Among the great numbers who welcomed the nationalist victory and prospered from it, the Carlists were not prominent. Antonio IZU, requeté, who returned to the family farm for a time, felt that the Carlist cause had been betrayed. First and foremost, by the movement’s own leaders – ‘out-and-out conservatives who joined to protect their own interests, who manipulated the movement to keep down the ordinary people’s real Carlism’. And thereafter, by the new regime, which had no place for authentic Carlism, which had forcibly united it with the Falange, and had instituted a totalitarianism that was anathema to Carlism.
Many radical falangists – a minority amongst the mass of wartime newcomers who, in the post-war, found their security and well-being in the new regime – also felt that their cause had been betrayed. Amongst these was Dionisio RIDRUEJO, Falange propaganda chief, who was disillusioned by the time the war ended. He felt that the repression, aimed almost exclusively at the working class, and the reinforcement of capitalism, was symptomatic of the true nature of the regime. To prevent his lack of active service being used against him later, he joined the Blue Division; on his return from Russia, he resigned all his posts in a letter to Franco which resulted in his being sent into internal exile. His opposition to the regime, which brought imprisonment later, led him politically (unlike many other falangists) to social democracy.
Wounded three times in nine months, Lt Juan CRESPO, monarchist student from Salamanca, was in a military hospital at the end of the war. He had continued to fight at the head of his Moorish troops, but without illusions. The new Spain he had hoped to see rising was not going to be created; the memory of the fate meted out to his uncles did not recede as the war progressed. When he saw the doctors, nurses and orderlies rushing from the hospital to celebrate the victory, he knew that the combatants no longer counted. He sat down and wrote a verse Oration for the Victors. A year later, in Madrid for his final medical to give him a place in the army’s Disabled Corps, with its scales of promotion and pay which would have assured him a comfortable future for life, he came across a one-legged bootblack in a café. The latter was shining his shoes. ‘Well, lieutenant, I see you’ve been wounded in the leg. I lost mine in a tank battle in this zone.’ They started to talk, exchanging war experiences. ‘And what compensation are you getting for your wound?’ CRESPO asked, finally. ‘None,’ replied the republican, ‘they give us who fought on this side nothing at all –’
In disgust, CRESPO refused to report for his medical, was never admitted to the Disabled Corps. His later life was spent in poverty. ‘What else could I do? If the regime was going to excommunicate one half of Spain for having fought on the other side, how were we ever going to heal our wounds?’
1. A month later, the International Brigades (by now in the main manned by Spaniards) were withdrawn, following Soviet suggestions that Russia would be glad to withdraw from Spain. The Non-Intervention committee approved a plan for the withdrawal of all volunteers; some 10,000 Italian ‘volunteers’ were withdrawn (leaving 12,000 still in Spain). While officially supporting Non-Intervention and the withdrawal of volunteers, Britain negotiated an agreement with Italy which recognised the presence of Italian troops in Spain until the end of the war.
2. See Militancies 16, pp. 443–5.
3. See pp. 327–8.
4. See p. 461. Negrín also attempted other avenues of negotiation, including direct contacts with representatives of the Nazi regime (see Thomas, op. cit., p. 848).
5. See Thomas, op. cit., p. 892. See also J. M. Martínez Bande, Los cien últimos días de la república (Barcelona, 1973), p. 96. Immediately upon his return, he had left anarcho-syndicalist leaders with a different impression. Lorenzo IÑIGO, secretary-general of the libertarian youth, was one of three members who went to see him in Valencia to determine what the government proposed to do. Military leaders, said IÑIGO, maintained that resistance was possible for no more than two months; had the government the means to organize resistance? If so – and it would require more than verbal assurances – the libertarian movement would put itself at the head of the resistance, he told the prime minister. ‘“I congratulate you on your clarity,” replied Negrín. “I will now answer with the same clarity and sincerity. The government has come to Valencia to save the moral values of the republic. We consider the war lost. There is no possibility of organizing resistance. I have already given orders to all civil governors to prepare the evacuation of men whose lives are at risk.” There was no more to say; we left.’
6. See, for example, M. Tagüeña, Testimonio de dos guerras (Mexico, 1973), pp. 306 and 323.
7. Cited Thomas, op. cit., p. 893. ‘It was almost impossible to get the peasantry to hand over its wheat in Cuenca, which was a well-known reactionary province,’ observed Carmen TUDELA, who had joined the communist party during the war and was possibly the only woman civil governor in Spain at the time. ‘Despite rationing, you could see plenty of bread in the villages; but only force would have made the peasantry deliver its wheat – and it wasn’t considered politic to use force.’
8. See Martínez Bande, Los cien últimos días de la república, pp. 123 and 131.
9. MARTINEZ managed to return to Madrid forty-eight hours before the capital fell, having ignored advice to remain in France. ‘They would certainly have shot you if they caught you there,’ said Mije, the Spanish communist leader, congratulating him on having reached safety. ‘One dies when one’s hour comes,’ he retorted, adding that it was necessary to set an example and return to Spain. However, he had considerable difficulty in getting money from any of the republican government ministers in France to allow him to return.
