 TESTIMONY OF A MOTHER WHO SURVIVED
THE SINKING OF THE CUBAN TUGBOAT "13 DE MARZO".
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.
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. |
