Spanish Civil War – erica goes traveling

Galicia

entering the last autonomous region of the Camino!

having never studied much Spanish history while at school (much less monarchical history), the intensity to which people associate with their ancestral kingdom surprised me. natives of Navarra descend from a very different narrative than natives from Castilla or natives of León or natives of Galicia. unlike the more central (and easily-conquerable) regions of Spain, Galicia has an independent streak not unlike that of Catalonia or the Basque country. (a fact mentioned in an article I read today in the Economist about the recent vote in Catalonia in support of independence from Spain.)

the area has been inhabited since the Copper Age by a culture characterized by a “surprising capacity for construction and architecture” and a cult of the dead. migration from the Castillian plain into Galicia during the Bronze age boosted mining interests and swelled the population. their successors, Gallaeci, were of Celtic extraction, lived in fortified villages, and form the basis for the region’s modern inhabitants. founded by the Suebic king Hermeric in 409 C.E., the kingdom of Galicia adopted Catholicism and minted its own currency as early as 449. in 585 the Visigoths annexed the kingdom and reigned (though didn’t much control) for just over a century before Galicia regained its liberty and amicably joined with the adjacent kingdoms for a period.

traditional Galician stew and hearty bread

though it became an independent kingdom briefly in the 10th century as a result of succession fights in Castilla, those same fights destabilized the region and Galicia subsequently fell under the control of a series of external monarchs. beginning in the 14th century, the distant kings began devolving more powers on local authorities (knights, counts bishops, etc.) and increasing after Galicians backed Joanna La Beltraneja in her successful bid against Isabela I of Castilla. towards the end of the 15th century, however, the language began a slow decline that led to the Séculos Escuros (Dark Centuries) when the written Galician language nearly disappeared. another fact some of you might find interesting — in the 1380s, John of Gaunt claimed the crown of Castilla on behalf of his wife, sailed to Spain to battle the French as part of the Hundred Years War, and dragged Galicia into his succession fight.

amazing dessert of local crumbly cheese
drenched in honey and the famous
Santiago almond tart

not surprisingly, Galicia found itself in the cross-hairs of various belligerent parties of the 19th century. the people allied themselves with the British in the Peninsular War and suffered consequences as a result when the French took control of the region for six months (you can “read more” about how they evicted the French from Santiago de Compostela in Bernard Cornwell’s Sharpe’s Rifles, which I was encouraged to read before setting out on the Camino.) the kingdom was dissolved permanently with the unification of Spain under one crown in 1833; a century later, in conjunction with the establishment of the Second Republic of Spain, Galicians voted in favor of a path to autonomy within a federalized Spanish state though the Spanish Civil war preempted implementation. because the initial military coup proved successful in Galicia, the region was spared the worst of the fighting that occurred during the war, though they certainly didn’t go unpunished or un-repressed. (fact I did not know: Franco was from Ferrol, northeast of Santiago but in the same province of A Coruña)

while Galicia has been profoundly affected by the economic and housing crises affecting the rest of Spain in the last decade, the region still retains its distinct, unique character. but more about that later.

León – a history of a city

as befits a still-grand city, León’s origins date from the Romans who established a military outpost here in the year 70 to protect gold mines and it later became the seat of the VIIth Legion and capital of the empire in northwest Spain. a massive wall, remains of which still mark the limits of the old town, encompassed the Roman settlement. that wall, along with some baths under the cathedral are the only structures that remain from that period.

fortunes in the city ebbed and flowed with the decline of the Romans, incorporation into the kingdom of Asturias, conquest by the Visigoths (in 585), and then the Moors (712) under whose control it remained for over a century. in 746, Ordoño I managed to extricate the city from Moorish control and his successors invited Mozarabic refugees (Christians who hadn’t fled their lands and chose to remain under Moorish rule) from farther south to repopulate the city. despite the success of Ordoño and his immediate successors in building León up as a Christian city (and transforming the Kingdom of Asturias into that of León) — establishing churches, granting land to the bishop to construct a cathedral over the Roman baths, relocating the Asturian court and building a royal palace — subsequent generations proved weaker-willed and in the 10th century monarchs were paying protection money to caliphs in Cordoba to maintain “peace.” evidence of the 10th century prosperity vanished in 988 when the king, seeking aid from his “protectors” to defeat a rebellious brother, essentially invited an attack and occupation. in the 11th century, Alfonso V began a successful campaign to wrest control of Spain from Moorish control and his success led to eventual unification of the Castillian and Leonese crowns (as discussed in a previous post). by the middle of the 14th century, however, economic and political activity had shifted elsewhere as more and more of Spain fell under Christian authority. a series of continent-wide cataclysms, culminating in the arrival of the bubonic plague in 1349 or 1350 decimated León and effectively stunted its importance and growth for several centuries.

population growth stagnated until 19th century; most of the increase came down to influx from surrounding farming communities after the arrival of the railroad in the 1860s, in search of alternative means of employment. throughout the 20th century the population of the city grew rapidly — from about 21,000 inhabitants in 1920 to a peak of over 147,000 in 1995 — still due primarily to rural exodus.

