Showing posts with label letter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label letter. Show all posts

Tuesday, December 23, 2025

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)

Wednesday, December 17, 2025

Memories from an Intelligence Officer in Malvinas

 

 

Memories from My First Days in Malvinas

Account by First Lieutenant Echeverría – Intelligence Officer, RI-4

After the fall of Darwin — though I can't recall the exact date — a series of reports came in warning us about the British positions. They were advancing roughly twenty kilometres from our location. Between us and them, although we had some of our own troops, they were small groups, whose main task was to raise the alarm and report movements.

We had a number of experiences ourselves — like finding traces of British commando patrols very close to us. Direct contact didn’t happen simply because we never came face-to-face with them, but we did come across remains that clearly showed they’d passed through.

We already knew they were there, and like us, they were deploying people to gather intelligence. These patrols continued for a while without actual clashes, and we still hadn’t felt their artillery — except for the naval guns that fired at night, or during the day when there was heavy fog.

That’s when the anti-radar and anti-radio missiles began to appear — and hit us. At the same time, we started facing limitations in using our radar and radio systems. The interference was heavy, and the British even insulted us over the airwaves. They had tools and technologies we simply didn’t. Still, we didn’t believe they would beat us. We told ourselves: “They won’t be able to defeat us.” Among those I spoke to, the general feeling was: we had to fight with whatever we had — even stones if it came to that. Our weapons weren’t bad, but they required more careful handling than on the mainland, mainly due to the extreme humidity.

The cold changed everything, just like what happens to a car. It's not the same as having one in Buenos Aires compared to parking it in Ushuaia.

At Mount Kent, a small unit had to retreat with the British literally on their heels. They reached us with the enemy right behind. Our troops were going along one side of the hill, while the British were climbing up the other. That unit didn’t have enough manpower or weapons to hold off a serious attack.

By then, our own commandos had already engaged with the British on multiple occasions, but luckily many were recovered — wounded, yes, but alive.

Harriers came and went, mostly over Puerto Argentino, and the ships kept firing at us at night. As I said, we also found remnants of British commandos operating very close to our positions. That was the situation. We had already lost helicopters, which reduced our mobility, and also ships like the Carcarañá, the Isla de los Estados, and a Coast Guard vessel. Our commandos, operating deep behind enemy lines, told us about extensive British helicopter traffic. We could already hear them nearby on calm, dark nights.

One evening around eight o'clock, our commander returned from a command meeting in town and updated us on the situation. All options were considered, and there was no choice but to fight while retreating — or risk getting caught mid-manoeuvre. The plan was to regroup and make a stand at Mounts Dos Hermanas and Harriet.

We already had small detachments at Harriet. Think of it like using your hands to protect your body — we were the “hands” of Puerto Argentino. And when one of those hands starts to feel the heat, that’s where you focus your defences. Don’t overreact, but observe, and try to understand why the enemy is moving in that direction.

It was decided to change front and redeploy to Dos Hermanas and Harriet, where the regiment would hold its ground. The withdrawal had to be swift — lightning fast. A decision was made about what equipment to leave behind, and the rest — weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, all vital gear — had to be moved. We were assigned three helicopters for the operation. The idea was to move everything possible at night, gather heavy equipment in specific spots, and if the helicopters couldn’t carry it, to bring it down to where three lorries were waiting — and then transport the troops.

But just after 10 p.m., the ships started firing again, and on top of that, it began to snow. It was chaos. We had to suspend the descent from the hills for two valuable hours — it was dark, snowing, and under naval fire.

Fortunately, the ships shifted fire to another sector, the snow stopped, and a thick layer settled. Around three or four in the morning — keeping in mind that darkness lasts until eight — we resumed the descent. At first light, troops were loading lorries or moving on foot. Others were loading the helicopters. A small anti-air unit stayed behind to cover the operation.

The Harriers arrived just after the helicopters had departed — luckily — but they did strike our marching columns: troops moving along a road, lorries gathered in a clearly visible and exposed area. From our hilltop position, waiting for the helicopters, we opened fire on the Harriers with tracer rounds. I don’t know if we managed to bring one down, but we hit them repeatedly. Still, we never saw one fall.

The British planes flew over daily, at all hours. They photographed us — we even made faces at them. That’s the truth. They attacked with mixed results, mainly damaging storage areas and equipment. Some of our lorries were destroyed, and although we started taking casualties, at that point they were still light — mostly wounded.

Back to the Harrier attack I was mentioning — we had to suspend helicopter use, and the troops kept retreating — even if it meant crawling through the rocks. The whole withdrawal was extremely tough — like being caught at home in your pyjamas.

That same morning, while the Harriers were still attacking, a lone commando arrived from enemy territory — the only one left from his patrol. He gave us a clearer picture of where the enemy was and what movements they had made. He came back completely shattered, desperate to explain what he had seen. The rest of his patrol was still out there, ahead of our lines. In time, it was confirmed that some of those brave commandos had been killed, and others made it back, wounded, to our positions.

