I would like to use this occasion to express my sincere thanks to Florida International University for inviting me to occupy the Edna-Gene and Jordan Davidson Chair. I am pleased to have the opportunity the Chair gives me over the coming months to be part of the University’s distinguished faculty, in the Department of Modern Languages, and to work with the lively, bright minds of its fine student body.

Finally I want to thank the audience for being a part of this, the first of the activities we have planned for this semester’s program on the Cuban patriot and writer, José Martí.

I am going to speak tonight about one of the most admired individuals in the Spanish-speaking world. Martí is not as well-known in the United States as he deserves to be. He deserves to be studied not only by those Americans who are interested in history, politics and literature, but also by ordinary citizens. And let me emphasize that this is not just because Martí was the last liberator in the Americas, in a direct line from Washington and Bolívar, or because of his ideas and writings. It is also because, over the more than four centuries of relations between the two Americas, there never has been a man who did more to foster mutual understanding and goodwill between the English and Spanish speaking peoples, or whose influence is more strongly felt today than the Cuban, José Martí.

Martí lived the last 15 years of his life in New York. He arrived in New York in 1880, when he was 27. He had already been banished from his homeland twice for his activities on behalf of Cuban independence. He lived in Cuba until he was 17, then in Spain, where he attended university. Later he lived in Mexico, Guatemala and Venezuela. He tried to settle in all these countries, but in each one he encountered difficulties with the undemocratic governments that were then in power.

Martí was fascinated with the United States —its customs and style of government. He had a privileged intellect and worked as a correspondent for several Latin American newspapers. This combination of interest, ability and opportunities enabled him to study this country as no one else before him had done, and as no one since has done in the Spanish language.

Martí had a dual approach to the United States: he admired its democratic institutions and love of freedom, but he also criticized its materialism and social injustices. His first impressions about American life were written in English for a newspaper in New York with a limited circulation. Even in these first impressions we see some of the central themes of Martí’s praise and criticism of the United States. To illustrate this point, I am going to read several passages from his first published opinions about this country. You should bear in mind that Martí wrote in English, and his problems with this language in no way reflect upon his magnificent prose in Spanish. Shortly after arriving in New York, Martí wrote:

I am, at last, in a country where everyone looks like his own master. One can breathe freely, freedom being here the foundation, the shield, the essence of life... We read in Europe many wonderful statements about this country. The splendor of life, the abundance of money, the violent struggles for its possession, the excellencies of instruction, the habit of working... But have the United States the elements they are supposed to have? Can they do what they are expected to do?... We must ask for a response to these secrets... I have all my impressions vividly awakened. The crowds of Broadway; the quietness of the evenings; the character of men; the most curious and noteworthy of women... this colossal giant, condorous and credulous; these women too richly dressed to be happy; these men, too devoted to business, with remarkable neglect of spiritual business... As I took my usual nocturne walk yesterday evening, many pitiful sights made a painful impression on me. One old man... his eyes fixed upon the passer-by, were full of tears. He could not articulate a single word. His sighs, not his words, begged for assistance... I passed through Madison Square, and I saw a hundred men, suffering from the pangs of misery... I will study a most original country... I will see many absurdities, many high deeds... I will see benevolent faces of men, defiant faces of women, the most capricious and incommendable fancies, ah the greatness of freedom and all the miseries of prejudice...

Martí lived in the United States during the terms of several presidents, from Rutherford Hayes through Grover Cleveland; he lived here from the so-called "Gilded Age" through the first half of the great commercial, military and expansionist surge of the 1890s. For almost all his adult life, Martí lived in this country; and when he left in 1895, it was to take part in Cuba’s War of Independence, where he was killed in one of the first encounters between the Spanish soldiers and the Cuban patriots.

