If you want some idea of what this government is about, I’ll mention a few things: One of the first villages to fall belonged to the [United] Fruit company, whose workers were on strike. The invaders immediately declared the strike over, took the leaders to the cemetery, and killed them by throwing hand grenades at their chests.
One night a flare fired from the cathedral lit up the darkened city just as a plane was flying overhead. The first act of thanksgiving was given by the bishop; the second, by [John] Foster Dulles, the fruit company’s lawyer.70 Today, July 4, there’s a solemn mass with all the trappings, and all the papers congratulate the US government in ridiculous terms on its national day.
Vieja, I’ll see how I can get these letters to you. If I put them in the mail it will ruin my nerves (the president said—whether you believe it is up to you—that this was a country with strong nerves). A big hug to you all.
The asylum-seekers’ situation has not changed. The novelty has worn off and everything is calm. Helenita left today by plane. The look in the German’s eyes gets worse each time I see him. I won’t visit him again except to pick up some things and my books.
Some fairly serious things have happened, although not in the political arena, where the only change is that illiterates have been disqualified from voting. This is a country where 65 percent of the adult population is illiterate, reducing the number who can vote to 35 percent. Of this 35, perhaps 15 support the regime. The level of fraud, therefore, does not have to be so extreme for the likely “people’s candidate,” Carlos Castillo Armas, to be elected. Unfortunately, I had to leave the house I’d been living in, now that Yolanda, the other sister of the two women hoping for asylum, is here and is planning to move to San Salvador. I’ll see if I can go to Helenita’s aunt’s house.
Ernesto (left) with Eduardo García (“Gualo”), during his trip around Central America.
Photos by Ernesto Che Guevara.
With Ricardo Rojo, Luzmila Oller, Gualo García, Hilda Gadea, Oscar Valdovinos and others in Guatemala.
Holy Week celebrations in Guatemala (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
United Fruit Company hospital in Quiriguá, Guatemala, 1954 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Ciudad de los Niños (Children’s City), San José Pinula, Guatemala (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Edelberto Torres and his wife, some relatives and friends at Guatemala Airport, March 1954.
View of Escuintla, Guatemala (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Coatzacoalcos as seen from Allende, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Popocatépetl volcano, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Ernesto (left) with friends attempting to climb Popocatépetl, Mexico.
Ernesto (right) with some friends, Mexico.
Ernesto at Chichén-Itzá, Mexico.
The Castle, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Northern Grandstand and the Ball Court at Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Astronomical Observatory, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Plaza of the Thousand Columns, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Temple of Jaguars, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
A current photo of the Temple of Jaguars, taken by Che’s son Ernesto Guevara.
Plumed serpents’ heads, Temple of the Warriors, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Ball Court, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Sacrificial pool, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Castle and the Temple of the Warriors as seen from the Observatory, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Temple of the Warriors, Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Temple of the Magician, Uxmal, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Current view of Uxmal (photo by Che Guevara’s son Ernesto).
Detail of Uxmal (photo by Che Guevara’s son Ernesto).
Detail of the Governor’s Palace, Uxmal, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Main facade of the Governor’s Palace, Uxmal, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Detail of the Governor’s Palace, Uxmal, Mexico (photo by Che Guevara’s son Ernesto).
Entrance to the courtyard of the Nuns’ Quadrangle, Uxmal, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Chichén-Itzá, Mexico, 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Panoramic view of the archaeological site of Uxmal (photo by Che Guevara’s son Ernesto).
Detail of Campeche Cathedral, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Campeche Cathedral, as seen from the marketplace (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Ernesto Che Guevara in Campeche, Mexico.
Earth Gate at the Fortress of Campeche (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Catemaco Lake, Veracruz, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Alvarado Port on the Papaloapan River (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Banks of the Papaloapan River (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Ernesto on a ferry, crossing the Papaloapan River, Mexico.
Boca del Río, a small fishing village (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Temple of the Inscriptions and the Tomb, as seen from the Observatory, archeological ruins of Palenque in Chiapas (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Hieroglyphs at Palenque (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
View of the Temple of the Count and the Northern Palace, Palenque (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Waterfall, Palenque (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Medallion, Palenque (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Mexican quartet in the Pan-American Games, Mexico, March 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Rob Richard jumps over the 4.5-meter bar in the high jump competition at the Pan-American Games, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The final of the 1,500-meter race, Pan-American Games, Mexico 1955 (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The Argentine athlete Beckler finishes in first place in the relay race (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
The athlete Juan Carlos Miranda, from Argentina, Pan-American Games, Mexico (photo by Ernesto Che Guevara).
