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America’s Great Betrayal

By Humberto Fontova
FrontPageMagazine.com | 4/17/2009

"Freedom is our goal!" roared commander Pepe San Roman to the men assembled before him 48 years ago this week. “Cuba is our cause! God is on our side! On to victory!” Fifteen hundred men crowded before San Roman at their Guatemalan training camps that day. The next day they’d embark for a port in Nicaragua, and the day after that would be bound for a landing site in Cuba named Bahia De Cochinos. We know it as the Bay of Pigs.

Their outfit was Brigada 2506, and at their commander’s address the men (and boys, some as young as 16) erupted. A scene of total bedlam unfolded. Hats flew. Men hugged, sang, cheered, and wept. The hour of liberation was nigh – and these men, all volunteers, were putting their lives on the line to see their dream of a free Cuba fulfilled.

The Brigada included men from every social strata and race in Cuba. There were sugar cane planters and cutters, aristocrats and their chauffeurs. Mostly, they hailed from somewhere in between, fitting for a nation with a larger middle class than most of Europe.

"They fought like Tigers," wrote CIA officer Grayston Lynch, who helped train these Cuban freedom-fighters. "But their fight was doomed before the first man hit the beach."

Lynch, knew something about fighting – and about long odds. He carried scars from Omaha Beach, the Battle of the Bulge, and Heartbreak Ridge. But in those battles, Lynch and his band of brothers could count on the support of their own chief executive.

At the Bay of Pigs, Lynch and his band of Cuban brothers learned – first in speechless shock and finally in burning rage -- that their most powerful enemies were not Castro's Soviet-armed and led soldiers massing in Santa Clara, Cuba but the Ivy League's Best and Brightest dithering in Washington.

In his own words, Lynch trained ''brave boys, most of whom had never before fired a shot in anger." They were short on battle experience, yes, but they fairly burst with what Bonaparte and George Patton valued most in a soldier: morale. They'd seen the face of communism point-blank: the stealing, the lying, the poisoning of minds, the jails, and the murders.

When the smoke cleared, and their ammo had been expended, a hundred of them lay dead and hundreds more were wounded. Barely 1,400 of them had squared off against 41,000 of Castro’s troops, his entire air force and squadrons of Soviet tanks – all without air support (from the U.S. carriers just offshore) and without a single supporting shot by naval artillery (from U.S. cruisers and destroyers poised just offshore). Nevertheless, they inflicted casualties at a rate of 30-to-one against these forces armed and led by the Soviets.

No amount of heroism can offset such odds, however – not without air cover. Tragically, 80 percent of the pre-invasion sorties by the supporting planes from Nicaragua – an essential component of the plan to knock out Castro’s air force on the ground – had been canceled at the last moment by JFK. This invasion was a Republican plan, after all, that had landed in their lap. And Kennedy’s advisors suffered a guilty conscience about “Yankee bullying.”

“The liberal cannot strike wholeheartedly against the Communist,” wrote early National Review columnist James Burnham, “for fear of wounding himself in the process.”

The canceled airstrikes made the Brigade’s lumbering B-26s easy prey for Castro’s jets and fast Sea-Furies, and the troops and supplies below them were even easier prey. It was a turkey shoot for the Communists.

Still, the unequal battle raged furiously on the tiny beachhead. The CIA’s Lynch, just offshore on one of the landing ships, finally learned about the canceled air strikes and figured the freedom-fighters he had trained and befriended were doomed. "If things get rough," he radioed Commander San Roman, "we can come in and evacuate you."

"We will not be evacuated!" Pepe roared back to Lynch. "We came here to fight! We don’t want evacuation! We want more ammo! We want planes! This ends here!..." Repeated requests from the beachhead for air cover were transmitted to Washington, all to no avail.

Adm. Arleigh Burke of the Joints Chief of Staff, who was transmitting the battlefield pleas, was livid. Years before, Adm. Burke had sailed thousands of miles to smash his nation’s enemies at the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Now he was chief of naval operations and was aghast as new enemies were being given a sanctuary 90 miles away.

They say his face was red, his facial veins popping, as he faced down his commander-in-chief that fateful night of April 18, 1961. "Mr. President, two planes from the Essex! [the U.S. Carrier just offshore from the beachhead] That’s all those boys need, Mr. President. Let me...."

JFK was in white tails and a bow tie that evening, having just emerged from an elegant social gathering. "Burke," he replied. "We can’t get involved in this."