In the last edition of his Collected Works, writings about the United States occupy more than 3000 pages. They are devoted to ah aspects of American life: the great national celebrations, such as the centennial of the Constitution, the dedication of the Statue of Liberty and the inauguration of the Brooklyn Bridge. They deal with moments of national sadness, such as the assassination of President Garfield, the death of Emerson and the burial of General Grant. They paint events of the day: the Haymarket bombing in Chicago, the Charleston earthquake and the admission of Oklahoma to the Union. They bring great figures to life: diverse figures such as Walt Whitman and Wendell Phillips, "Buffalo Bill" and Jesse James. In an article published in Mexico, Martí wrote: "In order to know a country one must study all its aspects and expressions, elements and tendencies, apostles, poets and bandits." He touched upon all subjects that might interest his Latin American readers living in the United States as well as his readers in the countries where his columns appeared: Argentina, Uruguay, Colombia, Venezuela, Mexico and Cuba. A single sentence will be sufficient to give you an idea of both his admiration for, and his fear of, this country. Commenting on U.S.-Mexican relations, he said: "We love the land of Lincoln, just as we fear the land of Cutting." Martí favored what was best for Latin America, and, of course, his fear stemmed from the fact that Francis Cutting was one of the most fervent members of the American Annexationist League.

Martí’s great reservations about the United States are rooted in his anti-imperialism, and that is ultimately the reason for almost all his criticism of this country. He feared that the whole of Latin America was in danger. But, in particular, he was afraid for the Caribbean. At that time, it seemed that, in the natural order of things, the next U.S. expansion would push South, and Cuba would lose forever the opportunity to be independent.

Two forces fueled this danger: the first was the belief of many North Americans that the United States was ordained by God to rule the continent, because, according to them, Latin Americans were an inferior people, and also, because this country needed secure markets for its industrial products. This was an idea that had been at work since the very first days of the American republic. During the Mexican-American War, President Polk had declared that it was the "Manifest Destiny of the United States... to possess the whole continent"; and John Quincy Adams before him had targeted Cuba when he wrote: "There are laws of political as well as of physical gravitation; and if an apple cut by a tempest from its native tree cannot choose but fall to the ground, Cuba, forcibly disjoined from its own unnatural connection with Spain... can gravitate only towards the North American Union."

This was but one of the forces that drove the United States to conquer and annex new territories. There was another force at work on behalf of expansionism, and it actually existed in the Latin American countries themselves. This force is rarely mentioned, but it did not go unnoticed by Martí, who devoted much energy to combating it. Before Martí, and in his time, some great Hispanic thinkers believed in the superiority of the Anglo-Saxon over the Latin race of the Americas. To achieve the social, political and economic state this country enjoyed, they were prepared to ignore some of the interests and the character of the peoples of Latin America. Domingo Faustino Sarmiento, who was one of the most admired writers of Martí’s day, and who had once served as president of Argentina, is an example of the Latin American figures who dangerously valued the United States above the republics of the South, thereby iii a way, encouraging U.S. imperialism. Sarmiento reasoned: "South America is being left behind and will soon forfeit its providential mission for modern civilization. Let us not hinder the march of the United States... We must strive to keep up with the United States... We must become the United States."

In truth, a good deal of Martí’s work was aimed at warning Latin Americans about the United States and directed at those like Sarmiento whom he called "anglomaniacs" That is, the people who believed that the solution to all our problems would be found in blind imitation of the United States. Martí expressed his fears of that uncontrolled admiration in a graphic metaphor: "If a green, fragrant pasture is opened up to a hungry horse, the horse will run out to the pasture and bury its head in it up to it neck, and he will furiously bite anyone who tries to stop him."

Naturally, it is impossible to say to what extent Martí’s message succeeded in awakening Latin America, but I am convinced that it did much towards that end, if only because his reasoning was supported by solid arguments and presented in captivating prose. Sarmiento himself, who in his time was much more influential than Martí, applauded Martí’s style and expressive ability: "There is nothing in Spanish," he said, "comparable to Martí’s roaring expression, and since Victor Hugo, France has produced nothing to match Martí." Which is to say, according to Sarmiento, that in Spanish, the language of Cervantes and Quevedo, no writer had Martí’s capacity for expression, and in French, only the author of Les Misérables, could be compared with Martí.

