by Aleida March
La Cabaña Fortress became one of the crucial centers of the revolution, and Che began to emerge as one of the more able and charismatic leaders. The leadership of the new revolutionary government had to be created from a largely illiterate group of former guerrillas, who were not very well prepared for the challenges that lay ahead. Within a few days of Che’s arrival, La Cabaña was transformed into a sizable cadre school. Small factories and workshops were established there, similar to those he had organized in the Sierra Maestra. He saw the process of industrialization as an urgent priority for the country. A small magazine called Cabaña Libre was produced, promoting discussion of cultural issues. Events were organized at La Cabaña, attended by important national cultural personalities, such as the poet Nicolás Guillén and Carmina Benguría.
The main objective of these activities was the political and cultural development of the Rebel Army soldiers. A great emphasis was placed on literacy classes because the former rebels were often undisciplined and reluctant to study. During the war they had been courageous, an inspiration to others; but they now found it difficult to understand why so much was demanded of them.
This meant an extra burden for Che. Besides the multiple tasks of his daily work, he also committed himself to describing and analyzing the experiences of the revolutionary war in Cuba. He thought such an analysis might offer lessons to other revolutionary movements or national liberation struggles. By this time, Che’s talent for military strategy was widely recognized, but nothing was known about his remarkable grasp of revolutionary theory, despite his reputation as a communist.
Che’s speech at the cultural society Nuestro Tiempo, a few days after the triumph of the revolution, alerted both friends and enemies to his considerable intellect. In that speech he clearly outlined how he saw the Rebel Army as the vanguard and the source of future cadres for the revolution. As much as time would allow, he analyzed the Cuban revolution from a Marxist perspective—something he would go on to develop in greater detail. This became an important aspect of his legacy.
We all faced a daunting workload. The revolutionary tribunals, organized in January, put on trial those henchmen of the dictatorship who had not succeeded in fleeing with Batista. This was done in conjunction with an investigative commission, presided over by Miguel Angel Duque de Estrada, a lawyer and captain in the Rebel Army.
These tribunals have always been controversial, and the facts about them have often been greatly distorted by our enemies. For Cuba, they were a legitimate form of revolutionary justice, being neither without mercy nor spontaneous. The proper procedures were followed, and I recall that Che participated in some of the appeals, meeting with the families who came to beg for clemency. We adopted a humanitarian approach respectful of the prisoners. Although the process of the tribunals was just, it was, nevertheless, painful and distasteful. Che did not attend the trials nor was he present at any of the executions.
Oscar Fernández Mell, Adolfo Rodríguez de la Vega and Antonio Núñez Jiménez were Che’s assistants in La Cabaña. The military intelligence organization was created, and Arnaldo Rivero Alfonso was put in charge of monitoring the behavior of rebel soldiers.
The amount of work I faced was quite overwhelming. I had to attend to the needs and personal problems of the soldiers, according to Che’s instructions. I also had to try to control the number of personalities and journalists who came to Havana to interview Che. Among these national and international visitors were Herbert Matthews, Loló de la Torriente and women from many different professions, who sought an audience with Che. My role as Che’s personal assistant gained me the rather unjust reputation of being jealous and possessive. I also had to deal with the future girlfriends and wives of Che’s assistants and bodyguards.
Former combatants in the underground movement turned up to see for themselves the “communist” who had liberated Las Villas. Others came to see the legendary combatant, who had risked his life for a country not his own, like Máximo Gómez. Gómez was born in the Dominican Republic and came to Cuba to fight in the independence wars against the Spanish. Like Máximo Gómez, Che was declared a Cuban citizen after the revolution.
My temporary office at the residence was also my bedroom. I inherited the previous residents’ dog, which for some reason hated soldiers. I never figured out if he only hated our soldiers or if his dislike was more general. Along with the dog, a lot of other things had been left behind, including films of the family of the former military commander of the fort. When we left La Cabaña and moved to Tarará, we took the dog with us, and he remained with us until he died.
I began my role as “treasurer,” managing money we still had from the days in the Escambray. I still have those documents and receipts from that time. We maintained strict austerity with regard to our funds. Che ordered a distribution of 10 pesos to each soldier for their holidays.
I also handled Che’s personal correspondence. Around January 12 he asked me to read a letter he was sending Hilda (his former wife). He told her they needed an official divorce because he was going to marry a Cuban woman he had met during the struggle. I didn’t quite understand his handwriting, so I asked him who was the young woman he intended to marry. He looked at me with surprise and said it was me. The fact is, up until that moment, we had not discussed marriage. Without saying another word I processed the letter. Che’s answer surprised me. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, but at the same time I wondered why he hadn’t ever mentioned this before.
There were other letters, including one he sent to his beloved Aunt Beatriz, which we joked about. This aunt loved Che dearly and idolized her favorite nephew. When he told her he was separating from Hilda and was going to marry me, she wrote somewhat disparagingly about “the girl from the sticks,” in a tone that reflected the prejudice of the Argentine oligarchy to which she belonged. It was innocent enough, but demeaning to me. Sometime later, when I met Che’s parents at the airport, the first thing Che’s father asked him was whether I was “the girl from the sticks.”