"We put those boys there, Mr. President!!" the admiral exploded. "By God, we are involved!" For the Kennedy administration, though, the Bay of Pigs still boiled down to an "image" problem.

While Camelot mulled over their image problems, the men on the beachhead had problems of their own.

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"MAYDAY! MAYDAY! Have Castro jet on my tail! Request...I repeat! – Request...!"

"Sorry," replied the Essex. "Our orders are...."

The Cuban pilot didn’t hear the rest of his death sentence. An explosion sounded, and his radio went dead. These messages went on and on, hour after hour, from different pilots, but it was hopeless. By the second day, almost half of these suicidally brave Cuban exiles had met a fiery death from Castro’s jets.

This was too much for their enraged American trainers at the base in Nicaragua. Four of them suited up, gunned the engines, and joined the fight. They were Alabama Air Guard officers, men with archaic notions of loyalty and honor. They were watching the decimation. They knew the odds but went anyway.

All four died on the first mission. All four – Pete Ray, Riley Shamburger, Leo Barker, and Wade Grey – have their names in a place of honor alongside their Cuban band-of-brothers on The Bay of Pigs Memorial. Streets are named after them in Miami’s Little Havana, and there are crosses in their honor in Miami’s Cuban Memorial cemetery.

Eventually, President Kennedy relented and allowed some Skyhawk jets to take-off from the Essex. One of these pilots quickly spotted a long column of Castro tanks and infantry making for the exiles’ brigade. The Soviet tanks and trucks were sitting ducks. "Aha!" he thought. "Now we’ll turn this thing around!" The pilot began his dive.

"Permission to engage denied," came the answer from his commander.

"This is crazy!" he bellowed back. "Those guys are getting the Hell shot out of them down there! I can see it!"

Some of these Navy pilots admit to sobbing openly in their cockpits. They were still choked up when they landed on the Essex. Now they slammed their helmets on the deck and broke down completely.

"I wanted to resign from the Navy," said Capt. Robert Crutchfield, the decorated naval officer who commanded the fleet off the beachhead. He’d had to relay Washington’s replies to those pilots.

A close-up glimpse of the heroism on that beachhead might have sent those Essex pilots over the edge. As JFK adjusted his bow tie in the mirror, the men of Brigada 2506 faced adjustments of their own. To quote Haynes Johnson, "It was a battle when heroes were made."

We call its fighters "men," but Brigadista Felipe Rondon was 16-years-old when he grabbed his 57 millimeter cannon and ran to face one of Castro’s tanks point-blank. At 10 yards he fired at the clanking, lumbering beast and it exploded, but the momentum kept it going and it rolled over top of young Felipe.

Gilberto Hernandez was only 17 when a round from a Czech burp gun put out his eye. Castro troops were swarming in but he held his ground, firing furiously with his rifle for another hour until he was surrounded and killed in a shower of grenades. By then, the invaders sensed that they had been abandoned. Their ammunition almost gone, they felt two days of shooting and reloading without sleep, food, or water taking its toll. Many were hallucinating.

That’s when Castro’s Howitzers opened up, pounding 2,000 rounds into the Brigada’s ranks over a four-hour period. "It sounded like the end of the world," one of the men told me many years later.

"Rommel’s crack Afrika Corps broke and ran under a similar bombardment," wrote Haynes Johnson. By now the invaders were dazed, delirious with fatigue, hungry and thirsty, and too deafened by the bombardment to hear orders. So, their commander had to scream.

"No retreat!" roared Erneido Oliva, second in command. He stood and bellowed to his dazed and horribly outnumbered men. "We stand and fight!" And so they did.

Right after the deadly shower of Soviet shells, more Soviet tanks rumbled up. Another boy named Barberito rushed up to the first one and blasted it repeatedly with his rifle, which barely dented it, but so rattled the occupants that they opened the hatch and surrendered. In fact, they insisted on shaking hands with their young captor, who an hour later was felled by a machine gun burst to his heart. So it went for three days.

The Brigada’s spent ammo inevitably forced a retreat. Castro’s jets and Sea Furies were roaming overhead at will and tens of thousands of his Soviet-lavished troops were closing in. The planes now concentrated on strafing the helpless exiles.

"Can’t continue," Lynch’s radio crackled. It was San Roman again. "Have nothing left to fight with...out of ammo...Russian tanks in view...destroying my equipment...How can you people do this to us?" The radio went dead.

"Tears flooded my eyes," writes Grayston Lynch. "For the first time in my 37 years I was ashamed of my country."

