Aruca forever
By Ricardo Alarcón de Quesada
HAVANA – In a place in Colorado, in the heart of North America, far from the anti-Cuban Miami whose irrational violence he fought so hard, died an admirable human being who, among his many virtues, always evidenced an unshakeable Cubanness.
Francisco González Aruca was an exemplary patriot. I learned to love and respect him several decades ago, when he and other young émigrés, confronting the hatred and fury of the Batistan-annexationist mafia, toiled to embrace the distant motherland once again.
Heroically, they faced bombs and the threats and hostilities from a community that was held hostage by that mafia. Carlos Muñiz Varela paid for that with his life, the victim of a crime that still remains unpunished.
Aruca resisted and survived without ever faltering. He was a pioneer and for years accomplished a prowess before which any homage pales. In Miami itself, in the bowels of a counter-revolution that has never ceased to enjoy impunity, he started a radio program, to which he later added a digital magazine. They have been alternatives for true journalism and patriotic integrity.
Radio Progreso rose like a beacon to shine amid the shadows of irascibility and rudeness and remained irreducible, defying terrorist attacks, insults and all kinds of pressures. There, one could hear the way he replied to the clumsiest provocations with elegance and wit. Above all, it was possible to follow the well-thought, intelligent commentaries and analyses of someone who never stopped thinking for himself or declined to say what he freely thought.
Progreso Weekly is already an important publication in the Web, opening new spaces to independent thought. Both are the fruit of the talent and constancy of a big man, a moral colossus.
Our friendship remained unbroken and grew beyond our youthful years. Every time he came to Havana, we met to recall the old days, yesterday’s friends, the experiences shared and also the dreams. We always spoke about our families. I don’t remember ever chatting with Aruca without hearing him talk about his love for his wife and children.
Because, above all, what defined Aruca perfectly was that he was a good man. He exuded kindness from every pore, toward his family, his friends and his people. He used to joke about his height. Physically, he did not grow much and always wore the face of a mischievous boy. In the distant past, those qualities served him once to slip out of prison.
Some may think that he disappeared far away, in the heart of a country that wasn’t his. They would be wrong. He again broke the ties that bound him and moved freely and smilingly toward the sun. Though he might not have suspected it, Francisco González Aruca was a giant.
And here’s something that Aruca knew: he was ours, and with us, his people, his motherland, he will always be.
