COAN: The Night of the Banzai

 

The Night of the Banzai

Brief Account of a Frustrated Attack on the British Fleet

On 25 April, the British recaptured South Georgia. From that moment, a tense calm settled over the Falkland Islands, as the Argentinians awaited the enemy's arrival. At that time, the Argentine Fleet at Sea was attempting to interdict the movements of the British Fleet. To this end, two Task Groups were deployed: one to the north of the Falklands, the other to the southeast.

The northern group centred around the aircraft carrier A.R.A. 25 de Mayo, from which Tracker aircraft were conducting reconnaissance missions to detect the enemy. By the end of April, authorisation had been given to open fire on enemy forces. On 29 April, with the carrier located approximately 150–200 nautical miles north of San Carlos Strait, long-range reconnaissance flights began. On the night of 30 April, signals intelligence detected British radar emissions to the N-NE of Port Stanley.

In the early hours of 1 May, a British Vulcan bomber carried out an airstrike on Stanley Airport, followed hours later by naval bombardment — the vigil in the Falklands was over. That same morning, a reconnaissance flight from the carrier returned with no radar contacts. However, at 1513 hours, a second flight detected radar contacts with six medium-sized vessels and one large ship — a British task force. The Argentine fleet now knew the enemy’s location. The British, however, were still unaware of Argentina’s position. The tactical advantage was clearly with Argentina.

However, the A-4Q Skyhawks lacked night-time operational and attack capability, preventing immediate offensive action. Reconnaissance efforts continued from the carrier to maintain contact with the British fleet and plan for an attack in the early hours of 2 May, involving six A-4Q aircraft, each carrying four MK82 bombs. The last known position of the enemy was obtained at 2300 hours on 1 May from a Tracker reconnaissance flight.

1. The British commander was aware he had been detected, but did not know the position of the Argentine naval force. His priority was to locate it, and he ordered Harrier reconnaissance flights. One such Harrier intercepted the Tracker mentioned earlier, which managed to evade it by flying low over the sea at night. Nonetheless, the Harrier had likely acquired a reasonably accurate estimate of the Argentine fleet’s location.

This prompted Argentine battle stations to be manned, and the destroyer Santísima Trinidad was authorised to launch missiles at the Harrier, though it never came within range.

During that night, the Argentine Battle Group went to combat alert at least three times, each time Harrier flights approached. Few slept. These incidents gave the British commander a clearer picture of the Argentine fleet’s position and combat capability.

After the conflict, the commander of HMS Invincible would remark:

“The Trackers were a real headache throughout the 45 days of combat. Knowing I had been detected, I launched my Harriers seventeen times to shoot them down, but I never succeeded.”

The tactical situation required maintaining contact with the British fleet. At 0528 on 2 May, a Tracker was launched to confirm enemy presence. Later that morning, a second Tracker would follow the location data of the first and continue surveillance to guide the attack of six A-4Qs.

2. The mission briefing was conducted by the ship’s Operations Department, attended by the Tracker crew and officers of the Third Naval Air Attack Squadron, where all operational details were decided. One unexpected issue delayed the mission: lack of wind, an uncommon condition in those latitudes.

In simple terms, bomb tables determine the number and type of bombs required to hit a target. In this tactical scenario, four bombs per aircraft were necessary. The actual wind was nearly calm, so even at full speed, the ship could only generate enough wind over the flight deck to allow the launch of aircraft carrying just one bomb each.

Although the mission briefing was complete, it was decided to wait for stronger winds to enable a proper launch with full bomb load.

Analysing the British air and anti-air capabilities, it was assessed that of the six A-4Qs to be launched, four could reach the target and drop their bombs, and two could return to the carrier. Of sixteen bombs, about 25% (four) might hit a ship — enough to neutralise an aircraft carrier if struck.

Launching with only one bomb per aircraft would likely cause insignificant damage, while risking loss of life and half of the carrier’s embarked strike and interception force.

3. The Tracker launched at 0528 failed to locate the British fleet, which had turned east, moving away from the Argentine battle group. However, throughout that morning, Harriers repeatedly approached, attempting to pinpoint the Argentine fleet, triggering frequent combat alerts aboard Argentine ships.

It is important to note that the Argentine naval group remained under the constant threat of air attack. This required a pair of A-4Qs to remain on deck, ready to launch within five minutes as interceptors. Each combat alert saw the aircraft launched on time, and in at least one or two instances, a second reserve section was also launched.

During a combat lull, the carrier’s commander spoke with the co-pilot of the lead Tracker aircraft and shared his tactical assessment: both fleets had comparable anti-air and anti-ship missile capabilities. The number of Harriers was assumed to be similar to that of the A-4Qs, and the latter were believed capable of engaging them successfully. When he mentioned the submarine threat, however, he added, "better not to think about it."

Committing six A-4Qs to an attack mission would have reduced the carrier’s interception capacity to zero. The remaining pair of aircraft onboard was intended to support the attack — one in reserve, the other as a tanker for mid-air refuelling of returning aircraft if needed.

4. The delayed reconnaissance flight took off at 1435 hours and conducted a maximum-range mission. It picked up both radar and electronic contacts and landed at 1900 hours. Upon returning, the crew noticed a change in the crew’s expressions on board — the A.R.A. General Belgrano cruiser had been sunk. The submarine threat had now become a grim reality.

In the days and nights that followed, combat stations were manned continuously.

Had the attack on the British fleet been carried out on 2 May 1982, it might be remembered today as the Day of Naval Aviation. But that was not to be. However, just two days later, a section of Super Étendard aircraft, guided by a Neptune patrol plane, sank HMS Sheffield — a clear demonstration of Argentina’s determination to fight.

That day, marking the baptism of fire of Argentine Naval Aviation, was later commemorated as the “Day of Argentine Naval Aviation”.

The night of 1–2 May has remained etched in the memory of its participants as the so-called:
“Night of the Banzai.”

Text: by CL VGM (RE) Rafael L. Sgüeglia
Painting 🖼: Illustrative, by Carlos Adrian Garcia
@aviationart_argentina 🎨

Argentine Naval Aviation: Remembering a Great Pilot

Remembering a Great Figure of Naval Aviation

By Malvinas War Veteran (VGM) René Augusto Gómez

  

Early one afternoon in 1980, I left Comandante Espora Naval Air Base to enjoy a spell of leave in Bahía Blanca. Once outside the gate, I decided to walk along the road for a bit—just to breathe in a little freedom—until the bus that took me into town came by. After only a short distance, a car horn startled me. I turned, and at once I knew who it was. If you can picture one of those cars from the old black-and-white series The Untouchables, you’ll have a fair idea of the one I mean. The officer had been my boss in the First Attack Squadron at Punta Indio; and now, promoted, he was training on the A-4Q. When he recognised me, he pulled over.

“Off to Bahía, Gómez? Get in!” he said with a grin.

Pleased by the invitation, I sat down beside him and we set off. Almost immediately I felt a certain embarrassment, because I hadn’t the faintest idea what a mere Cabo Segundo could possibly talk about with an officer I respected deeply. They were two worlds—distant, and very different. Even so, I answered his questions about where I was going and the like, and before long we were having a genuinely pleasant conversation.

At some unknown junction on the outskirts of Bahía, a red light brought us to a halt. I looked left and right, and when I saw how deserted it was, I glanced at the officer in genuine puzzlement. Inside my head the question was: “If there’s no one coming, why doesn’t he go? Who would dare stop him for it?”

“The rules are there to be obeyed,” he said, barely looking at me.

I was astonished. It was as though he’d read my mind. And the strange thing is I didn’t think, “Blimey, what an upright chap.” Instead, his behaviour made me feel like a petty corrupter of traffic laws. Then, out of nowhere, a little boy—poor as the day is long—came up to his window.

“Got a coin for me, sir?” he asked, hand out, without any gesture or flourish.

The light had already changed ahead of us. I assumed the officer would give him one of the coins lying in plain sight and we’d carry on. But the car didn’t move.

“What’s your name, lad?” the officer asked.

“Rodrigo, sir,” the boy replied.

