Double Helix: Blueprint of Nations
Welcome to 'Double Helix: Blueprint of Nations,' the podcast where we analyze and look at the events, people and actions that have shaped the nations of our world . From revolutions to treaties, conflicts to triumphs, we explore the historical blueprints that continue to influence the way nations think and act today.
Double Helix: Blueprint of Nations
The Spanish Civil War: The Last Winter (Part 9)
The episode explores the final desperate days of the Spanish Civil War, highlighting personal stories of refugees fleeing their homeland. Through poignant narratives, it underscores the enduring human spirit amidst tragedy, political turmoil, and the loss of dignity.
• A vivid portrait of the refugee column crossing the Pyrenees
• The background of Barcelona’s fall to Franco's forces
• The internal conflict within the Republican government
• The dire conditions faced at the French border
• The aftermath of defeat in Madrid and subsequent repression
• Reflection on the lessons history offers about democracy and resilience
Picture yourself on a mountain road in the Pyrenees, february 3rd 1939, 6.15 in the morning. The temperature is well below freezing coldest winter these mountains have seen in decades. Dawn is just beginning to illuminate the peaks above. Down here in the pass, it's still dark enough that people are using whatever they can find as torches, old newspapers, pieces of furniture, sometimes precious books that have been carried for hundreds of miles only to end as fuel. The column of refugees stretches for 20 miles through the mountain passes that have been carried for hundreds of miles only to end as fuel. The column of refugees stretches for 20 miles through the mountain passes. At the Col du Pertus, the main crossing point into France, thousands wait in the bitter cold while French border guards check papers that everyone knows are meaningless. Now. A mother wraps her children in straw she's stolen from an abandoned barn down. A mother wraps her children in straw she's stolen from an abandoned barn. An old man, once the mayor of a small Catalan town, dies quietly in the snow Another unnamed casualty in a war that's already claimed too many.
Speaker 1:Near the front of the line, dr Teresa Pamis clutches her medical bag. She hasn't slept in three days, moving up and down the column, treating frostbite, exhaustion, even childbirth. Her last morphine ampule went to a young soldier yesterday, his leg gangrenous from a wound he received at the Ebro. She keeps her own diary in the bag, writing when she can. The road is a museum of abandoned things, she says Suitcases, photographs, toys. With each mile, people leave pieces of their lives behind. What can be carried is left for the snow to bury Overhead.
Speaker 1:The sound of aircraft sends everyone scrambling for cover. The nationalist planes have been strafing the refugee column for days. A child begins to cry, the sound echoing off of the mountain walls. Someone tries to quiet it. Knowing that sound carries in the thin mountain air, the planes pass without attacking, but the fear remains Even here. Fleeing their homeland, they aren't safe. Through gaps in the clouds, you can see the Mediterranean far below Barcelona.
Speaker 1:The city that many of these refugees called home fell to Franco's forces just eight days ago. The city that had been the heart of republican resistance, that had survived years of bombing and siege, surrendered without a shot. Now its conquerors are methodically working their way through lists of names Teachers, union members, anyone who supported the Republic, those who couldn't escape face imprisonment or worse. Face imprisonment or worse. A group of international brigade veterans, mostly British and Americans, have organized themselves into a rear guard. They help the elderly, carry children, share what little food they have. These men came to Spain three years ago to fight fascism. Now they're witnessing his victory, helping his victims flee. One of them, a Welsh miner named David Jones, writes letters for the illiterate to their relatives abroad. He's been wearing the same boots for six months. His feet are bleeding but he keeps walking.
Speaker 1:Welcome to the final episode of our series on the Spanish Civil War, the Last Winter. You know how they say you can't understand someone until you walk a mile in their shoes. Well, I'd argue, you can't understand a nation until you've walked through its history, not just the highlight reel or the sanitized version you find in textbooks. I mean really getting into its DNA, those defining moments that shaped everything that came after, those moments where paths were chosen, where decisions were made in palaces and backrooms and city streets that changed the course of millions of lives. I'm your host, paul, and this is Double Helix Blueprint of Nations, where we unravel the genetic code of countries through their most transformative moments. Think of it like ancestry testing, but for entire nations who dig deep into the historical DNA, finding those crucial moments that made countries who they are today. So here we are at the end of our series on the Spanish Civil War. Over the past eight episodes, you've witnessed how a nation tore itself apart in what might be history's most tragic family feud. Today we're diving into the war's devastating endgame the collapse of the Catalan front, the mass exodus to France and the Republic's last desperate stand. And at the end, I save a war.
