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, almost toy-like thing, 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 built 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 Huayna-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 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.”
The Dilemma of Guatemala
This article was first published in the book Aquí va un soldado de América [Here Comes a Soldier of the Americas], a collection selected by Che Guevara’s father, Ernesto Guevara Lynch, which includes letters sent to his relatives while he was on his second trip. This article, and the article that follows in this book, “The Working Class in the United States,” were sent to Argentina when Che left Guatemala for Mexico, where he arrived on September 18, 1954.
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 only knew 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 was not 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 [Ameri
can 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 [Spanish President] Azaña.
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.
The Workers of the United States: Friends or Enemies?
This article was written in or around April 1954 and sent to his family from Guatemala before Che Guevara left for Mexico. It was first published in Aquí va un soldado de América [Here Comes a Soldier of the Americas] by his father, Ernesto Guevara Lynch, in 1987.
Today’s world is divided in two different halves: one in which capitalism holds sway, with all its consequences, and the other in which socialism has been established. But the countries with the capitalist system cannot be grouped in a single category. There are marked differences among them.
There are colonial countries, in which the large landowning class, allied with foreign capital, monopolizes the life of the community and keeps the nation in the backwardness required for that class to maintain its profits. Nearly all countries in Asia, Africa and Latin America are of this type.
There are a few countries in which capitalism has not extended beyond national borders and where the intrusion of foreign capital is not such a pressing problem. A few European countries with a very developed petit bourgeoisie are like this.
There is another interesting group of countries that might be described as colonial-imperialist or pre-imperialist. Although their economies have not yet taken on the characteristics of industrialized nations, they are beginning, along with the paternal capital that subjugates them, to seek export markets, mainly from among the countries that belong to the colonial group. This is the case with Argentina, Brazil, India and Egypt. A prevailing characteristic of these countries is their tendency to form blocs with those over whom they exercise some influence.
One of the most important groups comprises those nations whose imperialist expansion has been held back since the last war [World War II]. This is the case of the Netherlands, Italy, France and—most importantly— Britain. Even though we are witnessing the dismemberment of the colossal British Empire, its representatives are still fighting. Naturally, oppressed peoples’ entirely justified desire for freedom is resisted by US big capital’s plundering, and this causes a crisis in which each side pursues its own interests (as in Iran).
Finally, there are fully developed, expanding imperialist countries, of which there is only one: the United States, Latin America’s greatest problem. We may wonder why, in the United States, a highly industrialized country with all the characteristics of a capitalist empire, the sharp conflict between capital and the working class does not exist. The answer lies in that country’s special conditions. Except for black people, who are segregated and represent the seed of the first serious rebellion, the other workers (those with jobs, naturally) receive high wages, relative to what capitalist companies usually pay, because the difference between what is normally required to create surplus value and their real pay is more than compensated for by the low wages paid to the workers elsewhere, such as in Asia and Latin America.
Asia is experiencing great convulsions in the wake of the Chinese people’s magnificent victory, and is struggling with renewed faith in its liberation. As an extremely cheap source of raw materials and labor it is gradually escaping from the grasp of imperialist capital. But capital is not going to accept that defeat and will shift its cost onto the shoulders of the working class.
Even though, in one sense, the victory in Asia hurts Latin Americans, the workers in the United States also feel its impact in the form of fewer jobs and lower real wages. The US masses, who have a complete lack of political understanding, can’t see the source of the problem farther than their own noses. Instead, all they see is the triumph of “communist barbarism over democracy.” A combative reaction is logical but hard to carry out: Asia is very far away and has many people who are willing to fight to the death to protect their own land. And the US petit bourgeoisie, whose political weight is enormous, won’t allow even a tiny number of their soldiers to be killed on foreign soil.
Faced with the imminent, inexorable loss of Asia, the imperialist power has two alternatives: total war against the socialist enemy and the nationalist peoples or the abandonment of Asia and the acceptance of the reduction of its sphere of influence to the two regions that it has managed to control so far—Africa and Latin America. Naturally, it will continue to engage in small, limited wars that benefit its arms industry without loss of life, since it can always find traitorous governments that are ready to sacrifice their own countries for the crumbs thrown by their master.
The United States is afraid of total war. It can’t launch a nuclear attack because the reprisals would be terrible at this point in time, and, in an “orthodox” war, it would lose Europe in an instant and nearly all of Asia within a short time. In view of this, the United States tends to defend its long-held possessions in Latin America and its recently acquired ones in Africa.
These two areas present different panoramas. Here in Latin America, US control is complete and accepts no outside interference. There, in Africa, the United States possesses only small patches of territory and exercises its control through client states scattered throughout the continent. Therefore, in Africa, internal dissension, struggles and manifestations of nationalism are tolerated and even provoked by the United States, whose imperial clout will increase as the traditional rulers grow gradually weaker.
Any expression of real nationalism will lead the peoples of Latin America to try to emancipate themselves from their oppressor—monopoly capital. But the vast majority of the owners of that capital are in the United States and have an enormous influence on the decisions of the US government. The formation of US government cabinets and the connections its members have with the most important companies show how our northern neighbors’ politics work.
In this period of vacillation, when the United States has assumed the leadership of the so-called free world, no one can attack or interfere in any country unless it is in the name of fighting “international communism.” This is the old tune played in current-day propaganda, trotting out all its effectively manipulated lies. Later, the United States may resort to economic intervention and—why not?—armed intervention, as well.
This entire defensive system is of vital importance to the capitalists if they want to maintain their present system. But it is also important, for a limited time, to the US working class, since the abrupt loss of cheap sources of raw materials would immediately highlight the inherent conflict between capital and the working class, and the result would be disastrous for the latter unless it seized the means of production. I repeat that we cannot demand that the US working class look farther than its noses. It would be useless to try to explain—from a distance and with the press entirely controlled by big capital—that the process of the internal decay of capitalism can only be halted temporarily, not permanently, by whatever totalitarian measures may be taken to maintain the colonial status of Latin America.
The reaction of the working class wou
ld be to support the United States (and this would be logical, to some extent), falling in behind any slogan— such as, in this case, “anti-communism.” Moreover, it should not be forgotten that the function of unions in the United States is to serve as buffers between the two conflicting class forces and, surreptitiously, to restrain the revolutionary power of the masses.
With this background, and in view of the situation in the United States, it is not hard to guess what the attitude of the US working class will be when faced with the abrupt loss of overseas markets and sources of cheap raw materials.
This, I believe, is the crude reality that we Latin Americans must confront. The economic development of the United States and the workers’ need to maintain their standard of living are the factors that, in the final analysis, will make it necessary to wage the struggle for freedom not against a given social regime but against the nation that, united in a single armed bloc by the supreme law of its common interest, will defend its trusteeship over the economic life of Latin America.
Therefore, we must prepare to struggle against the entire people of the United States. The fruits of victory will be not only our economic liberation and social equality but also a new and welcome younger brother: the proletariat of that country.