The officer reached into one of the many pockets of his green flight overalls, pulled out his wallet, and without hesitation took out what today would be the equivalent of a modest ten-peso note.

“Here you go, Rodrigo,” he said. “And behave yourself, all right?” At last he smiled.

The boy took the money and vanished with the same skill with which he’d arrived. My inner shame—having dismissed him in my mind—made me look away. “If I don’t learn something valuable for my future from this trip to Bahía, I’m an idiot,” I told myself. And another thing struck me too: it was uncommon for an officer to offer a lift to someone like me, who—apart from the odd sailor—ranked about as low as you could be in the pecking order. It confirmed what I’d already suspected: his manner (that exotic car, and the ease with which he moved among both the “top” and the “bottom”, among other things) wasn’t snobbery. It was simply the way he lived.

Once in Bahía, I sat on a bench in the square and thought about what I had just experienced. I’ve always been the sort of person who notices good conduct. And as for that officer, above all he seemed to me an excellent human being—someone worth taking as an example in a world where you’re often made to believe that “being better than others” means running red lights, or cleverly ignoring the needs of those who have least.

And that is why he deserves this tribute I’m paying him today, in 2006—so many years later. Because that Gentleman Lieutenant, with a capital G and a capital L, whom I’m speaking about, was never killed by the British. I kept him alive all these years. And I haven’t said his name yet—deliberately.

Among my notes from those days there are two other anecdotes that show his philosophy and unusual character even more clearly. One happened in 1978. As a pilot in the First Attack Squadron, he agreed to take one of my mates up with him on an acrobatic training flight. “Big-Nosed Reynoso” was flying in an Aermacchi for the first time. To make the story clear, I need to explain what an anti-G suit is. It’s not a full-body garment; you strap it over your flight overalls using Velcro fastenings. A hose protrudes from it and connects to the side of the seat in the aircraft. Through that hose it receives air from the engine automatically, but only when the aircraft is manoeuvring with or against the force of gravity. As it inflates, it compresses the main arteries and prevents sudden shifts of blood from causing physical effects—grey-outs, blackouts, and the like. And you should know this: the longer and more sustained the aerobatic manoeuvre, the stronger the pressure the suit exerts on the body.

The anecdote is that, during the flight, while they were holding a fairly steep and sustained inverted turn, Big-Nosed Reynoso couldn’t take the pressure any longer and over the intercom he blurted out:

“Sir, sir! It’s squeezinnng me!”

To which the Lieutenant replied, laughing, imitating Reynoso’s suffering voice:

“Me toooo!”

The other anecdote is from 1979. We were at Río Grande Naval Air Base, about to return to Punta Indio in a B-200 after a tasking down there. A Vice Admiral was travelling with us, so we had to form up at the foot of the aircraft like an honour guard—four Cabos Segundos travelling with him. The problem was I’d mislaid my white cap, and I was in a state about it.

Soon the officers arrived: the pilots, my mates’ chiefs, my chief, and the very senior flag officer. They stopped in front of us; the three Cabos saluted—except me, because I had no cap. The Vice Admiral looked at me and, in a foul mood, snapped at the officers:

“Whose man is this?”

My Lieutenant answered immediately: “He’s with me, sir.”

“Why are you without your cap, Cabo?” the Vice Admiral demanded.

“No excuse, sir!” I shouted, feeling the second-hand embarrassment of my comrades.

“When we get to Buenos Aires, I want an exemplary punishment for this man, Lieutenant!”

“Understood, sir,” my chief replied.

We boarded the aircraft. Naturally, the Cabos took the rear seats. At one point my chief turned round and, very quietly, said to me: “What are you playing at, Gómez?” I didn’t know what to say. One advantage of being dark-skinned is that you can go bright red and nobody notices.

The next day, at Punta Indio, Captain Espina called me in. He was a particular character too, and he always made me feel that, in some way, he rather liked me. He didn’t call me by surname or rank; on top of that, he addressed me informally. Once we were alone, he said:

“RRRéné!”—he always rolled the R when he said my name—“You absolute fool. How on earth do you show up without your cap, of all times, right in front of a Vice Admiral?”

“I lost it, sir! I don’t know what came over me!”

“As if there aren’t more important things… and that bloke gets worked up about a Cabo without a cap!” Then, lowering his voice, he added: “Honestly, I think it’s utter nonsense that he demanded we give you thirty days in the nick for that stupidity. Your chief asked me not to punish you, because he says your performance in the squadron is good. But you do realise, RRRené, I’m sticking my neck out here.”

In the end, Captain Espina decided I’d get five days’ confinement.

For all of this, today I feel like shouting at them—from this humble corner, as an apprentice to life that I still am:

“Gentlemen of England: in that cold autumn of 1982, near the San Carlos Strait, you shot down and sent to the icy waters of the ocean an old A-4Q combat aircraft of the Third Naval Air Squadron of Fighter and Attack. But do you know what? Although the records say that aircraft was flown by Lieutenant (JG) Marcelo ‘LORO’ Márquez, it’s NOT TRUE. What you brought down that day was only an empty old aeroplane. Those of us who knew Lieutenant Márquez up close are convinced he wasn’t there. He surely lives on in the memory of a humble lad from the outskirts of Bahía—the very boy to whom he gave a note that probably lasted him no time at all, while what he gave me that day was an example that lasted me my whole life. Some green light must have let him pass so that his decency could continue beating inside the philosophy of life of this humble servant. Because the laws of God that govern those men who leave indelible traces will always be there to be obeyed. I am sure his anti-G suit will never squeeze him again. And when the troops formed up on the seabed shout ‘Preseeeent!’ each time the god Neptune speaks his name—me toooo!”

“No, gentlemen. You did not manage to bring down Lieutenant (JG) Marcelo Márquez. However much it pains you, he is still alive—just like that old cap, now yellowing, which he ordered me to buy back in ’79 and which I still treasure, with the greatest honour, in my sock drawer.”

The Well-Deserved Sinking of HMS Sheffield

BIM 5: Argentine Marines Arrives in the Malvinas

 

The Legendary BIM 5 Arrives in the Malvinas

Account taken from the book Batallón 5
This concerns the arrival in the Malvinas of the 5th Marine Infantry Battalion (School) and the loyalty of its members to the battalion.

C̲a̲p̲t̲a̲i̲n̲ ̲(̲t̲h̲e̲n̲ ̲a̲ ̲f̲r̲i̲g̲a̲t̲e̲ ̲c̲a̲p̲t̲a̲i̲n̲)̲ ̲R̲o̲b̲a̲c̲i̲o̲ recounts:

On 8 April, at nine in the morning, I received a telephone call from the command of Marine Infantry Force No. 1, based in Río Gallegos. The commander, Captain Manuel Tomé, who had replaced Captain Jorge Ranni, told me: “Robacio, I’m going to set up over there. You’re coming with me.” Two hours later I was already at the Battalion.

Around midday I called in my subordinates and ordered a general formation, in which I addressed them.

“I want to make it absolutely clear that we are going to fight, with everything that entails,” I said in an energetic tone. “We are going to fight, and we are going to do it well, as we have practised it a thousand times over here. No one is obliged to go, but whoever does not wish to be part of the Battalion should say so right now. Later will be too late.”

No one moved. Everyone stayed in place, motionless and silent—an eloquent silence indeed. As soon as the conscripts from the cohort that had been discharged heard the news, they tore up the tickets that would have taken them back home and immediately rejoined their companies. None of them wanted to remain on the mainland. None wanted to miss the chance to give themselves to the Battalion that had become part of their lives—even with the possibility of never returning, of dying far away on land that belonged to them, yet which they did not know.

Those who were not fit to go, because they were not operational, asked to be authorised to form part of the Battalion all the same. Those who were rejected did not hesitate for an instant to protest and to express their anger. Petty Officer Julio Saturnino Castillo, in charge of the Battalion’s maintenance group, had to remain at the barracks for organisational reasons. He became very upset and asked again and again—almost to the point of exhaustion—to be allowed to travel. In the end this petty officer went to the islands and was killed fighting on Mount Tumbledown, together with many of his soldiers from the maintenance group, who had also volunteered and joined the now legendary 4th Section of Nacar Company.

