We were recently asked to consider our first piece from an anonymous author. The inquiry came in the form of an open letter from a long-forgotten revolutionary, whose thoughts we published without hesitation.
Soon I will join the ghosts of Lenin and Marx.
Armed struggles against the bourgeois oppressor are all but gone; AK-47s have been replaced by phones with Twitter. Peaceful demonstrations of half-interested children pack the streets of cities. Revolution is no longer a profession, but a hobby to them. It would appear that there is no place left in this world for a true political warrior. The moment one takes up arms in revolution, it is an act of terrorism, no matter if the target is military or not. Never would a soldier of the people harm the innocent, but now we are considered the same brood as common criminals. Gone are the days of hiding in the jungle and hanging posters in the town square under the cover of darkness. The 21st century, with all of its technology and media lies, has finally put an end to the struggle.
I long for the past days in Cuba. Tattered camouflage fatigues, beards grown in hiding, the smiling faces of the village’s liberated comrades. Now Fidel lays in his bed, a man who put down the cigar and donned a western suit. His image mirrors what has happened to the communist ideal in recent times. Old, broken, and willing to appease the world that once tried to murder you. No longer do the speeches of Ernesto ring in the people’s ears, strong and spirited as it used to be. The people have all given up, accepted that there can only be greed and consumerism. The welfare of my neighbor is his responsibility. Social contract has been forgotten to the crumbling ruins of the 1960’s.
Now I sit in a dark bar in Costa Rica. Imperialist news plays in a foreign language on television. The machine is as old as the shoes I wear. My beard is as long as it once was, but now grayed with age. Once tanned skin has turned leathery and wrinkled from the sadness this new age brings to me. Not even the Union exists anymore to keep my hope alive for change. We are all viewed as former bandits who could not stand the test of time, subjects of pity and shades of the past. Once I die, there will be nothing of our cause left. Confusion and mislabeling will deter future struggles against those who wish to corrupt our humanity. Revolution is not these children who march until the first sign of a baton. Bullets could not have stopped us; they only strengthened us.