Exposing the Real Che Guevara (2 page)

The anguished screams from my grandmother when she answered that phone and the accompanying chorus from my mother and sisters still echo in my head. My aunt was silent, however; she seemed in a daze after hearing the voice on the phone informing her that her son’s—my cousin Pedro’s—corpse was at the station.

Aunt Maria was a widow and her brother went instead. “He died of a heart attack,” he was told by the
milicianos
, the secret police bullies trained by the subject of this book. My uncle seethed but somehow controlled himself. His nephew’s body was bruised and banged up horribly. Technically, the
milicianos
were probably right. His heart did give out. This is normal under the oft-used interrogation techniques of Cuba’s police and militia. Pedro, a fervent Catholic activist, often spoke against the regime during his religion classes, and word of his counter-revolutionary commentary had quickly gotten out. The regime responded in the customary manner.

Until her death in 1993 in New York, my aunt never recovered. Once at a demonstration in New York this saintly woman, a Catholic social worker in Cuba, was denounced as a “
gusana!
” (worm) and “fascist!” by jeering student demonstrators, parroting the epithets of a totalitarian regime.

If Cuban Americans strike you as too passionate, over the top, even a little crazy, there is a reason. Practically every day, we turn on our televisions or go out to the street only to see the image of the very man who trained the secret police to murder our relatives—thousands of men, women, and boys. This man committed many of these murders with his own hands. And yet we see him celebrated everywhere as the quintessence of humanity, progress, and compassion.

That man, that murderer, is Ernesto “Che” Guevara.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Cuba’S GreateSt Generation: the thousands of freedom-fighters who fought alone against a Soviet-lavished enemy and died forgotten in Cuba’s hills or defiantly in front of firing squads. To the others among their band of brothers who suffered the longest terms of political incarceration of the twentieth century. Few heroes remain as unsung by history as these.

Cuba’s Greatest Generation also includes the parents who sacrificed all to see their children grow up free. These parents, who include mine, weren’t fleeing their homeland; they fled a disease ravaging it, desperate for their children to avoid the deadly infection.

Those superlong “I’d also like to thank . . .” at the Oscars usually annoy. But believe me, there was nothing annoying about the many people who helped me with this project. During every visit and every phone call at whatever hour I found them a fount of fascinating information and relentless good cheer. Considering what some of them had been through I still marvel.

Mr. Roberto Martin-Perez, for instance, qualifies along with his Cuban-American compatriots, Angel Del Fana and the late Eusebio Peñalver, as the longest-jailed political prisoners of the twentieth century. For thirty years Mr. Martin-Perez was holed up and tortured in various work camps and dungeons of Castro and Che’s extensive Cuban Gulag. Stalin let Alexander Solzhenitzyn off with less than a third the sentence Fidel and Che slapped on Mr. Martin-Perez, Del Fana, and Peñalver. But have you ever heard of them in the mainstream media? I aim to rectify such injustices with this book.

Roberto and his jailed band of brothers could have escaped much of their suffering by simply wearing the uniform of common criminals or signing the confession their communist captors constantly thrust in their faces. The demand to confess to criminality only steeled these men’s resolution. They knew full well who were the genuine criminals and who needed to confess: their jailers, from the guards right up to the men at the top—Fidel and Che.

You’d never guess his background from first talking to Mr. Martin-Perez. He smiles constantly. He laughs often and loudly. His lovely wife, Miami radio legend Ninoska Perez-Castellon, was also on hand to inform, direct, and amuse me with my every inquiry. Her radio colleague, Enrique Encinosa, has written as exhaustively and authoritatively as anyone regarding the Cuban people’s armed resistance to communism. Enrique’s info and insights, both those contained in his books and those expounded over lunch and dinner, contributed much to this book.

In 1964, seventeen-year-old Emilio Izquierdo was rounded up at Russian machine-gunpoint and thrown in a forced labor camp with thousands of other youths. “Active in Catholic organizations,” read the charge against him. The prison camp system where Emilio suffered for years had been initiated in 1961 by the man honored as “Chesucristo” in posters and museum displays. Emilio was tremendously helpful with this project.

