This week we reprint excerpts from an interview with Carlos Amat and Rosita Casán, which first appeared in the June-September 1975 issue of the magazine Santiago. Amat and Casán, members of the July 26 Movement underground in Santiago de Cuba, both worked as switchboard operators at the Cuban Telephone Company in January 1958 when Armando Hart was arrested near Bayamo in eastern Cuba. With access to the telephone conversations of top officials of the dictatorship’s army and police, they provided information that enabled the organizers of the underground movement to save Hart’s life. Also included is an account of that event by Luis Buch, who was then head of public relations for the July 26 Movement in Havana. Copyright © 2004 by Pathfinder Press, reprinted by permission.
 

“Hey, how’s Aunt Dora?” someone would ask.

“Aunt Dora couldn’t be better,” we’d answer. That meant they could speak freely.

But sometimes the response was: “Aunt Dora’s seriously ill, and today she’s terrible. We had to admit her to the hospital.” By that, the compañero knew the military was listening in. Another aspect of our work was that Rogelio [Soto] would listen in to Chaviano’s phone at the Moncada garrison and to the offices of the Military Intelligence Service (SIM), to find out everything they were talking about. Often we intercepted orders to arrest or search people, and we’d warn them…. These cops were very clumsy in their repressive work, and they committed real indiscretions over the phone.

In this way, the telephone jobs made it possible for the Movement to have a secure means of communication locally and nationally both for directing our clandestine effort and as a source of first-hand information on the enemy’s communications….

There’s a concrete case where the telephones fulfilled a fundamental mission. It was in January 1958. One night around 10:00 p.m., I got a call from Vilma [Espín]. “They’ve seized a number of people,” she said, “and we need to find out who they are. Make inquiries in Bayamo.”

A little later Daniel [René Ramos Latour] phoned me and told me the same thing, but he referred to some farmland attached to the Palma sugar mill, located between Palma Soriano and Bayamo, where they had arrested Jacinto Pérez (Armando), Tony Buch, and Javier Pazos. Carlos Amat called me, too, with the news and I phoned Haydée [Santamaría]. Meanwhile, I called an operator in Bayamo who worked with us, and told her to investigate the lines to the Bayamo garrison. She called back around midnight.

She confirmed that the prisoners were indeed being held, that they would be transferred to Santiago the next morning, and that they were “three big shots.” I immediately passed this all on to Déborah (Vilma) and Daniel.

Later when we were at work, Carlos [Amat] and I listened in on a call where Tabernilla ordered Chaviano to kill Hart and the doctor (Buch). Tabernilla reminded him that Hart had escaped from the courtroom once before.

“Get moving and do it fast!” I recall Tabernilla saying. “These degenerates mobilize quickly and they mustn’t learn of this. The father of one of them (Felipe Pazos) is appealing to the president. Don’t dally. Carry out the order!”

Carlos Amat phoned Haydée and I called Déborah (Vilma). I was simultaneously speaking with Daniel, because in those days the phone in my house had a secret connection to what we called the Cave, the basement of an apartment building that had virtually been converted into our headquarters.

The mobilization was immediate. From the Cave, a number of compañeros took off by car: Eduardito Mesa, Belarmino Castilla (Aníbal), Miguel Angel Manals, Carlos Chaín, and Gloria Casañas. The latter was carrying two hidden revolvers for the emergency operation they were leaving to undertake: seizing a radio station over which they would announce the news so that the population would remain on alert.

Arriving at the station—located on the second floor of the Lido social club in the Terrazas neighborhood of Vista Alegre—the compañeros pointed a gun at the announcer and the operator on duty. Meanwhile, Carlos Chaín took the microphone and warned the population what was happening, urging them to remain on alert and to remember the strike around [the murder of] Frank [País].  
 
Carlos Amat
…Tabernilla phoned Chaviano again to tell him not to kill Javier Pazos, because the latter’s father had spoken with Batista and was pulling strings, but that the others should be killed right away.

“Kill Armando like a dog!” Tabernilla said. “Hurry up, since the news is spreading, and afterwards you won’t be able to.”

Chaviano answered that the news was already out, since a radio station had just been seized. “What should I do?” he asked.

“Imbecile! You’ve wasted a lot of time! Now there’s nothing you can do.”

