Figures of Exile

The year 2019 marked the eightieth anniversary of the end of the Spanish Civil War, a conflict that introduced many of the ‘innovations’ that would become synonymous with modern warfare, be that carpet bombing of civilian populations or modern war reportage and photography by the likes of Robert Capa and Gerda Taro. Opinions diverge as to the war’s precise significance for global history with some viewing it as a prologue to the Second World War. However, it is indisputably widely remembered, not just within Spain but also outside of it, not least thanks to accounts such as George Orwell’s Homage to Catalonia and modern adaptations of it such as Ken Loach’s film Land and Freedom. Nonetheless, one ←7 | 8→phenomenon that has not left its mark on the collective imagination is that the defeat of the Second Spanish Republic led to a mass exodus from Spain, with some estimating that the number of refugees reached approximately 500,000.⁸ The involvement of the International Brigades on the Republican side, the military support that Franco received from Hitler and Mussolini and the non-intervention of the Western democracies warrant conceiving of the Spanish Civil War as an international conflict. Besides, the scattering of Spanish citizens across the world in the aftermath of this violent conflict illustrates its repercussions on a global scale. Republicans sought asylum mainly in Mexico, but also in Chile, the Dominican Republic, Argentina, the United States and in Europe. Similarly, during the war Spanish children had already been evacuated to Mexico, Russia and other parts of Europe, notably 4,000 Basque children found refuge in the United Kingdom in 1937.⁹ The rationale was to spare ←8 | 9→the children from the ravages of the war. Few at the time would have realised that some of these evacuees were not to return to Spain for decades or even never.

While it is important to consider the plight of Spaniards after 1939 in a more globalised, contemporary context, it is equally important to bear in mind that within Spanish history this exodus was not unique. Shirley Mangini points out that ‘Spain is a country that has experienced vast migrations over the centuries, always for religious and political reasons. None competes with the expulsions of 1492. Between 300,000 and 900,000 arabs [sic] were expelled from Spain, and some 185,000 Jews also fled’ (1995: 151). Taking this even further, Michael Ugarte locates the origin of the unity of the Spanish nation precisely within this history of expulsion and exile (1989: 10). Diachronic comparisons across history are always fraught with difficulties, but it is compelling to take the long view, given that the Francoist side itself invoked the memory of the Reconquista, declaring those Spaniards outside of its borders stateless. Certainly, as Claudio Guillén states, the Republican displacement can be considered ←9 | 10→‘el más importante en la historia de la cultura española desde la expulsión de los judíos’ (1998: 94). However, it is not the only one. For instance, in the nineteenth century the Peninsular Wars against Napoleon (1807–1814) led to the migration of the afrancesados, including, for example, the father of Mariano José de Larra. They were given the pejorative label afrancesados to underline that public opinion considered them as traitors to the fatherland. Many liberals that had played a vital role in drawing up the Cadiz Constitution in 1812 then also had to seek asylum in the wake of Ferdinand VII’s restoration of an absolutist monarchy. Already in the twentieth century and prior to the Civil War, another example, and one of the most famous Spanish exiles of the twentieth century, was probably Miguel de Unamuno who was a vocal opponent of Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship. Having said that, it is important to stress that Unamuno’s exile was very much the fruit of an individual stance that did not form part of a larger movement within society.

Moreover, the word ‘exile’ itself is not exclusive to Spanish history, of course.¹⁰ Scholars have pointed out that it reaches back all the way to the biblical Fall when Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. The Jewish diasporas in Babylon and Egypt feature prominently in the Old Testament. It is not surprising then that the religious and metaphysical overtones of exile are picked up by some of the Spanish Republicans, perhaps offering a source of comfort. Thus, the journal founded by José Bergamín in Mexico was not called España peregrina in vain. In exile Luis Cernuda wrote the poem ‘Peregrino’, which makes and unmakes the comparison between the exile and Ulysee’s wanderings. Moreover, María Zambrano came to analyse the exile as a ‘bienaventurado’. However, Ugarte has signalled the tensions underlying this way of perceiving exile: ‘Beneath the surface of Bergamín’s phrase, “España peregrina”, lies a deeply rooted tension between the notion of diaspora and that of pilgrimage. The former designates a journey or journeys with no direction, while the ultimate purpose of a pilgrimage is to return home wiser and spiritually richer as a result of the ←10 | 11→trip’ (1989: 14). Ugarte has a point. Yet it is also understandable that the exiles tried to give their existence a more positive meaning, emphasising the knowledge that came out of suffering. Be that as it may, it is worth remembering that it is easy to unduly romanticise the Spanish Republican exile blanking out the very real hardship and loss that it entailed.