The best example of Martí’s influence on Latin America is his role in the First International American Conference, which was held in Washington in 1889 and 1890. The apparent U.S. motivation for convening a gathering of all the nations of this continent was to increase North American influence over the rest of the continent and locate new markets for the industries: in short, to displace Europe as the supplier to Latin America. When the delegates arrived in Washington, the U.S. government put them on a luxury train and took them on a 6000-mile excursion of the United States, from Washington to West Point, to Boston, Niagara, Cleveland, Detroit, St. Louis, Kansas, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh and New York. At the Conference, matters of genuine interest were on the agenda: the creation of a court of arbitration to settle disputes; the promulgation of a doctrine of "no rights of conquest," and the establishment of a Customs Union.

As consul general of Uruguay in New York, Martí was at the center of these developments. He wrote repeatedly on the Conference, and the newspapers containing his articles circulated widely among the Latin American delegates. He was worried by the awestruck declarations of the invited delegates during the trip. For example, in Buffalo, the Nicaraguan delegate said: "... We have come to the United States to study and to learn. You have much to teach us. You have established what is politically the world’s greatest republic..." And he offered the following toast at reception:

"To the United States... May that day soon arrive when the stars and stripes is seen flying from the masts of countless merchant ships in all ports of the world..." At a ceremony in Chicago, the delegate from Chile remarked: "... The plan of unity and fraternity initiated by the U.S. government when it convened this International American Conference is worthy of all praise, as is the idea of inviting us on this excursion, so that we might see for ourselves the greatness of this country..." In Philadelphia, the Venezuelan delegate declared: "In the not too distant future, when all America is one, the youth of all our countries will be on an equal footing, as concerns a liberal education... It seems tome that my visit and that of my fellow delegates to this Congress will contribute to fostering even closer social, political and commercial relations among our peoples..." On January 25, 1890, the delegate from Colombia, said in a speech delivered in Baltimore: "You, the sons of this great republic, do not know the meaning of the word ‘impossible,’ and therefore can understand our situation perfectly and prepare for the great conquest that lies before you. Onward! The task is worthy of you. Go to Latin America, for there you will find land to satisfy your ambitions, peoples who will receive you with open arms, and governments ready to protect your rights. Ml this we can offer you..."

When the delegates arrived in New York, Martí invited them to a meeting of the Literary Society over which he presided and to which the most prominent Hispanic writers and figures residing in the city belonged. There, in a memorable speech, he said: "Some of us have been driven here by a storm; others, by a myth; and still others, by business. However great this land may be, however blessed Lincoln’s America is to all free men, for us, in the secret of our hearts, without anyone holding it against us or taking it the wrong way, the America where Juárez was born is greater, because it is ours and because it is leas fortunate." And to temper the blind enthusiasm which the delegates felt for the United States, Martí continued: "Our America also raises palaces, and brings together the useful surplus of the world’s oppressed; she also tames the forest, and brings to it the book and the newspaper, the rule of law and the railroad; our America, with the Sun on its forehead, also rises above deserts and is crowned with cities... For that reason, we who live here are proud of our America, and if we live here, it is to serve and honor her. No, we do not live as aspiring servants or dazzled rustics, but with the determination and capacity of contributing to making our America esteemed for her merits and respected for her sacrifices..." He ended with this well-known passage which is in every way a lyric warning against becoming too closely attached to the United States, as well as a re-affirmation of fidelity to his own: "Where it will not be forgotten, and death does not threaten it, there shall we carry our America, as our light and our host; no corrupt interest or fashionable fanaticism shall tear her from that inviolate place. Let us show our souls as they are to these illustrious heralds who have come from our native lands, so that they can see that our souls are honest and loyal, and that the just admiration and the useful and sincere study of a foreign country —without rose-colored glasses or a distorted magnifying lens— need not necessarily weaken the ardent, holy and redeeming love which we feel for our own... And so, when each ambassador returns to those shores which we are perhaps destined never to see again, having ascertained that we have preserved our dignity in a foreign land, he will be able to say to she who is our mistress, our hope and our guide ‘America, our mother, we have found brothers in a distant land! America, our mother, there you have children, too!"’

