The Fabric of Terror, Bernardo Teixeira

[EL CURIOSO IMPERTINENTE]

Acabo de descubrir un episodio poco conocido de la sangrienta crónica de los horrores que se vivieron en África en la década de los sesenta, cuando la mayoría de las antiguas colonias alcanzaron su independencia, mientras en el sur del continente los gobiernos de Sudáfrica, Rhodesia del Sur y Portugal seguían resistiendo obstinadamente los "vientos de cambio" de los que habló el primer ministro británico Harold Macmillan.

1961 fue el año del principio del fin del secular imperio portugués.
Mientras el ejército de la India invadíó Goa y los restantes enclaves lusos en la costa de Malabar, los grupos nacionalistas jovenlandeses iniciaban insurrecciones armadas en Angola, Mozambique y la Guinea portuguesa.

Corría el mes de marzo, y en una remota comarca rural del nordeste de Angola, para los colonos portugueses y los habitantes nativos la vida seguía su curso tranquilo, ajena a los horrores que se vivían al otro lado de la frontera, en el antiguo Congo belga, que había proclamado su independencia un año antes.

Aquella calma se quebró por la irrupción de bandas de congoleños armados pertenecientes al U.P.A. (União dos Povos de Angola). Lo que sucedió a continuación fue narrado por Bernardo Teixeira en su libro “The Fabric of Terror”, publicado en 1965.

A justificação da tortura

Em Julho de 1961, escassos quatro meses passados depois dos acontecimentos narrados aqui, o jornal Le Monde publica um artigo1, da autoria de Pierre de Vos, em que este jornalista recolhe algumas declarações do líder da U.P.A., Holden Roberto, acerca das torturas praticadas em Março daqules ano e que se assacavam àquele movimento.

Não se coibiu o facínora entrevistado de as confirmar, incluindo as que envolveram mulheres e crianças, nem hesitam os seus capangas em detalhar os pormenores mais sórdidos das suas actividades vis. Nestas se inclui o aproveitamento, para aquele efeito, de uma serra mecânica que encontraram numa serraria que lhes caiu nas mãos. Adianta um dos brutos, sorrindo, que “os serraram” de alto a baixo. Afirmam outros que “claro que os torturámos, e continuaremos”.

Para justificar estas barbaridades - cuidando que semelhantes torpezas, que serrar pessoas ao meio, é coisa passível de justificação - o líder Roberto, que o jornalista afirma ter a “distinção de um aluno de Oxford”, invoca fuzilamentos, escravatura, e ainda outras brutalidades, alegadamente practicadas pelos portugueses. Ainda que tais acusações fossem verdadeiras - e nenhuma prova ou indício se fornece acerca da veracidade delas - não há nada que possa justificar a tortura de crianças ou o serrar de pessoas ao meio.

Era isto, portanto, a “libertação” que aguardava Angola. Não admira que não tenha colhido apoio entre os que visava “libertar”… Ao contrário de alguns influentes bem-pensantes privilegiados, em vidas douradas nas capitais mundiais - Lisboa incluída - o povo angolano ràpidamente percebeu o que o esperava e nunca aderiu à “libertação”. Era pois contra isto que se batiam os portugueses de todas as raças, primeiro em Angola e depois na Guiné e em Moçambique.

Que deveriam ter feito os portugueses? Fugirem os brancos, abandonando quem ficasse - família, amigos, empregados… - à serra mecânica “libertadora”? Negociar? Quantas crianças torturadas valeria Angola? Transigir? Quantas vítimas reclamaria a carnificina vinda do Congo para se saciar?

É verdade que estávamos e estivemos sós. Portugal estava, no plano internacional, isolado (embora não tanto quanto parecia). Mas não é menos verdade que tínhamos - e teremos sempre - motivo de que nos orgulhar: durante treze anos se opôs, só e bravamente, o braço português, como era seu dever, à selvajaria mais torpe que ameaçava as nossas gentes africanas. Não no podendo dissuadir ou forçar, acabaria por ser pela traição - a que nem Viriato resistiu - que o fariam vacilar e ceder, para desgraça de toda a nossa gente.

Léopoldville, …juin - Les pluies ont cessé de tomber, la saison sèche s’est installée, la verte végétation se couvre d’une épaisse couche de poussière rouge. Dans le nord de l’Angola, les insurgés vont se terrer jusqu’en septembre. Les colons blancs ont repris espoir: à Luanda, port et capitale, le Niassa débarque sans cesse des renforts de troupes qui vont pouvoir enfin être acheminés vers le nord puisque les routes vont être à nouveau praticables. Comme partout en Afrique, on exagère pour se donner du courage. “Bientôt, dit-on, il y aura soixante-quinze mille soldats portugais dans la province d’Angola.” Mais ce sera en tout cas la sécurité assurée jusqu’en septembre, jusqu’aux prochaines pluies Après, on verra toujours… Vivre pendant trois mois, c’est en soi une garantie à laquelle peu de Portugais croyaient encore Au nord de Luanda, les Blancs sont devenus fatalistes.

Un temps d’arrêt

Les chefs rebelles admettent sans beaucoup s’en inquiéter que l’insurrection devra marquer un temps d’arrêt.

À Léopoldville, capitale de la République du Congo et quartier général de la rébellion angolaise, Roberto Holden étudie une carte de son pays dans son petit bureau du 78, rue Dodoma, à la limite de la ville blanche et du “Belge”, la cité noire, qui n’a pas renoncé à son nom après l’indépendance.

“Nous savons très bien, nous dit-il, que les Portugais se proposent de lancer une offensive de grande envergure, mais cela ne nous empêchera pas de poursuivre la lutte et de gagner, comme le F.L.N. finira par remporter la victoire en Algérie pour les mêmes raisons Nous sommes des Angolais, nous connaissons donc le pays mieux que les Portugais. Nous pourront toujours déjouer la tactique portugaise. Nous résisterons sans beaucoup de peine jusqu’en septembre. Et, au retour des pluies, nous redeviendrons les maîtres absolus de tout le territoire qui s’étend au nord de Luanda.”

Roberto Holden s’exprime en français, plus correctement que bien des chefs politiques d’Afrique ex-française ou du Congo ex-belge. Il est jeune, beau, calme et élégant C’est un Noir qui manifestement a beaucoup vécu au contact des Blancs. Il a la distinction d’un étudiant d’Oxford, sa mesure aussi. Il n’élève pas la voix, mais parle sans hésitation ; ses phrases sont bien construites, bien balancées, sans un mot de trop.

“J’ai trois noms, dit-il en souriant, mais c’est pour les besoins de la guerre. Je m’appelle vraiment Holden Roberto. Mon nom de famille est Roberto, mon prénom Holden, ce qui déroute toujours les Occidentaux. C’eût été plus simple, bien sûr, si mon père avait choisi Jean, Pierre ou Jacques, mais mes parents étaient des paysans, des êtres frustes, et mon père a voulu m’appeler comme un des missionnaires protestants de la région, le Dr Holden, un Américain. Voilà…”

À Accra, au Ghana, où Roberto Holden était très lié avec Kwame Nkrumah et où il séjourna souvent en compagnie de Patrice Lumumba, il se fit appeler José Gilmore pour échapper à la vigilance de la P.V.D.E. portugaise, la Policie de Vigilancia et Defensa do Estado (la police de vigilance et de défense de l’État), l’équivalent si l’on veut de la D.S.T.

