"It is now a matter of life or death," he told us. "Life if the de facto government allows me to leave and receive medical treatment for the cancer. Death if the de facto officials remain deaf and stubborn, offering no humane treatment."

"I am happy to continue living as a member of our great team of freedom and justice lovers worldwide.

But I am happy also in case I shall depart for the final voyage. I would happily, by the grace of God, enter heaven to see parents, friends, militants, ancestors, apostles, angels, archangels and be part of the great dynamic mosaic that God has created.

I thank all who have worked so hard on my behalf. There are so many supporters, friends, doctors, benefactors and militants working for me and the rest of the political prisoners here. It is unusual to be on this side of the work. Usually I am one of the ones trying to fight for freedom and democracy. Even here I try to work with the other prisoners to keep their spirits up and to get them in shape for freedom.

Freedom is coming, I tell them. We must be ready so we can help free the rest of the people who are unjustly in prison here and around the world."

As it grew dark, it was time for us to leave. We stood up before the barred windows and joined hands in a circle. First a religious song in creole. Then he prayed for all the prisoners and all the people without food and shelter in Haiti and beyond. Then the "our father."

Finally he led us in a loud and spirited "we shall overcome" that echoed off the concrete prison walls.

"And deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome one day." After I hugged Father Jean-Juste, some of his spirit of resistance infected me. And as I walked past the mounted machine guns on the U.N. jeep, I must admit, I do believe. We shall overcome one day.