Climbing Popocatépetl volcano, August 1955.
Ernesto (center), Mexico City.
In the yard of Miguel Schultz prison, Mexico City.
Ernesto (center) with Reinaldo Benítez Nápoles, Alberto Bayo and Universo Sánchez in the Mexican prison.
Ernesto (front left) with some of the future Granma expedition members, and María Antonia in the prison yard in Mexico.
Now I’m settled in the new house. I keep going to the Argentine embassy, although today it was closed. Nevertheless, because today was July 9,71 I managed to get in this evening. There is a new ambassador, Torres Gispena, a stocky little pedant from Córdoba. I wolfed down a few things, but there wasn’t much to eat. What a guy has to put up with! I met some interesting people at the embassy. One of them, Aguiluz, has written a book on land reform; another, Dr. Díaz, is a Salvadoran pediatrician and a friend of Romero’s from Costa Rica.
Asthma is fucking with me after what I ate at the embassy. Otherwise nothing much has changed. I got a letter and a photo from my old lady, and a letter from Celia and Tita Infante […].
Cheché72 must have been granted asylum in the last few hours. We agreed he would present himself at the embassy at 6:30 p.m. My plans are very fluid, but it’s most likely I’ll go to Mexico— although it’s within the realm of possibility that I might try my luck in Belize.
Belize is a fair way away. Near or far, I can’t really tell, because I’m at one of those crossroads when a bit of lateral pressure could change my course completely. If everything works out well, now that I’ve asked for and been granted asylum, I’ll soon be
safe and sound in the embassy. On one of the many days I went there, after I had just finished the article and was thinking of going to Hilda’s, I came across a girl (the sister of the landlady at the boarding house where Hilda was staying) who told me that soldiers of the liberation army had come and taken away the landlady and Hilda. They quickly released the landlady, but Hilda is still in the lock-up. I was at a loss for a few days, but in the end I asked for asylum, and here I am enjoying fresh food in the company of a diverse group of people including, most notably, Cheché.
Several days as a refugee have passed. Hilda has been released, or so it seems. The paper reported that she went on a hunger strike and that the minister promised to release her two days ago. Asylum doesn’t qualify as boring, but it is sterile—you can’t pass the time as you might choose, owing to the number of people here. My asthma is bad and I feel like getting the hell out of here, but a problem has come up with my Mexican visa. Hilda hasn’t come. I don’t know whether she’s able to visit but doesn’t know where I am, or whether she’s not able to visit at all. If there’s no great danger, I’ll leave and calmly make my way to Lake Atitlán. Nothing has been happening politically, except that Decree No. 900 on land reform has been declared unconstitutional.
Several more days have passed in a rather sterile atmosphere. All those taking refuge here are pretty good people; the most interesting is Pellecer. I already have my special food—well more or less special—and I sunbathe every morning, so I’m in no hurry to leave. I know absolutely nothing about Hilda. I sent her a message but got no answer; I don’t know if she received it. The political situation hasn’t changed, except that they’re stepping up the repressive measures. Pellecer and I discussed Árbenz’s decision to renounce the presidency. I don’t think he himself has a clear idea of whether the situation was resolved in the best possible way. I believe it wasn’t.
Several more days of confinement, characterized by profound boredom, regular asthma attacks, two ruptured vaporizers and a search for those who were in Helenita’s house (with the surprise discovery that she is back in Guatemala). Life is monotonous and undisciplined, with senseless discussions and the wasting of time in every imaginable way.
The main development was continuous gunfire from dawn on Monday. It was hard to know what was happening, but gradually rumors began to circulate, making it possible to get a better picture. Yesterday, a parade of troops from both the regular and the liberation armies effectively humiliated the regular army.73 Later, some army cadets were insulted by a few members of the liberation army, triggering an outburst. At first it was only the cadets against the liberation army, but as the day wore on the entire army got behind the cadets, although without much enthusiasm. In the end, the cadets made the liberation army surrender and march through the city with their hands in the air. The army was then in complete control, and made an attempt at a coup d’état, but as always the soldiers lacked resolve. The next day, Castillo Armas gave an incoherent speech, muttering inanities at the people, who booed at Monzón’s name; but by the time he appeared the air base had swung around again and he was in control of the situation. He detained some soldiers, and again spouted some strident anticommunist rhetoric that was supported by the reactionaries. Castillo Armas apparently maintains power thanks to Yankee support and to the instability and indecision of those in the army. I know nothing new about the safe-conduct passes; my name doesn’t appear on the list of those given asylum.
Several more unremarkable days have passed in the embassy. The government of Castillo Armas is now completely consolidated. Several military men were incarcerated and that was the end of it.
