Latin America Diaries

by Ernesto Che Guevara

  Bingham knew, from the chronicles of Father Calancha and others, that the Incas had a political and military capital they named Vitcos, and a more distant sanctuary called Vilcapampa, the city where no white person had ever set foot. Armed with this information, he set out on his search.

  Anyone with even a superficial knowledge of the region will not be unaware of the magnitude of the task he had set himself. In mountainous terrain, covered with dense, subtropical forest, crisscrossed by rivers that were more like highly dangerous torrents, not knowing the psychology or even the language of its inhabitants, Bingham set off with three powerful weapons: an indomitable zest for adventure, keen intuition and a healthy fistful of dollars.

  Patiently, paying a price in gold for each secret or piece of information he could extract, he penetrated the heartland of the extinct civilization. One day in 1911, after years of arduous labor, routinely following an Indian who was selling an unusual set of stones, Bingham, unaccompanied by any other white man, found himself marveling alone at the impressive ruins that, surrounded and almost submerged in undergrowth, were there to welcome him.

  There is a sad side to this story. The undergrowth was cleared from the ruins, which were then studied and perfectly described… and totally stripped of whatever objects that were uncovered. Researchers triumphantly bore off to their country more than 200 crates of archaeological treasures that were both invaluable and, let us be clear about this, worth a great deal of money. Bingham is, objectively speaking, not specifically guilty of this and neither are the citizens of North America guilty in general. Nor can anyone blame a government without the resources to support an expedition on a scale comparable to that of the discovery of Machu-Picchu. Is no one guilty then? Let us just accept the fact that the answer to the question of where one might study or admire the treasures of the indigenous city is obvious: in the museums of North America.

  Machu-Picchu was not just any old discovery for Bingham. It was the triumphant crowning of an overgrown child’s limpid dreams—like the dreams of almost every amateur in this area of science. A long series of triumphs and failures culminated there, and the city of gray stone encompassed all his fantasies and his visions, propelling him into comparison and conjecture that was at times far removed from careful and empirical demonstration. The years of exploration and those that followed his success made an erudite archaeologist of the formerly itinerant historian; many of his assertions, backed by the formidable experience acquired in his travels, were taken as gospel truth in scientific circles.

  In Bingham’s view, Machu-Picchu was the ancient abode of the Quechua people and the center from which they expanded before founding Cuzco. He delved into Inca mythology and identified three windows of a ruined temple as those from which the Ayllus brothers, characters in Inca mythology, had emerged. He found conclusive similarities between a circular tower in the newly revealed city and the Cuzco sun temple. He identified skeletons that had been found in the ruins, almost all of them female, as being those of the sun virgins. Finally, after carefully analyzing all the possibilities, he came to the following conclusion: The city he had discovered had been named Vilcapampa more than three centuries earlier. This, he said, had been the sanctuary of the rebel monarchs, and had previously served as a refuge for the vanquished followers of the Inca leader Pachacuti (whose body lay in the city) from the time of their defeat by Chincha troops until the resurgence of the empire. But the reason this city had in both cases been the refuge of vanquished warriors was because this was Tampu-Toco, sacred place and initial nucleus, located here and not at Pacaru-Tampu, near Cuzco, as Indian notables told the historian Sarmiento de Gamboa, who interrogated them on the orders of Viceroy Toledo.

  Modern researchers have disagreed on many points with the archaeologist from North America, but they have nothing conclusive to say about the significance of Machu-Picchu.

  After several hours the train, an asthmatic thing, almost a toy, that runs first along a small river to continue later along the banks of the Urubamba, passing the stately ruins of Ollantaitambo, eventually comes to the bridge crossing the river. A winding track of some eight kilometers climbs 400 meters above the torrent, bringing us to the hotel in the ruins, which is run by a Señor Soto. He is a man of extraordinary knowledge in Inca matters, and a good singer, who, in the delicious tropical evenings, contributes to enhancing the suggestive charms of the ruined city.

