From the moment of that initial meeting, without my even realizing it, my life took a certain turn and I never looked back. I became involved in crucial events, now part of our country’s history. The memories come back to me like flashes of lightning. The intensity of events left no time for lengthy reflection. I felt we were living at a unique time, but we had no idea what the future might bring. Surprisingly, I came closer to really knowing myself, not because I feared death, because we were always aware of it, but rather because I was always challenging myself about what had led me there and about how strong my commitment really was.
Before I found myself in the guerrilla camp in the Escambray, my life had been like that of most other campesinos.1 Poverty, humiliation and violence were bitter realities in our lives.
I lived in Los Azules, so called, according to my mother, because of the color of the water in the river in earlier times. This was some distance from Santa Clara, the capital city of the former province of Las Villas, in the center of Cuba. It was an idyllic place with beautiful scenery. My world was the small piece of land that my father worked with much determination and, which despite his great efforts, was never very productive. I sometimes agreed with my mother, who saw it as the end of the world. We were surrounded by uncles and aunts and other poor neighbors, who had no hope for a better future.
I remember how the little kids would have fun swimming in the river while the older children would have chores to do. I was the youngest of five siblings: Lidia, Estela, Octavio, Orlando and me. I was completely unplanned by my parents and when I came into the world my older sisters were already interested in boys and dating. Lidia was 16 years old and my unexpected arrival was a cause for embarrassment, especially in those prudish times. The reason for the embarrassment was the fertility of my older parents, but I had a happy childhood within the small world of my family. My parents were strong and energetic, poor tenant farmers. But despite the difficulties they faced and their unfavorable situation, they did everything possible to encourage and improve the lives of their offspring.
My father, Juan March, was of Catalan origin, a typical campesino, but one who hailed from the city, which gave him a particular air. He liked to read and was cultured to some degree. He was honorable and egalitarian, but also quite introverted. My mother, Eudoxia de la Torre, was the complete opposite. She was a pure campesina with a fierce character, stubborn and persistent, who made sure we got by with what we had. They built a home founded on firm moral principles. They met all our basic needs with love, not by spoiling us or with excessive displays of affection, something not the norm among campesinos, who live very hard lives. We felt the love and support of our parents and we felt secure in the sense they would do everything they could for us.
My family experienced tragedies. Before I was born, my brother Osvaldo had died, leaving both my parents with a grief they never really overcame. My brother always remained present in our home. It was the custom to pay homage to departed loved ones by keeping photographs of them in the main room. In our home, the treasured photos were of my brother and my paternal grandparents.
Death was, however, a daily occurrence in the countryside, the result of the government’s corruption, neglect and apathy toward those living in the country. The rural poor often died because of a lack of medical care, often without ever knowing the exact cause of death. There were no roads or public transport in rural areas, and this meant a lack of access. Often the sick person could not be reached in time.
I was an innocent country girl, happy with my life. I was like a little bird, with few restrictions on my freedom in a beautiful landscape, surrounded by the beauty of nature. Behind my mother’s back I would go off riding horses and, while my sisters and mother washed clothes in the river, I would enjoy myself swimming with my cousins. We used the palm tree fronds to make skis to slide down the slopes into the river. There was nothing like it!
I still see myself as that peasant girl, a mixture of my parents with the strong influence of my father, a timid, quiet, not very expressive man. But I’m also restless and like to dream, a tendency that drew me closer to my mother, whose strength and spirit I always admired. I have to admit I cry easily, even to this day, probably due to being the youngest child of the family. Maybe I was a bit spoilt.
If I had to mention anyone else who helped shape me it would be María Urquijo, my teacher in the little rural school with multiple grades. By the grace and good deeds of my parents, the teacher used to stay at our house during the week. This made me respect and love the school even more, despite the poverty that was evident within its humble walls. Our little school was made strong through the discipline of a teacher who had found her true vocation. She forgot her personal problems—she was poorly paid and had a sick daughter—but she opened the doors of knowledge, despite obvious limitations, giving us a basic education to ensure we weren’t ignorant or indolent.
