HAVANA.- I don’t have the slightest doubt about the reason for the posters that are appearing, and not because my body is scrawny and short. My height exceeds, at least a little, six feet. And if I make that warning it is because a lot of doubts are gathering inside me that, many times, become truths, irrevocable sentences.
It turns out that I woke up in the middle of a roar that would grow with great, almost overwhelming force. In the neighborhood there was nothing else talked about. All the neighbors talked about the same topic, over and over again, without getting tired. And in the center of the murmurings there was a wall, a wall that rises over a section of the Calzada del Cerro, very close to the avenue of Boyeros Ranch.
And those who arrived first say that on the wall they could read, very clearly, “Down with Díaz-Canel” and that, as if that were not enough, they had also traced the name of Fidel Castro with identical demands. That’s how they wrote, and that’s what the neighbors read, who, very curious, came to look, until the communists intervened at the wall.
Very soon, in a rush, some sections of the wall were dyed black to cover the posters, just those where that had been written. BELOW that attracted the attention of many neighbors and everyone who passed by. DOWN DÍAZ-CANEL, DOWN FIDEL: that was read in the enormous Hill Causewaywhich received the numerous curious people who wanted to confirm what was previously nothing more than a neighborhood comment.
And the Calzada del Cerro began to fill with curious people, the kind who only found black spots covering what had previously been written. Those stains caused passersby to begin to make conjectures, to wonder what was under that black paint that attracted so much attention.
The remedy turned out to be much worse than the disease. The curious grew in number and the questions multiplied. The theories expanded, and with them those who made one, and a thousand, conjectures increased. The decision-makers put their inventiveness to the test and, where there was previously a black stain, an entire well-plastered wall appeared, a wall that would later be painted to make any evidence disappear.
The communists repeated the usual strategy: concealment. Erasing every vestige of contempt became the most important thing. And the cement appeared, the sand appeared, everything necessary appeared to hide the enormous discontent of the Cubans, already fed up with so much misery.
Today many families are crying out for a bag of cement, for a little bit of sand to correct the disasters of houses on the verge of collapsing. But these materials are reserved for concealment, to cover up the truths that haunt us.
Building materials are arranged for concealment, to hide what cannot be seen by everyone. And if you don’t believe it, express your disagreement, your “disrespect,” on the facade of your own house, and you will see how they rush to paint it. Paint, show disobedience, non-conformity, and you will see that there is paint.
