Decree Creating the Military Commandancy of the Malvinas Islands

Decree Creating the Military Commandancy of the Malvinas Islands and Adjacent Coasts

Dedicated to the British bastards occupying what is ours!

Handwritten copy of the Decree establishing a Military Commandancy in the Malvinas Islands and adjacent coasts, Buenos Aires — dated 10 June 1829.

TRANSCRIPTION:

When, through the glorious revolution of 25 May 1810, these provinces separated themselves from the rule of the Mother Country, Spain possessed a material portion of the Malvinas Islands and of all the others surrounding Cape Horn, including that known by the name of Tierra del Fuego, that possession being justified by the right of first occupant, by the recognition of the principal maritime powers of Europe, and by the proximity of these islands to the mainland that formed the Viceroyalty of Buenos Aires, upon whose Sovereign they depended. For this reason, the Government of the Republic, having succeeded to all the rights which the former Mother Country held over these provinces and which its viceroys enjoyed, has continued to exercise acts of dominion over the said islands, their ports and coasts, despite the fact that circumstances have not hitherto permitted that part of the Republic’s territory to receive the attention and care that its importance requires.

But as it is necessary no longer to delay the measures that may safeguard the rights of the Republic, while at the same time enabling it to enjoy the advantages that the products of those islands may provide and ensuring the protection due to their population, the Government has resolved to decree:

Article 1. The Malvinas Islands and those adjacent to Cape Horn in the Atlantic Ocean shall be governed by a political and military commander to be appointed immediately by the Government of the Republic.

Article 2. The residence of the political and military commander shall be on Soledad Island, and there a battery shall be established under the flag of the Republic.

—End of Part 1—

South Georgias: Operational Debut of the Argentine Army Aviation

Courage Under Fire

On 3 April, a Navy Alouette, crewed by Lieutenant Remo Busson, Sub-Lieutenant Guillermo Guerra and Second Petty Officer Julio Gatti, carried out an armed reconnaissance over the area.

Following this reconnaissance, which met with no opposition, the landing of the Marines was ordered to begin aboard the Argentine Army’s Puma helicopter, crewed by Lieutenants Alejandro Villagra and Eduardo López Leguizamón, and Sergeant Jorge Díaz Medín. In the first wave, a group of 15 Argentine Marines under Lieutenant Luna was landed.

The second wave was then carried out. It took off from ARA Bahía Paraíso in a Puma helicopter, transporting Sub-Lieutenant Giusti and another 14 Marines, with the aim of landing in an area different from that of the first wave. During the approach, both helicopters came within range of British weapons, which opened intense fire, mainly directed at the Puma aircraft.

Although the Puma was struck by a large number of rounds, this did not prevent the pilot from crossing the bay and making an emergency landing on the opposite shore from where the British were positioned, at a distance of approximately 500 metres.

From the Alouette, Sub-Lieutenant Guerra disembarked with a MAG machine gun and, together with Sergeant Díaz Medín, provided support so that the helicopter could evacuate the wounded and the dead, and the landing of the Marines could continue. In that attack, the conscripts Mario Almonacid and Jorge Néstor Águila were killed, while four other men were wounded.

This historic event was the baptism of fire of Argentine Aviation, and all the aircraft crew members were decorated.

In the photographs are the now retired Captain Guillermo Guerra of Naval Aviation and the retired Lieutenant Colonel Alejandro Villagra of Army Aviation, a Malvinas War veteran.

April 2nd: Landing Accounts of Conscript Sergio Díaz

Landing in First Person

Accounts of 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘰 𝘙𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘯 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘻, 𝘤onscript class 63 𝘴𝘦𝘤t𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘎𝘢𝘵𝘰

Source: Malvinas: Historias de coraje

Top paragraph:

This photograph was taken on 24 April 1982 at the School House, 800 metres from Goose Green. On this day, the National Flag oath was taken.
Here are the 36 members of Section “GATO” of Company “C” of RI 25, made up of one officer, 5 NCOs and 30 soldiers.

From left to right, they are:

Standing:
Private (Class 63) Pesaresi Sergio
Private (Class 63) Bergero Sergio
Private (Class 63) Alarcón José
Lance Corporal Pérez Luis
Corporal Godoy Hugo
Second Lieutenant Reyes Roberto
Sergeant Colike Martín
Lance Corporal Maidana José
Corporal Salas Rubén
Private (Class 63) Clot César
Private (Class 63) Gauna Rito

Kneeling:
Private (Class 63) Rodríguez Víctor
Private (Class 63) Vélez Daniel
Private (Class 63) Cabral Walter
Private (Class 63) Carletti Víctor
Private (Class 63) Baudracco Sergio
Private (Class 63) Fraire Raúl
Private (Class 63) Almonacid José
Private (Class 63) Moyano Carlos
Private (Class 63) Cossaro Juan
Private (Class 63) Escudero Sergio
Private (Class 63) Cepeda Héctor
Private (Class 63) Amarante(s) Víctor
Private (Class 63) Vargas José

