Communism and Fascism Are One and the Same Thing

Communism and fascism are one and the same thing. Today more than ever, this truth is being made manifest in the despotic manner Hugo Chávez governs Venezuela. Recently, Chávez has unleashed his most furious attack against democracy and free speech in that country, emasculating the national parliament by assuming absolute power to rule by decree for 18 months while having previously pressured said legislative body into passing ironclad gag laws to control, censor, and manipulate not only TV, radio, and newspapers but also Internet (including Facebook, Twitter, and other social networks). Twenty-first-century socialist Chávez’s political tactics and strategies clearly bolster the idea that communism and fascism are veritable Siamese twins.

This concept is exposed in Pandemic of Lies: the Exile through a dialogue between Dr. Eduardo Borja, a former finance minister in the Alejandro Salvador government, and Manuel Cruz:

“Well, what I mean by this is that Marxism and Fascism cojean dela misma pata. In other words, they hobble on the same bad leg.”
“What? How is that?” I said, shaking my head skeptically. “Aren’t they on diametrically opposite ends on the political spectrum?”

Dr. Eduardo Borja smiled condescendingly at me with the kind of sympathetic smile reserved for a confused student. “It depends on how you draw the political spectrum.”

“Explain,” I demanded.

“We normally see the political spectrum in rectilinear form, Fascism at the extreme end to the right and Communism or Socialism at the extreme end to the left. But what if the political spectrum is perceived in a different way, for example, in curvilinear fashion?”

He paused, took a pen out of his shirt’s pocket, and drew first a line on a paper napkin and then a circle.

“With the rectilinear format,” he said, pointing at the drawn line, “Marxism and Fascism are indeed at opposite ends, but if you curve the line and finish turning it into a circle, the extreme ends join each other, melt, and become one.” To make his case even more graphic, he now rolled the napkin into the form of a cigar and then bent it until the tips touched each other. “There!” he cried victoriously. “Marxism and Fascism are really one and the same political phenomenon. The same dog, different collar. Same shit, different smell.”

“Birds of the same feather,” I contributed.

He laughed appreciatively.

“But have you got enough supporting evidence to prove this theory?”

“It’s not a theory. It’s a fact,” he corrected contentiously. “In truth, it’s not an original idea of mine. I will be the first Latin American political economist, though, to expose it in this century, and I think it’s about time somebody did.”

“But the evidence, the proof?” I insisted.

“Hold your horses. I’m coming to that. Who do you think was the first fascist leader in the twentieth century?”

“I don’t know,” I said impatiently, feeling he was subjecting me to a question-and-answer classroom situation. “Benito Mussolini, I guess.”

The learned doctor pursed his lips. “Wrong,” he growled, as if he were about to condemn me to after-school detention for having given the wrong answer.

“Who then?” I demanded.

“Lenin. Or Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, to be more precise. He changed his name to Lenin in 1901. You see, even back then he was already preparing himself for the initiation of a cult of personality around himself. With a name like Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov he would have never gotten anywhere, don’t you think? But a charismatic leader could proudly bear a name like Lenin. Such a name sticks favorably to the memory cells. It’s short and sonorous.”

Dr. Borja paused to recharge himself with another deep sip from his drink.

“Now, what are some of the characteristics linked to Fascism? For one, the emergence of a charismatic leader, right? And later the creation of a whole aura of invincibility, courage, patriotism, and even godliness around the leader—what’s called a cult of personality, correct? Communist or socialist principles are supposed to be based on the dictatorship of the proletariat, and yet throughout history, we see that what prevailed in communist countries time and time again was, not the dictatorship of the proletariat, but the absolute rule of one man, the charismatic leader—a Fascist trait. Examples of Hitler and Mussolini types in this sense abound in socialist or communist settings: Lenin, Stalin, Mao, Kim Il-sung and later his son Kim Jongil, Fidel Castro and then his brother Raúl Castro—scratch Raúl out; he’s about as charismatic as pubic lice—and now, heading down the dictatorship lane by leaps and bounds, Hugo Chávez. Then there are the pups Hugo is grooming in his Fascist Dictatorship University: Daniel Ortega, Evo Morales, Rafael Correa, and, oh, oh, surprise, surprise, Alejandro Salvador. Lacaya registered at Hugo’s school but recently flunked out, thanks to Hillary.”

