The image of a rifle in the hands of a singer-songwriter is strange, but not when the one wielding it is Silvio Rodríguez, 79. The Cuban singer-songwriter has spent his entire life singing, directly or indirectly, about the Revolution, its leaders and its ideals; about the martyrs and the guerrillas. “There are politics in my songs, but not propaganda,” says the musician to EL PAÍS on Wednesday at the oja studios in Havana. He speaks of the government’s “orthodox and closed” vision in the economic sphere, and of its commitment to a less “rigid” socialism. “Socialism by the book is very idealistic,” he concludes. He doesn’t budge an inch on his opinion of the United States government: “The world is run by an authoritarian, warmongering, thieving regime. And it’s not Cuba.”
Adored by the left around the world and reviled by the opposition—who know him as “the regime’s troubadour”—he sits for a chat in front of guitars and a painting made by Cuban prisoners to whom he has died two decades ago, just a week after requesting an AKM rifle from the Armed Forces should Donald Trump militarily invade the island. “But it’s fake; a very well-made imitation,” he points out.
The intention to have to use a real one remains unchanged. “I’m not going to tell you what I think of those who want to see their own country bombed and invaded,” he says, alluding to the Cuban-Americans who support Trump’s foreign policy. “I don’t wish ill on the opposition, but I don’t want them to win. Not for my sake, but for what it would mean for this country.”
In Rodríguez’s legendary studio, where the likes of Chucho Valdés, Omara Portuondo, and Pablo Milanés, among others, have recorded music, one of his soon-to-be-released songs is playing. It’s one of dozens spread across more than 20 albums that have circled the globe, establishing him as one of Latin America’s most prestigious voices. “Counterfeit Cuban and original Cuban; insubordinate Cuban and editorial Cuban,” the song goes. I have smiles, imagining a Cuba where dissenting voices also have a place. “The positive thing is that people have the opportunity to express their thoughts and that truths emerge from discussion and dialogue,” he says.
Despite the critical situation in his country, the author of anthems like “ojala,” “La Maza,” and “Unicornio” insists that despair has not taken hold of him. “I refuse to believe that the future will be one devoid of human feeling. If that were the case, life would be a failure. And I don’t believe it is.”
