The Fight Never Ends
The year is ending, history continues. When one looks back, one can see just how far we've come. And how far we have yet to go. Our society, which seems so much more egalitarian and modern than a hundred years ago, is really not so different. We have the same griefs with the same forces of government and money, just in different ways. Now, we still protest the overreaching of government, and the abuse of those with money. A hundred years ago, people were protesting it and dying for it.
In 1909, the powers of Church and State were aligned. Both ruled equally. In Oseira, Ourense, there is a magnificent monastery with its church, which serves as the parish church. That year, the bishop decided to sell a stone canopy which stood over a tomb. (If an entire stone church can be moved stone by stone, so can a stone canopy.) The baldaquin, stone canopy, or ciborium, was the pride of the parishioners, who had been dismayed as the bishop had begun selling off other valuables from the church. When the bishop decided to move the baldaquin, the parishioners protested in front of the church. Because the people would not move, the bishop sent for the Guardia Civil. The Civiles opened fire on the people, killing seven, among them a pregnant woman and a fourteen year old girl.
At that time, voices arose in protest around the country, then quickly died down and were quiet. So much so, that sixteen years later, a new parish priest decided to destroy the baldaquin, probably to make more room in the church. He was incarcerated for three hours, until the bishop asked that he be freed. By then, the parishioners had been forced into silence. A hundred years later, in 2009, a move was made to honor the victims. The mayor, who belonged to the conservative PP, said no, saying it was best not to do so, because some might be offended. Of course, he was talking about the Church hierarchy, not the descendants of the victims.
In 1916, in Ponte de Cans, Nebra, in the township of Porto do Son, there was a protest organized by agrarian associations, against a new, abusive local tax levied by the mayor because the town had a hole of a deficit (sounds like news headlines now in various cities and towns). The Guardia Civil was called to dissolve it. The protestors, mostly women to avoid repression against the menfolk, advanced on the Civiles. The officer in charge ordered the Civiles to fire in the air to scare off the multitude. But one fired at the people. Again came the order to fire in the air. Again, several fired at the people. Four women and one man died, and over thirty lay injured. As a result, the agrarian associations were dissolved, charged with causing revolt against authority, and the entire protest was silenced while everyone paid the new tax. The victims are now remembered with a plaque.
The flu pandemic of 1918 killed thousands of people in Spain. Cemeteries were filled. Normally, when a cemetery reaches capacity, adjacent fields are bought, and the cemetery is made bigger. In 1918, the cemetery of Sofán, in Carballo, was almost full. Plans were made by the local bigwigs and landowners to make a new cemetery, sell the plots, and make money from all the deaths. The parishioners preferred to make the old one bigger. The old one was where their loved ones were buried, and they wanted to remain in perpetuity next to them.
But the people with the money and influence got their way, and the new cemetery was built. The old one was closed by the local health commission, run by one of the doctors who profited from the new one. The neighbors, however, continued burying their dead in the old cemetery, removing bones and ashes if necessary to bury the newly dead. In February, 1919, a cortege arrived with the body of a four year old boy. The Guardia Civil was sent to stop them, because the cemetery had been closed. There was an altercation, shots rang out, and four women were dead, with various wounded. Everything was made quiet, and the neighbors were forced to buy plots in the new cemetery to bury their dead. Again, the powerful won.
In November, 1922, Galicia was still very much a feudal land. The landowners kept renting out their lands as their ancestors had done since the Middle Ages. Village folk owned very little land. Only those who had accumulated enough money by emigrating could buy the land they had been farming for generations. The rest still had to pay tithes to the landowners for the land from which they accrued their food, and the food for their farm animals. These laws, the foros, weren't abolished until the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera, in 1926. Even so, they were made to lapse without renewal, until another definitive law, in 1963, completely abolished them.
That November, a couple of villagers from Sobredo, in the township of Tui, refused to pay their foros. The judge showed up to embargo their goods for the amount, along with the Guardia Civil. The bells rang out in the parish church to alert the neighbors, who showed up to prevent the embargo. Over two thousand showed up from surrounding villages and parishes. The refusal to pay by these two neighbors was part of a boycott against the landowners, because the villagers wanted to stop paying for land they had been working since time immemorial. Again, when the people denied the judge access to the men's houses to embargo what was owed, shots were fired by the Guardia Civil. Two men and one woman died, various others were injured. The tithes were taken, but it was the beginning of a long end. Every year, the "martyrs of Sobredo" are remembered.
It seems we fight new fights in new centuries, but the truth is we still fight the old fights, over and over. Power creates abuse, and that is what we will always fight; we can never stop decrying the abuse that the powerful try to wreak upon the powerless. I might hope that the New Year bring an end to that, but I don't think that will ever happen.
