Next we take Congo

In a picture from Monday Nov 28 we see Herzen sitting in the ‘Pocket Change’ at Santiago de Cuba’s Punta Gorda Marina. In the upper-left corner – to the northwest; we can just make out the contours of the Sierra Maestra Mountains where Fidel Castro and his column once operated and directed their attacks against Battista’s troops. Herzen is looking in the opposite direction - to the east – across the Sierra Cristal Mountains – towards Guantanamo Bay.
Out of frame is the main part of the European column - five cheery Jamaicans; all drinking iced rum punch out of large pink plastic jugs. Obviously someone has taken pity on the mission leader and handed him a jug of the Jamaican brew. Next to him are Europe and the sonic weaponry.

Three hours earlier Europe had carried out its long awaited attack on the American base at Guantanamo. The following is an excerpt from the Battle Log:

Employing the service of the Cuban state taxi mercenary Jose [130 Pesos], they set out from Punta Gorda at 10 AM, Cuban time. En route from Punta Gorda to the battleground – some 140 km away - morale seems high. The column is carried forward by a forest of encouraging slogans in the roadside, the most poignant of which spells: No hay mission impossible! Points of identification are given to us by rows of portraits of great revolutionary generals – Che Guevara being the one closest to our generational segment.
Midway, the Jamaican faction seems momentarily to loose confidence in the sense of the mission, but Buggy-Up’s pessimism quickly dissipates when we make a stop at a roadside stand to replenish the stock of Cuban Buccanero beers.

1.30 PM: As we reach the town of Guantanamo, our radio picks up the first audio signals from our American adversaries – Radio Gitmo. Suddenly that most dreaded weapon in the US arsenal of sonic weaponry is booming out of the PA system of our Lada. [Oh, no - can it be. Yes, it is… - Oh, the horror – it is the tune from hell. It is, yes it is HOTEL CALIFORNIA!!!]

On a dark desert highway / Cool wind in my hair / Warm smell of colitis / Rising up through the air / Up ahead in the distance / I saw a shimmering light / My head grew heavy, and my sight grew dim / I had to stop for the night / There she stood in the doorway / I heard the mission bell / And I was thinking to myself / This could be Heaven or this could be Hell

Jose desperately tries to blend out the American psychotronics with several of his own interpretations of the Cuban evergreen Guantanamera at the top of his voice. Chocked and weary from the exacting journey, no one thinks of turning off the radio. This standoff between Cuban and American pop culture comes to an abrupt end when the lethal “Eagles” song gives way to a message from the radio host cheerily announcing a Woffle Ball tournament 'down at "Cable Beach"'.

2.02 PM: Stopped by Cuban soldiers some 20 kilometers south of Guantanamo. We have reached the Cuban military training grounds, which surrounds Camp Delta. Appearing not to notice our ghetto blaster, they let us past with a military vehicle leading the way, accompanying us this last stretch up a steep winding dirt road to the Loma Malones [Mirador de Melones] observation point.

2.22 PM: The column takes up its position at Loma Malones above the American Naval Base. On the far east side, down at the beach, Camp Delta, the detention facilities with its line of low huts accommodating the prisoners surrounded by watchtowers, can be seen shimmering in the midday heat.

At 2.27 PM: The attack is launched. The sonic bombardment swamps the plain below with at least two movements from Furtwängler’s Vienna performance of Beethoven’s Third Symphony.

2.30 PM: The Jamaican Europeans loose interest in battle operations and go to the nearby restaurant [Mirador de Melones] to look for more Buccanero’s. The Cuban mercenary Jose is bantering away with employees from the restaurant.

2.35 PM: First assessment of impact. Herzen borrows the powerful Cuban binoculars fitted with state of the art prism technology to assess the effect. Nothing much seems to happen!!! No one is moving down there. No rush to man the posts. The guards in the watchtowers don’t even look in look in our direction. - The breeze doesn’t seem to be favourable to us! It’s carrying our Napoleonic terror notes away from the American savages. Straining the ears of the poor Cubans instead of the ears of the straw-chewing, short-cropped, evangelist, hormone-bred farmers down below.

2.38 PM: Second assessment of impact. Our weapon of choice is useless under these conditions. Then an unexpected turn of events: The mood of the column changes synchronously with the music; the sublimely gentle second movement triggers a profound feeling of nostalgia for the European homeland. Feelings of acute melancholia blends out the remainder of European heroism and confidence. - The exact same thing that happened to the Swiss mercenaries of yore whenever they heard the clang of cowbells. They would instantly lay down their arms to return to their beloved homeland.

2.40 PM: Herzen suffers an acute attack of self-doubt - was this all just another middle class quest for identity and selfhood?

2.41 PM: Herzen declares the mission an all-out failure. Realizing that he too, like everyone else, is thrown into this world, he switches off the ghetto blaster and walks off.

The journey has reached the end of its parabola and Herzen – der reine Tor; the pure fool – is no longer as pure as he would like to have been Europe wasn’t ready yet for this kind of intervention. Europe has no heart; only nostalgia for something that is not of this world. The answer lies in Congo – it lies in the heart of Africa.