Les mouvements nationalistes

Roberto Holden est le chef incontesté de l’insurrection angolaise. Il dirige de Léopoldville l’U.P.A., l’Union des populations de l’Angola (Uniao das Populaçoes de Angola), le mouvement qui est à la base de toute la rébellion. S’il y a plusieurs organisations nationalistes, une seule en dehors de l’U.P.A. est de quelque importance. Il s’agit du M.P.L.A.(Mouvement populaire pour la libération de l’Angola) que dirige M. Mario de Andrade, installé à Conakry, en République de Guinée. Le M.P.L.A. est très actif, et M. de Andrade jouit d’un très grand prestige en Angola et au Congo, mais sur le plan strictement ” opérationnel ” l’organisation est pratiquement inexistante. Conakry est trop éloignée de Luanda, d’une part, et d’autre part les dirigeants du M.P.L.A. sont pour la plupart des intellectuels ayant fort peu de contacts avec la masse du nord de l’Angola. Les relations entre l’U.P.A. et le M.P.L.A. semblent d’ailleurs bonnes et la formation d’un front commun pourrait être proche. À Léopoldville, où nous cherchons à rencontrer tous les chefs de l’insurrection, c’est le fondateur de l’U.P.A., l’oncle de Roberto Holden, M. Nekaka, qui nous amène le délégué du M.P.L.A., le représentant de M. de Andrade, M. Jordao. Et tous deux jurent n’avoir qu’un but en commun : l’indépendance de l’Angola.

“Cependant, affirment tous ces nationalistes, nous ne réclamons pas le départ des Européens. Eux comme nous souffrent du régime Salazar, et nous voulons les aider à se libérer de l’oppression.”

Nous nous montrons sceptiques :

“On accuse cependant les insurgés des pires horreurs, et il existe des preuves de tortures infligées à des hommes, des femmes et même des enfants portugais dans les territoires environnant San-Salvador-do-Kongo. Niez-vous ces massacres?”

La justification des tortures

Roberto Holden n’hésite pas : “Non, tout cela est vrai et je suis le premier à le regretter. Mais ces horreurs s’expliquent, et le monde doit nous comprendre. L’insurrection a débuté le 16 mars dernier dans une plantation de café, la Fazenda da Primavera, près de San-Salvador-du-Kongo, l’ancienne capitale du royaume du Congo, à 100 kilomètres de la frontière congolaise. Vous savez qu’en Angola le système du travail forcé est toujours en vigueur. Les Portugais organisent régulièrement des rafles dans les villages, et ils remettent des travailleurs aux propriétaires des plantations, des fazendas. Ces travailleurs sont très mal payés, et depuis 1956 - régulièrement - nous organisions des grèves. Chaque fois cependant les Portugais réprimaient ces mouvements sociaux dans le sang. Les colons avaient, ont toujours, le droit de vie et de mort sur leur main-d’œuvre esclave, et chaque fois les ” mauvaises têtes ” étaient froidement abattues. Malgré cela, à cause de cela même, l’action de l’U.P.A. s’est développée, et quand nous avons décrété une grève générale le 15 mars dernier le mot d’ordre a été suivi sans défaillance. À la plantation Primavera, la réponse portugaise a été traditionnelle : une vingtaine de travailleurs ont été abattus d’une balle dans la nuque. Mais cette fois les esclaves ne se sont pas inclinés ils ont tout massacré…

-Y compris femmes et enfants ?

-Oui, pourquoi le nier… Je sais qu’en Europe on comprend mal cette réaction, mais personne ne se doute des conditions dans lesquelles vit mon peuple.”

Ensuite, expliqué le chef de la rébellion, le massacre s’est généralisé. Quand un Noir rencontre un Blanc, c’est à qui tire le premier. Les Portugais encerclent les villages, conduisent les hommes, les femmes et les enfants au bord du fleuve et les fusillent sans pitié. Œil pour œil, dent pour dent, se disent les Angolais, et ils tuent tout autant en y ajoutant la torture, que les Portugais pratiquent moins. Ces tortures, nous en avons eu des preuves et des aveux au cours d’un périple dans le Bas-Congo, du côté congolais, et au cours d’une incursion dans le nord de l’Angola, dans une région abandonnée par les Portugais aux mains des insurgés.

“Nous les avons sciés… “

À Lovo, à une cinquantaine de kilomètres de la frontière, un petit poste où résidaient une quarantaine d’Européens, administrateurs, colons et artisans, la tuerie a été particulièrement sanglante. Il y avait en effet dans cette localité un instrument de torture unique : une scie mécanique. Le propriétaire de la scierie et les autres ont été ficelés sur une planche bien lisse.

“Puis, nous dit un Angolais avec un large sourire, nous les avons sciés dans le sens de la longueur.”

D’après notre interlocuteur, les victimes “sciées étaient mortes avant l’opération”. D’après d’autres, elles étaient bien vivantes. Et tout le long de notre itinéraire, les témoignages s’accumulent, très spontanément, avec la satisfaction du devoir accompli :

“Bien sûr que nous avons torturé, et nous continuerons. Les Portugais paieront jusqu’au dernier le mal qu’ils nous ont fait pendant tant de siècles. Et voyez comment ils traitaient nos prisonniers…”

Le sort des Angolais emprisonnés n’a en effet rien d’enviable. Dans les prisons les Portugais ont maintenu le droit coutumier en vigueur depuis toujours. Le voleur se voit couper la main ou le bras selon l’importance de son crime, et parmi les soixante mille réfugiés qui ont passé la frontière congolaise il y a quelques dizaines de prisonniers évadés de San-Salvador qu’il a fallu conduire chez le forgeron de Songololo, au Congo, pour les débarrasser des fers qui entravaient leurs jambes. Un d’entre eux avait la bouche fermée avec un cadenas… Mais en général, et tous l’admettent, les geôliers étaient noirs.

“N’empêche que nous ne sommes pas xénophobes, affirment Roberto Holden et Jordao. La preuve, c’est que nous avons sauvé la vie à des Portugais qui nous étaient favorables. Ceux-là ont été prévenus de nos attaques. Mais il est évident que, dans la mêlée, nous en tuons qui auraient pu être nos amis. C’est la guerre… Après, quand tout sera fini et que nous serons installés à Luanda, les bons Portugais pourront rester, et nous nous entendrons avec eux, comme les Algériens s’entendront avec les Français de bonne volonté. Mais nous n’en sommes pas encore là.”

Le quartier général déménage

En attendant, Roberto Holden va installer son quartier général en Angola même. C’est, admet-il, une mesure psychologique mais peu pratique :

“Je serai parmi mes troupes, et c’est ce qu’elles veulent. Mais Léopoldville m’était tellement plus précieuse. D’ici je peux prendre contact avec le monde entier, battre le rappel de toutes les assistances, téléphoner à Paris, à Tunis, à New-York, prendre des avions. Dans la brousse, je devrai camper et je serai coupé du monde, de ce monde sans l’aide duquel l’insurrection angolaise est condamnée. Mais, en ce début de saison sèche, au moment où le jovenlandesal de mes combattants devra faire face à une offensive portugaise de grande envergure, il faut que je sois parmi eux… Dans quelques semaines, je reviendrai à Léopoldville pour organiser notre offensive, celle qui débutera avec les pluies et qui sera décisive.”

