A dream to fulfill

By: Pedro Corzo - 17/02/2026

Guest columnist.
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The last few weeks have been very encouraging for those of us who live in exile. We have regained faith in the fall of the regimes that oppress Cuba, Nicaragua, and Venezuela, a dormant hope that we trust will materialize into a reality in which we all have a part, although we will always suffer the absence of those who have left.

The capture of the autocrat Nicolas Maduro was a kind of operatic overture that, added to the critical situation of the Castro-Chavista regimes, allows us to imagine the irruption of ordinary citizens in search of their rights, parallel to the longed-for return of those of us who, although eternally grateful to the lands that gave us a generous refuge, yearn to walk the streets of our childhood again.

A few days ago I was telling my wife that however golden exile or exodus may be, there is no place that surpasses that of one's homeland. It's not that life there is perfect, but it has an irreplaceable sense of belonging. Personally, I have a deep debt of gratitude to Venezuela and the United States. I can never repay the generosity of both countries in receiving me, but there is no value that can replace Cuba, and in particular the city of Santa Clara, in my memory.

Undoubtedly, the return, if it happens, will be very complex and perhaps at times discouraging. Families and friends who haven't seen each other for decades will share a flood of stories and experiences; joy and happiness will take hold of everyone. However, it is likely that, in some encounters, bitter memories and past differences will surface.

Our people, regardless of which shores they are on, have suffered significant traumas under Castro-Chavista rule, some of which are very difficult to eradicate from individual and collective memory. Consequently, I do not expect a clean slate, although we must all strive to find a way to live together healthily and justly.

Both Fidel and Raul Castro, Hugo Chavez, Nicolas Maduro, and the deadly marriage of Daniel Ortega and Mrs. Murillo have enjoyed the support of significant sectors of the population who, in the name of their leaders, committed numerous abuses and crimes—events that cannot be erased and that cry out for justice. However, we are all obligated, victims and perpetrators alike, to act with equanimity and respect everyone's rights, and as Jose Marti wrote, "People have nothing to fear from justice, but from those who resist exercising it."

Now, let me share my longings, clarifying that I have never been optimistic about change in Cuba; however, these days I have allowed myself to fantasize about returning. Luckily, I am not the only one; many of my friends are also dreaming, so I ask you to be understanding when I confess my fantasies that I long to become reality.

At 82 years old, and opposed to the dictator Miguel Diaz Canel, I remain an idealist. I am convinced that we can be better citizens and build a country "with everyone and for the good of all" because, as four illustrious Cubans from the opposition said, "the homeland belongs to everyone" and not to the henchmen who have served totalitarianism.

My return would be accompanied by the memory of many people, of whom I will only mention my father, Pedro Martin Corzo Aleman, and two brothers in arms, Gustavo Rodríguez Pulido and Amado Rodríguez, all former political prisoners who always had Cuba and Cuban culture in their hearts.

In the 45 years I've been physically away from Cuba, I haven't sung Perucho Figueredo's anthem. I remain silent when my compatriots sing it, so it will be the first thing I do if I ever set foot on the land I love so much. I would immediately travel to Santa Clara; my first visit would be to the ruins of the local cemetery, searching for the grave of my mother and so many other relatives who passed away during my long absence.

Later I would head to Leoncio Vidal Park, climb its magnificent gazebo, visit the monument to Doña Marta Abreu, and end up sitting on the most isolated bench in the place, which 67 years ago the writer Jose Antonio Albertini named the poets' bench. There, I would release all my emotions and feel free in body and soul, something that Castroism never conquered.

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