Letter from Luciano Tortuga to the Indomitable hearts – 7 months since the attack failed
Note from the group of friends and lovers of Tortuga:
Publishing this letter, at this time, could mean hellish punishment for our cub, but the urgency to report from his wild sweetness what he feels and what motivate him is sufficient reason to understand his desires.
Let us appropriate his writings to ourselves. Let us recreate, like so many times, complicity with the persecuted and the incarcerated inside and outside of the damn prisons!!
Let us understand ourselves by simply looking at ourselves and recognizing ourselves: We are anarchists, insurgents, informals, nihilists, enemies of all authority. Of all fucking authority.
Because we do not have time to rest while they prevent us from feeling ourselves free.
* * *
January 1, 2012 Santiago $hile
7 months since the attack failed
Letter to the Indomitable hearts
It is difficult to begin to write when I know that I have so much to communicate and even more to keep quiet; silence has become a great companion, and not in vain, since my enemies want me to communicate, to explain myself with my ideas, to justify my illegal action, so that they can to apply the anti-terrorist law and bury me even in the condition in which I find myself, they want that trophy of war, a youth with many wounds, imprisoned for not having tricked himself with the comfort of a revolution framed within political correctness. Power’s ambition with my trial is for the señora of the house to tell her little rebel that this is how idealists meet their end, those who dare to dream, to even think, that it begins with the rebellion proper to youth and if it goes unchecked it can end in terrifying consequences–to justify by means of my example the prison system, the repression for the “good of our children and the future.”
I know that power wants that, or at the least hopes for it, that in one way or another I will appear publicly, thus I preferred silence; I think that in these moments it is much better that others speak for me–my comrades, known or unknown, just like in endless events for animal liberation, one knows to speak for those who cannot, I believe that now the same should happen, because I sincerely think that other comrades, even from different parts of the world have already done this and have had splendid results, not only with everything that involves my morale, but also with everything that involves solidarity, which I would dare to represent as the first piece of a great row of dominoes, in which one pushes the first and the second pushes the third and so on successively, where my morale comes to be one more piece in the dominoes, in which there is also damage to the system in breaking with its authoritarian logic, the esteem that the action generates as much on the individual level as collectively, as well as representing another seat in the conflict with reality, and one could spend days like this numbering the different effects that a solidarity action can have.
Nevertheless, as much as my enemies want me to communicate, I know that many comrades also wanted me to, and you should know that I know this and I’m sorry you had to spend several months of uncertainty to receive any news, I profoundly regret not communicating myself in these circumstances, it was I who always stressed that solidarity should be reciprocal, and believe me that more than anyone I regretted not having acted sooner, I felt that I was betraying myself in being silent. “Does it make him uncomfortable that we act in solidarity with him?” I speculated that you thought this in interpreting my silence, but I have a small and beautiful daughter who needs her papá, and I cannot betray her either. She moved me to silence, my ideals move me to dialogue and you my forever comrades incite me to the point in between.
I do not like to write without thinking what I want to convey and to be fully understood, to write something in my situation merits a profound reflection–is it worth it? Since in my case, unlike the majority of political trials which are usually frame-ups, in my case it is proven, since I really did transport a bomb the morning of June 1st with the destination of the bank branch located on Av. Vicuña Mackenna and Victoria, downtown Santiago.
For my part, I wanted to tell everyone why the attack failed. How could I try to communicate myself and ignore something so relevant? Or even, Why that bank? To politicize an anti-capitalist attack is not only to advocate for the violence, it is also to put the noose around my neck, and as for that, Never!, because as long as I am alive I plan to continue fighting, it doesn’t matter to me if I’m short some fingers, a hand, my hearing or sight, I will continue forward at all costs, that is something that my enemies have to know as much as my comrades.
