Bolivia Beard

I have decided to grow a beard. There is a conscious reason for this. I’ve been told the beard is slenderizing. But there is also, probably, a subconscious reason too. I think part of me is calling on the spirit of Che Guevara, hoping maybe he will watch over the soul of a fellow Cuban as I embark for Bolivia, where I plan to make a documentary about lustrabotas (shoeshine boys) in one months time.

I think of him a lot in the preparations for my trip to this country, the last place anyone saw him alive, almost 50 years ago. Had he never lived I would not be here, in London, planning to document stories of deprived Bolivians. My father would never have exiled. Instead he’d probably be working in some Havana Casino as a cleaner looking after rich Mafioso. Well that is if my imagination serves me right. But Guevara did live. And he did overthrow a corrupt regime. And he did fight to bring equality. And he did become an icon.

I can't say that Cuba is better off based on his work. There is terrible poverty there, and many live with the gaping hole in their hearts created by exile, myself included. While he and Castro intended to do good, there were many who suffered and still do. This I believe is a consequence of the enormous gap between how Communism reads on paper and how it reads in real life. On paper it reads like a wonderful idea, a can't miss. But in reality it has never worked.

But you have to respect the revolutionary spirit of Che. The fearlessness. The conviction. The determination. I'd like to think that had I lived at that time, I would have followed him right into the forests of La Paz, the highest capital city in the world, that I would have braved conditions not meant for man, that I would have fought, and killed, and rode the wave of the revolution wherever it might have taken me, even if it had taken me to the grave. But since I cannot I will try to do the next best thing: grow a beard. I call it my Bolivia Beard.