Revisiting Leninism and Che Guevara: Has the World Really Changed?

Were we taught history incorrectly, or were we taught only one side of it? This question returns whenever I read about Vladimir Lenin, Dr. Che Guevara and other controversial figures of the past. We were often introduced to historical personalities through simple categories. One was a revolutionary, another a dictator, another a freedom fighter, and another a terrorist. But as I observe today's world, filled again with wars, military interventions, sanctions, weapons and geopolitical struggles, I find myself asking a difficult question. Has political leadership really changed, or have only the language, institutions and weapons changed?
Leninism emerged from the political and economic conditions of early twentieth-century Russia. Lenin believed that capitalism produced inequalities that could eventually lead to revolutionary change. He argued that workers required an organised revolutionary vanguard capable of transforming dissatisfaction into political action. His concept of 'democratic centralism' attempted to combine internal discussion with disciplined collective action once decisions had been made.
There is much to criticise. The Russian Revolution and its aftermath were accompanied by repression, political violence and restrictions on political opposition. These cannot be ignored simply because Lenin spoke about workers, inequality and exploitation. Ideas must ultimately be judged not only by their promises but also by their consequences.
The same balance is necessary when discussing Dr. Che Guevara. Che became an international symbol of resistance against inequality, imperialism and foreign domination. His theory of guerrilla warfare argued that a relatively small revolutionary movement could sometimes help create the conditions for broader political revolution rather than simply waiting for those conditions to emerge.
But Che's story also contains uncomfortable chapters. Armed struggle was central to his political philosophy, and his role in revolutionary justice and executions following the Cuban Revolution remains controversial. To transform him into a romantic poster of rebellion while ignoring these realities would be intellectually dishonest. Equally, reducing his entire life to violence would prevent us from understanding why his ideas attracted followers across different societies.
But here comes my greater difficulty. If violence, coercion and human suffering are among the reasons we critically judge revolutionary leaders of the past, shouldn't similar principles guide our examination of political leadership today?
Look around the world. Ukraine, the Middle East, Sudan and other regions have experienced devastating conflicts. International institutions repeatedly warn about civilian suffering, expanding military expenditure and violations of international law. Governments defend military actions through different arguments involving security, sovereignty, deterrence, national interest or self-defence. Their opponents provide entirely different interpretations.
This does not mean that every modern war is equivalent to Lenin's revolution or Che's guerrilla campaigns. Historical circumstances, international law, political systems and responsibilities differ enormously. A state exercising lawful self-defence, for example, cannot automatically be equated with an armed revolutionary movement. Such distinctions matter.
Yet the human question remains uncomfortable. If a revolutionary tells us that violence is necessary to create a better society, we question him. But when a modern government tells us military force is necessary to create security, do we apply the same intellectual scrutiny? When civilians die, cities are destroyed and economies collapse, does suffering become less tragic because the weapons belong to a recognised state?
Perhaps this is where history becomes a mirror rather than a museum. Today's political leaders possess something Lenin and Che could scarcely have imagined: enormously sophisticated military technology, instant global communications, economic sanctions, drones, cyber capabilities and, in some states, nuclear weapons. Their decisions can consequently affect millions of people far beyond their own borders. With greater power should come greater responsibility.
There are, however, important achievements in today's international system. We have the United Nations, international law, diplomatic institutions, human-rights frameworks and mechanisms for negotiation. Modern leaders have opportunities to resolve disagreements through diplomacy that revolutionary movements of earlier periods often lacked. Many governments do use these mechanisms, negotiate settlements and cooperate internationally. That progress should not be dismissed.
The tragedy occurs when diplomacy becomes secondary and force becomes the first language of politics.
Perhaps, therefore, the lesson is neither to rehabilitate Lenin and Che nor simply to condemn today's leaders. It is to apply consistent questions to both.
Who pays the price for political ambition? Who benefits from war? When does national interest become an excuse for unnecessary human suffering? And who decides that the lives lost today are acceptable for the promised peace of tomorrow?
History should not teach us whom automatically to love or hate. It should teach us how to question power.
Perhaps the real purpose of revisiting Lenin and Che Guevara is not to decide whether they were heroes or villains. It is to look at our own century and ask something much more disturbing: after all that history has taught us about revolution, war and human suffering, have we actually learned enough from it?

MOHAMMED ANWAR AL BALUSHI

The author works at UTAS