Admiral Jorge Arancibia, Commander-in-Chief of the Navy. The Admiral continues to lie. His words are lost among the hills and the wind of Valparaíso. But the memory of the porteños—victims of the Navy’s repression—is stubborn and accurate.

Nothing and no one will ever be able to erase the horror enthroned on the shores of the Pacific, amidst the nocturnal mist, the sunset’s glow, and the eternal pelicans of the bay. On September 11, 1973, alongside the United States warships participating in the so-called UNITAS exercises, the fleet returned to port to link up with land units to begin the military coup against the government of Salvador Allende.

The early occupation of the city transformed it into a gigantic concentration camp where fear, torture, and cruelty reigned supreme. The Navy, with unusual rage and profound class-based contempt, repressed the porteños and, to that end, deployed all its personnel, including cadets from the Naval Academy.

It also enabled several places of detention, such as the Naval War Academy, the Silva Palma barracks, and the ships Maipo, Lebu, and Esmeralda, where thousands of terrorized inhabitants of Valparaíso were tortured.

However, Admiral Jorge Arancibia, head of the Navy, continues to maintain that in those detention centers "no one was ever tortured," and that they were merely transit points to house prisoners due to the extraordinary circumstances of the time.

But the Admiral lies, and he lies consciously, for it is impossible that he was not aware of what happened in the Navy’s facilities. There are thousands of testimonies from victims who experienced firsthand the violence and hatred of the officers and enlisted men of the apparently phlegmatic Chilean Navy.

Such is the case of María Eliana Comené, a Spanish literature student. "They were stuck on all the walls; I counted eight marines, some hooded and others with their faces painted black. They told me to undress.

I started to undress and left my underwear on because I was wearing a menstrual pad. Then, when they forced me to even take off my panties, I said I couldn't because I was menstruating. They forced me to do it, and that is where all the feminine rebellion, the rebellion of the fighter, comes in; no matter how much they wanted to make us feel like animals, the moment arrived when the dignity of the human being rebelled against all that.

And my rage and indignation were such that I took off my panties, took the blood-stained pad, and put it on the face of the lieutenant who was leading the group. After that, still naked, by order of the lieutenant, two marines grabbed my buttocks from behind and bent down to look into my anus." Such was the moral quality of the Admiral's sailors, the same ones who did not hesitate to rape women to demonstrate their power and their pathetic manhood, covering their faces with ski masks and hiding their ranks.

On the Esmeralda, María Eliana recalls, "there was violence 24 hours a day; they would take the comrades out, beat them, torture them, and they would return purple and vomiting blood. When they transferred me to the Lebu, we were separated from the comrades who were in the holds.

We were in the cabins, and there were so many of us that we couldn't breathe; we had to sleep sitting on the floor. They fed us only once a day, at 9 in the morning. It was beans that even had worms; once we complained, they told us mockingly, why were we complaining if they were giving us 'meat'?" But the food was not what worried the political prisoners most, but rather the inhumane and cruel treatment by their captors, mostly young sailors.

Although they were also tortured by civilians and, as in the case of María Eliana, by carabineros. She had the misfortune of having been arrested during the retaking of the Universidad Católica in the port in the months prior to the coup. She was assaulted by carabineros under the command of a lieutenant named Pérez; however, she managed to defend herself and strike her attackers.

Obviously, she never thought that political events would face her once again with the sadistic lieutenant, this time aboard the motor vessel Lebu. But it happened; on one occasion—María Eliana recounts—"they took me to a cabin that had been set up as an interrogation room, and there was this lieutenant who began to grope me and shout, saying: 'Defend yourself now, you bitch!' He groped me in a horrifying way; it was more than an hour of just that.

I was blindfolded and humiliated by what they were doing, impotent before what was happening, before the horrifying screams that could be heard." But it was not only on the ship that hundreds of porteños were tortured and degraded.