Speaker 1:For my personal reflections on the Spanish Civil War and what it means for our world today, let me take you to the town of Artesa de Segre. It is December 23rd 1938. Dawn is just breaking over the frozen landscape and 24-year-old Republican soldier Carlos Bosch is about to witness the beginning of the end. Franco, fresh from his victory at the Ebro, has launched what military historians would later call a decisive offensive, though overwhelming onslaught might be more accurate. His forces are advancing from three directions From the west along the Segre River, from the south via the Ebro and from the north down the Pyrenees. It's like being caught in a closing fist. The Republic is running out of room to breathe. Bosch would later write in his memoir.
Speaker 1:The fascists came at dawn with tanks and planes and more artillery than we had ever seen. We fought back with everything we had, but it wasn't enough. By noon, we were in full retreat, leaving behind our dead and our wounded. It was like a nightmare, one that we couldn't wake up from. Across the front, the story was the same. Key towns and cities fell like dominoes Borges, blanques, molerusa, cervera. The nationalist advance was so rapid that some Republican units found themselves surrounded before they even received orders to withdraw.
Speaker 1:Military historians might call this a strategic collapse. But the soldiers on the ground? Well, they probably had more colorful terms for it. On the ground, well, they probably had more colorful terms for it. Now, it's worth noting that, while the Republic often gets painted as the noble underdog in this fight and there is some truth to that they weren't without their own problems. The internal political squabbles that had plagued them throughout the war continued even as Franco's troops advanced, and we did a whole episode that just painted the picture of how divided the Republic could be, because apparently, there is never a bad time for a good committee meeting. The communists blame the anarchists, the anarchists blame the socialists, and then everyone else blame the politicians, which is a tradition that, let's be honest, continues in most countries to this day.
Speaker 1:Meanwhile, in Barcelona, the Catalan government was facing its own crisis. President Luz Compans paces in his office, chain-smoking his way through what might be the worst case of political decision paralysis in Spanish history. Outside his window, the one-sprout capital of Catalonia is holding its breath, waiting to see if its leader will choose dignity, pragmatism or that time-honored political tradition of running for the hills. Some of his advisors are pushing for a declaration of independence, a sort of sorry Madrid. But you're on your own approach to survival. It is tempting cutting ties with the Republic, negotiating separately with Franco maybe save something from the wreckage. But Compens showing either remarkable loyalty or spectacular misjudgment, and history still debating which decides to go down with the Republican ship. On January 22nd, he makes his final radio address to the city. He said In these solemn and painful hours, I want to give you my most fervent wishes and an embrace of full affection. Let us not lose heart in our sense of discipline. We must maintain our faith in victory and in Catalonia. Long live Catalonia. Long live the Republic.
Speaker 1:Four days later, franco's troops stroll into Barcelona like they're on a sightseeing tour. The city that had withstood years of bombing, that had been the beating heart of Republican resistance, surrenders without firing a single shot. It is less of a military conquest and more of a collective sigh of exhaustion made visible In the working class neighborhoods. People are already burning their membership cards from Republican organizations, though some, displaying that particularly human mix of defiance and gallows humor, turn it into a sort of party. As one survivor later recalled, we made tea with the water. We used to wash away the ashes. Someone joked it was the most revolutionary tea they had ever tasted, and it tasted like failed dreams and broken promises. And it tasted like failed dreams and broken promises. The fall of Barcelona wasn't just a military defeat. It was the moment the Republic's heart stopped beating. What followed was an exodus of biblical proportions, minus the divine intervention and plus a whole lot more bureaucratic complications at the French border. For Campans fate had a bitter end. Just over a year later, in 1940, he was arrested by the Gestapo in France, deported back to Spain and executed by the Franco regime in October of 1940. His example would be one that would be repeated over and over across Spain by the new Franco regime.
Speaker 1:Now let me take you to the French border crossing at La Pertousse. It's where we started. It is early February 1939. Half a million refugees are making their way north through the bitter Pyrenean winter. The road before you has become a river of humanity. Teachers, factory workers, artists, soldiers, entire families carrying what remains of their lives in suitcases and cloth bundles. Maria Nicolau was 12 years old when she joined this exodus with her mother and sisters. Decades later, she would still tremble when she spoke of those days. The road was crowded with people, carts and animals. We took what we could carry and left the rest behind. Along the way we saw horrible things, people who had died of cold or of hunger, mothers giving birth on the side of the road. But we had to keep going. We walked for two days and nights until we reached the border.
