Spanish Bombs: Fascist weaponisation of historical memory Joe Reynolds On the 24th of October 2019, the remains of Francisco Franco were quietly exhumed from a grave in the Valley of the Fallen, his resting place since 1975. The construction of the site was ordered by Franco himself, a monument to those who perished from both factions of the Spanish Civil War. While the fascist governments of the Axis powers were forcibly removed, their constitutions re-written and their states re-organised according to the wishes of the victorious Allies, Francoist Spain lingered on as a fascist remnant on the edge of Europe, overlooked by its democratic allies in an attempt to stem the popular communist movements sweeping Europe. Upon Franco’s death, Spain transitioned into a liberal democratic system, and subsequent governments have slowly begun dealing with the legacy of Francoist rule. The ‘Historical Memory Law’ was passed in 2007 by a Socialist government, one of its provisions being the removal of Francoist symbols from public buildings and spaces. In the period after Franco’s death, the far-right had enjoyed limited electoral success, until this year, where the most recent election has placed the far-right Vox party in third position. The memory of fascism and Franco is fading even here, and his grave has remained a focal point of far-right memory. On the anniversary of his death, groups make their annual pilgrimage to his tomb to pay respects to a man who they see as a political and moral beacon for modern Spain. In moving Franco’s body to a small cemetery North of Madrid, the Spanish government confronts a problem growing across the Western World: the rise of nostalgia. Nostalgia was initially coined by a Swiss doctor during his tenure treating mercenaries and was diagnosed as a painful longing for 56
one’s homeland. Today, it is commonly used to describe a temporal longing rather than a spatial one, a desire to return to a previous era. The Western World is no stranger to crises, whether they be political, economic or social. However, in recent years, sentiments of discontent and disillusionment appear to be gripping it. A profound sense of malaise and a distrust of democratic institutions have led to rising populist movements, their hallmark being a ‘return to the past’ rather than any coherent ideology. While these movements appear to be flimsy and fluid, their strength lies in their ability to assemble a coalition of the dissatisfied. Those who believe their country is in decline rally to these ideas, with the slogan ‘Make America Great Again’ being the starkest example. This phrase has recurred previously throughout American history, also being used by Reagan in his 1980 presidential campaign. The idea extends to a more complex set of sentiments, not only one of national and economic decline, but also a perceived social and moral decline. In the UK, a Demos study reported that 63% of British Citizens believe life was better when they were growing up than currently, compared with 21% that believed life was better now. Discourse surrounding Brexit, especially with older demographics, returns to a vague sentiment of ‘the good old days’, a murky half-memory of how things used to be. Often these memories are temporally incongruent, belonging to no one specific era or point in time, but instead a hazy reminiscence of a better society. The true danger of nostalgia lies in its power to obscure our own histories. To be blinded by it allows us to forget truths that should not be forgotten. Germany, the country in which fascism took one of its strongest grips, has
