In Cuba, taking into account the long fight for our independence

“In Cuba, taking into account the long fight for our independence and sovereignty, we will defend the one-party system in the face of the games, demagogy and the marketing of politics.” — Raúl Castro

In these solemn and defiant words, Raúl Castro, the heir to Cuba’s revolution, invokes the long and blood-soaked history of a nation forged through resistance. His declaration is not the rhetoric of convenience, but the proclamation of one who sees his country as a fortress surrounded by tides of deceit and manipulation. He speaks of independence, of sovereignty, and of defense — words heavy with the memory of centuries under the shadow of empires. To him, the one-party system is not an accident of power, but a shield, hammered into being through sacrifice and struggle. For in his view, the unity of the revolution is the last line between Cuba’s hard-won freedom and the return of foreign domination disguised as democracy.

The meaning of this quote lies not merely in the defense of political structure, but in the preservation of national identity. Raúl Castro’s words echo the belief that sovereignty — once stolen — must be guarded with vigilance, for it can be lost not only by invasion, but by seduction. He warns that the so-called “games and marketing of politics,” the spectacle of parties and propaganda, can reduce governance to entertainment and turn conviction into commerce. To him, the revolution was not fought to trade one master for another, nor to allow the sacred dream of equality to be auctioned on the global market. Thus, his defense of the one-party system is a defense of unity — the conviction that the people, to remain free, must speak with one voice when surrounded by a world that profits from their division.

The origin of these words reaches deep into Cuba’s long and tumultuous past. For over four centuries, the island lived beneath the Spanish crown, a jewel of empire held by force and fear. When at last the people rose in revolt under José Martí, their poet-patriot, and later under Antonio Maceo, they fought not only for freedom from Spain, but for the right to shape their own destiny. Yet, after Spain fell, another shadow took its place — that of the United States, whose influence over Cuba’s politics and economy turned independence into illusion. It was not until 1959, under Fidel Castro and the revolutionaries of the Sierra Maestra, that the island proclaimed its final emancipation. Thus, when Raúl speaks of defending the revolution, he is not defending a party of politicians, but a continuity of struggle — a centuries-long war for self-determination.

Consider the story of Fidel Castro’s trial after the failed attack on the Moncada Barracks in 1953. When asked to defend his rebellion, he declared, “History will absolve me.” Those words, like Raúl’s, came from a man who believed that Cuba’s salvation lay not in compromise, but in conviction. Fidel argued that to free a people long enslaved, one must first build unity — for disunity is the first weapon of the oppressor. Raúl’s later defense of the one-party system springs from that same philosophy. He saw how, across the world, revolutions born in hope were undone by faction and corruption, how movements fractured by personal ambition were swallowed by the very powers they had opposed. To him, democracy’s promise too often concealed its decay — where marketing replaced meaning, and truth became just another product to sell.

Yet, one must also hear in his words the tension between freedom and control, between unity and diversity. For every strength carries its shadow. The defense of one voice, when untempered, risks the silencing of others. The ancient philosophers warned that even virtue, when unbalanced, can become tyranny. Thus, the challenge that echoes through Raúl Castro’s declaration is the same that faces all rulers and all peoples: how to preserve independence without imprisoning liberty, how to maintain unity without extinguishing thought. The wisdom lies not in rejecting his conviction, but in understanding the wound it springs from — the fear of losing again what was so bitterly won.

The story of Cuba’s revolution is a reminder that independence, once gained, must be defended not only against the armies of others, but against the corruption of one’s own ideals. Raúl’s sovereignty is not the mere absence of foreign rule; it is the right to decide one’s destiny, to err and to rise again without external command. Whether one agrees or not with his defense of the one-party system, one must honor the truth at its core: that no nation remains free unless it guards its identity against those who would reshape it for profit. The “marketing of politics”, as he calls it, is a warning not only to Cubans, but to the world — that when politics becomes theater, democracy becomes illusion.

Let this be the lesson that endures: true independence is not a gift, but a labor without end. It demands vigilance, sacrifice, and clarity of purpose. Yet, it also demands humility — the wisdom to listen, the courage to evolve, the compassion to let others speak. From Raúl Castro’s defiant words we may draw both strength and caution: strength, in the resolve to protect one’s principles; caution, in remembering that even unity must breathe to live. And so, whether one defends a nation, a community, or the sovereignty of one’s own soul, let the same rule guide them: stand firm in truth, but never cease to seek it.

For history, like the sea that surrounds Cuba, is restless — forever testing the shores of our convictions. And those who would preserve their independence must not only build walls, but cultivate wisdom; not only defend their freedom, but understand what it means. For it is not the loudest who are free, but the most steadfast — those who, in the quiet of conscience, know that liberty lives not in slogans or systems, but in the unbroken will to choose one’s own path.