Tuesday, December 2, 2025

Mount Longdon: The Letter of Private Albert Petrucelli


The Letter of Private Alberto Petrucelli (7th Mechanised Infantry Regiment)

Malvinas 1982

This is the story of a letter that was never sent to its addressee, written by the Argentine soldier Alberto Daniel Petrucelli before he was killed in action during the Battle of Mount Longdon, in the Malvinas, in 1982.




Although this letter did not come directly into my hands, I learned about it thanks to the kindness of Malvinas veteran Fernando Arabio. We got chatting after I posted on social media about the circumstances in which Sergeant Ian McKay, a British soldier of the 3rd Battalion of The Parachute Regiment, was killed while assaulting Argentine positions on Mount Longdon on the night of 11–12 June 1982. The Argentine soldier Alberto Daniel Petrucelli had been born on 18 October 1962 in the Federal Capital, and in the Malvinas he formed part of the First Rifle Group, Second Section, B “Maipú” Company, 7th Mechanised Infantry Regiment “Coronel Conde”.

The letter is addressed to Nancy, Alberto Petrucelli’s girlfriend, and is dated 29 May 1982. It is possible that he wrote it at a moment when he was left on his own because Corporal Gustavo Pedemonte, the group commander, and soldiers Enrique Ronconi (A Team Leader) and Felipe Ramírez (B Team Leader) had gone out on patrol to carry out a forward observation on the Murrell River. It is written on a sheet of Government Telegraph Service, Falkland Islands, stationery which Corporal Pedemonte himself had given him. Pedemonte in turn had received it from another soldier who had managed to get hold of some of the stationery that was seized in the house of the British governor Rex Hunt after Operation Rosario.



In the letter “from a hero to his official girlfriend” (as he himself headed it), Private Petrucelli conveys his deep love for his girlfriend and other feelings he was harbouring, from a strong faith in God and in the Virgin who protected him, to uncertainty about how events would unfold, which had remained unchanged since 1 May. Not least is his mention of that very day on which he was writing, when he was delighted to see snow start to fall and then disappointed shortly afterwards because the snow turned into British shells. The paragraph begins by telling her that he was well and that he would stay “escondidito” (“nicely hidden”), just as she had asked him to do in previous letters. However, in another passage of the letter Petrucelli wrote that he felt like crying but did not, because he “made himself strong and felt like a man”.



During the assault on the Argentine positions, carried out by the 3rd Battalion of The Parachute Regiment, Privates Alberto Petrucelli and Enrique Ronconi together with Corporal Gustavo Pedemonte brought down Sergeant Ian McKay, who fell on the edge of the foxhole they occupied. An hour later Private Julio Maidana joined the position and began refilling the magazines with two or three rounds at a time so that they could keep firing without delay. The three soldiers died heroically when a grenade managed to get into the foxhole and its explosion killed them. Corporal Pedemonte, who was at one end of the hole and shielded by the bodies of the soldiers, was hit by shrapnel in a leg and a buttock but survived. Afterwards, when the British soldiers who had approached the position moved away, he was able to climb out of the foxhole to seek help desperately for his men.

Private Gareth Rudd, belonging to the machine-gun team of 3rd Section, 2nd Platoon, A Company, 3rd Battalion The Parachute Regiment, told his comrade David J. Reeves that after the assault on Mount Longdon the British held firm in their defensive positions to protect themselves from the Argentine field artillery fire that was pounding them. Later, he went out with another soldier to patrol the northern side of Mount Longdon and they discovered the bodies of Sergeant Ian McKay and of the soldiers who had died with him while assaulting an Argentine position that had been very well constructed. They searched the position and found the bodies of three Argentine soldiers, pulled them out of the foxhole and laid them alongside the fallen British. The Argentine soldiers were better equipped with clothing and boots for the climate of the Malvinas, and as it was bitterly cold, Gareth Rudd took the duvet from one of the dead soldiers in an attempt to keep himself warmer. He then informed a non-commissioned officer about the bodies they had found and went back to his own shelter, as the Argentine artillery fire had started up again.



Gareth Rudd was part of the group of British soldiers who wrapped that whole group of dead British and Argentine soldiers in ponchos. It was not until he reached Puerto Argentino and settled with other soldiers in one of the houses that, when checking the pockets of the duvet, he discovered the letter from Alberto Petrucelli to his girlfriend Nancy. The letter ended up being kept in a wardrobe where he also had photographs, newspaper cuttings, maps and his own correspondence with his family.

More than forty years later, Mr David J. Reeves got in touch with Fernando Arabio and sent him the letter and the note in which his comrade Gareth Rudd told him how he had found it. Fernando managed to contact Mrs Nancy, who now lives in Chile with her family. At first, Mrs Nancy agreed to receive the letter, but in the end she decided not to, perhaps because of the memories it would stir up. Fernando then contacted Gustavo Pedemonte and the letter was donated to be placed on public display in the Museum of the 7th Mechanised Infantry Regiment.