As I was lining up in the corrals before our run in the ING Miami Half Marathon for a fundraiser for Roots of Hope, a U.S. college network of students and their supporters who are helping find ways to connect with young Cubans on the communist-controlled island, I felt kind of helpless.

Ironic considering how empowering the many months of planning, training and fundraising felt. As a group, we chose to dedicate our inaugural Run for Roots race to Ladies in White founder Laura Pollán, who died in October in a Cuban hospital. But standing in front of the Freedom Tower, looking down at my bib number and the words “para LAURA” (for Laura) made me wonder if anything that I had done, or could ever do, for a civil society in Cuba would matter. As the fireworks went off signaling the start of the race, I decided to use the run as a meditation on Cuban dissidence.

I thought of Wilmar Villar, the 31-year-old political prisoner who died Jan. 19 in prison while on a hunger strike. I imagined how confused his two little girls, who will never know their father, must be. I wondered how they’d feel for the rest of their lives when people said to them that their father was a hero. Would they believe their family’s sacrifice was worth the reward?

I thought of José Martí and how he spent more time in exile than in Cuba, fundraising in young American capitals and writing a few lines that would inspire a people for centuries to come. Our Bronze Titan, Antonio Maceo, flashed before my eyes as a figure of unwavering courage, the same kind of courage that Havana blogger Yoani Sánchez exhibits when she takes to her laptop to liberate all of us one tap of a computer key at a time. Though divided by centuries, they were united by purpose in even the most abysmal circumstances.

Looking at the thousands of runners ahead of me, it struck me that every Cuban I know strives for a better Cuba in their own way. Individually it can be inspiring, but collectively, it’s made our best intentions the collateral damage of our heartfelt hopes. And why?

If we’re all on the same side, why must the quest for a Cuban civil society be so divisive? More often than not, the talking heads like to pin Roots of Hope as counterpoint to the other Cuban exile groups because of our youthful membership and modern-day approach to Cuban relations. But in reality, we’re just filling a gap, coming at the struggle with fresh eyes and a new set of possibilities.

We don’t oppose our elders, we’re the natural evolution of their work.

Thinking about that continuum, I wondered if we could move beyond our differences and focus on the net gain of our efforts. There’s clearly not one right way to take on a dictatorship, no one person can do it alone, so why shouldn’t we swarm in, like a pack of ants, each one of us working in our own way to eliminate the false construct of “us” vs. “them,” transforming us once again into a “we.”

As I crossed the finish line, exhausted, dehydrated and in pain, I wondered if Laura could have ever imagined that on any given Sunday, we’d be running for her. Could this 63-year-old literature teacher have guessed that she would have made such an impact on a young group of Cuban Americans so profoundly that we would choose to train for weeks, ask our friends and family for money and tell all that would listen about this small woman who liberated an oppressed people?

And no, Cuba has not been completely liberated yet — but at the end of this horrible chapter of our story, Laura she will be recognized as the lioness who showed unimaginable courage in the face of grotesque oppression. Her efforts paved the way for our forward motion. She mattered, and by mattering she showed us all we do, too.

Carmen Pelaez, who grew up in Miami, is a playwright who lives in New York. WWW.CARMENPELAEZ.COM