By that time, our relationship had changed. During January we took a trip to San Antonio de los Banos. This time, we were both sitting in the back seat of the car, and for the first time Che took my hand. Not a word was spoken, but I felt my heart would jump out of my chest. I didn’t know what to do or say, but I realized then that there was absolutely no doubt I was in love with him.
Not long after that, on a memorable January night, barefoot and silent, Che came into my room in La Cabaña, and we consummated an already strong relationship. Che jokingly called that day, “the day the fortress was taken.” The expression is probably apt because, when you take over a fortress, you must first surround it, determining its weak points, before you decide on the attack. I was even more in love than I knew, so I “surrendered” without resistance.
Everything happened quickly after that. Che’s parents arrived on January 18, and we went to meet them at the airport. His father immediately asked who I was, and Che introduced me as the woman he intended to marry. We then went to the hotel where they were staying. It was a very emotional time because from the moment he saw his parents Che exuded happiness. It had been nearly six years since he left his home in Argentina.
During his parents’ visit we went to Santa Clara and El Pedrero. That place, where Che had invited me to get into his jeep and “shoot a few shots,” marked a decisive moment in my life.
On a personal level, not everything was entirely without difficulty. In the midst of the whirlwind of our lives in these first weeks of the revolution, Hilda arrived. No arrangements had been made for her accommodation. We still lived in the barracks at La Cabaña, with Batista’s former soldiers cooking and cleaning for us, and doing other chores around the place. Che was busy learning to fly a plane. Eliseo de la Campa had been his pilot and he owned the plane in which he was teaching Che. Che had planned a trip to the Isle of Pines and, when he heard the news of Hilda’s arrival, he came to see me. I was quite ill in bed with rubella. He invited m
e to join him on his trip. So I immediately got dressed and left with him.
Alberto Castellanos went to collect Hilda at the airport. Che’s parents were also waiting for her. When I returned from the trip, Hilda and I were not introduced, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of her. My illusions about her vanished, and my ego was somewhat boosted. In no way could I consider her my rival. I also felt less guilty because it was clear from the letters Che had sent to his family from Mexico (when I wasn’t even in the picture) that his relationship with Hilda had ended. We now only had to overcome a few obstacles Hilda had created. These problems were inevitable and, although I was upset at the time, now I can look back much more calmly.
Otherwise, life continued almost normally. We regularly visited the renamed hotel Havana Libre (previously the Havana Hilton), which had become a temporary central headquarters for the rebel troops. On one of those visits, when Che was meeting with Fidel at the hotel, I was waiting in one of the rooms. I was on the bed, chatting to Celia Sánchez and Pastorita Nuñez, when Fidel came in and told me I was in his spot. I was mortified and got up immediately. It was a joke, but at the time I didn’t know him well and I thought he was reprimanding me. That room was always packed with people, because many of our compañeros with different responsibilities would go there for meetings and often had to wait patiently for hours. I remember on one occasion I saw Augusto Martínez Sánchez sleeping on the floor while he waited his turn.
Another time, I was sitting on a chair next to the door of that room, and Fidel burst out suddenly with his bodyguards. On seeing me, he stopped for a moment, looked at me and asked—just to be sure—if I was “Che’s girl.” As you can imagine, I was embarrassed by the question and responded in my usual way saying, no, I was Che’s secretary. Sometimes I would say I was his assistant, as I was not in the military, only a former guerrilla. This lack of clarity created a lot of confusion.
During my time at La Cabaña, I received some personal tuition from Armando Hart, our very young, talented Minister for Education. Many people were aware I had completed the final year of my pedagogy course at the Central University in Las Villas. Therefore, Armando decided to honor me with the title of “Doctor of Pedagogy,” based on my “practical thesis” on the role of women in society, which I had achieved during the war. I have to admit this gave me much pleasure as I did feel I had earned it.
Many foreigners came to see Che, including a group of Haitians, who came to seek Cuban support for their efforts to overthrow the dictatorial regime of Duvalier. With hindsight I realize that even as early as February 1959 steps were being made to establish Cuba’s collaboration with liberation movements and other progressive struggles. I feel privileged to have witnessed this. As a result of those initial conversations with the Haitians, Che sent me to the Sumidero area in Pinar del Río with Hernández López, the captain who later married us in La Cabaña. He was a compañero from the underground struggle in Havana, and had first met Che in Fomento, where he had been sent by the July 26 Movement to work on propaganda. Hernando and his wife, Gloria Pérez, worked with Che until he left for the Congo.
The month of February came around, and so did my birthday. It was not a particularly happy time because Che was already showing symptoms of pulmonary emphysema, as a result of the privations of the war and the pressures of the first, hectic days after the revolution.
My old friend, Lolita Rosell, came by to wish me a happy birthday. I was sitting with Che in his room. She didn’t really need to ask; she only had to see us together to sense the intimacy between us.
