“Of course we take lives.”
What did anyone expect?
What would I carry with me, four thousand red captives?
Interview with General Yagüe. Badajoz, 1936
I am among the relatively few people who have read page sixty-six of the Bill of Democratic Memory that the Council of Ministers presented to the Cortes Generales for debate. I say this because I have made it a point to read most of the opinion pieces about this preliminary draft in the Spanish press recently, and my conclusion is that almost all of them, and by no means are they supported by any substantial argument, merely repeat familiar phrases that have been used for decades against investigating the crimes of Francoism. It seems no one has bothered to explain the grave sins attributed to the Government. And that’s because they have not actually read a single paragraph of this future law. None of the sharp critics who argue that the bill is revenge, civil war, an attack on democracy, etc., can articulate what they see as the real flaw.
As explained in the Disclosure Memorandum, the Government intends for society to reflect on the use of violence in the country, while also granting the memory of the victims the seriousness it deserves. The current Constitution stands not only as a hinge in a long history of monarchies, coups, and dictatorships but also as the result of a path to freedom built by thousands who endured imprisonment, torture, and dispossession. The attempt by remnants of the old regime, in which the Catholic Church of Spain played a dominant role, to counter the movement toward reform—dismissed as medieval superstition, property arson, and brutal torture—has been loud. Their baseless claims about immorality and underage misdeeds have sought to justify the old order. Since the Constitution of 1812, Spain has steadily advanced toward greater freedoms and rights, and many opponents of democracy have done whatever they could to erase that progress.
What are the purposes of this law? The text states two aims clearly. First, it seeks to illuminate the democratic phases of Spain’s history and to recognize the individuals and collectives who, with great sacrifice, helped forge the democratic culture that enabled the 1978 Constitution. Second, it aims to preserve and honor the memory of the victims of the Civil War and the Franco dictatorship by pursuing truth, acknowledging victims’ rights, establishing justice, and promoting reparations. The law also calls for a public memory task by the authorities to ensure these truths endure.
The objective is straightforward: uncover the thousands of unmarked graves scattered across the country, identify those buried in the gutters of cities, and honor their lives. It is about rejecting violence as a political instrument and remembering those who defended freedom, democracy, and the constitutional order established in 1931 against the coup, the oligarchy, and the monarchist factions.
In recent years, some Francoist rhetoric has attempted to legitimize the 1936 coup and the subsequent brutal dictatorship in Asturias in 1934, using the pretext of past left-wing actions. Yet the record remains clear. The Second Republic, with its own faults, remains a historical reference point that many would rather forget, but the truth has a stubborn way of resurfacing. The moral balance here is not about mutual vindication; it is about facing the horrors committed and ensuring that what happened is neither buried nor repeated. The historical record should speak plainly.
What is at stake with this law? The answer is simple and imperative: the truth must be written in clear terms, accessible to all. Those who bombed cities, perpetrated violence against civilians, tortured detainees, and seized assets from Republicans, socialists, and communists should not be shielded by silence. The descendants and sympathizers of the perpetrators may fear accountability, yet memory must serve justice and the prevention of future abuses. The generation that survived hardship deserves to see the truth acknowledged, and the memory of those who fought for freedom must be safeguarded for the generations to come.
From years of silence and the lingering resentment among some who align with Francoist sympathies, there emerges a courageous continuity. A new generation seeks to recover the bodies of their ancestors, to honor them as defenders of liberty, and to ensure that their sacrifices are recognized in the annals of history.
Note: The discussions and interpretation surrounding the law reflect broader debates about memory, justice, and national identity. They touch on the responsibility of a modern state to confront the past with candor and to uphold the memory of those who endured grave injustices for the sake of freedom. Attribution: historical records and public discourse related to Spain’s transition to democracy and the memory laws that followed the Franco era.