Ivonne Haza walked the earth like angels do. And we all know that they were created to go after the will of God. It does not matter which of the utilitarian apprehensions of it is outlined and adopted. This one that Ivonne showed me and had apprehended, imagined and obeyed only dialogued from love. She inhabited things and people. A therapeutic one, balm on the Being. Perhaps that is why she is so infinitely loving, I told myself. And in the treatment she gave me, I confirmed it.
His spirituality brought us closer. And his passion for music, much more. I never met someone who persisted so much in that desire to culturalize the people, the town, musically. And do it with his own: his body, resources and voice. In solidarity and selfless deliveries. She sang as a child wanting to please her parents: her people and her nation. She did it from the inside. With skill, feeling and energy. With a powerful voice.
Above us, it seems that Fate had cast its dice to link us in some way that was —to both of us— unknown and unlikely. He entered my life through the pathways of gratitude. Indirect but completely essential for me: my brother Basilio. He opened the doors of the National Theater for her during her tenure as artistic director of that institution in the 1980s. Although I had studied at Fine Arts, I did not have the pleasure of meeting her there. It was because of the help she gave Basilio that I met her. And it was there, at the National Theater. An afternoon of a day whose details I have forgotten. She was coming down the steps and she seemed to me like one of those Parisian actresses. Her imposing and glamorous lady quality was the first thing I admired.
Ivonne Haza was much more.
He professed a spirituality that few knew. And in it we made common cause. A commitment to walk the earth on Jesus’ terms: lambs among lions. She did it perfectly. Subtle, elegant, discreet, patient and persistent. Her commitment to her art elevated her to being, in fact, the first minister of national culture. Beautiful, intelligent, talented and beautiful, she knew how to sell the Codetel executives at the end of the eighties the idea of a cultural department within institutional public relations. Once inside, she did much more: engage and train the employees of that company in art. Get the executives to consent. Suddenly Fine Arts had a formidable competitor-ally that, in terms of actions in favor of culture, surpassed it: Ivonne Haza with her artistic groups from Codetel achieved national reach and relevance.
Dance, theater, painting and, naturally, music —their thing— found shelter in an institution whose mission was to produce profit for its members. It caused so much impact with the sending of that contingent of peace, love, fun and civility to the communities, which obtained preferential treatment and dignity for the members of its groups by the human resource managers of Codetel. Suddenly art became body and flesh, there.
Our secret link was that: the commitment to art, culture and its dissemination. The commitment to inherit the youngest a better country.
Talent, which Ivonne Haza did not bargain with whoever possessed it, predisposed her to collaboration. She could have been a proud person because of her recognition, origin and social status. Or the headhunter that she actually was her. Virtuous for culture and society. She preferred to be a teacher of culture and social commitment. And she always makes a living from her work, with dignity, even giving music classes to individuals.
There was so much goodness in his soul that it infected me, deeply, as if he instructed me from then on not to harm the most insignificant natural or social existence. That’s how he conquered me. He made me his without touching me. He dragged me to her and since then I never stopped admiring her, loving her or listening to her sing. I learned so much from her that since then I have known the uselessness of her selfishness and trickery against her talent. There’s always a door you can escape through, she told me one day, when she was telling me about her projects with lyrical singer Frank Lendorf. That door is work and work, she stressed.
During his tenure as General Directorate of Music of the Ministry of Culture from 2000 to 2004, he evidenced that solidarity: he almost ordered his superiors to recover the provincial music bands of the country, in extinction and today extinct. He received little support. They just appointed an assistant. The Boeotian that forms the culture did not allow him to advance more than two or three little steps. He insisted. Until everything happened.
After the day before yesterday, when I learned of his death, I was overwhelmed with pain.
We had been in contact for the last few months; talking on the phone. I called her to find out how she was doing in the midst of the Covid-19 pandemic. I silently appreciated the effort it cost him to speak. I admired the willpower with which she took on the challenge of not letting herself be defeated by this difficulty. She laughed, not being able to remember in time what she needed or not finding the exact words to express herself. I felt strong and determined. Loving. We talked a long time. Regretting, both, the deculturation trend that is advancing in the country. Hers What a thing about her! before that involutionary escalation that advances, seeking to cut us off. The empire of perverse mediocrity. I don’t know why I imagined her, with that imposing personality in her meekness, speaking to me, as always about art, peace, social justice and love. They were the most expensive themes for Ivonne Haza with me, many times shared in her small apartment on Ave. Luperón. Recently, she shared with me several videos with performances of orchestral pieces that made her nostalgic. Her music was still in her. Beautiful and inalienable company.
His integrity was awesome. Her solidarity and love for good and humble people, older. Her contempt for her elitisms and damaged spirits made her a role model for me, one I am still committed to emulating.
Rest in peace, Master. Live on in our hearts.
Goodbye, teacher Ivonne Haza, continue to live in our hearts