A Che who, like any ordinary communist politician, had never killed anyone; a Che who had survived his guerrilla adventures, and was today an elderly figure, administering some grim bureaucracy for Fidel Castro or, alternatively, writing books at home in Argentina, surrounded by his anti-communist grandchildren--a Che like that would cause no stir at all today, and writers around the world would not be straining their brains to draw ever finer distinctions between the man's calamitous influence and some undefinable greatness.
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A Che that survived his adventures would be a big change.
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Che was killed by a truck.