And History Slowly Dies
Some who have studied European history superficially in school know that the few countries that remained neutral in World War II were Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, and Spain. They will have learned that after the Spanish Civil War, Franco decided to maintain neutrality because Spain was in no condition to participate. And so ends our link to that war, with German bombers having helped Franco pummel Guernica, giving free reign to Picasso's imagination, and nothing else. Few have ever read about the División Azul, the Blue Division, a group of soldiers that Franco sent to help invade Russia. Fewer even, have heard about the thousands of Spanish who perished at Mauthausen.
Yesterday my eye happened to run over a small news story a group on Facebook that I follow put up, talking about how the acknowledgment of history is something that is discouraged in Spain. It was an article telling the story of a survivor of Mauthausen who happened to die on the evening of this past January 5th, José Alcubierre Pérez. He was a 14 year-old boy who was caught up in one of the worst holocausts in modern history simply because of his family's convictions. He and his family were originally from Huesca and were living in Barcelona, where they had decent jobs. One of his older brothers was the director general of transport for the Generalitat de Catalunya, and another was a Republican soldier who had died at the front in Aragón. In 1939, his family decided to flee to France, like thousands of others. There, they wound up in the camp Les Alliers, near Angoulême.
After the fall of France, their fate and that of thousands of other Spanish dissidents was sealed when Hitler asked Franco about the exiled Spanish Republicans. Franco replied that outside the borders of Spain, there were no Spaniards. With a few words he stripped the exiles of their nationality and their humanity. Hitler decided to ship them to the new camp at Mauthausen. There, they had a blue triangle on their shirts with an "S" in the middle. They were branded as Spanish prisoners of war.
When the first trains arrived, in August of 1940, all the men fourteen and older were taken off the wagons. The children and the women were made to stay on the train. The men were taken into the camp and the trains were finally sent back to Spain, where the women and children were branded as "Reds" and imprisoned or treated as pariahs with no rights to a decent life. In a sense, they were lucky. The Germans didn't quite know what to do with them. One of the options had been to send them to a woman's concentration camp. But Franco finally accepted them back.
José Alcubierre was lucky. Being young, he was assigned to cleaning the barracks. His father was assigned to the infamous quarry. Later, his father was sent to another subcamp, where he was beaten to death. José eventually found himself, with other young Spaniards, in semi-liberty working at a private quarry just outside Mauthausen. They came and went every day, sleeping at the camp. They met and became friends with a woman who lived along the way, Anna Pointner, an anti-Nazi. Some of José's companions worked in the offices at the camp darkroom, exposing negatives of the pictures the Germans took. They made copies, and José and his companions who worked outside, would leave those copies with Anna, who hid them. After the war, one of the group, Francesc Boix, would testify at the Nüremburg with those copies as proof of the Nazi's inhumanity.
When the liberation came, José went back to Angoulême, where he rebuilt his life, and where he died last Thursday, aged 90. One of the things he had complained about, one time he was interviewed, was that both the French and German governments had recognized his suffering and had recompensed him. The French government even bestowed the Legión d'Honeur upon him and other survivors last year. Yet the Spanish government had never delivered even one word of commiseration. The country that was ultimately responsible for his exile and eventual deportation has kept quiet all these years.
I searched for information through the ley de memoria histórica (law of historical memory) and found a link to the Ministry of Justice. There I found a statistical breakdown of prisoners sent to Mauthausen and its subcamps, and the number of prisoners who died, by year and month. The official total ascends to 4440. There are no names, however. A link takes you to another page of a different ministry. There, you have to fill in a name; for example, a surname. If it coincides with the data base, you see all those people with that surname, their town of origin, whether they died or were liberated, and the date that happened.
I found another link to the Ministry of Finances, where survivors of the war can supposedly apply for pensions, but I was told that page does not exist. Then, there is also a page that explains how to receive a Declaración de Reparación y Reconocimiento Personal (Declaration of Reparation and Personal Recognition). That involves a bit of paperwork, especially when it's a grandchild or other relative who requests it. And all the government gives you is a simple certificate. There is no financial reparation, just a piece of paper. And you have to apply for it. I suppose that is enough for the government. A public apology would be considered a humiliation of sorts, I suppose.