From afar I’d always revered Mr. Mario Riveron, Mr. Felix Rodriguez, and their band of brothers in the Bay of Pigs Veterans Association. Larger than life heroes, these men put their lives on the line in the anti-Castro/Che fight from day one. Well over half of their brothers in the anti-communist resistance died in front of firing squads, often after torture. Señores Riveron and Rodriguez, along with hundreds of others, knew the odds. They volunteered anyway and stuck with the fight until the last day the United States was willing to wage it.

Later Mr. Riveron and Mr. Rodriguez had key roles in tracking down and capturing Che Guevara in Bolivia. Their Bay of Pigs brothers-in-arms, Nilo Messer, Jose Castaño, Gus Ponzoa, and Esteban Escheverria, also contributed their first-person accounts to this book. What a thrill to hear the details of these men’s freedom fight firsthand. What a privilege to be allowed to record it. What an honor to now regard these men as friends.

Misters Carlos Lazo, Serafin Suarez, and Enrique Enrizo were all career officers in Cuba’s Constitutional Armed Forces and all got in some licks at Che Guevara’s guerrilla band. Their side of the Cuban rebellion story is rarely—if ever—heard. I’m grateful that they took the time to recount it here.

Mrs. Maria Werlau and Dr. Armando Lago labor daily and doggedly attempting to document every death caused by the Castro /Che regime. They require reliable sources and investigate them thoroughly. Their task would make Sisyphus cower, yet they persist. Their selfless and lonely project, titled The Cuba Archive, has been lauded by everyone from the
Miami Herald
to the
Wall Street Journal.
Many of their findings are featured in this book. If that wasn’t enough, both Mrs. Werlau and Dr. Lago were always available to this author with additional details or to direct him to a primary source. Many, many thanks to these new friends.

Pedro Corzo of the Instituto de La Memoria Historica Cubana complements much of Mrs. Werlau and Dr. Lago’s work by producing excellent documentaries. These put a face to many of these faceless murders. Mr. Corzo’s films include interviews with the relatives of the murdered and with now-disenchanted associates of the murderers. His documentaries,
Guevara: Anatomia de un Mito
and
Tributo a Mi Papa
were particularly informative and moving. Manifold thanks to Mr. Pedro Corzo.

Mrs. Barbara Rangel-Rojas’s childhood memories of her grandfather’s televised murder could not have been easy to dredge up. I’m thankful she chose to include them in this book. The same applies to Guillermo Robaina’s recounting of his heroic brother Aldo’s death and Lazaro Pineiro’s recounting of his father’s murder and desecration by the Castroites. Mrs. Janet Ray Weininger, besides detailing her father’s martyrdom during the Bay of Pigs, went well above and beyond the call of duty in helping me in every way.

Cuban scholar/researcher/public servant Salvador Diaz-Verson had Fidel and Che’s number from day one. How he kept his cool while reading the
New York Times
, listening to U.S. State Department “experts,” or watching Ed Murrow on CBS singing these covert communists’ praises, we can only guess. Mr. Diaz-Verson’s daughter, Sylvia, made all of her famous father’s papers and correspondence available for this book. She also recounted little-known but fascinating details of his life. I extend heartfelt thanks to Sylvia—for the invaluable info as well as for her custom made Che T-shirts and tasty pastelitos.

Bay of Pigs vet Mr. Miguel Uria, who edits the superb Spanish-language Webzine
Guaracabuya
, enlisted as my part-time scout for this book, pointing me toward often obscure but invariably excellent primary sources. Miguel’s journalistic colleague, Hugo Byrne, also came through with many spicy details.

Employing his computer wizardry, investigative zeal, and international network of Cuba contacts, Jose “El Tiburon” Cadenas of the authoritative Webzine
La Nueva Cuba
kept me well-informed on Cuba/Che news throughout the writing of this book.

Mr. Marcos Bravo had early links to Castro’s July 26th Movement. As such he was in a great position to uncover much about Che Guevara’s strange psychology and his often stormy relationship with his revolutionary peers. Bravo’s work
Ernesto Guevara: Un Sepulcro Blanqueado
was enormously informative and our conversations filled in all the gaps. Many thanks, Señor Bravo.

Charlie Bravo (no relation to Marcos), Miguel Forcelledo, and Carmen Cartaya were all “roqueros” in their day, Cuban youth who “dug” rock music in the sixties. Today when they see a Che T-shirt on a young headbanger or on Carlos Santana and Eric Burdon, they’re well past the point of rage or even annoyance. They can only laugh at the imbecility. In this book they explain why. A hearty high-five to these still rocking amigos.