(À suivre.)

O artigo pode encontrar-se no site do Le Monde, apontado pela ligação fornecida, mas custa 2 Euros a leitura. Custava, melhor dizendo… ↩

Obra citada:
Pierre de Vos in Le Monde de 5 de Julho de 1961 ,

Leopoldville, ... Junio ​​- La lluvia dejó de caer, la estación seca se ha fijado en la vegetación verde está cubierta con una gruesa capa de polvo rojo. En el norte de Angola, los insurgentes agujero hasta septiembre. Los colonos blancos reanudaron esperanza: en Luanda, el puerto y capital de la Niassa aterrizaron continuamente refuerzos de tropas finalmente podrán ser encaminado hacia el norte ya que las carreteras sean transitables de nuevo. Al igual que en otras partes de África, exageramos para ganar valor. "Pronto, dicen, habrá setenta y cinco mil soldados portugueses en la provincia de Angola." Pero esta voluntad en cualquier caso, la seguridad garantizada hasta septiembre, hasta las próximas lluvias Después, siempre vamos a vivir ... durante tres meses es de por sí una garantía de que unos portuguesa todavía cree norte de Luanda, los blancos se han vuelto fatalista.

El tiempo de inactividad

Los líderes rebeldes admiten sin mucha preocupación de que la insurrección debe marcar un tiempo de inactividad.

En Leopoldville, capital de la República del Congo y la sede de la rebelión de Angola, Roberto Holden estudia un mapa de su país en su pequeño despacho del 78, Dodoma la calle, en las afueras de la ciudad blanca y el "Belge", la ciudad neցro, que no ha renunciado a su nombre después de la independencia.

"Sabemos, dice, que los portugueses tienen la intención de lanzar una gran ofensiva, pero eso no nos impide continuar la lucha y ganar, como F.L.N. finalmente ganamos en Argelia por las mismas razones que estamos angoleños, por lo que sabemos el país mejor que el portugués. Siempre vamos a eludir las tácticas portuguesas. Vamos a resistir sin muchos problemas hasta septiembre. Y cuando vuelvan las lluvias, seremos los dueños absolutos de todo el territorio que se extiende al norte de Luanda ".

Holden Roberto habla francés más correctamente que muchos líderes políticos del África antes el francesa o del antiguo Congo Belga. Es joven, hermoso, elegante y tranquilo Este es un neցro que claramente tiene mucha experiencia en el contacto con los blancos. Tiene la distinción de un estudiante de Oxford, su medición también. No levantó la voz, pero habla sin dudar; sus frases están bien construidas, bien equilibrado, sin una palabra de más.

"Tengo tres nombres, dijo sonriendo, pero a los efectos de la guerra. Estoy muy Holden Roberto. Mi nombre es Roberto, mi nombre Holden, que todavía confunde a los occidentales. Hubiera sido más fácil, por supuesto, si mi padre había elegido Jean, Pierre y Jacques, pero mis padres eran campesinos, los seres ásperos, y mi padre quería decir que soy un misioneros protestantes en la región, la Dr. Holden, un americano. Aquí ... "

En Accra, Ghana, donde Holden Roberto fue muy estrecha con Kwame Nkrumah y donde él se quedaba a menudo en compañía de Patrice Lumumba, él se llamó José Gilmore escapar a la vigilancia de la P.V.D.E. Portugués, el Policie de Vigilancia y Defensa do Estado (la vigilancia y la Policía de Defensa del Estado), el equivalente si se quiere de la D.S.T.

Los movimientos nacionalistas

Holden Roberto es el líder indiscutible de la insurrección de Angola. Dirige el Leopoldville U.P.A., La Unión de los pueblos de Angola (União das Populaçoes de Angola), el movimiento que es la base de toda rebelión. Si hay varias organizaciones nacionalistas, uno fuera del U.P.A. es de cierta importancia. Esta es la M.P.L.A. (Movimiento Popular para la Liberación de Angola), dirigido por el Sr. Mario de Andrade, con sede en Conakry, República de Guinea. El M.P.L.A. es muy activo, y el Sr. Andrade goza de gran prestigio en Angola y el Congo, pero en términos estrictamente organización "operativa" es prácticamente inexistente. Conakry está demasiado lejos de Luanda, por un lado, y los otros líderes M.P.L.A. son en su mayoría intelectuales que tienen poco contacto con la masa del norte de Angola. Las relaciones entre U.P.A. y M.P.L.A. También parece bueno y la formación de un frente común podría estar cerca. En Leopoldville, donde tratamos de cumplir con todos los líderes de la insurrección, el fundador de la UPA, el tío de Holden Roberto, el Sr. Nekaka, que conduce el delegado del MPLA, el representante del Sr. Andrade, el Sr. Jordao. Y ambos jurar tienen un objetivo en común: la independencia de Angola.

"Sin embargo, todos estos nacionalistas argumentan, no exigimos la salida de los europeos. Ellos, ya que sufren el régimen de Salazar, y queremos ayudarles a liberarse de la opresión ".

Mostramos los escépticos:

"Sin embargo, se acusa a los insurgentes de los peores horrores, y hay pruebas de la tortura de hombres, mujeres e incluso niños en territorio portugués que rodean San Salvador-do-Kongo. ¿Niega estas matanzas? "

La justificación de la tortura

Holden Roberto no duda: "No, todo es verdad y yo soy el primero en lamentar. Pero estos horrores se explican, y el mundo que nos ha de entender. El levantamiento se inició el pasado 16 de marzo en una plantación de café, Hacienda de la Primavera, cerca de San Salvador-el-Kongo, la antigua capital del reino del Congo, a 100 kilómetros de la frontera con el Congo. Usted sabe que en Angola el sistema de trabajo forzoso sigue vigente. El portugués organizan regularmente incursiones en los pueblos, y que ponen a los trabajadores a los propietarios de las plantaciones, haciendas. Estos trabajadores están mal pagados, y desde 1956 - regular - que organizan huelgas. Sin embargo cada vez que el portugués reprimió los movimientos sociales en la sangre. Los colonos tienen siempre el derecho de vida y fin sobre su mano de obra esclava, y cada vez que la "mala cabeza" se dispararon con frialdad. A pesar de esto, debido a que la acción misma de U.P.A. desarrollado, y cuando hemos decretado una huelga general el 15 de marzo último el lema fue seguido sin fallo. Cuando la plantación de Primavera, la respuesta era tradicional portuguesa: veinte trabajadores fueron tomadas con una bala en el cuello. Pero esta vez los esclavos no estaban dispuestos todos ellos masacrados ...

-Y Entre ellos mujeres y niños?

Sí, para qué negarlo ... Sé que en Europa es difícil de entender esta reacción, pero "sin duda las condiciones de vida de mi pueblo.

