Memory of the earth: Civil War graves gradually yield their secrets

Y ou are cleaning each bone so carefully, with a brush, with such care; it's as though you were stroking them, and it makes me think how different things must have been the day that they were murdered..."

Anabel Lapuente is talking to the half-dozen forensic scientists who are unearthing the unmarked grave into which her grandfather, along with three others, was thrown following his summary execution by General Francisco Franco's forces during the Spanish Civil War.

The grave is in a corner of the cemetery in the tiny village of Ágreda in the central region of Soria. Around 1,000 people disappeared or were murdered during the Civil War in Soria for their political beliefs. The four men in the grave were Luis Torres, aged 35, Marcelino Navarro, aged 17, Feliciano Lapuente, aged 33 - all laborers - along with Gregorio Torres, the mayor. They were shot on October 19, 1936.

Of the 2,052 mass graves throughout Spain, just 231 have been excavated

Judge Garzón: "Families only want justice, and that seems very difficult to deliver"

Of the 2,052 such graves throughout Spain, just 231 have been excavated for the bodies of the men and women in them to be given a proper burial. In the case of Ágreda, relatives of the four men can thank Pilar Pérez, the village's mayor, for facilitating the exhumation. "It is unusual for officials to take such an interest," says forensic scientist Francisco Etxeberria of Sociedad de Ciencias Aranzadi, a Basque-based non-profit research body that is working with a team from the University of the Basque Country in Ágreda, and has played a key role in the unearthing of other mass graves.

Thirty-five years after the death of Franco, and three years after the passing of the portentously named Historical Memory Law, little progress has been made in exhuming the dictator's victims from mass graves. Little wonder, as the act is largely toothless, described by Amnesty International as "removed from international law," meaning that the state has left it up to organizations representing the victims' families to arrange and pay for exhumations themselves. Any hopes that Spain might be about to face up to its past were further reduced when Judge Baltasar Garzón was removed from his post following his initiatives to investigate the crimes of the Franco era.

The exhumation in Soria is something of a consolation for the families of the victims. But international law also mentions truth, justice, and reparation for the dead. The truth of what happened has to be established, the guilty have to be held to account and compensation has to be paid. At some point, Spain will have to address what happened more than 70 years ago; whether it can do so through the Historical Memory Law, given the failure of the judiciary to act thus far, is another question. There is no judge present at the exhumation in Ágreda to confirm evidence of violence such as the bullet holes that riddle the four skeletons.

The work being carried out in Ágreda follows the same scientific procedures that would take place during the exhumation of any corpse. It is estimated that more than 100,000 such bodies still lay in common graves throughout the country. Garzón estimates that around 143,000 men and women disappeared, but there is no officially agreed-upon figure. Some regional governments have put together maps of the graves, but others have not bothered to formally identify them.

"The victims of Franco's repression have never lost their dignity," said Garzón earlier this year, adding "The ones with no dignity are those in Spain who have failed to offer an appropriate account of what happened." He also pointed out that identifying and recovering the bodies of loved ones is not about revenge. "In Chile, in Argentina, and in Spain as well, I have never met a single family that wanted revenge. They only want justice, and that is a very easy thing to understand. At the same time, it seems very difficult to deliver."

Given the state's failure to act on their behalf, over the years families have tried to recover their lost ones themselves, but given the size of many of the graves, they soon realized that an exhumation requires specialists. Because the majority of mass graves contain the remains of many individuals, of many walks of life, the task of knowing who is to be found where, and attaching names to the deceased is a complex one.

Even before the 2007 law was passed, the Association for the Recovery of Historical Memory (ARMH) was active in bringing attention to the issue of mass graves. In 2000, it organized the opening of pit in the small village of Priaranza del Bierzo, in León. Among the dead was Emilio Silva Faba.

"My grandfather taught me to speak, even after he was dead. Because until the day that we found him in Priaranza, I wasn't able to speak in public, nor even to raise my hand in class. I didn't want anybody to know who I was, such was the level of fear in my family," says Emilio Silva's grandson, who is president of ARMH. His father, aged 84, remembers his father, describing him as urbane, a man who had lived in Argentina and the United States, but who returned to his village, where he met Modesta Santín, with whom he had six children. They opened a shop in the nearby town of Villafranca del Bierzo.

"My father supported Azaña [prime minister and president during the Second Republic], which meant a lot in those times; there were many clerics about. I remember the day that the war started, and how the fascists came in and stole things from the shop. My father understood that his life was in danger." Emilio Silva's grandson says that he was always interested in his grandfather. "My grandmother died when I was 32. I never heard her talk about him, even though I tried to talk to her about him." He decided to take action and uncover the location of the mass grave in which his grandfather had been buried. "I wanted this to be more than just a family story. His remains were in an unknown place. But I was determined to change how the story ended," he says.

