For more than three decades, Mario Bracamonte and his spouse held their silence concerning their incarceration during the draconian military rule in Argentina. Today, Bracamonte is among the survivors of the 1970s hard-line military junta still striving for justice. They seek to have Franco Reverberi, a clergyman, tried for his purported involvement in the abduction and torture of regime dissidents.
The continuation of this fight underscores the lingering pain inflicted by the coup. Mario recounts, “The instant I saw Franco Reverberi, my village’s priest, enter, I felt my life was about to end.” Lying blood-soaked on the floor after a night of torture in a northern Argentine prison, the sight of Reverberi in military attire brought no comfort.
Kidnapped by soldiers in the aftermath of the military coup on March 24, 1976, Bracamonte was one of countless Argentines suffering this fate. The military junta, led by Jorge Videla, had a zero-tolerance policy for dictatorship opposition, resulting in approximately 30,000 deaths before the dawn of democracy in 1983.
Bracamonte, a left-wing activist at 28, was detained in a concealed location with other suspected regime opponents. There, away from public scrutiny, they endured horrific torture. While many perished, some being disposed of aboard “death flights”, the 28-year-old managed to survive.
Following detention in Mendoza and La Plata, he gained his freedom on March 4, 1977. His wife also survived her incarceration in their hometown’s La Departamental detention center. Though coupled since before their ordeals, they only began discussing their captivity—either privately or publicly—in 2010.
It was in that year Reverberi was summoned—not as an accused, but a witness—in a trial against soldiers charged with crimes committed during the military reign. Yet, the trial also heard testimonies from four former detainees (including Mario) who claimed Reverberi frequented the covert detention center, watching prisoners being tortured, often clutching a Bible and preaching divine sanction for the torture they endured.
Impelled by their testimonies, Reverberi was indicted in October 2010. However, he never appeared in court and fled to his birth country—Italy— in May 2011. Thus, when summonsed in June that year, he was beyond Argentina’s judicial reach.
In Sorbolo, Northern Italy—where Reverberi’s family emigrated when he was a boy—the old accusations against the now regular mass celebrant are generally overlooked. Fifty years after his departure, the priest staunchly maintains his innocence, even after another extradition request was approved by Italy’s highest court. This request is, however, now mired in an appeal lodged by his lawyer.
Bracamonte yearns for the day Reverberi will be extradited. He says, “I am just shy of 80—I want to gaze into his eyes and question him about the whereabouts of the remains of the fellow activists who vanished.” Like him, Laura Berón, a kin to one of Reverberi’s purported victims, wishes for the dispensation of justice—albeit imperfect, given the priest’s hitherto life of virtual impunity.