It also happened in other Navy torture centers. María Eliana also passed through the Naval War Academy, on the Playa Ancha hill. "I was there for about four weeks; they took me out every night to interrogate me, they hit my ears with their hands, they applied electricity to my tongue, to my vagina.

They took us out to have fun with us, to sexually abuse us. There were mass rapes. In the end, one disconnects, tries to sublimate what is happening, but it is impossible to forget; in fact, when I was already in prison, I developed a serious infection, with vomiting and fever.

They sent me to the Naval Hospital, and there they said it was just a gallbladder attack and sent me back to prison. However, it was something much more serious. It was gonorrhea, and it was impossible to know how and where I had contracted it—on the Esmeralda, on the Lebu, at the Academy? The only thing clear is that my endometrium was left totally and absolutely destroyed."

NAVAL WAR ACADEMY: HOUSE OF HORROR

And thousands of lives were destroyed physically and psychologically in the Navy's houses of horror in Valparaíso, El Belloto, Colliguay, Puchuncaví, and Talcahuano. Humberto Arancibia, president of the union of workers of Enadi, the former Gas Company of Valparaíso, passed through such centers of detention and torture.

He was arrested in Villa Alemana on the night of October 3, 1973. He was taken by the marines who arrested him to the Silva Palma barracks in the port. We arrived, Humberto recalls, "at a large room full of people, men and women lying on the floor, many with their hair cut off by bayonets.

A marine asked me why I was there. I replied that I didn't know, that I was simply a union leader. 'Exactly,' he told me, 'to ask you about other leaders, to see if they had stolen anything or not.'" The sailors, the military, knew perfectly well that no one had stolen anything, just as they knew that no one was going to attack the physical integrity of the members of the Armed Forces and their families, as they tried to make people believe through the dissemination of an absurd "Plan Zeta." They were simply trying to justify the unjustifiable: the repression, the massacres, the torture, the rapes.

For this reason, "about an hour after arriving," Humberto continues, "they blindfolded me, put a black hood over my head, tied my hands behind my back, and took me out of the room. 'So you are Carlos Nicolás!' (administrator of the Gas Company), they said to me while hitting me in the pit of my stomach.

I lost my breath; they hit me with sticks on my back, on my ribs, all this on the way to the interrogation. I feel that we arrived at a room, I take a breath: 'No, my name is Humberto Arancibia,' I manage to say. 'Why didn't you say that before, you son of a bitch!' they shouted at me.

That's when I realized what awaited me, what the treatment was going to be like. In the torture room, they hit me with open hands on my ears ('telephone'), punched me in the stomach, hit me with sticks on my ribs.

All the time my hands and feet were tied with wire. At one point I thought they were going to hang me, but in reality, what they did was apply electricity to me. This was repeated many times in the midst of all kinds of insults."

After an endless night of torment, Arancibia was transferred to the ship Lebu. "It looked like a pirate ship," Humberto points out, "with men crowded into the ship's holds. They were bearded, some with their hair cut with knives, wearing coats, blankets, dirty and hungry.

Sometimes they would throw us pieces of bread and we would share it among everyone. We did the same when, by a miracle, an orange appeared. We would eat it among six; we even ate the peel. Later on, they gave us noodles, or rather, masses of noodles.

Also beans full of weevils. Each meal was guarded by armed sailors. Not everyone ate, though; there was a comrade named Villarroel whom they kept in a cage, naked, and they never gave him food.

The sailors forced us to get up at six or seven in the morning. We would go up to the ship's deck and they would hose us down, naked, in the cold of the morning. It is clear that we had nowhere to relieve ourselves, and at some point, they put up halves of oil drums—which they called 'chutes'—where we began to urinate and defecate."

On the Lebu, people were denigrated; they tried to dehumanize the supposed enemy, men and women, regardless of age. They were also interrogated and tortured. The selective and most brutal interrogations were carried out at the Naval War Academy.

Humberto was taken there again. "They told me that I had laughed at them the first time; they put a cloth in my mouth and threw me against the wall and began to beat me. I lost the notion of time, of space; I thought they were going to kill me.