A continuación, explicó el líder de la rebelión, la matanza se generalizó. Al encontrarse con una blanca neցro, que es su tiempo el morir. El portugués rodear pueblos, los hombres de plomo, las mujeres y los niños por el río y disparar sin piedad. Ojo por ojo, diente por diente, dicen los angoleños y apiolar tanto mediante la adición de la tortura, los portugueses practicaban menos. Estas torturas, hemos visto pruebas y confesiones durante un viaje en el Bajo Congo, la parte congoleña, y durante una incursión en el norte de Angola, en una zona abandonada por la portuguesa las manos de los insurgentes.

"Las hemos aserrado ..."

En Lovo, a unos cincuenta kilómetros de la frontera, un pequeño puesto donde residió cuarenta europeos, los administradores, los colonos y los artesanos, el asesinato fue particularmente sangriento. No había hecho en esta localidad un instrumento de tortura único: una motosierra. El propietario del aserradero y los otros fueron ensartadas en una tabla lisa.

"Entonces dijimos un sonriente angoleños, les serrada en la dirección de la longitud."

De acuerdo con nuestro interlocutor, al corte de las víctimas habían muerto antes de la operación ". Según otros, que eran muy vivo. Y todo lo largo de nuestra ruta, la evidencia se acumula, muy espontáneamente, con la satisfacción del deber cumplido:

"Por supuesto que hemos torturado, y vamos a seguir. El portugués pagar hasta el último mal que han hecho durante tantos siglos. Y ver cómo trataron a los prisioneros ... "

El destino de los angoleños presos de hecho no hizo nada envidiable. En las cárceles de la portuguesa mantuvo el derecho consuetudinario en vigor desde entonces. El ladrón se ve el corte de la mano o el brazo por la importancia de su crimen, y entre los sesenta mil refugiados que cruzaron la frontera con el Congo hay unas cuantas docenas de prisioneros escaparon de San Salvador que tomó la iniciativa de herrero Songololo, Congo, para librarse de los grilletes que inhibieron sus piernas. Uno de ellos tenía la boca cerrada con un candado ... Pero, en general, todos admiten, los carceleros eran neցros.

"Todavía no somos xenófobos, dicen Holden Roberto y Jordao. La prueba es que hemos salvado la vida de los portugueses que nos fueron favorables. Aquellos fueron alertados a nuestros ataques. Pero es obvio que en el cuerpo a cuerpo, matamos a que podría haber sido nuestros amigos. Esto es la guerra ... Una vez, cuando este ha terminado y estamos instaló en Luanda, el portugués seguirá siendo buena, y vamos a estar de acuerdo con ellos, como los argelinos estarán de acuerdo con el fondo de comercio francés. Pero no estamos allí todavía ".

La sede se trasladó

Mientras tanto, Holden Roberto instalará su sede en Angola misma. Es, admite, una medida psicológica, pero poco práctica:

"Voy a estar entre mis tropas, y eso es lo que quieren. Pero Leopoldville mí era mucho más valioso. Desde aquí puedo hacer contacto con el mundo, vencer a la retirada de todo el público, llamar a París en Túnez, en Nueva York, tomar aviones. En el monte, voy a acampar y estaré aislada del mundo, este mundo sin cuya ayuda la insurrección de Angola está condenada. Sin embargo, al comienzo de la estación seca, cuando la jovenlandesal de mis luchadores se enfrentará a una ofensiva portuguesa a grande, tengo que estar entre ellos ... En unas pocas semanas, voy a volver a Leopoldville para organizar nuestra ofensiva que que comienza con las lluvias, que serán decisivos ".

As Fotografias

The Sawmill at Luvo

aos 13 de Maio de 2014
De 1965 vem-nos um livro escrito em inglês e publicado nos EUA, intitulado “The Fabric of Terror”. É um relato de vários episódios passados em Angola adaptado a livro, diz-nos o autor, Bernardo Teixeira.

Nele encontramos o relato da serração do Luvo, já aqui abordado por ocasião de um artigo de jornal que se lhe refere, e, claro, por ocasião de outro artigo de jornal em que a façanha é admitida e gabada pelos facínoras façanhudos e pelo seu chefe, Holden Roberto. Sabemos assim de fonte segura que o que se pode ler foi, infelizmente, tão torpe, infame e sinistro como se relata no livro, ilustrado por Júlio Gil.

Never forget; não é assim que dizem por aí? Pois não esqueçamos nós portugueses também, pois nos não falta que lembrar…

The macabre story of Luvo - a village border post between Angola and the Republic of the Congo, not far from the Congolese river port of Matadi - was heard but not really publicized immediately after that morning of horrors. It came to outside attention for the first time through a front page story in the French newspaper, Le Monde, on July 5, 1965, in the form of an interview by a journalist, Pierre de Vos, with leaders of the U.P.A. organization in Leopoldville.

Less than a year later, when I visited the diamond mining territory of Lunda, near the Katanga border, I met by accident the weather-bitten truck driver who had arrived at Luvo at dawn on the fifteenth of March.

As we sipped mugs of beer at the bar of a tavern in Saurimo, the gateway to the huge mining concession of Diamang, he told me, with great emotion and sweeping gestures, of his adventures. The story that ***ows was reconstructed from the notes I made at the time, as well as from reports of other men who had not actually seen the slaughter themselves.

Sawmill 1

In the afternoon of March 14, 1961, Zacharias and his Kimbundo helper, Inhaca, arrived in the small town of São Salvador with a truckload of canned foodstuffs which they had brought from the costal town of Ambrizete, a small port more than halfway between Luanda and the estuary of the Congo River. After they had unloaded the shipment at the warehouse, Zacharias was told that there would be a cargo of empty wood crates for his truck to take on the return trip to Ambrizete - that is, if he cared to pick up the freight at the sawmill of Luvo which is a border village nearly forty miles to the north of São Salvador. Zacharias was pleased with the news.

“Boy, let us get on the road again, and we will get to Luvo in time for supper,” the driver said, turning to his helper.

“Let us not, boss. We will never make it in daylight, and the road is very bad,” Inhaca suggested, urgently. They had been on the road for ten long hours.

“Let us toss a coin,” Zacharias suggested.

“All right, boss,” Inhaca agreed.

Zacharias tossed the coin and he won easily. He always carried one coin with two heads and another one with two tails.

Halfway between São Salvador and Luvo, Zacharias began to regret his victory. The narrow, dirt road was in terrible condition due to the recent rains. Presently, it was nightfall and Zacharias’ kidneys and endurance gave up and he stopped the truck on a clearing by the road.

“Well, Inhaca, I guess you should have won the toss,” he admitted.

“I guess I should have, boss,” the Kimbundo agreed.

“We will sleep here and get back on the road before the dawn breaks,” the driver said, as he left the cab to stretch his legs.

“I guess we will, boss,” the helper agreed.

They shared a modest supper of bread and cheese and wine, supplies which the normally cautious Zacharias always carried in a tin box, after which they wrapped themselves in their respective blankets and went to sleep in the now empty trailer. Sometime before dawn they awakened and continued the journey.