A particularly special case was that of the conscript Roberto Silva, from the province of Misiones. He had suffered an accident with a mortar and was therefore hospitalised while awaiting a decision, as he would have to be discharged. Once recovered, Captain Robacio placed him under the orders of Senior Petty Officer Jorge Hernández, so that he could serve as a messenger. Being illiterate, in the afternoons he attended the school, while in the mornings Hernández’s daughter gave him two hours of lessons and helped him with his homework. In a short time he had become one more member of that family. (The 5th Marine Infantry Battalion carries the abbreviation “ESC”, meaning “school”; illiterate soldiers learned to read and write.)

But then came the recovery of the Malvinas and, without hesitating for an instant, he asked to go. The senior petty officer refused authorisation, so the conscript resolutely went to Captain Robacio. He insisted so much that he finally obtained permission.

Before leaving for the islands, Silva said goodbye to Mrs Hernández. “Please, I want you to keep this,” he said, moved, handing her his civilian clothes, letters, money and some personal effects. Mrs Hernández could not hold back her tears. “This is my mother’s address. If I die, please write to her.” “Are you sure you want to go?” Mrs Hernández stammered. “Yes. It’s what I want most.”

As the Battalion began arriving in Puerto Argentino on several aircraft, the airfield was a hell. Aircraft arriving, others departing; loads being unloaded; people trying to find their groups. “Everyone to work,” Captain Robacio ordered, and he said to Lieutenant Commander Ponce (the Battalion’s second-in-command): “I want the ammunition crates here, and let’s get away from this chaos.” Robacio had not taken the entire Battalion, as some people had to stay behind to maintain the minimum functioning of it, and to assist the personnel who would be sent to cover the post they were leaving in Río Grande.

But his surprise was great when he saw that many of those men were arriving as stowaways, having slipped onto the aircraft. Such was the spirit of belonging among his people that they did not want to remain there on the mainland. Men from the reconnaissance squadron, conscripts from other sections, began to appear. Robacio counted them: forty men! But he would not stop being surprised there. At a certain moment he heard, behind him, a familiar voice. He turned at once and found himself face to face with his driver, the conscript Ricardo Khouri, whom he had also left on the mainland.

“What are you doing here?”
“Sir, I’m not going to stay with the Battalion while you’re here.”
“You’re going back,” Robacio said, trying to muster an anger he did not feel.
“No, sir, please. I’ve accompanied you everywhere; this time I’m not leaving you.”

Robacio looked into those eyes, shining with the mischief of someone who knows he is up to something. “All right, stay—but I’m going to have you locked up,” he replied jokingly.

“Sir,” the conscript said, pointing to the steps of an aircraft, “is that not…?”
“No! Him as well?” Robacio interrupted, clutching his head.

Grispo, “the fat one”, a civilian technician (the Navy has civilian personnel who work in certain areas such as workshops, offices, etc.), responsible for the Battalion’s electrical repairs, had also slipped onto a plane and there he was, as bold as brass.

“I’d better head into town,” Robacio said, and he started walking, then boarded a Jeep towards Puerto Argentino to report to his superior and receive orders.

War of Paraguay: Battle of Humaitá

Battle of Humaitá

Battle of Humaitá – 18 February 1868

During the War of the Triple Alliance, Marcos Paz, Vice President of the Argentine Republic, died in Buenos Aires from a cholera epidemic brought back from the front, which spread like a curse throughout the summer of 1867–68. The truth is that the Brazilians—by then almost the sole owners of the war, as only the Empire was sending reinforcements and arms—grew serious with Mitre after the disastrous defeat at Tuyú-Cué, and pressured him into returning to Buenos Aires. Constitutionally, his presence was not required, even after Paz’s death, since the Cabinet continued functioning (there was no law governing presidential vacancy), and only eight months remained in the presidential term. But Brazil was eager to hasten the end of the war.

With Mitre removed (never to return), prospects brightened for Brazil. Marshal Caxias resumed command of the allied forces. Perhaps he had never read Frederick the Great, but unlike Mitre, he knew how to win battles.

With the Commander-in-Chief out of the way, things moved swiftly. On 19 January, Admiral Inácio forced the passage at Humaitá; by the 24th, two Brazilian monitors reached Asunción and bombarded the Paraguayan capital. With the river now under Brazilian control, it became impossible for Marshal Solano López to hold the fortifications at Humaitá and Curupaytí. On 10 March, he began withdrawing the bulk of his army via the Chaco route, leaving behind just 4,000 men at Humaitá to cover the retreat. In dugouts, barges, and rafts, the decimated Paraguayan troops—who had defended the Curupaytí–Humaitá line with heroism beyond imagination—crossed the Paraguay River and headed north through the Chaco. At Monte Lindo, they crossed the river again and finally camped at San Fernando. This operation was a feat of leadership and courage: an entire army, with its supplies, wounded, and sick, evacuating a compromised position in the presence of the enemy. They crossed the river twice without, as Arturo Bray notes, “the Brazilian fleet even realising the bold double manoeuvre”.

Colonel Martínez remained in Humaitá as a decoy, to tie down the allied army. But by then the once-impenetrable fortress had lost its strategic purpose. In July, Martínez received orders to abandon it with his remaining men, spiking the 180 cannons that could not be transported. Yet the impatient Marshal Osório was determined to seize the fortress by force and launched an attack with 8,000 men. Martínez responded in Humaitá much as Díaz had in Curupaytí: he let the attackers approach and then unleashed a deadly storm of artillery fire. Osório paid dearly for his ambition to storm the fortress and was ultimately forced to withdraw. Thus ended the last great Paraguayan victory of the war. But unlike Mitre, Osório had the foresight to order a timely retreat and managed to save most of his men.

The cambá (Black Brazilian troops) would enter Humaitá and Curupaytí only after the last Paraguayan soldier had evacuated them on 24 July. On the night of the 23rd, Martínez had sent out the final detachments—men and women—by river. At dawn on the 24th, the Brazilians raised the imperial flag over the now-legendary fortress; shortly beforehand, they had done the same at Curupaytí.

Martínez’s retreat through the Chaco was far from successful. The heroic defenders of the fortress had sacrificed themselves to protect the withdrawal of the main army. As they made their way through the Chaco, they were harassed by vastly superior enemy forces and bombarded from the river by the fleet. Inácio and Osório were determined to exact revenge on Martínez for the three years during which Humaitá had resisted them. Eventually, the depleted Paraguayan garrison was encircled at Isla Poi. They held out for ten days, but hunger and overwhelming numbers forced their surrender. These were the last Paraguayan troops remaining in that theatre of war. Moved by the scene, General Gelly y Obes had the Argentine forces march past “the great heroes of the American epic.” A noble gesture that should fill us with pride.

For a Paraguayan, surrender was unthinkable—even if starvation made it impossible to move, and the lack of ammunition rendered any response to enemy fire futile. Solano López, by now the frenzied “soldier of glory and misfortune”, as Bray puts it, was merciless with those who did not share his unwavering resolve. Victory was no longer possible, and attempts to secure an honourable peace had come to nothing. Thus, for Paraguayans, the only path remaining was death—a chance to give the world a lesson in Guaraní courage.

Colonel Martínez had conducted himself as a hero in the defence of Humaitá and in his doomed retreat through the Chaco. But he had surrendered. It did not matter that he had only 1,200 men and women, lacking uniforms, most with only tattered trousers and military caps, no gunpowder for their flintlocks, and no food—facing a force twenty times their size. The Marshal had surrendered, and that was forbidden for a Paraguayan. The word “surrender” had been erased from the national vocabulary. López declared the defender of Humaitá a traitor.

Three years of unjust and unequal war had transformed the refined Francisco Solano López into a wild beast. He was resolved to die with his country and could neither understand nor forgive any other course of action—not even from his closest friends, his most capable commanders, or his own family. Paraguay came before all else, and for it, he would sacrifice his dearest affections. His actions were certainly not “humane”, but in that final agony, López was no longer a man bound by conventional morality. He had become the very symbol of a Paraguay determined to die standing—like a jaguar of the forest, relentlessly pursued by its hunters.

