by Ciro Bustos
Argentina
6
A Project for Utopia
The Cuban saga in the Sierra Maestra had diverse and contradictory consequences. For the Cubans themselves, there was an impact on national politics and economic strategies, and it also affected ordinary people, both socially and psychologically. Abroad, there was an irreversible impact on international relations, with regard to the north–south confrontation. The economic dependence of the south was structurally linked to its military subjugation, and the empire’s repression of any sign of national or regional independence was justified by the pretext of fighting communism.
The individual Cubans who had taken part in the epic saga were affected in many different ways. The majority went on to occupy positions in Cuba to which they would never have had access before, since the new society was based not on class but on their own sense of responsibility. Some discovered late in the day that the struggle had not been fought for personal gain, that the bearded fighters had opened the door to social change. Others, like Che, realised that they had to go on through that door and turn military victory into Revolution – that if Revolution does not change society, it is nothing.
Needless to say, Revolution led to confrontation with the continent’s dominant power. Moreover, the Revolution’s ability to confront the imperial power successfully depended on its capacity to resist the inevitable reactionary attacks. The basic argument was that no small country would have the capacity to resist by itself, and especially not Cuba, an island in the ‘mare nostrum’ of the empire, a few kilometres off its coast. It would be naïve and foolish to ignore this obvious fact. It was clearly unavoidable and imperative to create this capacity to resist, not just inside Cuba but outside as well.
Yet this was not just a question of will. The means also have to exist. Without economic autonomy, there can be no political or ideological autonomy. A revolution needs to be independent in all aspects: ties of dependency block the machinery of government and prevent progress. Economic independence is the key. In the twenty-first century, this idea seems redundant because the economy is everything. But in the 1960s, notions of national identity, Western civilization, self-determination, cultural, ethical and even aesthetic patrimony were still considered important. To maintain independence, to have the freedom to negotiate, to accept or reject policies at the international level, was of paramount importance. Especially, to be able to negotiate. In this sense, it was clear that Argentina had better prospects than other Latin American countries.
A revolution will never succeed in a poor backward country. Revolutionaries can take power, but nothing else. They will never be allowed to remain in power without surrendering their ideals and corrupting their principles. They will not be allowed to succeed. A victorious revolution is like a cancer spreading through the continent, erupting here and there. Then, if the empire is caught off guard, it will devote all its surgical skills to cutting the cancer out, above all other political considerations. The strength of the Cuban Revolution was to take power by its own means, by the will of its people, in defiance of doctrinal wisdom. Its subsequent unfolding drama was that of a lonely shipwrecked sailor besieged by dangerous sharks.
For Che, the commander of the guerrilla forces in Santa Clara in 1958 that had defeated the Batista regime and brought Castro to power, the danger was only just beginning. The Revolution was prey to all kinds of aggression – political, military, diplomatic and economic – that aimed to force it to abandon its independence and capitulate, or simply be invaded and obliterated. The only way to avoid this fate was to get support from outside Cuba, from a similar kind of independent revolution in an economically important country in Latin America, a revolution capable of consolidating the task of constructing a just society for all its peoples and resisting the pressures and conditions imposed by the existing world order.
This ambitious and adventurous idea became possible only through the single golden thread that sought to marry the power of subjective action with the harsh reality of objective facts: the introduction of myth into politics and war. That is, a physical presence that would lead the struggle, a hero with no national allegiance but who had not forgotten his ties to his homeland – the presence of Che, the Argentine, who believed it was legitimate to fight for a better society, no matter the country, but all the better if it was his own.
This idea embraces everything that Che had learned both from his guerrilla experience and the exercise of power. Two things were fundamental and complementary: the theory of the foco and the theory of the ‘new man’. According to the foco theory, a small nucleus of fighters can successfully confront a regular army in a country where there are huge inequalities, because the people will support and strengthen a determined struggle for power. Armed action, directed against the forces of repression and backed up by the guerrillas’ impeccable behaviour towards its local campesino base and captured soldiers, would also constitute a lesson in how to become a new kind of human being. Personal vices and egoism would be abandoned and replaced by a process of transformation. Through sacrifice, self-control, dedication and suffering, this would eventually lead to an understanding of the importance of solidarity and justice. Were the process to be sustained and developed, an organizational or party leadership would emerge that would draw on cadres influenced by an unwavering revolutionary ethic. When the resulting revolutionary forces came to power, they would create a society without injustice or discrimination. The basis for building this new society would be the ‘new man’, someone without defects or aberrant inclinations.