But where we can best see Marti’s preoccupation with the outcome of this Conference is in the articles which he wrote for La Nación, of Buenos Aires, and El Partido Liberal, of Mexico City. A few examples will suffice; he wrote in the Argentine newspaper on December 20:

Though they hide their roots where they cannot be seen, a people must be studied from the roots up, for only thus will we avoid being dazzled by those seemingly spontaneous movements of nations and the co-existence in them of eminent virtues alongside rapacious traits. Not even in the generous carelessness of its early days did the United States possess that humane and eloquent love of liberty which moves one nation to cross snow-covered mountains to redeem another from slavery; the love which smiles even with a dagger at its throat and is not extinguished even at the stake, but shows the way to redemption by the light of its own martyrdom. The Dutch merchant, the egotistical German, and the domineering English all played their part in forging the character of the North American, who, reared in a heritage of lordly self-government, refused to be a slave but saw nothing criminal in enslaving other men, under the pretext that a race was ignorant which they themselves kept in darkness...

And in the same newspaper, the following day, he denounced the manipulation of the Monroe Doctrine to serve the interests of imperialism:

Blind admiration, whether the product of a lover’s passion or lack of study, is the most powerful political weapon on which the United States relies to gain domination over our America. We don’t need to be taught by foreigners to be weary of foreigners. For centuries, even before our fledging freedom, we knew how to repulse with our bare chest the moat tenacious and powerful people on earth, which we forced to respect our natural power by proving our capabilities to them —and we did it alone. Shall the Monroe Doctrine, which was as much Canning’s as Monroe’s, and intended, originally, to impede foreign domination in the Americas, be invoked now to extend that domination over us? Or shall that doctrine be invoked against one foreigner in order to attract another?

And when Martí attacked a proposed Arbitration Accord, applauding the Argentine delegate’s opposition to it, he commented: "... He that is weak-kneed has as good as fallen on the ground already. We should not bring upon ourselves an enemy which we cannot defeat, nor invite him to fall upon us by the weakness of our opposition. We shall neither engage a foreign race to oversee us, nor serve a foreign race as overseers of our own race. It is not a question of race, but of independence or slavery..."

A year later, and precisely one century ago, Martí’s campaign on behalf of Latin America culminated in the publication of one of his beat known essays, entitled "Our America." This is an essay that should be read in schools where young Latin Americana are taught with the same frequency, devotion and purpose with which Lincoln’s "Gettysburg Address" is read in American schools. I am going to read a few passages from "Our America," not just to mark the lOOth anniversary of its publication, but because this essay again clearly expresses both Martí’s fear of the North and his repeated warnings to the South:

The scorn of our formidable neighbor, who does not know us, is the greatest danger for our America... Through ignorance, she might go so far as to lay hands on us. From respect, once she came to know us, she would remove her hands. One must have faith in the beat in men and distrust the worst... Nations should have a pillory for whoever fans useless hate; and another for whoever does not tell them the truth in time.

At the first International American Conference, as Martí recommended, the Latin American countries to a certain extent resisted American pressure, and because of this resistance relations with the United States were more cautious and therefore leas dangerous, although still far from what Martí would have wanted. Shortly after the Conference, Martí published in New York his beat known book of poetry, the Versos Sencillos, whose centenary we are also celebrating this year. In the prologue of that book, Martí leaves no doubt about the importance that Conference had for him. He wrote:

This book was written in that Winter of despair, when due to ignorance, or fanatical faith, or fear, or courtesy, the nations of Latin America met in Washington, under the fearful eagle. Which of us shall ever forget that shield, a shield on which the eagle of Monterrey and of Chapultepec, the eagle of López and Walker, held in its talons the flags of all the nations of America? Nor will I forget the agony in which I lived, until I could see the caution and energy of our peoples...

