The Last Homeric Hero: Fidel at 100
The month he turned 50, my father, Mervyn de Silva, and my mother, Lakshmi, were in Havana watching Fidel Castro take over the chairmanship of the Non-Aligned Movement at its 6th Summit. After my father died, I discovered in his briefcase the embossed invitation on stiff parchment. He had treasured it for two decades. I still do.
As I look to turn 70 this December, almost to the day that Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Raul Castro and others landed on the shores of Cuba in the leaky yacht Granma in 1956, I am struck by the good fortune of having lived consciously in a period of History studded with giants: Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai, Ho Chi Minh, General Vo Nguyen Giap, Josip Broz Tito, Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, Amilcar Cabral, Samora Machel, Agostinho Neto, Ayatollah Khomeini, and Nelson Mandela. From the Global South and East, these were great, heroic leaders of the Age of Liberation and Revolution.
Fidel lived longer than the others and impacted us more because he spoke and wrote—articulated his views, addressing his people and the world—much more than did the others. Though Ronald Reagan was called ‘The Great Communicator’, Fidel Castro was the far greater global communicator.
Humanity’s Tribune
Through speeches and interviews, international conferences and volunteer health workers, military training and action, Fidel also took more initiatives in support of causes and peoples all over the planet than any other world leader of our time. While patriotic, he was also the most internationalist. From a country with a smaller population than Sri Lanka, he gave voice to the peoples everywhere, and helped shape the world we lived in. He was a ceaseless ‘Tribune’ of the people against injustice, and this eventually made him the most prophetic global statesman.
At the 70th anniversary celebration of the October Revolution in Moscow in 1987, Fidel warned that ‘we may wake up one day and find that the Soviet Union has disappeared’.
In the aftermath of 9/11, he condemned terrorism, expressed solidarity with New York (a city he loved), offered the victims medical help in Cuba, and signaled a willingness to cooperate against Al Qaeda, mainly in the field of intelligence But, as a former guerrilla leader, he attached a warning: given the terrain, failure would confront the US if it launched its planned all-out war, including ground troops, against Afghanistan. He proved prophetic when the US withdrew in failure two decades later.
Israel’s Netanyahu worked incessantly to entangle successive US presidents in a war on Iran. In 2010, Fidel invited Jeff Goldberg of The Atlantic to Havana – because Goldberg had written on Israel and Iran, and Obama read him closely. In the interview Fidel argued compellingly that a US-Israeli war against Iran would be disastrous regionally, globally, and for US interests. Netanyahu was unable to convince Obama, and the US shifted seriously to the negotiation track that culminated in the JCPOA.
Caught in a debt trap as Sri Lanka is, we should salute Fidel Castro as the world leader who campaigned earliest against foreign debt– even though his own country was not indebted. From the mid-1980s onwards he spoke exhaustively about the debt burden, its roots and consequences, hosting international conferences at which Professor Joseph Stiglitz was honoured guest and prominent speaker.
During the worst of the Vietnam War, Fidel took the enormous personal risk of visiting a liberated zone in Quang Tri in September 1973, and raising the Viet Cong banner. Having liberated his own country, he went on to help many others directly and personally, from Latin America through Africa to Asia. Years after his death a contingent of Cuban doctors flew to Covid-ravaged Italy to combat the disease at its frontlines.
Fidel and Che
The most luminous and universally embraced iconic hero of our time was and remains Che Guevara. Young Dr. Ernesto Guevara was an exceptionally brilliant, daringly adventurous, well-read Marxist, almost saintly in his work among the lepers. But Ernesto Guevara of The Motorcycle Diaries would never have become the immortal Che Guevara except for an encounter and conversation one night around a dining table in Mexico with one man who was out of jail after leading the attack on the Moncada barracks in Cuba in 1953, and planning to return by boat to begin a revolutionary war of liberation against the dictator Batista. That man was Fidel Castro. No Fidel, no Che.
When Che Guevara was captured and executed in Bolivia, it could have been seen as a defeat, a failure and an end. But Fidel was present to dialectically invert such an interpretation, just as in ‘History Will Absolve Me’ at his trial after Moncada he had transmuted a military defeat into a moral victory. In a long oration late at night in Havana to a gigantic crowd of sorrowing Cubans, he transformed Che into a towering saint and martyr of revolution; the archetypal hero of our time, projected in the consciousness of generations from then to now and tomorrow.
