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Unearthing Argentina’s Dark Legacy: The Skyvan and the Quest for Truth

Occasionally, a narrative emerges that seems too shocking to comprehend. Such is the case of an aircraft that played a sinister role during Argentina’s military dictatorship in the 1970s. The Skyvan PA-51 was repurposed as an instrument of terror, used to drop living victims into the Atlantic Ocean as part of a strategy to forcibly make thousands of individuals disappear, all labeled as threats by the state. Despite the end of the regime four decades ago, countless crimes from this period remain unresolved. However, when two unexpected investigators embarked on a journey to locate this so-called ‘death plane,’ they uncovered state secrets, compelling evidence, and an unsettling reminder of a harrowing historical chapter that continues to resonate today.

This aircraft, a British-built Skyvan that is now half a century old, has found its final resting place at the former Navy School of Mechanics (ESMA) in Buenos Aires, which has been transformed into a museum and memorial dedicated to the estimated 30,000 people who were tortured and killed during the dictatorship. ESMA served as a significant center for the regime’s brutal activities—an unsettling reminder situated within the bustling city. The walls of the facility are emblazoned with photographs of victims, primarily consisting of students, dissidents, and union activists who were never formally charged with any crime. Had it not been for Italian documentary photographer Giancarlo Ceraudo, the history of this plane, where many met their tragic fates, might have faded into obscurity.

Jon Wertheim: Why was it significant not only to return this plane to Argentina but also to ESMA?

Giancarlo Ceraudo: It is crucial for the collective memory of the next generation. This is tangible evidence. While it was once an instrument of death, it now stands as a witness to history.

Inside the cockpit, remnants of the past echo, as it remains unchanged from the days the military pilots flew their clandestine missions—venturing far enough over the ocean to ensure the bodies would not be discovered, only to dispose of live victims. Stepping inside the plane awakens an eerie sense of the past. Ceraudo, who once held a passion for aviation, found that this particular aircraft shattered that enthusiasm.

Jon Wertheim: Seeing this evokes deep emotions in you.

Giancarlo Ceraudo: Yes, it’s incredibly emotional.

How did this young Italian photographer, equipped with his camera and an unyielding curiosity, come to bring to light one of Argentina’s most profound national embarrassments? The journey began in 2003 when Ceraudo came to Buenos Aires to work on a project concerning the disappeared. He came across the stories of death flights from the 1970s, realizing many essential aspects remained untold—so many questions lingered, with minimal accountability. He thought, if these flights existed, then surely there were planes and pilots involved. But where were they?

Jon Wertheim: Knowing these flights existed, how did your quest for the planes commence?

Giancarlo Ceraudo: I had an idea, but the investigation truly began with Miriam.

Miriam Lewin, a former student activist who was kidnapped, tortured, and abused in 1977, was among the few who escaped from ESMA. She later became a prominent investigative journalist in Argentina, known for exposing the dictatorship’s atrocities. When Ceraudo initially reached out, Lewin was preoccupied with other matters.

Miriam Lewin: I told him, “We were looking for the missing people, the Disaparecidos. Now we were searching for bodies, so we had a lot to think about.”

Jon Wertheim: You were focused on people, not objects.

Miriam Lewin: Exactly. But he pointed out that in Rome, if something historical is uncovered during construction, work can halt for years—objects are viewed as historical witnesses, a perspective that hadn’t crossed my mind.

Combining Ceraudo’s enthusiasm with Lewin’s journalistic capabilities and her experiences at ESMA, they began their inquiry. Lewin recalled witnessing fellow prisoners being taken for what was purportedly a vaccination, only to discover years later that they were being sedated and disposed of from planes mid-flight over the ocean.

Jon Wertheim: Why would the military resort to such extreme measures as dumping prisoners from an airplane at 10,000 feet?

Miriam Lewin: These death flights allowed them to eliminate any evidence of the victims. No traces remained that could implicate them.

The duo delved into military archives, scoured online records, and contacted numerous sources. They learned that the Argentine military had acquired five Skyvans in the 1970s, utilized chiefly for transportation—but also for ominous cargo. Two of these aircraft were downed during the Falklands Conflict, which concluded in 1983, marking the end of the dictatorship, while the others were sold off. They managed to trace one Skyvan to the United States, where it was being repurposed for skydiving activities.

Miriam Lewin: Perhaps the owners were unaware of the dreadful history tied to these planes.