Speaker 1:The French response to this humanitarian crisis proved less than welcoming. The government, overwhelmed by the scale of the exodus, established makeshift camps on the beaches of Roussillon. The term makeshift here is quite generous. These were little more than stretches of open beach surrounded by barbed wire. Francisco Muñoz found himself in a camp at Arquilea, sumer. His account captures the bitter irony of the situation. We slept on the sand, huddled together, for warmth. There were no blankets, no tents, nothing. Many people died that first night, especially the elderly and the children. It was like being in hell, except hell was probably warmer.
Speaker 1:The camps quickly became a testament to human resilience. Former university professors gave lectures in the sand. Musicians formed impromptu orchestras using salvaged instruments. A group of teachers started a school using sticks to write equations in the sand. Life somehow continued, but for many, the crossing into France marked only the beginning of a much longer journey. Some would eventually find their way to Mexico, others to the Soviet Union, still others to Britain or the Americas. They carried with them not just their physical belongings but the memory of a Spain that might have been. As we followed these refugees across the border, the republic they left behind was entering its final act. In Madrid, a last desperate drama was about to unfold, one that would determine not just the fate of the city but the character of Spain for generations to come.
Speaker 1:As the nationalist troops marched into Barcelona, the Republic was facing not just military defeat but a profound political and moral crisis. The government led by Prime Minister Juan Negrin had retreated to a small town of Figueres, near the French border. Juan Negrin had retreated to a small town of Figueres, near the French border. Picture the scene the cabinet of a dying government huddled in a provincial town hall debating the future of a country that was slipping through their fingers like sand.
Speaker 1:At the heart of this internal conflict was a fundamental disagreement over whether to keep fighting or to seek a negotiated peace. Negrrin and his supporters, including the communists, insisted that resistance must continue at all costs. They believed that if they could hold out just long enough, the Western democracies would finally come to their aid, which, given how well that strategy had worked so far, might suggest a certain disconnect from reality. But others, led by Colonel Seguismundo Casado, argued that further resistance was futile and would only lead to more bloodshed. Casado, a professional soldier who had fought for the Republic since the start of the war, believed that the only way to save lives was to negotiate and surrender with Franco, though, spoiler alert Franco wasn't exactly in the negotiating mood. This divide came to a head in a dramatic confrontation at a meeting of the Republican government in Figueres on February 1st 1939. According to witnesses, negrin and Casado nearly came to blows, with each accusing the other of betrayal. It was like a political version of a family holiday dinner gone completely wrong, except instead of arguing about politics, they were arguing about well, actually, that's pretty much the same thing.
Speaker 1:Meanwhile, in Madrid, the situation was growing increasingly desperate. The city, which had been under siege for nearly two and a half years, was now cut off from the rest of Republican territory. Food was scarce, medicine was running out and the population was exhausted by years of bombing and privation. The proud capital that had once defied Franco with the cry of no Pasaran was now wondering if surrender might not be such a bad idea after all. I was now wondering if surrender might not be such a bad idea after all.
Speaker 1:Elena Moreno, a nurse who worked in Madrid's hospital during this last few days, later described the situation with haunting simplicity. We had nothing left no bandages, no anesthesia, hardly any food. The wounded just kept coming, and all we could do was hold their hands and try to comfort them. Many didn't make it through the night. It was like the whole city was dying and we were just waiting for the end.
Speaker 1:Yet even in this dark as ours, there were those who refused to give up. In the working-class neighborhoods of Madrid, where support for the Republic had always been strongest, people organized neighborhood committees to distribute what little food remained. Women sewed blankets out of old clothes to keep their children warm. It was like a particularly grim version of make, do and mend, except, instead of patching socks, they were trying to patch together the remnants of a dying cause. Among the last defenders were the remnants of the international brigades, those idealistic volunteers who had come to Spain to fight fascism. Most had left months earlier, forced to withdraw by the republican government in a vain attempt to secure international support. But a few hundred had stayed behind, determined to fight to the end, as one American volunteer put it. We knew it was hopeless, but we couldn't leave. Spain had become our home, the republic, our family. We were going to fight for it as long as we could, even if it meant dying here, far from the countries that we were born in.
