By Elia Rosa Yera Zayas Bazán on January 17, 2026 from Camaguey, Cuba
Yohandris Varona Torres receives an embrace. foto: Leandro Pérez Pérez
Yohandris 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 tribute held at 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 he was there fighting with them. And we know that death becomes more real when it touches your family, friends, or team closely.
He spoke little. Perhaps he couldn’t find the words. Just enough to make us understand the pain. Our talk lasted less than five minutes. He walked upright, but his eyes still held a sadness that was 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 23 years of military service, right on his 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 confronted them. I have my training and I know how to fight, but they had superior fire power compared to us. At that moment, my only thought was to fight. I had to shoot, and I started doing so.
”That night, I had gone on guard duty at midnight and was supposed to be there for six hours. The attack was at approximately 2:00 a.m. It was before dawn. Everything was dark. If a helicopter comes at you, the only thing you can do is shoot and defend yourself. That’s how it was. We were shooting until the last moment.“
Yohandris, was there that night, in the same place where his comrades, those from Cuba, fell. This brave Cuban carried them all, and today I can only imagine the weight he carried and still carries with him, the weight of death, pain, helplessness, and injustice.
“Our comrades are a glory for all of Cuba. They were my brothers. We worked together. I saw them all fall, and I carried them all. There was no support from anyone for that, but I left no body in the field. We preserved them in one of our dormitories. I cannot explain the pain. But at least no one was left in Venezuela. Here they are, in our homeland.
“I will always be at my country’s disposal to counter the enemy wherever necessary. That is what the Commander taught us. And the deaths of my comrades cannot be in vain.”
“The pain is inside. Right above the stomach. You don’t have to tell me. I know”. Noble men feel it that way. There, a few fingers higher, in the throat, the helplessness, the rage towards those who believe they have the right and the power to take the lives of good people, not knowing what to say, the shame of carrying the weight of unjust death in your arms.
Source: Adelante, translation, Resumen Latinoamericano – English