today marks 53 years since Che's untimely death, murdered by cowards as he attempted to bring about revolution in bolivia.

Che, in my opinion, is the immaculate ideal of a Marxist: compassionate, intelligent, witty, well-read, self-sacrificing, and guided by an unwavering moral center--the list goes on and on. a doctor and a warrior. a healer who knew what was poisoning this world and paid with his very life to attempt to stop it.

he left his country, home, friends, and family to fight with comrades under several nations' flags. severly asthmatic since childhood--sometimes needing to be carried by his comrades in inhospitably humid battlefields--still, he fought in the sierras of cuba. he fought with conviction and strength, and he helped win cubans their freedom.

and what did he do then? did he sit and accept his reward from his newly-adopted country, enjoy some of what he helped build? no. there were battles yet to be fought. and so he fought, until liberation or death came.

i'm a bit drunk but, i love Che and had to vent/ramble. please please please, read jon lee anderson's Che if you haven't: it's a long read but endlessly fascinating and never not inspiring

¡Que viva El Che!