Yohandri Varona Torres saw the photos of the 32 Cubans who died in Venezuela on January 3 and couldn’t help but be moved. He did so this morning at the memorial service in the Nicolás Guillén Protocol Hall in Camagüey. It wasn’t the first time he had seen them. He wasn’t looking at images of strangers. They were his comrades. And we know that death becomes more real when it touches your family, friends and team.

He didn’t say much. Perhaps he couldn’t find the words. Just enough to make us understand the pain. All in less than five minutes. He walked upright, but a deep sadness still lingered in his eyes, difficult to explain. Originally from Vertientes in Camagüey, he had been working as a personal security guard in Venezuela for two months and six days when the attack occurred — the most intense experience in his 23 years of military service, on his very first internationalist mission.

“We fought there against the planes that were strafing us. Even though our weapons were smaller, we didn’t stop fighting; we faced them head-on. I’m trained and I know how to fight, but they were superior to us. At that moment, my only thought was to fight. I had to shoot and I started doing it.

“That night, I had started my shift at midnight and was supposed to be on duty for six hours. The attack happened at approximately 2:00 a.m. It was the middle of the night. Everything was dark. If a helicopter is coming straight at you, the only thing you can do is shoot at it and defend yourself. That’s what I did.” “We were firing until the very last moment.”

Yohandri, with an “h” in the middle, as he corrected us, was there that night, in the same place where his comrades fell, those from all of Cuba. This good Cuban carried them all, and today I can only imagine the weight he carried and still carries: death, pain, helplessness and injustice.

“Our comrades are a glory to all of Cuba. They were my brothers. They were working with me. I saw them all fall, and I carried them all. There was no support from anyone there for that, but not a single body was left on the field. We preserved them in one of our dormitories. I can’t explain the pain. But at least no one stayed in Venezuela. They are here, in our homeland.

“My country will always be ready to counter the enemy wherever necessary. That’s what the Commander taught us. And the death of my comrades cannot be in vain.”

 

The pain is inside. Right above my stomach. He doesn’t have to tell me. I know. Noble men feel it that way. There, a few fingers higher, in his throat, the impotence, the rage toward those who believe they have the right and the power to take the lives of good people, the not knowing what to say, the shame of carrying the weight of unjust death in his arms.

 

All that remains is the pain that we couldn’t stop them

By Gretel Díaz Montalvo

Trabajadores

What his eyes saw on January 3rd during the United States’ attack on Venezuela will never be forgotten by Yohandri Varona Torres. It had been just two months and six days since this man from Camagüey, born in the community of Jagüey, in Vertientes, had arrived in this South American nation with the objective of providing personal security support. He had learned that from Fidel, he says, so wherever he was needed, he went.

Photo: Gretel Díaz Montalvo

But that Saturday turned fateful. At midnight, he took his post; his six-hour guard duty was due. And although everything seemed calm, Yohandri knew that the greatest danger lay in complacency. That’s why he carried out his watch with a zeal bordering on excessive vigilance.

It was nearly two in the morning when he spotted the first of the helicopters belonging to the group of U.S. commandos who would land in Caracas that morning to kidnap President Nicolás Maduro.

He barely had time to leave the guard post where he was on duty to take cover a few meters away and begin firing. He owes his life to that decision, or to luck. As if guided by a map of pinpoint accuracy, the attackers directed their fire at the guard post he had occupied just seconds before.

“They had far more firepower than us,” recounts Yohandri, “we only had light weapons. Another advantage they had was that they seemed to know where everything was. So they fired on the outposts and the dormitories where we Cubans were, and they managed to kill, among the first to do so, the commanders.”

This first sub-officer, with some 23 years of experience in the Personal Security Directorate, had never experienced anything like this. But he had been well-trained, and that morning he emptied magazine after magazine, firing at the enemy.

“We had to keep shooting. Defend and kill,” he declared. “We fought there against the planes that were strafing us. Even though our weapons were smaller, we didn’t stop fighting; we engaged them. I’m trained and I know how to fight, but they were superior to us. At that moment, my only thought was to fight. I had to shoot, and I started doing it.”

“Despite their firepower advantage,” he added, “I’m sure we inflicted casualties.” More than they admit. We fought hard. We kept firing until almost all of us fell, dead or wounded.”

It wasn’t a quick or easy fight, as Trump and his cronies initially tried to make people believe. As the days passed, it became clear that only death and a lack of ammunition managed to extinguish the Cubans’ resistance.

