"Raise It, Mayeta!": When a Journalist Becomes the Voice of a Nation

I was confined in a solitary cell at Mar Verde prison in Santiago de Cuba, when one morning, a Ministry of the Interior officer began her shift. Approaching cautiously, almost trembling, she whispered a barely audible question:

—José Daniel, do you know Mayeta?

Having spent several months in near-total isolation, with no contact with the outside world, the only Mayeta I could think of was Yosmany Mayeta Labrada, a human rights activist and independent journalist born in the neighborhood of Altamira in Santiago.

—I know a Mayeta who’s a journalist and a human rights advocate, currently living in Washington, I replied.

—Yes, that’s him, she confirmed.

She glanced around to ensure no one else was listening and, lowering her voice even further, added:

—Everything he says is true.

This brief confession stayed with me. A member of the repressive machinery secretly acknowledged that Mayeta's reports were accurate. In Cuba, telling the truth can be perilous. It can land you in prison or even cost you your life. That bold guard was eventually expelled from the Ministry of the Interior for sympathizing with another political prisoner from the July 11, 2021 protests.

On January 16, 2025, after more than three and a half years in prison, I was released. Upon returning to Altamira, the very neighborhood where Yosmany was born and raised, I immediately resumed my social and humanitarian activism with the Patriotic Union of Cuba. Alongside my wife, other UNPACU members, and collaborators, we began distributing food to those living in extreme poverty. Dr. Nelva Ortega additionally provided primary medical care to vulnerable patients and seniors. Just three days later, a woman waiting in line exclaimed loudly:

—Raise it, Mayeta!

This was the first time I heard that phrase. After years of confinement and isolation, I was unaware it had become a popular cry in Santiago de Cuba. My wife explained that it was frequently repeated and that there was even an urban music song dedicated to the journalist.

In the days that followed, I heard it repeatedly. I searched online and grasped its deep meaning. In the face of police abuse, endless blackouts, ruined streets, long lines for food, or any injustice, many Santiagueros shout, "Raise it, Mayeta!"

This phrase has evolved into a synonym for complaint, demand, and relief. It means: make it public, let the world know, ensure the abuse doesn't go unpunished. It is the people condensing their pain, frustration, and rejection of the dictatorship into two words. It also highlights the significant void left by official media, which fails to represent citizens and instead covers up for their oppressors.

Immediately after regaining my freedom, I reached out to Mayeta, my friend and brother in the struggle, and shared the story about the prison conversation and how I came to know the phrase "Raise it, Mayeta." Our connection had been severed with my imprisonment on July 11, 2021. Shortly after, I was imprisoned again, enduring another ordeal of beatings, torture, and humiliation at Mar Verde prison, before being sent directly from prison to Antonio Maceo airport, en route to exile in Miami.

During my first trip to Washington, we reunited at a place full of symbolism: in front of the Abraham Lincoln monument. There, I recalled the 23-year-old who, around 2012, studied Social Communication and began working with UNPACU. He already stood out for three important qualities: talent, courage, and an iron will. He was not content with mediocrity. He wanted to learn, investigate, report, and give voice to the voiceless.

Within UNPACU, he created "Cuba from Within," a citizen journalism project that began by exposing the plight of political prisoners and the harsh everyday reality of Santiago de Cuba, the Oriente, and even Havana.

His team documented what the Communist Party's press either hid or distorted. While covering Bayamo's 500th anniversary, they were detained for several hours for allegedly violating the security perimeter of then "vice president" Miguel Díaz-Canel.

Mayeta was also among the many detained during Pope Benedict XVI's visit to Cuba, as dozens of activists and independent journalists were preemptively arrested to suppress any dissent. The political police knew he was audacious enough to evade their "operations."

Yosmany later collaborated with outlets like CubaNet and 14ymedio. He went into exile in 2019. From the United States, he continued to denounce the regime's oppression, poverty, neglect, and systematic abuses relentlessly. His work made him particularly troublesome for the regime's authorities in Santiago de Cuba.

Recently, he faced the real threat of deportation. If returned to Cuba, he would have been imprisoned and severely persecuted. Two brilliant attorneys took up his defense, while journalists, activists, organizations, and friends advocated with U.S. institutions. Ultimately, he received administrative pardons, allowing the process to be dismissed.

Today, Mayeta graces us with his presence in Miami. He arrived from Washington to participate in the fifth-anniversary activities of the July 11, 2021 protests, when thousands of Cubans took to the streets demanding freedom, justice, and better living conditions. He brought with him t-shirts bearing the face of 11J political prisoner Sadiel Cintra de la Cruz, a Cuban residing in the United States who was sentenced to 10 years in prison while visiting Cuba. Coincidentally, he was the political prisoner with whom the expelled guard sympathized.

One day, Mayeta will return to his homeland. But not in handcuffs, nor handed over to his executioners. He will return to a free Cuba. Until then, whenever a Santiago resident shouts "Raise it, Mayeta!" they won't just be invoking the name of a journalist. They will be demanding that the truth be revealed and proclaiming, with determination, that the Cuban people, despite fear, censorship, and brutal repression, refuse to be silenced.