Addressing Francisco Franco's Persistent Legacy
The Valle de los Caídos (Valley of the Fallen) monument in central Spain. Photo courtesy of Emilio García.
Elegantly carved into the side of the Sierra de Guadarrama mountains stands an exquisite memorial. Boasting an imposing stone esplanade with a scenic view over the Spanish countryside, the mausoleum fuses artificial and natural beauty: a testament to the visionary prowess of those who built it. One might assume that such an awe-inspiring memorial must be in honour of someone equally remarkable. You could easily assume that it commemorates a revolutionary scientist, an empowering activist, a magnanimous philanthropist, or some other worthy national hero.
Called Valle de los Caídos (the Valley of the Fallen), this memorial actually held the remains of Francisco Franco, the military dictator who ruled Spain from 1939 to 1975. Notorious for slaughtering minorities and the opposition during his reign, Franco laid in splendor for decades next to an enormous unmarked mass grave, holding tens of thousands of those he killed during his tyranny. Thankfully, this past October, the Spanish Supreme Court recognized that the arrangement was disgraceful, and they announced that Franco’s body was to be moved. To many, this decision seems utterly uncontroversial; rather, the exhumation of Franco’s remains from this wholly inappropriate memorial feels long overdue. In Spain, unfortunately, the high court’s decision was met with bitter resistance from conservative parties and closet Francoist sympathizers, exposing the systemic problems that Spain has faced in reconciling a fascist past with a democratic present.
I personally had the pleasure of meeting some of these fascist sympathizers this past summer. Waiting tables in the small town of Jerez, I overheard a few customers’ vocal disgust with the government’s decision to exhume Franco’s remains. Conscious of my place, I decided to politely ask them why they felt so. Fortunately, my appearance as the ignorant foreigner with clunky Spanish charmed them into entertaining my question. Naturally, they responded by discussing how important it is to respect the dead and how the exhumation was simply a publicity stunt, orchestrated by the “Communists in government.” Being the annoyingly provocative and unconventional waiter that I am, I couldn’t resist the urge to call them out: “If you respect the dead so much, then why should his victims lie in mass graves while he rests so extravagantly?”
Unfortunately, the distasteful circumstances of Franco’s burial go even deeper: the very people who labored over the construction of the site were Franco’s political prisoners. The vast majority of these men, imprisoned for such outrageous crimes as advocating for democracy and equal rights, were forced to build Franco’s tomb under torturous conditions. When the workers died from exhaustion or hunger, Franco’s soldiers merely tossed their bodies into the adjacent mass grave.
Spain exhibits a general reluctance to question and reflect on Francoist principles and their place in today’s society. Although Franco’s crimes against humanity are widely known in Spain today, there is a dangerously strong sense of apathy among people when it comes to addressing his legacy. Although most Spanish citizens do know that his militias were responsible for the barbaric slaughter of 200,000 political dissidents, six in ten Spaniards today still believe that “Franco had both good and bad sides.” Comparing his legacy to those of similar twentienth-century tyrants Hitler and Mussolini, this indifference toward their actions would be unthinkable in German or Italian society today.
Instead, parties like El Partido Popular recycle tired claims that by merely broaching the topic of Franco’s legacy, the world is “reopening old wounds that had completely healed decades before.” The problem lies in the second part of the statement: if we constantly have to tiptoe around controversial matters like this, then surely no healing process could have been completed in the first place. Though tackling issues like Franco’s memorial may prove divisive, it has to be done. Otherwise, fascist sympathizers will continue returning to the forefront of our political scenes. Without sincerely confronting this dark chapter of Spanish history, we will keep seeing nationalist far-right parties like Vox soar in the polls. This trend already began in Spain’s November elections, where the party—notorious for its opposition to moving Franco’s remains as well as its stale slogan “Make Spain Great Again”—more than doubled the number of seats it previously held to become Spain’s third-largest force in parliament.
Even though I was promptly dismissed from waiting tables that day for “unprofessional conduct,” I do not regret what I said. There is certainly a time and a place for these discussions, and things probably would have been easier if I had just handed my customers their coffee. However, this issue is of extreme importance nonetheless. I implore anyone reading this article not to fear awkwardness or punishment for asserting your voice when confronted with a similar situation. No matter the issue, these conversations need to take place. A polite silence rarely changes minds.
In Spain, this issue needs vigorous discussion, for it represents how Spaniards choose to respect the dead and to what extent they value democracy. In moving Franco’s remains, the Spanish government has made an important symbolic statement on a political level. Now, it’s up to ordinary Spaniards to break the taboo of criticizing Franco’s legacy on a civilian one too.
Ali Soufraki is a staff writer at CPR and a first-year in Columbia College from London, England. He is particularly interested in writing about European politics, especially matters concerning Spain and France. He intends to major in Market Design with a minor in French and Francophone Studies.