Seldom does one encounter a literary and cultural phenomenon like José Martí. A poet who transformed the way poetry was written in his society; a journalist with an unfailing eye for the telling detail, along with an unwavering moral compass; an inspiring orator; a fervent and impassioned advocate for the independence of his beloved Cuba – he was a true Renaissance man, who in his short life carried within his great heart the spirit and the aspirations of an entire people. For Cuba, he was Robert Frost and Thomas Paine and Martin Luther King Jr. and Walter Cronkite, all in one. And this Penguin Books edition of Selected Writings of José Martí provides North American readers with an excellent opportunity for getting to know Martí, his life, and his work.
Any English-language edition of Martí’s work, if it is to be helpful to readers from the Anglosphere, must endeavor to capture the breadth and variety of Martí’s writing; and this edition, translated by Esther Allen, with an introduction by Roberto González Echevarría of Yale University, certainly does so. Included in this edition are poems (both in the original Spanish, and in English translation, on facing pages), along with letters, notebook entries, journalistic articles, essays, and even a play written early in Martí’s career. Particularly helpful – and something that one may not find in other translations – is the inclusion in this edition of excerpts from Martí’s War Diaries of 1894-95. The first of those diary entries was written in February of 1894, as Martí and fellow Cuban revolutionaries were making their way along the border between Haiti and the Dominican Republic, trying to find a way off Hispaniola and over to Cuba. The last was written on May 17, 1895. Two days later, Martí charged Spanish forces, against orders, and was killed. At the age of 42, he gave his life for his beloved Cuba.
As Martí spent much of his adult life in the U.S.A., working as a journalist while sending articles out for publication in newspapers like La Nación of Buenos Aires, his commentaries on life in the United States of America may be of particular interest to American readers, as when he writes in his 1883 article “Tributes to Karl Marx, Who Has Died” about the American attitude toward the United States’ wealthiest citizens. “Rome,” Martí writes, “prided itself on its generals; the United States prides itself on its rich men. It does not raise them high upon a shield, however, but mocks them even as it worships them” (p. 136) – an assessment that seems just as accurate for an American reader in 2016 as it must have seemed to Argentine readers in 1883.
Of particular value, however, are those writings in which Martí defends the honor of his beloved Cuba against all who would challenge that honor, whether Spanish or American. In a time when Cuba was a last gem in Spain’s old imperial crown, Cubans were divided among autonomistas (who favored Cuban autonomy within the Spanish empire), anexionistas (who favored annexation of Cuba by the U.S.A.), and independentistas (who wanted to see Cuba become an independent, sovereign republic beholden to no other nation). Martí was proud to be an independentista, and he articulated his belief in Cuba’s independence and national dignity in many of his writings. In response to anti-Cuban sentiments expressed in pro-annexation newspapers in Philadelphia and New York, Martí wrote in “A Vindication of Cuba” (1889) that “no self-respecting Cuban would like to see his country annexed to a nation where the leaders of opinion share towards him the prejudices excusable only to vulgar jingoism or rampant ignorance” (p. 263). In other words, why would nationalistic Americans who despise Cubans as people want to annex Cuba as a new state of the American Union? Martí’s logic is unassailable.
In “Our America” (1891), one of his most famous essays, Martí calls for Cuba and her sister nations of Latin America to establish republican government on the basis of their indigenous cultural traditions, asking, “In what patria can a man take greater pride than in our long-suffering republics of America, erected among mute masses of Indians upon the bloodied arms of no more than a hundred apostles, to the sound of the book doing battle against the monk’s tall candle?” (p. 291)
And in “To Cuba!” (1894), written after American tobacco companies responded to a strike by Cuban cigar workers in Key West, Florida, by importing Spanish strike-breakers, Martí offers a compelling suggestion that Cubans will have no friends in their quest for independence except for Cubans themselves: “There is no patria, Cubans, but the one we shall win with our own efforts….No one loves or forgives except our own country. The only solid ground in the universe is the ground on which we were born….Cubans, there is no man without a patria, and no patria without freedom” (p. 328). His calls for Cuban freedom and national pride still inspire the Cubans of today.
I read this edition of Martí’s Selected Writings while visiting Cuba. Over the course of a week in the country, traveling from Havana to the seaside resort town of Varadero, I noticed a number of things. One was that, at this early time after the relaxing of el bloqueo, the U.S. economic blockade of Cuba that followed the 1959 revolution, an American traveler in Cuba is still likely to be mistaken for a Canadian or a Briton. A second is that Cubans who realize they are dealing with an American are singularly gracious hosts, welcoming American visitors with warm hospitality, and with expressions of hope that more Americans will come to Cuba. And a third is that every town across the Cuban countryside, every district of Havana, seems to have its own monument to Martí. His trim, modest figure; his high forehead and thick mustache; his bearing, at once modest and somehow noble; his neat suit of broadcloth – there is no mistaking Martí when you see him. Martí is Cuba; he embodied the spirit of that beautiful and enigmatic island nation, and every reader who wants to gain an understanding of Cuba should read Martí.