It was in this final stage of the war that the legend of the monster, the bloodthirsty tyrant, and the great executioner took shape—a narrative that would fuel half a century of Paraguayan liberal historiography. He was accused of terrible acts—and not all were inventions of the enemy. Some accounts are deeply disturbing, but we must place ourselves in the land and time to judge them—amid the tragedy-shrouded Paraguay of the war’s final days. Think of the thousands of Paraguayans who died in battle defending their land, or who perished of hunger or disease behind the lines. Only then can one begin to judge a leader who could not forgive those who showed weakness, who spoke of surrender, or who harboured thoughts other than dying in battle. To understand him, one would need the heart of a Paraguayan and a soul torn by the looming collapse of their homeland.

Terrible things would follow: the execution of Bishop Palacios; the flogging and execution of Colonel Martínez’s wife; the death of López’s own brothers, accused of conspiracy; the imprisonment and whipping of his siblings—even his mother. In this tragic atmosphere, the figure of the implacable Marshal looms large, convinced that for the Paraguayans, under his command, there remained only one path: to contest every inch of their beloved soil—or die.

Source:

• César Díaz – Memorias Inéditas, published by Adriano Díaz – Buenos Aires (1878)

• Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado

• Portal: www.revisionistas.com.ar

• Adolfo Saldías – Historia de la Confederación Argentina – Ed. El Ateneo, Buenos Aires (1951)

Reproduction permitted with citation: www.revisionistas.com.ar

Argentina: On Gaucho Diet

Gaucho Diet

1800s Argentina: British writer William Henry Hudson visits the Pampas, encounters gauchos. Documents their diet with horrified fascination.

"The gaucho eats nothing but beef. Flesh morning, noon, and night. Never bread, never vegetables, rarely salt."

Hudson expects malnutrition and disease. Finds "men of extraordinary stamina and strength, capable of riding 12-14 hours without rest, then dancing all night."

The diet: beef, mate tea, occasionally grilled kidney fat (delicacy). Nothing else.

Darwin visits 1832-1833, observes gaucho life: "I was surprised at the difficulty persuading gauchos to eat anything but beef. I brought biscuits and found them thrown away. They'd rather go hungry than eat bread if beef was available tomorrow."

Typical meals: Morning - beef roasted over fire, fattier cuts. Afternoon - grilled ribs. Evening - beef again, tougher cuts slow-cooked.

Zero vegetables. Zero grains. Zero variety. Just beef and tea.

Hudson documents outcomes: "The gauchos suffer none of the ailments common to civilised man. No digestive troubles, no obesity, no tooth decay I could observe. Their teeth were uniformly excellent despite never cleaning them and consuming nothing but meat. Physical endurance such that they could ride for days with minimal rest, fight when necessary, resume riding without apparent fatigue."

French physician Dr. Jules Crevaux, 1850s-1870s: "These men live exclusively on animal flesh and appear healthier than our European peasantry who eat varied diet of grains and vegetables."

When asked why they don't eat bread or vegetables, common response: "That's food for horses and cattle. We eat cattle."

They understood hierarchy. Cattle eat grass, convert to meat. Humans eat meat. Eating what cattle eat makes you perform like cattle.

Into early 1900s, traditional gauchos maintained beef-exclusive diet. Then European immigration brought wheat cultivation.

Health transformation documented by Argentine physicians. Traditional gauchos: healthy into old age. Urbanised former gauchos on European diets: diabetes, obesity, cardiovascular disease, dental decay.

Modern Argentina: 28% obesity, cardiovascular disease leading cause of death, diabetes nearly 10%.

The gauchos who ate nothing but beef had none of these. They rode horses 12 hours daily into their 60s, maintained teeth without dental care, died from accidents or old age, not chronic disease.

Same beef. Different context. When you eat beef with grains, seed oils, sugar: modern disease. Beef alone: You have the health of a 19th century gaucho.

Malvinas: My Experience in the 12th IR

 

My Experience in the 12th Infantry Regiment (Final Part)

VGM Soldier JUAN ALBERTO VACA

On 21 May, the British landing at San Carlos took place, coming up against the Argentine troops who were deployed forward. We were several kilometres from that area. The English pirate had set foot on our islands, and we knew that before long rifle fighting on our own ground was imminent; “at last I’ll be able to face them and see the British in the flesh,” I thought to myself. From that moment on, the attacks by ships and aircraft against our positions intensified. I remember that in one of those attacks a large number of bombs fell on us, destroying the troops’ hut area and all of the officers’ tents. By a miracle, and thanks to God’s help, we did not have any fatalities to mourn—only a few wounded with minor injuries.

On 27 May, we entered into direct combat with the enemy. We fought for two days without stopping, resting sporadically for a few hours or minutes whenever we could. The troops who were deployed forward absorbed the first attack, but because of the enemy’s superiority they began to fall back, leaving us on the front line of defence. The assault on our positions was ferocious: we were harassed by enemy riflemen, while at the same time we endured bombardment from frigates and from the air. I recall that before attacking us they lit up the sky with flares—but only over the sector where we were—so that they could see us, while we could not see them. That night we fought for several hours, until the order came to withdraw towards Goose Green, where the Regiment’s other companies were located.



The following day we reorganised and prepared to face another onslaught. The Air Force personnel were with us as well, having also withdrawn. Goose Green is a small settlement near the sea, surrounded by low hills. There, more than a thousand of us were packed together. The enemy, taking advantage of the ships’ attacks that were giving us a hard time that day, encircled us and took the high ground. On the night of the 28th we learned that the British had demanded our surrender, and our commander replied in the negative, as we believed they would not open fire because they might cause casualties among the islanders. But after a further attack by enemy artillery, Lieutenant Colonel Piaggi, together with the commander of the Air Force personnel, decided to surrender in order to avoid an unnecessary massacre.

We had to hand over our weapons; we had resisted as much as we could. I remember our wounded being taken to a hospital ship, where they were operated on, while those with light injuries were treated in the shed where we were being held. In San Carlos, I continued working at my trade as a cook, always under guard by the Gurkhas, who were recognisable—besides their Asian features—by their short stature and by carrying a large, curved knife. They directed everything with gestures, but they treated us well.

When the war ended they took us to Uruguay, and from there to Buenos Aires by ship. As soon as we arrived, we were transferred to the Campo de Mayo barracks, where we were warmly received: we were given plentiful food, soft drinks, issued with new clothing, and we were able to bathe. Unfortunately, I was kept in hospital for two weeks because of a condition caused by the blast wave from a bomb that fell near me during the battle. The explosion threw me into the air and, as I came down, I struck my head on a stone. In that bombardment, two sergeants, a corporal and two soldiers were wounded. Thank God I recovered just in time to return with the rest of the soldiers to Mercedes, where, after completing the usual formalities, we were discharged and I was able to return to my beloved Santiago.



“Lastly, I want to say that I feel proud to have taken part in that great deed for our country. Sadly we could not overcome the military superiority of a powerful nation, but I am convinced that we did what we could and gave the best of ourselves. The images of the war—the cold, the anxiety, the fear, the sound of bombs falling close by, the aircraft and helicopters harassing our positions, the shouting, comrades dead and wounded—will never be erased from my memory, and form a body of recollections that will remain with me until the end of my days. But we were not ‘boys’, as some would have people believe: we were soldiers.”

Civil War: Battle of Campos de Álvarez

Battle of Campos de Álvarez

Monument erected on the site of the Battle of Campos de Álvarez, fought on 31 January 1852

Juan Manuel de Rosas and Ángel Pacheco, respectively, facilitated for the Empire of Brazil and for Urquiza the easy success they achieved in their triumphant march into the interior of Buenos Aires Province. Rosas referred all matters to Pacheco, and Pacheco, in turn, failed to take timely or effective action. One need only consider the decisive events that shaped the operations culminating in the Battle of Caseros.

