In what way can Cuba end tensions with the US without becoming a puppet state and/or vassalization? Is there any fault on the US for the current situation?

Open Letter from a Cuban Soldier to an American Soldier

Dear American Soldier:

I don’t know your name, your age, or if you have children or siblings. I don’t know the color of your skin or your family history. But I do know one thing: you and I are soldiers. And right now, the circles of power place us on opposite sides of a threat that I didn’t seek, and that I presume you didn’t either.

I’m writing you this open letter from Cuba, my homeland. From this island you’ve seen on maps, in news reports, or perhaps in old movies. But you do not know it. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up to the smell of coffee and the call of the tocororo.[1] You don’t know what it’s like to sweat under the sugarcane sun, or to mourn a grandfather who left without saying goodbye. That is what you call a “military target.” For me, it is my home.

Your government, the powerful government of the United States, has spoken of aggression. Of intervention. Of “restoring order” or “liberating us.” These are words we’ve heard before. Carlos Manuel de Céspedes[2] heard them when he raised his banner of freedom. The Mambises[3] heard them in the Cuban countryside. Fidel heard them during the landing at Las Coloradas aboard the yacht Granma,[4] and we hear them every day in the form of blockades, threats, and imperial attacks. But here we remain.

Today it is my turn, a young Cuban soldier, to defend my flag. That flag that Bonifacio Byrne,[5] from exile, described with a pain I now feel as my own: “My flag, my flag, which I have seen amidst the bullets, which I have seen amidst the bullets, and which I have seen torn, torn into a thousand pieces, the Cuban raises upon his shoulders of steel.” That flag is not a rag. It is the blood of my great-grandparents. It is the lone star that shines without asking permission.

So if one day you are ordered to come, if you cross the sea with your boots and your rifle, I want you to know something: here you will not find a vanquished people. You will find men and women who grew up hearing that verse in the National Anthem, a verse that is not mere embellishment: “To die for the homeland is to live.” It is not a slogan. It is a certainty. Because when all you have is your land, your dignity, and your family, then no tank can take away your courage.

Antonio Maceo,[6] our Bronze Titan, said it plainly: “Whoever tries to seize Cuba will only gather the dust of its soil soaked in blood.” It is not an empty threat. It is the experience of a hundred years of struggle. It is the warning that here the invader will find not flowers, but armed roots.

But I am not writing to hate you. I am writing to tell you that you and I could be friends in another life. That if we met on a street corner in Havana, perhaps we would share a coffee and you would tell me about your home in Ohio or Texas. I am writing to ask you to reflect: Who wins with this war? Your people? My people? Or those who trade stocks and manufacture weapons?

Your oath is to obey. Mine, too. But there’s a difference: you’re obeying an order to attack. I’m fulfilling my duty to defend my mother, my sister, my girlfriend, my neighbors. You would be invading my yard. I just want you to leave before blood turns us into enemies forever.

If you come, we’ll meet you with the resolve of those who have no other choice. I don’t promise you a clean or easy battlefield. I promise you that you’ll pay dearly for every inch of ground. But I also promise you that if you fall, I won’t celebrate your death. Because I know that behind your uniform there’s a family waiting for you.

So, soldier, heed my advice: don’t become the executioner of my country. Don’t bear the weight of an unjust war. Use your conscience before your rifle. And if you can’t refuse, at least remember this letter when you see our flag waving on the horizon. Because that flag, as Bonifacio Byrne wrote, will never be lowered.

“If they ask for my flag, / I must give it; / for there can be no surrender / more beautiful and more sincere / than to surrender it at the moment of death.”

That is my answer. Steadfast in the trench, but with a pure heart.

A soldier from Cuba, who prefers to die on his feet than live on his knees.