Whatever the requirements of protocol, Che reveals in these passages a basic misperception of people and events, a certain gullibility, and the wishful thinking that would lead to his African debacle of 1965. Sukarno was indeed a national leader who arose from his country’s fight for independence; at the Bandung Conference of 1955, he played a central role in creating what later became the Nonaligned Movement. But like many leaders of Afro-Asian decolonization (with the major exceptions of Ho Chi Minh, Nehru, Nyerere, and Nasser), he was essentially a devious and corrupt reactionary. It was far more important for him to defend the privileges of the new elite he belonged to than to organize and eventually depend upon the needy masses of his country. He combined fiery rhetoric and an undeniable advancement of Indonesia’s national identity with an extravagance and ostentatiousness of pharaonic proportions. His authoritarianism finally led to a bloody countercoup by General Suharto in 1965, and the massacre of half a million Communists. And he was not the only Third World leader to pull the wool over Che’s eyes. Indeed, Guevara’s adventure in the Congo would consist largely of the successive traps he fell into. The expedition never recovered from the procrastination and corruption of Congolese leaders like Gaston Sumialot, Laurent Kabila, and Christopher Gbenye, who were supposedly struggling for their country’s liberation.
In the end, Che did realize how mistaken he was, but by then it was too late. In an unpublished letter addressed to Fidel Castro from the shores of Lake Tanganyika in October 1965, Che criticized the Congolese leaders who had just been received in Havana like kings and in whom he had deposited all his trust:
Sumialot and his companions have sold you an enormous bridge. It would take me forever to enumerate the huge number of lies they told you. … I know Kabila well enough to have no illusions in his regard. … I have some background on Sumialot, like for example the lies he told you, the fact that he has not set foot on this godforsaken land, his frequent drinking bouts in Dar-es-Salaam, where he stays in the best hotels … they are given huge amounts of money, all at once, to live splendidly in every African capital, not to mention that they are housed by the main progressive countries who often finance their travel expenses. … The scotch and the women are also covered by friendly governments and if one likes good scotch and beautiful women, that costs a lot of money.12
By the time Che grasped the type of allies he had shacked up with in the Congo, his expedition was in fact just about over. The explanation for this tragic misunderstanding lies not only in his ignorance about the situation on the ground, but also in his obsession for discovering nonexistent political virtues in an always bewitching otherness.
Che was enormously attracted by the cultural and ethnic diversity he found, by “the multitude of brothers in this part of the world who await … the right time to consolidate a bloc that will destroy … colonial domination.”13 His commitment to revolution, politics, and the armed struggle was too strong for him to see beyond the ideological wrapping of those people he admired. Yet his love of the differences he unearthed in each civilization, race, literature, architecture, and history prevented him from reducing everything to politics. Beginning with this trip, Che always sought two things in his travels: political affinity and cultural diversity, Since he could not find the latter in either Europe or Latin America—he was, after all, a Latin American with a European heritage—he would increasingly invent the former, concocting political analogies where in fact there were none. The Congolese leaders had to be revolutionary because they were culturally different. The native Indians of Bolivia had to be ready to take up arms. Mao and the Chinese leaders had to be willing to promote world revolution, especially in Africa. Che never ceased to be disappointed because he never ceased to hope, endlessly renewing his search for political parallels.
His passage through Ceylon and Pakistan was unremarkable, aside from its slightly quixotic tinge. It is difficult to understand how the third most important leader of the Cuban Revolution could spend three days visiting places like Colombo and Karachi while the new regime struggled against both internal and external threats. In contrast, his week in Yugoslavia seemed more relevant. This was Che’s first voyage to a Socialist country—albeit an atypical one—and he discovered many things worthy of his interest, if not his praise. It was for him “perhaps the most interesting of all the countries [we visited].”14
Interesting and somewhat surprising. Although it was “avowedly Communist,”15 only 15 percent of the land had been collectivized. It enjoyed “a very great freedom of criticism, though there is only one political party … and the newspapers … logically follow government guidelines within a certain margin for discussion and disagreement. … I can assert … that in Yugoslavia there is a wide margin of freedom within the limitations imposed by a system whereby one social class dominates the others.”16
Guevara formulated the first of a long list of objections to Yugoslav-style self-management: too many luxury products on the market, and no long-term economic strategy. In his words: “I cannot insist strongly enough on emphasizing the larger course of industrialization which must be carried out in a country as poor and underdeveloped as Yugoslavia.”17 He felt somewhat deceived by the Yugoslavs; Che’s traveling companion Omar Fernández recalled in an interview thirty years later how Guevara asked Tito for weapons during a long lunch at his Brioni game preserve. Tito refused, explaining that his country did not produce enough arms. A few days later, Che read in the press that Yugoslavia was selling weapons to an Arab country. “Great neutrality!” he exclaimed.18
As in Bolivia five years earlier, Che made no mention of the link between Yugoslavia’s geopolitical stance and its internal regime. He does not appear to have assimilated the connection between moderate reforms, greater freedom, and national consensus on the domestic plane, and less friction with Washington. Indeed, there is no comment at all about contradictory U.S. stances. In Egypt, for instance, Che failed to perceive that an important element in the devolution of the Suez Canal to Egypt lay precisely in the U.S. condemnation, in November 1956, of the Anglo-French invasion of Port Said. Without it, the Tel Aviv-London-Paris coalition might well have reversed the Canal expropriation and toppled Nasser. Che did not acknowledge any link between the “peculiar” domestic traits of Yugoslav “communism” and Tito’s virtual neutrality in the East-West conflict. He could have rejected Yugoslavia’s “goulash” socialism (a forerunner of the Hungarian variety), or he might have praised the domestic margin of freedom allowing for international neutrality. He chose simply to neglect Tito’s role on the world stage.
