Exhumed and Expelled from the Valley of the Fallen

By XL3aMS1x, https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0

Today the remains of former dictator Francisco Franco were evicted from a monumental complex known as the Valley of the Fallen and reentered in the family plot in the unincorporated village of Mingorrubio. Well, like Franco, I, too, was once kicked out of there—albeit living and breathing.

First a little background: the Valley of the Fallen is a national park about 50 kilometers outside Madrid, in the Sierra de Guadarrama mountains. The valley itself is a lovely place of woods and greenery. However, rising out of this natural beauty is the cold, gray Basilica of the Holy Cross of the Valley of the Fallen (Basílica de la Santa Cruz del Valle de los Caídos), which was carved out of a giant granite ridge as an ominous looking monument to the Fascists who won the Spanish Civil War. Construction began in 1941 and ended in 1959. Thousands of prisoners, including political prisoners, were forced to work on the site. At least fourteen of these were killed during construction and many others suffered injuries.

I visited the Valley of the Fallen with friends some years ago, on a sunny, spring-like February afternoon. There were hardly any other visitors that day, so we parked in the near-empty lot just beneath the basilica. One of the first sites to greet us as we got out of the car was an abandoned and tattered looking series of shops -- a souvenir shop, a post office and a cafeteria -- shuttered up with rotted wood, rusted metal and water-stained paper.

Undaunted by this dreary sight, we walked up the stairs to the giant esplanade lying in front of the basilica. As we did this, we received a brief respite from the gloom, as the views of the valley and towns in the distance were fantastic. But then we entered the basilica itself, first going through security checkpoints that just about rivaled anything in international airports.

Once inside the hall of the basilica, I felt a little overwhelmed by the literal and atmospheric darkness of the place. We walked down a lengthy corridor, which in reality is a tunnel, past foreboding sculptures and grandiloquent tapestries. At the end of it all, was an altar, and as we approached it, I separated from the others to walk on my own.

Unlike most churches, in this one visitors are allowed to walk up to and around the altar. As I circled it, towards the back I noticed flowers and candles sitting on top of a marker embedded in the ground. I leaned in closer to read the words written on it, and was surprised to see "Francisco Franco," and to realize that this was in fact the dictator's tomb. Indeed, so shocked was I by the location of respect that the grave had that without thinking I grimaced, let out a "Yuk!" and stomped one of my feet on it, as one would do to chase off a rodent.

Next thing I knew, two furiously gesticulating guards were running up to me, exclaiming, "¡Fuera! ¡Fuera! ¡Si no te gusta Franco, fuera!" ("Get out! Get out! If you don't like Franco, get out!") Two of my friends (including a Spaniard whose grandfather had been forced to work on the monument's construction) started arguing with the guards, but I had had enough and just wanted to get out of that dark hole. I agreed to leave, and my friends gladly joined me. It was with more than a little relief that I headed away from the dinginess surrounding the despot's tomb towards the bright sunshine and fresh air outside.

Although I have never had a desire to go there again, perhaps I will return once it is converted from an ostentatious tribute to one of Mussolini's and Hitler's cohorts into a true memorial to the Spanish Civil War.

Kicked out of the Valley of the Fallen! / ¡Expulsado del Valle de los Caidos!