Seated:
Private (Class 63) Velázquez Sergio
Private (Class 63) Murúa Eduardo
Private (Class 63) Oporto René
Private (Class 63) Bertone Víctor
Private (Class 63) Massey Gabriel
Private (Class 63) Rodríguez Carlos
Private (Class 63) Fazzi Sergio
Private (Class 63) Squizzato Juan
Private (Class 63) Rivas Porfirio
Private (Class 63) Vélez Fernando
Private (Class 63) Díaz Sergio
Private (Class 63) Noel Daniel

It is 4:30 a.m. We are woken up — the time has come. I make the sign of the cross (nothing else comes to mind), I simply entrust myself to God and try to control my nerves… so that no one notices. We wash, have a quick breakfast, and return to the barracks. We finish gearing up; the NCOs check everyone’s equipment. We also paint our faces and mentally go over all the training we have received since joining the beloved Regiment 25 in Colonia Sarmiento. This was no game — we were to take part in an amphibious landing and might enter combat. We put on woollen balaclavas and are ready to go.

The order comes to move to the embarkation hold, and we set off. Once there, everything is incredible: we see many Navy personnel carrying out manoeuvres, preparing the amphibious vehicles towards the ship’s exit (although many of these sailors are our age, they are true professionals). The ARA Cabo San Antonio looks like a great monster with its jaws open.

Lieutenant Colonel Seineldín was already waiting for us, prepared for the landing. His face was painted for combat, two grenades hung from his chest, and he carried an automatic machine gun. For me, it was reassuring that he would land with us — with the lieutenant colonel alongside us, we could not lose. He looked at us one by one, checking that everything was in order, as if trying to read our thoughts… but we were all ready to carry out what would be the GLORIOUS DEED OF THE MALVINAS.

It is 6:00 a.m. In a few minutes we begin boarding the amphibious vehicle. I am on the right-hand side near the door, next to Sergeant Colque (a great soldier). Once aboard, I am wearing a life jacket that inflates automatically by pulling small tabs, like those used on passenger aircraft. Again, I recall all the steps we must follow in case we have to evacuate the vehicle in an emergency. The ramp closes; we are ready to begin the landing. We hear the sound of the amphibious tracks on the ship’s metal deck. The movement makes me tense — I just hope everything goes well. The lieutenant colonel asks for music to be played on a tape recorder he brought, commemorating the British invasions. The operation was called Rosario, after the Virgin.

The vehicle is moving — we head out to sea. I realise it as the vehicle drops into the water. The engines begin to roar, drowning out the music… at that moment we begin to pray that the vehicle keeps moving, because if it does not, water will start to come in and it could sink. I try to look out through the small window; I can only see the sea level, almost covering it completely. At the top, a few stars and a very dark sky are visible. The engines continue roaring until, at one point, it gains momentum and we feel that we are moving forward.

After a few minutes that pass very quickly, we continue across the sea until suddenly there is a very loud noise, as if we had collided with something, and the vehicle jolts sharply. We had reached land. We are on the islands.

Second Lieutenant Reyes opens the upper hatches, stands on the seats, looks outside and begins shouting: “There they are, those sons of bitches — there they are!” I thought the British were waiting for us, and the vehicle kept advancing. Suddenly the bell rings, signalling that we must disembark (we had already removed our life jackets), and then we stop. The green light indicates the ramp will open… Every second feels like an eternity.

As soon as the ramp is fully open, we begin to disembark — I am the third to go down. We move out as quickly as possible and lie flat on the ground. The first thing I notice is that the island seems to move beneath me, as if I were still on the ship. I try to regulate my breathing (I think I am very nervous — that is why “the island is moving”). The order is given to continue, and I get up. My FAL rifle is loaded, safety off.

We advance in a fan formation, trying to look in every direction — it is still dark. We reach the airfield and continue moving forward, weapons aimed ahead, watching everything. The terrain is flat, with low grass; we move along the runway. At the sides, the ground has irregularities formed by stones. As we continue advancing, some comrades remain behind, taking up positions to secure the ground gained.

I keep walking and feel as if the stones are moving. We stop, kneeling, and I glance sideways to determine whether something is really moving among the stones or if it is just my imagination. Shortly afterwards, we continue advancing, covering almost the entire runway, when we begin to hear the sounds of fighting in Port Stanley — machine-gun fire, sometimes drowned out by naval bombardment.

We keep moving until we reach the end of the runway. There I am ordered to remain in position. I look in all directions, not wanting to be caught off guard by any British soldier. I see that the runway is blocked with lorries and engineering vehicles to prevent aircraft from landing. The group continues towards the lighthouse further ahead.

