Resistance, on the Day of the Resistance

It was approximately 6:00 pm, we had been able to get together various activists and group leaders that were supposed to be present on the 24th of September.  Days prior, the executive board of the National Front had convoked a national ‘pots and pans’ protest for that day, which had been designated as the Day of Resistance.

We were carrying the Front’s flag, better looking than ever- that fist held high in the air- and we had the desire to take to the streets to let the people know that we were there to defend their rights.  And we also wanted to prove to the tyranny that without the presence of their assassins, nothing would happen to us.

We were correct.  Upon going out to the street and shouting our slogans, the people stepped out.  There were even those  who echoed our shout of ‘Down with the dictatorship‘.  Much to the shock of those present, we marched up and down the street, we were successful.  The National Front triumphantly marched.

It took the henchmen around 1 hour to recruit the mob that always attacks us.  The majority of the ‘staff’ do not work on Saturdays and they were only able to get a group of older people.  Behind the quixotic troops, the political police and State Security deceitfully approached.  We bravely waited for them, some of us with our arms crossed, while some of us responded with the opposite slogans of the ones being shouted at us.

The mob stopped in its tracks, they did not think we would stay standing there during their confrontation.  A military order led them to surround us, and like vile cowards, they began to beat us.  I was able to see how they took Antunez away by pushing him and shoving him into a vehicle of the political police.  Ramses suffered the same fate.  And then it was my turn.  I continued to sing the national anthem, stronger than ever.  I wasn’t even finished when a punch on my face impeded me from singing the last note.  “I forgive you”, I told the aggressor who was wearing a blue shirt.  Another blow led me to repeat the same phrase, this time with a bit more- “I forgive you, when Cuba is free you will live without fear because I would never do this to you just for thinking differently”.

Three men were carrying Sara Marta after having beat her.  One of them continued to hit her until she was put in the vehicle which kidnapped her.  As for Julio, Sara’s husband, he was also dragged into the Jeep in which I was being kept.  No one else fit in that car.  I was there with Hermogenes Guerrero, all swollen from so many physical blows, barefoot, and with torn clothes.  Ramses was also there.  Julio was thrown on top of us.  There was blood coming from his mouth from all the aggression.

The uniformed police official sped off form that place and took us to the National Revolutionary Police Unit of Santiago de Las Vegas.  We left behind  activists in the home of Sara Marta who also were resisting and suffered acts of vandalism.

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