That night, Fidel Castro resurrected Che and immortalised him in History.
Soft Power, Hard Power
On Fidel’s watch, his country was so prestigious and influential in the world arena that it was nicknamed ‘the pocket superpower’. He demonstrated how a country of the Global South with a small population, located in close proximity to a hostile giant – the sole superpower – and with a military encampment of that superpower on its very territory (Guantanamo), could still maintain its dignity and earn respect and honour in the world without bartering its sovereignty.
Fidel’s politics had at its heart the duality that Machiavelli captured in the image of the Centaur to which Antonio Gramsci returned centuries later, denoting the combination of coercion and consent. In contemporary terms this is the combination of hard power and soft power.
The image of Fidel in uniform leaping off a battle tank, having rushed to the Bay of Pigs where he inflicted a defeat of the US and Cuban counterrevolutionaries in 1961, epitomises his mastery of ‘hard power’. So does the historic battle of Cuito Cuanavale in 1987-1988 in Angola, the largest military battle in Africa since the end of WWII, where Fidel commanded from Havana the Cuban forces who defeated the invading military of industrial, NATO-equipped, nuclear-armed apartheid South Africa.
His friendship with Ernest Hemingway; his interviews to Playboy (1967, 1985); his long interviews with famous television journalist Barbara Walters (1977, 2002), and his four-hour speech to the congregation at the Riverside Church in Harlem, New York (2000) are evidence of his mastery of soft power.
Patriot and Internationalist
Fidel’s politics made a fundamental contribution to the field through the unity of patriotism with internationalism. He explicitly said he was not a ‘nationalist’ but a patriot, while insisting that internationalism was ‘an imperative’.
Fidel’s patriotism encompassed his country and all the people of all races within it. A factor that motivated his decision to send troops to Angola to resist apartheid South Africa’s invasion was that Cuba’s sugar industry had thrived on the backs of slave labour from Africa. In the struggle for Cuba’s independence from Spain, a powerful revolt had been led by a Black woman, a slave. Angola, explained Fidel, was Cuba’s chance to repay the people from and of Africa. The Cuban internationalist military expedition was named after the Black slave woman leader of that anti-colonial rebellion: Operation Carlota.
His patriotism was not a matter of crassly pragmatic ‘national interest’. There was a thaw in Cuba’s relations with the US under President Gerald Ford, and had Fidel believed in a narrow pragmatism, Cuba may have materially benefited. However, at that very moment the troops of apartheid South Africa had penetrated Angola (at Dr. Kissinger’s suggestion) and were within sight of its capital Luanda. Fidel decided that the principle of internationalism was more crucial than immediate material gain, and therefore answered the call by Agostinho Neto leader of the MPLA, the primary Angolan liberation movement legitimately wielding power in Luanda, for urgent support and assistance. Fidel’s was an existential choice, sourced in a higher way of being in the world.
It swiftly changed history. Upon release from jail after 27 years, Nelson Mandela’s first visit outside Africa was to Cuba, to thank Fidel for defeating the apartheid South African military, humbling the apartheid state and system, and opening the road that led to his freedom. South Africa’s President de Klerk met Mandela the year after Cuito Cuanavale, in 1989, and his release (1990) came a mere two years after Cuba’s victory there.
Castro and Christianity
Fidel Castro was a contributor to a confluence in the history of ideas which will outlast him by centuries. He designated it the ‘most explosive’ fusion—Christianity and Marxism. Liberation Theology within Catholicism in particular, and Christianity in general, was the crystallisation in Latin America of the consequences of the Second Vatican Council initiated by Pope John XXIII, intersecting with the impact of the Cuban Revolution led by Fidel Castro.
Baptised and raised a Catholic, a stellar product of elite Jesuit private schools, Fidel wore around his neck the image of Our Lady of Charity of El Cobre during his years as guerrilla leader in the Sierra Maestra. The later Fidel was secular, not a believer in the divine, but he remained a follower of the teachings of Jesus Christ. In ‘Fidel and Religion’ (1985) and ‘My Life’ (2006/7), he revealed himself shaped by his Spanish Jesuit teachers and reading the Bible, primarily the Gospels.
In his massive ‘spoken autobiography’ My Life (2007) comprising long conversations with Ignacio Ramonet, he put it plainly:
‘With the teachings of Christ, you end up with a radical socialist program, whether you are a believer or not.’ (My Life, 2007, p156).
