Few things disgust me more than professional relatives, people who, in the absence of any achievements of their own, milk the fame of a relative for unearned respect. Here is one such creature:
It is undeniable that the Catholic Church sucks, the Pope sucks, and greeting the Pope in Cuba is one big joke. This message, however, should be delivered by anybody but this woman who has turned the title of “Che Guevara’s daughter” into a source of profit, attention, and adulation.
I will never forget how this horrible, nasty creature praised the Cuban medical care system in Michael Moore’s movie. I was shocked by the shamelessness of this white woman who was coddled and spoiled rotten by the party while the overwhelmingly black population of the island was abused and pushed around by the so-called doctors in dirty, smelly barns called hospitals and was forced to sell their bodies to Western tourists in return for a life-saving asthma inhaler or a vial of insulin. (I saw these people and talked with them, so arguing with me about this makes no sense.)
I’m sure Che Guevara – who, with all his faults, was an earnest believer in the revolution – would have little cause to celebrate if he saw how fat his daughter grew, sucking out the blood of the Cuban people and making grand pronouncements in his name.
It’s easy for Aleida Guevara to criticize the miserable, debased Cubans for whom God is the only hope in their sad, hopeless lives. Aleida’s god is the party that allows her to run a nifty little business of deriving profit from the memory of a father who, when he was alive, didn’t give a crap about her. Of course, she doesn’t need any other sort of divine intervention. The Cubans who don’t have famous dead relatives they could peddle, though, really do.
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