From Machista
to New
Man?:
Omar
Cabezas Negotiates Manhood from the
Mountain in
University of Arkansas at
Little Rock
Three years after the
triumph of the Sandinista Revolution in
1979, Nicaraguan revolutionary, author, and current human rights
activist Omar
Cabezas published his political
In La
montaña,
it becomes clear that despite his working class origin, Cabezas
initially constructs
his identity as a man and revolutionary according to the pristine image
of the bourgeois
male promoted by the Somoza Regime, an image that defines men in
clear-cut
opposition to women, emphasizes the competitive nature of the
relationships between
men, and requires that men demonstrate extreme physical and emotional
vigor in
front of others (Izenberg 6-8).(2) Yet,
one observes that upon his arrival to the
mountain and after he is exposed to several aspects of the revolution
that are
commonly unmentionable for man in an urban setting – bodily needs and
functions, the scatological, insecurities, and the true origin of his
purported
sexual desires – Cabezas begins to act, although unconsciously at
first,
according to a new male code in Nicaragua embodied in the Sandinista. This new masculine model disputes
traditional machista praxis and
discourse and emphasizes instead the guerrilla rebel’s capacity to
survive and change in relation to the mountain, to the other rebels
living
there, and to the historical needs and demands of the Sandinista
revolutionary
project. Cabezas’ wavering
between the
bourgeois and revolutionary codes of manhood not only suggests that in
order to
reinvent society in a revolutionary
context, one had to reinvent man, as
Karl Marx, Aníbal Ponce and Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara had
previously argued, but it also confirms, as Judith Butler asserts, that
gender
is “transformable” and therefore, its meaning is negotiated and is
contingent upon shifting socio-historical and political contexts (Undoing Gender 27).
The City: From
Bourgeois Space to Revolutionary Inferno
Cabezas consciously frames
his work between two years
that represent distinct moments in Nicaraguan history: 1968 and 1979. The first year was defined by much
mistrust in the Somoza Regime and the counterrevolutionary activity
that would
culminate in the early 1980s with President Reagan’s support of the
U.S.
trained anti-communist Nicaraguan Contras, while the latter was the
year in
which the Sandinistas declared their triumph in Nicaragua. The success of such a
movement would
signify the end of the over forty-year reign of the
Cabezas’ formation as a
student and the shaping of his
revolutionary identity in relation to such significant historical
moments
prompts him to define his male identity according to two of the
prevalent
models of masculinity in Nicaragua at the time: the bourgeois male
embodied in
the members of the National Guard (the Somocistas)
and the revolutionary code of manhood implemented by the Sandinistas
on the mountain.
At the onset, Cabezas acts according to the bourgeois male code. However, his subconscious desire to
rebel against his Somocista father
and to participate in the formation of a clandestine revolutionary base
in the
city, an action that would eventually lead him to the mountain, a
political
space central to revolutionary
discourse, results in his gradual detachment from such an ideal and
later
embrace of a new way of being a man through Sandinismo
(Duchesne 145). (4)
In the opening chapters of
his narrative, Cabezas presents
himself as an emblematic macho
college student who drinks, smokes, philanders with women and gambles
to pass
the time, activities that suggest a form of competition with other
males and
thus reinforce long-established masculine patterns. (5) One of his favorite
diversions is
to provoke the bourgeois girls – the burguesitas
– that he spots during routine cruises around town in a car by sticking
his tongue out at them and following them around: “A nosotros nos
gustaba
verles el cutis, la forma de mover los labios, les mirábamos las
uñas cuando hacían los cambios, las manos eran bien
bonitas, dan
ganas como de que te acaricien unas manos así; y cuando las
ventanas
iban abiertas y el viento soplaba se les agitaba el pelo y quedaban sus
cabelleras frente a nosotros, sobre el espaldar del asiento” (30).
Cabezas’ detailed
description of the coveted lips,
nails, hair, and hands and ensuing desire to be touched by bourgeois
girls
suggests that a key aspect in his identity as a man at this point
centers on
the sexist (heterosexual) nature of the relations between men and
women, the
type of relationship that, according to Judith Butler, operates as a
regulatory
gender norm in patriarchal societies (Gender
Trouble 136). Such a scene also
reveals Cabezas’ class consciousness – one was either bourgeois or
not and he was of the working class – an awareness that will contribute
to his eventual decision to participate in the revolution, as becomes
clear in
what follows.
Despite Cabezas’ outright
display of these and other
rebellious tendencies, during Holy Week, all of his local hangouts are
closed
and due to a combination of boredom and peer pressure from friends, he
finds
other more productive pastimes related to the Sandinista Movement. At the time, though Cabezas begins to
“hear and hear” of the revolution and even helps to promote it by
handing out pamphlets, participating in manifestations and speaking to
other
revolutionaries from the city, he continues to see it as a mere
diversion (Cabezas
10). Cabezas’ body-centered
anxieties, inexperience in revolutionary praxis and wavering opinion of
Marxism
force him to adopt a passive attitude towards the cause (34, 16, 11). Yet, one of his primary concerns, if not
the main one, lies in the fact that his father supported the
dictatorship; he
was a Somocista: “yo
sabía que a mi papá le ganaba la Guardia […] [m]i
padre era de familia opositora, militaba en el Partido Conservador” (8). Cabezas’ participation in
the Sandinista cause would
force him to openly contest his father’s political beliefs and the very
ideological structures – including those related to gender – he
supported as a leading member of the United States-backed Conservative
Party
(Ward 305).