Most striking is his revelatory self-definition at age 80:
‘Not long ago I was telling Chavez, the president of Venezuela – because Hugo Chavez is a Christian and talks about it a lot –‘if people call me Christian, not from the standpoint of religion but from the standpoint of social vision, I declare that I am a Christian.’ On the basis of my convictions and the objectives I pursue.’ (My Life, 2007, p156).
In the last decades of his life, Fidel met three Popes: John Paul II, Benedict XVI and Francis. Pope John Paul II made a historic visit to Cuba in 1998. Fidel expressed warm admiration for him, despite the obvious paradox of the latter’s role in unravelling socialism in Poland – not least because the Pope I was among the earliest and foremost critics of neoliberal globalisation.
Ethics and The Hero
My own book ‘Fidel’s Ethics of Violence: The Moral Dimension of the Political Thought of Fidel Castro’ (2007) focused on Fidel’s contribution to the political, strategic and philosophical problem of the ethics of violence. His was not the Gandhian renunciation of violence, nor the purely tactical use of violence such as that of Mandela and the ANC. Yet he rejected the practice of terrorism and the doctrine that any kind of violence, including the targeting of unarmed civilians, was legitimate in the course of a struggle for a cause deemed just.
Though paralleling and perhaps derivative of the Christian doctrine of Just War, Fidel’s ideas, strategy and practice differed from it in a major respect. Christian Just War theory was for states and Christian princes, mainly fighting each other – Just War ‘from above’, in which rulership was understood as ‘legitimate authority’. Fidel’s Just War theory pertained to struggles from below: wars for liberation and emancipation by the peoples against unjust, illegitimate authority. He insisted on and consistently practised the avoidance of violence against non-combatants and disarmed enemies. This extended from his own guerrilla war, through the counter-guerrilla war against CIA-backed Cuban émigrés, to large-scale war across the oceans – 12 years in Angola, fighting the armed forces of apartheid South Africa.
In his practice of what Marx called ‘the critique by weapon’, Fidel bridged the gulf between the archetypes of ‘The Rebel’ and ‘The Revolutionary’ posited by Albert Camus, which fed into his debate with Jean-Paul Sartre. Camus commended the Rebel with his or her limited aims and limited violence, as distinct from the Revolutionary whose drive for wider transformation inevitably led to untrammelled violence. Fidel transcended the antinomy by being the exception. He was Rebel and Revolutionary both, maintaining scrupulous selectivity in targeting while waging and supporting wars for deep-going revolutionary objectives; practising an ethic of violence which enabled him at all times to occupy the moral high ground by universalist-humanist standards – not self-proclaimed, or nationally and culturally self-referential, norms.
Television news is a constant if inadvertent reminder of what the world was when Fidel was alive and what it has become without him. Without him to play that planetary role of spokesperson, prophet and champion, humanity is lonelier and poorer.
This article was produced by Globetrotter.
Fidel Castro Made Africa’s Struggle His Own
Amilcar Cabral, one of Africa’s foremost anti-colonial leaders, and Fidel Castro at the 1966 Tricontinental Conference in Havana, which focused on common goals of resistance to colonialism and imperialism and the establishment of an alliance across colonial national boundaries. Photo: Black Agenda Report
On August 13, 2026, the world marked one hundred years since the birth of Fidel Castro, the man who not only led the 1959 Cuban Revolution and the building of a socialist state, but also went on to become a key contributor in Africa’s twentieth-century liberation history. The centenary landed at a difficult moment for Cuba. An acute economic crisis, oil shortages, and a tightening US sanctions regime. But even under that weight, Cuba stands. And across Africa, Fidel is being remembered not as a distant Cold War figure but as a revolutionary internationalist whose name is stitched into the continent’s own liberation story.
This legacy is well-deserved. Castro’s revolution triumphed in 1959, just as Africa was entering its most decisive decade of decolonization. At that point, only Ghana and Guinea stood as independent sub-Saharan states. Within ten years, the political map of the continent would be transformed. Cuba, a small island ninety miles from the United States, chose to see its own struggle as bound up with that continental awakening.
Castro said as much in 1975, describing Cuba’s ancestry in Africa and the debt that history imposed; a promise, in his words.
“African blood flows freely through our veins. Many of our ancestors came as slaves from Africa to this land. As slaves they struggled quite a great deal. They fought as members of the liberating army of Cuba. We are brothers and sisters of the people of Africa and we are ready to fight on their behalf.”