Emilio Silva began talking to older members of the community, looking for help, as well as with León architect Julio Vidal and his wife, anthropologist María Encina Prada, who put themselves at his disposition immediately. "We read an article by Emilio saying that he wanted to give his grandfather a proper burial, and so we offered to help him using a combination of archeological techniques and forensic anthropology. We contacted Etxeberria who arrived in no time. We put together a team, and the town hall lent us a digger."

Local residents knew about the grave, but after so many years, were unsure of the exact location. "It took three attempts, and we feared that the road had been built over the grave, but then a shoe turned up," says Etxeberria. The bodies, which until then had been in danger of becoming the stuff of legend, were finally a reality.

Inspired by the success of the Priaranza initiative, other small communities throughout Spain have followed suit, contacting Etxeberria and his team. Last month they found a grave in Ezcurra, close to the French border in Navarre, where three resistance fighters were buried. There are an estimated 3,500 war victims still unaccounted for in the Navarre region. Ángel Mariezcurrena, who lives in Ezcurra, says that he has been trying for many years to have the grave exhumed. It is believed that the three were ambushed as they entered Spanish territory, as confirmed by the property owner. Etxeberria says that once the grave has been properly located using a radar device, exhumation will begin.

He says that after decades of silence and fear, people in local communities, particularly older members, are finally beginning to talk about what they know. "This was impossible even 10 years ago, but people have lost their fear."

A group of German students preparing a thesis on fascism are present at the site. They have visited Gernika, and before heading to the Ebro, wanted to see a mass grave. "It is very hard to understand why this is only happening now, so many years later," says one.

"There are a lot of people who still who don't want anybody to know about what happened, even from those on the left we have had accusations of destroying evidence. But it is just the opposite. A place like this is in itself historic proof of what happened. We'll have the grave opened before Christmas, and that will be that," says Etxeberria. Mariezcurrena adds that in general, the regional government of Navarre has cooperated in allowing private initiatives to exhume graves.

"It took some time to find the grave in Priaranza, which in the end was helpful, because the word went out, and people began to approach us, regardless of their political beliefs. They wanted to help; others wanted to know if they could initiate proceedings to have other graves opened," says Daniel Fernández, the former Socialist Party mayor.

"The owner of the land knew what had happened on it. He had never used the land for anything, apart from planting a few walnut trees. When the time came, he gave us full access to the land."

Etxeberria and his team found the remains of 13 men, all murdered on October 16, 1936, most of them shot in the back of the head. Emilio Silva exhumed his grandfather, who became the first victim of Franco's forces to be identified through his DNA. His body was taken to nearby Pereje, his birthplace, and now lies in a peaceful cemetery close to the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage route.

Not all of the bodies were identified though, and some have never been reclaimed. "It is terrible to think that there are people out there who do not know what happened to their father, or grandfather, or uncle," says the former mayor. The unidentified men now lie together in a nearby cemetery. A commemorative plaque reads: "In memory of all those who fought and gave their lives for democracy and freedom." As the mayor points out, they never even had a chance to fight: "They were killed so soon into the war."

There is any number of similar stories in the Bierzo region of León, and the war is still a vivid memory. Many remember the terrible years after the end of the Civil War in 1939. "There was so much hunger, and there were a lot of guerrillas. Go to Campo de las Danzas, and you'll see," says one elderly lady tending her garden. Octogenarian customers at the local bar confirm the widespread killings that went on during the war. "We would walk along the road and you could see the graves down below, but it didn't scare us; we'd pretty much seen everything by then," remembers one old man.

Santiago Macías, aged 38, is the vice president of the ARMH. He has been interested in the anti-Franco resistance for over a decade, and has written on the activities of the guerrillas in Castilla y León. "One thing is organizing a homage to those who fought Franco, and another is looking down into a grave at their bodies. Their presence changes everything; proof transforms everything" he says, walking along the road close to the mass grave at Prioranza. "Emilio had a particular interest; mine is general, and so we decided to set up the ARMH," he says.

His laboratory is in Ponferrada, on loan from the University of León. It is full of files titled "Forced Disappearances," along with boxes filled with human bones, personal effects, remains of clothing, and reports. A list of graves still to be opened has been written on the blackboard. Hung on the walls are vignettes: one of a silhouette of the king saying "Every time a body is found a judge must be present." In another Franco responds: "Just the opposite. First we exhume the body and then we hide it."

