Víctor Jara - Cantautor chileno

36 años debieron pasar para que el cantautor chileno Víctor Jara pueda por fin descansar en paz y tener un digno funeral masivo que durara tres días. La Fundación Víctor Jara fue la que anunció el homenaje y será su sede donde va a estar el cuerpo del artista durante tres días para que la población pueda despedirlo.

Víctor Jara por fin va a descansar en paz

Durante su detención, en los años de la dictadura del dictador asesino Augusto Pinochet, en el Estadio Chile, que hoy lleva su nombre, fue golpeado, torturado y luego una lluvia de balas -30 lesiones producto de las municiones se encontraron en su cuerpo- le quitó la vida.

Por fin Víctor Jara estará donde su esposa, Joan Turner, quiera y sólo queda que aquellos que apretaron el gatillo paguen por lo hecho. Lamentablemente, el principal estandarte de este, y otros miles de asesinatos, ya esta muerto.

La Zamba del Che – Víctor Jara

El Derecho de Vivir en Paz – Víctor Jara

It is commonly assumed by the public that Communism (also called “Marxism”) was created by the German philosopher Karl Marx. Nothing could be further from the truth. In reality, a young Marx joined the already existing Communist movement and, after publishing several works on the subject of Communism and Capitalism (a term he coined), he became such a central figure that the term “Marxist” became synonymous with the term “Communist”. In much the same way Adam Smith did not create Capitalism but rather created the authoritative work on Capitalism (The Wealth of Nations) and yet is still considered the “founder” of Capitalism.

So who did create Communism?

Like most things in life, there is no short and simple answer. Communism, or at least the primitive ancestor of Communism has existed for thousands of years. At the dawn of man, humans lived in tribes, working together for survival. What one man killed was food for everyone, the spear or hammer made by one person could be used by another. The concept of private-property did not evolve until much later in human history- the reason being that selfishness and individualism simply could not mesh with the harsh realities of the time. One human could not survive on his own, the tribe as a whole could not waste time and energy on creating twenty individual hammers for the twenty men of the tribe when one could be shared just as easily. At the same time, the shared property (combined with the need for everyone to pull their own weight) eliminated any chance of a class system evolving. Without any difference in wealth or workload, society was more or less egalitarian.

So what happened?

As humans became more settled and as the barter system emerged (to be discussed in a later post), shared-property died slowly out and the class system arose. While today the vast majority of hunter-gatherer, pastoral, horticulturalist, and nomadic people groups still live in classless, shared-property systems, the majority of the world’s population began moving away from this system after the establishment of permanent agricultural communities. By the fall of the Roman Empire, most of the world’s people groups practiced Capitalism in some form. It was not until 1516 when Thomas Moore, one of Henry VIII’s closest advisers, published his work Utopia that the concepts of shared-property and classlessness were reintroduced into society (albeit merely as subjects of intellectual discussion). Only in the early 1800s were the concepts developed into actual political/economic theories. Henri de Saint-Simon, a member of the French aristocracy, created several works on the subject and while never implementing them in any major way, laid the foundations for what would become known as the Communist movement. It was not until 1848 when two young Prussian authors named Marx and Engels published their collaborated work The Communist Manifesto that Communism (or “Socialism”- at the time the two words were more or less interchangeable) became a concrete theory. Between the two men’s works, the entire Communist philosophy was created, though it was not implemented until 1871, when Parisian Socialists revolted against the imperial French government and established a short-lived attempt at a Communist government until the Commune (revolutionary government) was wiped out by the French military. While Communist philosophy spread across much of the Western world, there were no major attempts at Communism (baring the establishment of Amish, and later, Hutterite, communities- which are closer to the primitive classless/shared-property practices of various tribal societies). There was a brief attempt at Fabianism (a British Socialist movement), however it quickly devolved into a philosophy, rather than a physical attempt at the implementation of Communism. It was in Russia in 1917 that the first major attempt at a Communist revolution (since the 1871 revolution) took place. The Bolsheviks (the Russian Communist party and revolutionary movement), led by Vladimir Lenin, overthrew the Russian monarchy and the feudal system. After Lenin’s death in 1923, a split ensued that left the USSR divided between the followers of Leon Trotsky (creator and commander of the Red Army and Lenin’s second-in-command) and the followers of Joseph Stalin (the General Secretary of the Communist party). Stalin, despite the efforts of Trotsky and his followers, assumed control and eventually exiled Trotsky in 1929. Under the despotism of Stalin, the USSR, while maintaining the facade of Communism, devolved into a semi-Socialist dictatorship (Trotsky referred to it as a “deformed workers’ state). While Trotskyism grew in popularity in the West, the general Communist movement was marred by the atrocities committed by Stalin and the imperialists policies pursued in Eastern Europe after his death. In China, Mao Zedong led what is generally considered to have been a Communist revolution, but the later policies of Mao have caused many other Communists to doubt whether China could be counted as true Communist country since the mid 1950s. While the revolution itself is considered to be beneficial, the vast majority of modern Communists hold that contemporary China is no more a true Marxist country than Stalin’s USSR (this opinion is viciously opposed by Maoist factions of the Communist movement). While Communism was quickly becoming popular in the third-world (due largely to Western neo-colonialism) the next major advancement of Communism occurred in Cuba after Fidel Castro and Che Guevara defeated the dictator Batista. Once again Communists are split on the subject of whether Cuba may be considered a true Marxist government- much like China, there is popular that the revolution was a positive event but the movement is split on whether Cuba did or did not devolve into another deformed workers’ state. Indeed, the same could be said for almost every country where a Communist revolution has taken place (though almost all Communists are united in believed that North Korea is not a true Communist country). While the collapse of the USSR in 1990 has led many to believe that Communism has been defeated, the Communist movement is technically as active as it ever was.