Being there, even if they weren't torturing you, was the same, because you could hear screams, blows, heartbreaking laments of people who were dying. You were always in a tense emotional state; you knew that later it would be your turn, you were going to go through the same process.

You had no hope; you didn't know if you were going to get out alive. There were several who had tried to commit suicide by jumping out of one of the windows on the fourth floor of the Academy or by hitting themselves against some pillars that were in the large room."

The panic, the desperation, the violence against defenseless people reached such a point that not a few preferred to die rather than continue enduring the horror of torture. However, Admiral Arancibia insists that in naval facilities, no one was ever tortured.

Even in those places where there was no interrogation, a regime of permanent repression and humiliating punishments for political prisoners prevailed. Such is the case of the Isla Riesco or Melinka concentration camp, located in Colligüay in the interior of Valparaíso.

There, every time a new group arrived, a mock intimidation was organized at night, when the prisoners were locked in their cabins. Bursts of machine-gun and automatic rifle fire were heard, mines were detonated in the area surrounding the camp, along with shouting and running.

The next day, the prisoners were informed that a group of "extremists" had tried to rescue them during the night and that they had been eliminated by the camp guard. If it happened again—they warned—the first thing to be eliminated would be the internal danger, that is, the prisoners.

TORTURE OF DEMOCRATIC SAILORS

Furthermore, many were punished by being submerged in pits of excrement and urine, by being beaten with rifle butts, by being pushed into trash, or by being forced to run while being whipped. It was the marines who tortured in this way.

And they had experience, as they were the ones who initiated the massive and systematic practice of torture in August 1973 by arresting and flogging a group of constitutionalist sailors who denounced the Navy's coup attempts.

Antonio Ruiz, a second corporal, an electronic mechanic with a specialty in fire control, was one of them. Antonio Ruiz vividly remembers the day he was arrested: "It was August 7, 1973, in Talcahuano.

Intelligence officers took me out of the unit to transfer me to Fuerte Borgoño. There was a squadron of at least twelve 'cosacos' (marines) waiting for us. They forced me to take off my clothes and the beatings began; the war treatment began.

We became the enemy. For the marines, it was live practice; we were their guinea pigs. The officer who interrogated us, so that the blows wouldn't show, wore wet gloves. They put us in drums of excrement and urine; two marines would hold us by the legs and sink us into the drums until we couldn't breathe.

The desperation in the face of the torture and the threats was such that in the end, one would rebel and confront the officer, shouting: 'Kill me, you son of a bitch!' They didn't care what one said or felt; on the contrary, they perfected the torture techniques day by day.

After a short time, they no longer held you by the legs, but had installed a pulley from which they would drop you into the drum of excrement. They had us tied hand and foot, they threatened us with death, and there were many mock executions.

There were about 50 of us arrested, but in the end, less than half of us remained. There were people of 'blue' affiliation (Asmar) and 'white' affiliation, both from the School staff and the Fleet. Subsequently, we were transferred to the Talcahuano jail in transit and, finally, to the Concepción jail.

The coup caught us there; we woke up to the sound of gunfire, we sensed death, the Carabineros took charge of the prison and threatened us that we would have to pay. A mock execution was carried out, and my whole life passed before me, very quickly.

I waited for death with my eyes closed. Fortunately, nothing happened, and eventually, we were transferred to Valparaíso, passing through the Isla Riesco or Melinka concentration camp, the Silva Palma barracks, and the port's public jail." Other democratic sailors were arrested and tortured at the Marine Corps' Fuerte Miller in Las Salinas, and at the Engineering School in Viña del Mar.

26 years after the coup d'état that began in Valparaíso, Admiral Jorge Arancibia continues to deny that the Navy massively violated human rights. So why should we believe in his supposed good intentions in promoting, together with the government, a "dialogue table" intended—also supposedly—to put an end to the human rights problem?

No apparent conciliatory gesture can hide the irrefutable fact that the worker-priest Michael Woodward was murdered on the Esmeralda, his Esmeralda, Mr. Admiral.