Implicit in Cabezas’
description of his father as a
member of the National Guard, Somoza’s Army, is his perception of a
powerful man, a quality that he both fears and in which he takes pride. Such contradictory feelings become
evident when he watches his father direct a secret meeting of other Somocistas in León. At that moment,
Cabezas relates
“tuve la sensación de ser hijo de una persona muy
importante” (Cabezas 8). On the other hand, Cabezas
had always
associated Somoza’s Army with unnecessary violence, blood, and
injustice
done to people for simply drinking or brawling outside of the bar (7).
Another contrastive
component of his father’s power
that Cabezas silences in his narrative but mentions in a 1984 interview
with
Margaret Randall was his race, and more importantly, what this aspect
meant for
the gender identity of a self-described physically weak boy of mestizo origin: “[w]hen I was
small, I was a runt of a kid, a skinny child, and the ugly duckling of
the
family. All of my brothers were
fair […] [m]y father was fair, too.
But my mother wasn’t.
My mama is Indian, mestiza.
And my father was white. I came out
like my mama. I was skinny, physically
weak. Physical weakness gives you a
certain
sense of fragility, on the outside” (124). If,
as Roger Lancaster contends, the
question of race in Nicaragua is not necessarily related to an
established
racial hierarchy, but rather is reflective of “discursive gestures that
are contingent and contextual and whose terms are eminently logical and
self-interested,” then one could assume that Cabezas consciously uses
the
terms “mestizo” and “fair” to distinguish his racial
and ethnic background from his father’s (225). It
also indicates that he inscribes
himself and his family into an understood, but not an established,
racial structure
in which distinctive features such as fair/masculine and
mestizo/feminine are
viewed side by side.
Apart from his awareness
of these connected physical and
ideological weaknesses and his racial and ethnic background – all
qualities that, in Cabezas’ mind, categorize him as a subaltern when
compared to his “fair/powerful” Somocista
father – he is conscious of his social class. This implies,
but does not
necessarily concretize, his alignment with the Proletarios:
“yo estaba muy consciente de que era de familia
proletaria y, entonces, cuando se hablaba en la universidad de la
injusticia,
de la pobreza, yo me acordaba de mi barrio que era un barrio pobre”
(Cabezas 10). (6)
Up to this point, Cabezas
has reflexively defined himself
according to and thus aspired to his father’s individualistic and
militaristic model of manhood and accordingly adopts – with the
abovementioned fractures – a machista
lifestyle. One could assume,
for instance, that Cabezas’ vision of the revolution as a way to prove
himself to others (especially his father) and to surpass barriers of
race,
class, and gender in moving from machista
to Sandinista are all related to
a seemingly inherent vision of himself in relation to a traditional
male code. Cabezas’ participation in the
revolution would definitively dissociate him from his father’s
political
affiliation (to whom leftists were traitors, cowards and wimps) as well
as from
the teachings of a predominantly masculine University where the message
was
clear: “los del Frente […] eran comunistas y venían de Rusia
y de Cuba y que sólo mandaban a la gente a morir como pendeja a
la
montaña” (12).
As a first step towards
his embrace of Sandinismo, Cabezas agrees to take
theoretical courses on the
revolution and to attend local meetings of several different student
revolutionary organizations. He eventually
participates in the formation of clandestine cadres in the city. Such actions, at least on
the
surface, demonstrate a growing interest in the revolution, but Cabezas
admits
that his hombría or masculine
pride is what drives him to commit completely to the movement: “Me
imaginé
tantas cosas… y entre más cosas me imaginaba el miedo era mayor
pero, por supuesto, yo estaba de lo más serio y sereno delante
de Juan
José [Quezada], porque delante de él yo no podía
aparentar
ser un miedoso […] porque ahí había una cuestión
de
hombría” (13). Cabezas covers up his
anxieties by
appearing “manly” in front of his ostensibly more qualified
comrades. His instinct to perform
his masculinity in a new environment, to “flout the codes of behavior
expected of [him]” confirms his ostensible internalization of a
bourgeois
code of masculinity that judges men on their capacity to appear strong
and
unwavering in front of others (Shepard 248). It
also suggests that Cabezas eventually
participates in Sandinismo not
necessarily because of his beliefs or ideals, but as a means to surpass
the
insecurities related to his “fragile” male identity in contrast to
his father’s.
