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| In this May 11, 2016 photo, Pedro Sandoval, who was stolen as a baby, poses holding a framed image of the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo group, that include both of his biological grandmothers, who helped him recover his true identity, in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Sandoval stopped celebrating Mother's Day, Father's Day and even his own birthday after he found out the truth: The mom and dad he knew growing up had stolen him from his biological parents, who were kidnapped, tortured and never heard from again during Argentina's 1976-1983 military dictatorship. |
BUENOS AIRES,
Argentina (AP) -- Pedro Sandoval stopped celebrating Mother's
Day, Father's Day and even his own birthday after he found out the
truth: The mom and dad he knew growing up had stolen him from his
biological parents, who were kidnapped, tortured and never heard from
again during Argentina's 1976-1983 military dictatorship.
"I'm
still jealous of friends who can hug or get into arguments with their
parents," said Sandoval, 38, alluding to the biological parents he never
met. "But I'm also thankful that I could at least hug my grandfather
and grandmother."
Four decades after the
ruling military junta launched a systematic plan to steal babies born to
political prisoners, Argentina's search for truth is increasingly
focused on the 500 or so newborns whisked away and raised by surrogate
families. Several hundred have yet to be accounted for.
This
spring a visiting U.S. President Barack Obama and Argentine President
Mauricio Macri announced, on the 40th anniversary of the coup that
brought the junta to power, that Washington would open up a trove of
U.S. intelligence files from Argentina's Dirty War era, when an
estimated 30,000 people were killed or forcibly "disappeared" by the
regime. It may take a few years for the documents to be released, but
the news gave families hope for word on the fate of other stolen babies.
For the children who have already been found, coming to grips with the past is a painful process.
Sandoval,
known then as Alejandro Rei, never suspected anything was amiss growing
up in a middle-class household on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. But in
2004, Victor Rei, a former border patrol officer and the man that
Sandoval called his father, became the target of an investigation and
his life turned upside down.
Sandoval said he
felt both fury and crushing guilt after a childhood he describes as full
of wonderful memories. And yet like others, he was torn over where his
loyalties lay: At one point during the investigation Sandoval tried
unsuccessfully to protect Rei by tainting DNA samples used to identify
the older man.
"I made some mistakes," he said. "It was part of a defense mechanism."
Ultimately
DNA matched Sandoval to Pedro Sandoval and Liliana Fontana, who were
kidnapped by security forces in July 1977 when Liliana was two months
pregnant. She gave birth to Pedro in captivity, and four months later he
was taken away. His birth parents were never seen again.
"It's still tough and bizarre," Sandoval said. "But I found it beautiful that at least for four months I was in her arms."
He
has since severed ties with the people who raised him and has become
close to relatives of his biological parents. His wife is expecting
their first baby.
To date, 119 cases of stolen
children have been resolved. Each discovery makes for banner headlines
and prompts both personal and national soul-searching.
"These
cases are moving because they are unique, painful and about suffering
and trauma that doesn't stop," said Claudia Salatino, a psychologist who
has treated some of the victims.
Guillermo
Perez Roisinblit, 38, was Guillermo Gomez for decades before he was
contacted by his biological sister and the Grandmothers of the Playa de
Mayo, a human rights group that formed in 1977 to search for the
disappeared. They showed him a family picture; Perez was shocked by his
resemblance to the man who would later be confirmed as his real father.
"It
took me 21 years to find my grandson and 15 years to win his love,"
said Rosa de Roisinblit, 96, who is vice president of the Grandmothers.
"It was such a difficult process," Perez said, sitting next to her.
Today
both are plaintiffs in a trial that began last month against the former
head of Argentina's air force for the 1978 abduction and disappearance
of activists Patricia Roisinblit and Jose Manuel Perez Rojo. Patricia
gave birth to Perez at the Naval Mechanics School, where thousands of
leftist dissidents were jailed and tortured during the Dirty War.
Francisco
Gomez, the man who raised Perez, served time for stealing Perez when he
was an infant and is now accused in the same trial involving the ex-air
force chief, who is charged in the kidnapping of Perez's parents.
Perez said he visited Gomez in prison in 2003, and Gomez angrily blamed him for his confinement.
"When
I get out," Perez recalled Gomez saying, "I'm going to put a bullet in
your forehead, in your two grandmothers and in your sister."
During
the dictatorship, the Grandmothers marched weekly at Buenos Aires' main
square to demand the return of their loved ones. Since Argentina's
return to democracy, they have lobbied the government to create a DNA
database and dedicate judicial resources to the search.
"They're
the closest to real heroes," Perez said. "They fought against a
dictatorship risking their own lives. ... And that's how I see my
grandmother, as a hero."
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