José Martí and Grief

(blog by Kim)

There are a wide variety of thoughts about Cuba these days, what the future should look like and who should decide it. There are stark differences between Cubans, whether they live on the island or live abroad. However, there are a few things that unify all Cubans. One is José Martí, a hero for everyone, wherever they are. His wisdom and inspiration in his essays, poetry, children’s stories and plays seem to connect to all Cuban people and inspire a deep sense of family, solidarity and compassion. From children to adults, we have often asked Cubans for a favorite work of Martí, and we are blessed to hear a beautiful, word-perfect recitation with great emotion and joy. Martí is someone that the all the Cuban people share.

Another thing that I believe unites them is an experience of grief.  The grief is varied, multi-layered and complicated, but it runs deep and shapes their lives. It may be a grief of families who were killed in the revolution on either side of the war. It may be a grief of people who were fleeing the country in the early days of the revolution where people lost homes, businesses, property and whose families were torn apart. It may be a grief of people who left years later when they felt that their homeland was no longer a place they could endure. It may be a grief of disillusion because the values they believed in at the start of the revolution were no longer alive. It may be a grief of those who stayed behind and had to pick up the pieces of a family torn apart. They had to find a way to survive, taking care of parents and grandparents, getting their kids through school and finding a job that would make ends meet. So the deep grief and sense of loss have been complicated by a mixture of anger, bitterness, abandonment, resentment, jealousy, a thirst for vengeance and survivor’s guilt. And all of those emotions can mask the loss and sadness.

Stan and I have very few friends in Cuba whose families have not been divided by emigration and immigration. And many of those families who are divided find it painful to discuss their country’s politics with each other. Not only is this conversation painful, but at times, it has become personal, hostile and counter productive. I have a theory that the debate has become that way because it is unresolved grief that is fueling it.  I have not experienced the kind of grief that Cubans have endured, whether they stayed on the island or left.  However, I have witnessed and empathized with the pain, anger, loneliness and sadness it has caused. It seems to me that for many, the grief has not been healed. And if it has not been healed, it can be expressed in the complex mixture of emotions that causes people to demonize others who have different opinions.  It can be channeled into an entrenchment into one’s political position to the point of being closed to another perspective, an inability to listen to or respect another person’s experience. 

It is my hope that the grief can be expressed directly and acknowledged as true, whatever the root of the experience and loss. It is also my hope that as people can begin to recognize and express their grief, complicated though it may be, and that they can come to a place where they can offer understanding and comfort to others who are grieving, even if and especially if they are on different sides of the political debate. There is more than enough grief and sadness to go around that needs healing. I pray for that. And the best advice I can offer is to look to Martí, because there is more than enough wisdom in the words of Martí to help navigate these difficult times. 

Cultivo una rosa blanca

En julio como en enero

Para mi amigo sincero

Que me da su mano franca

Y para el cruel que me arranca 

el corazón con que vivo

Cardos ni ortigas cultivo

Cultivo una rosa blanca

I grow a white rose

In January as in July

For my faithful friend

In whose hand I can confide

And for the cruel who rip out

My heart that life bestows

Thorns and briars I do not grow

I grow a white, white rose.