Malvinas: Cover Operation on Cow Beach, 1966

Secret Landing at Cow Bay/Playa Vaca

Operation Cow Beach was conceived in the shadows of a turbulent era—an epic chapter in the history of the Argentine Navy, where determination and stealth combined to confront a challenge that had lingered for over a century. The year was 1966, and Argentina, ruled by a military junta following the overthrow of President Arturo Illia, was growing weary of its diplomatic claims over the sovereignty of the Falkland Islands. The shadow of British incursion, cast over the islands since 1833, loomed heavily in the minds of naval strategists.




The incident involving Aerolíneas Argentinas Flight 648, hijacked by a group of extremists and diverted to the archipelago, had stirred already turbulent waters. It was a stark reminder that the situation in the Falklands could escalate without warning, and that Argentina needed to be prepared for a confrontation scenario. Thus, in the shadowy offices of Buenos Aires, a plan was drawn up involving one of the fleet’s most veteran submarines—the ARA Santiago del Estero, a former USS Lamprey from the Second World War, repurposed as the guardian of a secret mission.



Aerolíneas Argentinas Flight 648 was hijacked by Argentine extremists on 28 September 1966 and diverted to the Falklands, where they meekly surrendered to the British colonial authorities.


On 28 October 1966, with its diesel engines roaring beneath the waves, the ARA Santiago del Estero silently navigated the frigid waters of the South Atlantic. Under the command of Frigate Captain Horacio González Llanos and Corvette Captain Juan José Lombardo, the submarine stealthily approached the coast of East Falkland, just 40 kilometres from Port Stanley, the capital of the British colony. On board, twelve Navy men—including Sub-Lieutenant Oscar Héctor García Rabini—waited tensely for the moment to act.


Diagram of the Navigation Route Taken by Submarine S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero of the Argentine Navy During Operation "Cow Beach", Late October 1966




Cow Bay, Soledad Island/East Falkland (Argentine Republic)

The plan was clear: they were to land on a remote beach, just a few kilometres north of the British position, to gather vital intelligence for future landings. The beach had to be thoroughly surveyed—its gradient, potential underwater obstacles, approach routes—everything needed to be charted without leaving a trace. In the dimness of night, the men assembled their kayaks on the deck of the barely surfaced submarine, and the silence was broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves.


Crew and Command Staff of Submarine S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero – Argentine Navy.

Arrival of S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero (SS-372 USS Lamprey) at Mar del Plata Naval Base from the United States, 1960
(Photograph by Enrique Mario Palacio)


The two Balao-class submarines, S-11 ARA Santa Fe and S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero, which served in the Argentine Navy between 1960 and 1971, should not be confused with the later submarines of the same class modernised to GUPPY IA standard—S-21 and S-22—which replaced them from 1971 onwards and carried the same names. In this image, the veteran S-11 and S-12 can be seen at the end of their service life at the Mar del Plata Naval Base, while in the background lies the new S-22 ARA Santiago del Estero, their replacement, ready to take on the duties left behind by its predecessors. The S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero was retired after a decade of service, having taken part in important missions such as Operation Cow Beach, which became a notable chapter in the history of the Argentine Navy.



S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero Moored at its Home Pier, Mar del Plata Naval Base.

The First Incursion and an Unexpected Encounter

The first incursion was a success. The men landed and explored the coastline, mapping every detail. However, the second night brought an unexpected twist. In the darkness, García Rabini spotted a kelper—a local island settler—watching them from atop a cliff. They knew that being discovered could spark an unprecedented diplomatic crisis. Acting swiftly, they captured the islander and tied him up as they debated their next move. Killing him was not an option—the mission was one of intelligence gathering, not combat. But they also couldn’t risk the man alerting the British authorities.

Then, an idea emerged—both bold and unusual. Some crew members returned to the submarine to fetch a bottle of whisky from the captain’s cabin. They went back to the cliff and forced the kelper to drink until he was semi-conscious, leaving him behind at the very spot where they had found him. With the mission aborted to avoid further complications, the group returned to the submarine, carrying with them the valuable intelligence they had collected.

Born on 19 March 1927 in Salto, Buenos Aires Province, Juan José Lombardo was a key figure in the history of the Argentine Navy. As a Sub-Lieutenant, he served as Second-in-Command aboard submarine S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero during the successful Operation Cow Beach in the Falkland Islands on 28 October 1966—a mission that would become a landmark in Argentina's intelligence operations in the South Atlantic. On 15 December 1981, by then holding the rank of Vice Admiral, he was summoned by the Chief of Naval Staff, Admiral Jorge Isaac Anaya, to receive a mission that would alter the course of Argentine history: the Falklands.

