Marquez switch on him radio, an' all that come out was a long, restless hiss. No matter how much him try fi tune it to a clean, clear station, nuttin' work. Him try again an' again, till at last him just let it go. Truth be told, reality itself sound twisted on the land of pirates, same way how dem radio stations push dem wicked propaganda—one mirrorin' the other.
Suddenly!Marquez hear a straight-up line break through that strange radio. The announcer say:"Deep down in the conscience of humanity, there's a strange place only madmen ever visit… shhhhhhh."Then the hiss come back again.
Marquez nod him head in agreement, then quietly add to that heavy line all by himself. In a low voice, him say:That nobles sittin' by the roadside ain't no accident. That rich people beg from the poor outta greed ain't no shame to dem. That ignorant folks collect Nobel Prizes in every science an' art ain't no moment of confusion. That a believer turn against every creed an' faith ain't strange no more. That a pirate leadin' a "virtuous" society ain't even up for debate now. An' that flags of freedom fly everywhere? That no longer sacred. All the scales of balance sit right in the hands of madmen—true or not?
For one quick moment, conscience scream loud so everybody could hear, but nobody listen. Life slip back to how it used to be, back when it once knew how to free words an' meanings from the prisons of texts an' thieves. The pirates taste opportunity an' build chaos with skill, addin' surrender on top of surrender, till people crawl on dem bellies. Worse yet, the pirate turn professional—cutting livelihoods clean and dry.
To live among these strange disasters, outside all reason, while still tryin' to guide yourself with your own logic—yeah, dem would call you mad, gaspin' in a deep madness. To love madmen, an' hold tight to that madness that touch you, mean you really want to live with dignity—somethin' fake pirates can't understand. This is the paradise beyond the sea: a land where men wear plenty masks, an' women wear deadly curtains of bondage. That land only recognise the choked voice, the dark image, an' the hangin' human. Fear become daily food there; people eat it regular, 'cause life itself don't fear hunger unless fear missing from the table of oppression.
Still, among these restless waves of runnin' with no direction, Professor Marquez stand firm— that madman who carry, in him right hand, that blessed hand, a torch of madness to light up innocence all around. Dem are the true nobles, workin' with all the pride dem got to lift humanity back toward its lost glow. Even with all dem face every day, dem still believe in freedom, liberation, an' livin' with dignity.
There's no room fi humiliation. No road fi weakness or surrender. Even if you born a pirate, raised an' taught so, chains made fi break, an' darkness exist fi be lit up. How hard your task is, Marquez—how hard fi convince slaves say dem already free!
Life is a long march full of facts an' events, joys an' thorns. But at the same time, it's a gentle path for those who create light an' plant art along the roads dem walk. Professor Marquez can't live without art, an' him can't picture life without words an' rules—rules that give style, turn chaos into order, an' stand firm like the strong arms of law. All of it worth the try.
Marquez reject the line written on the grave of an American writer that say: "Don't try."Him reject it 'cause it's the first poison message aimed at the weak, the short-sighted, the discouraged. Him see it as the first spike driven into the eyes of innocence an' courage. Ain't our children braver than we? Yes, dem are—so don't kill dem courage with your fear.