Dawn was breaking when they arrived at Luvo, the village border post. They saw the two sleepy border guards, in their khaki uniforms, and waved to them, but they turned off to the sawmill before they reached the checkpoint. The road would go on into the Congo, to Thysville and Leopoldville.

The night watchman at the sawmill was still on duty, although the sun was rising, and he yawned and stretched his arms sleepily when the truck came to a stop.

“My name is Zacharias and this is my helper, Inhaca. I understand there is a load for Ambrizete,” Zacharias said, he alighted from the cab and offered a smoke to the night watchman who accepted it after he had readjusted the sling of his rifle.

“The crates are at the end of the yard. You can drive your trailer around and park it behind the crates,” the watchman said. “The boys should be here soon and they will load your trailer the first thing.”

“How are things up here?” the driver asked, to make idle conversation.

“I do not like it, but there is nothing I can do,” the watchman said.

“What do you miccionan?” Zacharias asked, sincerely puzzled.

“Something funny is going on, but I do not know what it is. Nobody in the village does,” the watchman answered. “Yesterday, a few of us went to the chief of post and told him that something funny was going on and that we were worried, and he asked, ‘what?’ and we could not answer, so he just shrugged his shoulders.”

“Well, what is this funny thing that is going on up here?” Zacharias insisted, his curiosity increasing.

“Driver, I do not know,” the watchman said, wrinkling his forehead. “But something is not right. About half of the boys - they are all Bakongos - did not show up for work the last two days. And many of the other Bakongos around the village have been giving you a kind of funny look. And I have seen in the last few days a number of well-dressed blacks I have not seen around here before.”

“Well, maybe they are planning a robbery, or something -” Zacharias said, but he was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the village - yells, screams and a few rifle shots.

“Something funny is happening in the village,” the watchman said, with some panic. “I must take a look.” He removed the rifle from his shoulder and, carrying it in his hand, ran towards the village.

“I do not like it, boss,” Inhaca said. “Let us hide the truck in the back of the yard.”

Zacharias hesitated, but he decided to ***ow the Kimbundo’s advice, this time without tossing a coin.

“It must be a robbery. None of our business, anyhow,” the driver said, as he climbed back in the cab.

As they parked the truck in the back of the storage yard, behind the pries of wood crates, the sounds in the village reached their ears - frightful and piercing screams. Zacharias began to feel, with a premonition of horror, that this might be more than a case of robbery. They made a perilous climb to the top of a pile of crates from which they could see part of the village as well as the rest of the yard and the open side of the mill.

Their eyes could not believe what they saw. A crowd of yelling, shouting and laughing blacks were dragging through the dirt, into the sawmill, dozens of bodies, including the two sleepy guards that had been at the border post and the watchman who had walked out to see what the commotion was in the village. As it turned out, the bleeding bodies being dragged into the sawmill were forty-two, some of them women, and a few of them boys and girls in their teens - the entire white population of Luvo. The terrorist band must have numbered between two and three hundred, some of them wearing gleaming patent leather shoes, sports jackets and neckties, others wearing khaki trousers and sport shirts; still others barefoot, in dirty shorts. But they were all laughing and shouting as they flogged, with their catanas, the bodies being dragged through the dirt. The better-dressed terrorists carried rifles, but the majority had only the sharp-edged catanas.

“What in the name of God are they bringing the bodies here for?” Zacharias heard himself ask, as he felt a shiver of horror.

“Merciful God, merciful God!” whispered Inhaca, as he crossed himself repeatedly.

Sawmill 2

They hid the best they could behind the crates on top of the pile, but they could see the entire scene through the cracks. Zacharias made a silent prayer to the good Lord that the terrorists would not spot the truck.

One of the band, obviously a worker at the sawmill, turned on the mechanical saw, and the belts and blades began to move. As Zacharias and Inhaca strained their eyes, they saw that many of the whites were still alive, moaning in pain, the blood dripping from their wounds which had been inflicted by catana blows on their heads, necks and chests. Some of the terrorists began to leap wildly around the mechanical saw. From where they were, Zacharias and Inhaca could not hear any words, only laughter. They were both nearly paralyzed with fright, and Zacharias felt that his fingernails were burning and buried in the still green wood of a crate.

The terrorists began to strip the clothes off the dead and off the ones still living. Then, they strapped the bodies, the dead ones and the still living ones, to the moving plank, lengthwise, as though they were logs. They pressed down the levers and the plank began to push the bodies into the buzz saw, feet first. A few piercing, dying screams reached Zacharias’ ears, and he had to take a deep breath not to faint. Inhaca had covered his eyes with the palm of his hand and he was swallowing hard.

Soon it was all over, and the terrorists left the sawmill, laughing loudly and waving their arms, like drunks returning from a lgtb party. They left nothing behind them but pitiful bits and pieces of human flesh strewn all over the place, and the blood still warm on the mechanical plane and buzz saw. The sun was now shining directly over the horror, but Zacharias and Inhaca kept their eyes shut and their bodies motionless, hoping foolishly that the nightmare would go away.

They stayed there a very long time, until there was not a single sound coming from the village. Then, they descended from the pile of crates and crawled through the grass to the first houses of the village. They found nothing but dead silence, empty houses with broken doors and windows. The people had been reduced to discarded fragments of humanity at the sawmill, and the terrorists had gone to celebrate elsewhere. But the chickens were still alive, and they were strolling closer and closer to the sawmill, their beaks smelling the dirt, attracted more and more by the odor of the dead.

Zacharias and Inhaca crawled back to the storage yard, got into the truck, and started on the road back to São Salvador. They had little choice; the alternative would be to cross the border into the Congo, but the danger there might be even greater. Zacharias was fully conscious that the terrorists might jump his truck at any moment, but his only choice was to drive on. In his dire predicament, he had one small consolation: he had enough gasoline if he were allowed to drive on, for he always carried several extra cans for emergencies. But he had no firearms, so he kept an iron bar by his side, to give himself an illusory sense of security.

“Boy, if those savages catch us, you run like hell one way, and I run like hell the other way,” Zacharias said. “They may go after me and leave you alone.”

“They will not leave me alone, boss,” the Kimbundo said, shaking his head.

It was almost dark when they reached the vicinity of São Salvador. Zacharias and Inhaca had exhausted their supply of bread and cheese, and they were famished. They had hoped, with misgivings, to fetch some food at São Salvador. But, at this point, a native in rags jumped from the bush into their path, waving his arms.

“May God have mercy on my soul!” Zacharias cried, thinking that the end had come, and he switched the engine to second gear to run over the man.

“Stop, boss!” cried Inhaca, as he went for the emergency brake. “That is no Bakongo!”

Zacharias brought the truck to an abrupt stop. The native, a boy of about twenty, rushed to the cabin. His name was Ulambo, and he was a Bailundo from southern Angola. He was a worker at the huge Primavera plantation near São Salvador. The terrorists had massacred all the Europeans at the plantation in the early morning, and also many of the Bailundo workers, but Ulambo and a few others had managed to escape.

“Hop in, boy,” said Zacharias to the Bailundo. “Who were the terrorists?”

“The Bakongo workers at Primavera, and others I know not. All speak Kikongo language,” Ulambo said.