“We shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty!" proclaimed Lynch's Commander-in-Chief just three months earlier.

Forty eight years ago in Cuba, that promise was betrayed.

Humberto Fontova is the author of Exposing the Real Che Guevara and the Useful Idiots Who Idolize Him. Visit www.hfontova.com
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17 de Abril, nuevo Aniversario

Sumidos en recuerdos, se sufre, se llora, se reza,

se siente el escozor de una amarga tristeza.

1500 hermanos ofrendando vidas

por liberar a Cuba, la patria querida.

Luchan como fieras, con brío y valentía,

Nada los arredra. Su meta: la victoria.

¡Muy lentos los aviones con las provisiones!

Templados pilotos cubanos y americanos

se inmolan, supremo sacrificio sin defensa,

ante Sea Furies y T-33, con superior rapidez.

La lucha sin tregua ~ las balas se agotan…

En el horizonte: un portaviones.

la ayuda ofrecida nunca llega…

¡no hay orden de ataque!

Lágrimas surcando mejillas marineras.

La promesa ~ descartada y pisoteada

en pulido piso de la blanca casa.

Hambre, sed, fuerzas agotadas.…

Muchos quedan en Girón,

en las playas, el pantano,

diez en la rastra siniestra

que manchó la historia de la patria nuestra.

Desoladas las palmas, rota la bandera,

flotando el escudo en aguas turbulentas

teñidas de rojo.

Con sangre de valientes, sangre de patriotas.

La Patrona nuestra, Virgen de la Caridad lloró ese día.

¿Cómo no iba a hacerlo si era lucha fratricida?

Un bando con Castro, pero el otro anhela

arrancar de Cuba comunismo y maldad.

Dios, Patria y Libertad, lema de la Brigada.

Fracasó la invasión en inminente derrota….

¿Y Cuba? Esclavizada. La libertad no llega…

Aumentan los presos, los fusilados.

Muchos tratan de huir, mueren ahogados,

¡hasta ametrallan niños! esos desalmados.

Elián se salva, un milagro patente.

Leyes absurdas, y acciones sin nombre

lo devuelven al infierno,

siendo el “poster boy” de la Cuba de hoy.

Mas no perdamos la fe, la esperanza,

la misericordia de Dios todo lo alcanza.

Tania Ascanio de Smith

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Dear Friends of Freedom:

This is a story that I think you may want to read, a story that is not well known but deserves to be told to our English-speaking friends.  In the past I have sent you messages about the story of these men around every April 17th, the day we remember the Bay of Pigs, 1961.  Some of the survivors of the invasion were able to retreat to the beaches and attempted to escape.  This is their story.  My own City of New Orleans is the only place in the world (outside Cuba) where the remains of some of these soldiers were laid to rest.  Most of BRIGADE 2506 was captured and suffered under harsh prison conditions. 

 The Bay of Pigs is one of the darkest and most shameful chapters of recent American political history.  When you read you will notice the name “Girón Beach.”; This is the name by which most Cubans call the “Bay of Pigs.”

As an American veteran I feel a certain connection to these brave soldiers who were cowardly betrayed by our own government and I am proud to salute them. 

Jorge Maspons
April 17th, 2008
By Jose E. Dausá
Translated from the Spanish by Jorge A. Maspóns
Girón Beach, April 19, 1961, 2 p.m.