Cabezas’ interaction with
Quezada and subtle participation
in the movement inspire an incipient and superficial shift from the
egotistical
machista living according to the rules established
by the Conservative
Party and his Somocista father to a
future Sandinista. Yet
his reencounter with longtime friend
and revolutionary Leonel Rugama, a self-proclaimed Marxist-Leninist
aligned
with the Prolonged Popular War (GPP), forces the impressionable college
student
to pursue a new way of being a man in Nicaragua that perturbs the
perpetual machista ideal promoted by the current
hegemony: “Leonel te planteaba la cuestión de ser hombre, pero
no
ya en el caso del macho, sino del hombre que adquiere responsabilidad
histórica, un compromiso para con los demás, de quien lo
da todo
para felicidad de los demás” (21-22). Cabezas
later explains that the new male
code that his fellow comrade persuades him to live by is akin to the
model of
humanity that pervades former Argentine revolutionary Ernesto ‘Che’
Guevara’s writings on the guerrilla rebel and the new man,
the practical and ideological products of the Cuban
Revolution, respectively. (7)
In Nicaragua to be a
Sandinista is to be like Che
In Nicaragua, the rebel’s
impulse not only to agree
with Che’s ideological views on man and revolution, but to strive to be like Che was most readily embraced
by the Sandinista, a model of man
that according to Carlos Fonseca, co-founder of the Sandinista National
Liberation Front (FSLN), eschews the defining characteristics of the
bourgeois
male and highlights instead man’s historical responsibility,
self-sacrificial nature, and capacity to demonstrate the complementary
nature
of words and actions in a revolutionary context through respect,
sincerity, and
fraternity (Fonseca 9).
At this point, Cabezas,
more concerned with preserving his
male pride in front of others than with his deep embracing of the
Sandinista
code, hesitates to purge himself completely of his old machista
ways while dedicating himself fully to the revolution:
“No estaba muy seguro – y más que seguro tenía cierto
temor o duda, o qué sé yo lo que sentía – de
llevar
un compromiso hasta las últimas consecuencias” (Cabezas 13). He does fantasize, however – from
an almost epic-macho perspective – about
personally meeting the brave bearded men from the mountain that rebels
from the
city associate with revolutionary and manly excellence and seems eager
to reach
the “heart of the Sandinista Front”: “[i]ba
a conocer personalmente a
esos famosos hombres, a los guerrilleros, a la gente como el Che. Cómo serían
sus
barbas, cómo hacían la comida […] iba a estar en el
corazón del Frente Sandinista, en lo más oculto, en lo
más
virgen del Frente, en lo más delicado” (89).
In providing Cabezas with
a vivid picture of both the space
and role model that represent the authority on the revolution – the
mountain and the guerrilla rebel formed there – Cabezas’ comrades
reveal what Renata Salecl calls the “trick” of a successful
political discourse (33). In
addition to supplying him with heroic images with which to identify,
they construct
the symbolic space from which Cabezas could feasibly move beyond his
identity
as a traditional man from the city
and convert himself into a noteworthy revolutionary – a Sandinista,
despite his self-perceived
deficiencies and inherent machista tendencies. With such a shift, Cabezas advances from
a student whose peer-pressured participation in the revolution
consisted of the
simple (non-political) act of passing out pamphlets to a view of
himself as a
future guerrilla rebel, a committed political man who could be
like Che (Cabezas 22).
The combination of
Cabezas’ abovementioned identity issues,
self-seeking impulse to be like Che
and heroic vision of the mountain and the guerrilla rebels formed there
drives
him to this space (89). Yet it will
not be long before he realizes that his quest to be like
Che and prior admiration for the bearded rebels on the
mountain becomes a mere mission for survival that will urge him to test
his
vision of himself as a man according to a bourgeois mandate that from
the
outside privileges heroism over pragmatism. Cabezas’
experiences on “la estepa verde” force him to
deconstruct his previous fantasy construction of revolution and to
construct
his masculinity according to a different code of manhood specific to
the
isolation so characteristic of such a space. As
Cabezas works towards surviving in
this geography, he continues to act at first according to a machista
ideal that defines men in
relation to women and the competition between men and promotes an
individualistic approach to revolution.
However, his mission to become a Sandinista
will ultimately allow gender-related aspects of the revolution that
appeared
unmentionable in an urban setting to surface.
From Machista to New Man?:
Masculinity on the Mountain
During his college days,
Cabezas’ body was the vehicle
through which he conventionally acted on his rebellious and sexual
desires. On the mountain, it
becomes an instrument essential for the completion of basic tasks such
as
carrying his heavy backpack during routine climbs, an action Cabezas is
hardly
capable of doing with ease at the outset.
Aware of the fragile state of his body, when faced with duties
like
these and others that require him to rely on his physical competence in
the
presence of other revolutionaries and peasants, Cabezas hides his
flaws.
Instead, he strives to perform his role as a guerrilla fighter with an
unwavering confidence in order to show
off in front of his fellow comrades as well as to trick himself
into
believing that he possesses a capacity to survive on the mountain.
In his first
description of the guerrilla phase of the revolution, Cabezas compares
such a
process to a series of golpes or
hits: “Ese camino de ser un solo hombre es la composición de un
montón de pequeños golpecitos […] me daba horror pensar
que
me podían estar viendo, entonces, yo le hacía huevo para
que ese
golpe fuera un golpe elegante […] un golpe guerrillero, un golpe
valiente, un golpe dominante […] aunque no me estuvieran viendo”
(92). Cabezas’ recognition of
his
efforts in front of others suggests that he continues to identify with
a
conventional male model that, as Roger Horrocks asserts, requires men
to always
be on guard, to be vigilant about their own and other’s masculine
image,
even in moments of weakness (98).
