Carlos Alberto Montaner, Cubanos, Cuba

my last column

Madrid Spain. — I retire without any joy. I retire from “columnism”. my columns, for years, they were distributed by my closest collaborator, Lucía Guerra. I have turned 80 years old. I have Progressive Supranuclear Palsy. The name says it all.

It is a rare disease of the brain. I was diagnosed at the “Gregorio Marañón” hospital —one of the best in Spain— after an MRI. Three people per 100,000 suffer from it. It is not contagious, nor inherited. There is no cure for it. It is not known how it begins or why it originates. It belongs to the “parkinsonism” family, but without tremors. Hence the confusion in the diagnosis. It is characterized by preventing me from conversing well and reading, beyond the headlines (Linda, my wife, and our daughter, Gina, read the newspapers to me), not writing everything “well” that has allowed me to write for more than half a century. —among other things—one “syndicated” column a week. I have written thousands of columns and I owe everything I have subsequently done to my articles.

This PSP that now affects me is characterized (like the other one, that of the Cuban communists), by the “slow or slurred speech” that made me leave the comments on Cnn in Spanish (where I shared so much with Andrés Oppenheimer, Camilo Egaña and other notable journalists), despite the efforts to retain me made by my friend Cynthia Hudson, president of the chain. Or on twenty radio stations, starting with The morning sununder the direction of the Dominican couple Espaillat, Montse and Antonio, continuing with The moment of truth in RCN from Bogotá, in a space directed by Fernando Londoño, to the very modest Internet station that Orlando Gutiérrez directs towards Cuba, and has one of its most solid bastions in Julio Estorino. In addition, for years my comments reached Cuba through Radio Marti. Thank you for tolerating me in your ranks.

I saw the Cuban journalist Carlos Castañeda arrive in Puerto Rico at the end of the sixties with a job that seemed very difficult to me: raising El día de Ponce until it competed with The world de San Juan. If I had known about Carlos’ plans in advance, I would have stayed to fight that battle, but I already had tickets to Spain. He had been accepted at the Complutense University of Madrid to do his doctorate. My family and I were embarking on a new European adventure.

It was the first semester of 1970. Castañeda moved The day for San Juan, he changed his name, called him The new day and made a tabloid with big headlines, photos ad hoc and great cartoons. She soon she was left alone on the ground. The world hill. From that incident before settling in Madrid I keep a piece of advice that was very important in my professional life: “Look for Joaquín Maurín in New York,” Castañeda told me. He is a Spanish exile. Tell him that you want to write columns for his agency ALA (American Literary Agency). There are the best of the language, among others, Germán Arciniegas and Pablo Neruda”. I did it. Maurín asked me for a sample. I gave it to her. When I found it reproduced in 156 newspapers I swore to take care of my columns. And so I have done ever since.

Joaquín Blaya called me in Madrid. He was a Chilean, president of Univision. Then it would be Telemundo. She asked me for one comment a week and let me choose the topic. It would, of course, be topical. Maurín’s promise had been fulfilled. ALA spread my ideas and they opened up other fields for me, such as TV, which paid much better than the flat press. But Blaya showed that he was an executive of the highest quality. On one occasion, I was given a minute to explain a hypothesis from an anthropologist priest, a professor at a NY university, about the Welfare program, designed primarily by men, and its impact on low-income women. Definitely a controversial topic. NYC channel 41 saw political payoff, or acted out of fear, at the direction of management. The truth is that Al Sharpton, a Baptist minister, went to ask the channel for my head, without having heard my comment in Spanish, and Blaya defended me with total firmness.

When Miami Herald gave birth to a statement in Spanish they thought it would be a passing phenomenon. But then they verified that the perimeter of the Castilian increased. Since the world of newspaper editors is very small, Carlos Castañeda and the feat he had accomplished in Puerto Rico were spoken of with great respect. They called him and from there he was born The New Herald in the early part of the eighties. There appeared Roberto Suárez, Gustavo Pupo Mayo, Sam Verdeja, Armando González, Roberto Fabricio and the great Carlos Verdecia, former director of The New Herald.

I think it was Pupo Mayo. They offered me the address of The new. I did not accept it. I did not want to leave Spain. I was offered to run the “Opinions” page. I put two conditions so that they would not accept: I would only be present the first week of the month. The other three would be spent in Spain. (After all, I launched the remote work that became popular during the pandemic.) The second condition was that my deputies were Araceli Perdomo, about whose integrity very positive things were told in the newsroom, and Andrés Hernández Alende, so as not to commit mistakes or injustices. To the extent that, over time, after my resignation, Araceli and Andrés replaced me in office. Over time The New Herald It has been my house.

I have had the opportunity to write in the best newspapers in Latin America, Spain and the USA. In recent times my weekly column has appeared in The bookcasethe best digital newspaper in Chile, and in The Independent, an excellent digital newspaper published by Casimiro García-Abadillo, Victoria Priego (two great veterans of Spanish journalism) and —on the international side— Ana Alonso. These two newspapers complete the picture of the field of language in which I have had the privilege of fighting for and for freedom. At the end of my memories Without going furtherpublished by Silvia Matute in Debate, also editor of “Penguin-Random House”, in Spanish, I quoted the philosopher Julián Marías for his humble phrase. Today I do it again: “I did what I could.”

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