Issue link: https://bluemagazine.uberflip.com/i/25179
The first and only brand of A.S.A.P.TM [All Sports All Polarized™J eye wear. THE SOUND AND THE FURY (continued from page 37) responsible for educating, healing the sick, feeding the elderly and paving the roads?" I ask in a staccato burst. Sureshot lets Raul do the talking but he is still the top dog of the FARC and-autograph and memorabilia fans take note-the oldest rebel leader in the world. They say that the enigmatic Sureshot has not been to a city in thirty years. He sees my camera and brusquely waves me away. Sureshot doesn't do media. Posing for pictures, yes. Talking to reporters, no. In fact, journalists have been killed and kidnapped for misquoting or getting facts wrong. I cut Raul Reyes from the pack and stick a microphone on him. "Who is responsible for the social services, protection or infrastructure in the Zona?" "The Government, of course," snorts the diminutive and bearded Reyes. "Does the FARC make money from drugs and kidnapping?" I ask. "Absolutely not." Reyes laughs and then I am asked politely by his aide to set up my interviews through tile press office. Back in San Vicente del Cagwin, I go to the tiny building that serves as the FARC's press office. Rebels live and work in the back of the build ing, making posters and banners. Technically there is nothing to protest against here since the FARC is in charge. But rebels are rebels, so they paint banners that continually proclaim the evils of the government and the wonders of the New Colombia. My contact to set up official interviews with the rebel leaders is Nora, who acts more like a cranky den mother with an AK-47 than a Marxist rebel. Her media is limited to the small television that plays and replays revolutionary videos in the front room. I am learning the FARC is big on image but short on information. Interviews are out of the question. Everyone is busy. Nora's office is decorated with photos of Che, Fidel and Marx, as well as a smattering of what look like celebrity pictures but on closer inspection are shots of the President of Colombia shaking hands with his archenemy Sureshot. It is clear that Che, the motorcycle tourist, rebel rich kid, cigar smoking doctor from Argentina, somehow defines revolution around here. Out on the street, Che T-shirts and knickknacks are lined up for sale in a very non-Marxist concept of rebel souvenir stands. Shouldn't good Marxists just evenly distribute the trinkets and proceeds? Even the bathroom is a socialist statement. No sign for men or women and just one toilet. Come one, come all . Join the revolution. And don't forget to take home souvenirs. Is this war about equality and hope, or money and image? Sensing that watching fuzzy rebel videos and buying T-shirts is all I am going to 70 get out of Nora, I head back to the Thematic Center and find Mono Jojoy. He is a stout, round-faced mustachioed man with an oversized beret. Like the guy on the French tourist ads, but with a machine gun. He is busy signing autographs for a group of nervous students. He signs "Mono Jojoy" with a flourish and the look on his face when he talks to the adoring female students lets me know that there are side benefits to being a rebel leader. Mono means "light skinned" or, if you want to live dangerously, "monkey." Jojoy is a greeting akin to Ahoyl and Mono likes people to repeat it with enthusiasm whenever he greets them. Like a forced bow to an emperor complete with forced laughter. Mono is famous for his virulent anti-America attacks, and it is said that his brother ordered the execution of three Americans working on environmental and human rights issues with the U'wa Indians. (Mono blames their death on a fa ulty FARC radio transmission. ) The military says Mono is a psychopathic killer. Thei r proof is a very clear photo of a soldier with his face sliced off and copies of his radio conversations with his brother discussing ki lling the three Americans in cold blood. If that isn't convincing enough, there is an entire military brochure featuring photos of the severed heads of two government sold iers that the FARC mailed back to the victims' mothers. Others say Mono is a great military strategist and wise leader. Those others tend to be FARC rebels within earshot of Mono. I don't know what he is. So I walk up to find out. I push my way through the ecstatic students to introduce myself. Mono's first words to me when he looks up are "Hey, gringo, do you work for the CIA?" He then insists that the small hipbag for my video camera is a gun. This could be the start of a beautiful friendshi p. I ask Mono if the indoctrination meetings with the students are successful. He winks and says something to the effect that, "We were with them last night and now they are with us." Perhaps a new slogan for recruitment offices everywhere. The party that likes to party. To show there are no hard feelings, Mono invites me to a party that night. THE PARTY As the sun begins to set, I stop in at Mono Jojoy's party. I am invited to join a cluster of rebels under a large tree. It doesn't seem to be much of a party, just a dozen armed rebels drinking. Mono tells us to put away the tape recorders and video cameras. He passes around a bottle of Absolut and starts filling orange soda cans with the vodka. We talk about various things, including kidnapping. The group in the rear keeps whispering and giggling. I hear, "Rich Americans," repeated ly. I continue to ask questions about the rebels goals, their funding, the effect of America's involvement. Mono laughs off my questions. He is enjoying the attention but he does not want to be pressed on facts. I tell Mono I want to see the rebels up close and in-depth. He begins to get belligerent. My translator says it's time to go. Mono insists