Then you ask me to break with the isolation, with the hermitism around me; I posit that I would be ashamed to communicate myself, to do so simply, to which you respond with a blow to my conscience, “And your comrades?” Do I think that communicating with you is something banal and unimportant? It’s true, I don’t need to vomit out everything that happened that night, I believe that in the future there will be time for that…
So, you want to know about me? Well, I will fight in order to live, and live in order to fight until being free and wild, I do not trick myself in thinking that I am less wild if I breathe artificially or not, because I believe that it is in situations like that when the most wild human instinct blossoms–the instinct of survival; I’m not trying to allude to anyone in particular, because I know that many comrades desire my death with all the best, but I want to from here deliver a lesson for everyone–one cannot desire the death of a comrade to free them from their body, unless of course the comrade manifests it, but if that were the case, the person would seek the means to put an end to their life, without thus generating a judicial case (homicide) for a third party. Because what would happen if to “do me a favor” they had killed me? Who are they who call themselves my comrades to judge whether or not it’s worth the pain for me to keep living? The only one capable of taking such a decision is the individual, only he knows what he really desires, and in particular I want to keep living, in order to continue fighting.
On other other hand, I want you to know that I appreciate all and every one of the solidarity actions that you have done with me, the banners hung in different parts of the world or those messages that carry the same solidarios reach my ears in one way or another, each leaflet, each counter-information bulletin, each space of your lives that you dedicated to me I keep as a treasure, know that I have been aware of everything, that in this world there are not words for my feelings of gratitude, because each bombing, each arson organized in my name is in my mind, I can never forget the valiance of my Mexican comrades, the insubordinates who have made themselves my comrades in Greece, I wish to embrace the savages of Bolivia and the US, affectionately saluting the rebels of Spain and Italy, the libertarixs of Argentina–take heart!, not to mention the iconoclasts of Indonesia–strength, comrades! To the anonymous of the ALF and ELF in Russia and in the world. To the imprisoned comrades across the world, I send all my care in these humble letters, to the comrade Tamara, prisoner in Mexico, to Gabriel Pombo Da Silva, prisoner in Spain, to Marco Camenisch, prisoner in Switzerland, to the always dignified comrades of the Cells of Fire, how I envy your courage, and of course to my comrades of the territory dominated by the state of $hile, to you who I knew in person know that I carry you in my heart everywhere I go, I have never been separated from you because I carry you in my smile; I know that in a letter I could never thank everyone and each one of the actions I hope that it is understood that I do not intend to exclude any one, the forms in which you have been in solidarity with me are many and as diverse as the same struggle, from illegal actions to activities to telephone calls, internet messages, and libertarian songs; finally I want you to know, each and every one of you solidarious rebels that this loco for freedom will Never, never forget you, you were known to be as great as skyscrapers and to strike where it hurts, and above all, you made the stars shine with your courage, and that is something worth imitating.
I would like you to know what the solidarity created for me in those days when nothing made sense, when learning to remake my life did not make a bit of sense, because you know I was doing poorly, what happened to me I would wish on very few people because it was horrible–and in the greatest darkness there appeared small gestures that pushed me to not give up. How could I betray those who risk their lives to give me encouragement? And I learned to conquer life anew; I know that you will never know how important you have been. Now I find myself as strong as ever; prison, far from intimidating me, has made me as strong as in those days; life is paradoxical, because I always said that to have comrades in prison should never motivate one to fear, entirely the opposite it should be the reason for the wick in the bottle of gasoline, for the fuse in the explosive or incendiary charge, for the smile in the insurgent hearts after each day of attack, this I believed before and I still believe it, and now I am the one who finds himself a prisoner, so if my enemies do not succeed in intimidating me when I find myself in their clutches I see it will be difficult for them to do so with my comrades.
I plan to confront the prison in the same way that I confront society–with dignity and happiness, never in a submissive way, to, as has been said before, make the prison combative. I tell you that I am in the hospital section of the Santiago 1 prison, here there is a regime similar to that of the maximum security module of the high security prison, but without a yard, without radio, without TV, with one weekly visit of at most 2 people and with the risk of catching the illnesses of other prisoners; the room is shared and is larger than a cell, around here they call it the crazy prison, because to spend much time here is enough to drive you crazy, although I am of the opinion that what does not kill you makes you stronger, also as they say around here, “we crazy ones are those who have the most beautiful dreams.” I tell you that I do a lot of exercise to recuperate the musculature I lost, I sing a lot, especially the songs that nobody likes, I write letters to my little baby girl every week, sometimes when I have a roommate I play chess or we talk, generally the prisons have much care for me and help me a lot. I rigorously follow my rehabilitation treatment and I try to give myself encouragement when information from the outside is scarce; also I have proposed many projects to myself, I am already working on some, others are for when I have completed my sentence.
