Father fights for justice after son dies from military abuse in argentina, system under scrutiny
I waited eagerly to hear his voice, but the phone call never came. Instead, another call shattered my world. A cold, detached voice delivered the unthinkable: “Come to the hospital, your son is dead.” In that moment, everything collapsed. The sounds around me faded, my heart froze, and the room spun into chaos as the phone slipped from my hands. The words echoed relentlessly in my mind: “Your son is dead.”
- 19 hours ago
December 22, 2024
Matías Chirino, 22, tragically died following a brutal initiation ritual by the Argentine Army in Corrientes. His family is now seeking justice for his death. | Photo courtesy of Ezequiel Chirino
PASO DE LOS LIBRES, Argentina — Our family nurtured shared dreams and ambitions, bound tightly by love and trust. From a young age, my son Matías embraced a quiet but profound care for others. Sensitive, protective, and determined, he spoke of his dreams with clarity and courage. His noble spirit led him to pursue a military career—not as a job, but as a mission to serve, protect, and honor the people he loved.
One night, I sat waiting, eager to hear his voice and the stories he always shared so openly. The phone rang. My heart jumped, expecting him. Instead, a cold, distant voice cut through the air: “Come to the hospital. Your son is dead.” Everything around me vanished. The noise dulled to silence. My chest tightened as my heart froze, and the room seemed to collapse.
Read more stories from Argentina at Orato World Media.
Man watches son struggle with an unfair order at the start of his military journey
I watched Matías grow up in Río Cuarto, Córdoba, a city where tree-lined streets meet the warmth of its people. Surrounded by mountains and fields, he spent his childhood playing soccer and chatting with friends on the sidewalk. Río Cuarto holds a special essence where personal stories intertwine with the community. Living there, Matías absorbed the value of closeness, respect for hard work, and a deep connection to dreams.
From a young age, Matías considered pursuing a military career to make a difference. The days leading up to his enlistment filled him with nerves and emotions. He often shared how he felt the weight of responsibility and the drive to surpass himself. I remember our conversations about what wearing a uniform meant, the challenges it would bring, and the honor it represented. Proudly, I stood by him, watching him transform into the man he became.
On June 18, 2022, Matías received a message that changed everything. While we were together, he read it aloud: “If you do not come, you are going to start your career on the wrong foot.” His superiors in the Army sent the message as a veiled order, instructing him to arrive two days early at the military unit in Paso de los Libres, Corrientes, more than 800 kilometers from home, to attend a supposed welcome ceremony. The meeting was not official, nor had the institution authorized it. Instead, a group of officers imposed it as an unwritten ritual to test submission.
Matías looked at me, his voice steady, but his unease clear. “Dad, I do not want any trouble. I have to go,” he said with resignation. His dream of starting his Army career without setbacks drove him to meet an unfair demand, even though he knew deep down it was wrong.
Superiors demand costly drinks from Matías
That afternoon passed in silence as we prepared. They imposed absurd demands, requiring Matías to buy and bring expensive drinks—wines, whiskies, brand-name beers—and an unreasonable amount of food. Matías did not complain as he gathered money from wherever he could. Watching him juggle the bags, I felt helpless, silently witnessing an injustice. As he left, Matías said, “I’m going to be fine, Dad.” I watched him load the car. Each bag seemed to weigh heavier on his soul than in his arms. Driving away, his figure quickly vanished over the horizon, but a shadow of anguish lingered in the air.
At night, sleep eluded me. The hours dragged on as my mind replayed every possible scenario. He arrived in Paso de los Libres at dusk, his call tightening my heart. “Dad, I am here,” he said, but his voice did not sound like his own. It sounded broken. He said he delivered everything, speaking in a dry, mechanical tone as if convincing himself it was just another formality.
Then, he said something I will never forget: “They told me to be prepared, that the night has just begun.” His voice dropped, as if afraid someone might overhear him. “Dad, tell me this is normal,” he said. I wanted to tell him the truth: nothing about what his superiors asked felt normal. But I could not. I did not want to add to his fear. “Matías, hold on, this will happen,” I replied, though I knew those words offered little comfort.
