The African Dream

by Ernesto Che Guevara

  In general, the Liberation Army had better infantry weapons than Tshombe’s army—hard to imagine but true—and this was one of the reasons why the patriotic forces did not bother to capture the weapons of those who fell in battle and maintained no interest in that source of supply.

  The enemy’s tactics were those common in this type of war: air cover for attacks by columns on population centers; protective aircraft patrols along the main roads; and in the final phase, when the demoralization of our army had become evident, a direct attack on mountain strongholds by columns advancing against and capturing our positions, although without a fight. This is an army that one has to hit hard in order to undermine its morale. Given the geographical conditions, this can be achieved easily by adopting the correct tactics.

  It is also appropriate to analyze our own side. The great majority were blacks [Afro-Cubans]. This could have created empathy for and unity with the Congolese, but that did not happen. We didn’t see that it made much difference to our relations whether we were black or white; the Congolese knew how to identify each man’s personal traits, and only in my own case did I sometimes suspect that my being white influenced matters. The truth is that our own compañeros were poorly educated, as well as having a relatively low level of political development. As often happens in such cases, they arrived bursting with optimism and good intentions, thinking that they would march triumphantly through the Congo. At one meeting before hostilities commenced, some men remarked that Tatu was too remote from military matters, that his timid concerns about the relationship of forces would not stop them breaking in at one end and coming out at the other; then the country would be liberated and they could go back to Havana.

  I always warned that the war would last three to five years, but no one believed this. They were all inclined to dream of a triumphal march, a departure with big speeches and great honors, then medals and back to Havana. The reality came as a shock: food was short, often consisting of plain cassava even without salt, or bukali, which is the same; there was not enough medicine and sometimes not enough clothing or shoes; my dream of a fusion between our experienced men with army discipline and the Congolese was never realized.

  There was never the necessary integration, and this cannot be blamed on skin color. Some Cubans were so dark-skinned that they were indistinguishable from their Congolese compañeros; yet I heard one of them say: “Send me two of those blacks over there,” meaning two Congolese.

  Our men were foreigners, superior beings, and they made this clear all too often. Highly sensitive because of past insults at the hands of the colonialists, the Congolese felt it in the core of their being when a Cuban displayed any distain toward them. I could never manage to achieve an entirely fair distribution of the food, and although it must be said that Cubans more often than not carried the heaviest burdens, they would rather insensitively load up a Congolese whenever the opportunity presented itself. It is not easy to explain this contradiction, which involved various subjective factors and subtle nuances. But one simple fact might shed some light on the subject: namely, my inability to get the Cubans to use the term “Congolese.” They referred instead to “the Congos,” apparently a simpler and more intimate term, but it carried a hefty dose of venom. Language was another real barrier, as it was difficult for a force such as ours—submerged in the mass of Congolese—to function without having their language. From the beginning there were a few Cubans who lived happily alongside the Congolese and quickly learned to rattle things off in basic Swahili, a half-way language, but there were not many of these compañeros and there was always the risk of a misunderstanding that might sour relations or lead us into error.

  I have tried to portray the collapse of our troop in the way it occurred. It was a gradual but not a steadily incremental process; it gathered explosive material and then erupted at times of defeat, culminating at moments such as the fiasco at Front de Force; the series of Congolese desertions at the Katenga ambushes, where the men were seriously ill; my personal disaster in the cortege carrying the wounded man, when we got very little help from the Congolese; and the desertion of our allies in the final stages. Each of these moments signaled a deepening of the demoralization and discouragement among our troop.

  By the end, it was infected by the spirit of the lake. The men dreamed of returning home and, generally speaking, showed themselves incapable of sacrificing their lives in order to save the group or so that the revolution could march on united. Everyone just wanted to get across to the other shore to be safe. Discipline broke down to such an extent that a number of really grotesque episodes took place, which would merit very severe penalties against some combatants.

  If we made what we might call an impartial analysis, we would find that there was considerable justification for the collapse of the Cubans’ morale, extraordinarily so, yet many compañeros maintained until the end, if not their spirit, then their discipline and a sense of responsibility. If I have focused more on the weaknesses, it is because I think that the most important aspect of our experience is an analysis of the collapse. This occurred under the impact of a concatenation of adverse events. The problem lies in the fact that the difficulties we faced will be hard to avoid early on in the next phases of the struggle in Africa because they are characteristic of countries with a very low level of development. One of our compañeros said in a joking tone that all the anti-conditions for revolution are present in the Congo; there is some truth in this caricature if one looks through the lens of a mature, crystallized revolution, but the magma from which the artisan must draw out the revolutionary spirit had basic features very similar to those of the Sierra Maestra peasantry in the early stages of the Cuban revolution.