“Can I go through the town?” Zacharias asked, as he started down the road again.

“Boss cannot. São Salvador full of terrorists,” the Bailundo said. “Ulambo know trail wide enough for wheels that take us to Madimba road past São Salvador.”

The trailer was empty, so Zacharias took the chance of driving through muddy paths. He drove in the dark, with the lights off, Inhaca and Ulambo walking ahead of the vehicle to show the way. Finally they reached the dirt road on the other side of São Salvador. From there to Bembe was approximately a hundred miles and the road was in very bad shape. Still, it would be some kind of road, rather than this muddy path. And from Bembe - if they should ever make it - to Carmona, going through Songo, would be another hundred miles.

Zacharias drove very slowly, still with the lights off, hoping and praying that the engine would not heat up too much, for he had to keep it most of the time in low gear. Inhaca and Ulambo moaned, and complained about hunger. Zacharias did not complain but he was as hungry as they were.

They passed cautiously through the small village of Madimba. Nothing stirred. It would be difficult to tell whether everybody was dead or asleep. Not a light, not a soul, not even a stray chicken they could grab for food. Later on, they found here and there trunks of small trees blocking the road. They removed them with their hands, but they saw no one. The hour was late and the bush was asleep. Two hours later they went through the small village of Lucunga. Again, not a light, not a soul, not even a chicken or a goat: They drove on towards Bembe.

They arrived in the vicinity of Bembe at dawn and they decided to hide the truck in a small bush by the road and cover it with tree branches. They hid there all day. Inhaca and Ulambo collected coconuts and edible fibres and a couple of tender snakes which they boiled. There was a small creek nearby and they got some water from it.

After nightfall they took off again, the lights still turned off. They had to go through Bembe. There was no other way.

“Brace yourselves, boys!” Zacharias said to his companions. “I am going to step on it.”

And he drove at top speed through the large and dark village, half-blindly, praying that no logs would be blocking the road. They saw and heard nothing. Not a light, not a soul, not a noise. Way out of Bembe they came to another silent village, Tomboco, and the road became better if not good. Past Tomboco, there was an intersection well known to Zacharias, and here he had to make a decision.

The road west led to Ambrizete and the sea, but it passed through the hills of Bessa Monteiro, and if the terrorists were there, they would not have the prayer of a chance. The road southeast led to Nova Caipemba, Songo and Carmona, but it would pass by the hills of Mucaba, which would also be the end of the world for them if the terrorists were around.

“What do you say, boys?” Zacharias asked, his mind vacillating.

Ulambo, the Bailundo, was for Ambrizete and the sea. He was probably eager to find his way by freighter to southern Angola. Inhaca, the Kimbundo, was for inland and Carmona, which would bring him closer to his home grounds, Malange. Zacharias pondered briefly on the choice, but he decided for Carmona. He figured that the path inland might be safer than the coast because, with a terrorist war on, the terrorist leaders would expect people to be running toward the coast, thus, they may be cutting off the roads in that direction. As the events were subsequently known, it turned out that Zacharias’ choice was a matter of life or death. Had he attempted to make the Bessa Monteiro hills, toward the coast, he would not have lived to tell the tale.

Again they drove in the dark. But as they reached the hills of Mucaba, near Songo, they found the road absolutely impassable; dozens and dozens of big logs had been thrown across the road. They drove the truck off the road, covered it with branches, and proceeded on foot through the bush toward Songo. They took with them tools as weapons and two containers of gasoline to use as bombs, if necessary.

Daylight was breaking. They bumped here and there into groups of refugees, natives. Some of them were also trying to reach Carmona, others were making their way northward toward the Congo. They told them of the massacre at Nova Caipemba and of the killings at Songo. The ones trying to reach Carmona were running away from the terrorists, but the majority, making their way northward, said that they had heard that the Portuguese paratroopers were coming and that they would kill all the blacks. Still others were running away without any place or aim in mind. There was great confusion, but Zacharias and his two companions kept on aiming for Carmona, bypassing Songo, and eating coconuts as they found them.

That night, the evening of the seventeenth of March, Zacharias, Inhaca and Ulambo reached Carmona. On the edge of town, they were greeted by a sudden yellow spotlight and the muzzles of vigilantes’ rifles.

“Who goes there?” shouted the leader of the vigilante patrol.

“Zacharias, truck driver from Ambrizete, and my helpers,” Zacharias answered. “I have a story to tell…”

“Approach, with your hands up,” instructed the patrol leader.

The Sawmill at Luvo

 

[EL CURIOSO IMPERTINENTE]

Un funcionario de la administración colonial describe en un memorándum dirigido al gobernador de Angola lo que vio en su visita a la plantación María José, en la que los matarifes de Holden Roberto habían perpetrado una matanza y complementa el informe con fotografías de los cadáveres multilados de los trabajadores neցros (no había ningún blanco en la plantación cuando llegaron los carniceros de la UPA).

As Fotografias

Na entrada anterior ficámos a conhecer o livro The Fabric of Terror de Bernardo Teixeira, e a descrição macabra dos acontecimentos da serração do Luvo.

Infelizmente, há mais macabro ainda… A meio do livro pode encontrar-se uma série de fotografias documentando os horrores que andavam à solta no Norte de Angola em 1961. Não trazem legendas nem se diz explicitamente em que sítio foram recolhidas.

Porém, o nono capítulo do livro tem por título The Photographs, e conta-nos a visita do autor à plantação Maria José, situada a cerca de 30km a Oeste de Negage. No mesmo capítulo é-nos reproduzido um memorando elaborado por “um burocrata de Luanda” e dirigido ao Governador de Angola, que descreve o cenário encontrado na plantação Maria José a 4 de Junho pelas autoridades portuguesas. Diz-nos o memorando que a acompanhá-lo estão três conjuntos de fotografias que lá foram tiradas. Dois pertencerão à Maria José, e um terceiro a uma plantação de um alemão, Herr Hucking, perto de Camabatela.

Uma vez que as fotografias do livro não trazem indicação nenhuma, não é possível saber com certeza a qual dos conjuntos pertencem; mas parece seguro presumir que façam parte de um ou mais deles. Uma das fotografias mostra uma grávida, o que parece corresponder à descrição do que foi visto na propriedade do homem alemão. Não sabemos. O que sabemos é que isto não é senão uma pequena amostra do que sucedeu aos portugueses, brancos e pretos, e aos estrangeiros - em suma, à população - do Norte de Angola em 1961.

Reproduzimos de seguida o capítulo em causa e as fotografias do livro. As cenas capturadas pelas fotografias são de uma selvajaria e crueldade extremas, do que se avisa desde já os benévolos leitores mais sensíveis.

9. The Photographs


…and the Vision whispers in my dream:
I have come from afar in search of your heart
to bring it peace and relief, my sleeping friend,
but I stare at her in painful surprise
(the night is arid as my own infinite)
I stare at her with darkened, glassy eyes
and I reply: forgive me, benevolent Death,
for I have already died and died…

ANTHERO DE QUENTAL (1842-1891)










ilu 1

“This is the place,” my companion, the photographer from Luanda, said, as he pointed to the burned-up buildings ahead of us. Our Land Rover proceeded slowly, ***owing the zigzagging path of the military jeep ahead of us, the driver of which was trying to avoid, by instinct, any land mines buried in the dusty, narrow road. We were coming to a large commercial plantation, called “Maria José” which is located about thirty kilometers west of Negage, the chief Portuguese air force base in northern Angola.

