It’s difficult that the complex character of Fidel Castro, loved and hated in equal parts, leave one indifferent. Many assertions have been made about him but few as certain as the fact that, during 50 years, millions of people have been born, raised, taught to think and live and have even died in agreement with his unique way of comprehending the world.

During those times, Cuba has lived submerged in a strange blend of abundance of revolutionary groups and a shortage and rationing of goods. It also boasts the lowest rate of analphabetism and child death in all Latin America.

I firmly believe that judgements coming from external observers about philanthropists or dictators are irrelevant; be it if they are condemning or acquiescent. The only validity comes from the people who benefit from the acts of the first or suffer the delirium of greatness of the seconds. They are the only ones who can legitimately judge, not so much his importance as public figure, but how his actions have conditioned their own life.

Few times, barring this one, has the Calderonian thought that life is a dream been as evident. In this occasion it seems absurd, if not dramatic, to observe the legitimate comparison between the life of those who freely dream and the dreams of those who are dreamed of.

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