Speaker 1:Because apparently, one civil war wasn't complicated enough, on March 5th Colonel Casado launched a coup against the Negrin government, seizing control of what remained of Republican territory. Casado claimed he was acting to prevent a communist takeover, to negotiate a peace with Franco that would prevent further bloodshed. It was like trying to prevent a house fire by setting the house on fire yourself. The logic was a bit questionable. The result was a brief but bloody civil war within the civil war, as forces loyal to the government clashed with Casado's supporters in the streets of Madrid. In the end, casado's forces prevailed and Negrin and his ministers fled to France. But any hope of negotiated peace proved a fantasy.
Speaker 1:Franco, sensing total victory within his grasp, refused to offer any concessions. He had his prey and it was time to pounce. On March 7th, franco declared total victory. The war is over. The Red Army has been defeated and scattered. The victorious nationalist troops are advancing on all fronts and no one has the power to resist them. The only thing left for us to do is to impose our victory and deliver Spain from the disgrace and tragedy that it has suffered.
Speaker 1:On March 28, 1939, the nationalist troops poured into Madrid like a dark tide. The unbreakable city finally had broken. For the victors, it was a moment of triumph. For the vanquished, well, let's just say it wasn't their best day. The city that had defied Franco for nearly three years now lay silent, white sheets hanging from windows like surrender flags or perhaps ghost of the resistance that had once filled the streets In the working-class neighborhoods that had been the ghost of the resistance that had once filled the streets In the working-class neighborhoods that had been the backbone of Republican resistance. People burned papers, photographs, anything that might link them to the loosened side, because suddenly having been on the right side of history didn't seem quite as comforting when the wrong side had all the guns. A young woman who witnessed a nationalist entry wrote in her diary they came marching down the Gran Villa as if they owned it, which I suppose they did now. Some people cheered, most just watched in silence. What else could we do? Three years of resistance, of hunger, of bombs, and in the end they just walked in Like they were coming home from a long trip.
Speaker 1:The aftermath was swift and merciless. Franco's promise of reconciliation turned out to have about as many strings attached as a puppet theater. The reprisals began almost immediately. The prisons filled up so quickly they had to convert movie theaters and schools into makeshift detention centers. It was standing room only in the jails of the new Spain.
Speaker 1:For those who have fought for the Republic, the choices were clear and stark Exile, prison or death. Many who couldn't escape faced the firing squads. Others disappeared into the vast networks of prisons and labor camps that would define Franco's Spain for decades to come. The lucky ones made it to France, though lucky is a relative term when you're living on a beach turned concentration camp. As we discussed the writer Max Ob, who ended up in one of the French camps, captured the bitter irony of their situation. We fled fascism only to find ourselves behind barbed wire in a democratic country. The French treated us like criminals, us who had fought for the same values that they claimed to defend. But I suppose principles are easier to maintain when they don't come with a refugee crisis attached.
Speaker 1:This is the cold arithmetic of catastrophe. When we talk about the Spanish Civil War, we're not just counting casualties, we're measuring the demolition of a society. The numbers tell their own dark story. Roughly 500,000 dead in just under three years. That's about 200 people every day, or, if you prefer your tragedy in more manageable chunks, eight people every hour. About 200,000 died in combat, while another 300,000 succumbed to hunger, disease or political repression.
Speaker 1:Spain lost more citizens in the Civil War than in any other conflict in its history, including both world wars combined. But numbers can't capture the full scope of the devastation. Nearly half a million refugees fled to France. Another 20,000 found sanctuary in Mexico. Somewhere between 100,000 and 150,000 Spaniards were executed by the Franco regime after the war, a number that would make even Stalin raise an appreciative eyebrow. By 1940, franco's prisons held around 400,000 political prisoners, or roughly one out of every 50 Spaniards. The economic impact by 1939, spain's GDP had dropped to 1914 levels. Industrial production was down by 30%. Half the nation's railway stock had been destroyed. Agricultural production wouldn't recover to pre-war levels until 1952. The country that emerged from the war was poorer, hungrier and more isolated than at any point in its modern history.
Speaker 1:The ghosts of the Spanish Civil War still haunt us today. In a world where political polarization is on the rise, where the very foundations of democracy seem to be under threat. The story of Spain in the 1930s serves as a powerful warning, though, let's be honest, humanity has never been particularly good at heeding warnings from history. We're more of a touch the hot stove and make sure it's really hot kind of species. Imagine a society torn apart by ideology, where compromise becomes impossible, where political opponents are not seen as fellow citizens but as enemies to be crushed. That was the tragedy of Spain in 1936, and it is the tragedy that we risk repeating on our own time.
