In 2006– the year Fidel suffered his colonic disaster — Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote a fawning essay published in The Guardian (UK), in which he praised the worst dictator in all of Latin American history.
Gabo didn’t care that Fidel was a ruthless dictator. As far as Gabo was concerned, Fidel was a living saint. The problem is that Gabo wasn’t deluded. He KNEW that Fidel was a ruthless monster and that is precisely what he loved most about him. Gabo’s Fidel was a Luciferian saint rather than a Christian one, and that resemblance to Lucifer made him attractive. As The Prince of Lies had led his Revolution in heaven, Fidel had led a similar one on earth. It was Fidel’s megalomaniacal cruelty and his rejection of Judaeo-Christian ethics that made him so lovable.
On Good Friday, when Christians celebrate their liberation from the power of original sin, it is perhaps fitting that the nauseatingly sinful words of Garcia Marquez be exposed. Why call his words “sinful”? Because they reflect a love of evil and an ethic devoid of genuine love of neighbor and express warped sentiments and instincts that violate the Golden Rule: “do unto others as you would have done unto you.”
The Colombian novelist was a consummate hypocrite –much like Nelson Mandela — and that hypocrisy helped him earn him the Nobel Prize. He lambasted Latin American dictators constantly, especially those who ruled through military juntas, yet he praised the one tyrant who raised oppression and the art of military dictatorship to new heights. This praise was so effusive, so fawning, it often lapsed into homoerotic passion.
And after 2006, when Fidel was demoted from Comandante to Coma Andante, Gabo heaped affection and praise on Raul, the monster’s testosterone-deficient little brother.
If Gabo’s words don’t serve to prove the reality of the devil and of the warped impulses that afflict the human race, then perhaps the time has come for us all to live like chimpanzees in the jungle. Chimps do kill other chimps and eat their flesh, after all. And they don’t even bother to cook that flesh.
Perhaps it’s also appropriate to speculate that if he had been hung on a cross next to Jesus, Gabo would have played the part of the bad thief, berating and cursing the prophet from Nazareth. Why is such a speculation appropriate? Because that is exactly what Fidel would do, and Gabo admired Fidel.
His admiration of Fidel knew no bounds. Here’s the proof.
The Fidel I think I know
He’s a man of ironclad discipline, inexhaustible patience, colossal ideas and insatiable illusions.
His devotion is to the word. His power is of seduction. He goes to seek out problems where they are. The impetus of inspiration is very much part of his style. Books reflect the breadth of his tastes very well. He stopped smoking to have the moral authority to combat tobacco addiction. He likes to prepare food recipes with a kind of scientific fervour. He keeps himself in excellent physical condition with various hours of gymnastics daily and frequent swimming.
Invincible patience. Ironclad discipline. The force of his imagination stretches him to the unforeseen.
José Martí is his foremost author and he has had the talent to incorporate Martí’s thinking into the sanguine torrent of a Marxist revolution. The essence of his own thinking could lie in the certainty that in undertaking mass work it is fundamental to be concerned about individuals.
That could explain his absolute confidence in direct contact. He has a language for each occasion and a distinct means of persuasion according to his interlocutors. He knows how to put himself at the level of each one, and possesses a vast and varied knowledge that allows him to move with facility in any media. One thing is definite: he is where he is, how he is and with whom he is.
Fidel Castro is there to win. His attitude in the face of defeat, even in the most minimal actions of everyday life, would seem to obey a private logic: he does not even admit it, and does not have a minute’s peace until he succeeds in inverting the terms and converting it into victory.
If you really, really want to vomit, or are hankering for a crippling aneurysm that would allow you to collect disability checks from Social Security, continue reading HERE.