Minutes later as we alighted from our vehicles a vast spectacle of desolation and ruin greeted my eyes. All the buildings - offices, sleeping quarters, dining hall, school, hospital, chapel and warehouses - had been burned to a crisp, and now, several months after the fire, the Maria José plantation was still abandoned to its fate, surrounded by a hostile jungle, the tall capim grass and stretching wild weeds taking over the management of the once rich plantation.

“Two Army photographers and I arrived here on the fourth of June,” the photographer explained as we walked slowly around the burned ghosts of the buildings, “that is, three days after the slaughter. The massacre here took place in the early hours of June 1, two and a half months after the big killings further north. Not a single white person was at the plantation on the night the terrorists struck. The few European employees were absent on business.”

“What is this?” I asked, as we came to the burned chapel and I saw the small and slightly burned wooden statue of the Virgin Mary resting on a plumed velvet hat which had been laid on a flat grave of earth.

“A kind of humane touch by one of the terrorists… the only humane touch about this ghastly business,” the photographer explained. “Apparently, one of the terrorists must have been a friend of the fellow buried there, because he took the trouble to bury him, placing the victim’s favorite hat over the grave, and salvaging a Virgin Mary, from the burning chapel to give added comfort to the dead one. All the other victims were left at the spots where they were killed and mutilated. The name of the fellow under the earth there was Quiluange Uola, of the Cuale people. He did treasure his plumed velvet hat and he was also a Catholic, as were more than half of the workers here, judging from the rosaries and images of saints we found in the debris.”

ilu 2

As we turned around to take a look inside of what had been the sleeping quarters for bachelor workers, a band of black birds flew away in a clatter from a dark corner of the building and an enormous rat, in panic, dashed past the photographer’s legs into the bright sun outside.

“You see that burned beam there?” the photographer asked, pointing to what was left of the ceiling. “A fellow was hanging from that beam, completely naked. He obviously had been caught by several shots as he tried to escape through tile high ceiling. The expression of fright on his face, with his teeth buried in the wood of the beam, and his big eyes practically leaping out of their sockets - that’s something I will never forget. His body was hanging from the beam in the most grotesque fashion. It looked as though it was actually suspended by its genital organs! Imagine, being in that horrible posture for three days, and dead! I took several pictures of him.”

I walked out of the dormitory to catch my breath. Presently I sat down on a rock by the capim grass, contemplating the scene, and I pulled out of my pocket the “Maria José Memo,” copy of which a friend of mine had obtained for me in Luanda. It was a somewhat ceremonious report addressed to the governor general and written by a conscientious Luanda bureaucrat who had accompanied the three photographers to the Maria José plantation. It read:1

“His Excellency, The Governor General of Angola, Palace of the Government, Luanda, Angola

Luanda, June 10, 1961”

“Excellency:

“I have the great honor to bring to Your Excellency’s attention the result of the mission with which I was entrusted, and which, I earnestly hope, has been carried out in a manner to justify the trust Your Excellency has kindly bestowed upon my humble person.

“As a result of Your Excellency’s directive, I proceeded on June 2 with three photographers to the town of Negage, situated twenty-odd kilometers from the site of the Maria José plantation. Upon our arrival at Negage I solicited from the local commandant the support of a military detachment to accompany us to the above mentioned plantation. On the strength of Your Excellency’s letter of recommendation, the commandant graciously placed at our disposal a small motorized escort, under the command of a gallant officer of the Dragoons, Lieutenant of Cavalry J. A. Bruno.

“The dirt road from Negage to the site of the Maria José plantation was most uncomfortable and hazardous, and quite dangerous, I may add, due to the tall capim grass and thick forest flanking our way on both sides. With the utmost alertness we proceeded on, cautiously, and thus we arrived without incident at a point less than five kilometers from the plantation. Here, the first vehicle fell into a trap - a huge hole in the road cleverly covered with canvas and dust. Curiously enough, the trap was almost exactly the size of the vehicle which fell into it, thus rendering it impossible for the three men inside to escape immediately, as the vehicle in reference had a hard top! We realized instantly that we had fallen into an ambush, and this realization was as instantly confirmed by volleys of gunfire from the capim on both sides of the road. Perhaps we would not have been able to obtain the photographs, which I have the honor to remit to Your Excellency herewith, were it not for the swift and capable reaction of our escort leader, Lieutenant Bruno.

“Within a few brief seconds the lieutenant and his soldiers were counterattacking the ****** terrorists, using for that purpose the machine gun mounted on one of the jeeps, as well as hand grenades and bazookas. Fortunately, the casualties on our side were negligible, due principally to the poor aim of the attackers: a corporal lost two fingers, a soldier had his stomach torn off by enemy fire, and another soldier found a bullet in his knee cap. After the barrage of machine gun and bazooka fire, and the tossing of hand grenades, our gallant lieutenant, revolver in hand, and his soldiers charged upon the ****** enemy position where they found four dead terrorists and a few others who were too wounded to be carried away. The remainder of the attackers vanished into the bush, as usual.

“Due to the state of our wounded, we began to retreat toward the village of Dimuca, but before we reached that destination, we had to remove the huge trunk of a tree blocking the road. Again we were attacked by the enemy in the bush; their numbers appeared to have increased, judging from the amount of fire directed against our vehicles and men. Lieutenant Bruno once again reacted swiftly and competently, but we were not making any headway, despite the insignificance of our casualties. Happily, at this juncture, fighter planes from the Negage air base appeared overhead and began low strafing of the terrorist band. The bandits vanished again. (On our eventual return to Negage we learned from the two pilots who came to our rescue that, had we reached the village of Dimuca, we might have come to a sad end, for the terrorists and their sympathizers had congregated in that village in a gigantic ambush, waiting for us.)

“After this second attack was frustrated, we turned back toward the Maria José plantation which we finally reached without further incidents, although the wounded were feeling most uncomfortable. On our way back to the Maria José we rescued the three men still trapped in their vehicle. For that purpose we had to lift half of the vehicle from the hole in the ground. The reason why these patient three men were not rescued before was that in the heat of the first battle we had forgotten about them and they were, apparently, too polite to shout for help.

“Excellency:

“After all these ordeals we finally arrived at the Maria José plantation. The grim spectacle we found is conveyed least in part, by the collection of glossy prints submitted herewith.

“According to the investigation carried out by the military patrol, and from the interrogation in loco of the two surviving witnesses (two native workers who managed to hide in the grass from whence they were able to see without being seen), the plantation was assaulted in the very early hours of the first of June by a large band of terrorists belonging to a sect of this region which has connections with terrorist groups operating from the Congo. This sect is known as the ‘tocoistas.’ There were fifty-two workers, some of them with families, at the plantation at the time of the assault. Most of them were voluntary workers from the Cuale people, a few from the Negage area, and fewer even were Bailundos from the south. Still, a number of them were ‘tocoistas,’ and these, of course, made common cause with the terrorists, helping in the slaughter of their fellow workers.

