Vol. 74/No. 16      April 26, 2010

BY JESSICA NADEAU  
This is the story of a Chinese general who made the Cuban revolution at the side of Che, and of a Quebec sculptor, incredibly eccentric and nationalist. This is the story of a surreal encounter between two men who, each in their own way, have conducted their struggle: the one by arms, the other through the arts.

Night falls gently on the old home of the artist. They are there waiting for him, drink in hand. They are about forty. A fire-eater does his act, together with a nice gypsy who sings her grief with a deep voice in the language of Cervantes.

For the occasion, the artist has displayed a huge banner demanding the release of five Cuban political prisoners held in the United States. The same found in airports in Holguín and in Cayo Coco. Another, equally huge, is the name of all countries that have denounced the U.S. embargo that is starving Cuba. Several guests wear a badge of Cu-bec Libre. On the street overlooking the Parc Jeanne-Mance, passersby look on with curiosity.  
 
The artist and the revolutionary
The artist is Armand Vaillancourt.

The revolutionary is General Armando Choy, a true monument of the Cuban revolution.

The sculptor makes the point that he cleaned up the house for the occasion. He is delighted to receive a revolutionary, a true one. “It was worth doing a cleanup for the occasion, wasn’t it?”

The general arrives. The gate opens. Everyone comes forward with bated breath.

Handshakes, photos, smiles. He is given a tour of the court of Armand Vaillancourt. The old eccentric takes the old revolutionary into a faded away plastic snow shelter to show him a car built in another era. The general is all smiles. I learned later that he spoke with Armand Vaillancourt about boxing—each in his respective language. Beyond words, they understood each other.  
 
Culture and revolutionary process
It’s time for dinner. A table of honor has been set up for the occasion. The general sits in the middle. He speaks, thanking Armand Vaillancourt for having invited him to his place and introducing him to all these people.

He had asked to be introduced to Quebec culture, and he has found it. Not what we see in magazines, no. Armand Vaillancourt had gathered around him 40 friends: visual artists, musicians, writers, editors. “People who are not molded into the system,” says Vaillancourt.

General Armando Choy praised culture, the men and women who invent, transmit, and rediscover it every day. He speaks Spanish. His interpreter translates. In the dining room, the silence is total. Everyone is hanging on his every word. The general speaks about culture and revolution. “Without culture, we cannot understand a true revolutionary process.” These are not his words; he is quoting Fidel.

He sings the praises of Cuban culture, of the importance that the party attaches to it, particularly over the last decade with the campaign for a massive participation in cultural activity. It’s short, it’s simple, it’s effective. In making speeches, the general has learned from the best.

“Even with all the difficulties we have experienced in the revolutionary process, particularly the economic problems with the blockade by the United States, culture has made great progress in our country. And we are very happy to be with you today because throughout the history of humanity, women and men of culture have defended their people and their country.”

The applause is lively. But very quickly its ardor intensifies as the general concludes: “I would like to thank Mr. Vaillancourt and his wife for this meeting here because it is an encounter not with me, but with the Cuban revolution.”  
 
The general and Rue Frontenac
The music starts again softly. People hum the classic Commander Che Guevara while everyone helps themselves to the meal. The consul general of Cuba [Sergio Vélez Camhi] kindly gives me his place for a few minutes, time to do a short interview with the general.

I speak to the general about the media that I proudly represent, Rue Frontenac, a newspaper published by workers who were locked out by their employer. The general is interested; it is he who asks the questions. He listens, thinks for a moment, then launches into the discussion:

“I feel the difficulty of your fight, I’m hurt by it. The working class is totally protected in our country and its voice is recognized. Workers have many social benefits. We must find a solution to this, to give justice to those who are right. And to see the number of workers who are unemployed, it seems to me that it is the workers who are right.”  
 
The revolution ‘stronger than ever’
We move on to his vision of the revolution, 50 years later. His gaze is incisive. He commands respect. He speaks with determination about the revolution, “his” revolution.

“The revolution is stronger than ever. We know very well the stakes, the questions on which we must work and the things we need to strengthen. […] We are always working within the revolution to make improvements and strengthen the revolutionary process in the country.”

He also talks about the environment. At 77 years old, after decades of service in the Revolutionary Armed Forces, today he chairs a committee on the restoration and preservation of the highly contaminated bay of Havana. He devotes an entire chapter to this issue in his book, Our History Is Still Being Written, which he came to promote in Montreal.

This is the story of a Communist revolutionary and of media workers locked out for over a year. It’s the story of a surreal encounter between combatants who, each in their own way, are waging their struggles and refusing to be crushed by their opponent, no matter how powerful it is.
 
 
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