“Alright, alright, I catch your drift,” I chuckled. “But there must be more similarities between the two political tendencies,” I said, getting enthused with the direction the exposition was taking.

“Fervent nationalism is another element that typifies Fascism. Communism and socialism supposedly have an internationalist focus, and yet already in 1924 Stalin was promoting the concept of Socialism in One Country, which later became the basis for the Soviet Union’s imperialist doctrine. Take something very close to home as far as you’re concerned: Cuba. The main slogan there is: Patria o muerte, venceremos. Fatherland or death, we shall triumph. Hugo Chávez has adopted this jingoist war cry with a slight variation: Patria, socialismo o muerte. Fatherland, socialism or death. And Evo Morales promises that he will soon make the Cuban slogan Patria o muerte, venceremos the rallying cry of the Bolivian Armed Forces. Can you get more chauvinistic than that?”

I grinned and nodded my head. His comments, it seemed to me, were all bull’s-eyes.

“Another practice that distinguishes Fascism is its racism. Mussolini promoted the Italic race, Hitler the Aryan race, above all other races. Hitler, in particular, hated Jews. Recently, historians have started discovering Stalin’s pathological anti-Semitism. And now the Latin American would-be dictators are showing their anti-Semitic colors as well. Look at Hugo Chávez. He’s become real chummy with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, who denies the Holocaust by calling it a ‘myth’. And at the same time Hugo is forcing his political toadies like Evo Morales, Rafael Correa, Daniel Ortega, and Alejandro Salvador to get their respective countries politically and economically aligned with Iran, the world’s epicenter of anti-Semitism. And as the saying goes: Dime con quién andas y te diré quién eres. Your pals reflect who you are; it’s as simple as that.”

Part II of Interview with Pedro C. López, author of Pandemic of Lies: the Exile

Could you tell us how the idea of Banador came to you in the writing of Pandemic of Lies: the Exile?

During my sixteen years of living in South America, I’ve had the chance to visit several South American countries. These include Colombia, Peru, Chile, Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay. There was one year during which, on account of a national rice surplus which was driving prices in a precipitously downward direction in Ecuador and had to be evacuated in a massive exportation effort on the double, I made six consecutive trips to Colombia in representation of the Ecuadorian rice sector. On another occasion I had to spend two months in Brazil in order to solve a commercial problem suffered by my Ecuadorian relatives at the hands of a couple of dishonest Brazilian citizens. Besides all these trips taken around South America, since 1994 I’ve been living continuously in Ecuador. Thus, modesty aside, I think I had a good grasp on what was happening south of the Border when I started composing Pandemic of Lies. So to get back to your initial question, I would say Banador is a composite picture of all my experiences in various countries in South America. That’s why I decided to create a mythical nation and to call it Banador. In short, Banador is ubiquitous.

Could you give us some concrete details about Banador?

Banador is not really a poor country, but most of its citizens consider themselves poor. The poor Banadorians blame their poverty on a) the native oligarchs, b) the United States, or c) fate. The Banadorian radicals, mostly or almost exclusively from the left wing of the political spectrum, tend to lash out at both the rich Banadorians and the United States for the socio-economic situation of their country. They see native wealth and American interests conspiring together behind the scenes to maintain the status quo and keep the people below in check. On the other hand, the least educated of the needy people hardly ever chastise the U.S. for their situation but frequently do express their resentment against their bosses or the owners of the companies they work for—if they are so lucky as to have a job. Fate receives most of the finger-pointing and blame from most sectors. With this respect, though, the one common thing all Banadorians share is that they never blame themselves for their seemingly endless plight.

As I stated at the beginning, Banador is not poor. In fact, it’s actually a rich country—rich in oil, gas, minerals, water, and land resources. What’s dearly lacking is the courage and sincerity on the part of its citizens, with very few exceptions, to face the issues without the use of scapegoats.

Is this why so many Banadorians are poor?

Precisely. Banadorians are always projecting out their guilt and responsibility. The wealthy and successful members of Banadorian society call the poor people lazy, and the poor call the wealthy citizens exploiters. That kind of tense argument never allows for consensus, harmony, and progress. However, it does create a fertile ground for demagogues, who use the seeds of popular resentment to plant the Banadorian political fields with hatred and chaos, from which they will eventually reap major benefits, but primarily for themselves and their sycophants. Populism, authoritarianism, and corruption plague the political scenery in Banador. Under the constant attacks of such pests, it is almost impossible for Banador ever to reach the status of a developed nation.