When María was unable to attend classes, Ursula Brito or Gilda Balledor would replace her—both also excellent teachers and wonderful human beings.
Of course, I can’t describe my childhood without confessing to some incidents of mischief. I will never forget the day an inspector came to our school, looking very elegant on his horse. I innocently invited him to stay at our house. Looking surprised, he said he could not stay because he would have nowhere to sleep. Without thinking, I told him he could sleep in the same bed as the teacher. You can imagine the look on everyone’s face, especially the look on Gilda Balledor’s face—she was the substitute teacher who was staying at our house, and she was single.
I developed a great admiration for anyone who knew more than me. I became a diligent student and, even though I was quite reserved, I had a great interest in mathematics, poetry and literature. I developed a curiosity to learn about other worlds and continually set myself new challenges. Even though we had few resources at our disposal, the teachers instilled in us a great sense of patriotism and ethics. On weekends we enjoyed public events honoring José Martí and the patriots in our wars of independence. In this way I developed a love of learning, nature and school, along with the ethical principles encouraged in my home, all elements that have influenced my personality and behavior.
Quite unexpectedly, my mother announced that I was to be sent to live in the town to continue my studies. I confess this was probably the first big challenge of my life. Up to that point, I had lived a life of freedom, in what I thought was the best possible world. I was quite shaken by the sudden possibility of having to leave home. I tried to change my parents’ minds; I succeeded in convincing my father, but my mother’s will was stronger.
The family had already dispersed to some extent by that time. My older siblings Lidia and Estela had their own homes. Both lived in the town of Santa Clara, which is why my parents were able to send me and my brother Orlando (six years older than me) to study there. So off we went to Santa Clara to live with our sisters and study in town.
Living away from home made me realize how much I needed my parents. I was so happy when my mother came for a visit. Santa Clara was a strange place for me. Although it was very much a provincial town, it expanded my limited horizons. I lived with my older sister, who had a different way of doing things. She worked, so I had to help out with the chores and look after her three children. I felt like a housewife, for which I had little vocation, and at the same time I had to keep up with my studies.
The biggest change for me was at school. I was used to my teacher María and her method of teaching. I was not yet aware of the limitations of my knowledge. I found it difficult to adjust to having homework, with which I struggled, especially English, a language strange and foreign to me. I just couldn’t relate to it and I must admit that I still find English hard. Nevertheless, eventually I became acclimatized to my new situation. Because I was young, I soon learned to appreciate the advantages of life in town.
I began upper primary school quite confused. Besides English, we learned music. I had no idea music could be a subject one studied at school. Eventually I was able to adjust with the help of some wonderful, supportive teachers, who introduced me to all kinds of new things.
Often school could be a place of prejudice and other barriers. There was discrimination based on gender, and the school had a militaristic atmosphere and authoritarian approach to discipline. For example, they would close the windows to stop the girls making contact with the boys. That is how schools were in those days.
Over time I became keenly aware of my limited education. I wasn’t used to going to the library, and I didn’t know how to search for new information that would help fill the gaps in my knowledge. Sometimes the teachers would ask me to write essays about historical figures I was supposed to know something about, but often I had never heard of them. I remember one such person was the Argentine writer, President Domingo Faustino Sarmiento.
Then an event occurred that made me realize how tentative life can be. My sister Lidia, who had taken me in, suddenly became very ill and died within a short period of time. My parents decided to move to Santa Clara, which meant our family was reunited and we had our first home in town. My mother took charge of Lidia’s children—her grandchildren—and my brother Orlando also came to live with us. My mother put aside her pain at the loss of her daughter, and through determination and hard work convinced my father to establish a new home. Our financial difficulties, however, did not end there, but we dealt with them more effectively.
Feeling the love and closeness of my parents helped me focus on my studies with greater enthusiasm. In my new role as “big sister” to my nieces and nephew, I would attend their school meetings. I helped them with their homework until, against our wishes, the boy went to live with his father, who had remarried. One of the twins went to live with my grandmother, and so we were left with only one of the girls.