In 1909, the powers of Church and State were aligned. Both ruled equally. In Oseira, Ourense, there is a magnificent monastery with its church, which serves as the parish church. That year, the bishop decided to sell a stone canopy which stood over a tomb. (If an entire stone church can be moved stone by stone, so can a stone canopy.) The baldaquin, stone canopy, or ciborium, was the pride of the parishioners, who had been dismayed as the bishop had begun selling off other valuables from the church. When the bishop decided to move the baldaquin, the parishioners protested in front of the church. Because the people would not move, the bishop sent for the Guardia Civil. The Civiles opened fire on the people, killing seven, among them a pregnant woman and a fourteen year old girl.
At that time, voices arose in protest around the country, then quickly died down and were quiet. So much so, that sixteen years later, a new parish priest decided to destroy the baldaquin, probably to make more room in the church. He was incarcerated for three hours, until the bishop asked that he be freed. By then, the parishioners had been forced into silence. A hundred years later, in 2009, a move was made to honor the victims. The mayor, who belonged to the conservative PP, said no, saying it was best not to do so, because some might be offended. Of course, he was talking about the Church hierarchy, not the descendants of the victims.
In 1916, in Ponte de Cans, Nebra, in the township of Porto do Son, there was a protest organized by agrarian associations, against a new, abusive local tax levied by the mayor because the town had a hole of a deficit (sounds like news headlines now in various cities and towns). The Guardia Civil was called to dissolve it. The protestors, mostly women to avoid repression against the menfolk, advanced on the Civiles. The officer in charge ordered the Civiles to fire in the air to scare off the multitude. But one fired at the people. Again came the order to fire in the air. Again, several fired at the people. Four women and one man died, and over thirty lay injured. As a result, the agrarian associations were dissolved, charged with causing revolt against authority, and the entire protest was silenced while everyone paid the new tax. The victims are now remembered with a plaque.
The flu pandemic of 1918 killed thousands of people in Spain. Cemeteries were filled. Normally, when a cemetery reaches capacity, adjacent fields are bought, and the cemetery is made bigger. In 1918, the cemetery of Sofán, in Carballo, was almost full. Plans were made by the local bigwigs and landowners to make a new cemetery, sell the plots, and make money from all the deaths. The parishioners preferred to make the old one bigger. The old one was where their loved ones were buried, and they wanted to remain in perpetuity next to them.
But the people with the money and influence got their way, and the new cemetery was built. The old one was closed by the local health commission, run by one of the doctors who profited from the new one. The neighbors, however, continued burying their dead in the old cemetery, removing bones and ashes if necessary to bury the newly dead. In February, 1919, a cortege arrived with the body of a four year old boy. The Guardia Civil was sent to stop them, because the cemetery had been closed. There was an altercation, shots rang out, and four women were dead, with various wounded. Everything was made quiet, and the neighbors were forced to buy plots in the new cemetery to bury their dead. Again, the powerful won.
In November, 1922, Galicia was still very much a feudal land. The landowners kept renting out their lands as their ancestors had done since the Middle Ages. Village folk owned very little land. Only those who had accumulated enough money by emigrating could buy the land they had been farming for generations. The rest still had to pay tithes to the landowners for the land from which they accrued their food, and the food for their farm animals. These laws, the foros, weren't abolished until the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera, in 1926. Even so, they were made to lapse without renewal, until another definitive law, in 1963, completely abolished them.
That November, a couple of villagers from Sobredo, in the township of Tui, refused to pay their foros. The judge showed up to embargo their goods for the amount, along with the Guardia Civil. The bells rang out in the parish church to alert the neighbors, who showed up to prevent the embargo. Over two thousand showed up from surrounding villages and parishes. The refusal to pay by these two neighbors was part of a boycott against the landowners, because the villagers wanted to stop paying for land they had been working since time immemorial. Again, when the people denied the judge access to the men's houses to embargo what was owed, shots were fired by the Guardia Civil. Two men and one woman died, various others were injured. The tithes were taken, but it was the beginning of a long end. Every year, the "martyrs of Sobredo" are remembered.
It seems we fight new fights in new centuries, but the truth is we still fight the old fights, over and over. Power creates abuse, and that is what we will always fight; we can never stop decrying the abuse that the powerful try to wreak upon the powerless. I might hope that the New Year bring an end to that, but I don't think that will ever happen.
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| "An Our Father for those who died in Oseira, Nebra, and Sofán." Drawing by Castelao. |
Humans do not seem to learn...
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