The Return to Mar del Plata
The journey back to Mar del Plata was as silent as the outbound voyage. Upon arrival, absolute silence was ordered regarding the events that had taken place. None of the participants—not even to their families—were to speak of what had happened in the frigid waters of the South Atlantic. Despite the unforeseen developments, the mission was deemed a success. The data gathered was handed over to the Navy General Staff—a strategic asset that could have proved critical had diplomatic negotiations failed.


The two Balao-class submarines, S-11 ARA Santa Fe and S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero, which served in the Argentine Navy from 1960 to 1971, should not be confused with later submarines of the same class—modernised to GUPPY IA standard—S-21 and S-22, which replaced them from 1971 and bore the same names. In this image, one of the original submarines is seen underway shortly after its arrival in Argentina, already without the forward gun that had been removed as part of its adaptation and modernisation for new missions in the South Atlantic.

Legacy of a Silent Mission
Years later, Commander García Rabini would recall those days with quiet pride, fully aware of the significance of the mission. Although the Cow Beach operation report was not directly used during the 1982 Falklands conflict, it stood as a testament to the commitment and audacity of those sailors who defied history to keep the flame of Argentine sovereignty alive.

The Story of Operation Cow Beach

Interwoven with both legend and fact, the story of Operation Cow Beach remains a hidden episode within the broader struggle over the Falklands—a moment when a small group of men faced the sea, the darkness, and the looming shadows of a war that, though not yet begun, echoed with the weight of the inevitable. It stands as a reminder that the fight for sovereignty is not waged solely on battlefields, but also in silences, in the waves, and in the whisper of the wind on a lonely South Atlantic beach.


Commander Oscar Héctor García Rabini. Now aged 83, retired Commander Oscar Héctor García Rabini is the Argentine naval officer who, in 1966 as a Sub-Lieutenant, led one of the most daring missions in the history of the Argentine Navy. At the head of a special forces incursion, he landed on the shores of East Falkland on 28 October of that year, during the secret Operation Cow Beach. Launched from the depths of the ocean by the submarine S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero, the mission was cloaked in silence and darkness, aimed at collecting vital intelligence to support Argentina’s sovereignty claims over the Falkland Islands/Islas Malvinas.


Cow Beach/Playa Vaca, Southern Tip – Photograph Taken from ARA Santiago del Estero by Miguel Salvatierra, 28/10/1966


Balao-Class Submarine S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero. The Balao-class submarine, formerly the US Navy’s SS-372 USS Lamprey, served the United States from 1944 until 1960, when it was transferred to the Argentine Navy and renamed S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero. In the photograph, the submarine is seen departing from the Mar del Plata Naval Base, home to Argentina’s Submarine Force Command. It operated from this base until 1971, when it was replaced by the S-22 ARA Santiago del Estero—a submarine of the same class but modernised to the GUPPY IA standard. The arrival of this updated vessel marked the end of an era for the veteran S-12, which had taken part in key operations such as Cow Beach, demonstrating the Navy’s steadfast commitment to national sovereignty.


ASW Frigate P-36 ARA Piedrabuena in the Periscope Crosshairs of ARA Santiago del Estero During Combat Exercises


Cargo Transfer Between Submarine ARA Santiago del Estero and Destroyer D-10 ARA San Luis


Surface Navigation of S-12 ARA Santiago del Estero en Route to Its Objective. As a Balao-class submarine that had not undergone the GUPPY IA modernisation, the vessel lacked a snorkel and high-capacity batteries. Consequently, it still had to operate like a Second World War-era submarine—navigating mostly on the surface, at least at night and in low-risk areas.

Goose Green: The 2 Para Clash and Flesh

Darwin-Goose Green: The Corporal Ramírez (12 IR) Experience

Account of Corporal "EC" Ramírez, RI-12

Malvinas 1982


 

Warrant Officer Ramírez was born in the city of Río Cuarto, Córdoba Province. His decision to enter the "General Lemos" School was made from an early age. "I joined the Army out of vocation. In primary school, I already had admiration for the military, the soldier, and national holidays. As I grew up, I got closer to the Army because I had a distant uncle who was a non-commissioned officer. We would sometimes visit him in Córdoba, and I’d see the soldiers and their uniforms. From the age of 8 or 9, I wanted to be a soldier. After finishing my fourth year of secondary school, I joined the Lemos School."

