No disrespect to readers, but I had decided not to write a column for this issue. When I get angry, it can be difficult to write. And if I wasn’t angry enough about Mose and Rufus, the public and international humiliation the Americans put Marion Jones through, just put me in a rage.
This Monday morning, however, the Sunday, October 7 of The Miami Herald made me know that today is the 40th anniversary of Che Guevara’s capture in Bolivia, and tomorrow, Tuesday, will be the 40th anniversary of his execution.
I remember that after the news came of Che’s capture and death, my best friend at Dartmouth College, an economics major from Malawi by the name of Guy Mhone (he died last year in Johannesburg), and I got into passionate debates about the relative merits of Fidel and Che. I was a Fidel man. He had fought his revolution, and had settled down to take care of business in Cuba. Mhone was a Che man. Che stood for international revolution.
As the years have gone by, I have learned to admire Guevara more and more. I feel that in the midst of my rage, I must take time out to pay my respects to the memory of Ernesto “Che” Guevara.
Sunday’s Miami Herald quoted Gary Prado, the Bolivian army captain who captured Guevara in 1967 (with the help of the American CIA) as follows: “There was nothing of the heroic guerilla about him. It was a sorry to see him … dirty and banged up. He was depressed obviously because of the circumstances – his dream was over, and his adventure had ended in failure.”
I guess the Roman army officers who threw dice at the foot of the cross to see who would get the crucified Jesus Christ’s clothes, would have expressed similar sentiments about Him. For us from the sixties, Che was like Jesus – he gave all for his fellow man. We have love for Che Guevara. Real.