In short, the history of Communism is far from simple. Much of its history can be interpreted depending on your sympathies and opinions.

Then again, the same could be said for any aspect of history.

Author’s Note: Since Communism isn’t merely an economic or political or social theory but rather a combination of all three, you can see how describing the theory itself- let alone its history- is a massive undertaking that could easily fill a book. Considering my space and the attention span of the reader is sorely limited, I have been forced so skim over the major events of Communist history. Don’t be ticked off at me if I missed some (though if I have something that might be wrong, please correct me).

En este nuevo fotorreportaje de la Agencia de Información Nacional (AIN), que de modo tan hermoso está registrando la vida cotidiana en Cuba, presentamos el Festival del Papalote en la plaza de actos de Cienfuegos, ciudad portuaria del centro de la Isla. Esta vez estuvo dedicado a recordar a Camilo Cienfuegos y a Ernesto Che Guevara, los dos amigos que murieron en octubre: el primero debido a un accidente de avión (1959), y el segundo, en la selva boliviana (1967). La única condición para este Festival: los niños construirían los papalotes y los empinarían, felices. Y ambas cosas ocurrieron.

La geniale interpretazione di Benicio del Toro nei panni del Comandnate Ernesto Guevara. A 42 anni dalla sua esecuzione

por  b e l é n

Estas son algunas de las fotos que han dado la vuelta al mundo:

Bolivia, 9 de octubre de 1967; Fredy Alborta.

Ernesto Guevara, más conocido como el Che,  fue ejecutado el 9 de octubre de 1967 en La Higuera, Bolivia. Sus ojos abiertos, muestran su falta de miedo ante la muerte. A partir de este momento, dejó  de ser un guerillero para convertirse en el  mito de La Revolución.

Berlín, 1989; Caída del Muro de Berlín

Nueva York, 8 de diciembre de 1980.

John Lennon abandona su apartamento en el edificio Dakota en Nueva York, y es fotografiado despúes de firmarle un autógrafo al fan que sale en la parte posterior de la fotografía. Horas despúes, mientras regresaba a su apartamento, este mismo fan, Mark David Chapman le dispara cuatro balas en el cuerpo.

Vietman, 1972; Huynh Cong Út. Ganadora del Premio Pulitzer.

La niña  que aparece en la foto desnuda es Phan Thị Kim Phúc, de nueve años de edad, cuyas ropas fueron consumidas por la llamas, huye de un ataque cercano de napalm en Trang Bang, durante la guerra del Vietnam.

Berlín, 16 de agosto de 2009.

La fotografía certifica el momento en el que el atletista Usian Bolit durante los Mundiales de Atletismo de Berlín de 2009 volvió a vatir su plusmarca en los 100 metros en  la final con un tiempo de 9,58 segundos, rebajando en once centésimas su anterior marca.  Es el  hombre más rápido de la historia.

Pakistán, 1985, 2001; Steve McCurry

Esta foto  conocida como La mujer afgana fue tomada  en el campamento de refugiados deNasir Bagh en Peshawar (Pakistán) a  la edad de 12 años y fue conocida en todo el mundo al convertirse en portada del National Geographic. Diecisiete años más tarde, su autor regresó a la zona para encontrarla. Para identificar con seguridad a la chica  se procedió a escanear el iris de sus ojos a partir de la fotografía debido a que ni siquiera conocía su nombre.