What I did find was a private site, deportados.es. It has history, data, interviews, and some personal stories. Unfortunately for those who are not polyglots, it's only in Spanish. But, at least there are some people who have decided that the dark corners of history should have light shown on them, so that we understand ourselves better. The Spanish government would rather cover it all with black oblivion and let history silently die away with not even a whimper.
Yesterday my eye happened to run over a small news story a group on Facebook that I follow put up, talking about how the acknowledgment of history is something that is discouraged in Spain. It was an article telling the story of a survivor of Mauthausen who happened to die on the evening of this past January 5th, José Alcubierre Pérez. He was a 14 year-old boy who was caught up in one of the worst holocausts in modern history simply because of his family's convictions. He and his family were originally from Huesca and were living in Barcelona, where they had decent jobs. One of his older brothers was the director general of transport for the Generalitat de Catalunya, and another was a Republican soldier who had died at the front in Aragón. In 1939, his family decided to flee to France, like thousands of others. There, they wound up in the camp Les Alliers, near Angoulême.
After the fall of France, their fate and that of thousands of other Spanish dissidents was sealed when Hitler asked Franco about the exiled Spanish Republicans. Franco replied that outside the borders of Spain, there were no Spaniards. With a few words he stripped the exiles of their nationality and their humanity. Hitler decided to ship them to the new camp at Mauthausen. There, they had a blue triangle on their shirts with an "S" in the middle. They were branded as Spanish prisoners of war.
When the first trains arrived, in August of 1940, all the men fourteen and older were taken off the wagons. The children and the women were made to stay on the train. The men were taken into the camp and the trains were finally sent back to Spain, where the women and children were branded as "Reds" and imprisoned or treated as pariahs with no rights to a decent life. In a sense, they were lucky. The Germans didn't quite know what to do with them. One of the options had been to send them to a woman's concentration camp. But Franco finally accepted them back.
José Alcubierre was lucky. Being young, he was assigned to cleaning the barracks. His father was assigned to the infamous quarry. Later, his father was sent to another subcamp, where he was beaten to death. José eventually found himself, with other young Spaniards, in semi-liberty working at a private quarry just outside Mauthausen. They came and went every day, sleeping at the camp. They met and became friends with a woman who lived along the way, Anna Pointner, an anti-Nazi. Some of José's companions worked in the offices at the camp darkroom, exposing negatives of the pictures the Germans took. They made copies, and José and his companions who worked outside, would leave those copies with Anna, who hid them. After the war, one of the group, Francesc Boix, would testify at the Nüremburg with those copies as proof of the Nazi's inhumanity.
When the liberation came, José went back to Angoulême, where he rebuilt his life, and where he died last Thursday, aged 90. One of the things he had complained about, one time he was interviewed, was that both the French and German governments had recognized his suffering and had recompensed him. The French government even bestowed the Legión d'Honeur upon him and other survivors last year. Yet the Spanish government had never delivered even one word of commiseration. The country that was ultimately responsible for his exile and eventual deportation has kept quiet all these years.
I searched for information through the ley de memoria histórica (law of historical memory) and found a link to the Ministry of Justice. There I found a statistical breakdown of prisoners sent to Mauthausen and its subcamps, and the number of prisoners who died, by year and month. The official total ascends to 4440. There are no names, however. A link takes you to another page of a different ministry. There, you have to fill in a name; for example, a surname. If it coincides with the data base, you see all those people with that surname, their town of origin, whether they died or were liberated, and the date that happened.
I found another link to the Ministry of Finances, where survivors of the war can supposedly apply for pensions, but I was told that page does not exist. Then, there is also a page that explains how to receive a Declaración de Reparación y Reconocimiento Personal (Declaration of Reparation and Personal Recognition). That involves a bit of paperwork, especially when it's a grandchild or other relative who requests it. And all the government gives you is a simple certificate. There is no financial reparation, just a piece of paper. And you have to apply for it. I suppose that is enough for the government. A public apology would be considered a humiliation of sorts, I suppose.
What I did find was a private site, deportados.es. It has history, data, interviews, and some personal stories. Unfortunately for those who are not polyglots, it's only in Spanish. But, at least there are some people who have decided that the dark corners of history should have light shown on them, so that we understand ourselves better. The Spanish government would rather cover it all with black oblivion and let history silently die away with not even a whimper.
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| Spanish Republicans heading for France. (Magnum Photos) |
We must remember our history, the bad and the good.
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