10. ‘If the government is willing to continue resistance, the communist party will support it. If, on the other hand, it is determined to negotiate peace terms, the communist party will not put any obstacles in its way,’ Negrín was told by a communist party delegation (see D. Ibarruri, They Shall Not Pass, London, 1967, p. 335).
11. See p. 494 n. for further details.
12. See M. Tagüeña, Testimonio de dos guerras, p. 316. The communist corps commander reflected that the political line was no last-minute improvisation and explained the party’s passivity in the face of Casado’s well-known plans. Only two days later, in France, did he learn from the newspapers that his comrades were fighting Casado. The initial confusion, however, was very great. Narciso JULIAN, communist armoured brigade commander, found, when he was arrested trying to return to Madrid, that even communists and JSU members had joined the Casado forces at the beginning, on rumours that political-military leaders had fled. (There is some evidence that the party sent orders to some of its units round Madrid to move against the defence council. [See Martínez Bande, op. cit., pp. 181–2.] GUZMAN, who was in goal after the war with Maj. Ascanio, the communist officers who led the first forces against Casado, maintains that he told him he had received party orders to attack. But nowhere is it clear at what level these orders were given.)
13. Historical precedent suggested the idea. The first Carlist civil war ended in 1839 with the Convention of Vergara which safeguarded defeated Carlist officers’ pay and promotion in the Spanish army.
On the southern front at this moment some Popular Army units were issued with Spanish army regulation white parade gloves. ‘I hadn’t had a uniform the whole time I’d been in the army. Multiforms rather than uniforms were what we all wore. And now white gloves! It was as though the commanders expected a glorious reconciliation parade between the two opposing armies … ’ (Joan MESTRES: see Episodes 14, pp. 473–5).
14. As the speech was never made, and the notes lost, no proof can be adduced for this version, as Sócrates GOMEZ recognized. However, some evidence exists. On 5 March, the cabinet was discussing the radio speech Negrín was due to broadcast the following day when it received news of Casado’s coup. The last telexed message sent by Negrín to Casado on 6 March (which, as we have seen, received no reply) stated, among other things, the following: ‘If they [the defence counci
l] had waited for the explanation of the present position, which was to have been given tonight in the government’s name, it is certain that this unfortunate episode would never have taken place. If contact between the government and those sectors which appear to be in disagreement could have been established in time, there is no doubt whatsoever that all differences would have been removed.’ And, finally, a hint that, if peace demanded it, the government was willing to make way for the defence council: ‘Inasmuch as it is of interest to Spain, it is of interest to the government that, whatsoever may happen, any transfer of authority should take place in a normal, constitutional manner.’ (See text of statement in J. Alvarez del Vayo, Freedom’s Battle, New York, 1940, pp. 298–9.)
15. The unification, just before the outbreak of war, of the socialist and communist youth movements in the unified socialist youth (JSU) also deprived the socialist party of one of its bases of support. Led by Santiago Carrillo, the JSU swung to communist positions after many of its leaders joined the PCE in November 1936.
16. The communist party’s Madrid provincial congress, held from 8 to 11 February 1939, ‘uncovered the weakness of our work in Madrid at the time when the socialists had increased their activities and were undermining the influence which we had acquired at the cost of so much effort and sacrifice’, wrote La Pasionaria. (Ibarruri, They Shall Not Pass, p. 332.)
17. It was not the only case of a family divided: Wenceslao Carrillo, socialist supporter of Largo Caballero in the past, served on the Casado defence council. His son, Santiago Carrillo, communist secretary-general of the JSU, who had not returned from France after the fall of Catalonia, remained staunchly opposed. On the other hand, Sócrates Gómez, a junior socialist council member, was elected president of the socialist youth which withdrew from the JSU; at the same time, his father, the civil governor of Madrid, was elected president of the re-organized socialist party executive; father and son thus led the twin socialist organizations for a short time.
18. See Episodes 5, pp. 298–300.
19. See Militancies II, pp. 363–6.
20. See Militancies 17, pp. 461–5.
21. See Militancies 18, pp. 494–8.
22. The evacuation of the 168 Italians had been agreed to on 26 March by the authorities – on condition that they were not to be taken to a Spanish port; on the night of 28–29 March, the republicans changed their minds and agreed they could be taken to Palma de Mallorca. About forty of the prisoners were due to be exchanged for a similar number of British prisoners in nationalist hands. For this, and subsequent details of the Casado evacuation, see reports by Rear-Admiral Tovey, Captain Hammick, and Captain Lumsden to their superiors, Admiralty records, PRO.
23. In 1940, according to official prison statistics, there were 213,000 prisoners, compared to a pre-war average of 10,000, a level which was not again reached until after 1950 (see Tamames, La república, la era de Franco, pp. 353–5. The author estimates that 875,000 man-years were lost to the Spanish economy in the first twelve post-war years. The remission of sentences must be seen in this context: the working class was needed to produce surplus value, not to vegetate in prison at the state’s expense).