A few days later the prisoners were transferred to the Boniato jail. Their lives had been saved.  
 
Luis Buch
Captured on Hart’s person were some compromising documents, and he was savagely beaten. In a second telephone call—this time from Tabernilla to Chaviano—the order was given to stage an alleged skirmish between the army and rebels, with three rebel dead—that is, the three prisoners….

From what we know, the order was not carried out immediately due to the opposition of Laureano Ibarra Pérez. This would not help the government at all, Ibarra Pérez raised, since Hart was the son of a respected magistrate, Pazos was the son of a noted professional who had been president of the National Bank of Cuba and was very well known among economists in Latin America, and Tony Buch was the son of a distinguished doctor with a high scientific reputation, who exercised his profession in Santiago itself and was highly regarded by the entire population. It was easy to order the death of the three prisoners from afar, he said, but those who ordered the execution would confront the indignation and rebellion of an entire city that could become transformed into a national protest, as had happened when Frank País was killed.

These contradictions within the tyranny’s high command caused a delay that was decisive for gaining time for the efforts that were carried out in Havana and Santiago.

A little before 6:00 a.m., through the July 26 Movement’s clandestine phone line at my home in Miramar, my wife Conchita got a call from Haydée Santamaría. “My child is gravely ill,” Haydée said tersely. “You must send the medicine as urgently as possible. There’s no hope of saving him.”

We had absolutely no doubt that she was referring to Armando Hart, that he had been arrested and was in an extremely precarious situation. . . .

Rushing into action, we headed to the official residence of the Papal Nuncio, where we were greeted by a nun. We explained to her the reason for our presence at such an early hour, which was to urgently meet with Monsignor Luigi Centoz. The nun told us to wait in a reception room. She came back to say that the Nuncio could not be bothered at the moment, because he was saying Mass.

In face of our insistence that she pass on to him our life-and-death message, however, she agreed. A few minutes later we were in the presence of Monsignor Luigi Centoz, ambassador of the Holy See and dean of the Diplomatic Corps accredited in Cuba, who asked us into his office. We apologized for the unscheduled visit, explaining that we were there to ask for help from his good offices to save the life of Armando Hart, who had been arrested by the police, and that we had learned through totally reliable channels that the order had been given to physically eliminate him. Such a deed could possibly be averted through his swift and valuable intercession with Cuban authorities….

Facing what seemed a lost cause, Conchita then addressed the monsignor, who was seated behind his desk. In back of him on the wall was an enormous portrait of the Pope. She told him that this improvised meeting was symbolically presided over by the Holy Father. She was convinced, she said, that if a human life depended on his efforts, he would surely make them without hesitation. Those words seemed to move Centoz, and from then on he began to change his stance. He told us that it was 6:30, too early to call Gonzalo Güell, Batista’s minister of state. He would do so at 8:00.

Despite his initial reluctance, in face of our insistence, he eventually decided to telephone him at that early hour.

We didn’t know who he spoke with or the content of the conversation, but on returning to his office, he informed us that at 8:00 a.m. he would be received at the Ministry of State, that he was optimistic, and that we should come back at 9:00 a.m.

We showed up again at the Nuncio’s residence half an hour before the scheduled time to find out the response.

Monsignor entered the room, somewhat discombobulated, which put us all on tenterhooks. Addressing us, he said he had made the efforts and had been promised that the lives of the three prisoners would be spared. He was very unhappy… since he had not been received by Minister of State Gonzalo Güell—whom he had requested the interview with—but rather with Undersecretary Cortina. And he was going to send a vigorous diplomatic note to the Cuban government protesting the disrespectful attitude shown to him by the minister. . . .

We left the Nuncio’s office. Although our concern had been lessened a bit, it had not disappeared entirely, since it was not possible to trust the promises of Batista’s henchmen. Utilizing the telephone again, Haydée Santamaría called Armando’s parents, but this time she was more direct, since the conversation was done clearly and openly: “Armando has been arrested together with Buch and Pazos. Their lives are in danger, so you must make every effort to prevent them from being killed.”

The family mobilized. They spoke with José Miró Cardona, to arouse the interest of the Lawyers Guild….  
 
 
Front page (for this issue) | Home | Text-version home