In May 2016, the Faculty of Chemical Sciences at the Complutense University of Madrid hosted an event that could easily feel like fiction. A gust of wind carried a sheet of paper through the skylight. A vigilant doorman stepped closer and, when he tugged, uncovered a surprising discovery: fifty political pamphlets from the Franco dictatorship, hidden in the ceiling plaster for more than four decades.
Political treatises were never meant to be handed down as lasting relics because of their fleeting purpose and rough craftsmanship. If the very act of producing and possessing such material during the Franco regime could be a crime, archivists and researchers faced a daunting puzzle, balancing legal risk with historical value.
“These materials were preserved by activists from political and trade union movements, despite the dangers. They also found shelter in the organizations’ archives, and for years a Documentation specialist at the Complutense University gathered hundreds of brochures that lay on the university floor. Today they form part of the institution’s legacy. The archives hold secret publications and photographs from that era, all of them included in the collection,” explains Jesús A. Martínez, Professor of Contemporary History at Complutense University, in reference to a 2023 article on secret publications during the dictatorship (Vietnamese against Franco, Cátedra). .
“The Vietnamese leaflets were produced by small, homemade multi-copying setups—quiet and unobtrusive. Dozens of techniques existed, with models that militants could adapt from shared instructions and drawings. All that was required were four wooden slats, an organza or curtain, waxed paper bearing typewritten letters or drawings, and an ink roller. In a short period, thousands of leaflets could be produced, dropped, slipped into public spaces, distributed, and read by everyone from political activists to trade unionists, students to neighborhood associations, or even citizens who simply opposed fare hikes,” Martínez recalls.
While guerrillas in the 1940s and early 1950s relied on clandestine propaganda to sustain resistance to Francoism, the spread of such material tended to be more visible in urban settings, where neighbors were easier to identify and propagate messages among many groups.
“Throughout the era, a wide range of materials—whether printed or handwritten—circulated under wraps. Some items were banned books, magazines, small pamphlets, or newspapers with disguised covers to conceal their content, produced secretly or handwritten in prisons. Bulletins, cut-out letters, forged documents, coded messages, poems, drawings, stickers, flyers, and postcards were common, with fragments often circulated to groups who would gather to read them. Graffiti, posters, and dissident art also accompanied the movement,” notes Martínez. He adds that while many items emerged from within Spain, some originated in exile.
“The production and distribution of those materials inside Spain were clandestine. But some items came from abroad and became covert once they entered the country. These cases often involved books, magazines, or traditional periodicals distributed via suitcases, hollowed wallets, or vehicles, all handled with meticulous precautions. The police even supplied agents with sketches of cars containing search instructions.”
special danger
Despite their limited scope and apparent innocence, Franco’s regime treated this kind of material as a grave threat. The persecution of such publications was not left to ordinary justice; it was handled by bodies such as the Public Order Tribunal, the forerunner of today’s National Court, signaling a special jurisdiction for censorship and punishment.
“The dictatorship understood that any publication stepping beyond the state’s narrow boundaries was dangerous. The 1938 Printing House and Publication Law, the wartime censorship, and the 1966 Printing House and Publication Law all pushed control forward, not with leniency but with modernization of oversight amid a flood of publications in the sixties. Secret broadcasts, therefore, did not fall under ordinary jurisdiction but under special military courts and the Public Order Tribunal, which became active in 1964,” Martínez notes, recalling anecdotes about police declassifying materials to confuse and discredit secret political organizations. .
“The content, form, and meaning of those leaflets left little doubt about their origin. Yet some materials were even created by the police themselves, particularly those associated with the National Countersubversive Organization, the early stage of restructuring the secret services in 1968. Their main activities centered on discrediting dissidents, surveillance, infiltration, and persecution, especially within university circles.”
“In the end, though anecdotal compared to the covert propaganda from the left, Vietnamese leaflets and other secret efforts referenced here also included campaigns from Falange or Carlist groups after they fell out of favor with the dictator. These factions pursued their political projects under harsh scrutiny,” Martínez points out, highlighting how the regime’s attitudes and actions differentiated between groups that were outright prohibited and those that merely faced restrictions.
“Facing a tyrannical state that won the Civil War and aimed to erase its opponents, secret organizations carried on a sustained fight. They went underground, driven by resilience. Spreading or launching covert propaganda could lead to fines, arrest, imprisonment, or even death. These episodes underscore the importance of freedom of expression and show how a democratic state contrasts with dictatorship,” Martínez concludes.