Is there racism in Banador?

There’s definitely plenty of that. Indeed, Banador is far from being a racial paradise. Nonetheless, racial tensions seem to irradiate mostly from the top of the economic pyramid toward the base. As you climb the economic ladder, you immediately perceive that the skin tone of people lightens up. Eventually, you reach an apex where the faces you perceive don’t differ much from those you might encounter in Europe. The demagogic populist politicians utilize this situation to instill even more hatred into the darker-skinned classes toward the dominant economic groups and to perpetuate a class struggle that leads only to more political chaos and instability. While by blood, sweat, and tears, the Banadorian nation now and again might accomplish taking two steps forward, the opportunistic politicians, with one simple push and in a flash, make the whole country recede three steps. They do this by pouring gasoline into an already existent fire that cries out for justice and equality. What these corrupt politicians don’t tell the people is that such lofty goals are best attained through evolutionary and not revolutionary processes. More importantly, these Machiavellian scoundrels avoid informing the nation that globalization is irreversible, that everybody out there around the globe is watching Banador, and that nobody will want to come to and invest in Banador if the country’s social, political, and economic state of things has fallen into an uncontrollable spin and, in particular, if, because of this turbulence, there even looms the possibility of the Balkanization of the Banadorian nation state.

Are you referring to regionalist forces?

Exactly. In Banador there are basically two regions: mountain and coast. The Banadorians who live in mountainous areas are called serranos, a word that comes from the Spanish word sierra, which in English means “mountain range”. Those who reside in the coastal region are addressed as costeños, whose etymological root is costa, equivalent to “coast” in English. Although both groups consider themselves Banadorian through and through, the serranos and the costeños have different customs. For example, the serranos love bull-fighting, while the costeños love horse-riding events. With respect to the subject of cuisine, while the serranos include in their menu practically every part of the cow, including the innards, the costeños’ culinary preferences gravitate toward seafood. The serranos use a good number of Kichwa words because they have mixed Spanish and indigenous (of Incan origin) blood, with the exception of the economic elite. The costeños have Spanish, African, and indigenous (of non-Incan origin) ancestors. These cultural and racial differences between the two groups engender animosity, which is especially evident at soccer games, where gross insults and offensive names are traded between serranos and costeños as they root for their favorite teams from their home areas. This long-standing enmity between sierra and costa becomes another trouble spot which demagogic politicians exploit to their advantage, further dividing the Banadorian nation.

So what’s one possible solution to all these Banadorian problems?

The solution is the same for Banador as for any Latin American country just about, I think. Cooperation, consensus, harmonized thinking, meeting of minds, less navel-staring and more peering into the future, less ideology and more creativity, fewer words and more action, and, last but not least, the creation of a common national goal that’s at the same time pro-progress and pro-freedom.

Part I of Interview with Pedro C. López, author of Pandemic of Lies: the Exile

In your novel there’s a country we’ve never heard of.

You’re referring to Banador, I presume.

Yes, exactly. Does it exist?

The last time I checked it didn’t—at least not in real space and time or, for that matter, on a map. However, in my novel it’s the place where most of the action occurs.

What’s so special about Banador?

Precisely what I just mentioned: that it doesn’t exist in real space and time or within the realm of cartography. It exists only inside the boundaries of my novel, fruit of my imagination.

Meaning what?

Meaning that I can do anything with the country and don’t have to be restrained by endogenous historical events. In other words, the country’s mythical or timeless nature frees my imagination completely. Anything can happen in Banador, and I don’t have to worry about past or even present realities. Banador is always in the making, like a novel, always flowing, like a river.

Any similarities with any other country?

None whatsoever. Banador could be any Latin-American country, and every Latin-American person shares many of the characteristics of a Banadorian citizen.

Is Pandemic of Lies: the Exile a political novel?

I would prefer the term “political thriller”. Political ideas are expressed in the book, especially about the growing menace against democracy and basic freedoms in Latin America, but the work is not about politics. It’s about people who get into politics and through the exercise of power show their tremendous human frailties, such as unbridled greed and gross dishonesty.

Why a gay president?

Why not?

I mean, it’s unusual for a president of a country, especially in Latin America, to be gay.

