The troubadour Israel Rojas, leader of the duo Buena Fe and a regular voice of the Cuban cultural establishment, published a message on Facebook that, in its attempt to sound epic and patriotic, ended up becoming a metaphorical outburst of insubordination.
His text, overflowing with anti-imperialist rhetoric, managed amidst “homeland or death” something that few within the official ecosystem dare to do: mention the “venerable elder” and his family and then - to the surprise of both supporters and outsiders - make it clear that he would not die for them.
Just a few weeks ago, Rojas had shown absolute loyalty to the Chavista-Castrista axis by publicly defending the regime of Nicolás Maduro with a passionate “They shall not pass!”.
In that message, the singer-songwriter aligned himself with the official rhetoric of Havana and Caracas regarding the actions of Washington. However, his recent statement represents a surprising shift: from applauding chavismo, he moved to questioning, without naming them, the historical leaders in power in Cuba.
"I will not fight nor shed my blood for a president, nor for a general secretary of any political party. I will not fight for a venerable elder, nor for his son or grandson, nor for his family", wrote Rojas, in what many interpreted as a direct reference to Raúl Castro and his descendants, from Mariela Castro Espín to Alejandro Castro (El Tuerto), including the famous “Cangrejo,” the grandson-bodyguard.
In other words, the troubadour who once set the slogans of the so-called “revolution” to music now seems tired of singing for the family that owns the microphone.
The same person who received the replica of the mambí machete from General Máximo Gómez from the very hands of the Minister of the Revolutionary Armed Forces (FAR), Army Corps General Álvaro López Miera, the same Rojas who is linked to repressive actions while he was a member of the Ministry of the Interior (MININT), in Guantánamo, is willing to shed his blood... but not for the Castros or their dynasty, nor even for their pages and straw men.
But, true to Buena Fe's style, the rupture arrives sweetened with a cloak of literary epicness and recycled slogans: Martí, Fidel, the full dignity of man, Baraguá, the poor of the earth, and even Yolanda and Ojalá blend into a monologue that tries to sound transcendent, though it fails to disguise the whiff of disillusionment.
"I will fight for a sovereign Cuba," Rojas insisted, "for my children, my nephews, and for my grandchildren." He added, with grandiloquence: "Cuba carries in its blood the sacred fire of those who dreamed of a nation standing tall." A phrase that, in another context, would have fit well at a Ministry of Culture event, but today, in light of the threats from Washington and the "national defense" exercises, sounds more like collective therapy than a rallying cry.
The musician did not reject the revolutionary script, but distanced himself from its interpreters. His "Homeland or Death" turned out to be more aesthetic than political, more a slogan than true commitment. Without naming them, he excluded the Castros and their heirs from the altar, the very ones for whom so many of his colleagues still swear eternal loyalty.
The result is a curious piece: a patriotic ode wrapped in controlled rebelliousness, which tries to preserve the myth of the "revolution" by sacrificing its "saints".
Oh, said ironically, the song of a faithful one who no longer wants to sing for the grandfather or the grandson, but still believes in the small temple.
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