Franco supporters.

large… really? Ok.

The crowd that had gathered on the far end of Plaza de Oriente, near the Royal Palace today boasted a right hotchpotch of folks. Uniting this unlikely bunch of chums, however, was one thing- they were out to mark the anniversary (or thereabouts) of the death of General Francisco Franco.

The front of the gathering was predominantly composed of older people. Gnarled chaps in caps sat hunched over their walking sticks, occasionally nodding in agreement with the rotund, animated man yelling down the microphone. On the arm of most these older gentlemen was an older woman, so smothered in glistening foundation and heavy eye shadow, they were a painting of the perfect, Catholic, traditional, food-on-the table, family-oriented, falangist house-wife.

It seemed as though the younger people, who peppered the rear end of the crowd, could only choose from three default appearances. Firstly, you have the I-got-pretty-into-politics-at-university-what-have-you-ever-done-for-you-country? look with their cardigans, corduroys and slicked down side-partings. Secondly, the skinny twenty-somethings who dress like they’re in the Matrix and for whom an extremist political party may help to fill a certain void. Lastly you have the classic skinhead with their cargo pants, military boots, and that I-won’t-hesitate-to-stamp-on-your-temple air about them.

Young children, useful vehicles of propaganda at any protest, formed an orderly line and held up flags that displayed the rigid insignia of fascism. The red lightning cross of the Carlists lapped at a black and white neo-Nazi crosses. Beyond these bold symbols of strength and violence, however, was a backdrop of dated weakness. The crowd was relatively small and I’d wager that in five years it will be half the size. Many people struggled to their feet to salute the Francoist anthems; others struggled to keep their hand up for very long.

Quite a few became emotional and I daresay that it was a mixture of nostalgia for the simple life of days gone by and a resigned recognition that the cause is lost. For me, there was an atmosphere of hollowness to the event, as if some people, including the dishevelled speakers who stood saluting the crowd, had started to ask themselves why they carried on doing this. Next year will be the 40th anniversary of Franco’s death and tensions will no doubt be high. I thought to myself at one point, that it was strange that no leftist groups had shown up to voice their opposition, in hindsight I realise that it wouldn’t even have been worth it.

***

Because I told my flat-mate I’d clarify a couple of things as to avoid any confusion with this image and because I have absolutely no academic authority to try to speak on behalf of the Spanish people here are a few things to bear in mind before you go. Most of the older people in this picture would have grown up in an education system honed to meet the desires of the dictatorship; this is all many of them have ever known (other opinions are available now, however). It goes without saying that this photograph represents a tiny minority of the people. And finally, the history of Franco is still s0 fresh in the minds of the people of Spain that it is a subject that is not so lightly talked about. Everybody’s family history was affected by it. Perhaps some are proud of this.

Most are not.