The commanding officer of BRIGADE 2506, José Pérez San Román, had made his last radio contact: “We will never abandon our homeland.”  Those were his last words.  Next, he turned to the troops and went on to say that everything was lost and that everyone of us was free to choose the right way to protect our lives.  The shells were falling all around the tourist area of Girón Beach.  It crossed my mind to look toward the seafront wall,  I saw the artillery rounds hitting it, but without penetrating it.  It seemed to me an ideal place to take shelter.  Accompanied by Dr. José Rojas from Headquarters’ Legal Section, I turned my steps toward the wall.
We saw Dr. Manuel Artime with a group of soldiers and he told us that they were trying to reach the Escambray’s Mountains.  I argued with hin saying that to reach that place seemed almost impossible.  Escaping by the sea appeared to be more feasible and to try to reach the American war ships nearby the Cuban coast.  However, they persisted in their idea and we separated and continued on our way.  On the way to the seawall we ran into Monty Montalvo who joined with us at this time.  Monty told us that he had been watching a fishing boat near the shore and as he spoke we took shelter behind the wall.  It was around 4 p.m. and we decided to wait until sunset.
We were behind the wall for awhile when we heard voices and the noise of coming vehicles.  It turned out that it was a group of men from the Brigade.  They said that they were being pursuit by Castro’s troops supported by tanks.  They saw the boat anchored about 100 meters away and decided to swim toward it.  Swimming that distance to reach the boat was not too long, especially for a good swimmer, but the rounds that continued to fall around us made that decision a dangerous and doubtful one.  We were, therefore, hesitant to do it.
Nevertheless, almost everyone of them opted to swim and try for the boat.  I asked Rojas and Moltalvo if they were coming; they doubted it.  I decided to go for it and jumped into the water.  Although I am a good swimmer, those 100 meters looked like 100 miles to me.  At last I managed to reach the boat and someone helped me to climb aboard.  They cut the rope holding the anchor, raised the sail and attempted to start the engine, but it did not work.
There was no wind blowing for the sail to help us.  We decided to row with our hands and boards that we tore from the deck of the boat. We slowly began to move and the sail caught a breeze.  We then set a course for the ships.  In total we were 22 men that managed to reach the boat.  We were thirsty, hungry, feeling suffocated and with a sun that “rajaba tablas” [an expression indicating that the temperature was very hot] The water in my canteen was quickly consumed and a barrel with just a small amount of water was also consumed in no time.  Suddenly someone yelled: “We will reach them!”, and others said: “They must have seen us!” [Note from the translator: I believe that the war ships off the Cuban coast did see these men fleeing for their lives, but abandoned them, just like the e ntire Brigade had already left to die...  It was a U.S. Presidential order.]
As darkness fell, a strong wind began to blow and the waves from the sea began to rise up.  The water sprayed and wet our bodies, causing us to feel an irritating cold for the first time.  The ship was moving fast and we came upon a shoal; we also saw the beam from a lighthouse.  Someone in the group pleaded that we should go in its direction but we continued on without setting a course shaken by the wind and the waves.  We were crowded.  I remember that I sat in a small area of the stern, hardly able to move.  And that’s how we spent the first night of that macabre voyage.
Along with the morning and daylight at dawn the sun also came which was really annoying.  We started to organize  ourselves.  We discovered that we did not have fresh water.  We found some food: raw potatoes, rice, onions and brown sugar.  There was a small stove but we did not have the means to start is.  The ship’s documents revealed that it was registered at the Port of Cienfuegos, its name was Celia, 18 feet in length and Cienfuegos Class.  Next we proceeded to deliberate on whom would be the responsible man to give the orders in the ship.  Alejandro del Valle was chosen; he was the parachute battalion commander.  Alejandro soon made the decision to take a course due west, he said that perhaps we could reach the co ast of Yucatan, Mexico where his father had a fishing business.  We accepted it and proceeded to set a westerly course.
The Celia had a compass and we calculated that the night before we had sailed south some 30 or 40 miles.  This was Vicente García’s opinion, the only one who seemed to have knowledge of ships and the sea.  People called Vicente “uncle” because of his age; he was a member of the parachute battalion and a WORLD WAR II veteran.  He was the consummate worker.  Vicente attempted to start the engine but came to the conclusion that the owner had removed some part.   Taking the helm, which was a long rod that controlled the rudder, Vicente guided the ship toward Mexico.
Everyone of us felt fortunate to have escaped.  We thought that in Girón due to the artillery fire, the tank attack and the airplanes, many had perished.  The sun was getting warm quickly.  To freshen up, many jumped into the water and swam along the boat.  At sundown we made ourselves as comfortable as we could and I remember that we were able to sleep a little.  On the second day we began to notice the shortness of water and food.  I took cover under a canvas which was on deck.