As a result, Cabezas demonstrates a false sense of confidence in
order
to maintain his façade of competent guerrilla rebel. This anxiety to continue to conceal his
debilities in the presence of others has resonances of Slavoj Zizek’s
definition of the cynical subject; one that though aware of the
distance
between the ideological mask – for Cabezas, a vision of himself as a
competent rebel – and the social reality – his incapacity to live
up to such an impossible standard – still insists upon the mask (29).
Cabezas’ exacerbated
impulse to pose as a veritable
rebel or to prove that “[he] could ‘take it’” is
further evidenced when, in facing the perils of life in such an
indomitable
space, he summons images of Claudia, his love interest from the city as
well as
images of the family he desires to build with her as incentives to
perform at
his utmost capacity (Seidler 60). Claudia
“era motor, era seguridad, era confianza, era balas, era ver por sobre
la
oscuridad de la noche, era más aire en los pulmones, más
fortaleza en las piernas, era sentido de orientación, era fuego,
nuestro
amor era ropa seca y calientita, nuestro amor era champa, Victoria,
tranquilidad, era todo … futuro… hijos …era todo lo computable
para mi cerebro” (Cabezas 257).
In using the family, its
space and its symbols (i.e. fire,
clothing, comfort, and future through reproduction), bourgeois loci
based on a
“naturalized heterosexuality that requires and regulates gender as a
binary relation” to comfort and motivate him to act heroically on the
mountain, Cabezas further demonstrates his almost unconscious
identification
with a patriarchal mandate that defines man in relation to and as the
“head” of such an institution (Butler, Gender Trouble 22-23).
Despite
the centrality of the family and the home to his bourgeois discourse,
the
fissures of Cabezas’ representation are rapidly exposed when the reader
learns that during his absence, Claudia leaves him for one of his
revolutionary
comrades even though she is pregnant with their first child, news she
relates
to Cabezas in a letter. In the
closing of her letter, Claudia discloses her feelings: “[D]ejame
decirte
que siempre te querré, o que siempre te respetaré y te
admiraré, fraterna” (Cabezas 257). This
event, without a doubt, has
negative repercussions for Cabezas’ self-perception as a
“man.” Ironically, Claudia’s now
“brotherly” bond with Cabezas will eventually force him to embrace
a different type of masculinity, one that is defined by a fraternal
bond with
fellow comrades in arms rather than by its roots in the family unit,
core of a
bourgeois society.
Initially
sheltered by a successful
capacity to perform (or lie) in front of others, Cabezas soon realizes
that in
order to subsist on the mountain he must depend on the other
guerrillas, even
at the risk of revealing the falsehood of his masculine pride. Despite his initial struggles, Cabezas
has to adapt quickly to the dampness, hunger, and dirt of the mountain. Nevertheless, the astonishing feeling of
loneliness that overcomes him during his time here erodes his sense of
self.
All these things first become
evident
when, after three straight days of marching, Cabezas feels the sudden
urge to
go to the bathroom. In noting the
novice guerrilla’s difficulty in carrying out such a basic bodily
function, a fellow compañero guides
Cabezas through the process and instructs him to first dig a hole, then
grab
some leaves, and finally, clean himself off with them (102). Cabezas complies, but the end result is
quite unsettling; he fills his entire hand with his own feces and in a
hurried
effort to “sterilize” himself; he almost instinctively sticks his
fingers in the dirt: “Me voy con todos mis chimones, el pobrecito,
abrí el hueco, cago, y entonces agarro unas cuantas hojas, la
cosa es
que me llené toda la mano limpiándome […] todo me lleno
allí, las uñas, entonces hundo la uña en la
tierra,
así, para limpiarme, entonces me limpio con más hojas”
(102). Cabezas’ desperate attempt to
sanitize his hand with the very dirt and mud of the mountain and thus
to rid
himself of the pure, a “defect” of his past, is not only symbolic
of his unconscious impulse to peel away layers of his previous urban
and
bourgeois self, but is also indicative of his subsequent desire, though
unconscious at this point, to construct his identity according to a
different
male standard more suitable to the mountain (Kristeva 77).
This
scene also highlights Cabezas’ decision to ask a fellow comrade for
help,
an act that symbolizes the beginning of a shift from a competitive
(traditional-masculine) to a cooperative relationship among men that Cabezas
calls “fraternidad […] un amor de hermanos, un amor fraterno”
(Cabezas 118). (8) Therefore,
while he initially describes his relationship to other men in a
competitive
light, now Cabezas relates: “Entre nosotros, no había
egoísmo. Como que la
montaña y el lodo, el lodo y la lluvia también, la
soledad, como
que nos fueron lavando un montón de taras de la sociedad
burguesa. Nos fueron lavando una serie de
vicios
[…] allí, aprendimos a ser humildes” (119).