What followed was six decades of doctors, teachers, soldiers, engineers, and political cadres sent to a continent thousands of kilometers from home.
In an interview with Ignacio Ramonet, Fidel Castro reflected on Cuba’s commitments to other oppressed nations, including the struggles for independence across Africa.
“Cuba’s heroic solidarity with our sisters’ nations in Africa has been well enough recognized. That glorious page of our revolutionary history deserves to be known, even if only to encourage the hundreds of thousands of women and men who are internationalist combatants, it should be written, as an example for present and future generations, nor, in my opinion, are people sufficiently knowledgeable about the history of Europe’s imperialist and neocolonial looting and pillaging of Africa, with, of course the full support of the United States and NATO.”
Solidarity with Africa’s struggle for liberation
Cuban doctors arrived in Algeria in 1963, an important detail that compliments the popular image of Cuban internationalism as primarily military-centered. From the beginning, Cuba’s engagement with Africa also involved medicine, education, and technical assistance. But the Congo crisis, and particularly the assassination of Patrice Lumumba, was a decisive moment in the development of Cuba’s revolutionary internationalism.
Speaking at the United Nations in September 1960, Fidel Castro condemned the continued influence of colonial interests in the Congo and explicitly defended Lumumba.
“The hand of the colonialist interest has been clear and visible in the Congo, and our opinion is consequently that colonialist interests have been favored and that every fact indicates that reason and the people of the Congo are on the side of the only leader who remained there to defend the interests of his country, and that leader is Lumumba.”
Castro extended this argument to Algeria, where the struggle against French colonialism was still underway. Declaring Cuba’s support for Algerian independence, he challenged the claim that Algeria was an extension of France and condemned the violence being inflicted on Algerian communities. He contrasted the international community’s willingness to intervene in the Congo with its reluctance to confront French colonialism in Algeria.
For Castro, however, the question of liberation extended beyond the formal end of colonial rule. He declared:
“We are, therefore, on the side of the Algerian people, as we are on the remaining colonial peoples in Africa, and on the side of those who are discriminated against in the Union of South Africa. Similarly, we are on the side of those peoples that wish to be free, not only politically, for it is very easy to acquire a flag, a coat of arms, an anthem, and a color on the map, but also economically free, for there is one truth which we should all recognize as being of primary importance, namely, that there can be no political independence unless there is economic independence, that political independence without economic independence is a lie; we therefore support the aspirations of all countries to be free politically and economically. Freedom does not consist in the possession of a flag, a coat of arms, and representation in the United Nations.”
The Congo and Algeria became the central proposition that would underpin Cuba’s later engagement with Africa. Five years later, in 1965, Che Guevara led a Cuban contingent into the Congo to support the revolutionary struggle directly. The mission did not achieve the victory Havana had hoped for, but its historical significance lay on the fact that Cuba had begun making a direct material commitment to the African struggles.
Internationalism at Full Scale
Nothing captures the scale of that commitment like Angola. When Portuguese colonial rule collapsed in 1974, Angola fractured into a three-way civil war, drawn deeper into crisis when South Africa’s apartheid government invaded Namibia to crush the Soviet and Cuban-backed MPLA before it could consolidate power.
Castro’s answer was Operation Carlota, named for an enslaved woman who led a Cuban uprising in 1843, a deliberate act of historical framing that tied the mission to Cuba’s own history of Black resistance. Cuban troops helped halt the South African advance on Luanda and secured the MPLA’s survival at independence. Over the sixteen years that followed, hundreds of thousands of Cuban personnel rotated through Angola, fighting, dying, and building an air and armored presence far beyond what a country of Cuba’s size should have been able to sustain against a superpower’s embargo.
The decisive moment came at Cuito Cuanavale in 1987–88. The battle broke the myth of apartheid South Africa’s military invincibility, shifted the regional balance of power, and helped force the negotiations that led to Namibian independence and South Africa’s withdrawal from Angola. It is difficult to overstate what that meant for the anti-apartheid movement, a small, blockaded Caribbean nation that had offered enormous solidarity and sacrifice.
African Leaders Praise Fidel
Fidel’s charisma, political conviction and commitment to revolutionary internationalism brought him into close contact with some of Africa’s leaders and revolutionaries, including Kwame Nkrumah, Julius Nyerere, Samora Machel, Agostinho Neto, Amílcar Cabral, Ahmed Sékou Touré, and Thomas Sankara. These relationships were based on a wider political convergence around anti-colonialism, national liberation, socialism, Pan-Africanism and resistance to imperialism.
