The general's remains

The problem of the Valley of the Fallen is the Valley of the Fallen. This sentence might do for the whole article, right there. Just put "The problem..." and a full-page photo of some stunned tourists in the 1950s gazing open-mouthed at one of those monstrous granite feet that seemed so amazing to a people just then emerging from poverty. A photo or, better, a cartoon by El Roto of the same scene.

The problem of the Valley of the Fallen, the intractable one, is that it's a monstrosity, of such dimensions that there is no discreet solution. Blow it up? Too aggressive. The ideal thing would be if Samantha the witch, from the TV series, were to touch her nose, and the thing would go away. More options: use it as a place of meditation in memory of Franco's victims? The problem is, it was built by their forced labor to Franco's glory; and anyway, the bombastic kitsch would hardly be propitious to contemplation. The dictator here achieved an esthetic that mirrored his ethic. We can almost hear the voice of the crowd echoing among the rocks: Franco, Franco, Franco! Dictators like to leave their mark in stadiums, train stations, avenues. Dictators fall or die in bed, and their buildings remain, with perhaps a few eagles and other trinkets removed from the façade.

Franco is so identified with the Valley that his stamp can never be erased. Not even by removing his remains. His remains, indeed. More bad business. How can the remains of the victims share a space with the remains of Franco, in what is proposed as a place for reflection and concord? How can we honor the victims, and wish them eternal repose, in the shadow of their killer's tomb? I cannot see how the families of the victims could be expected to share this space, every November 20, with the fascists who come to visit Franco's tomb and celebrate his victory. When the Popular Party's garrulous González Pons speaks of "Civil War-ism" he ought to watch his words, and take care to differentiate between those who in fact hate concord, and those of us who only want to see the Spanish right dissociate itself once and for all from Franco's tyranny, as the right elsewhere in Europe has repudiated the fascist dictatorships of the 1930s.

The problem of the Valley, apart from its manifest ugliness, is that our politicians have yet to reach a consensus on how to treat the past without using it as a weapon in the present; and that the Church still reserves the last word on what to do with this monument to ignominy.

One symptom is that, just the other day, the news media saw fit to give prominent space to Franco's daughter for her to opine on what might be the best place for her father's remains. Come again? Our country has been tremendously generous to that family. They have lived, and are living, like pedigreed aristocrats who inherit, without a shadow of remorse, the possessions of their forefathers. Amazing. Amusing, as they are perceived in certain circles. They are considered public personalities, and once the granddaughter Carmencita received from the public network a good fistful of euros, to do some dance steps on TV. They keep historical documents as if they were family souvenirs, and enjoy the use of a stately country house that ought to be public by now. They have never been sent into exile, like others in their case. The least we can ask of them is a little discretion. It would be nice, then, if the press did not give the daughter that space, as if her words were relevant to the question of what is to become of the general's remains.

History is history, OK, but this is still being used as an excuse for keeping emblems of the regime in public places. As if they were just historical curiosities. As for the dams and roads and stadiums that Franco built, no one questions their validity. As for the Valley of the Fallen, the first sentence of this article says it all.