Once I finished high school, I decided to study education, not because it was the easier option—I wanted to study medicine—but because of money. My family simply lacked the financial resources. Education was a quicker career that could be completed in four years and you could also start working immediately after you graduated—at least that is what I thought at the time.
I sat the very demanding entrance exam. Unfortunately, the gaps in my knowledge were very evident. The best result I got was in mathematics, but my bad grammar meant I failed Spanish. So again supported by my teacher María, I returned to study at a preparatory school in Santa Clara, in order to sit the exams a second time.
While I prepared for my exams I enrolled in the Institute of Secondary Education without taking into account the financial difficulties I might have. I needed books, which I had to buy, and once I finished I would still not be a qualified professional. But I was young and full of hope. I studied without allowing myself to think of failure, aware that if I failed, everything would fall apart. I also played volleyball and softball. I was pitcher of the softball team and I wasn’t too bad, drawing on my experience growing up in the countryside. I gave up sports when I became ill and my mother insisted I stop.
I finally passed my exams and began my teacher training at 15; I finished that course successfully in 1953. My brother Orlando supported me and I am very grateful to him for that. One of my uncles paid for my graduation. I was satisfied to have finished my studies and in time I grew to love my career as a teacher. In that same year I went to study pedagogy at the Central University of Las Villas, and this proved to be a very important decision.
Until 1956 my life was centered on study, sport being my only form of recreation, along with reading novels (especially romantic ones), going to the cinema whenever I could and to the park, which in a small town is a type of outing. There were a few young men who courted me, but I never felt in love, although sometimes I made a fool of myself by pretending to be in love. Having romantic dreams about imaginary princes was typical behavior for a young woman living in the provinces, especially one of my social class.
Fulgencio Batista’s coup d’etat in March 1952 was the first political event to have an impact on me. My parents favored neither political side, although my father, like the majority of Cuban people at the time, had placed his hopes in the Authentics,2 particularly in the man who came after the fraudulent government of Ramón Grau San Martín. Later, he supported the Cuban Revolutionary Party (Orthodox) under the leadership of Eduardo Chibás. Its slogan was, “Honor against money.”3
I remember everyone’s shock on March 10 when General Batista seized power. Everyone expected another corrupt regime, one even more subservient to the United States. When I left school that day, I went to the Institute of Secondary Education, near my home, to see what was happening. I expected it to be the center of protests against Batista. But everything there was quiet.
The following year, 1953, was the year of my political awakening. I heard stories about the July 26 attack led by Fidel Castro on the Moncada military barracks in Santiago de Cuba and its tragic aftermath when so many young people were rounded up and murdered in cold blood. The name of Fidel Castro now became familiar to some Cubans, who learned about his role in the student movement at the University of Havana and his affiliation to the Orthodox Party.
Most people, however, remained cynical after decades of politicking and empty promises. When I found out what had happened in Santiago de Cuba I became curious to know more about this Fidel Castro, the man who was reviving the ideas of our 19th century national hero José Martí with clarity and political vision.
After the joy of my graduation had subsided, I also learned pretty quickly about government corruption. It was impossible to gain a teaching position without handing over a large bribe. And even then, the post would be in some tiny school with multiple grades in a remote area.
My political education really began during my time at university. As I wasn’t yet a fully qualified teacher, I enrolled in the pedagogy faculty at the Central University of Las Villas. The university was reopening after a period of closure following Batista’s coup, and was trying to establish itself as one of the few elite universities that existed in Cuba in those days. The others were the University of Havana and the recently founded University of Oriente in Santiago de Cuba. This was a noble effort by the professors of the Central University, who tried to set the same educational standards as their counterparts at other institutions.
I took advantage of the free enrolment offered to students with good grades. I overcame the weaknesses of my academic development and tried to broaden my horizons, exploring all kinds of new things. I studied subjects like psychology, which I found most stimulating, and I spent more time reading serious books, although I did still enjoy reading romantic novels.