Yohandri remembers everything with terrible clarity. His eyes seem to replay each image. He cries. He cries with rage.

He will never forget the confrontation, he says, but especially the hours that followed, when the group’s survivors had to move the bodies of their fallen compatriots.

“We carried them and took them to a building that had been damaged but allowed us to shelter them. It was very hard because these were men we knew, men we had lived with until just a few hours before. But we took them all; we didn’t abandon a single one.”

“When the bombs started falling, the only thing you could think about was fighting. We were there for that, and that’s what we did. All I’m left with is the pain of not being able to stop them. And this pain,” he says, beating his chest, “I have to take it out on the enemy.”

 

TESTIMONY OF A CUBAN COMBATANT WHO DEFENDED PRESIDENT MADURO

Taken from Ignacio Ramonet’s Facebook page

Yohandri Varona Torres had been a member of the Personal Security detail in Venezuela for two months and six days when the attack occurred, the most intense experience in his 23 years of military service, on his very first internationalist mission.

But that Saturday, January 3rd, turned fateful. At midnight, he took his post; his six-hour guard duty was due. And although everything seemed calm, Yohandris knew that the greatest danger lay in becoming complacent. That’s why he carried out his guard duty with a zeal bordering on excessive vigilance.

It was around 2:00 a.m. when he saw the first of the helicopters belonging to the group of U.S. commandos who would land in Caracas that morning to kidnap President Nicolás Maduro.

He barely had time to leave the guard post where he was on duty to take cover a few meters away and start firing. He owes his life to that decision, or to luck. As if guided by a map of pinpoint accuracy, the attackers directed their fire at the guardhouse he had occupied just seconds before.

“They had much more firepower than we did,” recounts Yohandri, “we only had light weapons. Another thing in their favor was that they seemed to know where everything was. So they fired on the guard posts and the dormitories where we Cubans were, and managed to kill, among the first to hit, the officers.”

This first-class non-commissioned officer has some 23 years of experience in the Personal Security Directorate; he had never experienced anything like this. But he had been well-trained, and that morning he emptied magazine after magazine, firing at the enemy.

“We had to keep shooting. Defend and kill,” he declared. “We fought there against the planes that were strafing us. Even though our weapons were smaller, we didn’t stop fighting; we faced them head-on. I’m trained and I know how to fight, but they were superior to us. At that moment, my only thought was to fight. I had to fire, and I started doing it.”

“Despite their firepower advantage,” he added, “I’m sure we inflicted casualties on them. More than they admit. We fought hard. We kept firing until almost all of us fell, dead or wounded.”

It wasn’t a quick or easy battle, as Trump and his cronies initially tried to make people believe. As the days passed, it became clear that only death and a lack of ammunition managed to extinguish the Cuban resistance.

Yohandri remembers everything with terrible clarity. His eyes seem to replay each image. He cries. He cries with rage.

He says he’ll never forget the confrontation, but especially the hours that followed, when the group’s survivors had to carry the bodies of their fallen comrades.

“We carried them to a building that had been damaged but still offered us shelter. It was very hard because these were men we knew, men we’d lived with until just a few hours before. But we carried them all; we didn’t abandon a single one.

“When the bombs started falling, all you could think about was fighting. We were there for that, and that’s what we did. All I have left is the pain of not being able to stop them. And this pain,” he says, beating his chest, “I have to take out on the enemy.”

 

Yohandri Varona Torres: A Moving Testimony

“I shared daily life with all the fallen Cubans, and their loss is deeply painful,” says First Officer Yohandri Varona Torres, who held their lifeless bodies in his arms and now vows to honor them as they deserve.

By Yamylé Fernández Rodríguez

Radio Reloj

Camagüey, Cuba – With a voice choked with grief and indignation, First Officer Yohandri Varona Torres, from Camagüey, recalls January 3rd, when his comrades fell in combat, fighting fiercely against the United States’ aggression against Venezuela.

Backed by 23 years of experience as a Personal Security specialist, Varona Torres had arrived in Caracas just over two months prior and was on duty the day of the terrible incident.

He recalls that around 2:00 a.m. they spotted the enemy helicopters and were always certain they had to fight to the end, as the Americans were determined to leave death and destruction in their wake.

He shared daily life with all the fallen Cubans, and their loss is deeply painful, says First Officer Yohandri Varona Torres, who held their lifeless bodies in his arms and now vows to honor them as they deserve.