We ended the call, promising to speak the next day, but a heavy unease settled in my chest. I did not know that would be the last time I would hear his voice. When the call ended, I sat frozen with the phone in my hand.
On Father’s Day, son’s promise fades as tragedy strikes
The next day was Father’s Day—a day of hugs, laughter, and shared moments we always cherished. We planned to cook something special, talk about his dreams, and savor our time together. My skinny boy promised to call, a small gesture that showed how much he valued staying connected, even from afar.
I waited eagerly to hear his voice, but the phone call never came. Instead, another call shattered my world. A cold, detached voice delivered the unthinkable: “Come to the hospital, your son is dead.” In that moment, everything collapsed. The sounds around me faded, my heart froze, and the room spun into chaos as the phone slipped from my hands. The words echoed relentlessly in my mind: “Your son is dead.”
Matías—my son, my pride—had promised me just the night before that everything would be okay. Now, he was gone. I tried to breathe, to hold onto something real, but an abyss opened beneath me. I wanted to scream, but the grief sank too deep, leaving me voiceless. An emptiness unlike anything I had ever known consumed me.
He left home just two days earlier, his dreams shining brightly. Now, darkness swallowed everything. No one gave me answers. They simply repeated, “Come to the hospital,” as if the word itself could ease the torment clawing at me. “Your son is dead.” Nothing more. No explanation.
The weight of their silence crushed me, each unanswered question deepening my anguish. They left me with nothing but unbearable grief, while the truth—whatever it was—remained cruelly out of reach.
Father’s agony grows as authorities offer no answers about son’s death
The road to the hospital stretched endlessly, every second a torment. My mind raced, desperately searching for answers. When I arrived, an officer waited, his face blank, his demeanor cold. An icy wave washed over me, freezing my chest as if my body tried to shield me from what I was about to hear.
“Your son is dead,” he said, the words robotic and hollow. I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but my voice faltered. No one listened. No one explained. It felt as though Matías—my son—had become just another casualty, another statistic in a heartless system.
They led me to the morgue. My knees trembled as I saw Matías lying lifeless on the cold table. His face looked peaceful, but it carried a mark I never thought I would see. Soldiers stood nearby, watching me with detached expressions, their silence heavier than words.
One soldier finally approached, speaking in a tone devoid of empathy: “Your son died of asphyxia, broncho-aspiration.” The words meant nothing. They offered no explanation, no clarity on how this happened or why. They shared only the bare minimum, as if that alone would satisfy a father’s grief.
An overwhelming emptiness consumed me, the weight of their cruelty crushing my spirit. What happened that night? How did he end up like this? Why did no one care for him? No answers came. The military presented their story as though the matter had closed, but for me, nothing made sense.
Young man dies after enduring brutal treatment in military
Matías did not simply die—someone abandoned him to an unforgivable fate. The truth remained buried under hollow words and evasive silence. As I stood there, my heart shattered, knowing my son deserved so much more than the cold, indifferent treatment he received.
Later, Matías’ companions, who were with him that night, approached me. Their voices trembled, and their eyes filled with tears as they revealed the truth about what happened. As soon as they arrived, they were forced to drink excessive amounts of alcohol—whiskey, wine mixed with salt, and beer—served not as a rite but as a punishment. Matías tried to obey, but his body soon gave out. He vomited after each drink, all while they forced him to sing military hymns. His words slurred, his voice weak, but they kept issuing commands.
No one showed compassion, no one stopped the escalating abuse. The soldiers humiliated Matías, treating him as if his life held no value. They threw him into an icy pool and later tossed him onto a filthy mattress, leaving him exhausted. They abandoned him, left him unattended, and never checked if he was breathing or if his life was in danger. Ignoring him completely, they treated him as disposable.
While Matías lay unconscious, the others continued their ceremony. That image of my son, alone and unprotected, haunts me every day. The thought no one helped him in his last moments breaks me inside. It was the beginning of his promising career, but his superiors subjected him to unimaginable cruelty. Hours later, they found him lifeless, suffocated in his vomit.