If initially Cabezas had
fooled himself into believing that
he could be like Che,
“Tello,” a peasant that serves as his direct leader and primary
(male) role model on the mountain until members of Somoza’s National
Guard assassinate him, quickly points to the city students’ weaknesses
when he realizes their difficulty in carrying out what he views as even
the
most basic tasks: “Hijueputas, aprendan a cargar la comida que se
hartan
[…] son unas mujercitas… son unos maricas, estudiantes de mierda
que para nada sirven…” (126). (9)
Here Tello, a man that Cabezas describes
as physically and mentally tough but capable of crying when faced with
deception and disappointment, feminizes the men to force them to act by
appealing to their inner machista (126).
Yet
Cabezas’ shifting perspective also significantly affects the way in
which
he interprets Tello’s earlier feminization of him and the others. Whereas before Cabezas related Tello’s
ostensible
discursive violence on the rebels to his promotion of yet another
unreachable
military-type masculine ideal, he now understands it as just a
perlocutive
strategy that his superior used to urge the guerrilla rebels to build
themselves up in relation to the mountain and the other men there:
“Tello
parece que el jodido sólo nos había querido hacer de
piedra
físicamente y luego también a nivel psíquico, a
nivel de
voluntad, de la conciencia, hacernos indestructibles la voluntad y la
conciencia” (130).
The changes in Cabezas’
view of the dirt, the community
of “comrades in arms,” Tello’s teachings and the guerrilla
phase of the revolution on the mountain also allow him to see that his
experience
is not any different from that of his fellow guerrilla rebels, a
realization
that will eventually condition him to employ the collective and
cooperative
“we” rather than the individual and competitive “I”
dominant in the first part of his narrative. Such
a shift, according to Ileana
Rodríguez, represents an attempt to break away from the
individualism so
typical of a bourgeois male (“Conservadurismo y disensión”
773).
Progressively, Cabezas
actively works to rid himself of the
socio-political and materialistic baggage of patriarchal society and
begins to
act consciously in accordance with the standard of the new
man promoted on the mountain. For
Cabezas and the other Sandinistas,
the new man is the guerrilla rebel
who, in training on the mountain, suffers, learns, breaks from the “old
man,” and gradually reconstructs his identity according to the new male
mandate born out of the conditions of life in such a geography: “Para
ser
el hombre nuevo tenemos que pasar un montón de penalidades, para
matar
al hombre viejo y que vaya naciendo el hombre nuevo […] [e]l
hombre que da más a los hombres que lo que el hombre normal
puede dar a
los hombres, pero a costa de sacrificios, a costa de destrucción
de sus
taras, de sus vicios […] ser como el Che, ser como el Che” (Cabezas
128-129).
At this point, different
from the romanticized version that
Cabezas coined back in the city, to be
like Che means to adapt to the mountain, to show emotions, to ask
for help,
to cooperate instead of competing, to form part of a brotherhood of
men, and to
demonstrate a keen self-awareness.
In addition, Cabezas’ physical challenges, emotional needs and
continual
“cleansing” himself of his “old” machista ways –
either consciously or not – combine and
consequently enable him to encounter a tender side of
his male identity that he did not even realize existed
prior to living in the harshness of the mountain. Such changes confirm
that the
mountain is, as one of the Sandinistas calls it “una gran escuela”
(185).
This awareness affects
Cabezas’
view of the revolution and his role in the process.
Instead of interpreting his clandestine
revolutionary experience as a series of golpes
or a manly competition as he did in the beginning, he ends up
describing it as
a quest for change through collaborative survival in “la
estepa verde.” This means that rather
than define man
according to his relationships with women, this typically
male-dominated
“school” (185) foments what Diana Sorensen recognizes as the
“imagined community of men,” one that “espouses the grammar
of fraternity […] while fostering the conditions for utopian
growth” (A Turbulent Decade 27).
Through his experiences
during the
guerrilla phase of the revolution, Cabezas learns to view the
relationships
between men as a vital component in both his personal process of
transformation
and in his working towards the superior form of humanity of the Sandinista. Accordingly, he
strives to grow in
unison with both the mountain and his fellow compañeros
in their fight for a common socio-political goal.
Cabezas’ experiences as a
rebel not only urge him to
revise his view of homosocial bonds, but they expose the origin of his
alleged
sexual desires as well. If he
initially describes himself as a man with a powerful sexual drive and
an
irrepressible lust for women, a self-perception that is particularly
evident in
the games he played with the burguesitas from
the city, after spending months living in solitude, he realizes that
what he
previously perceives as an innate need to be with a woman was not just
related
to a sexual impulse, but emerged more as an effect of his initial
incapacity to
perform even the most basic duties of the guerrilla (i.e. carrying his
backpack, marching up the mountain, and tending to his bodily
functions) and
his loneliness (Cabezas 114). When
such anxieties creep up, Cabezas reactively alleviates them through
masturbation: “Un principio así de ideas eróticas,
sexuales, me empezó la idea y la cabeza se me sexualizó
también,
cuando me di cuenta es que ya había terminado de masturbarme y
me
sentí tranquilo, suave, reposado” (138). Despite the sexual
undertones in Cabezas’ description
of how man “relieves” the pressures of quotidian life on the
mountain, such an action is not representative of his desire to be with
a woman
or to restore his position within a heterosexual episteme.