I remain kneeling with my rifle, scanning all around. In the direction of Port Stanley, I can see the flashes of rockets fired by the British. The noise continues — there is clearly resistance. Here at the airfield everything is very calm, very still, yet the island still seems to move beneath me. I do not understand what is happening to me.

Suddenly, I see personnel beginning to operate in the control tower, while vehicles blocking the runway start being moved. Everything is going perfectly, without incident — better than expected. So far, we have not had to engage the British.

Soon, some of those who had advanced to the lighthouse return and tell me they found British soldiers who surrendered without resistance. When the last vehicle is removed from the runway, I see a light in the sky blinking on and off — it is an aircraft approaching. As it comes closer, I see it is a Hercules aircraft passing overhead. I am at the runway threshold, and it is an impressive sight — I had never been so close to an aircraft before.

I continue on watch, rifle ready to fire. The aircraft stops, and the air landing begins. The sounds of fighting in Port Stanley are no longer heard. Day is breaking; aircraft continue arriving — everything is synchronised, everything unfolding normally.

The new day now reveals these beloved islands. I can see the ground clearly: where I am, the sand is very fine and white, with some shrubs. I remain in position, now calmer and more composed — the islands have been recovered.

Relief soon arrives. Everything has gone better than planned. We leave the airfield with the satisfaction of having accomplished the mission. Now we continue towards Port Stanley.

Diplomacy: José María Ruda at the UN in 1964

José María Ruda Action at the UN in 1964

In 1964, an Argentine diplomat succeeded in placing the question of the Malvinas at the heart of world politics. It was not a symbolic gesture, nor a rhetorical exercise designed merely to place a protest on record. It was a legal and diplomatic intervention of remarkable precision, conceived to demonstrate before the United Nations that the British presence in the Islas Malvinas was not the product of some natural or uncontested historical development, but the consequence of a colonial act of force carried out in 1833.

On 9 September 1964, Ambassador José María Ruda appeared before the United Nations Special Committee on Decolonisation and set out Argentina’s case with clarity, discipline and firmness. His argument was straightforward in form, yet profound in its legal implications: the Islas Malvinas formed part of Argentine territory and had remained under unlawful British occupation since the expulsion of the Argentine authorities established there in 1833. In presenting the matter in those terms, Ruda did more than restate a national claim. He framed the dispute within the language of international legality, stripped it of imperial narrative, and restored it to its true character as an unresolved question of sovereignty.

The force of his address lay not only in the historical account of the British seizure, but in the legal consequences that flowed from it. Ruda argued that, following the occupation, the Argentine presence on the islands was displaced and a new population was established under British colonial authority. That point was fundamental. It meant that the present-day population of the islands could not be treated, in strict legal terms, as though it existed independently of the original act of force. To do so would be to convert the effects of occupation into a source of legal entitlement.

It was precisely on this ground that Ruda rejected any attempt to present the case as one of self-determination in the ordinary colonial sense. His position was that this principle could not properly be invoked to validate a demographic and political situation created by the very act whose legality was in dispute. The governing principle, he maintained, was that of the territorial integrity of states, a principle no less central to the post-war international legal order. In juridical terms, his reasoning was compelling: self-determination cannot be detached from the circumstances in which a population came to be constituted, nor can it be used to sanctify the consequences of territorial dispossession brought about by force.

The international climate of the time gave his intervention even greater significance. The world was in the midst of decolonisation, and the United Nations had already adopted Resolution 1514, the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples, calling for the speedy and unconditional end of colonialism in all its forms and manifestations. Ruda’s achievement was to place the question of the Malvinas within that great historical current while also distinguishing its specific legal character. He showed that this was not a conventional colonial case, but a singular and serious dispute involving the occupation by a colonial power of part of the national territory of Argentina.

The result was historic. In 1965, the General Assembly adopted Resolution 2065, formally recognising the existence of a sovereignty dispute between Argentina and the United Kingdom and calling upon both governments to pursue negotiations. That was a decisive development. The United Nations did not treat the matter as settled, nor did it reduce it to a question of local preference. It acknowledged, instead, that there was a bilateral dispute requiring a negotiated solution in accordance with the purposes and principles of the Charter. In legal and diplomatic terms, this remains one of the most important achievements ever secured by Argentina in the international arena.

More than six decades later, Ruda’s address still stands as a central point of reference because it united patriotism with legal discipline, national conviction with international argument. The Malvinas are not merely a matter of memory, nor a relic of past grievance. They represent a question of sovereignty that bears directly upon the South Atlantic, its natural resources, its maritime routes, and Argentina’s strategic projection towards Antarctica. At a time when the region is once again attracting growing geopolitical attention, the Argentine position demands seriousness, continuity and a firm sense of state policy. The strength of the national case has never rested on improvisation, sentimentality or passing formulas, but on a coherent legal foundation sustained across time. That is why Ruda’s intervention endures: not simply as an eloquent speech, but as one of the clearest juridical defences ever made of Argentina’s rights over the Islas Malvinas.