Finalmente, fue encontrada. Se llama Sharbat Gula, es afgana de origen pastún y tiene tres hijos.

Last night I met my sister’s pal Marko. He showed us the Cathedral of Saint Sava which is absolutely huge, I think he said it is the biggest in the Balkans.

After that we went to his local called Maska, it was a nice laid back place with a good decor and ambience. It was here I had my first ever dalliance with the spirit rakija, it tasted like flavoured vodka to me.

Then (after quite a few beers) Marko said ta-rah and we (I was with one of the German lads and an Aussie girl from the hostel) went in search of Savsko Jezero. It’s an island off the Sava with a lot of different bars round it. It took us not far off 2 hours to walk there and was in no way worth it. There was only one bar open and it was very expensive, not far off the equivalent of 4 quid for a small bottle of beer. I got to experience turbo-folk first hand though and realised that’s what the Bosnian lads on the train were playing on their phones the other night, awful. We left after 1 drink.

I recall Christoph (the lad from Hamburg) telling me about an Irish-Cuban bar in Prague called O’Che’s. I thought that was funny I did.

Right I’m telling you, there is an International mosquito conspiracy afoot, no sooner have my last lot healed than they get me again. I’ve got 8 fresh bad and welty bites in random places that are driving me mad with itchyness. I ruddy hate the sods.

I was really hoping to see the Tito Masauleum this morning and was told it was about a half hour walk by the hostel. No chance, it’s an hour minimum and a very tough route to work out too. I walked half of it and then jumped on a bus but jumped off again early when I saw the Red Star Belgrade ground, time was getting a bit tight to make my train so I decided to have a look at the Marakana instead of the Tito museum.

I actually really enjoyed it, the ground is quite run-down but has a lot of character with lots of cool stenciling and graffiti on the outside walls. I done a full circuit and then went in the club shop which is actually in the ground so you can see right in to the stadium through adjacent railings in the gates.

There was also an unofficial shop next door with slightly edgier gear on sale. I bought a really cool t-shirt for 15 Euros, it says on it ‘Red Star is calling’ (in Serbian obviously) and it was a toss-up between that and the ‘Epicentre of madness’ one, but the former had a cooler picture and design.

I didn’t get as many pictures as I wanted as that bobbins camera I bought in Vienna has the battery life of a 4 pack of dodgy brand AAs sold near the counters at Aldi. When I get back to Albion I’ll be getting what I can for it on eBay and sorting an alternative.

One thing I forgot to mention was how errie the derelict Yugoslavian army HQ looks in the middle of Belgrade as they were bombed by NATO in 1999 as part of a campaign to try and prevent further genocide in Kosovo. See here for details.

I’m now on the train to Timisoara in the west of Romania and I should be there in 5 hours. The train itself has definetely seen better days, probably at some point in the 19th century, I’m a bit concerned that I’m going to have to get out and push. I’ve heard that the trains in Romania aren’t great though, you can tell by looking at the schedules and the large travel duration for what looks to be a relatively short journey. Maybe I should try and blag myself one of these.

Crikey, that was a bit of luck. At what I thought was 20:19, I changed the time zone on my phone to match Bucharest and while doing this it occurred to me that Romania might be an extra hour forward again to Serbia (so GMT +2), which indeed it is. Now as my train was due in at 20:55 and it was now actually 21:19, this presented a bit of a problem as it was likely I’d missed my stop. Very luckily for me the train was running latex 15 minutes later and we were there.

I’ve just arrived in the hostel and it’s nice. The owner is a very funny and animated guy and so is the one room mate (or Rom mate) I have so far. I like Romanians. This should be a good place to rest up for a couple of nights, just what I need as it happens.

Huge game against Arsenal tomorrow, I’ll be gutted if I don’t find somewhere to watch it. If City can do the Gooners (again) then people will really start to sit up and take notice. It will be hard though, personally I think Arsenal have a better team than both Liverpool and the Rags and in Arshavin they have the player of the season in the making (though I think he might be injured for this game, thankfully), to think we paid double the price to get Lescott!

Diarios de Motocicleta, Walter Sayes

Deja que el mundo te cambie y podrás cambiar el mundo.

