Tuesday July 20
Moncada will mean nothing to you. That is, unless you’re Cuban, and if you’re on our island I know you won’t be reading this story. So I should explain to the rest of you that Moncada is one of the first words I learned. It was not like the words “Mama” or “Papa,” which I could say from the start. When I say learned I mean I was taught to say the word “Moncada.” I was told that Moncada was not just for me but for everyone. That is maybe why I feel uncomfortable when I write “I.” It’s not I or me that Moncada has to be learned for. You see that compañero Humberto taught me well.
But no one in Cuba will care now about my schooling. This story? Well, maybe. I should explain that I have written only part of it. Like Moncada, the story is not supposed to be about me. There are, I know, too many “I”s in it, and my Cuban friends have added more. They wanted to write so you might understand a little of the story of Cuba and Moncada. It is only about one week in our lives, but we all wanted to tell it. It is about us and our home.
–Paul Webster Hare