Yes, it’s “Latin” literary luminary Gabriel García Márquez schmoozing with his BFF (in a manner of speaking), Latrine idol, nay, heartthrob Fidel Castro, totalitarian tyrant for life (or close enough). Gabo happens to be wearing the “revolutionary” colors of the 26th of July movement, and his buddy is wearing his accustomed comandante costume.
Commentary is largely superfluous, and Babalusians don’t need me to provide it. There are many such pictures involving many such characters consorting with Cuba’s Maximum Monster. This isn’t even my favorite photo of the Gabo-Fidel idyll, which would probably be this–the body language is better than a novel, albeit deeply disgusting.
Gabo, despite having admirers aplenty, obviously had a thing for FC, which may have been an irrational infatuation, or maybe an instance of a famous intellectual actually being pretty stupid. Be that as it may, I’m fairly certain Fidel saw him as a useful tool, as well as something of a trophy fanboy (though I expect the trophy factor was mutual).
Well, I suppose we don’t understand these things, certainly not the way Latrines do. After all, they’re an alien species.
Notice the beast’s military fatigues. Unlike a real soldier’s fatigues that are made of a rough material, fifo’s looks to be made of something soft and comfortable like satin or silk. Of course, he was never in the military nor much less a soldier. It’s mindboggling how nobody ever called him out on his blatant and shameless bullshit.
Well, it was a costume, one of countless fraudulent (and tacky) elements composing the fraud that is the “revolution.” I guess you could say they were “dress fatigues.” But yes, practically everyone bought into or accepted the BS except for “those people,” who were never the target audience.
I’m not about to spend time or energy on trying to figure out the exact nature of Gabo’s Fidel problem, but he definitely had one. It wasn’t just the routine, run-of-the-mill affinity of Latrine leftists for the “revolution,” but something much more personal and focused, like an obsession. He was enough of a VIP and celebrity, especially in Latrine circles, that he didn’t need to be so close to Castro; maybe he was ultimately insecure.
The real problem, of course, is not any individual Fidel groupie but the aggregate Latrine Castrophilia, which is a manifestation of stupidity, gullibility and perversity. Latrine dysfunction, obviously, is no accident.
Cuban writer Reinaldo Arenas wrote an essay about García Márquez titled ¿Esbirro o es burro?, a clever play on words which translates as “Lackey or idiot?” It would appear that he was both.