My cohabitation with a number of people who sleep here in the embassy has given me the chance to make a superficial analysis of each one of them.
I’ll begin with Carlos Manuel Pellecer: From what I gather, he was a student at the polytechnic during Ubico’s period, during which he was tried and expelled. He went to Mexico, and later turned up as an attaché at the Guatemalan embassies in Britain and Europe, already a communist. Back here, he was a member of parliament and a peasant leader at the time of Árbenz’s fall. He’s an intelligent man and seems quite brave. He has great sway over all the comrades who have taken refuge here, although I don’t know if this is due to his personality or the fact that he is head of the party. He’s always standing straight, with his feet together, as if at attention. He wrote a book of verse some years back, a common affliction in this part of the world. His Marxist formation is not as strong as other figures I have met, and he hides it behind a certain temper. My impression is of a sincere but hot-headed individual, one of those ambitious personalities who through some slip-up might find himself violently rejecting his faith, but who is also capable of making the greatest sacrifice at any given moment.74 In other conversations, I’ve come to realize he has a profound grasp of the agrarian question.
Another day in the series, with the news that shining in the distance are 120 certificates they say will be handed out this week. This doesn’t affect me, but I’m waiting anxiously for Hilda to arrive, having asked her to come so I can find out what’s happening outside.
Today’s analysis, Mario de Armas: He’s Cuban, from the Orthodox Party founded by Chibás, not an anticommunist, a straightforward guy who was a railway worker in Cuba and participated in the failed assault on the Moncada barracks. He took refuge in the Guatemalan embassy and then came here. He has no political training at all and is your average happy-go-lucky Cuban. But he is a good compañero and obviously an honorable man.
Yesterday it was announced that foreigners will be given safe-conducts, so a mighty row is brewing. A chess competition has also begun in which I won the first two games, one against one of the four best players (among whom I count myself). An average player beat the one I was most afraid of, leaving two of us quite well placed.
Today it’s José Manuel Vega Suárez, alias Cheché: a Cuban, tough as old boots, who lies like an Andalusian. I know nothing concrete about his life in Cuba, but it seems he played the wise guy and Batista’s police beat him up and threw him on a railway line. He was an anticommunist. He entertains us with exaggerations that are in no way malicious. He’s like a big kid, selfish and bad-mannered, who thinks that everyone should submit to his whims. He eats like a biguá.75
The list of safe-conducts has been announced, and it includes the two Cubans and the Nicaraguan engineer Santos Barroterán who’s an expert on the United States, and I know he is part of the Nicaraguan leadership-in-exile. When another Nicaraguan, Fernando Lafuente, was arrested, he said a Nicaraguan engineer could provide a reference for him. They asked if that man was an authority on the United States; when he said yes, he was thrown into jail immediately. He was released when Árbenz fell, but now has the reputation of being a spy (rather hastily assigned, in my view). He has proven to be intelligent, to some extent a Marxist, and well versed in world events. He is a skeptic, not a fighter. His attitude wavers, possibly because of overanalysis. He’s a good compañero, meticulous like an engineer, but a little tedious because his obsession for analysis takes him to extremes even in matters of little importance. His analysis of surplus value was interesting; I should study it further.
Things are fiendishly complicated. I don’t know how the hell I’ll get out of here, but I will somehow or other. I received a letter from Hilda telling me that Helenita Leyva has been arrested. I’m happy to hear this in one way because now there can be no doubts about her—she was suspected by the communists. Meanwhile the safe-conducts are arriving.
Roberto Castañeda is Guatemalan, a photographer by profession although he’s really not very good, but he’s also a dancer. He gives me the impression of someone with an artistic temperament, clear intelligence, and a perfectionist in everything he does. He has traveled behind the Iron Curtain and is a sincere admirer of it, although he did not join the party. He lacks a knowledge of Marxism and perhaps wouldn’t make a good militant because of these bourgeois flaws, shal
l we say, but there is no doubt that when the action starts he’ll be with us. He seems a wonderful personality in his relationships, and he has practically none of a dancer’s effeminacy.76
Another day without any great conquest over my lazy disposition. Florencio Méndez: a member of the PGT. He was in Chiquimula with the government troops and saw the town fall due to the treachery of its defenders, or rather, the treachery of those leading the defense. He is a simple guy, not particularly cultured or intelligent. His Marxist formation is nil and he behaves like a simple machine obeying slogans. He is a happy-go-lucky character who probably has a congenital defect since he has a brother here in the refuge who is borderline oligophrenia. Clearly brave and loyal, with his carefree, robotic efficiency he could make the greatest sacrifice for an ideal.