The historical reality was more like a voyage to the underworld than a placid pilgrimage: ‘The most visible sign of exclusion existed on the beaches of the French Mediterranean where close to two hundred thousand refugees were penned into sprawling concentration camps’ (Soo, 2013: 16).¹¹ The majority of Spanish refugees crossed the Pyrenees to reach France in early 1939. Many remembered the symbolism of stepping over the border. On the other side, they were not met with open arms. Instead, ‘a unique episode in French refugee history [ensued]: never before had the country experienced a rapid influx of refugees of this magnitude; and never before had the French state responded to the call for asylum with mass internment’ (Soo 2013: 2). After crossing the border, they were hunted down by the French gendarmerie and sent to control camps to avoid dispersion: ‘en los caminos de la frontera a Perpiñan, tomados por los gendarmes y por los senegaleses, se daba caza al español fugitivo. Empezaba una de esas tragedias que parecen reservadas a la desventura de nuestro pueblo ¡Cómo los han tratado y los tratan! Peor que a bestias’ (Azaña 1978: 448). Shortly after, they were sent to concentration camps improvised by the French Authorities along the Mediterranean (Argelès-sur-Mer, Barcarès, Gurs, Saint-Cyprien, Le Vernet, Mazerès, Agde, Septfonds, Rivesaltes and Villers-les-Pots), where, as portrayed by Celso Amiera, they had to suffer terrible conditions: ‘Virulentamente a la intemperie, piojosos, hambrientos, azotados por una infinita tramontana resucitada en tolvanera, enfermos de colitis y sin atención médica, a los internados les preocupaba, sobre todo, la separación en que vivían respecto a sus deudos, cuyo paradero ignoraban en la mayoría de los casos’ (Amiera 1964: 24).¹² As a way out of these camps, ←11 | 12→many ended up being used as cheap labour and exploited by the local agriculture and industry. From 12 April 1939 those between the ages of 20 and 48 who were still in those camps were sent to the Companies for Foreign Workers organised by the French authorities. These companies would later change their name to Foreign Workers Groups and extend the age limit to 55. Among other duties, they were in charge of building trenches on the front line. As a result, many Spaniards were killed or captured by the German army. Moreover, after the occupation of France, a significant number were sent to the construction of the Atlantic Wall, and around 8,000 were sent to Nazi concentration camps.¹³

To the physical and emotional pain suffered during their journey, we should add another ingredient that contributed as much to the grief and fate of those who survived the conflicts, and that is the fact that their destiny was soon to be forgotten, both outside and inside Spain. Within Spain the exiles were excluded from public life and censorship prevented their works from being published, particularly in the 1940s and 1950s. The edition of the Espasa-Calpe dictionary from 1950 did not even include the term ‘exilio’ (Cate-Arries 2004: 14), since the Franco regime wished to eradicate any mention of it. Even more so, it ‘depicted the exiles as traitors, representatives of the anti-Spain, responsible for the outbreak of the Civil War, and agents of dangerous, un-Spanish ideologies’ (Faber 2017: 427). Outside of Spain, many had hoped that the end of the Second World War would remove Franco from power. Therefore, many Republicans joined the French Resistance and De Gaulle’s Free French Army and some of ←12 | 13→the tanks that liberated Paris were named after significant battles in the Civil War. However, the emergence of the Cold War enabled Franco to keep a tight grip on Spain as the geo-political priorities of the Allies had shifted, and the contribution and suffering of the Spanish exiles was soon forgotten. It is not difficult then to understand why Antonio Vilanova, writing from France, would title his 1969 work about the fate of Spanish exiles Los olvidados. The Spanish exile of 1939 showed that, more often than not, marginality is the common fate of the exile (Ugarte 1989: 12).