“Spain’s stolen children“
During General Franco’s reign, tens of thousands of children were taken from their families, handed over to fascist sympathisers and brainwashed. Now growing old, they are fighting to discover the truth about their past before it’s lost for ever. By Christine Toomey. Photographs: Clemente Bernad
Antonia is a small child in her mother Carmen’s arms. Both are looking out through the refectory window of a prison where Carmen’s husband, Antonio, is being held. They see him lined up against a courtyard wall. Shots ring out. Antonia sees a red stain burst through her father’s white shirt. His arms are in the air. Another bullet goes straight through his hand.
After that Antonia believes she and her mother must have fled the prison. But Carmen and her two-year-old daughter were soon arrested. They had been arrested before. That was why Antonio had given himself up, thinking this would guarantee their freedom. But they were the family of a rojo or red — a left-wing supporter of Spain’s democratically elected Second Republic, crushed by General Francisco Franco’s nationalist forces during the country’s barbarous 1936-to-1939 civil war. As such they would be punished. These were the years just after the war had finished, and the generalissimo’s violent reprisals against the vanquished republicans were in full flow.
Antonia is now 71 and living in Malaga. Her memories of much of the rest of her childhood are clear, and many of them happy. “I was raised like a princess. I was given pretty dresses and dolls, a good education, piano lessons,” she says.
It is only when I ask what she remembers about her mother, Carmen, from her childhood that Antonia’s memory once again becomes sketchy. “I remember that she was thin and she wore a white dress. Nothing else. I didn’t want to remember anything about her,” she says with a steely look. “I thought she had abandoned me.”
This is what the couple who raised Antonia told her when she came home from school one day when she was seven years old, crying because another child had said that she couldn’t be the couple’s real daughter since she did not share their surnames. “They told me that my mother had given me away and that my real family were all dead. They said they loved me like a daughter and not to ask any more questions. So I didn’t.”
By then a culture of silence and secrecy had descended on the whole of the country, not just the south where Antonia grew up. These were the early years of Franco’s dictatorship, when loose talk, false allegations, petty grievances and grudges between neighbours and within families often fuelled the blood-letting that continued long after the civil war had finished. In addition to the estimated 500,000 men, women and children who died during the civil war — a curtain-raiser for the global war between fascism and communism that followed — a further 60,000 to 100,000 republicans were estimated to have been killed or died in prison in the post-war period.
Even after Franco’s death in 1975, after nearly 40 years of fascist dictatorship, few questions were asked about the events that had blighted Spain for nearly half a century. To expedite the country’s transition to democracy, the truth was simply swept under the carpet.
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“Spain stirs its civil war ghosts“
A bid by families to exhume Franco’s victims is creating new conflict
This jovial, 49-year-old council worker is by no means alone. More and more Spanish families have joined an increasingly energetic movement to unearth the bodies of relatives executed decades ago by General Francisco Franco’s death squads.
Conservatives complain that digging up the past will only reopen old wounds, creating more conflict. Galindo believes that the opposite is true.
“It will help to close our wounds,” she said last week in the flat she shares with a Siamese cat and her husband in Baides, a sleepy village 100 miles northeast of Madrid. “Only by coming to terms with the past and understanding what happened, and to how many people it happened, can we move on as a country.”
The recent decision of Baltasar Garzon, a popular judge, to order an investigation into the disappearance of 114,000 people during the civil war and Franco’s ensuing dictatorship appears to have encouraged families all over the country to apply for help in locating the graves of executed relatives.
Already about 170 graves have been investigated and thousands of victims’ remains have been returned to their families in the past few years.
“It’s a movement of grandsons and granddaughters,” said Marcos Ana, 89, a communist poet known as the “Spanish Mandela”, because he spent 23 years as a political prisoner under Franco after being arrested when he was 16.
“It is time to end the silence of the tomb,” he said in his apartment, dominated by a photograph of Che Guevara, the revolutionary. “The next generation must know what happened so that it does not happen again.”
Not everyone subscribes to that view. Garzon, famous for his pursuit of Basque terrorists and Latin American dictators, has been accused by conservatives of playing with fire by launching a case against Franco, who ruled Spain for 36 years until his death in 1975. Besides Franco, Garzon has accused 34 former generals and ministers of crimes against humanity between 1936 and 1951. They are dead, but many Spaniards are worried about how far the “super-judge”, as they call him, could go.