A month before Oribe’s capitulation, Colonel Martiniano Chilavert submitted a memorandum to Rosas in which he presented numerous reasons and favourable prospects for having Oribe move to engage Urquiza and, at the same time, preparing an army to invade Brazil. Rosas approved the memorandum and said he would consult Pacheco—but meanwhile allowed Oribe’s army to be undermined.

When Urquiza was gathering his forces in Gualeguaychú, Chilavert again urged Rosas to defend the Paraná River line, offering to lead the defence himself. Rosas responded that he would consult Pacheco. Soon thereafter, Pascual Echagüe was forced to abandon Santa Fe. When Urquiza moved from Rosario and Pacheco ordered Lucio Norberto Mansilla to withdraw from positions along the Paraná, Mansilla assumed this was to reposition him with infantry and artillery to the northern front dominated by Lagos with 8,000 cavalry, in order to defend the line of the Arroyo del Medio. Pacheco would then reinforce him from Luján, and together they would present battle to Urquiza. In the event of defeat, they could retreat to the barracks at Santos Lugares. This strategy would also buy Rosas time to raise the southern campaign in a unified effort and place Urquiza in a critical position, encircled and cut off from his supply lines. Mansilla presented this logic to Rosas, who again directed him to consult with Pacheco. Urquiza then advanced his vanguard to the Arroyo del Medio.

When Urquiza reached that point, and Pacheco insisted that Hilario Lagos retreat to headquarters, Lagos protested to Rosas, stating that he and his soldiers were determined to stand and defend the invaded land. Rosas responded affirming his confidence in Lagos's patriotism and advised him to harmonise his actions with General Pacheco's orders.

There were moments when Rosas showed signs of reacting—particularly when he sensed the disorganisation of his forces. He summoned Major Antonino Reyes, commander at Santos Lugares, and spoke of convening a war council of senior officers. But the impulse passed quickly. It was Pacheco—his constant reliance on Pacheco—that caused him to waver. Still, he told Reyes: “I’ll need you by my side; we must urgently appoint someone to command your battalion, the coastal battalions, and other units that together would make up about 1,500 men with six artillery pieces.” Reyes proposed Colonel Pedro José Díaz, a seasoned officer residing in Buenos Aires since being captured at Quebracho Herrado (28 November 1840) with the last remnants of Lavalle’s infantry. Díaz responded: “Tell the Governor I appreciate the trust he places in me; though a 'Unitarian', I will fulfil my duty as a soldier under the orders of my country’s government.” This led to the formation of that infantry brigade—the only one that, alongside Chilavert’s renowned artillery, held fire until the very end against the imperial forces.

Pacheco’s decisions, however, consistently cleared the path for the allied advance. On 26 January, as the allies reached Arroyo del Gato and moved on to Laguna del Tigre (near Chivilcoy), he ordered all troops withdrawn from the “Guardia de Luján” (present-day Mercedes), leaving only 600 men under Colonel Lagos—the sole commander actively resisting the enemy. Yet on the 28th, Pacheco wrote to Lagos suggesting he proceed as he saw fit with his forces, referring vaguely to movements supposedly made on the night of the 26th. He claimed that Major Albornoz was withdrawn because Lagos’s division was strong enough on its own.

But Pacheco’s assumptions were false—no such movements had occurred. Moreover, he ordered the withdrawal of all reserves, leaving Lagos isolated with a small division facing the enemy. Lagos replied on 28 January:

“Colonel Lagos, sir, made no movement whatsoever with the divisions encamped at Arroyo de Balta on the night of the 26th. I was informed by Major Albornoz that Your Excellency had ordered the withdrawal of all forces from Guardia de Luján on that same day. If I have been forced to engage the enemy solely on their left flank, it was because I was reprimanded for advancing with my force to Laguna de las Toscas, which I calculated (correctly) would be the enemy’s route.”

At the same time, serious accusations circulated against General Pacheco—some alleged that between 26 and 27 January he had established secret contact with General Urquiza, even removing Colonel Bustos’s aides from the area around Luján to that end. Bustos relayed the matter to Rosas through Major Reyes. Rosas simply replied: “He’s mad, sir.” The same was said of a Justice of the Peace who travelled from his post to confirm the rumour, and even of a prominent member of the legislature who echoed the report: “He’s mad,” Rosas repeated.

The allied army advanced from Chivilcoy to Luján, arriving on the morning of 29 January. By the 30th, its vanguard was positioned at Campos de Álvarez, just over two leagues from some of Buenos Aires’ forward divisions, located along the left bank of the Río de las Conchas (today the Reconquista River), defending the Márquez Bridge. Pacheco had just crossed the bridge without issuing orders and took the road to his estancia at El Talar.

Upon hearing of the enemy’s approach, Rosas instructed Lagos to engage them in battle, assuring him that General Pacheco would defend the Márquez Bridge with superior forces. With his own division and those of Colonels Domingo Sosa and Ramón Bustos (son of the Córdoba caudillo Juan Bautista Bustos), Lagos gathered approximately 2,500 men. At dawn on 31 January, he organised three parallel columns, deployed light cavalry to the front, and advanced to confront the enemy.

The allied army had formed in an extended line on the left flank, matching Lagos’s direction. General Juan Pablo López held the left; Colonel Galarza commanded the Entre Ríos cavalry in the centre; Colonels Aguilar and Caraballo positioned their divisions on either side. The allied force numbered about 5,000. The elite Buenos Aires squadrons clashed with the seasoned cavalry of Entre Ríos. These initially wavered when Lagos personally led charges that earned him lasting renown in Argentine military history. But the allied regiments, reinforced by López’s timely support and flanking manoeuvres, overwhelmed Lagos’s inexperienced squadrons. He then regrouped his best troops, led a final charge to stall the enemy, and withdrew in good order to the Márquez Bridge, losing around 200 men—including Commander Marcos Rubio—and several officers, weapons, and horses.

Allied reports and General César Díaz’s “Unpublished Memoirs” (pp. 265–267) claimed Lagos had 6,000 of the finest cavalry, and inconsistently reported both a lack of resistance and 200 casualties among Lagos’s forces, while stating the allies lost only 26 men. General Díaz had no direct knowledge, as he was two leagues from the battlefield and only joined the allied vanguard the next day. It was assumed Lagos still commanded the same force with which he had withdrawn from the northern line, but in reality, at Álvarez he had:

• His own division, militia from Bragado, and veteran detachments: 600 men

• Sosa’s division: 1,300 men

• Bustos’s division: 600 men

Echagüe’s and Cortina’s divisions did not participate. The bulk of Lagos’s Bragado division had been redirected by Pacheco across the Márquez Bridge.

Lagos expected to find Pacheco at the bridge with infantry and artillery, as instructed. But Pacheco was not there—he had left not a single man. Lagos requested orders, reporting he was still skirmishing with the enemy’s advance units. From Santos Lugares came the reply: “Hold your position.” On 11 February, the entire allied army assembled at Álvarez. Lagos informed Santos Lugares, and only late that day was he told that if the enemy attempted to cross the river, he should retreat to headquarters.

In this context, Pacheco resigned as General-in-Chief, stating Rosas was already at Santos Lugares in command of the army. Rosas took it as a personal blow. Showing the resignation to Major Reyes, he said: “Don’t you see, sir? Pacheco is mad, sir.” Yet, as Pacheco had informed all commanders of his resignation and urged them to report directly to Rosas, Rosas responded that he had “not accepted General Pacheco’s request; and given the importance of his role and his distinguished performance, the illustrious general continues in command.”

Rosas, however, flew into a rage when told Pacheco had failed to defend the Márquez Bridge with the troops withdrawn from Luján, as previously ordered: “It cannot be—surely the General Pacheco could not have disobeyed the orders of the Governor of the Province!” On the night of 31 January, Benjamín Victorica arrived at Santos Lugares on Pacheco’s behalf. Rosas dismissed him without hearing the message. The following afternoon, Pacheco himself arrived. Reyes announced him and returned to speak with Colonel Bustos. Moments later, both men were astonished to see Pacheco leave Rosas’s quarters, head down, without speaking, mount his horse, and ride to Witt’s estate, from where he witnessed the subsequent military events.