Source: Punto Final, October 29, 1999

Navy personnel tortured Father Miguel Woodward with such cruelty aboard the training ship Esmeralda that they caused his death.

This is what has been fully demonstrated in the proceedings initiated in January 2002 following the complaint filed by the sister of the Anglo-Chilean priest, Patricia Woodward, against retired officers Vice Admiral Adolfo Walbaum, Rear Admiral Hugo Cabezas Videla, and Navy Captains Sergio Huidobro Justiniano, Arnt Arentsen Pettersen, Jorge Sabugo Silva, Guillermo Aldoney Hansen (who eventually joined the corps of admirals), and Frigate Captains Keneth Gleiser Jo (a doctor who joined the corps of admirals in 2001 as Director of Naval Health) and Julio Vergara.

Added to them are Marine Corps Lieutenants Rafael Yussef Sotomayor, Guillermo Morera, Luis Rebolledo, Roberto Camus, Hernán Middleton, and others with the surnames Rodríguez and Luna.

In addition, the complaint was directed against the lawyer Enrique Vicente (current Fiscal Procurator Lawyer of the State Defense Council in the Fifth Region) and the religious figure from the Universidad Católica de Valparaíso, Jorge Bosagna.

The minister of the Valparaíso Court of Appeals, Gabriela Corti, investigated the facts, managing to establish crimes and determine responsibilities, although she could not find the remains of the murdered priest, who was arrested and taken to the ship Esmeralda in the days following the September 1973 coup.

There, he was tortured until he died, and his body was taken to the Naval Hospital, from where they took him to the Playa Ancha Cemetery 3, being buried in an unspecified location. Versions indicated that he was placed in a mass grave, and others that they buried him in a passageway that was later turned into a street and paved over.

Minister Corti even ordered excavations, which yielded no results.

When she had practically cleared up the entire crime, with only the remains left to be located, in November 2004, Judge Corti surprisingly ordered the definitive dismissal of the case, applying the statute of limitations and the Amnesty Law—among other grounds—disregarding legislation and international treaties.

The plaintiff appealed the determination until the annulment of the dismissal and the reopening of the case were achieved, which is now in the hands of the minister of the same Court, Eliana Quezada.

Threats against the magistrate

In November, Socialist deputy and lawyer Juan Bustos reported that Judge Quezada has received death threats, for which he requested police protection.

Due to the threats, "the progress that the process has had has been stalled," declared Deputy Bustos, who acts as a plaintiff in the trial for the priest's death.

According to Bustos, the magistrate has received death threats by phone. "The origin has not been identified, but she has received death threats to intimidate her after the investigation she has carried out, which has been excellent."

According to the lawyer and parliamentarian, the threats are due to the clarification of the torture to which Woodward was subjected, for which Judge Quezada "has requested protection, which she already has from the Investigative Police."

For her part, Patricia Woodward, the priest's sister, stated that "we knew about some threats, but not that they were of this type," describing the situation as "very serious."

According to the case file, Miguel Woodward died on the deck of the training ship Esmeralda in October 1973, as a result of the torture he received after his arrest.

Intimidation hindered the investigation

Until a few months ago, the progress of the inquiries was such that it was expected that the summary could be closed and charges decreed by August.

In July, lawyer and deputy Laura Soto, also a plaintiff in the case, had met with Judge Quezada, subsequently expressing her confidence in the imminent closure of the summary.

After meeting with the judge, the deputy pointed out that "she is already clear about what happened. It cannot continue to be denied that the priest entered the Esmeralda and that he was tortured there and as a result of that he passed away." In that sense, she said she considered that knowing the truth in this case "will be painful for the Navy, but good for the country." "Perhaps in the first fortnight of August, the judge will issue an indictment.

I feel, in my conviction, that it could affect former high-ranking Navy officers," the parliamentarian declared at the time.

