way to cross over the creative work bequeathed as a destiny and make light It is done in the midst of darkness.

He is a man of today and of always who teaches us to be there where we are most useful, to be better because he accompanies us in the beauty of the flowers and in the lacerating thorn, and although we cannot mix our blood we will know how to commune with his virtues although we never reach his height.

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