What follows is my rough translation of a document that he gave to his daughter to be published after his death. It was published in Spanish in El Pais on October 26, 2012.
The Cuban Revolution Is Depleted by Eloy Gutierrez Menoyo
The year of 1959 witnessed an event that seemed destined for poetry: the Cuban Revolution. From that revolution, scattered over the island and around the world today, are the painful remnants of a shipwreck. In 2003, I returned to Cuba. Enemy for a time of the Cuban state and officially perceived as such, I worked peacefully to open a space for political dialogue. For years, from exile and on occasional visits to Cuba, we had engaged in dialogue with the Cuban government with a view toward a political opening. With the country in tatters, without the help of the former communist sphere, there was no choice but for Cuba to change.
In meetings that were brief but substantive, I said this to Fidel Castro . However, since my surprise arrival in Cuba, I have not been given an identity card, nor I have been given the political space that had been discussed. It is true that my presence was tolerated, but this has occurred under the eye of an Orwellian state that has kept a close watch on my activities.
In the time I've spent here, some of the Cuban officials who shared (with me and other activists linked to Cambio Cubano) their concerns for the problems that plague our people and the urgency for creating the necessary political opening, have been removed from office. At times, our conversations seemed to be encouraged by the top leadership of the country, but political dialogue that would lead to major change was always postponed.
Today, without losing my faith in the Cuban people, I denounce the enterprise, once full of generosity and lyricism that promised to put Cuba at the forefront of progressive thought, which has exhausted its potential as a viable project.
I share this reality with the best of the Cuban people, whether in government, in their impoverished homes or in exile, and I take responsibility for this excursion [the Cuban Revolution] while I reaffirm my commitment to its founding ideas, which inspired widespread admiration among both Cuban and international sectors. I make this statement as my health fades and I have received a [terminal] medical diagnosis. I take responsibility for this battle and am not fazed by the fact that some may describe it as a failure. Fidel Castro´s desire to remain in power has been greater than the faith in a possible renewal of Cuba´s best projects since time immemorial.
What Cuba do I see today from my sickbed? It is a desolate Cuba where the ethical character that was evident in 1959 no longer exists. The citizenry has lost its self-awareness: it resists without expressing it and the youth have made the hope for escape their immoderate obsession. Large numbers of ordinary people know that this revolution has no moral purpose. The Cuban is losing his essence. He survives in a simulation and within the strange phenomenon of double speak. The structures are irrational. The denationalization of the economy rests precariously on an absurd and unbalanced formula that excludes leadership and national initiative.
The government that proclaimed to be of the people and for the people bet against creativity and national spontaneity; unionism is a glaring absence.
I have had the chance to attempt the arduous work of opposition in this country. I have been steadfast in my independent position and my commitment to distancing myself from any project linked to other governments. But the Cuban government has been tenacious in its painstaking work to make the opposition invisible, the opposition which is prevented from mobilizing and is not allowed to participate in the important areas of media or legislation.
How does one compensate for 50 years of nonsensical acts against a country´s citizens? How does one make up for so much damage to community and citizenship? How do you combat the consequences of all these mistakes?
The Cuban government leaves no doubt of its inability to create progress. As a result, Cubans wander the streets diminished, worried, sad and bankrupt. In the minds of those who cling to power at all costs, these are the model citizens, perfect candidates for slavery. The Constitution does not work. The legal system is a joke. There is not even the illusion of a division of powers. Civil society is, as with progress, a dream that has been deferred for half a century.
Does a desperate mother seeking milk for her child on the black market mock justice? More than 60 years ago, with a free press as witness, Fidel Castro addressed a magistrate during [Fulgencio Batista´s] dictatorship and said that if he was accused of using revolutionary force, that grievance, his contempt for the law, and the official complaint against him should all be dismissed because the existing [Batista] government was the product of an illegal coup. That unassailable and true logic could be applied today by the opposition to tell a Cuban government that its crude use of absolute power and the consolidation of that power in perpetuity is intolerable. One could well use Fidel´s approach before that magistrate to say that no one can make themselves an eternal custodian of a country nor put forward a meticulous project to abolish reality and paralyze progress.
It also occurs to me to ask, where is the original original direction of the (revolutionary) process for which my brother Charles died or when will the anxiety of feeling that the future has been mortgaged, end. Throughout 50 years of political dexterity and police control the Cuban has been a true hero of subsistence in a dialectical labyrinth. He has handled the disappointment and loss, the divisions and fatigue. What´s new in telling this government that this Cuban approaches his destiny with uncertainty?
According to doctors, my diagnosis is irreversible. I feel that every day of my brief destiny will be more opaque and, at the same time, more true. I don´t fear my diagnosis , which appears as a path that I will walk calmly and with hope for the future of Cuba, a land of unequaled men and women. Let me say, that I reaffirm the ideas that my generous parents encouraged in me and my brothers; I neither distance myself from nor waiver in my commitment to social democracy, an encompassing viewpoint that is, increasingly, the starting point for an inclusive vision of history; the chances of success of any political vision magnify or shrink in accordance with its generosity and sense of collective commitment, the capacity for concord among its proponents.
If I offended anyone, if ghosts of different contentions tempted me to be less than generous, I ask for benevolence, as today I let go of the thoughts of those who judged me hastily. I think I have served Cuba in its differents stages, putting its interests above the errors of my authenticity, any lack of vision on my part or any stubbornness along the way. During the revolution, I think I have been a voice for humanism, perhaps best expressed in my opposition to the executions. My childhood during the Spanish Civil War prepared me to try at least to master my passions. I am not among those who let go of the dream when it became the worst nightmare.
Some might interpret this document as pessimistic. However, this is not my intent; there is no anger in it, just an echo of the tough losses of the Cuban people, of whom I became one when I was a child as a member of a family of Spanish Republican exiles . My optimism is based on the earthy power of this island, in the infinite tenderness of Cuban women, in the power of innovation of its most humble people. The Cuban nation´s legacy of durability will resist all the cyclones of history and all the dictators. Varela is more than a symbol. Maceo is more a guide than an admirable warrior. Marti is not a metaphor.
Luck will come. When the last errant Cuban returns to his island. When the last child born in Madrid, Miami or Puerto Rico is acknowledged on the island. When the wounds heal and the pain goes away, people will celebrate their new happiness cautiously and will guard against shiny magicians and messianic projects. Because, no matter how, luck will arrive: thin, quiet and fragile as a jubilant butterfly, a sign to these poor people who deserve better. I know there will be a butterfly that will alight in the shadows. I would have liked to tell you that I had given more; perhaps you will have understood that I could only give my life, and that I had the privilege to be part of this island and its people.
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