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Special Cinco de Mayo Greetings from Chicano Icon Che Guevara
Humberto Fontova |Posted: May 06, 2017 12:01 AM

“Mexicans are mostly a rabble of illiterate indians,” (Che Guevara, 1955)

In the historic annals of unrequited love few cases rival the affair by
Chicanos with Che Guevara. I trust Che’s iconization is sufficiently
documented by U.S. Chicano groups in their murals (i.e. graffiti.) They
seem to plaster this lily white Argentinian racist’s mug on practically
everything they paint to celebrate their Amerindian Aztec culture. Go
figure.

Perhaps a word with some Bolivian Amerindians who actually experienced
Che Guevara’s plans to Stalinize their culture would help. In 1967 these
(overwhelmingly indigenous) Bolivians (with help from U.S. Green Berets)
made short work of this Chicano hero. If a picture’s worth a thousand
words than this one’s worth a million. Please note the obvious ethnic
compositions of the gentlemen proudly and triumphantly holding their
guns over their vanquished European would-be enslaver.

At any rate, if any doubt remains about Che Guevara’s iconization by
Chicanos I give you “The Last Supper of Chicano Heroes.” This paining “
is a re-construction of da Vinci’s painting “The Last Supper,” replacing
religious figures with Chicano activists. Artist José Antonio Burciaga
polled Chicano students and activists to determine who would be depicted.”

You guessed it. Che Guevara sits at the head of the table.

You see, amigos: Prior to “invading” Cuba, Castro’s “guerrillas”
“trained” in Mexico. Some of these former “guerrillas” later defected
to the U.S. and revealed how the sneering Ernesto “Che” Guevara
constantly insulted his Mexican hosts. Hence, the quote at the top of
this article.

It was in 1955 that a Cuban criminal named linked up with
an Argentine hobo named Ernesto Guevara in Mexico City. Minus this
historic hook-up everything points to Ernesto (shortly known a “Che”)
continuing his life of a traveling hobo, panhandling, mooching off
women, staying in flophouses and scribbling unreadable poetry.

Alas! Instead this thoroughly unimposing vagabond and psycho named
Ernesto Guevara had the magnificent fortune of linking up with modern
history’s top press agent, Fidel Castro, who over half a century had the
mainstream media anxiously scurrying to his every beck and call and
eating out of his hand like trained pigeons. His brother’s not doing too
bad at this either.

Fidel and Raul were in Mexico putting together a guerrilla band to
invade Cuba and overthrow the black Cuban head-of-state Fulgencio
Batista. With the financial help of his wealthy lily-white Cuban backers
of the time, Castro hired a Cuban Korean war veteran named Miguel
Sanchez to his guerrilla band. None of the trainees had the
slightest combat-experience so their extra-curricular curiosity on the
matter did not surprise Sanchez.

But one of the trainees struck Sanchez as a bit strange, especially the
gleam in his eye regarding the act of killing. “How many men have you
killed?” this trainee constantly asked Sanchez. “What does it feel like
to kill a man?”

“Look Ernesto (he was not yet known by his moniker “Che,”)” Sanchez
would reply. “It was a war. I was in combat. It wasn’t a personal thing.
Most soldiers don’t make it a personal thing. You aim at an enemy
uniform and pull the trigger. That’s it.”

“But did you ever come upon a wounded enemy and kill him with the coup
de grace?” A wide-eyed Ernesto Guevara would continue. “What did it feel
like? I want to know what it feels like.”

“It became obvious to me that the man who would shortly become known as
“Che” wanted to kill for the sake of the act itself,” recalled Sanchez
later from exile in Miami, “instead of– as in the case of most others,
and this includes Fidel and themselves—as a means to an end.
That end for Castro, of course, was absolute power,” Sanchez quickly
recognized. “His power lust fueled his killing, and it didn’t seem to
affect him one way or the other. With Ernesto Guevara, however, it
struck me as a different motivation, a different lust.”

“On Sundays in Mexico I would often dine with Guevara and his Peruvian
wife, a great cook,” recalls Sanchez. “Ernesto was a voracious reader
and loved poetry. I’ll never forget his favorite poem “despair” by Jose
de Espronceda.

“I love a sullen-eyed gravedigger crushing skulls with his shovel!

I would love to light the flames of a holocaust which spreads devouring
flames that pile up dead and roast an old man until he crackles

What pleasure! What Pleasure!”

“Ernesto Guevara would close his eyes dreamily and recite it from memory
during all of my visits, even at the dinner table, recalled Sanchez.

“He went into convulsions for a while and was finally still,” gloats Che
Guevara in his Cuban diaries. He was lovingly describing the death
agonies of a bound Cuban peasant he had just shot in the temple with his
pistol. “Now his belongings were mine.” (Unwittingly here Che Guevara
defines Communism in a nutshell: cowardly murder and theft.)

Another item Sanchez recalls about Ernesto Guevara was his constant
belittling of his hosts: Mexicans. “These Mexicans are nothing but a
rabble of illiterate Indians,” Che Guevara often snickered.

Source: Special Cinco de Mayo Greetings from Chicano Icon Che Guevara –
Humberto Fontova –
townhall.com/columnists/humbertofontova/2017/05/06/special-cinco-de-mayo-greetings-from-chicano-icon-che-guevara-n2322807

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