Ramírez described the life of a cadet as a tough stage: "As a cadet, it was a difficult period because I went from the comfort of home to the harsh discipline of the school – it was a big change. Still, I had strong family support. It was hard at first, but I never doubted my decision; I knew exactly what I wanted. I felt proud to belong to the Force and I truly enjoyed it." In early 1982, the second year of his training was going normally, and that week was meant to be leave for Easter to spend time with family. That changed abruptly when they learned they would be promoted to NCOs – corporals of the Argentine Army. 



Warrant Officer Ramírez continued: “I was fortunate to be assigned to Infantry Regiment 12, which was then based in Mercedes, Corrientes, under the III Infantry Brigade. We were assigned to the Command and Services Company. At first, we were packing combat rations, but soon the whole brigade was mobilised south, leaving only a detachment behind. We were among the first to arrive in the islands, along with the medical section. That was a proud moment for me as an Argentine soldier. Once everyone arrived, the regiment began to be airlifted to Darwin. By 25 May, we could no longer be transported due to the presence of British commandos. That day we celebrated the national holiday by marching from our position in Challenger to Puerto Argentino – a 20 km walk. We were preparing to move to Darwin when soldiers from our regiment who had already seen combat in San Carlos arrived after retreating. We all boarded an Air Force helicopter, standing, in tense silence. The door gunner was alert, as British aircraft were nearby, and the pilot flew low, hugging the terrain to avoid detection. We landed in Darwin and Goose Green – the helicopter touched down in the village to avoid being spotted. As we disembarked, the siren sounded – red alert – and we scrambled to find defensive positions.

That night, combat began with British field artillery and naval fire, as we were in the Darwin isthmus, the land bridge connecting the north and south of East Falkland. The enemy advanced from the north, and we could see the artillery flashes and combat. The most striking moment was the final enemy assault – watching tracer rounds approaching until they reached our position. We fought until past noon the next day. Second Lieutenant Peluffo took command of our sector. We had no communication or chance to retreat. Our section surrendered, and the fighting stopped. There was a terrible, indescribable silence. When things calmed down, I left my position and saw the whole scene – smoke, and British troops already present. I approached them, saw the surrender flag, returned, and left my rifle, which was already out of ammunition. The British weren’t hostile. I asked them to assist a wounded soldier beside me. We were taken to another part of the island as prisoners – those uninjured stayed two or three days, while the wounded were flown out. We were later moved to San Carlos, where the rest of the regiment was held. We were captured on 28 May. 29 May was Army Day. A few days later, the ship moved, and we realised we were headed somewhere else.

On 13 June, we were dropped off in Montevideo. We were among the first to be captured and ended up in a neutral country. After disembarking, we passed through Red Cross tents for registration and boarded Argentine ships to return to the mainland. The next day, Puerto Argentino surrendered. That return was painful. I felt I hadn’t given everything – because I was still whole, uninjured. To me, giving everything meant dying or being unable to continue fighting. Afterwards, there was much uncertainty. We were taken by bus to ESPAC. We all returned to the same unit. I remained four more years at Infantry Regiment 12 – the most cherished posting of my career. I retired in Campo de Mayo, at the Army Aviation Directorate.

Nacar Section: A Story of a Marine

 

A Story of a Marine Infantryman

Account taken from the Gaceta Malvinense

My name is Fernando Claudio Martín. I was CC/61 (I joined with the class of ’62 due to a study deferment). I belonged to BIM 5, Company “Nácar”, 3rd Section, under the command of Sub-Lieutenant Jorge “Pechito” Lucero.

As I begin to write these lines, I can’t help but feel a touch of nostalgia. I’ve heard countless stories about the Malvinas campaign — thanks to my friend, veteran Pascual Distefano, I’ve had the privilege for several years to take part in his radio programme “Malvinas Hoy… Historia de una Guerra”. That’s why telling my own story feels harder — I’m far more comfortable listening than speaking.

I joined the Naval Infantry Service on 1 April 1981. After completing my first training period at the Naval Infantry Training Centre (CIFIM), I was posted to BIM No. 5, based in Río Grande (Tierra del Fuego). I arrived at the end of May 1981, and from then began an intense but essential period of formation and training as a Marine infantryman.

