by Enrique Ubieta Gómez
Granma | 26 November, 2016
He walked with difficulty but without help. His assistants advanced at his side, aware of every step, but I imagine he had ordered them to leave him alone. He sat in his seat, forever his, although he was no longer formally a member of the Central Committee. The last session of the 7th Party Congress was underway.
He spoke. The voice of the Comandante en Jefe again reflected the exact tone of his great speeches, although at times it thinned, like the sound of a radio station that fades in and out. There is something, however, that was never extinguished: his penetrating eyes, irradiating light. The photos of him taken by his son, collected in a beautiful, supposed-retirement, album confirm this. Fidel was already an old man, a grandfather who was a bit hunched, but his eyes continued to be young. He spoke, and we all felt he was bidding us farewell:
“Soon I should be having my 90th birthday, such an idea would never have occurred to me, and was never the object of my efforts, it was a whim of chance… We will all have our turn, but the ideas of Cuban Communists will endure, as proof that on this planet, if one works with fervor and dignity, the material and cultural goods that human beings need can be produced, and we must wage a relentless struggle to obtain them. We must convey to our brothers and sisters of Latin America and the world that the Cuban people will triumph.

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