  We need to confirm what characteristics are required of a militant, so that he can overcome the violent traumas of a reality which he must confront. I think that candidates should first pass through a very rigorous process of selection, as well as one that opens their eyes. As I have said before, no one believed my statement that the revolution would require three to five years to achieve success; when reality confirmed this, they suffered an internal collapse, the collapse of a dream. Revolutionary militants who go off to participate in a similar experience must begin without dreams, having abandoned everything that used to constitute their lives and exertions. The only ones who should go are those with a revolutionary strength of mind much greater than the average—even the average in a revolutionary country—with practical experience gained in struggle, with a high level of political development, and with solid discipline. The incorporation process should be gradual and built around a small but tempered group, so that the selection of new combatants can proceed directly and anyone who does not meet the requirements can be removed. Therefore, a cadre policy should be followed. This will allow a steady increase in numbers without weakening the nucleus, and even the formation of new cadres from the donor country in the insurrectional zone of the host country. We are not simply school teachers but also attend new revolutionary schools.

  Another difficulty we experienced, and to which very special attention should be paid in the future, is that of the support base. Relatively large sums of money vanished into insatiable jaws, while minute quantities of food and equipment reached the troops in the field. The first requirement is for a command with undisputed and absolute authority in the zone of operations, able to exert rigorous control over the support base without relying on the control mechanisms of the higher centers of the revolution. The selection of men to carry out this task should be made well in advance. It has to be seen what a packet of cigarettes means for someone doing nothing at an ambush for 24 hours, and it has to be seen how little the hundred packets of cigarettes that might be smoked each day really cost in comparison with things that are either unnecessary or uselessly squandered in the course of the operation.

  It is now time for me to make the most difficult analysis of all—that concerning my own role. Taking self-criticism as far as I can, I have come to th
e following conclusions: From the point of view of relations with the revolutionary command, I found myself impeded by the somewhat abnormal way in which I entered the Congo, and I was not able to overcome this problem. My reaction to things was inconsistent; for much of the time my attitude might have been described as excessively complacent, but I sometimes had very bitter and damaging outbursts, perhaps due to some innate aspect of my character; the only group with which I maintained unfailingly correct relations was the peasantry because I am more accustomed to political language, direct explanation and the force of example, and I think that I would have been successful in this field. I didn’t learn Swahili quickly or well enough—a defect attributable primarily to my knowledge of French, which allowed me to communicate with the leaders but alienated me from the rank-and-file. I lacked the will to make the effort required.

  With regard to my relations with the men, I think I sacrificed myself sufficiently so that no one could hold anything against me personally or physically, but my two basic weaknesses were satisfied in the Congo: tobacco, which was rarely lacking, and reading material, which was always abundant.2 The inconvenience of having a pair of worn-out shoes or a dirty change of clothing, or of eating the same meager fare as the men and living in the same conditions was not a sacrifice for me. But my withdrawal to read, thereby escaping everyday problems, did tend to separate me from the men—not to speak of certain character traits that make it difficult for me to get close to people. I was hard, but I don’t think excessively so. Nor was I unjust: I used methods that are not current in a regular army, such as denying a man the right to eat, the only effective method I know of in a guerrilla war. At first I tried moral coercion, but this failed. I tried to ensure that my men had the same view of the situation as myself, but I failed. They were not prepared to look optimistically at a future that had to be glimpsed through the dark fog of the present.

  When the decisive moment came, I could not bring myself to demand the ultimate sacrifice [of others]; this was an internal, psychological obstacle. It was very easy for me to remain in the Congo. From the point of view of a combatant’s vanity, it was the appropriate thing to do; from the point of view of my future activity, even if it wasn’t the best, it made no difference at the present time. When I weighed the decision, I was swayed by the realization that it would be so easy to make the decisive sacrifice. I think I should have overcome this pointless burden of self-criticism and imposed the carrying out of the final gesture from a number of the men; we should have remained, if only a few of us. Moreover, I didn’t have the courage or the vision to break our tie to the lake and—together with all the Cuban troops, or a pared-down selection—press on to places where we would not have been constantly tempted by the lake and its hope of a return in the event of failure.

  Lastly, my farewell letter to Fidel played a role in my relations with the men in the final days; I could sense this, although the letter was completely objective. Just as had been the case many years ago, when I first arrived in the Sierra, the letter meant that the Cuban compañeros saw me as an outsider; now it was the same at the moment of departure [from the Congo]. There were some things that we no longer had in common, certain sentiments that I had tacitly or explicitly renounced but which each individual holds most sacred: his family, his surroundings and his homeland. The letter that had been received so favorably in Cuba and abroad actually separated me from the combatants.

  These psychological considerations might appear out of place in the analysis of a struggle that is virtually continental in scale. I maintain my faith in my concept of a nucleus; I was the leader of a group of Cubans, one company, no more; and my role was to be their real leader who would carry them to the victory that would hasten the development of a genuine people’s army. But my peculiar situation transformed me at the same time into a soldier, a representative of a foreign power, an instructor of Cubans and Congolese, a strategist and high-flying politician in an unfamiliar setting, and a tiresomely repetitive Cato the Censor in my relations with the leaders of the revolution. By pulling on so many threads, I formed the Gordian knot that I didn’t have the resolve to cut. Had I been a more authentic soldier, I might have had more influence in the other spheres of my complicated relationships. I have described how I reached the point of safeguarding the cadre (my own precious person) at the particularly disastrous moments in which I found myself, and how I didn’t overcome subjectivity in the end.