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Aboard the ship there were some fishing gear, but we did not have bait.  Vicente (uncle) thought of using the shining cover of a cigarette lighter, tied to a hook, as if it were bait.  We caught a bonito (tuna).  Distributed among 22 people, everyone received a small piece.  It was the first time for me to eat raw fish.  I remember that my friend Pepe García Montes once commented that to eat a raw fish in Japan was a tasty delicacy.  The following day, using parts of the bonito, we caught a dorado (pompano).  Later, using the head of the bonito as bait, a bigger hook and a thicker line we hooked a shark, a very large creature, and we began fighting to capture it.
Some threw themselves into the water to kill it.  They stalked it, hit it with boards, punches and everything they could use to capture it.  The shark pulled hard on the line and quickly went far away.  We remained back with the line and the straightened up hook. 
Several days had passed. The shortness of water and food was beginning to wear on us.  Desperate, many continued to swim to keep fresh.  Airplanes flew by and we signaled them with the few clothes we still had.  We saw the lights of several ships. We yelled, made gestures, all for nothing.  We did not understand how difficult it is to see a ship the size of “CELIA” in the immense ocean.  We saw a ship that looked like a fishing vessel, very large from a short distance and it appeared to us as if it had seen us.  The ship, which appeared to be near, sailed for about two hours and it went far away.  We did not see it again.  The first one to fall was “El Tío.” (The Uncle)  He laid himself on the bottom of the boat and be gan to emit husky and incoherent sounds.  We checked him and saw that from his eyes, nose and mouth there came a yellow-green liquid.  His agony lasted only several hours.  When we made certain that he was dead, an overwhelming shiver came upon all who made up that company.
We waited one day after his death and it was decided to throw him overboard.  I was chosen to be the one to say the eulogy.  It was very impressive when they threw the body into the water.  I remember that image: -a dead comrade, inside his own water tomb,- arms raised, the long hair floating over his head.  I will never be able to forget it as long as I live.
From that moment on, the subject of death took possession of us.  Now the question was how to survive.  Some drank their own urine, others simply refreshed themselves in the water.
The salt and the sun soaked our bodies.  The cold of the night and the drops of water that sprinkled us were felt as a lethal whip.  A small can that I found in the boat served me to pour water over my head.  The water rolled down to my mouth and I drank some of it.  Some other times I gargled.  When I felt that my throat was getting used to the salt I would drink it; also, I picked up seaweed floating on the sea.  I chewed the seaweed and drank the juice it produced.  Sometimes I swallowed the seaweed, it tested horrible.
Many times the sea would get very choppy with strong waves and the boat turned about.  To my surprise it straightened out again.  It was a seaworthy ship.  One day at dawn the sea was calm, but it was a sinister calm.  In our despair it crossed our minds to make ourselves some oars.  We used some boards from the deck and tightly fastened them.  We started to row by shifts.  After about two or three hours the sea began to get choppy again.  It rained one night only; we went insane and tried to drink as much water as possible and wet our bodies.  In the midst of the madness we forgot to store water
After Vicente’s death, despair began to take hold of us once again.  Everyone touched their eyes, nose and mouth asking themselves if there was some visible suppuration.  Death began to gather among those who were losing strength.  One by one they were dying in the same manner, up to a total of ten, all by the same process of suppuration or secretion and wheezing.  They were losing control of themselves and would be bed-ridden until they died.  There were two brothers, Isaac and Joaquín Rodríguez.  Isaac lost control of himself and said that he did not want to die aboard with that suppuration.  He jumped into the water intending to commit suicide.  His brother Joaquín pleaded with him to return to the boat.  “What Am I going to tell mother?”  Isaac insisted to be left alone, he prefer to die drowning, but we managed to pull him out of the water.  In the end, both of them [the brothers] survived.
On another occasion someone argued that we should use the blood of the dead to relieve the thirst.  I opposed it.  I explained that I had read stories of shipwrecked who adhered to that solution and afterwards they turned one against the other killing themselves.  Three comrades both supported and backed me with their conduct but we were not the majority.  In total ten comrades perished.  Following are their names in alphabetical (the Cuban way) order: Julio Caballero, Marco Tulio García, Vicente García, José García Montes, Jorge García Villalta, Ernerto Hernández Cosío, Raúl Menocal, Alejandro del Valle, Ruben Vera Ortíz and Jesús Vilarchao.
The ship had been drifting for several days driven by the sea currents (Gulf Stream) We did not know where we were nor how many days we had been sailing.  It was agreed that we should keep a steady course north using the helm and the compass.  We raffled the watches, and I drew the second one.  The first one was Joaquín Rodríguez.  We began at 5 p.m.  It was about a half hour into the start of this watch when one of our fellow men, lying down on the bow started to yell: “A Ship, A Ship! And it is coming straight toward us!”  We did not pay any attention to him, but Joaquín, who was in charge of the helm began to scream, warning us of the coming ship.  We took a peak.  Suddenly I saw the large vessel that looked like it was about t o tear us apart.  Three or four men jumped into the water to try to reach it. 
The ship started to let out smoke through its smokestack and it came to a complete stop.    They threw life preservers to those who were in the water.  They lowered a life boat, with several men, that began rowing toward us.  They picked us up and took us to the ship.  We were saved.  The ship´s name was “ATLANTA SEAMAN.”  Some were lifted up to the ship while others could do it by ourselves.  I asked for, was given and devoured 16 cold oranges.  We bathed and they fed us. 
Previously we decided that I would speak on behalf of all.  I met with the captain and he was astonished when I explained to him that we were members of BRIGADE 2506 that had landed in Girón Beach.  The captain informed me that two of our men had perished aboard the ship.  They did everything they could to save their lives.  The captain also told me the date: May 4, 1961. We had been lost at sea for 15 days.  They rescued us about 100 miles south of the mouth of the Mississippi River.
Following are the names of the survivors: Isaac and Joaquín Rodríguez, Roberto Pérez San Román, Cuéllar, Nelson Torrado, Armando Estrada, Florencio Valdés, Angel Hernández, Armando Caballero, Raúl Muxó and José Enrique Dausá
[Note from the translator:  At the present time only two members of BRIGADE 2506 remained interned at the “Garden of Memories” cemetery.  They are: Ernesto Hernández Cosío and Rubén Vera Ortíz.  The others have been moved by members of their families.]

