When Fidel, on the eve of his death, asked that no monuments be built to his memory, he himself, without realizing it, built one in Ho Chi Minh’s homeland.
It is not of bronze or marble, like the one in Fidel Castro Square, which the visitor finds in the urban center of Dong Ha, the capital of Quang Tri; it was sculpted by the Vietnamese three years after the death of the commander-in-chief.
I am talking about the other, which the Cuban leader has erected; whose clay is considered a separation, a sign of solidarity at personal risk, supposedly in a region full of unexploded American mines, scattered in a volume greater than 800 thousand tons.
I also point out those truths that others did not dare to say, or did so with great lukewarmness, and which the then Cuban Prime Minister made clear were heard in all forums.
He also did not miss the opportunity to denounce the crime of the American army. uuu against the cousins of Ho, and he did not hide his admiration for Homer’s resistance to the brotherly people who triumphed despite everything.
Nguyen Xuan Phong, one of the translators who accompanied the Cuban revolutionary leader on his historic visit to those lands, in the midst of the war against the American invasion, said that Fidel was “the most active of our ambassadors.”
I say that Fidel’s voice, pure and steady, is the “gypsy curse” that persecutes the empire and condemns its crimes; the Vietnamese know that.
By being in that land, Fidel exudes credibility and mobilization of power in his statements in defense of a people “who must face all dangers,” referring to those who reduced solidarity with the attacked nation to simple speeches.
Among the same Cuban daring, Nguyen Manh Thua, another Vietnamese hero, responsible for protecting such a distinguished visitor in Quang Tri, recalls the moment the delegation found a teenager who had been hit by a landmine; he was almost lifeless in a trench.
The leader stopped the convoy, helped with first aid with his own hands, and arranged for an ambulance and his personal doctor to transport Thi Huong (the victim) to the nearest hospital.
Fidel’s cheeks ended up wet with pain, and Manh Thua swears he saw it “with my own eyes.”
-And what did you do?
– Shut up, that’s all; and admiration for him. I remember that at that moment the advisor of the South Vietnamese Liberation Front was next to me, and he said to me in a low voice: “You see, comrade, this is the leader’s love for our people.”
I asked: Why is Fidel so popular in Vietnam? “Because he knew how to be a brother,” answered Dao Phi, a young man from Quang Tri. “He was on our side without fear of the powerful.
Le Quang Nhat answered the same question: “Because, despite risking his life, when we were in trouble, he came from the other side of the world to bring us energy and encouragement. He came when others did not dare to do so.”
“He walked over there, look,” says Quang Nhat, in Dong Ha, pointing at the sidewalk across the street from us. “He stopped two blocks from here, and put his foot on the tank mat taken from the United States during the fighting.” “Sh.”
The man, now 57, was only five years old in 1973, but he recounts the event with an experiential closeness that seems rare.
-You mean you saw it happen?
– No, not that. I, like all the children and old people, was kept in shelters far from here.
– So, how can you talk in such detail about an event you didn’t witness?
– My parents and other elders told me these details. Also at school.
These same sources were recalled by Dang Thuy Linh. “My grandparents, like my father, talk about him a lot,” said the 33-year-old. “At school, they always reminded us that for this country, the leader and his people were willing to sacrifice their blood; friends like that are never forgotten.
That load of gratitude and affection, coming from the streets of Dong Ha, later made its way to the living room of Thi Huong, the Vietnamese woman who had been injured in a mine explosion and rescued by Fidel in a ditch.
“If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be in this world,” he says. Grief makes it hard for him to speak. She is accompanied by her husband, daughter and two granddaughters. In the center is a picture of “my second father.”
Ti Hong set aside that little corner for a family gathering for Fidel. “He is part of this family; he never turned his back on us; I dream of going to his grave before I die to say goodbye to the Comandante.
A portrait of the Cuban leader in Huong’s home, with an artificial tree behind it, hinting at spring and rebirth. In front of it are two cups with flowers and incense offerings.
Thi Huong chooses the 15th of each month for this ritual, recalling the day in September when he was dying, and Fidel took it from him with his death. The altar of the Supreme Commander is made of selflessness and devotion in the heart of Vietnam.
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