In 2008, Ceraudo and Lewin found the plane in Fort Lauderdale. They were amazed when the owner provided all the technical logs detailing each flight the plane ever took.

Miriam Lewin: It was overwhelming; I couldn’t believe it.

After returning to Argentina, they sought assistance in interpreting the logs, but even long after the dictatorship’s fall, a climate of fear lingered. Many experts were hesitant to engage.

Miriam Lewin: They expressed their fears about retaliation.

Undeterred, they identified a source willing to discuss the suspicious flights, particularly those that occurred on Wednesday nights, consistently following the same trajectory over the ocean.

Miriam Lewin: When this source reviewed them, he exclaimed, “Oh gosh. This is invaluable.”

Jon Wertheim: What did he mean by that?

Miriam Lewin: This represented the first opportunity to document and provide tangible proof of the death flights.

Discovering the logs was just one hurdle; Lewin and Ceraudo aimed to reconstruct the events surrounding one of the most notorious abductions of the regime. Every week, mothers of the disappeared gathered at Plaza de Mayo, seeking answers about their missing children. These mothers rallied against the dictatorship and became targets in their own right.

In December 1977, a group of mothers and supporters—including two French nuns—were abducted during a meeting at Holy Cross Church in Buenos Aires, later reported to be tortured at ESMA before vanishing without a trace. Azucena Villaflor was among them, endlessly searching for her son. Her daughter, Cecilia de Vincenti, reflects on the agonizing uncertainty.

Jon Wertheim: As time went on, what did you come to believe had happened?

Cecilia de Vincenti (in Spanish/English Translation): Honestly, we had no idea. Every day brought the hope that she would return—be it for New Year’s or Mother’s Day. Every day was filled with expectation.

Unbeknownst to them, just days after their abduction, a storm washed up six bodies along the coast, which officials secretly buried in unmarked graves, identifying them with falsified death certificates. These remains exhibited signs consistent with having fallen from a great height.

Jon Wertheim: What does that imply?

Miriam Lewin: It’s indicative that their deaths resulted from falls, likely from planes.

Following the restoration of democracy, forensic anthropologists began uncovering evidence of the dictatorship’s horrific acts. In 2005, some bodies interred in the cemetery were exhumed and identified, revealing that five belonged to victims from the Holy Cross abduction, including Azucena Villaflor.

Jon Wertheim: The goal of these death flights was to erase all trace of the victims, ensuring they sank to the ocean’s depths. Your mother, however, did not simply vanish, did she?

Cecilia de Vincenti (in Spanish/English Translation): The mothers and the nuns confronted death just as they fought to find their children. The ocean returned the remains as proof that the military’s efforts to erase them had failed.

Lewin and Ceraudo began piecing together a timeline of the events surrounding the kidnapping from Holy Cross Church, discovering a log entry that detailed a three-hour flight over the Atlantic on the night of December 14, 1977, which included the names of the pilots involved.

Giancarlo Ceraudo: I view this plane as a gift, from the sky.

For Lewin, the seasoned investigative journalist, this was a remarkable breakthrough.

Miriam Lewin: I believed no one could deny what occurred then. Witnessing that undeniable evidence of innocent individuals—mothers and nuns—being thrown alive into the sea was haunting.

Remarkably, the pilots who conducted these death flights were, in some cases, operating commercial flights for Argentina’s national airline, a chilling reminder of how evil can often masquerade as normalcy. The investigation led to a landmark trial in Argentina, which concluded in 2017, resulting in the conviction of 48 individuals linked to ESMA for crimes against humanity, with the Skyvan PA-51 pilots receiving life sentences.

For Ceraudo and Lewin, their final task was to return the Skyvan from the United States to its rightful place in Argentina, symbolizing an undeniable testament to the atrocities of the past.

Miriam Lewin: Denying or trying to justify the events of that period will plunge us into darkness once again. We often state, “Never again.”

On a foggy morning in June 2023, the Skyvan PA-51 arrived at its new home. Ceraudo was present, capturing the concluding moments of his two-decade-long investigation. Victims’ families and friends attended the event, marking an emotional milestone.

Miriam Lewin: It’s important to recognize that I might have been a passenger on one of those flights. I have often questioned why I survived.

Jon Wertheim: Do you think this investigation has helped provide clarity?

Miriam Lewin: Yes. I now understand there was a purpose behind my survival—to seek justice.

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