Cortesia de Jorge Maspons

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Alberto Müller

Para los combatientes cubanos que integraron la Brigada 2506 con el objetivo de liberar a Cuba del comunismo, la derrota de la invasión en Playa Girón fue un golpe estremecedor de largo alcance.

Para Fidel Castro la victoria sobre la Brigada 2506 fue un regalo sorpresivo, consecuencia de una estrategia de compromisos equivocados, de parte de quienes dirigieron la operación.

Para el gobierno de los Estados Unidos y los cuerpos de inteligencia involucrados en la operación fue todo una fiasco gigantesco, que algunos quisieran borrar de las páginas de la historia.

Si se quiere comprender en toda su magnitud los alcances del fracaso de la invasión de Playa Girón en 1960, es necesario entender el escenario que se vivía en Cuba por aquellos días:

La revolución de 1959 era profundamente popular, pero ya en 1960 la polémica entre las filas revolucionarias por el intento de Fidel Castro y su grupo de cercanos colaboradores, de desviar el proceso revolucionario hacia el comunismo, dividía al país revolucionario en dos fuerzas equilibradas.

El prestigio de hombres, como José Miró Cardona (ex primer ministro del primer gobierno revolucionario), Manuel Urrutia (ex primer presidente del gobierno revolucionario), el comandante Huber Matos (ex jefe militar de la Provincia de Camagüey), Humberto Sorí Marín (ex comandante de la Sierra Maestra y autor de la Ley de Reforma Agraria), Manuel Ray (ex jefe de la Resistencia Cívica del Movimiento 26 de Julio), Pedro Luis Díaz Lanz (ex jefe de la Aviación revolucionaria), David Salvador (ex jefe del movimiento sindical revolucionario), los oficiales revolucionarios Nino Díaz, Jorge Sotús, Manuel Artime, entre otros cientos que participaron en la contienda bélica para derrocar a la dictadura de Fulgencio Batista, más dirigentes de enorme prestigio del escenario nacional, como Aureliano Sánchez Arango, Manuel Antonio de Varona, Justo Carrillo, José Ignacio Rasco, Felipe Pazos, José Ignacio Lasaga, Antonio Maceo, Reinol González, José de Jesús Planas, Rogelio González Corzo (Francisco) y Enrique Ros, entre una lista numerosa que por espacio no podemos mencionar en su totalidad.

Entre los jóvenes estudiantes, cabe destacar los nombres de José Puente Blanco (ex presidente de la FEU al triunfo de la Revolución), Porfirio Ramírez (ex presidente de la FEU de la Universidad de Las Villas), Juan Manuel Salvat (ex secretario de la Escuela de Ciencias Sociales de la Universidad de La Habana), Pedro Luis Boitel (ex candidato presidencial a la FEU), Joaquín Pérez Rodríguez (ex secretario de la Escuela de Agricultura de la Universidad de La Habana), Luis Boza (ex presidente de la Escuela de Ingeniería de la Universidad de La Habana), Richar Heredia (ex jefe de la Sección Estudiantil del Movimiento 26 de julio), (Roberto Borbolla (presidente de la FEU de la Universidad Católica de Villanueva), Gustavo Caballero (Presidente de la Asociación de Estudiantes del Instituto de Camagüey y ex capitán de la Sierra Maestra), Carlos Alberto Montaner (dirigente estudiantil del Instituto del Vedado) y Raúl Pintado (dirigente estudiantil de Santiago de Cuba), entre otros cientos.