While Western narratives have often presented a contested picture of Fidel Castro and his legacy, there is far less ambiguity in the memory of many African liberation movements and peoples about what Fidel and Cuba represented. For those who experienced colonialism, apartheid and foreign intervention, Cuba’s support was not an abstract Cold War alignment. It was material solidarity.
Perhaps with the passage of time, the historical record will allow an even fuller appreciation of what Fidel and the Cuban people did for Africa.
When Nelson Mandela met Fidel after his release from prison, his admiration was unmistakable, and it was rooted in something more profound than gratitude for military assistance. Mandela repeatedly pointed to the breadth of Cuba’s contribution to African liberation, the soldiers who fought alongside African forces, but also the doctors, teachers, engineers, and technicians who worked across the continent. Cuban internationalism was never reducible to arms shipments. It was an offer of human capacity, knowledge, skills and institutions to societies attempting to overcome colonialism and transform themselves. And in many respects, this civilian commitment outlasted the military one. Cuban troops eventually withdrew from Angola, but medical and educational cooperation continued into the 1990s, even as Cuba itself entered the severe economic crisis of the Special Period following the collapse of the Soviet Union.
Cuba continued to send doctors and other professionals abroad at a time when its own people were facing severe shortages at home.
By 1998, addressing the South African Parliament, Fidel put a number to the military dimension of this commitment; 381,432 Cuban soldiers and officers had served alongside African forces in struggles for independence or against foreign aggression. It represents the scale of a small country’s material and human commitment, a continent that Cuba was never compelled to assist, but whose struggles Fidel and the Cuban Revolution regarded as inseparable from their own.
Castro’s African legacy was built on a simple, unfashionable conviction, that no nation is free in isolation, and that solidarity, to mean anything, has to cost something. A century after his birth and ten years after his death, that is still the reason his name is spoken with respect from the continent. If Africa remembers what Cuba did for its liberation struggles, then perhaps the time has also come for Africa to ask what it can do for Cuba.
Cuba is today facing an economic crisis and the continuing weight of the US blockade and sanctions. Yet the country that once sent soldiers, doctors, teachers and technicians to Africa when it had very little of its own still carries the consequences of that commitment. If internationalism means anything, then solidarity must also be reciprocal.
Africa’s remembrance of Fidel should therefore also be a call for concrete solidarity with the Cuban people today, for defending Cuba’s sovereignty, opposing the blockade and refusing to allow a country that contributed so much to African liberation to face its present difficulties in isolation.
Courtesy: BreakThrough News
21st Century McCarthyism: Cuba in Crosshairs
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Fidel addressing the masses. Photo: Fidel Castro Center
It happened on May 25, 2020, in Minneapolis, in the US. George Floyd (a Black man) was arrested on suspicion of attempting to pay for a pack of cigarettes with a counterfeit $20 bill. Police officer Derek Chauvin (a white man) pinned him to the ground and pressed down on his neck for more than 9 minutes. It was to no avail that George Floyd repeated “I can’t breathe” more than 20 times. He lost consciousness and died of asphyxiation. In other words, he was murdered by the police officer. This incident sparked a wave of outrage and protests that spread to more than 2,000 cities across the US and beyond.
US history reveals a long record of discriminatory policies that reflect a structurally racist system. Outrage over the ruthless murder of a Black man at the hands of a white police officer seems like an inevitable reaction. Despite this, the US State Department has found no better explanation than to attribute responsibility for the protests to the Cuban government, whose “founding myth and central principle is to wipe the US off the face of the Earth,” as stated in an infamous report published on July 20, 2026, titled “Cuba. The Capital of 21st-Century Communism.”
The State Department report, which appears to have been generated by artificial intelligence, is a collection of clichés reminiscent of the era of Republican Senator Joseph McCarthy, who launched an anti-communist crusade between 1950 and 1954 that led to the persecution, dismissal, or imprisonment of anyone accused of belonging to or sympathizing with leftist movements – actions interpreted as “anti-American activities.” In general, there was never a judicial investigation linking the accused to such activities. A committee was created that summoned the accused, who were required to denounce acquaintances with alleged leftist views. The harassment reached such a level that refusing to answer by invoking the constitutional right against self-incrimination (Fifth Amendment) was considered proof of guilt.