By Godot13 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0

I was in Madrid last weekend. The weather was wonderful! I visited with friends, went to see the newly enlarged Prado, had a great night of dancing at Joy and ate some delicious local food, as well as Asturian and Galician cuisine -- oh, and an excellent lunch at a restaurant called Felipe in the pretty little ski town of  Navacerrada.  However, one of the most memorable things about the weekend was getting kicked out of the Valley of the Fallen. (El Valle de Los Caidos.).
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The Valley of the Fallen is a national park about 50 kilometers outside of Madrid in the Sierra de Guadarrama mountains. The valley itself is a lovely place of woods and greenery. However, rising out of this natural beauty is the cold and gray Basilica of the Holy Cross of the Valley of the Fallen (Basílica de la Santa Cruz del Valle de los Caídos), which was carved out of a giant granite ridge as an ominous looking monument to the Fascists who won the Spanish Civil War. Construction began in 1941 and was completed in 1959.
.
Thousands of prisoners, including political prisoners, were forced to work on the site. At least fourteen of these were killed during construction and many others suffered injuries.
.
We visited on Friday the 25th, which was a sunny spring-like day. There were hardly any other visitors, so we parked in the near empty lot just beneath the basilica.
.
One of the first sites to greet us was an abandoned and tattered looking series of shops -- a souvenir shop, a post office and a cafeteria -- shuttered up with rotted wood, rusted metal and water stained paper.
.
Undaunted by this, we walked up the stairs to the giant esplanade that sits in front of the basilica. From here the views of the valley and towns in the distance were fantastic.
.
Next we entered the basilica itself, after going through security checkpoints that rivaled anything in international airports. Once inside the hall of the basilica, I felt a little overwhelmed by the literal and atmospheric darkness of the place.
.
We walked down the lengthy corridor, which in reality is a tunnel, past foreboding sculptures and grandiloquent tapestries, towards the altar. Once at the front, I separated from the others to walk around.
.
In front of the altar I noticed flowers and candles sitting atop a marker that was embedded in the ground. I walked closer and read the name Francisco Franco. So surprised was I by the location of respect that the grave had that without thinking I grimaced, let out a "Yuk!" and stomped one of my feet on the grave.
.
Next thing I knew, two furiously gesticulating guards approached saying, "¡Fuera! ¡Fuera! ¡Si no te gusta Franco, fuera!" ("Get out! Get out! If you don't like Franco, get out!") Two of my friends started arguing with the guards, but I had had enough and just wanted to exit that dark hole. So, I convinced them to leave and we walked away from the dinginess surrounding the dictator's tomb towards the sunshine and fresh air.
.
Although I have no desire to go there again, perhaps I would if it were converted from merely an ostentatious tribute to one of Mussolini's and Hitler's cohorts into a true memorial about the Spanish Civil War.

Crude Cartoon Controversy or Freedom of Speech Challenge?

Defenders of freedom of the press are up in arms about the forced withdrawal of a national publication. Spain's Supreme Court ruled today that a crude cartoon of Crown Prince Felipe and Princess Letizia having sex was an insult to the royal family and the people they reign over.

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Judge Juan del Olmo ordered authorities to seize all copies of the magazine running the cartoon, as well as the mold used to print it. He also demanded that the publishers provide the name of the cartoonist for possible prosecution. Apparently slandering or defaming the Spanish Royal Family is illegal and punishable by up to two years in prison.

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The cartoon appeared on the cover of the current issue of El Jueves, a satirical publication. In it, the cartoon-Prince says, "You know, if you get pregnant, this will be the closest thing I'll have done to work in my life."

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Aside from targeting the Royal Family, who are supported by taxpayer money, the cartoon is also aimed at Prime Minister Zapatero's recently inaugurated program to pay 2,500 euros to the parents of newborns and newly adopted children.

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"You've noticed the elections are coming, ZP! 2500€ per child," is splashed above the cartoon.

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The complete name of the publication is "El Jueves, la revista que sale los Miércoles." ("Thursday, the magazine that comes out on Wednesdays.") Similar to Mad Magazine or National Lampoon, it was first published in 1977, two years after the Spanish dictator Francisco Franco died. This is the first time an issue has been withdrawn. It is irreverent, popular and never subtle.

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On its web site today El Jueves posted a sample of the cartoon (as did just about every newspaper in Spain, except for the right-leaning ABC) along with a statement that I've translated below:

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July 20, 2007?
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We are writing this note on Friday, July 20, 2007, at 7pm. Our editorial offices are filled with media representatives asking about the banning of our magazine. We do not know how to respond to them. El Jueves has published dozens, hundreds of cartoons of the Royal family -- and of politicians, celebrities, ETA and anything that moves. We have even published a book, TOUCHING THE BORBONS, a 350 page compilation of the most amusing of these cartoons.

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We are graphic humorists and we work fully aware of our charge, what the readers expect of us, which is to explore the limits of freedom of speech. We can actually accept that on occasion we may be excessive. It's part of the job. If we go too far, there are the courts but...banning? The police inspecting newsstands throughout the country and pulling our magazine? Are we really writing this on July 20, 2007?

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What do you think? / ¿Que crees?