Che on My Mind ‐ by Randall, Margret

Randall, Margret (2013) Che on My Mind, Duke University Press ( Durham, NC and London), ix + 160 pp. £50.00 hbk. £13.99 pbk. Anyone writing about Che Guevara invariably begins by stating that there is already so much written about him; the implication being that there is always room for just one more book. Absolutely. Stories endure because they are told and retold. Che is mythic because people are fascinated by him, his story, his name, his image. Some accounts bravely attempt to separate fact from fiction, truth from fantasy, history from myth, failing to appreciate that such attempts contribute to the myth. The myth is all the retellings, from the perspectives. Margaret Randall recognises this, and makes no such pledge. Instead, she sets out to explore her feelings about Che and the many contradictions in her fascination with him. ‘It is a poet's reminiscences of an era and of the figure who best exemplifies that era’ (p. 1). She is keen not to leave any questions unanswered, not, I imagine, because she is anticipating attacks from critics eager to pounce on the old chestnuts (that Guevara was macho, chauvinist and violent), but because she acknowledges her own fascination with his machismo, chauvinism and violence. These concerns are central to her investigation. Her varied responses are fascinating, as she does not appear to shrug off those aspects of Guevara's personality that she finds problematic, nor ignore them, nor excuse them as one excuses a friend, but instead recognises that such contradictions were central to Guevara. Tenderness and viciousness, compassion and revenge, tolerance and stubbornness compete within him. This is the appeal of this book. We learn more about the author than about Guevara, and about the questions – political, ideological, spiritual, erotic – that Guevara evokes in her. Why is he important for her, she asks? What do his writings, his actions, his politics, his visions provide for her today? These chapters are her response. In examining the deficiencies she perceives, Randall seems to shoehorn explanations as justifications – most notably that he would have been feminist had he known about feminism. However, in this respect the book is not really about Che, but about her. It is not that Che was a proto-feminist, but that she – a feminist – can be fascinated and beguiled by him. She argues defensively that Che's use of the word maricón reproachfully is no sign of homophobia. Likewise, though it rankles with the pacifist in her, she accepts that Che advocated violent uprising as a sacred duty, the most effective means of resistance. This, she recognises, is a delicate matter. What alternative visions of resistance did he – might he – have proposed? Were his actions and his words always appropriate? Was he bound by historical, geographical, cultural circumstances? Randall shies away from declaring it more boldly: she is uneasy about her own admiration of Che. Yet while she spends a fair part of this short book answering these challenges, I sympathise entirely, being drawn to Guevara yet uneasy about him. This is the tension that fuels this book. Here is Che as she sees him. The reader can do with him as they wish. Randall draws upon her own many decades of experience as activist, political commentator, poet and oral historian. Hers, like Che's, is a radical and stirring story, and she focuses on Che's presence and relevance throughout her years. She lived in Cuba, Nicaragua, Mexico and other places during turbulent times before and after Che's death. She knew and knows people closely connected with him. Yes, these connections at times seem namedropped, but the narrative is fortified by such experiences. And yes, there is at times a tone of Che-inspired righteous indignation at the ills of capitalism and imperialism, but then one would not be inspired by Che if one were not indignant at the ills of capitalism and imperialism. Likewise, the veneration of Che can become unsettling, with constant comparisons between him and ‘great people throughout history’ (some of whom she knew). On this matter, Randall asks the burning question: what kind of figure would he be today? I once asked this to a full cinema audience before the screening of a Cuban documentary about Che: If Che were alive today would we sitting here be his friend or his enemy? Would we follow him, flee from him or even fight him? Randall's book provides a bold response. Are you his friend or enemy now? What inspires you about him? What troubles you? Read his works, read the biographies, think about the man, consider the world in which he lived, explore the conflicting emotions he provokes in you. Contribute your own story to his ongoing myth. ‘There is’, she argues, ‘a very fine line between legacy and mythology’ (p. 118

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