You’d be surprised! At any rate it’s not as remote a possibility as you’d think. Furthermore, the gay issue is more aggressively out there in the open with each passing day. Gays are demanding not only anti-discrimination laws but also marriage rights, adoptions rights, and the right to serve in the military. So I didn’t make the president gay out of a clear blue sky. The way I look at it, Alejandro Salvador was gay before he ran into my imagination.

But you had an ax to grind with Alejandro Salvador?

Me? You mean Manuel Cruz, which is a totally different situation. Before I go on, let me make it very clear: Pandemic of Lies: the Exile is not an autobiographical novel. In other words, I am not Manuel Cruz. If I’m anything, I’m all my characters, not any one of them in particular. I’m even Solitary George, a turtle. I’m all of them at once really but not any one of them specifically or separately.

How did you come up with the character of Solitary George?

Again it just happened. It, or rather he, just slipped into my mind, and I couldn’t get him out.

You made Solitary George talk.

Again I couldn’t help doing that. If I hadn’t given him the faculty of speech, he’d have wrung my neck. (Laughter.) For a while I thought I was doing something nutty, but later I ran into a novel entitled Kafka on the Shore by Japanese writer Haruki Murakami, who makes cats talk in the book. That made me feel a lot more normal.

Are you saying that the characters seem to take control of things in the novel?

That’s right. You know how they start but you simply can’t predict how they’ll turn out. They seem to take on a life of their own very independent from their creator.

Why, when, and how I started writing Pandemic of Lies: the Exile

Living in South America is quite different from doing so in the United States. I am a U. S. citizen who was born in Cuba and became a naturalized American. I was educated in the United States, except for the first four grades in grammar school when I attended the Colegio Champagnat run by Marist brothers in Caibarién, Cuba. When I moved south of the Border, I was shocked almost on a daily basis by what I saw and heard.

Residing in Ecuador, I became disenchanted above all with the “revolutionary” events that were taking place in various countries in Latin America. From my adolescence onward, I had kept myself well informed of what was happening in Cuba. Thus, I knew that, if the cancer of Fidel’s communist revolution and tyrannical style of ruling began to spill over to other Latin American countries, it would be fatal for the people living within those nations. They would suffer at least a half century of economic backwardness and misery, loss of basic freedoms, and relentless, cruel dictatorship. In the case that several such countries became infected with the communist-fascist virus emanating from Cuba, they could very well link up and form diabolical alliances to impose an unbreakable noose around the neck of Latin America and its people. Angry, inspired, and at the same time convinced of the possibility of my apocalyptic vision for that part of the world, I started writing Pandemic of Lies: the Exile.

I began the novel at the beginning of March, 2009. I started things in medias res, that is to say, in the middle of things. The protagonist Manuel Cruz is hiding out in a remote hut at the edge of a swamp beside a river and some rice fields. Raúl has come to make his weekly visit and bring his friend the usual provisions Manuel needs to stay alive out there in the middle of nowhere. I set up a modest writing pace at first and then gradually, as I warmed up to the narrative, increased the tempo. By late December of 2009, I was finished with the first draft of the novel. It contained 432 pages at that point. The book went through three revisions until it reached the present length of 536 pages in May of 2010.

Since I travel a lot and own two homes in two different provinces in Ecuador, I wrote on a daily basis and sent the saved novel to my hotmail address. If I transferred myself from one of my homes to the other, I could easily retrieve the steadily growing manuscript from my email address at either location. It was like throwing a high, long pass into the clouds and then catching it miles away as it fell softly into my waiting arms. Internet permitted me to be quarterback and receiver at the same time in any part of the globe. I kept a different laptop computer at each house of mine, obviating my having to carry a PC with me inside my SUV. On a couple of occasions my Nissan Patrol had been broken into by petty thieves who thought the briefcase I had left inside the vehicle contained a laptop computer. Now I hardly ever carry a briefcase, with or without a laptop, inside my new SUV, a hybrid Highlander. I learned my lesson. You have to adapt to the situation—and quickly—around these parts of the world.

Finishing Pandemic of lie: the Exile provided me with one of the greatest satisfactions in my entire life. Seeing my novel posted on various websites across the cyber world, from China to France, from the United Kingdom to South Korea, from Canada to Germany, and from Japan to the USA, fulfilled an old dream of mine.