(Traducido con Deepseek) Trump, I don’t really like traveling to the U.S. much; it’s a bit boring, but I admit there are some commendable things. I enjoy visiting the Black neighborhoods in Washington. There, I witnessed an entire battle in the U.S. capital between Black and Latino communities, with barricades and all, which I thought was nonsense because they should unite instead. I confess I admire Walt Whitman, Paul Simon, Noam Chomsky, and Miller. I confess that Sacco and Vanzetti, who share my blood, are memorable figures in U.S. history, and I follow their legacy. They were murdered by the fascists within the U.S., just as they exist in my own country, executed in the electric chair for being labor leaders. I don’t like your oil, Trump. It’s going to destroy humanity out of greed. Maybe one day, over a glass of whiskey—which I’ll accept despite my gastritis—we can speak frankly about this. But it’s difficult because you consider me an inferior race, and I am not, nor is any Colombian. So, if you know someone stubborn, that’s me, period. You can use your economic power and arrogance to attempt a coup, as you did with Allende. But I will die standing by my principles. I’ve endured torture, and I will endure you. I don’t want enslavers next to Colombia; we’ve had enough and freed ourselves. What I want next to Colombia are lovers of freedom. If you can’t stand with me, I’ll go elsewhere. Colombia is the heart of the world, and you’ve failed to understand that. This is the land of yellow butterflies, of the beauty of Remedios, but also of Colonel Aureliano Buendía, and I am one of them, perhaps the last. You may kill me, but I will survive in my people, who existed long before yours, in the Americas. We are people of the winds, the mountains, the Caribbean Sea, and freedom. You don’t like our freedom, fine. I won’t shake hands with white enslavers. I will shake hands with white libertarians, heirs of Lincoln, and with the Black and white farm boys of the U.S., at whose graves I wept and prayed on a battlefield I reached after walking through the mountains of Tuscany and surviving COVID. They are the U.S., and before them, I kneel—before no one else. Bring me down, President, and the Americas and humanity will respond. Colombia no longer looks to the north; it looks to the world. Our blood comes from the blood of the Caliphate of Córdoba, the civilization of its time, from the Latin Romans of the Mediterranean, the civilization that founded the republic and democracy in Athens. Our blood carries the resilience of Black people enslaved by you. In Colombia lies the first free territory in the Americas, before Washington, before all of the Americas. There, I take refuge in their African songs. My land is one of goldsmithing that existed during the time of the Egyptian pharaohs and of the world’s first artists in Chiribiquete. You will never dominate us. The warrior who rode through our lands, shouting for freedom, named Bolívar, stands in your way. Our people may be somewhat fearful, somewhat shy, naive, and kind, lovers at heart, but they will reclaim the Panama Canal, which you took from us with violence. Two hundred heroes from all of Latin America lie in Bocas del Toro, now Panama, once Colombia, whom you murdered. I raise a flag, and as Gaitán said, even if I stand alone, it will remain hoisted with the dignity of Latin America, which is the dignity of the Americas—a dignity your great-grandfather never knew, but mine did, Mr. President, an immigrant to the U.S. Your blockade doesn’t scare me because Colombia, besides being the country of beauty, is the heart of the world. I know you love beauty as I do; don’t disrespect it, and it will offer you its sweetness. FROM TODAY, COLOMBIA OPENS ITS ARMS TO THE WORLD. WE ARE BUILDERS OF FREEDOM, LIFE, AND HUMANITY. I’ve been informed that you’ve imposed a 50% tariff on our human labor’s fruits to enter the U.S. I’ll do the same. …

Dessalines le Grand !