The Revolt that Failed

Tanks and armored cars clattered along the highways; planes ripped through the skies. Buenos Aires' luxury shops hastily slammed their iron shutters as crowds of excited people rushed into the streets. For a few breathless hours last week it seemed that the long-simmering military revolt against Juan Peron had begun. But as revolutions go, it was one of the least successful ever staged. Strong Man Juan Peron crushed it swiftly, almost without bloodshed, and tightened his grip on Argentina's land and people.

Before dawn of the big day, officers at the Colegio Militar outside Buenos Aires noticed unusual activity at the nearby Palomar airbase. They flashed the word to Peron, who had planned to attend a flag ceremony that morning at Campo de Mayo, another big outlying army base. About 9, as a few air force and navy planes flew low over the presidential palace and dropped leaflets announcing the revolt, an officer driving up to Campo de Mayo saw soldiers scuffling inside gate No. 8. He spun his car round, raced back to the capital with the second alarm.

Allocated Arms. Peron had been primed for this hour, even before army opposition compelled his wife to withdraw as vice-presidential candidate six weeks ago. He had given plenty of arms and ammunition to divisions whose officers he trusted, but withheld heavy arms and all but one or two cartridges per rifle from divisions whose loyalty was even slightly doubtful. Now, invoking plans worked out only two months ago, he ordered his top military and labor leaders to do their stuff.

They did. Loyal warships bombarded the rebellious Punta del Indio naval air-base into quick surrender. At Campo de Mayo, General Benjamin Menendez, 67, the retired army officer of right-wing, ultra-nationalist views who led the revolt, ran into opposition from loyal troops. Desperate, he finally lined up two squadrons of cavalry (all on white horses) and two tanks and three armored cars (he had counted on 30 Sherman tanks), and started for Buenos Aires. When the column stopped outside the Colegio Militar, loyal troops fired. The rebels leaped from their vehicles and ran. Loyal forces then lobbed a few mortar shells onto the Palomar runways, and the fighting was over. Casualties: one dead, seven wounded.

In Buenos Aires, Peron's descamisados poured obediently into the streets at their leaders' call, brandishing sticks and clubs, blocking the highway from Campo de Mayo with stalled buses. When the government radio broadcast that it was all over, they surged, 40,000 strong, to the palace. From his balcony, Peron told them that the plotters had planned to murder him and his wife, then hoarsely promised that "the cowards shall be executed." The crowd cheered and howled: "To the gallows!"

Timely Roundup. The revolt fell so flat that some observers jumped to the conclusion that Peron himself had faked it all to whip up the vote for November's election. That was unlikely. More probably, the plot was genuine but had been allowed to develop with Peron's knowledge while countermeasures were prepared.

Such political sponsorship as the fumbling revolt may have had appeared to have been from the Conservative party. Montevideo sources reported that Conservatives dominated the rebels' list of future government ministers. Though the Conservatives boast some of Argentina's best political brains, they are not a popular party.

At week's end, Peron shook up his high command. Out went his navy minister, presumably because the boys had not been loyal enough. Then he rounded up hundreds of officers and political leaders. The revolt was over; the purge was on.

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