The
following events occurred on July 13th, 1994:
the world known massacre of the Cuban tugboat
"13 de Marzo" right in front of the Cuban
coastline. On that day seventy two men, women
and children boarded a small tugboat with the
only intention of escaping to the United States
of America. This tugboat was followed by
Castro's regime's coast guard boats for 45
minutes. The refugee's tugboat began to be
rammed by other government's tugboats until it
was sunk. This is the testimony of a mother who
survived this tragedy: Maria Victoria Garcia
Suarez's testimony will be vividly exposed in
the following narration. On that day, Maria
Victoria lost her husband, her ten year old son,
her brothers, three uncles and two cousins. Her
heart wrenching testimony reveals what happened
to her small boy once they were thrown into the
ocean.
TESTIMONY OF A MOTHER WHO SURVIVED THE
SINKING OF THE CUBAN TUGBOAT "13 DE MARZO".
Maria Victoria Suarez, 30 years old. A mother
who survived and who lost her son in the Cuban
tugboat "13 de Marzo".
I have to confess that, though we live together
in the same house, I always find it difficult to
talk to my daughter about this matter. It is not
because she refuses to talk, but because we both
experience and share a deep anguish and
emotional pain that impede an adequate flow in
our conversation.
She describes to every detail the tragic moments
she lived. She is able to involve me in such a
way that I also become another participant in
this horrible event. We are both emotionally
drained at the end of our conversation.
I have interviewed her twice since that tragic
day. She always repeats the same phrases. She
wants to leave no doubt of the veracity of her
words. She is adding now a deeper richness to
her story.
Malli, as she is known at home, does not know
hatred or violence. Her childhood was spent in
an atmosphere of love and understanding.
Precisely because the lack of these negative
ingredients in her life, the impact of this
horrible experience is enhanced and leaves a
deep cut in her heart.
This very moving narration was given in one of
the two rooms in my own home. My son Jorge
Felix and my nephew Ivan were also present.
"We took the bus as we carried a few bags with
us. My group was formed by: my son Juan Mario;
my husband Ernesto; my brother Joel; my uncle
and aunt Eddy and Estrella; my cousins Eliecer
and Omar; Maria Miralis and Xicdy, Omar's wife
and daughter. In addition to these family
members, our group was also formed by Armando
Morales Piloto, a fried of Eddy; Julia Caridad
and her son Angel Rene and Yaltamira with Jose
Carlos; Espiga also came with our group. Lazaro
Borges (Felo), my father's cousin and assigned
driver, his wife and daughter Liset and
Giselle, and uncle Guillermo were already in
the bus when we boarded it. We left without
knowing our final destination.
We stopped after ten or fifteen minutes later.
I thought of the police and I removed the
curtain from the bus window to take a look
outside. We were in Cojimar's circle, picking
up another group. There were many people. We
continued the ride after greeting one another.
I left the window open to see where we were
going. We were on the Via Blanca (Highway) to
Havana up to Paso Superior. Once we reached the
street light on Via Blanca and Fabrica, instead
of turning left toward the Port of Havana, we
kept on going straight. Later on we entered the
Benefica.
The bus engine was turned off, as if waiting for
someone who had not yet arrived, but hen, I
realized that we were killing time. Felo was
playing Radio Reloj on the bus radio speakers.
We were not there long. We left right away.
Two police officers greeted us as we exited. We
drove by some police patrols until we reached
the cement factory. There, we turned left at
the Anillo and we soon reached our destination.
The dock was a bit beyond the Tallapiedra plant,
across the street.
I woke up my son. He was asleep. We left the
bus. Someone had left a backpack behind. I
picked it and returned it later on. Felo parked
the bus in the ramp, closed it and left the keys
in the engine switch.
We boarded the tugboat, one person at at time,
without making any noises. A man was guiding us
while saying: "Hang on tidely. Be careful not to
slip. Stay away from the engine. Go right... go
left.... Stay close to the walls."
My boy could not find answers to all the
questions he had. We had planned to go camping.
The reality before his eyes was very different.
He did not tire from asking me: "Mommy, Mommy,
where are we going?". I responded: " For a
walk, for a walk".
He started looking at me sideway, making upset
noises with his mouth. He was not happy. He was
whining and repeating constantly: "Wow!...Look
at that!".
I was asked to go outside to the upper deck. I
left my husband, complaining about this
decision. He tried to hold me back. I asked
him to follow me but he decided to stay behind.
There were other mothers and their children
together with me. We were only a few there on
the upper deck. I found a place by the stern of
the boat, under the canvas that served as roof
and we hang on the pole that had a bell on its
tip. I placed my child on a playpen at the base
of the pole.
We navigated for a while until my son started
inquiring, while looking back, about some lights
in the distance: "Mommy, what is that light?".
I looked and I saw another boat following us.