The victory at Álvarez was naturally celebrated in Urquiza’s camp and boosted allied morale. In light of the ease of their progress, they began to believe—perhaps rightly—that they would soon enter Buenos Aires with weapons in hand. In Rosas’s camp, although the defeat was keenly felt, it produced no outward sign. On the night of 1 February, some 400 men deserted from the allies and joined Santos Lugares, greeted by cheers from their former comrades.

Among the Buenos Aires population, strong support for Rosas persisted, rooted in a cultural loyalty reinforced by shared adversity and struggle. Many soldiers believed they were defending national honour against a foreign invasion. Was that merely poetic? Perhaps, but it was the poetry of honour—an inner truth resonating within individual conscience. The rural population saw only the astonishing fact of the Brazilian Empire’s invasion and rallied around Rosas as the personification of national salvation.

General César Díaz, commander of the eastern division of the allied army, observed:

“The people of Luján displayed the same studied indifference as those of Pergamino; and to the outward signs of sympathy for Rosas, they added actions clearly reflecting their sentiments. They exaggerated the size and quality of Rosas’s forces, recalled the many political storms he had weathered, and were convinced he would once again emerge victorious.”

Upon the full allied army’s arrival at Álvarez, Díaz recounts Urquiza’s thoughts:

“I went to visit the General and found him in the Major General’s tent. He spoke of the bitter disappointment in the spirit we had expected from Buenos Aires. Until then, we had not faced any resistance. The General said, ‘If it were not for my interest in promoting the Republic’s organisation, I should have remained allied to Rosas, for I am persuaded that he is a very popular man in this country.’”
And Díaz concludes:
“If Rosas was so publicly hated, or no longer feared, as was claimed, why did the people not seize this opportunity to realise their long-held desires? Why did they show such exaggerated zeal in defending their own servitude? From what I witnessed, I am deeply convinced that Rosas’s authority in 1852 was as strong—perhaps stronger—than it had been a decade earlier, and that neither popular submission nor confidence in his leadership had ever abandoned him.”

Sources:

• César Díaz – Unpublished Memoirs – Adriano Díaz Publications – Buenos Aires (1878)

• Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado

• Portal: www.revisionistas.com.ar

• Adolfo Saldías – Historia de la Confederación Argentina – Ed. El Ateneo, Buenos Aires (1951)

Reproduction permitted with citation: www.revisionistas.com.ar

Captured Land Based Exocet Launch System (ITB) Trial in 1985

Argentine Confederation: Embargos on Unitarians in Flores

Embargo on the Unitarians of Flores

The Jueces de Paz (Peace Judges) replaced the former Alcaldes de Hermandad (Brotherhood Majors) when the Cabildo of Buenos Aires was officially dissolved in 1821. To the traditional rural lower-court powers held by their predecessors, new responsibilities were gradually added—especially during the Rosista era—turning them into central figures in the machinery established by Juan Manuel de Rosas to control life in the countryside, thereby consolidating their role as an effective instrument of rural population control.

Between 1832 and 1852, only four men held the office in the Partido de San José de Flores: Martín Farías, Vicente Zavala, Eustaquio Martínez, and Isidro Silva. The years 1841–1842 imposed an even heavier burden on these Justices of the Peace, beyond their usual judicial and policing functions, as they were tasked with enforcing the decree of 16 December 1841, which ordered the seizure of property from the opposition known as the “Savage Unitarians”:

“All movable and immovable property, rights, and claims of any kind, located in the city or countryside, belonging to the savage Unitarian traitors, are to be used to compensate for the damages inflicted on the fortunes of loyal Federalists by the hordes of the unnatural traitor Juan Lavalle; for the extraordinary expenses incurred by the public treasury in resisting the barbaric invasion of this execrable murderer; and for the rewards granted by the government to the regular army, the militias, and the other brave defenders of the freedom and dignity of our Confederation and that of America.”

Estates in Flores belonging to the “Savage Unitarians” that were seized:

• Achaval, José

• Blanco, Francisco

• Borches, José

• Carabajal, José María

• Castro, Joaquín

• Cortés, Alejo

• Díaz, Fermín

• Florete, Manuel

• Mainuetas, Manuel

• Mayoral, Regina

• Ramos de Lastra, Josefa

• Ramos Mexía, Francisco

• Ramos, Ramón

• Ruvino, Ignacio

• Zurita, Francisco de Paula

The same decree required the Justice of the Peace to submit a monthly report detailing the condition of the animals and properties that had been confiscated. These reports, titled “Monthly report showing the status of the animals that belonged to the Savage Unitarians, kept in winter pasture, specifying location, condition, and quantity”, were accompanied by correspondence sent to Santos Lugares, which was the General Regiment. They reveal compliance with the decree through records such as:

• Notes on animals in winter pasture

• Tree maintenance

• Firewood dispatches

• Wages for firewood cutters

• Transfers of money from firewood sales

• Sale of seized livestock

• Requests for wages for firewood cutters

• Funds for caretakers of winter pastures

• Funds to repair carts

• Funds for the construction of sheds

• Hiring of labourers

This measure was a response to one of the most severe crises faced during Rosas’s long rule, which included the French blockade of the port of Buenos Aires (1838–1840). The blockade severely disrupted the province’s foreign trade and, as a result, its public revenues. This period also saw the 1839 rural uprising in the southern campaign of Buenos Aires, known as the Libres del Sur. Finally, in 1840, Rosas was confronted with an invasion from the north of the province led by General Juan Lavalle, his old rival.

The principle behind the measure was not unprecedented, neither before nor after Rosas. In our civil wars or major social upheavals, confiscation and embargo have consistently been employed by governments to punish opponents or secure funding. Consider, for example, the confiscations during the French Revolution, or in the early 20th century during the Russian Revolution. It is, at first glance, logical that the material damages of war or revolution should be paid by those who seemingly provoked them; for the state, or peaceful citizens, ought not to bear the burden of conflicts they did not seek.

In the 1840 annual address, Arana justified the measure in unequivocal terms, which confirm this interpretation of what had become an almost codified custom:

“The government found itself faced with the choice of either passively allowing the wealth of the enemies of the Republic to support the barbarian invaders, or depriving them of every means of hostility. It could not hesitate in its choice.”

And, indeed, it did not.

Source

Deppeler, Néstor R. – Los embargos en la época de Rosas -, Ed. La Facultad, Buenos Aires (1936).
Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado
Gavilán Enciso, Digna – Pueblo y campaña en la época de Rosas: San José de Flores, 1832-1852 – UNAM, San Justo (2018).
Gelman, Jorge y Schroeder, María Inés – Los embargos a los “unitarios” de la campaña de Buenos Aires – Duke University Press, (2003).
Heras, Carlos – Confiscaciones y embargos durante el gobierno de Rosas – UNLP, La Plata (1921).
Portal revisionistas.com.ar

Malvinas: Call Sign Fortin 1

Call Sign Fortín 1

In 1982, he was an experienced squadron leader in the VI Air Brigade. Assigned with his squadron to the San Julián Military Air Base, on May 1st he answered the bugle call and climbed into the aircraft. The FORTIN fighters were to cover the attack and subsequent return of the TORNO squadron on a bombing mission. After takeoff, as a precaution, he ordered the cannons tested. He pulled the trigger several times and checked the fuses: his cannons weren't working. Perhaps he should return, but... how could he leave his comrade alone? "It doesn't matter," he thought, "the British don't know my weapons aren't working." While the TORNO fighters were successfully attacking the ships shelling the Malvinas runway, a British patrol began to pursue them. The Malvinas radar operator, who also didn't know that FORTÍN 1 lacked cannons, ordered it to position itself between the two squadrons. The pilot ordered the jettisoning of its auxiliary fuel tanks and dove toward the Harriers. The sun in its face jammed its missiles, preventing them from launching, but "the British probably don't know that either," he figured, and continued accelerating, trying to impress the enemy. The false signal of the ace of spades worked. Alerted by a ship's radar, the British broke off the pursuit.