Looked at so schematically, the idea is to politics what a simple sum is to mathematics. It lacks any analysis of the situation in Argentina, of the international context, or of history, let alone of the law of probabilities – not to mention common sense and folly. From the point of view of the scientific analysis of human problems, rational intellectuals of the past 150 years had studied, measured, compared and scrutinized every political and social event on the five continents. Yet the most serious and prestigious left-wing intellectuals, cocooned in the most rarefied strands of thinking, were blind to the obvious signs appearing in the edifice of world revolution like cracks in a dam. They deceived themselves and others about the ‘new socialist society’ that was itself being built, as a matter of fact, on injustice, bloodshed and suffering. Some got a whiff of the smell of death, from tales of famine and repression, but they disguised it – like the bourgeoisie of centuries past – with the perfume of their own intellect and their own theories, and encouraged others to engage in collective deception. Others, like George Orwell, through his professionalism, honesty and humanity, ended up in the ‘dustbin of history’.
As for the foolishness of our particular adventure, it is impossible to negate the absolute purity of its intentions. It might be considered irresponsible or just plain risky, but the price was paid by the individual participants. It would be idiotic and criminal to drive down a motorway the wrong way, because the eventual victims would be innocent. Yet accepting danger in order to fight for a better world is an act of sacrifice, involving a renunciation of material wealth and the sublimation of personality. It is not to be confused with terrorist martyrdom, which carries out someone else’s designs in return for a place in paradise. No, it is to assume a lifetime of risk, of fighting out of love for the right to a shared future.
Che’s project had this transcendental simplicity: forget any idea of glory, confront earthly perils without fear, stand up in this particular tropical region and say ‘here we are, here we want to build a new society, in which the fruits of our labours will not be taken away, where our rights will not be violated, where joy is not privatized, where culture is within everybody’s reach, where the smell of bread fills our homes, and dreams come with the sunrise to dislodge the terrors of the night. If you want to stop us, you will have to come and find us, and understand that we will fight.’
Security was always our major weakness, both in Cuba (the threat
of infiltration of any kind), and also during the time needed for Che to transfer to the guerrilla base that would be set up in Argentina. Responsibility for this first phase of the operation fell to Masetti’s small and inexperienced group. Any disaster, at either end of the project, would effectively put an end to it. Che could not come if we failed; the plan could not succeed without Che.
7
An Army of Five Madmen
Captain Olo Pantoja drove from the Malécon to the elegant suburb of Marianao around the Country Club, through streets of luxury mansions abandoned by the bourgeoisie when they fled to Miami. You could tell how exclusive it was by the air. It seemed purer and more transparent than what we were used to in Havana. The mansions, which you could hardly see for leafy trees, were enormous and surrounded by long grass. There was an overall sense of neglect in the contrast between the splendour and silence of the empty streets and the gardens abandoned to weeds and the sigh of the sea breeze. Each house occupied a block or more of luxurious vegetation.
The jeep stopped on a stony verge in front of large gates. At the discreet hoot of the horn, a young militiawoman appeared and opened them wide. The vehicle crunched down the gravel drive, coming to a halt in front of a neoclassical limestone building, slimy with damp and moss, its walls half covered by creepers reaching to the roof, its windows barred and shuttered. The front doors, standing proudly between columns of white marble, were solid wood with extraordinary pointed stained glass insets. They opened to reveal the black and white mosaic floor of an anteroom to a glass-domed indoor garden (like an Andalucian patio) with a fountain in the middle, encircled by wide galleries leading to a succession of doors. There was something modern about the style, a Byzantine-Roman-Californian mishmash that looked as if it was from a Hollywood set.