The Republic 1931–6
Points of Rupture
A. The land 513
B. The petty bourgeoisie and the religious question 522
C. Two nationalisms 530
D. Libertarians and the republic 542
E. October 1934, the Popular Front, orthodox and dissident communists 552
F. The army 564
The following sections are intended to provide a summary outline of the major areas of pre-war conflict and thus of the causes of the war. They make no pretence of being exhaustive studies of these problems, which would require a volume to themselves. Like the rest of the book, they are an attempt rather to capture the atmosphere of the times.
A. The land
The dominant problem in a dominantly agrarian country like Spain lay in the land. To ‘modernize’ Spain it was necessary to reform agriculture: industrialization could not fully develop unless agricultural productivity increased, creating a home market for consumer goods and transferring an increased surplus from the land into industrial investment.
In the southern latifundist region, where a few thousand landowners controlled two thirds of the available land, the exploitation of close on three quarters of a million labourers at subsistence wages, and the estate owners’ refusal to invest in their land, impeded this. Instead, low levels of agricultural techniques immobilized half-starving labour on the land, jeopardizing industrial development which could absorb that surplus labour productively in the towns.
Ownership conditioned not only farming techniques but social relationships in the countryside. Wherever large landowners monopolized the land, agrarian unrest and the demand for the take-over of the estates was endemic. Agricultural reform was not only an economic necessity for the development of capitalism, it was a socio-political necessity for the development of liberal democracy, for holding the rural proletariat within the framework of the capitalist system. Agrarian reform was the chosen means.1
As approved in September 1932, eighteen months after the republic’s proclamation, the agrarian reform law was a complex compromise to a series of conflicting interests. It involved little outright expropriation, other than land belonging to the upper nobility, and was based on an individual’s holdings in each municipality, not on his or her aggregate ownership throughout the country. Depending on area, landowners would be allowed to retain from between 300 to 600 hectares of grainland in each municipality before being subject to take-over with compensation: in effect, each owner would be left with a latifundio or large estate in each township. However, this was not the case if the land had been systematically leased, for all land in this liberally defined category was to be seized in its entirety.
It was widely believed at the time – and even later – that the large estates belonged in the main to a ‘semi-feudal’ nobility. The bourgeois democratic revolution’s historic task had been to abolish feudalism and introduce capitalist relations of production into agriculture. The take-over of the upper nobility’s (grandees’) estates would, it was thought, achieve this historic aim and open up millions of hectares for the settlement of the landless. Unfortunately, common belief was wrong. The upper nobility, who formed the largest aristocratic landowners (and whose expropriation was, in fact, a late addition to the law, on the pretext of a couple of its members’ participation in the abortive Sanjurjo monarchist uprising against the republic in 1932), owned in all just under 600,000 hectares of arable land throughout Spain. By no means a small amount in absolute terms, enough to settle some 60,000 landless labourers; but a very small amount relative to the size of the problem which would, eventually, require some 10 million hectares if 1 million needy landworkers were to be settled. Nine tenths of this land would have to come from the rural bourgeoisie, for it was the latter class which owned 90 per cent of farmland. However primitive, capitalism had been the dominant mode of production on the latifundia since the mid-nineteenth century.2
The crux of the problem of agrarian reform, in consequence, resided on the one hand in whether the liberal, mainly urban petty bourgeois republicans could oblige the mainly Catholic, conservative rural bourgeoisie to cede large tracts of its private property, to accept ‘sacrifices’ in the immediate for the long-term gain of forestalling rural revolution.3 On the other hand, whether it could persuade a large sector of the revolutionary rural proletariat, under anarcho-syndicalist influence, to accept an agrarian reform that did not ‘profoundly alter the system of land ownership’ and operated to reinforce liberal democracy.
A twenty-five-year-old republican agronomist, a self-styled liberal, who was dispatched to Toledo province, soon discovered a number of inherent contradictions in the reform, the application of which had been delayed for a year after its approval by the Cortes. The agriculture minister, Marcelino Domingo, sent for José VERGARA and to
ld him that the situation in the countryside was very serious: the landless were about to take over all the land, and if they did so the Republic would collapse. He was taking immediate action, sending a delegate with absolute powers to each of the fourteen latifundist provinces covered by the first stage of agrarian reform.4 Something had to be done immediately, even if the reform were not applied until after next year’s harvest was in.
—‘Yes, señor ministro. But what action am I supposed to take?’ The minister pulled an envelope out of his pocket. He took hold of his pen and on the back of the envelope he drew a sketch. ‘Here, you see, there’s a large area of unemployed. Find estates around there to take over and put the people to work. Do the same wherever there are unemployed. I wish you luck’ …
VERGARA left immediately for Toledo where he set about taking over land where the right to expropriation was in no doubt: the grandees’ lands, and estates voluntarily offered by their absentee owners for temporary occupation which assured them a rent.
Faced with a mass of landless labourers, he soon saw that the grandees’ estates – which often included whole villages – were not going to be sufficient.5 The bulk of these, moreover, were on the poor scrublands of the southern part of the province. The agrarian reform law also spoke of assistance for the newly settled labourers: credit, technical assistance, implements, etc. None of this was put into effect.
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