There is little of any significance in the boxes. They are named after the villages where the remains were found - La Predaja, Villalba de Duero, Milagros - and in them are numbers: numbers of the dead, of the bullets used to shoot them, of the shell casings. A complete skeleton lies on a table. "The bullet entered here, and came out here...this fellow was suffering from a serious illness when he was killed..."

Macías is helped by volunteers, young forensic scientists, and people who have a personal connection to those disappeared in the Civil War.

He says that in the absence of a clear mandate by the central government ordering graves to be exhumed, local communities have no idea whether they will be backed by their elected officials in trying to get graves opened. "When we hand over the remains of victims to their relatives, we do so at a civil ceremony; we invite the relatives and we invite elected officials. In some cases, even when the mayor is from the Popular Party, they attend; in others, we hear excuses like: 'I don't want to get involved, I want to be neutral.' It makes me want to ask, neutral as far as who is concerned?"

Archeologist Julio Vidal says that he has tried unsuccessfully to get the regional government of Castilla y León involved. "They didn't want to know a thing. They are great at giving out grants to protect our heritage, but want nothing to do with something that took place 70 years ago." He believes that no real progress will be made in exhuming graves until regional governments get on board. "They refuse to get involved; it is very frustrating. These are elected officials, this is about democracy," he says. He believes that exhumations should not be carried out through the altruism of organizations like the Sociedad de Ciencias Aranzadi using volunteers. "The graves must be catalogued, protected, and then turned into monuments against intolerance and barbarism."

The media coverage of Priaranza inspired other communities to follow in their footsteps, while a generation of grandchildren of the disappeared, no longer fearful of the repercussions of talking about what happened, push for legislation to vindicate the memory of the victims of Franco.

"All we have is our human capital, around 400 volunteers. The association doesn't even have offices. We get an annual subsidy of 48,000 euros, and people give us their time and labor; villagers feed us or put us up in their homes. We have exhumed around 1,600 people, but there are thousands more buried out there," says Vidal.

In the absence of any interest or action by the Spanish authorities, foreign human rights organizations and academics have also become involved, along with domestic groups like Foro de la Memoria, as well as individuals. They say that they see themselves as chipping away at the vast wall of forgetting that Spain has built over the last seven decades about what happened during the Civil War.

Writers like Santos Juliá say that both sides reached a pact of silence after Franco died. "They agreed to keep the corpses hidden, so that they wouldn't block the road to democracy." He adds that two other factors have made it more difficult to address the issue of Franco's war crimes: the appearance of a new generation - now approaching middle age - born after Franco's death, and the consolidation of the right wing as a major political force.

"In Priaranza, we had no concept of the impact of our work. Even bearing in mind the frustration of many families who say that nothing is being done, I think that we have made considerable progress; I think that we have moved forward. We have even had people from the Popular Party saying that this needs to be done. I know that it isn't enough, but while we are criticizing the government for not doing enough, other institutions have kept silent. What about the universities, the academics, the intellectuals?" he asks.

Etxeberria is a part of a research team at the country's Science Council (CSIC), which has just published a report on the social and political impact of the exhumations. He has also contributed to a report for the Prime Minister's Office on the exhumations. "I want to know everything that happened: the number of people shot, everything," he says.

Back at his makeshift office at the University of León, Etxeberria says that he still finds it hard when he completes an exhumation. "You finish the job and allow the family down into the grave; it is very emotional. Or you say to them: 'Number three is your father,' and sometimes, somebody will say something to the effect that all of the bodies are their father." He says he keeps a stone from each grave he exhumes. "I think, so many stones covering up the past, by taking one away, it is like freeing the past." He has also opened the graves of those killed by anarchists and communists.

"I am a forensic scientist. I don't question who the victims are; they are victims." He says that his work has been made much easier by computer technology and digital cameras. "We put together a report on the graves, with all the details, thousands of details of lost lives."

Etxeberria also works from home, helped by his wife, Lourdes Herrasti, a forensic anthropologist. His daughter Igone, a medical student, also helps out. She was just two months old when she attended her first exhumation.

"For my classmates at medical school, talking about 1936 means little, but it means a lot for me. I think that we have waited too long to address this issue. From a scientific point of view, sadly, it is too late in many cases to be able to identify skeletons from their DNA, but at least we can work out what happened to individuals. I find it very emotional when I see a family's response, when they pick up a bone and hold it close to them, as though they have finally found peace. It is very special. I would like this whole process to finish, but not just to keep things silent," she says, adding: "This job takes time, and there is a lot more to be done than to simply dig up the bones. We have to tell society about this, about what happened. We have to talk to the families, let them tell their stories. For many of these people, identifying their loved ones brings peace at last."