 Ernesto “Che” Guevara

Comic biografico del che Guevara realizado en 1968 por el desaparecido hector oesterheld durante la dictadura argentina.

dicen que entre otras cosas su secuestro y posterior desaparicion a cargo de los militares argentinos se debio al malestar que causo entre ellos esta biografa del Che realizada por el.

Descarga La vida del Che

I watched ‘In The Name of The Father’ last night which I thought was excellent but was dissapointed when I done a fair bit of reading afterwards and discovered that half of it was fabricated. This spoiled it somewhat for me as some subjects are too important to have daft amounts of Hollywood poetic-linense applied to them.

Antwerp was supposed to be on the agenda today but I couldn’t be bothered so went for a walk round Brussels instead. I’ll do ‘twerp tomorrow.

One place I visited while on walk about was The Belgian Comic Stip Centre which I found to be rubbish, at least for non Flemish or French speakers. It’s not like I’m into comics but they do have certain charms, I used to read Judge Dread as a kid and I still love Tin Tin, so I thought I’d see what the place was like and kill some time. Unfortunately I’d say 95% of the exhibts and exhibit information are not in English, they do give you a little A4 folder with some stuff in English but it’s only a fraction.

I met Pekka in the Grand Place when he had finished work and we went for a couple of beers in the Che Habana Cafe I had spotted earlier. It was actually pretty good, I thought it might be a cheap souless cash-in but it had an authentic Cuban feel to it. We tried a Kriek cherry beer (Belgian) and then a Cubaner (Cuban beer funnily enough).

After that we went to get some scran from one of the countless restaurants in the area. Traditional Belgian mussels and fries were what we had in mind.

We sat down at one gaff but decided to try else where as the prices were considerably heftier than most other places we had past, this is where events took a turn for a worse. Both the table and the seats were wobbly and as Pekka rose from his chair the table was nudged and my wine glass and a fair bit of cuttlery went flying loudly enough to cause a stir from the guests at our restaraunt and also several others in close proximity, what was worse was that my wine glass had not smashed but half landed in a titled position on my wrist so that in the half second I had to remedy the situation my life flashed before my eyes and I turned my hand and grasped at the base of the glass but it was not to be, crash and more jeers from people of many nations. Of course the made it all the more embarassing to leave so we sat down and literally stomached the inflated costs. We are one slick pair of muddas.

PS Lame post title again but we’ve been through this people.

Nicolás Guillén (1902 – 1989)
“El apellido ” (De “Elegías”, 1948-1958)

I
Desde la escuela
y aun antes… Desde el alba, cuando apenas
era una brizna yo de sueño y llanto,
desde entonces,
me dijeron mi nombre. Un santo y seña
para poder hablar con las estrellas.
Tú te llamas, te llamarás…
Y luego me entregaron
esto que veis escrito en mi tarjeta,
esto que pongo al pie de mis poemas:
las trece letras
que llevo a cuestas por la calle,
que siempre van conmigo a todas partes.
¿Es mi nombre, estáis ciertos?
¿Ya conocéis mi sangre navegable,
mi geografía llena de oscuros montes,
de hondos y amargos valles
que no están en los mapas?
¿Acaso visitásteis mis abismos,
mis galerías subterráneas
con grandes piedras húmedas,
islas sobresaliendo en negras charcas
y donde un puro chorro
siento de antiguas aguas
caer desde mi alto corazón
con fresco y hondo estrépito
en un lugar lleno de ardientes árboles,
monos equilibristas,
loros legisladores y culebras?
¿Toda mi piel (debí decir),
toda mi piel viene de aquella estatua
de mármol español? ¿También mi voz de espanto,
el duro grito de mi garganta? ¿Vienen de allá
todos mis huesos? ¿Mis raíces y las raíces
de mis raíces y además
estas ramas oscuras movidas por los sueños
y estas flores abiertas en mi frente
y esta savia que amarga mi corteza?
¿Estáis seguros?
¿No hay nada más que eso que habéis escrito,
que eso que habéis sellado
con un sello de cólera?
(¡Oh, debí haber preguntado!)

