The term is not too grand for him. This, which we were told in history books refers to heroes; that indefinable and radioactive essence that explodes in some under life's pressures, making them bear the decency and courage of many; that admirable drive, easier to speak of than to embrace, pulsates in Adael's gaze.
Her eyes radiate, both at the moment of drowning in her mother's trembling embrace and at the instant she hardened when, after being asked whether she would uphold the demands that led her to take to the streets of Havana in July 2021, she responded with three words: “Yes, of course, always.”
“Sedition”, that was the flashy legal charge that the regime, which cheats and disguises it as law, applied after the protests. Sedition, for taking to the streets when the only valid expression was the shout. Sedition for demanding basic rights: health, food, electricity, water.
The prosecution's request that weighed on him was for 21 years in prison. He was sentenced to 19 years, and after the appeal, the sentence was reduced to 13.
13 years! For a young person who was then 24, with plans, a family, and a world to create and discover.
13 years! To survive in the jungle of prison, where one is always vulnerable and primal instincts reign, governed by an authority that is a thousand times more criminal than the actual offenders it keeps behind bars.
“There is no middle ground, how shameful. There is no possible consideration, what a stain. The Government forgot its honor when it sentenced a child […] to prison; it forgot it even more when it was cruel, inexorable, and unjust with him.”
This is stated by Martí, in that passage from The Political Prisoner in Cuba (1871) that depicts the anguish of Lino Figueredo, the 12-year-old boy whom the Spanish government sentenced to 10 years behind bars.
Save all distances. Make all equivalences. And it will be evident that, a century and a half later, authoritarian powers operate in the same way, with the same cold stomach and the same impunity.
Exile, prison, or confinement: these were the options during the colonial era. Exile, prison, or burial are what the Cuban regime offers, sheltered by vile rules drafted by its legal scribes, which are pompously referred to as "socialist constitution" and "penal code."
From the protests in Toyo, in the Havana municipality of Diez de Octubre, Adael Jesús Leyva Díaz was taken to the cells of Castro's regime.
Now, under a form of "parole," he is once again able to embrace his mother, his wife, and his children outdoors.
But it is not completely free, because, as independent organizations of Cuban civil society warn, the regime has shown many times that it uses prisoners as bargaining chips and pressure valves, "releasing" them and then, under any pretext, imprisoning them again, with harsher sentences. This occurred in 2025 with 212 compatriots.
In fact, Adael's family and others have been threatened: not to publish videos, not to speak on social media, to maintain the silence and opacity that is convenient for the power structure in Cuba to operate without explanations. Transparency? That seems to be a vile invention of capitalism, they might be saying in the Plaza de la Revolución.
The release of 51 prisoners has been announced, and the exit of at least a dozen has been documented. However, there are no official lists. There are no explanations regarding the procedures, or why some are released while others are not. The power moves in the shadows. Goodwill, they say. Coordinated with the Vatican, they say. And the jesters on social media design an image of the Pope, with the face of Donald Trump.
“Everyone is crying,” Adael Jesús confessed to journalist Yosmany Mayeta, in what may have been his first words to a social media platform after crossing the threshold of the feared Combinado del Este.
"I can't even explain it to you. And my children, for what… They saw me. They hugged me… My wife… Everyone. The whole neighborhood, completely."
Entire neighborhoods are taking to the streets.
Once again, Martí: “If indignation, if pain, if the anguished sorrow could speak, I would have spoken to the unfortunate child. But something strange, and every honorable man knows what it was, stirred in me the resignation and sadness and fueled the fire.”
Infinite happiness for Adael Jesús, for his mother - blessed are mothers, heroes without altars - for his children, for his wife, for us.
Attention to the hundreds who remain. Freedom. Everyone. Now.
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