With the blood of its most courageous sons, the country has written glorious pages of its history. A cunning setback took the lives of seven Cubans, some of them very young, on April 15, 1961 in the bombing of the airports of Ciudad Libertad, San Antonio de los Baños and Santiago de Cuba, in what would be the prelude to an invasion.

The next day, there in the central corner of 23rd and 12th streets of the capital's Vedado, once again the people, like months before at the funeral of the victims of the sabotage of the French steamer La Coubre, gathered to express their rejection of the events in a mixture of pain and unwavering feeling of struggle.

The determination of a country was forged to embark on its own path of social justice, free from oppression of any kind, in that struggle to eradicate the exploitation of all loopholes so that man is a brother and not a wolf of himself, even at the risk of the storms.

And the echo of Fidel's words still resounds from one corner to another of the island: "(...) Because what the imperialists cannot forgive us is that we are here, what the imperialists cannot forgive us is dignity, integrity, the courage, the ideological firmness, the spirit of sacrifice and the revolutionary spirit of the people of Cuba.

“That is what they cannot forgive us for, that we are so close to them and that we have made a socialist Revolution right in front of the United States!”

The premonition became a certainty and hours later, those same rifles that were raised in support of the angry leader's speech went to defend the dream of the "humble, with the humble and for the humble" in the sands of Playa Girón.

Among swamp, mangrove and mosquitoes from the south of Matanzas, Marti's clairvoyance in the Our America essay became a reality by preventing the passage of the "giant of the seven leagues" in just 66 hours, to the sound of the rifle and shrapnel. In a future that remained fertilized with the blood of those brave sons, he represented and represents a beacon of freedom for the oppressed peoples of the continent.

If that war had six names, as Heras León bequeathed us from the harshness and epic of those days, how many thousands or millions will those of this one that we live today have, with the same enemy that does not cease in its efforts to subdue us.

A feat that is written daily, not without its own errors and limitations, but just as committed to the same ideals of social justice to continue drawing "the name of the soul of men who are not going to die", as the poet would say.

Now, the young people and the whole town do not put their chests to the bullets of mercenaries or to the bombs of false flag planes as in that bright April, but when facing a pandemic, to daily life with countless shortcomings, to defend from the furrow, the factory, the school or the virtual scenarios of the Internet the right to a better future.

It is, above all, about what did not happen thanks to the Girón victory, about returning to the previous state of outrage in which the majority of the Cuban population lived, as Fidel said; it is about conquering happiness and even what we lack, despite the cynical manipulations of the powerful neighbor from the North.