I have the right to be angry and to express that anger, to hold it as my motivation to fight, just as I have the right
to love and to express my love for the world, to hold it as my motivation to fight, because while a historical being, I live history as a time of possibility, not of predetermination. If reality were what it is because it was written so, there would be no reason to be angry. My right to feel anger presupposes, in the historic experience in which I participate, that tomorrow is not a “given,” but rather a challenge, a problem. My anger, my just ire, is founded in my revulsion before the negation of the right to “be more,” which is etched in the nature of human beings. I must not, therefore, cross my arms fatalistically before such destitution, thus relieving myself of my responsibility to challenge a cynical and “tepid” discourse about the impossibility of changing, because reality is what it is. This discourse in favor of settling, which exalts imposed silence and which results in the immobility of the silenced, the discourse of praise to adaptation, taken to mean fate or destiny, is one that negates the humanization we cannot escape responsibility for. Adaptation to situations that negate humanization can only be accepted as a consequence of the experience of domination, or as an exercise in resistance, or as a tactic in the political struggle. I can give the impression of accepting the condition of silence today, so that I can fight well, whenever I can, against the negation of myself. This issue, the legitimacy of anger against fatalistic docility before the negation of peoples, was a topic implicit throughout our conversation that morning.