On May 21, dozens of ships invaded the San Carlos Strait. In a small bay, they began their landing, and only the air force was there to try and stop them. This time, FORTÍN 1 was ordered to load bombs. It took off at the head of three M-5s, hoping to hit the target. Formed in line, about two hundred meters apart, they approached the area. Ears, attentive to instructions; eyes, searching for the distant silhouette of the enemy. Suddenly, a number sounded the alert: “Aircraft to the right.” Going against orders to jettison the bombs and return, the hunter's spirit of FORTÍN 1 prepared to engage them. He lightened the aircraft, traded speed for altitude, a Harrier below his Dagger, and he dove. Without tracer ammunition, guided by instinct, he predicted the opponent's trajectory and angrily squeezed the trigger. It was a hypnotic instant, an instant in which he imagined that one of his shots would hit the Harrier, an instant in which he had to react and recover the aircraft plummeting to only thirty or forty meters above the ground. He initiated a turn, attempting to engage again, but abruptly lost control. A missile had mortally wounded his Dagger, and the only option was to abandon it. He reached the ejection seat; the explosive charges ripped the cockpit apart, then his seat was ejected, the wind buffeted him, and he quickly deployed his parachute. One push and he was suspended in mid-air. As he fell, Captain Guillermo Donadille tried to recall the instructions from the survival course, those given to hunters for when the fate of combat abruptly clips their wings... but not their spirit.

 

Argentine Civil War: Letter from Juan Manuel de Rosas to Juan Facundo Quiroga

Letter from Juan Manuel de Rosas to Juan Facundo Quiroga, stained with his blood after being assassinated in Barranca Yaco

Figueroa Estate in San Antonio, December 20, 1834

My dear comrade, Mr. Juan Facundo Quiroga,

In accordance with our agreement, I begin by informing you that I have come to believe that the disputes between Tucumán and Salta, and the dissatisfaction between their governments, may have been caused by former Governor Mr Pablo Alemán and his associates. This man fled to Tucumán, where I believe he was received cordially and treated with friendship by Mr Heredia. From there, he orchestrated a revolution against Latorre, but when he returned to the Rosario frontier to carry it out, his plans failed and he was apprehended and taken to Salta. There, he was released on bail on the condition that he not return to the province, and while passing through Tucumán, it seems he maintained good relations with Mr Heredia.

All this, understandably, would have angered Latorre and emboldened Mr Alemán’s faction. In such a context, the Unitarians—who are ever watchful like wolves lying in wait for a lapse in vigilance—sought to exploit this situation, perhaps through the notorious student López who was held on the Pontón, using these developments to reassert their influence.

However, regardless of how this came about, I find Mr Heredia’s request for damages and compensation to be unjust. He himself admits in official notes to this government and to Salta’s, that his grievances are based on indications and conjecture, not on certain and undeniable facts that would eliminate all doubt regarding Latorre’s allegedly hostile conduct.

In this case, the law of nations would only permit Mr Heredia to request explanations and guarantees, but certainly not reparations. Affairs between States cannot be resolved under the laws governing private disputes, for such laws are dictated by particular circumstances only relevant in the State where they are enacted. Furthermore, it is not customary to sentence a party to indemnify another based solely on signs and suspicions.

Even if this demand for indemnity were not repugnant to justice, it surely is to politics. First, it would foster an eternal hatred between the provinces, which, sooner or later, would bring great harm to the Republic. Second, such a precedent would open the door to intrigue and bad faith, allowing factions to provoke disputes that would serve as a pretext to force some provinces to sacrifice their fortunes for the benefit of others.

In my view, we must not lose sight of how carefully Mr Heredia avoids addressing the charges Latorre makes about his handling of Alemán, who, according to Latorre’s own complaints, incited a revolution from Tucumán using that province’s resources with Mr Heredia’s knowledge and tolerance—a matter mentioned in Latorre’s proclamation published in Thursday’s Gazette, which you will have read.

Justice has two ears, and in order to find it, you must uncover matters from their very origin. If it should become evident, based on indisputable facts, that one of the two disputants has openly betrayed the national cause of the Federation, in your place, I would advocate that he be removed from office.

As I consider it unnecessary to dwell on some other points, which the Governor has already well explained in his instructions, I shall now proceed to the matter of the Constitution.

It seems to me that in your efforts to restore the peace and order that have been so unfortunately disturbed, the most powerful argument and the strongest reason you must convey to these Governors and other influential figures—whenever you have the opportunity—is the retrograde step the Nation has taken by pushing further away the long-desired day of our great National Constitution.

What is the current state of the Republic but the consequence of this delay? You and I deferred to the provinces, allowing them to focus on drafting their own constitutions so that, once proclaimed, we might then lay the groundwork for the great National Charter. We acted not because we were convinced the time had truly come, but because the Republic was at peace and the need for a Constitution had become widespread. We felt it prudent to proceed as we did to avoid greater evils.

The results are painfully evident: the succession of scandals and the truly dangerous state in which the Republic now finds itself, a sombre picture that extinguishes any hope of remedy.

And after all this, after what experience so clearly teaches us, can anyone still believe that rushing into a national Constitution is the solution?

Permit me a few observations on this matter, for although we have always been in agreement on such an elevated topic, I wish to leave in your hands, well in advance and for whatever use it may have, a small portion of what I think must be said.

No one more than you and I is persuaded of the necessity for the organisation of a general government, and that it is the only way to give substance and responsibility to our Republic. But who can doubt that such a government must be the happy result of all means properly aligned for its creation? Who aspires to an end by marching in the opposite direction? Who, when building a structured and compact whole, does not first organise and solidify the parts that are to comprise it?

Who attempts to form an orderly army from groups of men lacking officers, discipline, or subordination, who are in constant conflict with each other, dragging the rest into their disarray? Who forms a living and robust body from dead, torn, or gangrenous limbs, when it is evident that the life and strength of the whole must come from the vitality of its parts?

A bitter and costly experience has shown us that a federal system is absolutely necessary in our case, primarily because we completely lack the elements required for a unified government.

Consider how the dominance of a faction deaf to this reality has destroyed the resources once available to us. It has incited animosity, corrupted public opinion, pitted private interests against each other, spread immorality and intrigue, and fractured society into factions to such a degree that almost no ties remain. Even the most sacred bond—the one that could restore the others, religion itself—has not been spared. In this deplorable state, everything must be created anew, beginning with small efforts, fragment by fragment, until we can establish a general system that encompasses all.

A Federal Republic is the most disastrous illusion if not composed of well-organised States. When each State retains its sovereignty and independence, the general government’s internal power is virtually non-existent. Its primary role is purely representative—to speak on behalf of the Confederated States in dealings with foreign nations. Thus, if individual States lack the means to maintain internal order, the creation of a general representative government merely risks spreading disorder across the Republic at each local crisis.

This is why the United States of America did not admit new territories or provinces into the Confederation until they were able to govern themselves. In the meantime, they remained unrepresented, considered as territories attached to the Republic.

In our current state of unrest, with populations corrupted by Unitarians, lodge members, aspirants, secret agents of other nations, and the major lodges that disturb all of Europe, what hope can there be for calm when drafting a federal pact, the first step a Federative Congress must take? In our current poverty, brought on by political upheaval, who will fund the assembly and maintenance of this Congress, let alone a general administration?

[Due to length, the translation continues in the next message.]

Continuation – Translation of Juan Manuel de Rosas’s Letter to Juan Facundo Quiroga (Part 2):

How shall we fund the national foreign debt, incurred for the benefit of the entire Republic, which will immediately become a pressing concern upon the establishment of a general administration?

Furthermore, when we can barely find capable men to govern individual provinces, from where will we draw those who are to govern the entire Republic? Are we to hand over the general administration to the ignorant, the ambitious, the Unitarians, and every kind of opportunist?

