Steven Sonderbergh has contributed another load of manure to the already-mountainous pile of Che hagiography.
If you want to know the real Che, you have to get inside the man’s mind, and there is no better way than through reading the Bolivian diaries. No, not the published diaries; the secret diaries uncovered by yours truly through the carelessness of Goodwill Industries…
The Diaries – Fragments
The Diaries – First complete entry
The Diaries – Second complete entry
The Diaries – Third complete entry
And, for the first time on this blog site, the final entry...
Ok, I won’t deny that this is a bit of a setback. Being captured by Bolivian troops has definitely thrown the revolution off schedule. And of course, since Felipe and Julio are the comrades planning the rescue effort, things don’t look particularly rosy for me, personally. However, so far, my treatment hasn’t been bad. In fact, this morning, when I complained to the guard about the effects of this stuffy cell on my asthma, he smiled and told me that they would be working on my ventilation shortly.
Ha! It is amazing how quickly news travels in this modern world. Unless I miss my guess, Fidel has heard of my plight and is working his magic to secure my release. I see a squad of soldiers lining up in the courtyard; obviously they are there to form the security detail that will escort me to the nearest train depot, and then, on to the airport and back to Havana! What a comical lot of hayseeds they are! The Bolivian army must not trust them with firearms because these clodhoppers have been equipped with shovels instead of rifles.
The next time, things here will be different. I haven’t given up on Bolivia, but let’s face it: the locals – mostly illiterate Indians – are so fixated on their little plots of land and their families and mundane things like eating that it’s hard to grab their attention – even shooting them doesn’t win them over to Marxism. So, my advice to the next guerilla chief is this: focus on the cities. When you shoot people in cities, there’s a kind of terror-multiplier effect. Kill a teacher, and his colleagues, his students - everybody, in fact, thanks to newspapers and radio - hears about it. Execute one of these degraded Inca peasants, on the other hand, and the shot does not echo beyond the valley where it is fired.
Ah! Here comes the captain of the guard. What is that fool doing, unholstering his pistol? Does he think I’m going to jump him with this leg wound? Madre mia, it stings! I can’t wait to get back to Cuba and get some decent medical care. I do hope that these reactionaries aren’t going to be such idiots as to actually hold a trial ( diary ends).
Your wish is granted, comandante; no trial. (Note written at the bottom of the last page of the diary in a different and unidentified hand)
(Note to regular readers: I hope you'll pardon me for linking this stuff yet again, but there are undoubtedly 3 or 4 billion people out there who haven't read it, and the new movie affords me another excuse for shameless self-promotion).