  Machu-Picchu is constructed on the top of a mountain, covering an area of some two kilometers in perimeter. It is basically divided into three sections: that of the two temples, another for the main residences and an area for the common people.

  In the section reserved for religious activities are the ruins of a magnificent temple made of great blocks of white granite, with the three windows that gave rise to Bingham’s mythological speculations. Adorning a series of beautifully constructed buildings is the Intiwatana, where the sun is moored: a stone finger some 60 centimeters high, the basis of indigenous rites and one of few such pieces still standing since the Spaniards were careful to destroy this symbol upon conquering any Inca fortress.

  The buildings that housed the nobility show examples of extraordinary artistic value, for example the circular tower I have already mentioned, the sequence of bridges and canals cut into the stone and the many residences that are notable for the execution of their stonemasonry.

  In the dwellings presumably occupied by the plebeians, one notes a great difference in the rough finish of the rock. They are separated from the religious part of the complex by a small square, or flat area, where the main water reservoirs—now dried up—were located, this supposedly being one of the main reasons for abandoning the place as a permanent residence.

  Machu-Picchu is a city of steps with almost all of its constructions on different levels, united by stairways, some of exquisitely carved rock, and others of stones aligned without much aesthetic zeal. But all of them, like the city as a whole, were capable of standing up to the rigors of the weather, and lost only their roofs made of tree trunks and straw, unable to resist the assault of the elements.

  Dietary needs were satisfied by vegetables planted in the terraces that are still perfectly conserved.

  It was very easy to defend, surrounded on two sides by almost vertical slopes, a third passable only along readily defendable tracks, while the fourth faces Huaina-Picchu. This peak towers some 200 meters over its brother. It is difficult to climb, and would be almost impossible for the tourist, were it not for the remains of the Inca paving enabling one to edge to its peak along sheer precipices. The place seems to have been more for observation than anything else, since there are no major constructions. The Urubamba River encircles the two peaks almost completely, so they are almost impossible for attacking forces to conquer.

  I have already noted that the archaeological meaning of Machu Picchu is disputed, but the origin of the city is not the vital thing and, in any case, it is best to leave the debate to specialists.

  Most important and irrefutable is that here we have found the pure expression of the most powerful indigenous civilization in the Americas—still untainted by contact with conquering armies and replete with immensely evocative treasures between its walls that have deteriorated from the tedium of having no life among them. The spectacular landscape circling the fortress supplies an essential backdrop, inspiring dreamers to wander its ruins aimlessly; Yankee tourists, bound by their practical worldview, might place those members of the disintegrating tribes they encounter in their travels among these once-living walls, unaware of the moral distance that separates them, because the subtle difference can only be grasped by the semi-indigenous spirit of the Latin American.

  Let us agree, for the moment, to give the city two possible meanings: one for the fighter, pursuing what is today described as a chimera, with an arm reaching toward the future and a stone voice crying out to be heard all over the continent: “Citizens of Indo-America, reconquer the past!” And for others, those who with a
desire to be “far from the madding crowd,” there are some appropriate words jotted down by a British subject in the hotel visitors’ book, conveying all the bitterness of imperial yearning: “I am lucky to find a place without Coca-Cola propaganda.”2

  Published in the weekly supplement to Siete (Panama), December 12, 1953.

  ______________

  1. This article was written after Ernesto revisited the historic Inca site of Machu-Picchu in 1953.

  2. Written in English in the original.

  The Dilemma of Guatemala1

  Anyone who has traveled these lands of the Americas will have heard the disdainful pronouncements of some people about certain regimes with clearly democratic leanings. These sentiments date from the Spanish Republic and its fall. At that time they said the republic consisted of a mob of layabouts who knew only how to dance the jota, and that Franco established order and exiled communism from Spain. Time polished such opinions, standardizing criteria, and the words used, like stones thrown at any moribund democracy, went along the lines of, “That wasn’t liberty, but the rule of libertines.”