Speaker 1:The rise of Franco's dictatorship in the aftermath of the war is also a reminder of what can happen when democracy fails. For nearly four decades, spain was in the grips of a regime that suppressed basic freedoms, that imprisoned and executed dissidents that sought to erase the very memory of the republic. It was like a nationwide gaslighting campaign, except instead of denying your reality, they denied an entire country's history. Consider the experience of women under the Franco rule the advances of the Republic, the right to vote, divorce, access to education, they were swiftly rolled back. Women were confined to the domestic sphere, their role reduced to that of wives and mothers in the service of the state. It was like time travel, except instead of going to the future, they were forcibly dragged back to the Middle Ages. The wounds of the Franco era have left scars on Spanish society that run deeper than anyone can know. Even today, decades after the transition to democracy, the struggle over historical memory continues. Mass graves from the Civil War era are still being excavated. The nihilism is on the rise.
Speaker 1:Even as I was preparing this podcast and on social media, I received a ton of pushback from many Spaniards who now see the Franco regime as virtuous and the Republic as morally bankrupt. The debate over how to reckon with the past, whether to seek justice for the crimes of the dictatorship or to let sleeping ghosts lie, remains a volatile conversation in Spanish society. Some argue for opening old wounds and let them properly heal, while others prefer Spain's version of don't ask, don't tell. When it comes to historical memory and the Franco regime, as one Spanish historian put it, we're like a family that had a terrible tragedy, but nobody wants to talk about it at Christmas dinner, except now the grandchildren are asking questions and the old photos are falling out of the albums. The writer Javier Cercas captured this tension perfectly when he wrote the most important battle of the Spanish Civil War is the one that has not yet been fought, because it is the battle for the story of the war, for the meaning, that still remains unresolved. Well, we've reached that point in the episode where I get to share my thoughts, because after nine episodes of trying to maintain historical objectivity, I'm about ready to burst. But first I need to thank Mrs Double Helix once again, who has not only kept me humble throughout the series, but has also tolerated my endless dinner table conversations about Spanish politics, other politics, history pretty much any topic you can think of. I'm pretty sure she can now recite the names of the key figures of the Spanish Civil War, although she probably would prefer not to be able to.
Speaker 1:Perhaps the most urgent lesson of the Spanish Civil War is what it tells us about the fragility of democracy. It's a reminder that the freedoms we take for granted the right to speak our minds, to choose our leaders, to complain about both on Twitter are not guaranteed. They have to be fought for generation after generation. As we look around at our own world, at the rise of authoritarian populism and the spread of disinformation, the growing polarization and the erosion of democratic norms, we might well ask are we living in another 1930s? Are we sleepwalking into a catastrophe as our forebearers did, though this time, I guess, we have better technology and more sophisticated means? History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme, usually in rather unsettling ways. The specific circumstances of our time are unique, but the underlying dynamics—fear, anger, the lure of simplistic solutions to complex problems—are all too familiar. It's like humanity's greatest hits albums, except instead of catchy tunes, it's filled with cautionary tales that we keep failing to heed.
Speaker 1:We don't know what kind of country Spain would have been if the Republic had won the Civil War. Perhaps it would have become a Soviet satellite state, as the nationalists feared. Perhaps it would have evolved into another France, complete with excellent wine and a superiority complex about cuisine. Or maybe it would have found its own unique path, but we'll never know. What we do know is that the Franco regime was a dark chapter in Spanish history. To allow our sudden collective forgetfulness as a society to cloud that knowledge would be like trying to cure a hangover by starting to drink again, which is temporarily effective, perhaps, but not exactly addressing the root problem. And there we have it the end of our journey through the Spanish Civil War. But like the war itself, the echoes continue to resonate, the debates continue to rage and the lessons well, the lessons are still waiting to be fully learned.
Speaker 1:Next time, on Double Helix, we're trading the mountains of Spain for the hills of Rwanda, where we'll explore another society's descent into darkness and its long journey back towards the light, because apparently I have a knack for picking the most cheerful topics in history. We'll ask what the international community can learn from its failures in Rwanda and what the country's ongoing reconciliation process can teach us about the human capacity for both evil and redemption. Think of it as sort of a how-not-to-handle-a-genocide guide, though I suspect that wouldn't look great on the marketing materials. Until then, this is Paul reminding you that while history may not repeat itself, it does have a tendency to rhyme. Thank you for listening and we'll see you soon.
