Spanish dictator Francisco Franco died 50 years ago today [20 November]. Jim Jump looks back at his blood-soaked rule and toxic legacy on Spain today.

‘Spaniards, Franco has died,’ came the announcement 50 years ago on Spanish TV. If there was any truth to the widely-held story that Barcelona immediately ran out of cava, the corks would have been popping behind closed doors. Most Spaniards held their breath on 20 November 1975, fearful of what might happen next. 

After nearly four decades of brutal dictatorship, reactionary forces dominated the country’s institutions and the generalísimo himself had boasted that everything was being left ‘well tied up’. 

Confounding expectations, however, King Juan Carlos appointed a government that steered Spain towards free elections in 1977, the first since the Spanish Republic. In 1981 he helped face down a botched coup attempt by diehard army and civil guard units, who briefly seized the Cortes, the Spanish parliament. In the following year the PSOE socialists – the dominant party in the Republic’s Popular Front government – won the general election.

Today Juan Carlos, who abdicated in favour of son Filipe in 2014, is again at the centre of controversy. His autobiography praises Franco’s ‘intelligence and political sense’. But it says nothing in 500 pages about the victims of Franco, nor the scars that the Spanish Civil War have left on Spanish society.

Publication of the memoir comes at a time of heightened political tensions in Spain. Far-right Vox is surging in the polls. In half a dozen autonomous regions the party props up right-wing administrations fronted by the more mainstream Popular Party (PP) – which is itself a haven for Franco apologists. The approaching anniversary of the dictator’s death has also seen anti-immigrant fascist groups on the streets of Madrid giving Nazi salutes, singing Francoist anthems and waving SS-inspired flags.

Though many have applauded Juan Carlos’s role in Spain’s transition to democracy, they often overlook the tide of popular agitation that was also forcing his hand. Hailed as a triumph of peaceful top-down politics, the transición was far from bloodless. Hundreds died in political violence, including terrorist attacks by a shadowy far-left group, Grapo, that is now known to have been heavily penetrated by Francoist secret police.

Hearses with the bodies of communist lawyers killed by fascists in 1977 pass through crowds in Madrid.
Wiki Commons

Among the worst atrocities was the assassination in 1977 of five communist lawyers by fascist gunmen in Madrid’s Atocha Street. More than 100,000 people attended their funeral – one of the first mass demonstrations since the Caudillo’s death. This was followed by strikes and displays of solidarity across the country. A few weeks later the PCE communist party was legalised.

The blood on Franco’s hands never dried. After launching the military uprising that sparked the country’s civil war in 1936, he climbed to power over the dead bodies of more than 150,000 summarily-executed Republicans, leftists and trade unionists. Their toll easily outnumbered the victims of revenge attacks against supporters of the coup. 

Victory in 1939 was secured courtesy of troops, aircraft and weapons sent by Hitler and Mussolini. When their planes mercilessly bombed Guernica, Barcelona and Madrid, the world was shocked. But in characteristic Perfidious Albion fashion, the British government chose to appease the fascist dictators by covertly favouring Franco with an arms embargo on the Republic – all under the guise of ‘non-intervention’.

Even when the war ended, the systematic torture and killings continued in Franco’s vast network of penal camps. In 1940 in Madrid alone there were 30 prisons housing 100,000 Republican prisoners, a quarter of them on death row. And so it went on, year after year, with the terminally ill Franco signing the last five death warrants as he was about to climb into his death-bed.

In Britain, veterans of the International Brigades, who had fought so bravely during the civil war, kept up their struggle in other ways. The International Brigade Association helped organise frequent protests and embassy pickets. The IBA worked with socialist lawyers to send observers to trials of political prisoners along with food for their families. Others went further. Dublin-born Brigader Bob Doyle, for example, used family trips to Spain to take money to the the anti-Franco underground and on one occasion scattered leaflets on a Madrid bus and among football crowds before making a swift getaway.

There had been a glimmer of hope at the end of the Second World War that Franco’s regime, by then an international pariah, might be toppled. But the US cavalry rode to the rescue, finding in Franco a dependable anti-communist stooge during the Cold War. Generous long-term loans began in 1950 and three years later the US was handed air and naval bases in exchange for more economic and military aid. 

Spain today is a vibrant, open society, though one with all the familiar social problems of advanced Western liberal democracies. Scratch the surface, however, and historic divisions open up and old attitudes forged by 40 years of censorship and dictatorship lies re-emerge.