It reveals instead that when this very
structure that Butler calls a regulatory gender norm based on the
illusive
differences between the “male” and “female” genders is
displaced or located outside of its original constrictive site – in
this
case the city – it surfaces in response to other concerns unrelated to
sex (Gender Trouble 22-23).
Finally, the shift is also
clearly evident in Cabezas’
fraternal reunion with longtime friend from the city El
Gato (
Cabezas’ changing view of
his male identity, as evidenced
in his desire to seek the nonhierarchical company and fraternal embrace
of his
old friend
Clashing Codes of
Manhood: The New Man Confronts his Machista
Past
The abovementioned
examples illustrate how Cabezas distanced
himself from a limiting paradigm that defines man in relation to his
capacity
to perform in front of others and his role within the family unit, a
distancing
seen when
certain aspects of life on the mountain not typically addressed by men
in an
urban setting seep through the cracks of Cabezas’ presumably unwavering
machista identity. Yet, when Cabezas
falls ill first with leprosy and later with appendicitis and is forced
by Sandinista officials to return to the
city sooner than expected, he faces the difficult task of reinserting
himself into
a context defined by the admonitory machista
code. Cabezas’ return to
León is his reencounter with the “old,” what he knew before,
though a space somehow different now since his experiences on the
mountain have
changed him, at least on the surface.
Out from under the shelter of the mountain, Cabezas, now a new man in formation, struggles to
reacquaint himself with the city in his new role as a Sandinista
and educator of future rebels.
Almost one year later, he
realizes that his house, his family
and his friends have all remained unaltered (Cabezas 200-201). This suggests that while the mountain
represents change and a moving towards the future, the traditional
symbols that
define Cabezas’ past stay the same.
Images of the city, the University and even the people as
stagnant,
unmoving, fixed in place are not only significant for the obvious
symbolism of
the purportedly “stable” nature of the bourgeois social code. They also beg the question of how
Cabezas, who learned to purge himself of the traces of his former machista identity on the mountain, will
face the task of reinserting himself in an urban setting as changed,
but
“normal” at the same time.
Soon enough, his friends
actively seek to thrust him back
into the sexist relations Cabezas covered up with the protective layer
of dirt
he acquired on “la estepa verde”. They
do this by convincing his nurse to
touch him in what Cabezas deems a “sexual way” while he awaits his
emergency appendectomy (206). When
Cabezas struggles to resist such a temptation, he calls upon the dirt,
mud,
feces and hardships characteristic of the mountain as a means to
neutralize his
sexual impulses: “Sentía su piel, sobre mi carne, sobre mi pene,
sobándolo, restregándolo, moviéndolo y entonces,
volvía rápido a pensar en la montaña, acordarme
cuando iba
caminando en el barro y me caía, cuando andaba buscando
leña,
cuando andaba cansado y tenía que subir la cuesta […] pero la
mujer me agarraba […] con la mano delicada” (206).
Regardless
of his conscious efforts, Cabezas eventually gives
in as his (subconscious) desire to come together with a woman and to
prove his
manhood in front of his peers takes over.
Cabezas’ difficulty in
acting as a new man in an “old” urban context is
further evidenced
when shortly after his surgery, still struggling to walk on his own, he
gets
the sudden urge to have his first post-operative bowel movement during
the
march of rebels he leads through one of the peasant villages
surrounding
León. Unable to find a restroom
or even a latrine, Cabezas returns to the skills he learned on the
mountain to
deal with similar situations and proceeds to dig a hole, cover up the
evidence
with dirt, and clean himself with some leaves he finds on the ground
nearby. Different from his days on
the mountain where “filth” was taken as a “boundary”
between his machista identity and his
emerging Sandinista side (Kristeva
69), now in a “pristine” context, Cabezas views such an action as
vulgar and inhumane: “[T]uve que cagar de pie. Era una
cuestión de lo
más incómoda y engorrosa… te sentías animal o
vegetal, pero no te podés sentir gente en esas condiciones”
(Cabezas 211). Cabezas’
affirmation that one could not possibly feel
human in this situation, a clear indication of the resurfacing of a
bourgeois view of “dirt” as impure and repulsive, breaks from the
code of manhood from the mountain.
Cabezas’ shifting perspective implies that the scrupulous machista standard that teaches men to
censure their thoughts, words, and actions continues to prevail in the
city. Cabezas’ setbacks, which also
divulge
his apparent reversion back to the limiting vision of man he sought to
refute
through his participation in the revolution, suggest, as Zizek affirms,
that
his internalization of ideology – either bourgeois or revolutionary
– never fully succeeds, at
least on a subconscious level (Zizek 43).
In
this study, I traced Omar Cabezas’ self-construction as a man and
revolutionary in three distinct phases of his participation in the
Sandinista
Revolution: his role as a university student in León, Nicaragua,
his
quest to participate in Sandinismo from
the mountain, and a third stage in which he tried to apply lessons
learned in
such a geography to what he described as a stagnant urban setting. Cabezas’ trajectory confirms that
regardless of the changes he undergoes in each specific stage of the
revolutionary process, his reencounter with the bourgeois norm that
defined his
past upon his coming down from the mountain prompts him to revert to
the “old”
machista mandate. Cabezas’
shift or moving backwards
highlights his difficulty performing according to the standard for the new man established on “la estepa
verde” in an unchanged urban context.