Con este caudal de fuerza humana y política, a la que habría que añadir el campesinado, que fue el primer sector social del país en intuir el peligro de la colectivización comunista, las fuerzas democráticas cubanas para detener la traición de Fidel Castro de entregar la revolución al comunismo internacional, eran fuertes.

Eso explica los más de 10 mil hombres alzados en las montañas del Escambray en 1960, los más de 1,500 hombres que se alzaban en las montañas de la Sierra Maestra en 1961, los cientos de hombres alzados en la guerrilla urbana de ‘Campitos’ en Matanzas por esa misma época, y los más de 100 mil revolucionarios organizados en la clandestinidad, dispuestos a tomar ciudades, campamentos militares y puntos estratégicos en toda la isla.

Pero en la historia, los errores son costosos. El primer paso de un cúmulo de errores que condujo a la derrota en Playa Girón, se dio cuando los dirigentes cubanos del Frente Revolucionario Democrático, en lugar de solicitar ayuda logística y militar a todos los países de América, incluidos los Estados Unidos, para levantar al país en armas contra la traición castrista, se decidió que ese esfuerzo se concentrara en permitir que el mando de la operación recayera en manos de la Inteligencia de los Estados Unidos.

Entonces el plan inicial se elaboró consecuentemente alrededor de la siguiente dinámica:

1.- Ayudar a la organización revolucionaria activa dentro de la isla.
2.- Desplegar una poderosa maquinaria de propaganda.
3.- Entrenar una fuerza militar en el exterior para cooperar e incentivar la lucha interna de la clandestinidad y de las guerrillas.

Este plan se fue alterando paulatinamente en la transición política en Estados Unidos a principios de 1961, al asumir la presidencia John F. Kennedy.

Y el primer compromiso que se incumplió fue el primero. La ayuda a la resistencia interna y a los frentes guerrilleros contra el gobierno castrista, muy activos en 1960 y 1961, fue pasando a un lamentable abandono.

A principios de 1961 se decide por la inteligencia estadounidense y el gobierno Kennedy, que la fuerza miliar de la heroica Brigada 2506, invadiera a Cuba por Playa Girón y no por Trinidad, que era una zona de desembarco más idónea por su cercanía con la zona montañosa y por sus condiciones logísticas.

Ya no se habló más de ayudar a la resistencia armada dentro de la isla ni se valoró si los arrecifes de Girón eran un lugar adecuado para el desembarco de la acción armada.

La clandestinidad y las guerrillas ya habían quedado en ese momento aisladas y abandonadas, como si esos esfuerzos soberanos, legítimos y con pujanza suficientes para ganar la confrontación, no existiesen.

Pero llegó la mañana del 4 de abril en una reunión concluyente en la Casa Blanca y los responsables de la operación debatieron la idea de desactivar a los hombres de la Brigada 2506 en Guatemala y suspender todo el resto de la operación.

Pero finalmente en la susodicha reunión se produjo la famosa frase de John F. Kennedy: ‘es mucho mejor botarlos en Cuba que en los Estados Unidos’.

Finalmente se dio la orden de que la Brigada 2506 desembarcara en Girón, mientras erróneamente se paralizaban los bombardeos planificados para eliminar a la aviación castrista.

En esta marco de incumplimientos estratégicos, errores logísticos y desventajas operativas, los combatientes cubanos fueron trasladados desde Guatemala, pasando por Nicaragua, a los arrecifes de Playa Girón.

Los documentos recogen el hecho de que estos jóvenes cubanos demócratas pelearon con coraje sin igual. En el primer enfrentamiento entre los brigadistas contra las fuerzas castristas, los castristas quedaron diezmados y derrotados inicialmente.

Pero sin la cobertura aérea requerida, prácticamente el desenlace final era previsible. Los brigadistas fueron derrotados. Los aviones rápidos del régimen hundieron los barcos que traían el abastecimiento militar. La brigada 2506 quedó sin cobertura aérea.

Visto con la objetividad que dan los cincuenta años transcurridos, realmente hubiese sido más práctico y político, la cancelación de la operación de Playa Girón por parte del presidente Kennedy.

Al menos se hubiesen ahorrado valiosas vidas humanas y una derrota ignominiosa de largo alcance.

Los cubanos demócratas debieron ganar esa batalla contra la traición comunista, pero los dirigentes a los que tocó la decisión, cometieron el error de entregar la operación a quienes no eran cubanos, no conocían el terreno para la operación y su interés primero eran los Estados Unidos y no Cuba.