  The governments that in Peru, Venezuela and Cuba had held out the dream of a new era for the Americas were thus defined. The price that democratic groups in these countries have had to pay for their apprenticeship in the techniques of oppression has been high. A great number of innocent victims have been immolated to maintain an order required for the interests of the feudal bourgeoisie and foreign capital. Patriots now know that victory will have to be achieved by blood and fire, that there can be no forgiveness for traitors, and that the total extermination of reactionary groups is the only way to ensure the rule of justice in the Americas.

  When I once again heard the words “rule of libertines” used to describe Guatemala, I feared for the small republic. Does it mean that the resurrection of the dream of the Latin American people, embodied by this country and by Bolivia, is condemned to go the way of its precursors? Herein lies the dilemma.

  Four revolutionary parties constitute the support base of the government and all of them, except for the Guatemalan Workers’ Party [PGT] are fragmented into two or more antagonistic factions that fight among themselves even more viciously than with their traditional feudal enemies, forgetting in their domestic squabbles the aspirations of the Guatemalan people. Meanwhile, the reactionary forces spread their nets wide. The US State Department and the United Fruit Company—one never knows which is which in that country to the north—in open alliance with the landowners and the spineless, sanctimonious bourgeoisie—are making all kinds of plans to silence a proud adversary that has emerged for them like a boil on the bosom of the Caribbean. While Caracas awaits orders that will open the way for more or less barefaced interference, the displaced little generals and the craven coffee growers seek to make alliances with other dictators in neighboring countries.

  And while in the adjoining countries the fully muzzled press can only sing the praises of the “leader” on the only note permitted them, what pass for “independent” newspapers here unleash a farrago of long, involved stories about the government and its defenders, creating whatever climate they want. Democracy permits this.

  The “beachhead of communism,” setting a magnificent example of freedom and ingenuity, allows them to undermine their own nationalist foundations, permitting the destruction of yet another of Latin America’s dreams.

  Look back a little at the immediate past, compañeros, and observe the leaders who have had to flee, the murdered or imprisoned members of APRA [American Popular Revolutionary Alliance] in Peru, of Democratic Action in Venezuela, and look at the magnificent young Cubans assassinated by Batista. Draw close to the 20 bullet-wounds in the body of the poet soldier, Ruiz Pineda, and look at the miasmas of the Venezuelan prisons. Look fearlessly, but with care, at this past that serves as an example, and answer this question: is this the future of Guatemala?

  Has the struggle been, is the struggle, for this? The historic responsibility of those who must fulfill the hopes of Latin America is great. The time for euphemism is over. It is time that garrote answers garrote. If one must die, let it be like Sandino and not like Azaña.2

  May treacherous guns be grasped not by Guatemalan hands. If they want to kill freedom, let it be the other side that does it, those who hide freedom away. We must do away with feebleness and refuse to pardon treason. Let not the unshed blood of a traitor cost the lives of thousands of brave defenders of the people. The old dilemma of Hamlet has come to my lips, in the words of a poet from Guatemala-America: “Are you or are you not, or who are you?” Let the groups that support the government answer this.

  This article was first published in the book compiled by Ernesto Guevara Lynch, Aquí va un soldado de América, (1987).

  ______________

  1. According to his father, this article (along with a bundle of letters, books and various other papers) was sent to Argentina when he left Guatemala for Mexico in September 1954.

  2. Here the author draws a parallel between Augusto César Sandino, the assassinated Nicaraguan revolutionary, and Manuel Azaña, the impotent president of the Spanish Republic in 1936.

  A los mineros de Bolivia*

  One 9th of April

  Es el trueno y se desboca

  con inimitable fragor.

  Cien y mil truenos estallan,

  y es profunda su canción.

