Argentinian writer of Irish descent Rodolfo Walsh used his pen to exposeatrocities of the military government before being gunned down in 1977, reports Michael McCaughan, who has edited a new anthology of Walsh's writings
El Salvadoran writer Claribel Alegría once said that political commitment was "more a contagious disease than a calculated intellectual strategy", and that living in a plague area left you with an excellent chance of coming down with a nasty dose.
Rodolfo Walsh (1927-1977), an Argentinian writer of Irish descent, lived in a time of infamy, his country caught between feverish idealism and fascist repression.
Walsh grew up in harsh circumstances: when he was 10 years of age, his father gambled away the family home and the young Walsh was sent to a boarding school run by Irish priests in Buenos Aires. The school was more like a borstal than an educational establishment, but it prepared him for tough times ahead.
Walsh left school early and found a job with Hachette publishers, where he worked his way up the firm, from proof reader to published author, penning crime fiction stories.
A snatch of conversation interrupted his regular game of chess one evening in 1956 and changed his life forever: "One of the executed men is alive," whispered a frightened voice. Walsh followed up the lead and found five survivors of a botched execution who told him their story.
A dozen men had gathered to listen to a boxing match, and were wrongly suspected of plotting to overthrow the government, prompting the subsequent massacre.
The resulting book, Operación Masacre (1957), is an Argentinian classic, marking the launch of the "truth novel", in which real-life stories are recounted in literary style, with the author at the heart of unfolding events. US writer Truman Capote's In Cold Blood, often cited as the original of the species, was published a decade later.
In the 20 years which followed the publication of Operación Masacre, Walsh sculpted his sharp prose across journalism, short stories, plays, letters and literary criticism. He lived up to his promise "to bear witness in difficult times" until a rake of enemy bullets stole his last breath on a hot Buenos Aires afternoon in March 1977.
Walsh married young and had two children, Vicki and Patricia, both of whom followed their father into political activism. Vicki died fighting the military junta months before her father suffered the same fate. Patricia is now an elected senator, representing the United Left.
Argentina endured military rule for half of the 20th century, while the remaining years were dominated by corrupt politicians, notably Carlos Menem (1989-1999) who dismantled native industry and sold off state assets, removing the final obstacles to outright economic meltdown.
"Events are what matter these days," wrote Walsh, "but rather than write about them we must make them happen." Walsh investigated state crimes and forced parliamentary inquiries, uncovered trade union corruption and organised crime in the shantytowns. In Cuba, he intercepted secret messages between the CIA and Cuban exiles training for the Bay of Pigs invasion (1961), giving Fidel Castro crucial warning of the impending aggression.
In my research, the mystery of Walsh's life slowly unravelled through family, friends and colleagues who opened their doors and their minds; an interview with Walsh's first girlfriend Nene (they met in 1946) was followed by a trip to his first home in Choele-Choel in southern Argentina, where 92-year-old Juan Pedranti recalled Rodolfo's parents, including his father's penchant for gambling.
FOR many interviewees, the memories were extremely painful; "If you betray me, I will tear your eyes out," said Lilia Ferreyra, Walsh's final partner. Her announcement scared the life out of me, yet the threat was strangely reassuring as Lilia, the repository of Walsh's most intimate reflections, could demand nothing less.
His surviving daughter, Patricia, posed challenging questions on the relationship between radical activists and their loved ones left behind to pick up the pieces. After his release from prison, Nelson Mandela wondered "whether one was ever justified in neglecting the welfare of one's own family in order to fight for the welfare of others".
Walsh could have found a comfortable niche as the critical conscience of his era, surviving the slaughter by virtue of his literary fame. Instead he opted to abandon his writing career and join the Montoneros, a revolutionary Peronist organisation. Walsh put his crime fiction skills to the test, infiltrating police and army circles, gleaning intelligence that facilitated two of the Montonero's most spectacular armed actions.
The repression intensified in March 1976, when the military once more seized power, this time determined to murder anyone vaguely connected with the progressive movement. Walsh was the junta's most wanted man, carrying in his head the entire Montonero intelligence network.
On March 25th, 1977, Walsh headed into Buenos Aires disguised as an elderly teacher, unaware that a fellow militant had revealed the location of the meeting under severe torture. At a busy intersection the hunters moved in on their prey, but the plan went awry, giving Walsh sufficient time to pull a gun and force his assailants to shoot him dead, denying the torturers the opportunity to extract vital intelligence information.
True Crimes: Rodolfo Walsh - The Life and Times of a Radical Intellectual by Michael McCaughan is published by Latin America Bureau, €15