the Leonese language is considered extremely endangered (more nearly extinct) by UNESCO, though the movement to attain Leonese autonomy from Castilla has made an effort to revive it. in 2006, the provincial government approved a Leonese Language Day as advocated for by a variety of language associations. as we proceeded farther along the Camino and away from Castillian influence we saw more and more graffiti promoting independence for León. I assumed the ” Llión Solo” signs we saw stemmed from an autonomy movement like the one in the Basque country, but hadn’t any confirmation of that until now. the University of León established a teacher training course in the Leonese language in 2001 and there are both adult-education courses in the language and lessons at high schools around León.

it seems like León has a good history of protest and procession (you know, like events during Semana Santa) (maybe it’s just a Spanish and/or European thing to go out for a protest of a Saturday?); there was a notable rebel population here during the Franco regime, though a failed attempt at fomenting popular unrest resulted in the arrest and execution of a number of rebel organizers in 1936. when we were out at lunchtime in Saturday, a clump of bicyclers and pedestrian-types streamed past us down the middle of a major road –led by a police vehicle as often happens in the U.S. with permit-holding protesters, headed farther into town to join some kind of protest. based on the protest attendees in the plaza, it must have been something to do with cyclist and/or pedestrian safety and awareness.

… with diverse modern uses

the Convento San Marcos functioned as a monastery until “excloisteration” in 1837; it subsequently went through numerous uses from the mundane to the sinister before becoming a museum and hotel. among the mundane uses: a high school, a veterinary college and stud farm, a Jesuit residence home, military offices, and military barracks.

in the 1870s the government proposed leveling the building to provide space for alternative projects but the plan was fortunately scuppered. this building is one of the few pre-modern buildings that still stands outside the city walls; after walking between all the period buildings that line the warren-like streets within the walls of the city, it’s rather remarkable to emerge onto the wider avenues beyond, packed with bland 20th century construction. there are certainly unique architectural sites outside the walls and their overpowering modernity provided a peculiar contrast to the site of the Plaza San Marcos but mostly it was blocks of flats and the characterless but functional facades of any modern city.

on the more sinister end of uses, the Convento San Marcos served as a prison — both during its time as a monastery and after it fell under government control. during the mid-17th century, the politician and and poet, Francisco de Quevedo found himself an unwitting occupant of the basement dungeons of the monastery. he’d allegedly written a satire against the king but his true “crime” stemmed from engendering the enmity of the prime minister of the time, the Count Duke of Olivares. because of his (honorary) membership in the Order of Santiago, Quevedo was permitted to serve his sentence in the Order’s headquarters, rather than in a civil penitentiary. while imprisonment did nothing for his physical health, during the four years he spent at San Marcos Quevedo wrote three of his most notable philosophical works (Life of Saint Paul, Providence of God, and Constancy and Patience of Saint Job). upon his release, he retired to another monastery, where he died two years later (in 1645).

while certainly no easy punishment for Quevedo in the 17th century, the unwilling guests of the 20th century had an even harsher experience within the walls of the ex-monastery. during the Spanish Civil War, the building served as a concentration camp for republican prisoners and other opponents of the Franco regime. between 1936 and 1940, the prisoner population reached some 6,700 men while a further 15,000 filtered through on their way to other prison camps elsewhere. numerous executions took place within the grounds and it became a symbol of repression in León and throughout Spain. when we visited, they had an exhibit in the cloisters featuring remembrances from those who’d been imprisoned in the monastery during the Franco regime. harrowing stuff.

the building was given over to the Parador chain in 1964 for conversion into a luxury hotel and museum (housed in the church and cloisters). the church houses an array of art collected from around the area, as well sculptures designed and crafted at the time of the church’s construction. numerous famous and royal guests have stayed at the Parador, including the King and Queen of Spain, who first visited in 1970 while still Prince and Princess, as well as Latin American presidents, Nobel winners and others.

Monumento de los Caídos

making our way along the Camino through the Montes de Oca we stumbled up on this intriguing monument … the inscription of which indicated something about the Spanish Civil War but for which our guide book said nothing. well, not exactly nothing, it offered this: “A stark monument to the fallen caídos during the Spanish Civil War with picnic tables in the shelter of the trees and a backdrop of wind turbines on the rise behind.” proceeding on to describe how the track descends sharply to a creek bed before ascending again. it was a rather remarkable site and memorial … though the dozen picnickers (and the peregrinos walking along at our pace) did detract from the solemnity of the site.

I imagine it goes without saying that, as one thoroughly intrigued by all manner of historical background for my travels, this complete lack of interest in non-religious historical sites — really a kind of deliberate avoidance — cemented my antipathy towards our guidebook. how can you bring up picnic tables in the same breath as this stark monument to victims of the Spanish Civil War?! a war that I learned almost nothing about in any of the history courses I ever took.

upon getting home, I was gratified to discover that the book of cultural history we opted not to carry with us had slightly more information on this site. it’s a monument to men from Burgos (35km to the west) who were snatched from their homes in the middle of the night and taken for short drives from which they never returned. rebellion against the ruling Republican government broke out in July of 1936 and violence raged throughout the country over the next two months, with some of the worst perpetrated by fascist right wingers in Burgos: “During July and August of 1936, witnesses speak of discovering dozens of bodies every single day along the Arlanzon River, in the Montes de Oca, on the hill by Burgos’s castle, and on the forested grounds of the Cartuja de Miraflores.” (from Gitlitz and Davidson, 2000).

needless to say: I feel compelled to learn more about the Spanish Civil War to better understand how it ties into the history I have studied of the 20th century. also, I’m even more unimpressed by the guidebook we carried with us. was it worth the weight? perhaps, but only just.