It wasn’t until the start of this century – a full quarter century after Franco’s death – that the unofficial pact of silence that accompanied the return to democracy was broken. Younger people began asking what had happened to their grandparents during the war, why they didn’t have a grave and why no-one dared speak about it. Soon they found out the awful truth that Spain is a country covered with mass graves of Republicans. There were – and still are – thousands of them – including ones with remains of International Brigaders whose bodies were dug up and dumped after Franco won the war.

The man who initiated the first exhumation was Emilio Silva. He was trying to find the remains of his grandfather in the village of Priaranza del Bierzo in north west Spain. But in the process he launched a social movement of Spaniards demanding to know the truth about the past. ‘What I wanted was to bury him with my grandmother and go back to my life as a journalist,’ Silva recalled in a recent interview. ‘I thought I was going to return to how things were before finding the mass grave, but everything became unstoppable.’ 

Many thousands of murdered Republicans have since been given proper burials, though it is estimated that the remains of more than 100,000 of Spain’s ‘disappeared’ still lie unidentified in the Spanish earth.   

Anniversary cover of Spain’s satirical magazine El Jueves is headlined ‘Happy 50 years without Franco’ and shows the dictator holding the leads of Vox leader Santiago Abascal and the Popular Party’s rightwing head of the Madrid community, Isabel Ayuso.

Propelled by this mass movement for the recovery of historical memory, the PSOE-led governments of José Luis Zapatero and current prime minister Pedro Sánchez have made worthy efforts to help Spain come to terms with the crimes of Francoism. Memory laws have acknowledged old injustices and addressed the issue of mass graves. Streets glorifying fascists have been renamed. Franco’s body was removed from the grotesque mausoleum he built for himself with Republican slave labour north west of Madrid. Exiles, International Brigaders and their descendants have been welcomed as Spanish citizens.

Unsurprisingly Vox and the PP have resisted all these moves, with regional authorities led by them rolling back memory laws and refusing to identify and protect mass graves. Yet, as one historian has pointed out, Spain is the only country in western Europe where it is possible to randomly dig a hole in the ground and run the risk of unearthing human remains. Meanwhile those who call for an end to this scandal are accused of stirring up old hatreds.

Bill Alexander, former commander of the British Battalion in Spain, noted proudly after the country’s return to democracy that anti-Francoists in Britain had ensured that Franco and his underlings were never accepted by the British people. Their campaigning had ‘remembered the heroic struggles of the Spanish people and recognised that only the end of Francoism could bring freedom’. Sadly, the toxic legacy left by Franco has still not been properly expunged and Bill’s words remain true to this day.

Jim Jump is the IBMT Chair. This article also appears in today's Morning Star (20 November 2025): https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/struggle-against-francos-legacy-continues

Jim Jump reviews ‘Architects of Terror: Paranoia, Conspiracy and Anti-Semitism in Franco’s Spain’ by Paul Preston (HarperCollins, 2023). The review appears in the current issue of the IBMT magazine ¡No Pasarán!

Before the Spanish Civil War began in July 1936 there were no more than 6,000 Jews living in Spain and the Communist Party was tiny. Yet the plotters who launched the coup that started the war declared they were fighting, not the Spanish Republic’s elected government, but a Jewish-masonic-Bolshevik conspiracy. Their enemy was an ‘Anti-Spain’ responsible for every disaster that had beset the fatherland, from the Muslim invasion to the loss of empire.

Such an interpretation of Spanish history may have been chronologically bizarre, as Paul Preston notes in this characteristically powerful and chillingly entertaining book*. But it proved highly effective in justifying and generating enthusiasm for the uprising that brought General Franco to power and in the process killed half a million Spaniards and inflicted misery and exile on countless more.  

Antisemitism has deep roots in Spanish history, going back to the expulsion of the Jews in 1492 and the Catholic Church’s efforts in the Inquisition to ‘cleanse’ the country of non-believers. Then, early in the 1930s came the publication of the fabricated antisemitic text, ‘The Protocols of the Elders of Zion’, which supposedly showed Jewish plans for world domination. The forgery found fertile ground among the enemies of the newly installed Republic, having already been seized upon by Hitler and the Nazis to underpin their antisemitic creed. Its influence in Spain outlived the Third Reich. Twelve editions were published, alongside many other antisemitic tirades, during the Franco dictatorship that lasted until the generalísimo’s death in 1975. 