However,
in the final chapter when Cabezas meets Don Leandro, a peasant and
former rebel
who participated in the fight alongside former rebel leader Augusto
Sandino
decades prior, he realizes that to be a Sandinista
in Nicaragua is not to aspire to be
like Che from either an epic-romantic or a revolutionary
standpoint, but it
is to construct his identity in relation to his personal experiences,
needs,
desires and mestizo origin:
“[y]o voy a hacer una vida […] y voy a pintar la historia de mi
vida del color que más me guste” (271). With
this, Cabezas seems to allude to an
impending partial success in breaking from a bourgeois mandate, for he
vows to consciously build a new life for himself in the city that would
incorporate the dirt, feces, and hardships of the mountain and his
physical,
emotional and sentimental needs that emerged as survival mechanisms in
such a
space.
Notes
(1). Nydia
Palacios Vivas defines the Bildüngsroman as a bourgeois narrative
that
highlights significant experiences in the protagonist’s life –
typically a male protagonist – as a means to demonstrate his personal
process of transformation: “the teleology of an individual, from one
period of his life to another” (191). I
call Cabezas’ work a
“political Bildüngsroman” because in it, he traces the remarkable
experiences of his individual process of politicization during a time
of
revolution in
(2). In Cabezas’
writing, there is no doubt that the patriarchal standard for man is
“the” bourgeois model of man embodied in the Somocista. Argentine rebel
author Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara’s vision of the bourgeois man,
the guerrilla rebel and the new man
outlined in his campaign diaries Pasajes
de la guerra revolucionaria (1963) and El
diario del Che en Bolivia (1968) and theoretical works Guerra
de guerrillas (1961), El
socialismo y el hombre nuevo (1965) and his programmatic 1965 text
El hombre nuevo serve as precursors to
Omar Cabezas’ perception of masculinity as a class-based difference in
a
Nicaraguan context. It is important
to note as well that Che bases his view of the same on Argentine
Marxist
Aníbal Ponce’s ideas on the bourgeois man and the new
man outlined in Humanismo burgués y humanismo
proletario (1935) and Karl
Marx’s definition of the city, the family, education, and the future as
bourgeois loci as outlined in “On the Jewish Question” (1844) and The Communist Manifesto (1848).
(3).
The Somoza
Dynasty came to power in 1937 with the rule of Anastasio Somoza
García,
who three years prior to his assumption of power had ordered the
assassination
of peasant, guerrilla rebel and rebel leader Augusto Sandino for his
anti-imperialist activity, and ended with his son, dictator Anastasio
Somoza
Debayle’s, fleeing from Nicargua in 1979 and eventual assassination in
Paraguay one year later (Booth 50).
(4).
Omar Cabezas
would not be the first rebel author to center his guerrilla narrative
on the
mountain. Previously, in Che
Guevara’s works, the mountain appeared as a foundational geography upon
which men, by dint of their demonstration of self-control, rigidity,
austerity
and intransigency, advance from the status of “normal” men to guerrillero, a political agent that
occupies a fundamental space in revolutionary discourse as the driving
force
for change that assures a necessary transition to socialism
(Rodríguez,
“Montañas con aroma de mujer” 145).
(5).
As my analysis of
Cabezas’ work will suggest, despite the revolutionary context, machismo still prevailed in
(6).
Cabezas does not
explicitly name the different factions that emerged within the FSLN –
the
Proletarians (Proletarios) led by
Jaime Wheelock Román, the Prolonged Popular War (GPP – Guerra
Popular Prolongada) under Henry Ruiz (“Modesto”) and Tomás
Borge’s leadership after the assassination of Carlos Fonseca, and the
Insurrectionals (Terceristas), a
group that was primarily led by Daniel and Humberto Ortega that
practiced
“ideological pluralism” as it sought the involvement of members of
the bourgeois and proletariat classes in the fight (Bras).
He does, however, allude to them in his
discussion of his wavering between the ideologies of the Proletarians
and the Prolonged
Popular War as he moves from the city to the mountain.
(7).
Different from
the guerrilla rebel that is formed on the mountain, Che describes the new man as a self-aware and socially
conscious actor that undergoes a constant process of change that begins
during
the revolution and continues through his implementation of socialism
after the
triumph of the same (El hombre nuevo 12).
(8).
For further
analyses on the fraternal bond that guerrilla rebels develop on the
mountain
during revolution in Latin America see Ileana Rodríguez’s Women, Guerrillas & Love: Understanding
War in Central America
(1996), “Conservadurismo y disensión: el sujeto social
(mujer/pueblo/etnia) en las narrativas revolucionarias” (1996) and
“Montañas con aroma de mujer: reflexiones postinsurgentes sobre
el
feminismo revolucionario” (2003).
Also
consult Diana Sorensen’s “Masculinidades ansiosas y
la construcción del héroe revolucionario” (2004).
(9).
Ileana
Rodríguez evaluates such a process from a feminist point of view
and
within the paradigm of patriarchal masculinity: “To keep pushing
oneself,
to be resilient and strong, giving more than the body’s physical
strength
and endurance allow, always giving a little bit more” (Women,
Guerrillas & Love 45).
