[January 7th
marks the 60th
anniversary of Fidel Castro entering Havana to take over as Cuba’s prime minister—one
begrudgingly recognized
by a U.S. government that had opposed his revolution and would continue to
oppose his rule. So this week I’ll AmericanStudy Cuban histories in
relationship to the U.S.—leading up to a weekend post on literary works that
can help us understand the island nation and ourselves!]
On the
cross-cultural experiences, ideas, and meanings of the legendary activist.
As best I can
tell, José Martí (1853-1895)
could be accurately described as at one and the same time the George
Washington, Tom Paine, and Phillis Wheatley of Cuba: equal parts revolutionary activist and leader, political journalist and philosopher, and poetic and
artistic genius. Although he died far
too young, fighting in the revolution against Spain that he had so fully helped
bring about, he had already done and achieved and influenced more in his
forty-two years, in all those different arenas and many others as well, than
most of us can dream of in a lifetime twice that long. And just as another
legendary Caribbean and world revolutionary leader, Toussaint L’Ouverture, belongs centrally to his native Haiti for which he lived and died so
inspiringly, so too do Martí’s inspiring life and work clearly belong to his
beloved Cuba, and I would never try to argue for a defining national or communal identity other than that for him.
Yet one of the
more striking facts about that life is that almost exactly a third of it—most
of the years between 1880 and 1894—was spent living in the United States;
principally New York City, but with extensive time and travel in Florida as
well. That Martí was less a voluntary immigrant than a political exile from his
homeland interestingly connects him both to many 20th and 21st century Cuban
Americans and to the long history of
immigrant Americans who fled for political
reasons and found a new home in (often) communities like New York. But while
those are the some of the main reasons behind Martí’s move to the United
States, they can’t possibly capture all that he experienced in that decade and
a half here, what (for example) the society and world of Gilded Age New York meant to this still young man from Havana. Not at all coincidentally,
Martí did much of his writing and literary work during these years, including
(to cite only one telling example) translating Helen Hunt Jackson’s activist novel Ramona (1884) into Spanish.
Toward the end of
his time in the U.S., Martí published his seminal essay “Our America” (1892), a breathtakingly original and vital work (to my mind, it’s on the
short list for the most unique and significant American texts, from any time
and in any genre, that our hemisphere has yet produced) that manages both to
capture his specifically Cuban patriotism and goals and to argue for a
sweepingly trans-hemispheric vision of American identity and community. The
essay is all Martí, reflective of all the different individual roles and
talents, ideas and visions, experiences and passions that I tried to highlight
in my opening paragraph and that define a truly singular person. But I can’t
help but see it as well as profoundly influenced by his cross-cultural
experiences, his time in New York and Florida (among many other places), his
trans-Caribbean and –Atlantic travels, a life and perspective that had
stretched beyond any borders or limiting categorizations. As such, I believe
that there’s great value in thinking of Martí as Our Martí—not, again, removing
him from his Cuban heritage and impacts, legacies and meanings, but instead in
extending his meanings (just as he extended his life and work) into our U.S.
histories and narratives as well.
Next history
tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What do you
think? Other Cuban histories you’d highlight?
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