Time would prove our commander right in pushing us to the limit — our performance in Malvinas would later justify his demands. On 2 April 1982, we were already in the field when we heard on the radio about the recovery of our Malvinas Islands. We were overjoyed, without imagining what was to come next. Everything happened so fast that, if memory serves, by 8 April we were already flying to the islands aboard a Navy aircraft.

Upon arrival, we were first stationed near the airfield, and later transferred to our final defensive position on Mount Tumbledown. I was in the 3rd Section of Company Nácar, and our position was established on the northern slope of the mountain.

Life in the islands became increasingly difficult. The weather grew harsher and the terrain more hostile, but we managed to endure thanks to constant work improving our defences and training. Generally, we didn’t suffer much from shortages — food wasn’t abundant, but it was sufficient, and our equipment was in good condition and suited to the environment (we came from a region with similar conditions).

I’d like to recall a small anecdote about two remarkable conscripts from my section, Miguel Fernández and Jorge Ponce. Every time they went down to the settlement, they came back well supplied — drinks and chocolate mostly — which we’d later trade for yerba, flour, and other goods.

Days passed until 1 May, when the first British attack took place. From that day onwards, everything became much tougher. The fighting had begun, and with it, the uncertainty of what would happen to us, and how we’d respond under such pressure. We learnt to live with bombardments, watched from afar the attacks on the airfield, witnessed the battles of Longdon, Two Sisters, and Wireless Ridge, and awaited with determination the British assault on our positions.

In the final days of the battle, we came under a devastating artillery barrage that wounded my comrade Vicente Zurzolo in the back. In my desperation to get him out of our partially collapsed shelter, I didn’t realise that I, too, had been wounded. I carried him as best I could to the aid post near the service area, where both of us received medical attention.

Now, so many years later, with the experience and perspective that time brings, I sometimes think I might have handled things differently. Not out of regret, but simply as a reflection on the choices one has in those moments.

By the end of the war, I was in the hospital at Port Stanley. Watching the British troops enter the town was deeply painful. The war was over — but I could never have imagined that the post-war period would prove even harder than the conflict itself.

I can’t finish this account without expressing my thanks — first, to all the conscripts of BIM 5, especially those of Company Nácar; to Captain (Ret.) Carlos H. Robacio, our guide and mentor who taught us to be good soldiers and honourable men; to Sub-Lieutenant Jorge Lucero, our section commander; to all the officers and NCOs who trained us throughout our service in the Marine Infantry; to Commander (Ret.) Guillermo Botto for his friendship and wise advice; and to my family, for their patience and love.

All that remains for me to say is that, as an Argentine, I am proud to have defended the sovereignty of our Malvinas Islands, and I will always continue to uphold the honour of our fallen heroes and the justice of our national cause.

VGM Fernando Claudio Martín

 

Malvinas: NCO in Combat

In Front of my Group of Twelve Soldiers

Malvinas: Historias de Coraje

Account of Second Corporal of the Marine Infantry "VGM" Conrado Augusto Olmos Matar


 


Since I was a young boy, I felt a calling to pursue a career in the armed forces — I wanted to become a policeman or a soldier. While I was in secondary school, a friend from my neighbourhood, Petty Officer Carlos Sequeira of the Navy, encouraged me to continue my studies in the Naval Forces. Some time later, personnel from the institution came to the province to promote the enrolment of people from Santiago into the Force. I didn’t let the opportunity pass and quickly submitted my application. After meeting the entry requirements, I joined the School for Marine Infantry Non-Commissioned Officers located in Punta Mogotes.

The first months were tough — like many from Santiago, I missed home, its customs, my loved ones and friends. Everything was new, everything was different. I felt alone among so many recruits from different parts of the country.



The training was so demanding that many of my comrades requested discharge; out of the initial group, only seventy-four of us graduated. More than once, I was on the verge of quitting, but thanks to the encouragement and support of a lieutenant named Alemán, I managed to persevere and graduated as a Second Corporal in 1980.

My first posting was to the 1st Marine Infantry Battalion in Puerto Belgrano, where I was welcomed by the Second-in-Command, Captain Giachino, and the Company Commander, Lieutenant Damore. From that point on, I began my first steps as an NCO, which mainly involved instructing a group of soldiers while continuing to develop my professional knowledge.