Martí was referring, of course, to North American interventionism: the capture of the provincial capital of the Mexican state of Monterrey by the United States in 1846, and the siege, one year later, of the Chapultepec Military Academy in Mexico City, which was defended to the last man by its cadets; the Venezuelan officer, Narciso López, who brought two armed expeditions to Cuba financed by annexationists interests; and William Walker, the Tennessee adventurer, who occupied part of Central America and also served the interests of Southern slave holders.

I can assure you that the "caution" and "energy" which Martí commended in the Latin American countries, was in large measure due to the message he preached for a decade

—a message that became more intense during the time of the Conference.

This more dignified attitude on the part of Latin Americana also served as a lesson to North Americana, for they realized that they would have to treat Latin Americana with more respect and consideration. This, to a great extent, is why Martí has such importance for us today. Having awakened Latin America, Martí brought about a reaction that reduced the excesses of those North Americans he called the "ultraeagles." We can’t of course exactly measure to what degree his work helped curtail U.S. expansionism, but I would say that it did its part to lessen this tendency. While it is true that Cuban sovereignty was diminished by U.S. intervention in 1898, the war, which Martí thought would contain North American ambitions, did indeed serve in a certain way as a brake on imperialism in this country, and as an argument for those here who understood that only mutual respect and consideration could insure good relations between the two Americas.

The Cuban war of independence brought a new spirit in the attitude of some North Americana towards Cuba. We can contrast, for example, the attitude of President William McKinley, who was in favor of annexation and against Cuban interests, with the noble Congressional Joint Resolution approved in April 1898, which declared that Cuba was and "by right ought to be free and independent." After the U.S. occupation of the island, we can compare the insolent General Leonard Wood, who was both imperialistic and anti-Cuban, with his predecessor as military governor, General John Brooke, who respected the bravery of Cuban soldiers in the war and the will of the country to be free. Yes, it is true that Cuba embarked on its existence as a republic in 1902 with its sovereignty sharply curtailed by the U.S. intervention; but it is no leas true that the scheme to convert Cuba into a North American colony was made impossible by Martí’s foresight and warnings.

To summarize, Martí’s influence over the continent took two routes: one reached directly across Latin America; the other reached into the United States itself. There lies the importance of Martí for all of us tonight. Martí gave Latin Americana an accurate picture of their neighbor to the North, and because of this, Latin Americans were able to state their interests and views in a way better calculated to have an impact in this country. Curiously, there is something of a parallel between the role Martí had in his time and the role the City of Miami playa today. As we all know, Miami is one of the most accessible points of contact for Latin Americana who want to learn about the United States, and it also offers a lesson for North Americana who doubt the capabilities of Latin Americana. Like Martí in his day, Miami is a window to both the United States and Latin America.

This parallel between Martí and the City of Miami leads us to a reflection with which I would like to conclude these remarks. Among its noble aspirations, Florida International University has worked and is working to become a kind of academic clearinghouse between Anglo America and Latin America. It does not exclusively represent one region or the other, but aspires to become a true bridge for the best each has to offer. The goal of bringing us closer together requires understanding and generosity, and in no other place are you likely to find a better climate for these to grow than in a university that truly fulfils its highest mission.

Both inside and outside the university, we can and should —in all honesty— be firm in our convictions and ideas; but we must be tolerant in the university; without renouncing our ideas, or even the repugnance that we feel for what we consider to be heresy or error, we must always remain respectful of the ideas and convictions of others; for heresy and error do not die in the darkness of a cell: they only shrink in the light of reason and intellect. And even if they do not expire, here they should always find a refuge, for that is the one and only salvation of academic freedom.