Freedom Fighters

41. New Year's Day

1st January 1959
Havana, Cuba

For the last day or so, Juanita Castro had been sitting by a dusty desk, listening intently to the radio, only ever getting up to relieve herself or to eat. Her mind, still alert, had been constantly wracked by worry as she thought of her lover and brothers in the thick of the battlefield. 

Her arrival gave hope to the remnants of the Student Revolutionary Directorate, a mere handful of ragged youths hiding from the persecution that Batista promised them. They hid in the dank basement of a sympathiser, getting whatever news they could from the radio while organising a widespread protest through word of mouth on the streets. 

The atmosphere in Havana had slowly been turning more and more hostile towards Batista in the last month as word of the Movement's victories flooded in. A few small towns at first, then the large city of Santiago. Batista's press offices disputed the claim that Santiago had fallen, but the people did not believe their words. The regime had, since long ago, lost the trust of the people it claimed it protected.

"We strike," Juanita told the students, "when we hear that Santa Clara has fallen."

On the wee hours in the morning of New Year's Day, Juanita, in her half-asleep and dazed state got woken up by a cessation of static on the radio. The first thing she did was to make sure it was tuned into the frequency of Radio Rebelde, lest she had accidentally changed the channel in her sleep. It was indeed tuned to the Movement's broadcasting platform. 

"Citizens of Cuba," a crackled voice sounded out. Juanita could not contain her joy as she practically squealed in excitement. It was Dario's.

"I bring to you great news," he said gravely but in a manner that preceded a grand revelation. "Santa Clara has surrendered. I repeat. Santa Clara has surrendered. After a long and hard fought battle, the remaining defenders of the city has laid down their arms. Santa Clara now belongs to the people."

She got up from her seat, feeling a sudden surge of energy flow into every part of her body. Sprinting about the room, she woke the students up from their slumbers. "It's time! It's time!"

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The news of the momentous victory spread like wildfire. By the afternoon of the same day, the students had managed to rile up the dissidents of Havana and organise them into a march straight into the heart of the city, the National Capitol Building.

Juanita could not remember the last time she saw such a sight. Perhaps it was that day, a few years ago, the day where Havana rose up to challenge the dictator, but was put down like rabid dogs by the military. The day she met Dario. 

But this time it was different. She could see it in the blazing eyes of the hundreds of people marching past her. They were burning with indignation like the previous time, but this time they possessed a confidence that a monumental change was coming, that fate lay within their hands. 

The procession came across a police barricade that stood in their way, but even the police seemed hesitant to stop them. With uncertainty in their expressions, they made a half-hearted attempt to stop the protesters before meekly letting them through. 

Then they arrived at the National Capitol Building. The crowd erupted into cries of resentment against the regime. The students, revitalised in the hope of success, led the chants that shook the very earth beneath their feet. 

"Down with Batista! Down with Batista!" The ire of the populace were made known in those words, embodying their sincerest desires for a better life, a life where they could be free from the violence and corruption Batista brought to their streets.