---------- Forwarded message ----------
Date: Fri, 15 Mar 2002 13:48:21 -0800
From: radtimes <resist@best.com>
Subject: Che Guevara lives on, if not in our hearts at least on our chests
Che Guevara lives on, if not in our hearts at least on our chests
http://www.smh.com.au/news/0203/15/opinion/opinion4.html
Sydney Morning Herald
March 15, 2002
The popularity of a long-dead radical as holiday wear
suggests a disaffection in middle Australia, writes
Rachel Roberts.
In my hometown, Byron Bay, Ernesto "Che" Guevara lives
and breathes. I see him regularly. Sometimes at the
Railway Friendly Bar, where he comes most nights to
drink and listen to live music. Other times in cafes
sipping coffee, nodding and looking intense among
friends. Often I stand behind him in the queue at the
post office, where he comes to send postcards of
dazzling beaches and sherbet-coloured sunrises to
relatives and colleagues he has left behind, although
temporarily, in Sydney and Melbourne.
Naturally I don't mean the real Che Guevara, the
guerilla revolutionary who joined Fidel Castro in
overthrowing Cuba's repressive Batista regime in 1959.
As most of us already know, he died long ago, executed
deep in Bolivia by Bolivian soldiers shortly after
1.10pm on October 9, 1967. The Che Guevara I am
referring to is the one I see displayed over chests of
all shapes and sizes on the streets of Byron Bay. The
iconic picture of Che we all know so well, young and
compelling, printed over khaki, red and
rainbow-coloured T-shirts wherever I look. Given that
visual images are frequently adopted to communicate
political trends, what might Che's growing
contemporary popularity mean?
Few of us would argue that the picture isn't
wonderful. Captured in 1960 by the official
photographer of the Cuban revolution, Alberto Korda,
it invokes our deeply rooted romantic understandings
of revolution: our concepts of intellectualism,
political defiance, liberation and, ultimately,
martyrdom. There is an unsurprising blaze to Che's
stare, one that speaks of profound idealism and dark
resolve. Unsurprising, because the photograph was
taken at a memorial service for 75 people killed and
several hundred others injured when the French
munitions ship La Coubre mysteriously exploded in
Havana harbour. Cuba believed the explosion to be a
US-assisted counter-revolutionary strike, and against
the backdrop of that suspicion, the service became not
simply a commemoration of the lives that were lost,
but an opportunity for Castro to denounce US
imperialism and affirm Cuba's commitment to socialism.
How the Che photograph came to leave Korda's control
and enter the hands of another is a fascinating story
of entrepreneurialism and injustice in itself.
Nevertheless, what is equally interesting to me is why
the image has captured the imagination of a new kind
of person of late. Formerly a symbol embraced mostly
by students and radicals, the image and myth of Che
Guevara have seeped, it seems, into the heretofore
unconverted ranks of the urban professional middle
classes. Fleeing the cities on their annual holiday to
Byron Bay, Sydneysiders and Melbournites rush to buy
the T-shirt in their droves, wear it happily around
during the one or two weeks they stay there, only to
abandon it then to the bottom drawer on returning to
their normal white-collar lives.
Why this is so is open to interpretation. On the one
hand, you could convincingly argue that we are drawn
to Korda's image of Che because it is cool, evocative
and, quite simply, sexy. A marketer's dream come true
primarily because Che is dead, therefore neither can
his face age, nor can his mystique be shattered. (And
when you think about it, when have any of us seen
T-shirts of poor old Fidel for sale?) On the other
hand, perhaps the popularity of the image represents a
broadening disaffection among the middle classes with
the global and domestic political environment that
keeps them desk-bound for much of their lives. In
particular, it may be a way of trying to resist
capitalism and mass corporatisation in the only way
many of us know how - by buying a product and letting
it do the talking for us. It is becoming harder and
harder to be subversive these days. The pull of
capitalism and economic rationalism co-opts us in so
many ways that it is difficult to survive in a truly
radical way. Let's face it, we all have to live.
It could suggest that the Prime Minister, John Howard,
has misjudged the mood of his much-loved middle
Australia, reflecting instead its lack of support for
the Coalition's performance in relation to matters of
public conscience, not least the uncompromisingly
cold-hearted policies on refugees and the stolen
generations. Or maybe, in the wake of September 11,
donning the T-shirt denotes the wearer's sympathy for
Che's own antipathy towards the US and what many of us
see as its alarming gung-ho nationalism and insidious
cultural colonialism.
Whatever the reason people buy and wear Che T-shirts,
one thing is sure - someone must be doing well out of
his unique appeal. In Byron they sell for about $25.
They couldn't cost more than a few dollars to produce.
Che's bones must be turning in his grave.
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Rachel Roberts is a freelance writer.
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