In the first days of March we moved to a house in Tarará on the beach outside Havana, hoping Che would regain his health in a quieter place and have some respite from his never-ending responsibilities. His bodyguards, whom I always regarded as brothers, came with us. I often had to defend their lack of discipline, and occasionally I was complicit in their nightly escapades. I understood they were young men from the country, many of them from remote villages. They were totally awestruck at being in Havana for the first time—a glittering city of endless nights and beautiful women. They would often sneak out late at night to meet their girlfriends, taking the car. They would roll the car down the hill before starting the engine, so as to leave undetected. Che would ask me if I had heard a noise, probably because he knew what was going on. I would answer, no. I don’t think he believed me, but he would let it go at that.
I, too, did some pretty crazy things. I was a terrible driver, only just learning to drive. Roberto Cáceres (El Patojo or “Shorty”), a Guatemalan whom Che had met in Mexico, would often accompany me in the car. He had just arrived in Cuba. Tragically, he died some years later fighting for the liberation of his country. They were wild, romantic times. We were young and did things maybe we wouldn’t do in other circumstances. We drove around Havana in a huge Oldsmobile, without a clue as to where we were going, but somehow we always arrived at our destination.
We had a lot of fun in those days. Eliseo, Che’s pilot, once decided to land his plane in the streets of Tarará, much to everyone’s astonishment. I remember them all—Villegas, Hermes Peña, Argudín, Castellanos and others—with deep affection.
The house at Tarará was quite elegant, having previously belonged to a customs officer with links to the dictatorship. After we moved into the house, Che received a malicious letter that was published in the magazine Carteles. It asked where the money had come from for such luxurious living, the implication being that it could only be money stolen from the people.
It turned out we only lived in that house for two months and, although it never became much of a home, I have very happy memories of that time. We never had time for a proper rest and we didn’t spend a single day at the beach. But it was a wonderful time for Che and me, and was where we were able to achieve a greater sense of intimacy than ever before.
Che gave me his first personal gift there—a bottle of Flor de Roca perfume from Caron. In reality, we didn’t have a lot of time to ourselves; compañeros were always coming and going, working on various tasks that couldn’t wait. Relatives of those facing execution also came to see Che there. Even the sister-in-law of the former owner of the house showed up, saying she had never been invited there before.
Nevertheless, it was a comfortable house where Che was able to use his bedroom as an office. Being ill, he could remain in bed most of the day when he didn’t need to travel to La Cabaña. This gave me a lot of freedom. We breathed a different air; the house had large windows and was well ventilated. It had a small, separate office on the ground floor, and upstairs was Che’s large room next to a large bathroom. Because we were not yet married we had to make it appear we slept in separate rooms. So I had my own bedroom. The bodyguards slept in a room at the end of the hall.
There was a large room used for meetings, where many important discussions took place. The first Agrarian Reform Law document was drafted there. There was also a dining room and a modern kitchen, which led to the garage with a small storeroom where the previous owner had stored all kinds of delicacies.
Our household included Téllez, del Sol, Díaz the cook, and also Castillo, all of whom had come with us from La Cabaña. Some of these compañeros made up part of the permanent security garrison in our various houses over the next few years. Che implemented a disciplined regime for the men, including formal lessons with a teacher so that the soldiers of Che’s bodyguard could maintain their education program.
Che and I had a few misunderstandings. Once a group of Nicaraguans came to the house and, to my surprise, Che sent me out of the room while they met. I didn’t understand this because I had attended similar meetings with the Dominicans, Panamanians and Haitians. I left the room and started to cry, beginning to doubt whether Che trusted me. He explained later that he had expected it to be a very tense meeting, when unpleasant things would be said that he didn’t want me to hear. He apologized, saying he had expected the Nicaraguans to be quite agitated. I came to understand the importance of
these meetings.
If I regret anything now, it would be my failure to understand the need to document such meetings for posterity, even by taking brief notes. None of us really understood the extent or real significance of what was happening, nor the transcendent nature of our role in the development of groups that came to lead liberation movements throughout Latin America. I wasn’t asked to take notes of those meetings, even though I was always present. Now, when I want to write about those events, I can’t remember everything because of the years that have passed.
One of the revolutionary laws most eagerly anticipated in Cuba—the Agrarian Reform Law—was drafted in that house in the little seaside town of Tarará. Che assumed this responsibility, mainly because Fidel had given him and Sorí Marín that task during the Sierra Maestra days. On reaching the Escambray Mountains, Che applied the law promulgated in the Sierra Maestra in the new territories under his command. The drafting meetings took place on a daily basis over many nights. Fidel was living nearby in Cojímar at the time and he came as often as he could. Others attending these meetings were Raúl and Vilma, Núñez Jiménez, Oscar Pino Santos and Alfredo Guevara. The final draft of the document was presented in May 1959.
Carlos Rafael Rodríguez4 would also visit our house regularly, and I remember his visits well. They would stay up practically the entire night discussing revolutionary theory and practice. These discussions preceded a debate on political economy and the transition to a post-capitalist society, a debate in which both Che and Carlos Rafael were key participants.5