The legend of El Lider

Years ago, Heberto Padilla, the Cuban poet, was made to apologize in public for criticizing that country’s revolution, thus becoming a symbol of censorship and intolerance in the island. Thanks to international pressure from people like Susan Sontag, he was able to leave for the United States; he told me once during a conversation that if Fidel Castro dies, Cuba will quickly be annexed to the United States, becoming the 51st state. “I’m sorry the Bay of Pigs was such a failure,” he added. “But the take-over should have been completed much earlier, when Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders mustered into Cuba in 1898. Had Roosevelt accomplished the job properly, there would not have been room for President Kennedy’s stupid mistake. Even better, El Mesias would not have turned my country into an anti-American heaven. But Roosevelt’s children will get their opportunity again.”

Padilla, of course, was sarcastically referring to El Excelso as the Messiah. What struck me about his comment wasn’t his teleological humor, though; I was fixated on the way Padilla used the conditional: not when, but if, El Comandante dies. The subtlety is emblematic: El Lider has defied 10 U.S. presidents (from Eisenhower to Bush II) and a preposterous embargo that goes back to the 1960s, and he has flagrantly disregarded the laws of nature as well.

That conditional looks shaky now. Padilla, who for decades dreamed of returning to his native country, died in an Alabama hotel in 2000, lonely and alone. His diasporic fate epitomizes that of a million and a half other Cubans in exile. For those who still live on the island, how much longer does El Supremo have? The rest of Padilla’s comment -- concerning El Afable as the Messiah -- is suddenly important. If indeed he dies, will he come back from the dead? El Supremo himself thinks the time has come to leave a testament.

In fact, a few days ago, he announced, in a statement in the Communist newspaper Gramma, that he was finally retiring, citing his delicate physical situation. He summoned his St. Matthew, Ignacio Ramonet, editor of Le Monde diplomatique in Paris, to deliver the gospel. Together with Ramonet, El Divino has produced “Fidel Castro: My Life” -- rumor has it that when he fell gravely ill in 2006, what kept him alive and focused was going over the proofs for this book. Ah, Fidel! Ah, posterity!

If that’s true, then El Magnifico is twice as savvy as I thought. “Fidel Castro: My Life” is a masterful piece of expurgation. Not only has El Grandioso spent 50 years revamping Cuban history from A to Z, he now wants to make sure his word -- the divine Logos -- lasts forever. With the probable exception of Simon Bolivar (El Libertador), no other political figure, past or present, has exerted so much influence: not even his beloved Che, whom Fidel turned into an icon as ubiquitous as Mickey Mouse.

Ramonet tells us that, in 2002, a passing encounter with El Maximo at the Havana Book Fair led to their tete-a-tete. In attendance was also Joseph Stiglitz, the Columbia University professor and Nobel Prize winner, whom Castro described as “an economist and an American, but the most radical one I’ve ever seen.” Then he added: “Beside him, I’m a moderate.” As it turns out, that adjective -- moderation as a mask -- would shape his autobiography. During their dialogue, Ramonet -- lo and behold! -- had an epiphany: “Unconscious victims of constant anti-Castro propaganda, so many of those in Europe who were committed to the alternative globalization movement . . . consider him a relic of the Cold War . . . a man who had little to contribute to the struggles of the twenty-first century.” Wasn’t it time, Ramonet thought, to rescue him from the dustbin?

Throughout “Fidel Castro: My Life,” Ramonet frequently indulges in similar rhapsodies. For him not only has El Dirigente done no wrong but he has been wronged by a battalion of powerful evildoers. Ramonet persuaded El Astuto to chat for countless hours, talking about everything, from his childhood to the assault on the army’s barracks, from his relationship with Khrushchev to the case of Elian Gonzalez, lost in the mythical waters dividing Cuba and Florida.

But if El Absoluto didn’t evade a single question (How many wives has he had? Whatever happened to his illegitimate children?), he certainly reserved the right to go over the manuscript. And go over it he did: Between the first Spanish edition, published in 2006, and the second edition, there’s a gap the size of El Celestial’s ego. Just as translator Andrew Hurley was about to submit his work, he received an annotated one (in French and Spanish) with endless changes. In a brief note about the translation, we learn that when Hurley and his British editor inquired as to who made the changes, no answer was given. They were told only that the changes needed to be made. (Hurley discreetly annotates every discrepancy between the two versions.) The spoken word is notoriously slippery, but in this case the slope gives place to an avalanche. El Manipulador has corrected (or better, improved) himself ad infinitum, making sure there’s no room for confusion. Or is there? Too bad Ramonet has no sense of humor; if he had, he would laugh at his own servitude. Ramonet’s questions are almost always succinct; El Campeon’s answers are stampedes of information designed to persuade.

As novelist Guillermo Cabrera Infante used to say, “No man is an island -- except Fidel.” But he’s a genius, his rhetorical talents (like those of Bill Clinton and Barack Obama) beyond belief. What other leader is able to hypnotize his followers for five, seven or 10 hours with speeches? Who else can be at once so lovable and despicable, having sent the first words of condolence to the people of United States after the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks while also enjoying the humiliation of enemies like Gen. Arnaldo Ochoa, whose public execution in 1989 was a circus? How can such an erudite man increase the educational level in Cuba while keeping his people under a strict regimen of obscurantism?

Call him a Tyrannosaurus rex in fatigues! When Ramonet asks about the persecution of homosexuals in Cuba, El Mejor responds that the whole thing had to do with military recruitment. Really? How about the internment camps? Well, homosexuals on the island have enjoyed a comfortable existence, he says, even “a great deal of privilege and esteem.” Reinaldo Arenas, I’m sorry, but you’re a liar! So how about the 1980 Mariel boatlift? No, the event wasn’t Cuba’s fault. It “was triggered by the empire [the United States] in complicity with other countries in Latin America and Europe.” Truth is, El Perfecto states, it was Cuba that “stopped the Mariel exodus, unilaterally and unconditionally, because we didn’t want to contribute to the triumph of the Right in the United States.” Ay, President Carter -- you’re such a hypocrite!

Heberto Padilla was right! Teddy Roosevelt’s descendants are eager to build a new Disneyland in Havana. In the time he has left, the Messiah is doing everything to leave his affairs in order. He’s still convinced that, as he put it in a famous 1958 speech, history will absolve him. But history -- and this he should know -- is merciless. Death will visit him as it does everyone. El Eterno has done everything to avoid that visit. But after reading these lucid pages, it’s clear that Fidel Castro -- surprise! -- is only human and, thus, as forgettable as the rest of us.