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.
Guillermo Alvares Guedes told me in 1987 that Latin Americans frequently confused him with Gabo. On one occasion he told some little old ladies at an airport that he was Gabo’s twin brother, and that Gabo was an alcoholic and drug addict who used to beat their mother and bring prostitutes home. Alvarez Guedes told me that on another occasion he was at a restaurant in Barranquilla and the Black waiter sheepishly asked him if he was Gabo. He replied affirmatively, said that he was a homosexual who liked muscular Black men and told the waiter to come visit his hotel room (gave him a phony address) with another buff Black man so that the three could have an orgy with cocaine and alcohol. Alvarez Guedes said the waiter fled and another waiter came to give him his bill. Indeed, Alvarez Guedes was one of the greatest Cuban humorists.
The first photo is very telling: the sinuous courtesan attending to The Man (in his soldier costume, of course). Repulsive but honest–I expect Reinaldo Arenas would have found that languid pose rather suggestive. Not that it makes any real difference, but maybe Gabo was a suppressed homosexual, which could explain his habitual whoring as a kind of overcompensation. Once again, even great talent guarantees nothing in terms of human quality and true worth as a person, but regardless of what one thinks about GGM’s worth as writer, he was one seriously twisted and perverse SOB.
Still, one can’t deny “Gabo” was Überlatrine, which is something. A true, uh, exemplar to his people.
Evidently, “Gabo” either didn’t know shit about José Martí or had zero respect for him. What an asshole.
If any writer, no matter how great, were to spew this kind of lovestruck bilge about a “fascist” dictator, he’d become a pariah, and he sure as hell would NEVER get a Nobel Prize. Funny how that works.
In the 2nd photo, that’s Carlos Andrés Pérez at far left, the former president of Venezuela, also a FOF (friend of Fidel). These people just reek.
You know what Fidel was thinking in that top photo: “Gabo, you’re such a little bitch.”
García Márquez, or the advertising copy for the Dos Equis Most Interesting Man in the World? You decide:
“He gave his father “the talk”. His passport requires no photograph. When he drives a car off the lot, its price increases in value. Once a rattlesnake bit him, after 5 days of excruciating pain, the snake finally died. His feet don’t get blisters, but his shoes do. He once went to the psychic, to warn her. If he were to punch you in the face you would have to fight off a strong urge to thank him. His friends call him by his name, his enemies don’t call him anything because they are all dead.”
“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.”
His posture next to Castro is indeed subservient and effeminate, in both pictures. Even the way he stares at Raul in the third picture, it’s an enamored look. No macho sits in such a way when talking to another man unless such man (in this case Fidel) were disabled or too old. This is not because of etiquette or custom but simply because it’s not natural to the masculine male. As for Fidel, he always knew a sucker when he saw one, in plain cuban “un come-mierda”.
That said, Fidel’s entire existence as a tyrant is due to suckers. Individualism and self-determination, both very masculinity traits, are his main enemies. Fidel, never without his fake miltary uniform (aka costume), like all communists, always depended on the resented, the stupid, the scum, the miserable, the full of complexes, and all in all the unscrupulous.
In the top photo, GM looks distinctly gay. In the middle photo, he looks like he’s getting ready to have an orgasm from being so up close and personal with Fidel. In the last photo with the faux general, he looks like an ugly old woman. You decide.
OK, I read the rest of this tripe. It could all be knowing and deliberate ass-kissing, meaning Gabo knew it was BS, or it could be sincere, in which case Gabo was painfully dense and excruciatingly gullible–in other words, a useful idiot, with the emphasis on idiot. Unless, of course, it’s all an essentially homosexual infatuation, however platonic, such as the one the NYT’s Herbert Matthews apparently had for Fidel. In any event, it’s all clearly pathological, not to mention sickeningly sycophantic, and ultimately demeaning and discrediting in a way that evidently escaped Gabo’s “intellectual” acumen.
But hey, let’s be grateful such a giant of literature deigned to notice little old Cuba, and that he evidently held no grudge over the considerable Castro role in his native Colombia’s protracted and bloody guerrilla ordeal. You know, sort of like Juanes, only with far more cachet and somewhat less dopey-looking. I mean, if you’re going to get screwed over, it might as well be by a Nobel Prize recipient.