I think that a rebel becomes a warrior when one is able to get back up stronger than one fell, who is able to see a reality even though one has everything to lose, a warrior does not necessarily have to know how to make a bomb or handle one, nor to have techniques of camouflage, these are things one learns by addition, warriors are dangerous for their ideas and principles because they see all the way to the final consequences, always firm, steadfast, because they do not betray themselves nor their comrades, because they are always aware, because they don’t let themselves be carried by fuck-ups or rumor, because if they have problems they confront them, if they feel pain they cry, and if they are happy they laugh; because they know to live out a full life, though it will not therefore be peaceful–those are the true warriors; now in this war there are many joyful occasions, but there are also moments of bitterness, because it is a war, not a juvenile phase, and to confront the system of domination utilizing these conclusions can carry disastrous consequences and we should know that beforehand, because an error, a small carelessness changes everything, I always say this and this I had understood, therefore I acted according to the terms that I used. Regarding my wounds, they have all healed, unfortunately the marks will always remain but I carry them with the same pride as my tattoos, because they are the best evidence that I am convinced in my ideals–how could I not be? I carried that bomb with dreams and hopes and those remain intact.
On the other hand, I regret being unable to keep carrying on in the projects that I participated in, understanding that for me there was none that was more valuable than another, each and every one means a contribution to the social war and I yearn that those projects do not go adrift because I am not around, on the contrary I should be another motivation to continue forward, I know that I am not absolved of criticism, because if I formed part of those dreams I should have acted not at 100% of caution, but at 150%.
I am sure that my example will close one more chapter and that the new and not-so-new combatants will know to rescue the positive from all this, because the struggle continues and there are too many hearts that do not fit in this authoritarian world and want to open a path, because we did it in the past we know how to do so in the present, personally I make a good balance of the anti-authoritarian struggles in the world, one or another diminishes but generally the prognosis looks good.
But as much as the struggle advances, the repression will too, and my case will be utilized to reopen the pathetic bombs case frame-up, therefore I make the suggestion to be alert, never to inaction but rather to caution, because my self-criticism can be applied by all, the idea is to share it, nor do I say this as certain science, it is speculation, perhaps they do not intend more frame-ups for fear of looking ridiculous again, or maybe they’ll flush down the toilet everything in which which my deed is accredited, so the call is to be well awake, with all 5 senses in the street.
To end I want to dedicate some final lines to that person who traveled with me in the early hours of June 1st. Hermanitx,* I know that my accident must have marked you, perhaps you spend nights without sleeping, in the uncertainty of daily life, “Will they find out it was me? Will they notice me? Will I wake up tomorrow or will I have died in my sleep? Will I be betrayed?” I remember that once I told you that despite the deep hatred I feel toward the wretch who stabbed his compañera, I also believed to understand it one should be in a similar situation, to see if we are as strong as we say, because I have always believed that betrayal is an internal enemy. Now I can tell you with certainty that that little guy has no balls! I also remember that before going out to the street that night I told you that I was going without my Kabbalah, a totally meaningless thing, something that I felt gave me luck, you told me that I was crazy for believing in such things, luckily I brought my other amulet, I am still alive and now we can laugh about that nonsense. Hermanx, I want you to know that although I could never imagine the horrible things that have played with your mind or your heart, I continue to be the same little turtle who smells like feet and sleeps on the floor and I am never going to have to reproach you for anything, because that night it was my turn, just like in past times it had been your turn, if something happens the second person flees, so we had agreed and so it had to be, because although you might many times feel like a traitor, you are not, in this war that we decided to take on there are no words to understand us. I may never see you again, if so, good luck in everything that comes.
I said it once and now I say it again with pride: Never defeated, never repentant! From here I send a warm embrace to the people who walk in clandestinity.
With Mauri present in memory!
Prisoners at war to the street!
Against all authority!
Walking toward the creative nothing!
Luciano Pitronello Sch.
Insurrectionalist Political Prisoner.