Works Cited
Booth, John A. The
End and the Beginning: the Nicaraguan Revolution. Boulder, Colo:
Westview P, 1982.
Brás, Marisabel. “The
Rise
of the FSLN.” Nicaragua: A Country
Study. Ed. Tim Merrill. 3rd ed.
Butler, Judith. Gender
Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York:
Routledge, 1990.
---. Bodies
that Matter on the Discursive Limits of “Sex.”
---. Undoing
Gender. Boca Ratón, [Fla.]: Routledge, Taylor & Francis
Group,
2004.
Cabezas,
Omar. La montaña es
algo más que una inmensa estepa verde. 12th ed. Mexico
City: Siglo Veintiuno Editores, S.A., c1982, 2006.
Duchesne Winter,
Juan. Narraciones de testimonio en
América Latina: cinco estudios.
Río Piedras, P.R: Editorial de la Universidad de Puerto Rico,
1991.
Fonseca, Carlos
Amador, Óscar Turcios and Ricardo Morales. ¿Qué es un
Sandinista?. Managua: Secretaría Nacional de Propaganda y
Educación Política del F.S.L.N, 1980.
Guevara, Ernesto
‘Che’. Pasajes de la guerra
revolucionaria. La Habana: Unión de Escritores y Artistas de
Cuba,
1963.
---. Diario
de Bolivia. Ed. Paco Ignacio
Taibo II. Tafalla: Txalaparta, c1968, 1997.
---. El
hombre nuevo. México:
Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México,
Coordinación de
Humanidades, Centro de Estudios Latinoamericanos, Facultad de
Filosofía
y Letras; Unión de Universidades de América Latina,
c1965, 1978.
---. El
socialismo
y el hombre nuevo. Ed. José Aricó. México:
Siglo Veintiuno,
c1965, 1979.
Horrocks, Roger. Masculinity
in Crisis: Myths, Fantasies, and Realities. New York:
St. Martin's P, 1994.
Izenberg, Gerald N. Modernism
and Masculinity: Mann, Wedekind, Kandinsky through World War I. Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
2000.
Kristeva, Julia.
Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection. Trans. Leon
Lancaster, Roger N. Life is Hard: Machismo, Danger, and the Intimacy of Power in
Nicaragua.
Berkeley: University of California P, 1992.
Marx, Karl. “On the Jewish
Question.” Selected Writings.
Ed. Simon H. Lawrence. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994. 1-26.
Marx, Karl, and Friedrich
Engels. The Communist Manifesto. Trans. Samuel
Moore. New York: Penguin Books Ltd., c1848, 2002.
Palacios
Vivas, Nydia. Estudios de
literatura hispanoamericana y nicaragüense. [Nicaragua]:
Instituto Nicaragüense de Cultura, Fondo Editorial CIRA, 2000.
Ponce,
Aníbal. Humanismo burgués y
humanismo proletario. Habana: Impr. Nacional de Cuba, c1935, 1962.
Randall, Margaret. Risking
a Somersault in the Air: Conversations with Nicaraguan Writers.
Ed. Floyce Alexander. San Francisco, CA: Solidarity Publications, 1984.
Rodríguez, Ileana. “Conservadurismo y
disensión: el sujeto social (mujer/pueblo/etnia) en las
narrativas
revolucionarias.” Revista Iberoamericana LXII (1996): 767-77.
---. Women,
Guerrillas & Love: Understanding War in Central America. Minneapolis,
MN: University of Minnesota P, 1996.
---.
“Montañas con aroma de mujer: reflexiones postinsurgentes sobre
el
feminismo revolucionario.” Narrativa
femenina en América Latina prácticas y perspectivas
teóricas/ Latin American women's narrative: practices and
theoretical
perspectives. Ed. Sara Castro-Klarén. Madrid:
Iberoamericana, Vervuert,
2003. 143-60.
Salecl, Renata. Spoils
of Freedom: Psychoanalysis and Feminism After the Fall of
Socialism. London: Routledge, 1994.
Sedgwick, Eve Kosofsky. Between
Men: English Literature and Male
Homosocial Desire. New York: Columbia UP, 1985.
Seidler, Victor. Man
Enough: Embodying Masculinities. London; Thousand Oaks Calif.:
SAGE Publications, 1997.
Shepard, Alexandra. Meanings of Manhood in Early Modern
Sorensen, Diana. “Masculinidades
ansiosas y la construcción del héroe revolucionario.”
Proc.
of Literatura y otras artes en América Latina: actas del XXXIV
Congreso
del Instituto Internacional de Literatura Iberoamericana, University of
Iowa,
Iowa City, IA, 2004. 135-39.
---. A
Turbulent Decade Remembered: Scenes from the Latin American Sixties.
Stanford,
Calif.: Stanford UP, 2007.
Ward, Thomas. “Omar Cabezas y
el testimonio de
aprendizaje.” La resistencia
cultural: la
nación
en el ensayo de las Américas (2004): 302-15.
Zizek, Slavoj. The
Sublime Object of Ideology. New York, London: Verso, 1989.