"Yes, son, it is another boat", I said, without
taking my eyes away from that direction. The
child kept on insisting... he was shaking and he
was flapping his little hands...and his eyes
were jumping out of their sucket: "Mommy, Mommy,
they are getting closer!!!".
Someone upfront warned us that we were being
followed. I felt we are were going faster but
those following us got ahead of us.
They started blasting us with jet of water from
water hoses; they also started ramming their
tugboats against ours and pushing us from the
side.
I shielded my son with my own body. I heard a
woman screaming: "My son... my son...!!!". A
blast of water had taken her child from her
arms.
We were exactly in the place where the Galeon
anchors. There were people watching everything
that was happening from el Malecon (Bay of
Havana'famous promenade). I could not see ahead
of me because of the lights in the other
tugboats were blinding us.
They aimed the water at me. I almost lost all of
my clothes. They, the shooters, seemed as if
they were nailed to their backs and legs.
Though my son was soaked wet, he was not hurt. I
was twisting left and right, protecting him from
the blasts with my own body as a human shield.
Poor little thing!... While pressing hard
against my chest, he kept on whispering: "Ay,
Mommy, what is all this?... Please, God, save
us!!!. I encouraged him not to be afraid, to
hold on a bit more... and that bad things passed
by rather quickly. But the blasting with water
and the ramming against the boat continued
without stopping for a second.
Those who were
near me escaped from the attack...some were
brutally crushed against the metals and wood
planks of the tugboat. I was left by myself,
with my son, clenching to the pole. I was
afraid to move and be thrown like the rest. I
decided to wait to see if they were going to
grow tire first or kill me first. I was giving
my back to the stern of the boat while my son
was facing it. He warned me: "Careful, Mom,
they are charging against us!". I try to
protect myself by pressing my body against my
child and the pole. The government tugboat
was coming speeding against us like a shark
ready to swallow us. It fell on top of us
breaking the boat in the back. It almost
crushed me against the pole. My son was
trembling and crying: "We give up...we give
up...!".
Another man in
our boat was yelling: "Jabao, Jabao,
(someone's nickname in the government boat)
look...there are women and children. The
murderer responded with a mocking smirch on
his face: "Was not this what you
wanted...There you have it...now, help
yourselves or die!".
Our boat was
sinking... I was desperate and I did not know
what to do. I picked my son and hold him in my
arms. The poor thing...he was praying... he
was totally paralyzed by fear. He was biting
his nails and seemed to know what was about to
happen. The water started climbing, or better
said, we started sinking. I told him: "Papi,
climb on top of me...Now, wrap your legs
against my waist and hang on to my neck with
your arms. Hang on tidely and do not let go...
take a deep breath and close your mouth". I
was giving all these instructions according to
each worsening moment... and he was obeying.
"Yes, Mom" were
his last spoken words with such a whimpering
voice that I could hardly hear it. Little by
little we went down until the sea swallowed us
completely. I do not know when I went down
and up again.I do not know whether I died or
else. It seems that I moved my legs rather
rapidly and we came afloat twice. My son
continued embraced to me. Then, I called him:
"Joanmi, Joanmi..."... but he did not respond.
He had lost all his strength because he had
swallowed a lot of salt water... he had
fainted.
I stayed afloat,
while moving my legs fastly. I looked around
and grabbed what it seemed to be a floating
bulk or big package. It looked like a raft...
it was Rosa, already dead. I remember her
screaming madly during the attacks. I
continued holding on to her, yelling for help.
I was afraid to stay long in these conditions
and that my son could die. Other people were
also yelling for help... all I could see were
their heads staying afloat. The government
boats that sunk us were encircling us with
their engines going full blast, forming a
funnel around us. I could not endure that
situation for much longer. Then, I
discovered a big box floating with people
crammed on top. I tried to reach it with my
son still on top of me and pushing Rosa's body
away. I came as close as arm reach to the box.
Some of them extended their own arms to grab
me and to shorten the distance. But, at the
moment that I let go of Rosa and I tried to
grab their arms, I did it with such force and
desperation that they all came toppling on me.
With all this people on top and those in the
back who were grabbing my legs trying to save
themselves, my son got untied from me and
began to drift away. I yelled in desperation:
"Grab my child, help, he is going to
drown!...", but it was all useless. He got
lost right in front of my eyes. It was so
sad... he had no strength to swim on his
own... he had swallowed too much salt water.
Together with other people, I stayed clenching
to the edge of the box. The government
tugboats would pull away everytime someone was
ready to reach them yelling for help. Finally,
a government coast guard boat decided to throw
some lifesavers tide to ropes.
Author's Note:
The following
names are the only survivors from Maria
Victoria's original group: Two cousins,
Armando Morales Piloto and herself. The rest
disappeared in the sea.
The Cuban
government did nothing to rescue the sunken
vessel and did not return the bodies to their
relatives. It also lacked the political
courage to open a judicial process to try
those responsible. Eight years later, the
authors of this crime, are still roaming,
untouched, the streets in Cuba.
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