Y bien, ahora os pregunto:
¿No veis estos tambores en mis ojos?
¿No veis estos tambores tensos y golpeados
con dos lágrimas secas
¿No tengo acaso
un abuelo nocturno
con una gran marca negra
(más negra todavía que la piel),
una gran marca hecha de un latigazo?
¿No tengo pues
un abuelo mandinga, congo, dahomeyano?
¿Cómo se llama? ¡Oh, sí, decídmelo!
¿Andrés? ¿Francisco? ¿Amable?
¿Cómo decís Andrés en congo?
¿Cómo habéis dicho siempre
Francisco en dahomeyano?
En mandinga, ¿cómo se dice Amable?
¿O no? ¿Eran, pues, otros nombres?
¡El apellido, entonces!
¿Sabéis mi otro apellido, el que me viene
de aquella tierra enorme, el apellido
sangriento y capturado, que pasó sobre el mar
entre cadenas, que pasó entre cadenas sobre el mar?
¡Ah, no podéis recordarlo!
Lo habéis disuelto en tinta inmemorial.
Lo habéis robado a un pobre negro indefenso.
Lo habéis escondido, creyendo
que iba a bajar los ojos yo de la vergüenza.
¡Gracias!
¡Os lo agradezco!
¡Gentiles gentes, thank you!
Merci!
Merci bien!
Merci beaucoup!
Pero no… ¿Podéis creerlo? No.
Yo estoy limpio.
Brilla mi voz como un metal recién pulido.
Mirad mi escudo: tiene un baobab,
tiene un rinoceronte y una lanza.
Yo soy también el nieto,
biznieto,
tataranieto de un esclavo.
(Que se avergüence el amo.)
¿Seré Yelofe?
¿Nicolás Yelofe acaso?
¿O Nicolás Bakongo?
¿Tal vez Guillén Banguila?
¿O Kumbá?
¿Quizás Guillén Kumbá?
¿O Kongué?
¿Pudiera ser Guillén Kongué?
¡Oh, quién lo sabe!
¡Qué enigma entre las aguas!

II

Siento la noche inmensa gravitar
sobre profundas bestias,
sobre inocentes almas castigadas;
pero también sobre voces en punta,
que despojan al cielo de sus soles,
los más duros,
para condecorar la sangre combatiente.
De algún país ardiente, perforado
por la gran flecha ecuatorial,
sé que vendrán lejanos primos,
remota angustia mía disparada en el viento;
sé que vendrán pedazos de mis venas,
sangre remota mía,
con duro pie aplastando las hierbas asustadas;
sé que vendrán hombres de vidas verdes,
remota selva mía,
con su dolor abierto en cruz y el pecho rojo en llamas.
Sin conocernos nos reconoceremos en el hambre,
en la tuberculosis y en la sífilis,
en el sudor comprado en bolsa negra,
en los fragmentos de cadenas
adheridos todavía en la piel;
sin conocernos nos reconoceremos
en los ojos cargados de sueños
y hasta en los insultos como piedras
que nos escupen cada día
los cuadrumanos de la tinta y el papel.
¿Qué ha de importar entonces
(¡qué ha de importar ahora!)
¡ay! mi pequeño nombre
de trece letras blancas?
¿Ni el mandinga, bantú,
yoruba, dahomeyano
nombre del triste abuelo ahogado
en tinta de notario?
¿Qué importa, amigos puros?
¡Oh, sí, puros amigos,
venid a ver mi nombre!
Mi nombre interminable,
hecho de interminables nombres;
el nombre mío, ajeno,
libre y mío, ajeno y vuestro,
ajeno y libre como el aire.

Soldadito de Bolivia.  Nicolás Guillén .

Sala Olympia. Paris, Francia. 02-12-1969
Paco Ibañez

This interview is in regards to the film “Che”

This is one of my favorite movies.  Why? Cause I heart Che!!!!!  It’s a must see.

AP: Undated photo provided by PETA shows Lydia Guevara posing on the set of her PETA photo shoot

AP is reporting that Che Guevara’s (Cuban revolutionary leader Ernesto “Che” Guevara) grand daughter Lydia is a revolutionary just like her famous/infamous grandpa! Well not exactly. Lydia has just posed semi-nude for a PETA ad launching this fall. PETA approached her after learning that she was a vegetarian. Lydia is the face of a new PETA campaign pushing for a “vegetarian revolution.” The campaign will debut in Argentina in October (where Che is from), and then be seen internationally. This will be the first vegetarianism campaign in South America. Congratulations to Lydia who it would appear should have a modeling future ahead of her-no idea what she does or where but she’s definitely a strikingly beautiful lady.

Motorcycle Diaries (DVD)

I am all for social justice and equality for all (regardless of race/creed/color/nationality/gender/orientation/etc.-to me we’re all humans on Earth but that’s just me), but I also tend to feel like Ferris Bueller that I’m not a fan of “isms” as a general rule.