A father’s battle against a system that shields the guilty
Matías was my pride, a young man full of dreams, deserving much more than this. Each image I replay in my mind pulls me deeper into an abyss of pain and rage. I saw the terror in his classmates’ eyes. Sadly, Matías became the victim of a brutal monstrosity. Fierce anger silenced me as I wished it was all a nightmare I could wake from, but it was not. This was real—Matías was dead.
Since we lost Matías, I faced threats, indifferent stares, and the cold indifference of a system, that refused to recognize our family’s suffering. After Matías’ death, I began an endless judicial process. From the start, I faced a barrage of apathy, delays, and obstacles as those responsible tried to delay the process as much as possible.
However, a ray of hope appeared when a colonel, a man I did not know, came to me. After learning about the abuse Matías endured, he promised to do everything in his power to expose the truth. This man not only intervened in the investigation but also protected witnesses and isolated those responsible to prevent further pressure.
As time passed, each step of the trial revealed a harsher reality than I imagined. The judicial process became a nightmare, growing longer with each day. From the moment I learned the truth, I began battling the powerful. The system shielded those responsible, instead of supporting us—those seeking justice.
Threatening witnesses, the culprits manipulated facts and pressured those brave enough to speak out. The early days were chaotic, filled with statements and pressure, suffocating me. Undoubtedly, the process was painful, not only because of what it meant to me as a father but also because we uncovered disturbing truths along the way.
Matías’ family fights on after court’s eight-year sentence
At the trial, the prosecution presented heart-wrenching testimony. When Matías’ companions testified, some spoke out of fear, others through tears. Their accounts revealed the baptism as a series of brutal abuses. They forced the young men to drink excessive amounts of alcohol, endure exhausting exercises, and suffer merciless humiliation. Matías endured this too, but he was the only one who did not survive.
The truth about that night, the abuse and torture, came to light, but for every step toward justice, another one faded away. The emotion felt indescribable. Feeling helpless and frustrated, I sensed that the military system focused more on protecting itself than on condemning the true events.
The witnesses’ words, the evidence presented, and the autopsy confirming the torture Matías endured felt like formalities rather than steps toward real justice. Still, each painful step forward gave me the strength to continue. I did not just want those responsible to pay—I wanted to ensure no other young man would ever experience what happened to Matías. Yet, with every step, the weight of losing my son lingered like an inescapable shadow.
On November 21, 2024, the trial for Matías’ death reached its conclusion, leaving a bitter taste in our mouths. When the court handed down the sentence for Matías’ death, I felt a heartbreaking mixture of rage, disappointment, and emptiness. The court sentenced six of the nine defendants to eight years in prison. The court did not sentence them for homicide, as we demanded, but for abandoning a person with abuse of authority. Hearing the decision turned my soul inside out. How could they call this justice?
Fighting for justice to honor Matías’ memory
Tragically, those who should have guided my son caused his death. They subjected him to cruel abuse and left him to die alone. Eight years cannot undo the damage or fill the void they left in our family. They treated his life as if it held no value. Although we asked for 20 years in prison, the court did not grant it. Now, we will appeal the ruling.
This trial is not just a legal battle; it is a fight to preserve Matías’ memory. We fight for all young people mistreated and betrayed by a system meant to protect them. While the authorities keep the accused in prison, some still deny responsibility despite overwhelming evidence. I continue for Matías, ensuring his story is heard and that no other young person suffers the same fate.
I feel Matías’ absence every day, yet when I close my eyes, I see him walking through our door, full of dreams, his smile lighting up the room. Justice is not a single act but a long, arduous journey we refuse to abandon. Each step we take toward the truth honors Matías’ life and his dignity.
No matter how long it takes or how much they try to silence us, we will persist. Matías’ death cannot be in vain. If I must stand alone against an entire system, I will do so with the strength he gave me. The truth must come out, and justice must prevail. Though my son is gone, his memory lives on. This fight is for Matías and for all those who suffer in silence, denied the justice they deserve.