In fact, Che did not want to raise any matter which might have weakened his own position or that of Fidel Castro in the Cuban struggle. To recognize the possibility of combining neutrality and “communism” (even if the term had to be redefined) might have undermined Cuba’s resistance vis-à-vis the United States. It might also have blunted the Manichaeism needed for the coming, entirely desirable, confrontation with Washington. One might even speculate that Che, in his first political writings after the Revolution, was careful in what he said and how he said it, subordinating his views to the political requirements of the moment. Without concealing the truth, he might well have adjusted it in the light of Cuba’s political situation.
So Che Guevara was by now fully committed to the Revolution: all else was secondary. The best proof of this lies in one of his letters to the most important woman in his life—his mother, Celia. In it, he explains why no one should be surprised if he adapts the content of his writing to his political goals. It is worth quoting in its entirety, as it reveals Guevara’s evolution better than any description:
My old dream of visiting all countries is now coming true. … Though, without Aleida, whom I could not bring due to one of those complicated mental states I have. … A sense of the big picture as opposed to the personal has been developing in me. I am still the same solitary person who continues to seek his path without any help, but now I have a sense of my historical duty. I hav
e no house, wife, children, parents, or brothers; my friends are friends as long as they think like me, politically, and yet I am happy, I feel important in life—not only a powerful inner strength, which I always felt, but also an ability to influence others and an absolutely fatalistic sense of my mission which frees me from all fear. I don’t know why I am writing you this, perhaps I am just missing Aleida again.*2
It might seem strange that a newly married man should confide to his mother that he does not have a wife, even in figurative terms. But the letter reveals far more than a possible problem in the marriage. It suggests that Che had decided to devote his life to a cause. His loves, friendships, all personal matters, would henceforth be subordinated to his “mission,” his “historical duty.” He missed Aleida—he mentioned her twice—but she, too, was relegated to the background; she would not play a central role in his life. And his “fatalistic sense,” which “frees me from all fear” and would lead him to his death at La Higuera, now possessed him entirely. Perhaps he was exaggerating to his mother the importance of this new element. But he now had a clear idea of death and a personal destiny. Nothing he did from this point on would escape the imprint of these ideas: Che was convinced that he was challenging death, and that he had a fate.
On September 10, he was back in Havana. Many changes awaited him, and he was soon caught up in a whirlwind of events. He returned to his post at the INRA, heading the Department of Industries, where his work had acquired far greater importance than before. Many of Cuba’s sugar mills had been expropriated and placed under INRA jurisdiction, which meant that Che was actually taking on the most important sector of the country’s economy.*3 At first, both Fidel and Nuñez Jiménez, the INRA’s operational director, were careful to keep Che’s designation a relative secret†2; no public announcement was made. But Washington was already fully aware of the setback to U.S. interests:
Contrary to our earlier hopes, moderating forces (the National Bank group especially) have for the present at least lost out in contest for influence over Castro. Our bitter enemies, Raúl Castro and Che Guevara, are very much in the saddle. They can be counted on to speed up radical agrarian reform as well as measures designed to destroy or cripple U.S. mining, petroleum and public utility interests.19
The government soon announced Che’s designation as director of the National Bank (Cuba’s central bank). His performance is well documented; he was in charge of the island economy for over four years. For better or worse, one of the Revolution’s most important fronts was entrusted to an Argentine physician who was a pro-Soviet radical with scant knowledge of economics. But, as pointed out in Chapter 4, he had a very clear idea of his goals and a sense of discipline and organization sorely lacking in Cuba at the time.
The decision to place Che at the head of the central bank did not take place as has often been reported. In the consecrated anecdote, Fidel Castro asked during a meeting who among those present was an economist; Che replied that he was, only to explain later that he had misheard the question, understanding “Communist” instead of “economist.” Castro knew perfectly well that Che had little or no expertise in economics, but the real economists he had available were not trustworthy in his eyes. Among the people he did trust, Che was the most knowledgeable. He had read some economics, and already had two months’ experience at the INRA. Furthermore, his mission abroad had included some trade negotiations. Fidel’s decision to put him in charge of the money supply and financial policy for the new companies within the INRA made sound political sense. Furthermore, the death of Camilo Cienfuegos in November and the definitive designation of Raúl as defense minister left him little choice.