The Captain, who had jumped out of the jeep and rushed inside the house while I stared incredulously at my magnificent surroundings, reappeared with a couple of individuals, joined by a third from another door at the back. With typical Cuban irony, Pantoja alluded to ‘the entire army’ as he briefly introduced ‘another Argentine’ to ‘three compatriots’. A cursory handshake left us standing looking at each other. The quartet we formed left a great deal to be desired. Nobody looked like a hero: more like villains in a police line-up. In a comic strip, there would have been a bubble saying, ‘I’m not going anywhere with these guys.’
The tension ebbed after Pantoja gave us a quick run-down of our programme: first, unload the weapons from the jeep and put them in a store-room; then a tour of the house and grounds before eating; then wait for Segundo who would come that night, with someone else. We would receive provisions twice a week, as well as being given breakfast and dinner. Our only other visitors would be army personnel involved in the training, accompanied either by himself or his assistant Manolito. Obviously, we would not be allowed out. Olo Pantoja took his leave.
My three compatriots forgot their momentary doubts, and proved very friendly, even happy. An exchange of ambiguous personal questions, and tacitly secretive replies, placed us generally from the Argentine provinces – myself and two others – and the fourth from Buenos Aires. The latter, naturally the most cool, was also the tallest, had the best build, was self-assured but nice and polite with it. He took charge and suggested we continue exploring the house, as they had been doing when I arrived. The other two were from the Chaco. The thin bony one, hatchet-faced, pock-marked, and with a stiff crew cut, seemed a no-nonsense tough guy of few words. The other looked like a meticulous Italian immigrant from deepest Umbria who had swapped his mountain farmer’s clothes for a shirt and trousers with an impeccable crease he ironed himself. His attention to detail was obsessive: his shirt sleeves folded only twice, his two top shirt buttons undone to show the hairs on his chest, etc., and very well mannered. None of us seemed to have a name, so the Argentine expression ‘che’ filled the gap.
Our food, brought in an army jeep, was barracks food. In Cuba now there was no separate food for officers, as is usual in Latin American armies. Conversation was dominated by the endless twitter of Pepín, our militiaman who we insisted ate with us. He was from a group attached to the Ministry of the Interior (MININT). Sworn to secrecy, he was dazzled by the mission he had been given: to help relax and entertain a group of Argentines led by the legendary Che. He showed a real passion for guns, and knew all the models and their features. Swearing he had used all of them in a variety of circumstances, he imitated the sound they made with a special onomatopoeia: ‘Piripitipam!’ There was nothing for it but to call him that, Piripitipam, from then on.
Cubans ate early, like the Swedes. So it was not even dusk when, having coffee, we awaited the arrival of Segundo, as Pantoja called him. A jeep finally turned up. Several men got out, among them Masetti. His greeting indicated he knew everybody, but did not show how well. He said he was pleased the whole group was here, including a young lieutenant he introduced as Che’s bodyguard, name of Hermes, who would be joining the group and living with us ‘until death do us part,’ as they say. We set up a table under the dome on the patio and began our first meeting as the ‘army general staff’.
Masetti had experience of organizing a work schedule with disparate people, so he knew we had to start by getting to know each other. He did a quick profile of everyone present, starting with himself. We all knew who he was, but it was useful to see how he fitted into the picture. He said that, like the rest of us, he was joining something he believed in because the idea came from someone he respected: Che. No one doubted Che’s commitment to building the Revolution in Cuba, least of all him. But it had always been clear that Che wanted to take the struggle to Argentina, and Fidel Castro had supported him in this from the early days in the Sierra Maestra. Yet such a transcendental decision could not be left to chance. Che could not just get up and leave tomorrow; he could not neglect one revolutionary duty to take on another. Until such time as he could leave his Cuban responsibilities, he wanted the ground prepared for when – to call a spade a spade – he would be free to lead the armed struggle in Argentina, his homeland. So, time was of the essence.