In 1981, I was placed in charge of preparing the Rocket Launcher Group, which consisted of twelve soldiers, including two from Santiago — Coronel and Gutiérrez. At the beginning of 1982, my group was assigned to Company "C" (Charlie), under a Non-Commissioned Officer named Gigena. I clearly remember being struck by the fact that, by that time of the year, the conscripts from the 1962 class had not yet been discharged and that training and exercises were still ongoing. Normally, during that period, operational activities decrease and are replaced by maintenance tasks.

On a warm morning in March, all staff NCOs were gathered on the unit’s parade ground, where Captain Giachino informed us that we were to prepare for embarkation in order to head to some islands to recover an Argentine vessel that had been seized by the British. All I could think was: we’re going to war. One joins the armed forces, and perhaps never gets called to fight — but for us, it was happening. I mentally reviewed all I had learned.



From that moment, we began our preparatory tasks, which mainly involved resupplying, organising field equipment, and stocking ammunition. We also practised shooting at the range daily and carried out final checks on our weapons. This preparation continued until we, the roughly one thousand men of the Marine Infantry Brigade, boarded the vessel Comandante Trizar.

Although we had all necessary comforts, the first few days were difficult due to the rough seas — even with our prior sailing experience, nearly all on board suffered the effects of seasickness.

Once we were at sea, all officers and NCOs were assembled to receive the operational orders. In general terms, our mission was to land and take the Falkland Islands, with the main objective of subduing the forces defending the Governor’s residence and removing its authorities. This mission would be carried out by the amphibious commandos, with support from us, the Marine Infantry. It was no easy task — we knew we would be facing professional soldiers with war experience from a global power. But the hardest part was the requirement to overcome the enemy without causing casualties — a very difficult objective, but one which, in the end, was achieved.

During the night of 1–2 April, we completed our final preparations, readying personnel and equipment for the landing. At that moment, I didn’t reflect on the historic significance of the mission we were about to carry out — my focus was solely on leading my men. I was absorbed by thoughts of how the operation would unfold, how I would respond to different scenarios, how my subordinates would react… So many questions, all waiting for the decisive moment of battle.

At first light, the operation began with an airborne landing via helicopters. My group’s objective was to head directly to the airport, participate in the assault, and then move towards Government House. We went in with clenched jaws, ready to fight.

When we arrived, there was no resistance — some British personnel had already been captured by forces that had landed before us. Although the situation in that area was under control, we still had to be extremely cautious due to the large number of mines and booby traps laid by the enemy.

While we waited at the airport for the rest of the battalion, we heard bursts of machine gun fire and explosions across different parts of the island. It was then I fully realised that the operation was underway and that we were in the midst of a serious armed conflict.

I remember, with great sadness, that while we were at the airport awaiting orders, a helicopter approached carrying the body of our Second-in-Command, Captain Giachino. He had fought heroically at the head of his troops during the most significant action on the island so far. The news deeply saddened us, but also filled us with fury — an Argentine had been killed, and it was someone from our own battalion.

Once our forces were fully assembled, we advanced on Government House to support the Amphibious Commandos. We surrounded the area to ensure none of the enemy — who had surrendered — could escape.



My next mission was to guard and later transport the prisoners back to the mainland, alongside my group and other personnel.

Back in Argentina, we began preparations for a new mission — reinforcing the defences in Tierra del Fuego. I was deployed there with other military units and remained until the war ended.

Although I spent only a short time in the Falklands, I feel immense pride at having participated in the recovery operations, leading a group of twelve soldiers, including my fellow countrymen Coronel and Gutiérrez, with whom I still share a warm friendship.

"As a Non-Commissioned Officer of the Navy, I had the honour of serving in the 1st Marine Infantry Battalion and being under the command of Captain Giachino — a true example of military virtue."

Logistic Battallion 3: Quartermaster Corps also Fought

The Quartermaster Corps in the Malvinas also Fought

Malvinas 1982

Account by Corporal First Class Víctor Schwindt, who lived his whole life in Pilar, Buenos Aires Province. He tells us: “My father greatly influenced my decision to enter the academy. He had served in the Marine Corps, and I had an adventurous spirit like any 15- or 16-year-old. I found that adventure in the Armed Forces. The year 1981 was very demanding, both in the classrooms where I studied the quartermaster speciality and in combat training. We underwent intense physical and mental training, during which we gained knowledge and adapted to military doctrine, ‘to live by the chain of command’. It was all very unexpected. On 2 April we were at the shooting range in Campo de Mayo. That’s where we learned that we had recovered our islands. I felt immense joy. Although at that time there was not much information about the Malvinas circulating in the media, from that deed onwards the existence of, and sense of belonging to, that territory took root across Argentine society. We were just starting the second year of the course and we did not expect to graduate so abruptly.”