The moment was also ripe for Fidel to send a message to the United States and the Cuban oligarchy about who was running the country, and how. Washington understood, well before the Cabinet changes at the end of November, that its allies in the National Bank had been defeated. Che’s appointment to the Bank was accompanied by other changes, all in favor of his close associates and to the detriment of liberal moderates. Fidel also named Raúl minister of defense and his brother’s secretary, Augusto Martínez Sánchez, minister of labor, as a sop for the PSP, after its resounding defeat at the CTC labor congress. The changes followed the arrest and imprisonment of Huber Matos, whose trial was indeed the trigger for Fidel’s new shift toward the left. It also marked the first appearance of Cuba’s new apparatus for state security and terror. Matos was accused, along with others, of conspiring against the Revolution. The evidence against him was of the Soviet variety, characteristically fabricated by the intelligence services; it was built on rumors, letters, telephone taps, and anonymous accusations. The truth of the conspiracy has never been proven. But it was abundantly clear that Matos opposed Fidel’s course. No further proof was necessary.
Che headed the central bank for fourteen months. He was responsible for Cuba’s monetary policy, foreign-currency reserves, and macroeconomic strategy. He was also involved in building up the army, in Cuban diplomacy, and writing. He took courses in mathematics, economics, aviation, and (toward the end of this period) Russian. But his main activity was in the Bank, where he acquired a reputation for order, punctuality, and an enormous capacity for work. He would arrive at his office toward mid-morning, staying until two or three a.m. every night. His desk was always in order; he was quick at dispatching paperwork, and the classic verbosity of his Cuban subordinates was for a time banished from some government offices.
That year also saw the consolidation of two other features in his daily life: his eternal irreverence, and interminable nighttime discussions. These were both conspiratorial and conversational: anybody could visit him at the Bank to talk about anything at all. His irreverence reached its peak with the issuance of Cuban currency notes signed “Che.” When criticized for this by a Cuban correspondent, he replied:
If my way of signing is not typical of bank presidents … this does not signify, by any means, that I am minimizing the importance of the document—but that the revolutionary process is not yet over and, besides, that we must change our scale of values.20
Che’s iconoclastic bent was also reflected in his informal dress and protocol. He always received visitors in his olive-green fatigues, his feet often resting upon the desk, obliging those he did not like to wait for hours, while maintaining with his subordinates a relationship based upon equality and camaraderie. Like many of his traits, this irreverence was only partly spontaneous: he sought to project a certain image to others, and confirm it to himself. But he never allowed his apparent informality to affect the substance of his work. On the contrary, Che’s tenure at the Bank would be recalled for his seriousness in studying documents, his hard work, promptness, and efficiency.
Many also recall his impressive intellectual versatility and inclination for universal ideas. He was interested in everything: issues, countries, personalities. At the top of his list were Argentines, be they revolutionaries or intellectuals. During those years, Che had “friends” throughout the Latin American, European, and American left—from Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir to C. Wright Mills and John Gerassi; from René Dumont and Charles Bettelheim to Ernesto Sabato and Lázaro Cárdenas. He would receive them in his offices at midnight, mate and cigar in hand, relaxed and always avid for information, ideas, and messages. Countless projects, conspiracies, and complicities were hatched during those nocturnal meetings, as well as abiding loyalties and affections which would survive Che’s demise.
Because of his meager familiarity with economics, his early decisions at the Bank were cautious and fairly orthodox. He first concentrated on building up the country’s hard-currency reserves, initially restricting foreign luxury goods and then all purchases abroad. He stepped up sugar exports in the first quarter of 1960, and tried to limit imports requiring cash payments either through barter or long-term agreements. The need to save hard currency, to escape the bondage of purchases in dollars or other strong currencies, the apparent benefits of barter,
or a “ruble zone,” marked the beginnings of his work in government. He was obsessed by Cuba’s lack of resources; his fascination with alternatives to the dollar as an international exchange currency would distort his views on more than one occasion.
Ideological concerns led him to make a series of mistakes. For example, he immediately cut salaries and benefits for Cuba’s highly specialized government bureaucracy, which was (as in many Latin American central banks), honest, competent, conservative, and well paid. Ernesto Betancourt, deputy director of the Bank when Che took over until his resignation three weeks later, recalls him with affection and respect as being naive and businesslike simultaneously. The way he handled the thorny problem of wages at the Bank illustrates this combination. Betancourt’s secretary at the time made $375 a month; Che came along, stating: “The highest salary we should pay here is $350; nobody should make more than 350.” The administrative head of the Bank explained that employees had already bought their houses, and had a standard of living based upon higher salaries, and would simply leave if their salaries were cut. Che replied: “I don’t care, let them leave, because we’ll bring in longshoremen or cane cutters to do their field work here and we’ll pay them that salary.” Subsequently he grasped the blunders made by the “proletarians,” and changed course.21
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