Cuban-American bloggers Valentin “El Barbaro” Prieto of Babalu Blog and Henry “El Conductor” Gomez of Cuban-American Pundits kept me abreast of late-breaking news in Cuba and of scoops in Miami, the capital of the Cuban exile. From Prince Charles to Johnny Depp, no Che T-shirt-wearing celebrity escaped these attentive bloggers’ notice and they knew just who to alert. Val and Henry’s spirit always inspires and their blogs always inform and entertain.

So again,
un fuerte abrazo
, to all the amigos-collaborators mentioned above.

Now for the dedication. Husband authors dedicating their books to their “loving and supportive wives” has become a sappy cliche—but please hear me out.

Yes, this book is dedicated to my wife, Shirley. And for reasons well known to all our family and friends. Recently her husband was crippled and wheelchair-bound for months after a life-threatening accident, and his future looked uncertain. On top of managing a household of five and working full-time, this forced her to moonlight as nurse and physical therapist, to say nothing of the emotional stress.

Then just as her husband was (literally) getting back on his feet and the doctor’s prognosis brightened—just as she kicked back, popped a cork, and was midway through a brief sigh of relief, Hurricane Katrina drew a bead on her hometown.

Her sigh was cut short as she gulped once from her wineglass and scrambled to organize her families’ frantic evacuation to a neighboring state.

She returned to find her home of twenty years utterly demolished, many of her lifelong possessions gone forever, and, yet again, a very uncertain future looming. Time for another sigh, but not of relief this time.

During these minor distractions, her two sons somehow started college and her daughter graduated from same and was married. There was also the small matter, as I said, of holding down a full-time profession, as in: managing an entire department at a major bank. Banks, by the way, cannot afford the luxury of closing during crises, even (especially!) after the most destructive hurricane in American history.

How easy it might have been to throw up her hands during this madhouse of heartbreak, turmoil, and travail. How tempting the Thelma and Louise solution must have looked. What an audience her tear-drenched breakdown—her victimization by that villain, fate!—might have drawn for Oprah!

Instead, by merely allowing Calgon to “take her away” from time to time, and occasionally patronizing the product of some (moderately priced) vintners, she kept the whole thing going. And without any of the overt physical symptoms that warrant a camera close-up and teary hug by Ms. Winfrey.

When we met during spring break in 1977, I sensed I was lucky—but I had no idea just how lucky. We met when I tottered over on my platform shoes—my bell bottoms billowing and my polyester collars flapping—and beckoned her to hit the disco floor during the song “I Will Survive.”

Little did I dream, as we gyrated under that flashing ball, how aptly and enduringly the song’s title would define that hot disco babe’s spirit. This book would have been a sheer impossibility without her faith, companionship, gumption, undying support, and multifarious talents, which include still turning heads while strutting and spinning to Gloria Gaynor’s classic disco anthem—especially at a raucous French Quarter party celebrating a recent book.

So there, I think a little sappiness is called for.

INTRODUCTION

The man in The Motorcycle Diaries, who loved lepers as Jesus did, who forded a river at great personal risk to show his compassion for them, is the man who declared that “a revolutionary must become a
cold killing machine motivated by pure hate.
” As we shall see, he set a spirited example of this principle. This is the man who boasted that he executed from “revolutionary conviction” rather than from any “archaic bourgeois details” like judicial evidence, and who urged “atomic extermination” as the final solution for those American “hyenas” (and came hearth-thumpingly close with nuclear missiles in October 1962).

“If the nuclear missiles had remained we would have used them against the very heart of America, including New York City,” Che Guevara confided to the
London Daily Worker
in November 1962. “We will march the path of victory even if it costs millions of atomic victims. . . . We must keep our hatred alive and fan it to paroxysm.” This is the same man
Time
felt was worthy to be placed next to Mother Teresa.

He cofounded a regime that jailed or ran off enough of its citizens to merit comparison to the regimes of Hitler or Stalin. He declared that “individualism must disappear!” In 1959, with the help of KGB agents, Che helped found, train, and indoctrinate Cuba’s secret police.