In general terms they had an early graduation, something that has not happened again since. After graduating and receiving their corporal insignia, they swore loyalty and respect to the national flag dressed in combat uniform—something that would ordinarily be done in dress uniform, with a military parade and family present. Once they graduated, they joined the institution and immediately received their unit postings, already as junior non-commissioned officers.

Regarding his own experience, Corporal First Class Schwindt told us: “I went with a group of 12 quartermaster mates to Curuzú Cuatiá, to Logistic Battalion 3. When we arrived in the Malvinas we spent a couple of nights at Puerto Argentino airport and were then moved to some depots in a remote area. After a few days I was separated and assigned to the guard of General Daher until 26 May. From there I moved to the front line with my comrades Albarracín, Mansilla and Labalta, who were already there. The three of us joined a section that had been formed to reinforce the 4th Infantry Regiment. We were quartermaster men—drivers, signallers—the only one from the infantry arm was Sergeant Montellano. Our assigned sector was on Mount Harriet. We stayed there until the final British attack, when we were taken prisoner. I remember the constant siege and harassment from frigates, aircraft and British artillery. Their aim was to weaken us morally and physically. On the front line we were going full tilt all the time. We were tired, physically affected by the cold and rain, but mentally prepared to face all those situations. The position was held at all times, even though we were at a major disadvantage, because the situation was completely dominated by the British.

“I was one of the last to reach the front line. When troop movements ceased, positions across the mountain were occupied and I found a position about 30 metres away from my group on the mountainside. When they began to attack and due to the way they infiltrated, my position ended up forward and very separated from my section mates. I was caught in the middle of the crossfire between my comrades and the British as they advanced. Given where I was, I had two options: get out and try to climb in the middle of that chaos, or stay put and fight from there. I looked back and thought that retreating in those circumstances was riskier than holding where I was, so I fought from there. When I ran out of ammunition, that was when I felt most afraid, because I was defenceless and could not leave my position with the enemy so close. I decided to squeeze in between two rocks where I had set up a shelter and stay there in the dark, trying to survive.

“When I decided to leave, I fell back towards Puerto Argentino. I crawled for a stretch, in the dark and unarmed, trying to find something to defend myself with, when suddenly two British soldiers appeared. They were surprised; they saw I was unarmed, pointed their weapons at me and asked if I spoke their language. I was so taken aback that I froze, so I raised my arms and surrendered. I was unarmed, there was nothing I could do, and they took me prisoner. After a while I saw a column with other prisoners, among whom were my friends. Oscar Labalta was not there because he had died on the morning of 10 June from artillery fire—he was 17 years old. But I met up with Alejandro Albarracín and Carlos Mansilla. I joined the group of prisoners and they took us to Fitz Roy, where we were searched and interrogated. The questioning was very demanding on their part, but I never experienced or saw physical violence. We fought with great ethics and honour, and they recognised that. They were surprised by our attitude—our defence of our territory, all the values instilled in our training, our love for the Fatherland. From there we were moved to a cold-store in San Carlos and then embarked on the Canberra (the ocean liner) to Puerto Madryn.

“Corporal First Class Schwindt told us something heartening about the return. ‘The welcome and affection of the people of Puerto Madryn were extraordinary. It was the feeling of being back home; people hugged us—they truly showed us great warmth. That was when I began to realise that the war was over. Afterwards, they took us back to Curuzú Cuatiá by train.’”

A Practical Guide to Detect Anglophilia in Argentina

Anglophilia: A Practical Guide to Detecting It

 

Demalvinisation refers to the systematic process of minimising, silencing, or discrediting Argentina’s narrative, memory, or national sentiment around the Falklands/Malvinas War and its claim to the islands—particularly after 1982.

After the Battle for the Malvinas, the United Kingdom faced the challenge of constructing an "exportable" doctrine—tailored specifically for Argentina and designed to penetrate the Argentine psyche in order to diminish any sense of national pride that might once again ignite the powerful will to resist, as was shown in 1982.