As the tide of the Second World War turned against the Axis powers, efforts were made to deny that antisemitism had been central to Francoist propaganda. Preston demolishes the myth that paints Franco as a saviour of Jews during the Holocaust. Up to 35,000 Jewish refugees did manage to pass through Spain to safety during the Second World War, many of them clandestinely. Others were turned away at the border or imprisoned, and Jewish relief organisations were banned. A few heroic Spanish diplomats – in Berlin, Bucharest, Budapest and Sofia – took unilateral initiatives to save hundreds of Jewish lives. But consular protection for Sephardic Jews in Greece was refused (at least 45,000 were sent from Salonica to Auschwitz), Franco did nothing to save hundreds of Jews with Spanish nationality in Nazi concentration camps and German Jewish refugees were handed over to the Gestapo.

Several prominent Republican politicians were freemasons. The Catholic Church hated them and so did Franco, though for him it was personal. They were ‘the great invasion of evil’ and, he wrote in 1962, ‘atheistic traitors in exile, delinquents, swindlers, men who betrayed their wives’, the latter categorisation a thinly concealed swipe at his father, who was a mason and a womaniser.

His antipathy to the left was just as pathological. In 1938, with the civil war still raging, the Caudillo authorised funding for Dr Antonio Vallejo Nágera, head of the military psychiatric services, to find the ‘red gene’ that linked Marxism with mental disorders and moral degeneracy. The premise was that left-wingers were polluting the pure Spanish race with Jewish strains. Nágera’s team of investigators included two German scientific advisers and tests were carried out on captured International Brigaders and Republican women prisoners.

The foul lunacy of the Jewish-masonic-Bolshevik conspiracy theory – a classic case of ‘fake news’, according to the author – is brought to life via mini-biographies of six of its ardent adherents, each with their own chapter. They are a motley and unsavoury crew. There is the police chief and intelligence agent Mauricio Carlavilla, who kept a portrait of Hitler on his desk until retirement in 1957 and who was the author of several diatribes, including ‘Sodomitas’, which set out to link homosexuality with communism. 

The influential priest and author Juan Tusquets began compiling lists of Jews and Freemasons well before the Civil War and, at the cost of innumerable lives lost and ruined, continued his work within the Sección Judeo-Masónica of Franco’s military intelligence agency. Just as well-placed in Francoist circles was the poet José María Pemán, who extolled the brutal murder of Republican supporters in the reign of terror that followed the 1936 uprising. The war was necessary to protect the Virgin from being Russian or Jewish and ‘had been sent by God to teach Spaniards a lesson, to permit them to purify themselves, to leave behind their past sins and errors, and to reach the end pure and cleansed’.

Perhaps even more crazed was the aristocratic, polo-playing sadist Gonzalo de Aguilera who, as Franco’s press officer during the civil war, would explain to foreign correspondents in perfect English (his mother was Scottish) that, like plague-ridden rats, the Spanish masses had been infected with the virus of Bolshevism. He blamed this on sewers and modern plumbing, which had allowed too many of these ‘animals’ to survive. A vicious bully and toadying snob, he almost certainly sexually abused his daughter Magdalena over several years. The end of his life was fittingly and gruesomely tragic. By 1964 he was seriously paranoid and liable to fits of wild rage. In one of these, he shot dead his two sons at the family estate. He was locked up in an asylum in nearby Salamanca, where he died in the following year.

The final profiles are of two generals in Franco’s rebel army: Emilio Mola and Gonzalo Queipo de Llano. Both professed to be waging a crusade to save Spain from, as Queipo de Llano put it, ‘Marxist hordes’ and ‘the [Jewish] race that propagates communism, hoards gold and aspires to subjugate the world’. Mola was cold-bloodedly responsible for the murders of some 40,000 civilians in northern Spain. Queipo de Llano, Franco’s corrupt military strongman in Seville, was a bombastic psychopath who oversaw the murder and rape of thousands of Republican supporters in the working-class districts of the city. 

Mola died in a plane crash during the Civil War, while Queipo de Llano lived until 1951. Of the trio profiled by Preston who survived until Spain’s return to democracy, only Carlavilla seems to have stuck to his ideological guns, though his final years were spent in a sordid room in a Madrid lodging house. Tusquets and Pemán by contrast tried with some success to deny and downplay their pasts. Preston’s devastating new book will hopefully make sure that, in posterity at least, they won’t get away with it.

Main picture: Franco and Hitler meet in Hendaye in 1940. Photo: Heinrich Hoffmann/Cc-by-sa-3.0-de