Una lección histórica que consolidó al régimen de Fidel Castro por décadas. Pero la página ya es historia pasada y como siempre, las derrotas quedan huérfanas, aunque el heroísmo de brigadistas y adversarios que combatieron en Playa Girón queda escrito con sangre para siempre.

Platino Brillante
Mensajes: 14,267
Registrado: ‎09-17-2008


Compañeros poetas
tomando en cuenta los últimos sucesos
en la poesía quisiera preguntar
-me urge-
qué tipo de adjetivo se debe usar
para hacer
el poema de un barco
sin que se haga sentimental
fuera de la vanguardia
o evidente panfleto
si debo usar palabras
como flota cubana
de pesca
y Playa Girón.

Compañeros de música
tomando en cuenta esas politonales
y audaces canciones
quisiera preguntar
-me urge-
qué tipo de armonía se debe usar
para hacer
la canción de este barco
con hombres de poca niñez
hombres y solamente hombres
sobre cubierta
hombres negros y rojos
y azules los hombres
que pueblan el Playa Girón.

Compañeros de historia
tomando en cuenta lo implacable que debe ser la verdad
quisiera preguntar
-me urge tanto-
qué debiera decir
qué fronteras debo respetar
si alguien roba comida
y después da la vida qué hacer.
Hasta dónde debemos
practicar las verdades.
Hasta dónde sabemos.

Que escriban pues su historia
la historia los hombres
del Playa Girón.

Que escriban pues su historia
la historia los hombres
del Playa Girón.

MAESTRO y GENIO: Silvio Rodríguez


Mensajes: 137,145
Registrado: ‎12-15-2005




While We Slept the Commies Crept
Written by Christopher Logan
Monday, 04 January 2010 05:55

Are you interested how and why the Democratic Party was taken over by 1960s Communist radicals? Watch and listen to former radicals David Horowitz and Pat Caddell discuss the interplay of Communism and George Soros’ engineering of the theft of American freedom and the contribution of Al Capone to Sal Alinsky and the Chicago machine in this illuminating video What Are We Up Against.

Until Obama took office most conservatives were pretty content with their lives in America and America itself. Because if we were not we would of been fighting tooth and nail to changes things, which is the point that we are at now as the Commies are past the gate and have taken control of our government.

The warning signs were there, as those that wanted to tear down America as we knew it, did not hide their agenda. Roger Baldwin the founder of the ACLU proudly laid out his plan for all to see. Unfortunately most of the country either heard the message and ignored it, or was not paying attention at all.

“I am for socialism, disarmament, and ultimately, for abolishing the state itself as an instrument of violence and compulsion. I seek social ownership of property, the abolition of the properties class, and sole control of those who produce wealth. Communism is the goal. It all sums up into one single purpose — the abolition of dog-eat-dog under which we live. I don’t regret being part of the communist tactic. I knew what I was doing. I was not an innocent liberal. I wanted what the communists wanted and I traveled the United Front road to get it.”

For decades while most conservatives were going about their daily lives, we did little to protect life as we know it. In the meantime the ACLU was tearing down America, and other leftists were taking control of our universities and media. The university professors did their part by making America out to be the bad guys of the world and killing our lifeline, which was good ole’ American pride.

For years the MSM has more than done their job for the left, and then they really turned up the heat for the 2008 election. They constantly put the right thought the meat grinder, and had endless coverage of Obama up to the election. His face and message was seen as much as a dictator in a Communist country is seen. Our country had a constant reminder of him, and his campaign was as simple as one word, “change”. The problem is that millions of Americans liked the sound of it, but did not take the time to find out what Obama had meant by “change”.

Now that Obama and his elitist friends are in charge, the change that they want is an all is equal world, were everybody lives basically on the same level, no matter how hard you work or how much money you earn. Well, that is of course unless you are part of the Obama’s gang. Then you get to live by a different set of rules. Because of our apathy, if Obama is not stopped our taxes will be going up and our standard of living going down, as well as America’s status in the world. This will only get worse for our children, if we do not reverse course.

Part of Obama’s agenda is one of a true dictator, which is trying to silence his critics. This is evident by Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano being more concerned with “right wing extremists”, than the dozens of Islamic terrorist camps that are located across America.

While we still have a fighting chance, we need to be more politically active while educating our fellow Americans and children as to what is going on with our current government. We have to remember that freedom is not free, and if we do not fight for it, our way of life will soon be long forgotten. It is up to us!