Now, in the middle of 2026, the State Department is appealing to fear to create a fantasy that portrays the Cuban government and its intelligence services as the greatest threat facing the world’s greatest military power, thereby generating a climate of paranoia among the US population that fuels mistrust and sets the stage for a possible armed attack on the island.
In that report, Cuba is accused of having supported resistance movements against dictatorial and criminal regimes such as the Tupamaros, who fought against the Uruguayan dictatorship in the 1970s, the Sandinista Front, which overthrew the Somoza dictatorship in Nicaragua, or the Venezuelan guerrillas of the 1960s, who fought against the social democratic governments of Betancourt and Leoni – regimes that practiced and perfected forced disappearances, torture, and extrajudicial executions. Although the report, just as McCarthy did, presents no evidence against Cuba, there is at least no doubt that the accusation is based on Cuba’s support for those who resisted criminal governments that have been heavily criticized by history. It seems that the AI used failed to notice this detail.
The 99-page report lists the numerous actions that, without any evidence, the Cuban government allegedly carries out to infiltrate not only the US government but also social movements, labor unions, universities, and scientific and cultural platforms. It is a narrative that mixes a few verified convictions for espionage with unverified testimonies from defectors or reports from Congress, the CIA, or the FBI that cannot be substantiated.
What the report omits are the more than 60 years of U.S. aggression against Cuba, including the illegal blockade – which has been repeatedly condemned each year by the United Nations General Assembly and has caused cumulative damages since its inception amounting to $164 billion dollars – armed attacks such as the Bay of Pigs invasion, the more than 600 assassination attempts against Commander-in-Chief Fidel Castro, and the bombing of Cubana de Aviación Flight 455 on October 6, 1976 – which killed 73 people and whose masterminds, Orlando Bosch and Luis Posada Carriles, lived under the protection of the United States until their deaths.
The State Department uses this report to incriminate all forms of dissent within the US, conflating different eras and movements (such as the Black Panthers, Black Lives Matter, lawyers’ associations, universities, and solidarity brigades) as part of an alleged plan to destroy “American values.” Suddenly, it turns out that academic agreements between the University of Havana and US universities are part of an espionage agenda, that Cuba’s tourism development plans are part of an indoctrination agenda, and that the Cuban medical brigade is actually a brigade of spies scattered around the world to destroy Western values.
The State Department report (now headed by Marco Rubio, a liar, opportunist, and ambitious politician) has no academic or intelligence value. That is not its significance. Its significance lies in the fact that it explicitly reveals an essentially fascist government that seeks to impose itself on the world through force, censorship, and fear – and this includes the American people themselves.
The Argentine writer Julio Cortázar wrote: “To be a fascist – even if no one has defined it exactly – one need only observe it as a form of behavior to sense that its root is negative, that it stems from fear.” It is precisely that fear that the Trump administration uses to justify its authoritarian actions. The evil enemy is first called a communist, then a terrorist, an Islamist, a drug trafficker, a migrant, and now, once again, a communist. A dangerous course of action that seeks to build an international platform of repression in the style of a renewed and reinforced Operation Condor, using sophisticated technological tools to ruthlessly attack Cuba – but which aims to destroy anything that challenges it.
This year we commemorate the centennial of Commander-in-Chief Fidel Castro. Like few others, Fidel embodies human dignity and the defense of principles as unyielding values for building that other possible and necessary world of justice, equality, and peace. Where Cuba sends medical brigades, the United States sends soldiers trained to kill. Where Cuba sends teachers to teach reading and writing and bring light to marginalized communities, the United States sends media trash, alienation, darkness, and death. Cuba has withstood humanity’s greatest threat with dignity, and it is the duty of all of us to voice our strongest condemnation of the policies implemented by the US government (as outlined in that despicable report today) and to express our solidarity, on the centennial of Commander Fidel Castro, with that brave people.
Guillermo R. Barreto is Venezuelan and holds a Ph.D. in Science (University of Oxford). He is a retired professor at Simón Bolívar University (Venezuela). He served as Deputy Minister of Science and Technology, President of the National Fund for Science and Technology, and Minister of Ecosocialism and Water (Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela). He is currently a researcher at the Tricontinental Institute for Social Research and a visiting scholar at the Center for the Study of Social Transformations-IVIC.
This article was produced by Globetrotter.
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