We needed to set up a base as quickly as possible, explore the terrain, get to know local people, and set up channels of communications. We also needed to establish contacts in the cities, and create a countrywide support network so we could train anyone willing to run the same risks and fight for the same dreams. Such a huge project needed a minimum of people, but a maximum of qualities: sacrifice, stoicism, military skill, humanity. We did not need supermen, only men with moral integrity, human dignity, and a sense of shame at belonging to a society that does not value a man’s freedom.
Masetti had already been able to do military training, since the encroaching Stalinism had decreed he was out of political favour for other work. Sponsored by his mentor Che, he was one of the first batch of officers to pass out of the Rebel Army’s new military academy. Now a captain, Che had formally appointed him his second in command. The next to be introduced, the guy from Buenos Aires, was a doctor who had arrived in Cuba just before me, motivated by the same instincts and passion. A similar fortuitous chain of events had brought him here. A specialist in preventive medicine, he had worked in the countryside on the chronic diseases endemic to the island and got friendly with several Rebel Army doctors. They noted his enthusiasm for the Revolution and put him in touch with Masetti. From his name, Leonardo Werthein, I guessed he was Jewish.
The lads from the Chaco were the result of the trip my own guardian angel, Alberto Granado, had made there at Che’s behest the previous winter, a couple of months before our meeting in his macabre pathology lab. Alberto had contacted left-wing groups in the city of Resistencia, had done a quick evaluation (although way below the required minimum checks), and deemed them potential candidates. He invited them to Havana to discuss the possibility of taking the armed struggle to Argentina. Back in Cuba, Granado organized their trip and they had arrived a few days before the training started.
Of
the two, hatchet face was the most able. He was a mechanic, a weapons expert, and had hunted by himself in the ‘impenetrable’, the desolate wastes of the Gran Chaco where even the indigenous people don’t like going. He knew the history of devastation in Argentina’s two northernmost provinces, the Chaco and Formosa, was used to the rigours of the mountainous forests, and familiar with new technology. Rather unsociable and shy, he seemed committed, no holds barred. His name was Federico Méndez.
His friend from the Chaco lost his name in subsequent events, and became Miguel, a pseudonym he chose himself. Of all of us, he looked the healthiest and most sporty, a classic candidate for the Argentine military academy. Then there was me, who coughed the whole time from the aftermath of my recent bout of flu. It eventually turned into a chronic bronchial condition.
Masetti did not want to be involved in those parts of the project Che would deal with personally. His job was to oversee the training and to get the group to bond. We would be taught by a large number of specialist instructors, although numbers were to be kept to a minimum. None of them, no matter how important, must know our real identities. The only exceptions were those responsible for the support operation, like Olo Pantoja, and a team led by Comandante Barbaroja (Red Beard) Piñeiro from the intelligence services. The rest would know only our pseudonyms, and we would get used to calling each other by these names. For example, from now on, Masetti was Segundo. The doctor opted for Fabián, although he would have liked Alejandro, Fidel’s name in the Sierra. Federico chose Basilio after a much-loved uncle, his Chaco friend was Miguel, and I became Laureano. Our original documents – passports, Argentine identity papers, driving licences, etc. – went via Segundo to the intelligence services. We were like newborn babies.
The only non-Argentine was Hermes, native of the Sierra Maestra. He had joined the Rebel Army just as Che was made a comandante (Fidel’s first appointment) and was forming his own column. He was a young mestizo, just a boy then, whom Che taught to read in the few calm moments of the fiercest battles in the Sierra. He had been with Che ever since: during the long march, at the Battle of Santa Clara, and the triumphant entry into Havana. After an army training course, which he finished with the rank of lieutenant, he became one of Che’s official bodyguards. He had now temporarily left this post so that he could be in situ when his comandante returned to his native land. Hermes, a farm boy in a uniform too big for him, was like a typical Argentine cabecita negra. He would look a lot less conspicuous than us ‘posh city boys’ lost in the jungle. His immediate task was to inculcate military discipline into the group, establishing a logic that said, for example, whoever was on guard duty from two to four should make breakfast at five, or the person who was best at something should do that the most. As Segundo’s expert in guerrilla matters, he would teach us about exploring, choosing camp sites, and organizing camp life. He was allowed to keep his name given that in Argentina it would mean nothing.