Today I saw an older guy with a Che Guevera t-shirt. Che is an icon, in the most real sense of the word. For many people, the reality of Che consists of the image, and the revolutionary feelings it provokes. It’s a very safe level of revolution. While right-wing bloggers and Bill O types blather about how people ignore the “real” Che, and some on the left continue to uphold his brutal life as having some kind of heroic meaning, the image itself doesn’t care. It’s like the pirate flag or a velvet Elvis. Does piracy mean freedom? Or does it mean rape, pillage, and murder? Was Elvis the King? Or was he a crazy fat befuddled drug addict who shot out his television? It doesn’t matter anymore. If you dress up as Elvis or carry around a cup with skull and crossbones, you aren’t entering into the argument, you’re merely buying into the iconic, idealized version. A pure Elvis, a Captain Jack Sparrow, abstracted from all the realities. A Che that can be made with cheap labor and sold to consumerist capitalists.
Che Guevera, Icon?
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