Did we not witness how the so-called constellation of wise men could find no better candidate for general government than Don Bernardino Rivadavia, and how he was unable to form a cabinet except by taking the priest from the Cathedral (1) and bringing Dr Lingotes (2) from San Juan to serve as Minister of Finance—though he understood that department no better than a man born blind understands astronomy?

Finally, when we look upon the Republic’s pitiful condition, which of the heroes of the Federation will dare take on the general government? Who among them could gather a body of federal representatives and ministers, possessing the intelligence and cooperation necessary to perform their duties with dignity, succeed in office, and not ruin their reputation?

There is so much to say on this matter that even a volume written over the course of a month would barely cover the essentials.

The general Congress must be conventional, not deliberative. Its purpose must be to negotiate the bases of the Federal Union, not to resolve them by vote. It must be made up of deputies paid and supported by their own people, without expectation that one province will subsidise another. Buenos Aires once might have done so, but that is now entirely impossible.

Before the assembly is convened, the governments must unanimously agree upon its location and upon the formation of a common fund to cover the official expenses of Congress, such as premises, furnishings, lighting, clerks, assistants, porters, attendants, and other necessary services. These are significant costs—much greater than generally believed.

The place chosen for the meeting must offer guarantees of safety and respect for the deputies, regardless of their views. It must be hospitable and comfortable, as the deputies will require a long time to conduct business. Failing this, many of the most capable individuals may decline to attend or resign after arriving, and the Congress will be reduced to a group of incompetents—lacking talent, knowledge, judgment, or experience in state affairs.

If you were to ask me today where such a place might be, I would say: I do not know. And if someone were to propose Buenos Aires, I would reply that such a choice would be a certain sign of the most unfortunate and disastrous end—for this city and for the entire Republic.

Only time—time alone, under the shadow of peace and the people’s tranquillity—can provide and indicate such a place.

The deputies must be proven federalists, men of respect, moderation, circumspection, prudence, and administrative knowledge, who thoroughly understand the internal and external situation of our country—both domestically and in relation to neighbouring states and the European nations with which we trade. These matters involve complex and significant interests. If two or three deputies lack such qualifications, disorder will follow—as it always has—if not outright corruption by those who, finding themselves in such a position and unable to accomplish any good for the country, seek only their personal gain. That is precisely what our past Congresses have done—ending in dissolution, leaving only gossip, lies, intrigues, and plunging the country into a chaos of calamities from which it may never recover.

The first matter to be addressed in the Congress is not, as some believe, the establishment of the general government or the appointment of the supreme head of the Republic. That is the last step. The first is to decide whether the Congress will continue its sessions in the same location or relocate elsewhere.

The second matter is the General Constitution, beginning with the structure of the general government: how many officials it will comprise—both the supreme head and ministers—and what their powers will be, ensuring that the sovereignty and independence of each federated State remain intact. It must outline the election process, eligibility criteria, the seat of government, and the size of the permanent land and sea forces during peacetime—essential for maintaining order, security, and national dignity.

The question of the location of the government seat is particularly sensitive, often provoking jealousies and rivalries among provinces, and resulting in a complicated overlap between national and local authorities. These issues were so serious that the Americans chose to found Washington, D.C., a federal capital belonging to no State.

Once the structure, powers, and location of government are agreed upon, the Congress must proceed to establish a permanent national fund to cover all ordinary and extraordinary general expenses and the repayment of national debt—both foreign and domestic, regardless of the justice or injustice of its causes or the management of State finances. Creditors are not concerned with these matters; they are to be addressed separately.

Each federated State must contribute to this fund (as with military contingents for the national army) in proportion to its population, unless an alternative arrangement is agreed upon. There is no fixed rule; all depends on mutual agreements.

The Americans agreed to fund this via customs duties on overseas trade, because all their States had seaports. If not, such a system would not have been feasible. Additionally, their geographic conditions are largely maritime, as evidenced by their active commerce, large number of merchant and war ships, and the high cost of maintaining their naval power—hence the logic of funding the government with revenues from foreign trade.

Included in these discussions should be the National Bank, paper currency, all part of the national debt owed to Buenos Aires, the British debt incurred during the war with Brazil, the millions spent on military reforms, and payments made toward the recognised debt dating from the War of Independence. Also to be accounted are all expenditures made by this province in support of previous general congresses—on the understanding they were to be reimbursed.

Once these financial and organisational matters are resolved, and mechanisms established for each State to generate its own revenue without harming national interests, only then should the appointment of the head of the Republic and the creation of the general government take place.

[Final portion of the letter continues in the next message.]

Continuation – Translation of Juan Manuel de Rosas’s Letter to Juan Facundo Quiroga (Part 3 – Final Part):

And can anyone truly believe that, in the sad and lamentable condition in which our country now finds itself, it is possible to overcome such vast difficulties and bring to completion an enterprise so immense and arduous—one that, even in times of peace and prosperity, with the most capable and patriotic men at our disposal, could scarcely be realised in two years of constant labour?

Can anyone who understands the federal system honestly believe that creating a general government under such a structure will resolve the internal disputes of the provinces? This mistaken belief, sadly held by some well-meaning individuals, is exactly what fuels the ambitions of others—perfidious and treacherous men who stir unrest in the provinces with cries of "Constitution!" not in pursuit of peace, but to ensure chaos endures—for it is in disorder that they find their opportunity to thrive.

The general government in a federative republic does not unite the member states—it represents them as united. Its function is not to create unity, but to represent existing unity before other nations. It neither involves itself in the internal matters of any single state, nor resolves disputes between them. The former is handled by the local authorities, and the latter is addressed by provisions already included in the Constitution itself.

In short, unity and peace create the general government; disunity destroys it. It is a result, not a cause. If its absence is painful, its collapse is even more catastrophic, for it never falls without taking the entire Republic down with it.

Since we currently lack unity and peace—as we undeniably do—it is a lesser evil that no such general government yet exists, than to suffer the devastation of its collapse.

Are we not witnessing how every province struggles to overcome immense difficulties just to establish its own constitution? And if we cannot even resolve those isolated problems, how could we possibly hope to overcome them in addition to the greater discord between provinces—a discord that remains dormant only so long as each tends to its own affairs, but which erupts like a storm the moment a general Congress is convened?

Certain men must be disabused of the grave error in which they live. For if they succeed in their endeavour, they will drag the Republic into a catastrophe the likes of which it has never known.

And I, for my part, believe that if we wish to preserve our reputation and honour our past glories, we must under no circumstance lend our support to such madness—at least not until the proper moment arrives and we can be sure the result will be the genuine happiness of the Nation.

If we are unable to prevent them from going ahead with such a plan, then let them proceed—but we must make it clear to the public that we had no part in such folly, and that our failure to prevent it is due to our inability, not our will.

The maxim that one must place oneself at the head of the people when one cannot change their course is indeed a sound one—but only when their path is rightly directed, albeit with excessive haste. It is also valid when one seeks to gently change their course through practical reasoning, rather than force. In that sense, we have fulfilled our duty. But subsequent events have shown, in the clearest light, that among us, there is no other path than to give time—time for the elements of discord to be exhausted and die out, by encouraging, in each government, the spirit of peace and tranquillity.

When that spirit becomes visible everywhere, then the groundwork will begin—with peaceful and friendly missions, through which the governments may, quietly and without noise or agitation, negotiate among themselves—one day, one base; another day, another—until all are so well established that, when the Congress is finally formed, nearly all of its work is already laid out, and it need only proceed smoothly along the path that has been prepared.

This may be slow—indeed, it must be—but I believe it is the only approach possible for us, now that everything has been destroyed and we must rebuild from the very void.

Farewell, my comrade.
May Heaven have mercy on us, and grant you health, success, and happiness in the fulfilment of your mission; and to both of us, and our friends, the strength and unity to defend ourselves, to foresee and prevent, and to save our fellow countrymen from the many dangers that threaten us.

Juan M. de Rosas

Notes:

(1) Julián Segundo de Agüero
(2) Salvador María del Carril

Source: Collection of Adolfo Saldías, folios 179–184.
Room VII, Nº 229. Department of Written Documents. Buenos Aires. Argentina. (AGN│General Archive of the Nation)