“According to the testimony of the two witnesses - a) João Continuo, a Bailundo, 20 years of age, native of Candande; b) Jurga, of the Cuale people, age undetermined - approximately one hundred terrorists entered the plantation unexpectedly before the break of dawn and were promptly joined by about a dozen workers and their families who must have been allied to the band. Thereupon the terrorists began the mass killing with great dispatch, using mostly the traditionally long and sharp catanas, although many of the attackers also had firearms, especially canhangulos. The operation of the massacre was conducted by a former foreman of the Maria José, known as Corporal Ramos.

“The majority of the victims were asleep when the assault took place. On inspecting the photographs herewith, Your Excellency will verify that many of the victims are lying on their beds or else by the side of their beds. Others attempted to escape from their rooms or dormitory and were cut down in the act, for their bodies hung from windows or lay on the threshold of doors. Some others succeeded in reaching the central patio only to meet the same dreadful fate there. Your Excellency will verify, from the enlarged photographs, that most of the victims were slain and mutilated with catanas, though others were first shot with canhangulos, and many others were burned with gasoline (the supply of which was abundant at the plantation,) judging from the terrifying appearance of their bodies. In most cases, the terrorists dedicated themselves to the gruesome task of cutting up the limbs and heads of the victims. Among the bodies we found two women, one of them in a state of pregnancy, as well as a very young boy and two children.

“Excellency:

“The spectacle which we saw, and which I have attempted to describe succinctly to Your Excellency, reveals the most evil fury and cannibalistic instincts on the part of the contemptible terrorists!

“As I do not wish to burden Your Excellency with too many details of this pitiful tragedy, I shall omit many other terrible aspects of my mission. Immediately upon our arrival and inspection, the lieutenant ordered his soldiers to prepare a huge burial ditch. The corpses were so decomposed and so replete with vermin, vermin which by now was also covering the patio and floors of the buildings, that it became necessary to proceed with a burial en masse at once. (After hundreds of photographs were taken of course.) During the burial many of the soldiers became ill with nausea and vomited, due principally to the asphyxiating odor, and had to be excused temporarily from their duty. After the sad task was completed, it became necessary to cover the grounds with gasoline and set fire to it, in order to destroy the vermin, lest public health be effected.

“As Your Excellency will verify from the photographs taken during the mass burial, the tragic scene is reminiscent of some of the most horrible scenes prevalent in certain concentration camps during the last world war, but the spirit with which we carried out our grim task was a much different one. We regretted our inability to give individual burial to each one of the badly decomposed cadavers, but we did place a wooden cross over the mass graveyard, prayers were said by the lieutenant and ***owed by us and, as a finale, a platoon of soldiers in impeccable formation gave a military farewell to the victims and fired several volleys into the air.

“After which, Excellency, we proceeded to our vehicles for the dangerous return trip to Negage.

“From the records we were able to find in the office of the plantation, from the testimony of the two eyewitnesses, the native workers Continuo and Jurga, and from the reports of the two European employees, Barraqueiro and Calixto, who were not at the plantation at the time of the massacre, we presume that, among the forty bodies we buried, there were the ***owing thirty-six people:

OF THE BAILUNDO PEOPLE

Maurício, Eugénio Cacala, André Pinto, Maria Bento, José Bento, Maria Bumba, Manuel Bumba, João (a child)

OF THE CUALE PEOPLE

Bernardo Quiluange, José Cabaca, Queta Quiluange (a child), Cassua Quissanga, Quiluange Uola, Faustino, Ferraz Gonga, Manuel Capemba, Jacinto Massango, Daniel Cabaca, Agostinho Bravo, Luamba Gunza, Armando Zua, Joaquim Ebo, Fonseca Vunge, João Curiba, Albino Dala, Joaquim Quisanga, Tomaz Camuege, Neves Gonga, Mário Catenda, Albino Zua, Samuel Lenga, Bernardo (a child), Ferraz Camuege,

FROM DIMUCA

Quimbuari Luma (foreman), Malau Cambige, Mulaza Mahula (foreman),

“Excellency:

“It was not possible to obtain even tentative identification of four of the bodies, due to the insufficiency of the records and the extremely advanced stage of decomposition of the corpses. Even amongst the names of the victims listed above, there is the distinct possibility of an error or two, that is to say that I may have listed as dead two or three Cuale workers who may have joined the terrorists, in which case the respective bodies would belong, of course, to two or three others whom we listed as having gone with the terrorists. As I had previously pointed out to Your Excellency, on the excellent corroboration of the eyewitnesses, Continuo and Jurga, about a dozen workers - not a single one of them Bailundo, of course - made common cause with the terrorists.

“Therefore, Your Excellency, the two packages of photographs, labelled A and B, appertain entirely to scenes and deceased persons we found at this unfortunate Maria José plantation.

“The third package of photographs, labelled C, refers to another and smaller massacre, yet of exceedingly savage proportions, which took place near Camabatela at the plantation owned by the German national, Herr Karl Hucking.

“As the signatory of these lines was not present at that other location when our photographers took the pictures herewith, it remains for me to convey to Your Excellency some of the pertinent details which were verified by our photographers in loco, and which emphasize the particular fiendishness of these crimes, faithfully captured by the cameras of our photographers. For example, the pregnant native woman appearing in several of the enclosed glossy prints was bearing the child of one of the German nationals on the plantation, specifically, the son of the proprietor, according to common knowledge at Camabatela.

“The other three mestizo children of the same woman, also fathered by the same white man, were savagely slain, cut up and burned by the crazed terrorists who, not satisfied with so horrible a deed, tossed the pitiful remains of the children into the buckets where the hogs were fed, the hogs being the only living things which escaped the massacre at the Hucking plantation.

“Excellency:

“The lines above are a succinct resume of the tragic events documented by the photographs contained in the three packages, labelled A, B and C. The slight delay in forwarding these photographs to Your Excellency’s office was due to a clerical error for which I am partly responsible, since it occurred in my own office: without carefully examining the character of the pictures in question, one of my subaltern clerks shipped them off to the Department of Tourism. Presently, the error was discovered and corrected.

“I avail myself of this opportunity to present to Your Excellency the assurances of my highest consideration.”

La organización de Holden Roberto, también conocida como FLNA (Frente por la Liberación Nacional de Angola), era uno de los tres grupos que luchaban por la independencia. Las otras dos eran el MPLA (Movimiento Popular por la Liberación de Angola) y la UNITA (Unión Nacional por la Independencia Total de Angola). El FLNA recibía apoyo de los Estados Unidos, Francia, Israel y del dictador Mobutu de la república del Zaire (actual República Democrática del Congo). La URSS y Cuba apoyaban al MPLA y China a UNITA. Tras la retirada del ejército portugués en 1975 el MPLA se hizo con el control de Luanda y de la mayor parte del país con apoyo militar cubano. El FLNA fue barrido. La UNITA continuó luchando contra las fuerzas gubernamentales y sus aliados cubanos, esta vez con el apoyo del ejército de Sudáfrica y los Estados Unidos.