4: Liliana’s grief on the cover of GENTE. Ten days had passed since the attack on La Tablada, and it was still difficult to grasp what had happened.
The Widow of a Patriot Who Gave His Life for the Nation
1: Liliana’s memories: “We’d been married ten years. I don’t speak of Horacio as if he were perfect just because he passed away—I say it because that’s how I genuinely feel. We never had a problem. We had a solid marriage. That’s why, since he’s been gone, I’ve tried to continue with what we’d planned.”
La Tablada: The Widow of Lieutenant Colonel Horacio Fernández Cutiellos Speaks
Liliana Raffo, widow of the second-in-command of the regiment, remembers her husband, Horacio Fernández Cutiellos. He was the first soldier to fall under guerrilla fire on Monday, 23 January 1989.
On 21 January 1989, Liliana Raffo was celebrating her 34th birthday in Córdoba with her parents, siblings, and four children: Horacio Raúl (then aged 9), Inés María (7), María Victoria (4), and María del Rosario (2). From Buenos Aires, her husband, Horacio Fernández Cutiellos (37), rang to wish her well. Due to work commitments—he was then serving as deputy commander of Infantry Regiment No. 3 in La Tablada and would later be promoted to lieutenant colonel—he could not be part of the celebration. Sadly, he would also not be present at any future ones.
Fernández Cutiellos was the second-in-command of the 3rd Mechanised Infantry Regiment. According to the judicial investigation, he was struck by gunfire at 9:20 a.m. on Monday the 23rd while engaging the attackers from a column near the parade ground. He was the first of five soldiers to fall following the assault.
Today, Liliana Raffo welcomes GENTE magazine into her home in the city of Córdoba. Her 64th birthday is two days away, and as has happened for over three decades, her emotions are mixed. On one hand, she recalls the last time she spoke to Horacio—the last time she heard his voice. On the other, the memory of the attack on the barracks, on 23 and 24 January 1989, which took her husband’s life, comes flooding back.
"It never crossed my mind that something like this could happen. We were living under a democratic government—Alfonsín’s," she reflects. She pauses, sighs, and adds: "But well… life goes on. It’s become routine now to have unpleasant Christmases, unpleasant birthdays, or simply none at all—because every year on the anniversary I travel to Buenos Aires. This year I’m going to Pigüé, the new base of the regiment, where on Wednesday the 23rd there’ll be an official ceremony. The first in thirty years."
Liliana still refers to her four children as “the kids”, though the eldest is nearing 40. “I got through it thanks to them. When I felt like crying, I’d go to my mum’s or a friend’s. At home, I tried to stay strong for them. I spoiled them too, I admit… Instead of raising them with strict rules or asking for help around the house, I’d say: ‘Go play.’ Just to keep their minds off things,” she recalls of the years following her husband’s death.
3: “I try not to show it, but I feel a lot of anger. Sometimes I think my husband died in vain. My children lost so much. They had to learn to live without their father from a very young age.”
"Horacio is here, there, and there." From the armchair, Liliana points to various framed photos of her husband placed around the living room. What she regrets most, she says, is not having a recording of his voice. "It’s the first thing you lose. I don’t remember it anymore. I always say, ‘Why didn’t I record him?!’ I don’t even have a video—can you believe that? It was a different time," she consoles herself.
Liliana’s memories: “We’d been married ten years. I don’t speak of Horacio as if he were perfect just because he passed away—I say it because that’s how I genuinely feel. We never had a problem. We had a solid marriage. That’s why, since he’s been gone, I’ve tried to continue with what we’d planned.”
2:
In her home in the city of Córdoba, Liliana Raffo keeps the memory of
her husband, Lieutenant Colonel Horacio Fernández Cutiellos, alive.
A few days after the barracks were recovered, a handwritten letter by Horacio was found. “It was in his office, on his desk. It looks like he was writing it to the kids. I’ll let you read it, but please don’t publish it—my children would kill me,” she asks the journalist.
In black ink and cursive handwriting on a plain sheet of now yellowed paper, Horacio wrote to his “dear children” a sort of life manifesto speaking of love for others, respect for the environment, nature, and animals. Coincidence or not, one of his daughters—Inés María, now 37—is a qualified vet. “That was Horacio,” says Liliana as she wraps the letter in plastic. “I try not to show it, but I feel a lot of anger. Sometimes I think my husband died in vain. My children lost so much. They had to learn to live without their father from a very young age.”
“I try not to show it, but I feel a lot of anger. Sometimes I think my husband died in vain. My children lost so much.
They had to learn to live without their father from a very young age.”
– Did you tell them the truth straight away or wait until they were older?
– I told them straight away. I never lied. I remember that a few days after the assault, my eldest, Horacio Raúl, would sneak off to the newsagent to look for reports about his father. Later, on a flight to Buenos Aires, I had María Victoria—the four-year-old—on my lap. There was a terrible storm outside, and suddenly I saw her waving. I asked her: “What are you doing, my love?” She replied: “I’m saying goodbye to Daddy.” I nearly died.
– Do your children have memories of him?
– At one point, the youngest would say to me: “Why didn’t he stay with us? Why did he have to go and die?” And she’s right. With the four-year-old, every time I gave her a bath, I’d say: “Do you remember how Daddy used to dry you?” and I’d pat her with the towel like he did. She remembers that, but most of what they know is from what I’ve told them. Since he died, I’ve tried to carry on with what we had planned. Our top priority was always the children and their education. Today they’re all professionals. I believe—just like me—he would be proud of them.
23 January 1989
"I’m going to die defending the barracks—recover it, all of you."
— Major Horacio Fernández Cutiellos, Deputy Commander of the 3rd Mechanised Infantry Regiment of the Argentine Army, during the defence of the La Tablada Army Garrison.