That experience became the UK's greatest military disaster since the Second World War. London, aware that there can be no defence without first possessing the determination and will to claim what Argentinians know to be rightfully theirs—as demonstrated in the Malvinas—found that the most effective long-term strategy was to suppress Argentina’s will and determination. To that end, they set about engaging Argentine organisations, public figures, and politicians who would actively work to erode national self-esteem while simultaneously convincing the public that the "Malvinas issue" wasn’t so serious or important as to hinder other potential areas of development or cooperation with the UK.

The processes of demalvinisation and the dismantling of Argentina’s Armed Forces were just the tip of the iceberg, the visible portion of a much broader ideological infrastructure that was encouraged, promoted, and even financed by the United Kingdom. Often left out of view are the legislators, businessmen, and high-ranking military officers who silently (and increasingly less so) make up this powerful structure, whose brain operates both from across the Atlantic and from within Argentina itself.

A major triumph of this British strategy—promoted in Argentina by many compatriots—has been the continual downplaying of the Malvinas Conflict, and the construction of a language that, passively and almost unconsciously, has been absorbed by anglophile citizens who have become repeaters of narratives crafted by the British establishment.

Today, we offer a practical guide for recognising an anglophile—whether they are an active participant in that British-built skeleton operating in Argentina, or simply a citizen who dreams of belonging to the "Anglo world" due to national self-esteem issues (proof, if any were needed, that the British plan worked) or a disconnection from their own national identity.

An anglophile, be they civilian, military, or political, is easily identified because, lacking authentic arguments, they always resort to the same language as their "brothers", to favour, promote, and defend British interests in Argentina. Here are some of their most common expressions:

🇬🇧 “The war was a desperate manoeuvre by the Military Junta. A meaningless war.”
(Denies the historical background, legal precedents, and international law supporting Argentina’s sovereignty claim.)

🇬🇧 “The only way to recover the Malvinas is through peaceful means.”
(In practice, advocates for military dismantling, deliberately ignoring the concept of deterrence. This sort of anglophile would probably consider San Martín merely a murderer for taking up arms in the cause of independence.)

🇬🇧 “We must cooperate with the British in all other areas without jeopardising the sovereignty issue.”
(A dangerous anglophile: effectively proposes postponing sovereignty discussions—when they should be a top priority—while encouraging us to “burn through” tools of pressure and cooperation that could strengthen our negotiation stance.)

🇬🇧 “It’s impossible to manufacture national weapons systems—it would take 20 years to develop deterrent technology.”
(A mentally colonised anglophile relying on arguments from the 1990s. Well, over 30 years have passed and there’s still been no will to produce anything. The Cóndor II missile took under a decade from design to launch readiness. This kind of anglophile seeks to turn national defence development into a utopia in order to maintain dependency.)

🇬🇧 “The Malvinas would be ours today if we hadn’t started the war in 1982.”
(A malicious anglophile who falsely blames Argentina for starting the war and ignores the UK’s original aggression in 1833. This specimen denies Argentina’s right to legitimate self-defence under international law.)

🇬🇧 “We’ll recover the Malvinas when we convince the kelpers (Falklanders) to want to be Argentinian.”
(A servile anglophile: not only accepts British occupation, but insists we must “seduce” a population implanted by force—granting them a right to self-determination they do not possess. The kelpers have no legitimate say, being a population settled by an occupying power.)

🇬🇧 “We’ll recover the Malvinas when it becomes too costly for the UK to maintain their defence.”
(A sophisticated neo-anglophile: this logic delays urgent action, ignoring that no cost in history has ever deterred the UK from its imperial foothold. In 1982, during a major economic crisis, Britain still dispatched a fleet over 13,000 km. A statement of naïveté or outright irresponsibility.)

🇬🇧 “The Malvinas war was pointless.”
(One of the most harmful kinds of anglophiles. This argument was central to demalvinisation and has driven many veterans to take their own lives, believing their fight was meaningless. This type denies all historical, legal, and international support for Argentina’s claim, and supports dismantling the Armed Forces by suggesting they are unnecessary. Also ignores the basic principles of Defence and deterrence.)

🇬🇧 “There are no longer any conflict hypotheses.”
(A foolish anglophile: It’s not a hypothesis—there is a conflict. An Argentine province remains under foreign occupation, yet this mantra helps pave the way for disarmament, perfectly aligned with British interests.)

Know other anglophile expressions we missed? Let us know in the comments.

Text: Eric Torrado – Malvinas en la Mira