with big lapels, are all sitting on one side of a table, facing a throng of citizens. Here, we were all on one side of the table facing a solitary hero sprawled in a chair, letting bureaucracy seep from his exhausted body, as he asked for a glass of water and a coffee.
From his long exposition (the political framework and military plans later merged in my mind with other conversations and analysis), I have retained his sense of solidarity, philosophy, utopia. He said he understood that our presence there, around the table, meant we shared an ethical view of the world, and implied total commitment to our joint project. It had to be made absolutely clear that there would be no benefits in the future, only sacrifices in the here and now. Although the revolutionary objective might be to take power, we would not get the reward, even if the aim were achieved. Most probably none of us would live to see it. ‘Remember, as from now, you are dead men. From now on, you’re living on borrowed time.’
He said the situation we were witnessing in Latin America was atypical: a new reality, distorted, anti-historical, unacceptable to an empire accustomed to the servile docility of the oligarchies. The Cuban Revolution was a sickness the US system could not tolerate in its dominions. Plans were being hatched daily to destroy it and, in his opinion, they would end up harming it. But Cuba was more than a successful experiment looking for its own way forward, it was the last card for the peoples of America, and they had to play it. The US could destroy Cuba if they chose to wipe out the island, though the price would be very high. But they could not destroy its example, and if it spread throughout the continent, it would be imperialism that would be destroyed. In any case, the task we were setting ourselves was not the utopian dream of defeating the most powerful army in the Americas, but of making our presence felt, so that our people knew the armed struggle was an alternative, and not be afraid of it. Traditional politicians kept vain hopes alive. We would show that the people’s dignity and future had to be fought for.
Che added that he could not go much further in the Cuban process. He had given his life to the Revolution but a revolutionary life was not to be wasted behind a desk. He sincerely believed, without false modesty, that he still had a role to play, and by playing it in Argentina he would serve the Revolution in South America as a whole. For this initial stage, he needed our help. We had to learn as much as we could in these classes, and remember how much they were costing the Revolution in increasingly difficult times. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing the resources being put at his disposal when every single man, every single dollar, taken from the Cuban budget was a sacrifice. We could not prolong the training more than strictly necessary. We needed to take responsibility for the project – under his leadership – as soon as possible, but Cuba would cover a minimum of the essential organizational support. Our task, as a group, was to keep ourselves safe, establish the camp in Argentina, familiarize ourselves with the region, increase our numbers, and avoid combat until he arrived.
He would visit us as often as he could while we were in Cuba, hopefully once a week, but he could not be sure. The climate of aggression against Cuba was a sign that new attacks were on the way, and we had to be ready by then. But we shouldn’t feel we had to sit there in silence: that is, if we had any doubts or things we did not agree with, we should say so, not keep it to ourselves, because soon it would be impossible to withdraw.
He gave us the floor, but as often happens at conferences with a non-professional audience, no one had anything to say. Masetti, on the extreme right of the table, looked at us as if he had asked a question. Fabián played with a pencil, as if he was taking the minutes. Me, in the centre, looked at the others, while Basilio and Miguel, to my left, looked at the floor. Overcome by embarrassment and a sense of the ridiculous, but mostly because I thought saying nothing showed a lack of respect, I spoke. It is impossible to reconstruct my ‘discourse’, more or less a series of wobbly questions. The overpowering impact of Che’s presence drowned out every sound that did not come from him.
I think I asked if we would be supported by any kind of organization once we got there. The reply: none at all, creating them is part of the task. I think I showed a certain incredulity at the disproportionate odds – half a dozen men versus millions. I remember his reply: in Cuba they were only a handful and they won. I think I insisted that, in Cuba, they had been a handful – many more when they had disembarked – but that the 26th of July Movement had been waiting in the wings. It was not the same, he retorted, to go in on a war footing after an event like the Moncada, as it was to go in clandestinely with an exploratory project: the 26th of July Movement came out of a previous isolated experience. I think I evoked the somewhat indigestible image of an ant on the edge of a three million square kilometre cake, and behind the ant image I suggested that our cause would have to prosper from the periphery towards the interior, not the other way round. I also brought up Argentina’s unresolved internal political conflict, Peronism. His reply was that Argentina’s problem is the dependence and poverty of its people while its wealth is in foreign hands. Peronism is only a symptom; for the struggle, the sickness is what counts.
I think that was how I explained my most immediate doubts, and they were not dismissed. On the contrary, they were adopted as subjects for further discussion. The meeting ended at dawn. Hermes mobilized the bodyguards and Che said goodbye with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.
Classes resumed with renewed gusto. The team of instructors was joined by experts in radio-communications, telegraphy, self-defence, use of telescopic sights for light artillery, bazookas, mortars and recoil-less rifles – all weapons which can be easily captured from the enemy but are no use at all if you don’t know how they work. Our instructors put a huge effort into teaching us the most exquisite details of warfare technology. Weapons exert a fascination, they mean danger. Despite their amazing technology, all weapons are horrible. Yet some have the fascination of horror.
We were choosing the best automatic weapons, weighing up size, weight and the most universal calibres. We left out some supposedly superior Soviet ones for the obvious reason that there were none in Argentina. The US infantry had developed a practically indestructible machine gun, the M3: a .45 calibre made completely of steel, with an enormous covered bolt the size of a piston – like a ghetto blaster. It had a hugely destructive capacity, but was very heavy. My preference for it was unfortunate, because I had trouble carrying it later on. The arms manufacturer, Fabricaciones Militares, had acquired the rights to make it in Argentina, although it was reproduced in .22 calibre, much lighter but just as effective.
Our apprenticeship continued, both theoretical and practical, and a constant stream of experts fought for the best and largest number of class hours. Well into the course, a special guest appeared, his visit cloaked in secrecy. He was a general and hero twice over, Spanish and Soviet. Masetti introduced him as Angelito. Over sixty, in a uniform without insignia, he was certainly angelic looking, not very tall, a bit chubby and balding, but a picture of health. He was quietly mannered and spoke excellent Spanish. Angelito said he would be lending a critical eye to some of our training sessions. He began there and then. During our stops for rest and food, he talked animatedly, picking our brains no doubt to see if we had any residue of intelligence.
Angelito was an admirer of Che’s guerrilla tactics in the Sierra Maestra, and especially in the Escambray, a combination of guerrilla warfare and permanent German blitzkrieg which was now studied in Soviet military academies. Angelito had known defeat as well as victory, bitterness and glory. After the final Republican defeat in the Spanish Civil War, he had gone into exile in the Soviet Union with the Communist Party’s combat contingent. There he had joined the Red Army and taken part in the victorious offensive right up to the fall of Berlin. Now also a Soviet general, the Soviet Communist Party’s central committee had sent him to Cuba to advise on the creation of a new-style professional army. Despite his age, he proved he was in magnificent physical shape by doing back flips from a standing position, like a gymnast. He considered fitness of paramount importance. His name was Francisco Ciutat, a Catalan.
‘Russian’ weapons had begun appearing in Cuba. First to arrive were rifles (Czech actually) and the cylindrical barrelled ‘Pepechá’ machine gun, famed for its