At university I formed close friendships, some through the Presbyterian Church. I had adopted that faith before going to university, because it was closer to my world and seemed very different from the Catholic religion. I thought the Catholic Church was full of pomp and hypocrisy, representing only the rich and powerful.
The Presbyterian Church seemed to allow more freedom of thought and was more in keeping with the times. Its members, ideas and interests were closer to mine. I still have friends from that time such as Sergio Arce and Orestes González, who are Presbyterian pastors and who have always been kind and understanding.
My studies remained the main focus of my attention for another three years. I was always walking a financial tightrope because I had not come from a well-off family. I kept searching for a teaching position, but jobs were scarce or nonexistent for women not prepared to offer up their bodies or honor in exchange for employment. The most one could aspire to was a poorly paid job in a private school or teaching private classes.
Meanwhile the political climate heated up and discontent spread among the population, at the same time as the repression increased. There were rumors that Fidel Castro, who had been convicted and imprisoned, had been granted an amnesty and freed from prison on the Isle of Pines. We heard that the July 26 Movement had been formed to honor the date of the audacious attack on the Moncada barracks. There was talk that Fidel had gone into exile in Mexico and that he made speeches there, promising to return to Cuba to liberate the country.
1956 was a decisive year for me. I carefully studied an underground copy of History will Absolve Me, Fidel’s defense speech at his trial for the Moncada attack. I was excited to read a document I felt expressed my ideas about how Cuba could attain its dignity as a nation.
The atmosphere at university became tense; the situation deteriorated to the point where, like other universities, it was closed again the following year. This unrest was reflected throughout the nation. Even though the Central University of Las Villas did not have the same radical tradition as the University of Havana, our students opposed the dictatorship and began to organize in response to the continued repression.
By that time, I had completed three of my four years of the pedagogy course, but we were unable to complete our courses after the university closed.
One September afternoon in 1956, I met Faustino Pérez outside my house. He was a fellow Presbyterian, a good, kind man, who inspired such confidence in me that despite my usual timidity, without explaining myself very well, I asked him if I could join the July 26 Movement. Faustino had just come back from Mexico and he eagerly accepted my offer. That was how simple things were back then. I knew Faustino through my Presbyterian friends, Esther and Gladys González. Esther had been my classmate at teacher’s college, and Gladys and I became friends at university. We studied together and they shared their books with me; I was always welcomed warmly at their home and felt the affection of their family.
Everything came together around me. Margot Machado, head of the school where I worked in the morning, was an active militant of the July 26 Movement and later we carried out a number of assignments together as clandestine combatants of the movement.
That was the way I became involved in the struggle. Another world then opened to me, and I have always regarded that as the real moment of my birth. From that point, I gave myself to the movement with complete dedication and sacrifice. This was probably one of the happiest times in my life.
1. The use of the term campesinos includes small farmers, tenant farmers (or peasants) and rural workers.
2. The Cuban Revolutionary Party (Authentic) was formed after the failed revolution of 1933, when revolutionary elements united to win the election. The party held power between 1944 and 1948, under Ramón Grau San Martín, the party’s main figurehead. He did not fulfill his electoral promises and was succeeded by Carlos Prío Socarrás in 1948. His government was characterized by corruption and inefficiency, which eroded support for the Authentics. Fulgencio Batista took advantage of the political discontent and organized a coup on March 10, 1952.
3. The Orthodox Party was formed in reaction to corruption of the Cuban Revolutionary Party (Authentic). The left wing of the Authentic party split away and called themselves “authentic-orthodox.” Led by Eduardo Chibás, in 1947 they opposed President Grau, and formed a new party, the Cuban Revolutionary Party (Orthodox), based primarily on the creole (national) bourgeoisie. The majority of the Cuban people supported this new party. Their slogan, “Honor against money,” struck a chord with the nation. Fidel Castro became a member of this party’s radical wing.