  I learned certain things in the Congo. These mistakes I will never make again, others I probably will make again; and I will commit new errors. I have come out of this with more faith than ever in the guerrilla struggle, and yet we failed. My responsibility is great; I will not forget this defeat or its most precious lessons.

  What does the future hold in store for us in the Congo? Victory, of course, but it is some way off.

  The liberation struggle against new-style colonial power inevitably presents extreme difficulties in Africa. In fact, there is not a single case that allows us to show its various phases all the way to victory; so-called Portuguese Guinea is an incomplete example of a well-conducted people’s war, but it has been fought against colonialism; nor can Algeria be considered a useful model for us because France developed within its colonial oppression neocolonial forms that we might call atypical.

  The Congo is the setting for the cruelest and most bitter liberation struggle and so a study of this experience will give us some useful ideas for the future.

  Unlike Latin America, where the process of neocolonialism has developed amid violent class struggles and where the national bourgeoisie participated in the anti-imperialist struggle before its eventual capitulation, Africa presents a picture of a process planned by imperialism. Very few countries there have obtained their independence through armed struggle. On the whole, everything has happened with the smoothness of a well-oiled machine.

  In effect, it is only the southern cone of Africa that remains officially colonized, and the general outcry against that system is likely to bring about its rapid demise, at least in the Portuguese colonies. The Union of South Africa presents different problems.

  In the African liberation struggle, the advanced stages of the process are similar to current models of a people’s war. The problem is how to root it more deeply, and this is where questions arise that I am unable to answer. I would simply like to outline a few points resulting from my feeble and fragmentary experience. If the liberation struggle is to be successful in the present conditions in Africa, it is essential to update some Marxist analytical schemas.

  What is the primary contradiction of the epoch? If it is between the socialist and the imperialist countries, or between the imperialist countries and their working classes, the role of the so-called Third World will be significantly reduced. But there are more and more serious reasons to believe that the primary contradiction is between the exploiting and exploited nations. Here I cannot begin an attempt to demonstrate this point, and to show that it is not opposed to the characterization of the epoch as one of transition to socialism. It would lead us onto difficult side-roads and require a mountain of data and arguments. I will leave this as a hypothesis that has been suggested by practice.3

  In this case, Africa will play an active and important role in this primary contradiction. Nevertheless, if we take the Third World as a whole to be an actor in this contradiction, at this present time in history, then we can see that there are gradations between countries and continents.

  In summary, we can say that Latin America as a whole has reached a point at which the class struggle is intensifying and the national bourgeoisie has totally capitulated to the power of imperialism, so that in the short-term historical future, the liberation struggle will be crowned by a revolution of a socialist character.4

  Asia is witnessing the same process, although the framework is much more complicated as it includes colonized imperialist countries such as Japan, as well as important socialist countries like China, and puppets of imperia
lism as large and dangerous (because of elements of a former status) as India. But in countries that might be considered more typical, where a war of liberation might be victorious, the national bourgeoisies have not exhausted their role as opponents of imperialism, although it is important to realize that they are rapidly moving in that direction. These are countries that have recently achieved liberation, and which don’t have the fictitious liberty that Latin America has enjoyed for more than 100 years; so it will take some time for the inevitability of revolution to become apparent there.

  In Africa, especially in the part called “Black Africa” because of the color of people’s skin, there is a long chain stretching from primitive communism to dots on the map where there are a proletariat and a developing bourgeoisie. Under the new imperialist plan, there is no contradiction of any kind between the national bourgeoisies and the neocolonial powers. Each individual country, when drafting its plan for the liberation struggle, must start by regarding as enemies not only the imperialists and the layers on which their strength is based (such as the surviving colonial armies and, more dangerous still, the colonial mentality of their officers), but all the nouveau riche, importers and emerging industrialists who are closely linked to monopoly capital in the form of bureaucratic capitalism.

  Under these conditions, the class that struggles against foreign power is the petty bourgeoisie. But what is the petty bourgeoisie in the African countries? It is a layer which, having served imperialism or neocolonialism, has become aware of certain limitations imposed on its own development and its human dignity. This class sends its children to study in the more intelligent colonial countries, those that offer the most opportunities, or, in this new period, the socialist countries. Of course, viewed as the leading stratum of a people’s war, this class is extremely weak. In the Congo, as I have said, the peasants are divided into an infinite variety of major or minor tribal groups, whose bonds become stronger as their territorial compass becomes smaller. This can vary from certain large groups—I came to know the Katanga and the Kivu—which are bound together with ties akin to “nationality,” through to more compact territorial groups, right down to small tribal groups at village level.