Requiem for an immortal


So. This happened.

I’m not going to say “Well, this is awkward, guess the fascists were right, I owe them an apology.” Because this isn’t awkward. The fascists are still wrong (and if you doubt me, just scroll back a few pages to where I proved them wrong AND scooped their litterbox media…or watch this space in the coming days when I translate more things our litterbox media won’t bother with).

And I owe no one a goddamn thing. Not even the privilege (which, kindly remember, is NOT a right) of commenting on this entry. My blog is staying closed until I decide to reopen it. And I am not giving any hints as to when that will be. You can read, but you can’t comment.

Apologies to my friends; you know how to reach me, and many of you already have. You make everything bearable, even the worst. I appreciate and cherish your good words.

To my enemies, I have but one thing to say:


Seriously. Do you think your petty venom and immature gloating is going to have the slightest influence on little old me and my little old blog, much less the bigger global picture? I have some sad news for you, then: YOU FAIL SO HARD. Your ill wishing did not kill Chávez; pneumonia did. Go cry, emo kids!

No, NOT “inferior” Cuban medicine didn’t kill him, either, FUX Snooze, you asshats. Thousands of US cancer patients die the same way every year, in what are supposed to be some of the best hospitals in the world. And, hell: Some people even die of pneumonia without the cancer! If they don’t stand a chance against it, no one does.

And Cuban medicine is, in many ways, superior to the capitalist system in the US. They’ve even come up with vaccines to help contain some of the more difficult cancers. That’s a lot more than can be said of US Big Pharma corporations, who have a greater interest in creating patients than in curing them. So don’t go running the Cubans down. They did everything for him that was possible for anyone to do, and they did it unstintingly. And for that, they deserve a HUGE round of applause. Nada más, nada menos.

See how awkward that wasn’t? See how many fucks I don’t give, trolls?

Now, on to the requiem.

Am I crying because Chavecito’s dead? No. Sad? Yes, because I miss the big guy. I miss his charm, his wit, his courage, his humor, his unmistakable voice, his tremendous eloquence and intelligence, and yes, THAT FACE. I’ve been missing him ever since he went for his last operation. I’m going to miss him for as long as I live. He is irreplaceable, and his loss will never be made good.

But another part of me is glad. Glad that he is no longer suffering, no longer vulnerable, no longer food for the vultures, the putschists, the fascists, the haters. You can circle and circle, guys, but you’ll never get a piece of him. The brave people of Venezuela will see to that. They’ve already expelled two of the bastards, and more will end up flying out of Venezuela by the seat of their pants in the days and weeks to come. Bet on that! Haters gonna hate, assholes gonna fart, the State Dept. gonna plot. But none of them will ever get control of Venezuela again. Because Chavecito started something, and it’s going to keep on going. It won’t die with him, no matter who hopes it will and no matter how hard they try. The brave people of Venezuela have picked up the habit of resistance from him, and they’re not about to quit just because he’s not there anymore.

Chavecito will walk with Che Guevara, with Camilo Cienfuegos, with Bolívar and Martí, and all the others who fought for freedom and social justice in Latin America. He will walk with Zapata, with Sandino, with Benito Juárez, and Morazán. He will walk with Artigas, San Martín and Bernardo O’Higgins. And he will walk with every guerrilla and revolutionary leader, dead or living, so long as the fight goes on.

Because, you see, Chávez is immortal now. And immortal fighters never tire, never fade, never die.

That’s why I’m not crying. It’s because he’s not dead. Gone from his body, maybe, but so what? Remember what happened to Che? The CIA murdered him, cut off his hands, and buried the rest under an airstrip, all in an effort to snuff out what he stood for. And they failed. Failed dismally, because with every year of his absence, Che’s presence grew bigger. Immortals have a funny way of doing that! And today, Che is the guiding spirit of every Latin American movement, along with Bolívar and all the rest.

It will be the same with Chávez. Bet on it.

Time for music. Lhasa de Sela, who also died after falling ill with cancer a few years back, makes a perfect (immortal) choice for this very defiant requiem:

This is an excerpt from Naomi Klein and Avi Lewis’s documentary, The Take, which was filmed in Argentina over a decade ago. The fighting you see going on in the streets of Buenos Aires is the workers of the Brukman clothing factory, trying to take back their cooperatively-run business from the federal police, who have shuttered it and welded the factory gate closed. Those were NOT rubber bullets flying there. But the song is an accurate reflection of what’s going on, as the lyrics attest:

Who said that all is lost?
I come to offer up my heart.
All the blood washed down the river;
I come to offer up my heart.

It won’t be so easy, but I know it will happen,
It won’t be as simple as I once thought.
Like opening my chest and pulling out my soul,
A knife-thrust of love…

Moon of the poor, always open,
I come to offer up my heart.
Like an unalterable document,
I come to offer up my heart.

And I’ll bring together the ends of the same rope,
And I’ll go calmly, I’ll go slowly,
And I’ll give you everything, and you’ll give me something,
Something that will relieve me a little more…

When there’s nobody, near or far,
I come to offer up my heart.
When the satellites don’t reach,
I come to offer up my heart.

And I talk of countries, and of hopes,
And I speak for life, I speak for nothing,
And I speak of changing this, our house,
Of changing it once and for all…

Who said that all is lost?
I come to offer up my heart.

Translation mine.

Who said that all is lost? Chavecito came to offer up his heart. And that heart lives on in Venezuela. Ahora y siempre.

Chavecito vive, la lucha sigue.

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