  Son los mineros que llegan,

  son los mineros del pueblo,

  los hombres que se encandilan

  cuando salen al sol,

  y que dominan el trueno

  y aman su recio fragor.

  ¿Qué la metralla los siega

  y la dinamita

  estalla

  y sus cuerpos se disfunden

  en partículas de horror,

  cuando llega alguna bala

  hasta el ígneo cinturón?

  ¡QUÉ IMPORTA!;

  Es el trueno y se desboca

  con inimitable fragor.

  Cien mil truenos estallan,

  y es profunda su canción.

  Por la boca del trueno

  Se oye volar el valor.

  Son los mineros de acero,

  son el pueblo y su dolor.

  Salen de una caverna

  colgada en la montaña.

  Son enjambres de topos

  que llegan a morir

  sin miedo a la metralla.

  Morir, tal la palabra

  que es norte de sus días;

  morir despedazado,

  morir de silicosis,

  morir animizado,

  morir lenta agonía

  en la cueva derrumbada.

  ______________

  * To the Bolivian miners

  Invitación al camino*

  For Helena Leyva

  Hermana, falta mucho para llegar al triunfo

  Hermana, falta mucho para llegar al triunfo.

  El camino es largo y el presente incierto;

  ¡el mañana es nuestro!

  No te quedes a la vera del camino.

  Sacia tus pies en este polvo eterno.

  Conozco tu cansancio y tu desazón tan grandes;

  Sé que en el combate se te opondrá tu sangre

  y sé que morirás antes que dañarla;

  A la reconquista ven, no a la matanza.

  Si desdeñas el fusil, empuña la fe;

  si la fe te falla, lanza un sollozo;

  si no puedes llorar, no llores,

  pero avanza, compañera,

  aunque no tengas armas y se niegue el norte.

  No te invito a regiones de ilusión,

  no habrá dioses, paraísos, ni demonios

  —tal vez la muerte oscura sin que una cruz la marque—

  Ayúdanos hermana, que no te frene el miedo,

  ¡vamos a poner en el infierno el cielo!

  No mires a las nubes, los pájaros o el viento;

  nuestros castillos tienen raíces en el suelo.

  Mira el polvo,
la tierra tiene

  la injusticia hambrienta de la esencia humana.

  Aquí este mismo infierno es la esperanza.

  No te digo allí, detrás de esa colina;

  no te digo allí, donde se pierde el polvo;

  no te digo, de hoy, a tantos días visto…

  Te digo: ven, dame tu mano cálida

  —esa que conocen mis enjugadas lágrimas—

  Hermana, madre, compañera… ¡CAMARADA!

  este camino conduce a la batalla.

  Deja tu cansancio, deja tus temores,

  deja tus pequeñas angustias cotidianas.

  ¿Qué importa el polvo acre?, ¿qué importan los escollos?

  ¿Qué importa que tus hijos no escuchen el llamado?

  A su cárcel de green-backs vamos a buscarlos.

  Camarada, sígueme; es la hora de marchar…

  December 1954

  _____________

  * An invitation to travel

  News report in La Hora (Panama), November 10, 1953: “Two Argentine students visited the offices of La Hora last night.”

  News report in El Diario de Costa Rica, December 11, 1953: “An extraordinary experiment underway in Bolivia.” This article quotes “two young Argentines,” Ernesto Guevara and Eduardo García.

  News report in Excelsior (Mexico), June 27, 1956: “More arrests of Cuban conspirators said to be supported by communists.” This reports on the arrest of the Argentine doctor, Ernesto Guevara de la Serna, along with a group of Cubans for conspiring to overthrow and assassinate President Fulgencio Batista of Cuba.

  News report in Excelsior (Mexico) July 11, 1956: “Only Ruz, Guevara and others remain in detention for violating the law.” This reports that of the group of “conspirators” arrested the previous month, only Fidel Castro Ruz, Ernesto Guevara and two others are still in prison in Mexico.