Jaume Rebassa: "We have lost a crucial tool for the 100,000 dead lying in ditches."

PalmJaume Rebassa is named after his godfather. However, his name was taken from him in the successive concentration camps where he was imprisoned after being forced to flee Mallorca in a small boat. They replaced it with a number. On December 24, 1943, he was murdered in Buchenwald, Germany. This Tuesday, Rebassa, accompanied by other relatives of victims of the dictatorship, attended the plenary session of Parliament in which the People's Party (PP) and Vox used their majority to eliminate the Balearic Islands' democratic memory law.

How have you experienced the parliamentary debate?

— When we were outside, at the entrance, a Vox deputy, Jorge Campos [a member of Congress], came in and made a gesture with his finger down at us. The public seating was full, so they put us in a room with a television. Besides people like me, grandchildren and children of victims, there were also Vox supporters. That's normal; they brought their people. There was a minor confrontation because, during the speech by the Vox spokesperson [Sergio Rodríguez], we turned our backs on him and they shouted at us. Afterward, I left. I didn't see the end of the debate.

How have you been feeling?

— I feel deeply betrayed, especially by the PP, though I didn't expect anything more from them. What they signed eight years ago [when the law was passed with the PP's partial support], they are now undoing for purely electoral reasons and to prevent it from being pushed through by the right. They supported this law that Vox forced through. It's a sad day, filled with pain.

What did you think of the groups' presentations?

— I liked Yago Negueruela's (PSIB) speech. I also liked those from MÁS per Mallorca, Más per Menorca, and the Unides Podem deputy. The thing is, when you hear something you already know you're going to lose, you do it with the helplessness that no matter what they say, that's how it will be. I went because I had to be there, like everyone I saw there. We'll be there, we'll be there again, that's how it goes.

Why is the democratic memory law important?

— To give a name to all those people who disappeared, because even their names were stolen from them. My grandfather was a number in a concentration camp. Many are nameless.

If there were no initiatives like the memory law, would it not have been possible to recognize his godfather?

— No, of course not. The one there no longer exists. The one in Fosses has been maintained, but it's severely lacking. In my family's case, my godfather disappeared in a concentration camp; we didn't even receive his ashes. He's never been in a mass grave. We discovered my grandfather's fate thanks to Memoria de Mallorca, after 65 years. They couldn't do it now. This came at a cost. They received funding, which they're going to lose.

What is your grandfather's story?

— He was born in 1889. He was the general secretary of the UGT (General Union of Workers), and the director of the weekly magazine Balearic workerThe head of the Palma municipal police and a member of the Socialist Party, he was also a member of the Palma City Council's interim governing committee during the proclamation of the Second Republic. A shoemaker, he was married with three children, one of whom is still alive. After the outbreak of the Civil War, he spent two or three years hiding in his home and in the homes of others who supported him, at great personal risk. Finally, he and eight other people—one of whom was Jaume Matas's godfather—decided to flee, as things looked very dire. On August 19, 1939, they left Camp de Mar in a six-meter-long boat. Their intention was to reach Algeria and from there try to reach Buenos Aires, Argentina. But they were shipwrecked and, unfortunately, were intercepted by an Italian ship.

From there, he went to prison.

— He was in several prisons for about a year. I went to Rome, asking for information. They told me that all the documents had been burned. Then he was in a confinement colony for political prisoners on a very small island off Naples, Ventotete. He was there from 1940 to 1943, in a completely open regime. We have letters from him, which he sent to my godmother, and they arrived censored. He was in a concentration camp when Mussolini fell. The guards opened the gates and the prisoners left. He refused to return, while four of his companions went back to Spain. He was too weak and stayed at the train station. My family investigated, made inquiries, and called hospitals, but no one could provide any information. In 2008, I contacted Memoria de Mallorca (Memory of Mallorca). They told me that he had been deported by the Gestapo to the Flossenbürg concentration camp (Germany) on October 8, 1943, where he was given the number 6031. After fifteen days, he was sent to Buchenwald and given the number 32,582. At the end of October, he was taken to an outside camp called Dora-Mittelbau, where prisoners were forced to work. He was murdered on December 24, 1943. My family and I owe a great deal to the historical memory movement.

How do you see the future without the memory law?

— You lose a crucial tool, not just for me, but for the 100,000 who are still lying undisturbed [according to calculations made by Judge Baltasar Garzón in 2008, there are approximately 114,226 missing persons in Spain]. This will happen elsewhere. In all the regions governed by the PP and Vox. You feel utter powerlessness, sadness, and pain. But we will continue fighting. I'm getting on in years; I'll be 76 in a couple of months. But until I lose my strength, I know exactly what I'm going to do.