Before the Commander-in-Chief of the Navy, Admiral Rodolfo Codina, handed over the ship's log, "there was absolutely nothing, there were no witnesses," according to Deputy Soto; but thanks to that information, "it is proven that the priest entered the Esmeralda, and there are witnesses that he was tortured there and subsequently sent to the Naval Hospital."

"The most important thing is that the puzzle is ready, that the judge is already clear about what happened. It cannot continue to be denied that the priest entered the Esmeralda and that he was tortured there and as a result of that he passed away," the parliamentarian specified.

Precisely that is the reason that motivated the unknown individuals—presumably linked to the former sailors who would be prosecuted—to intimidate the magistrate to prevent her from reaching concrete conclusions or issuing indictments that would surely affect former Navy officers.

Unusual orders

Also last month, the Valparaíso Court of Appeals ordered Magistrate Quezada to close the investigation in the state it is in, sparking indignation among the relatives and friends of the murdered priest and, in general, throughout the entire citizen sector committed to the defense of human rights.

Those close to the case claim to have no doubts that the unusual resolution of the Appeals Court originated from pressure from the Navy, which in Valparaíso has—and exercises—a lot of power. For this branch of the military, the "Woodward Case" is a burning ember, as it destroys the image that the Navy tried for decades to project, in the sense that it did not participate in the crimes and torture of the dictatorship.

Furthermore, it considers that the icon as the flagship of Chile's "maritime soul" is being discredited.

However, some measure of sanity and modesty was placed in the Judiciary, and a few days later, the Valparaíso Court reversed its determination, ordering the inquiries to continue, but granting a period of only six months for Judge Quezada to close the process... Something is something.

Father Woodward

Father Miguel Woodward was born in Chile but completed his studies in England, graduating as a civil engineer in the fifties. However, after graduating, he returned to Chile to enter the Seminary, being ordained a diocesan priest in 1961.

That year, his family, who still lived in Chile, decided to move to Europe. Miguel Woodward chose to remain in Valparaíso, "where, as time went by, he realized he wanted to work with the poor," his sister recounted.

The priest went to live in a neighborhood in Cerro Los Placeres, where he became part of a Christian community and began working as a lathe operator at Astilleros Las Habas, in the port. Like many priests at the time, he sympathized with the government of Salvador Allende. He joined the MAPU party and was a local leader of the JAP (Supply and Price Boards).

After the military coup, he was called to appear before the new military authorities in Valparaíso, but he did not do so immediately. He hid in the homes of several friends, "but then he reasoned that since he hadn't done anything, he had no reason to hide, and he returned to his house, which he shared with some students," recalls his sister, Patricia (Woodward) Bennets.

Witnesses claim they saw him lying on a stretcher, dying as a result of the torture. Some versions maintain that from the Esmeralda he was taken to the Naval Hospital on the Playa Ancha hill, where he allegedly died, although testimonies presented in the process claim that he died on the training ship itself. His body was never found.

In La Calera

Together with his work as a laborer in a company in Valparaíso, his social and political activity, and his pastoral work in Cerro Los Placeres, Father Woodward participated in the NGO "Cescla," of the Universidad Católica de Valparaíso, which supported workers in leveling their studies.

In those functions, the Anglo-Chilean priest carried out intense and effective work in La Calera, where he helped workers of the Cemento Melón company—today Lafarge Cementos—to complete their primary and secondary education studies. He taught classes at the headquarters of Union 2 of the cement industry, located in the neighborhood of the same name.

He also related to religious, social, and political sectors of Quillota. This media outlet has received information that he even went so far as to buy a house in this city, where he cultivated deep friendships and even forged plans for the future.

Years after Father Miguel's crime, around 2003, ZonaImpacto.cl provoked and witnessed a meeting between the priest's sister, Patricia "Pat" Woodward, her husband Fred Bennetts, and a group of former Cemento Melón workers who were students and friends of Father Miguel in La Calera.

We heard very detailed accounts and shared truly emotional moments, which made us remember other times and other lights...

Source: ZonaImpacto.cl, January 11, 2008