Walls of dignity: to remember without explaining?

It is surprising that, after repealing the law of democratic memory and recognition, the Government of the Balearic Islands is now promoting the installation of what it has called 'walls of dignity', spaces that must contain the names of the victims of the bombings during the Civil War in the Balearic Islands.The idea, in itself, does not seem bad to us. Memòries de Menorca has long advocated for the placement of some sculpture that would commemorate the bombings and the victims. But any initiative of this type should be accompanied by an explanation that would allow the facts to be contextualized—we have the historical studies. Because remembering names without explaining why those people died runs the risk of turning memory into a simple list of victims detached from the causes and historical circumstances.In fact, the desire to remember the victims of the bombings is not new. In 1937, in Mahón, work began to install a monument “that reminds future generations of the criminal actions of the rebel aviation which, in its attacks on this population, has caused many victims and destroyed buildings’”. The monument, however, was never erected, among other reasons, because the economic situation kept worsening.Once the war in Menorca ended on February 9, 1939, the memory of the bombings was profoundly altered. There was no desire to speak of the civilian victims, as the attacks had been carried out by the Italian aviation operating from Mallorca in the service of the rebels. On the other hand, homage was indeed paid to the Italian airmen who died after crashing on the island, who rest today under a small monument located near the obelisk in the old section of the Ciutadella cemetery. Memory, even then, selected what should be remembered and what was convenient to forget.In the report Aerial bombings originating from the Balearic Islands and bombings caused in the Balearic Islands. Fourth Grave Plan 2023-2024. Government of the Balearic Islands’ that my colleague Carlos de Salort and I prepared—and which is now in open access—we were able to incorporate unpublished documentation that came from the work we have carried out over the last seven years in military and municipal archives. This has allowed us to systematize, especially, the aerial operations carried out from Mallorca and those that had Menorca as their target.It is not necessary to reproduce all the data from the report here, but some figures allow us to understand the magnitude of the phenomenon. The systematization of the flight reports and logs preserved in the various military archives allowed us to document a total of 1,416 attacks—bombings or strafings—carried out from Mallorca, with an especially high intensity during 1938. We have located nearly 70 attacked sites. Barcelona, with 158 attacks, and Valencia, with 154, are among the most punished cities.It is impossible to establish completely definitive figures regarding the victims and the destruction, but we are talking about thousands of deaths. In Barcelona alone, estimates are between 2,500 and 3,000 fatalities; in Valencia they exceeded 800. And, of course, a very significant part of these deaths was caused by planes that had departed from Mallorca.It is here that the Government's own initiative raises another question. If we really want to remember the victims of the bombings and prevent their memory from remaining solely in archives and historical studies, why limit the focus to the people who died within the Islands? Why has there not also been thought given to a memorial in Mallorca that remembers the thousands of people who died under the bombs of the planes that left precisely from the island? If we want to explain the history of the bombings in the Balearic Islands, this reality is also a part of it.The chronology, moreover, is important. A good part of the republican operations on Mallorca were concentrated in the context of the Bayo expedition and the battle of Mallorca, during the first months of war, in the attempt by the republican authorities to recover an island that had remained in the hands of the rebel military. That is to say, in acts of war against a coup d'état.In Menorca, practically the opposite happened: as the conflict progressed, attacks and air operations intensified. Our research has even allowed us to document another fatal victim of the Ciutadella bombing who does not appear in the figures of 29 deaths that have been made public these days. It is curious that the same Government that disseminates this figure possesses the report where this victim is documented.But the bombings were much more than thirty deaths. In Menorca, they also meant the damage or destruction of almost 300 buildings and, above all, they left a very deep mark on several generations.Over these last few years we have interviewed people who were children when they lived through the war and we have recovered numerous testimonies collected previously. A considerable part of the stories and anecdotes they have told us are related to the bombings. They acted, in this sense, as authentic memory capsules.But what fixed these memories was not only the destruction, but above all the fear: the sound of the alarms, the rushing towards the basements and shelters, the uncertainty about where the bombs would fall. Aviation allowed the war to be moved onto a civilian population that until then had been able to feel the front as a relatively distant reality. The bombings thus became an instrument of psychological warfare on the rearguard. The sirens of terror marked the daily life of Menorca, the bombs transformed the urban landscape and cut short some thirty lives.All of this was a constant from September 1936 until February 8, 1939, when Mahón was bombed a few hours before the surrender of the island. Reducing this historical experience to a list of deaths, without explaining who was bombing, from where, in what context, and with what objectives, seems to us a too poor way of approaching the past. Historical analysis allows for distinguishing between causes, contexts, and responsibilities.Recently, Professor David Ginard recalled some words from Josep Massot i Muntaner, who had precisely studied the bombings over Mallorca many years ago: “for me, the victims of a bombing are very respectable, whether they were on one side or the other, but I do not believe that any special honor should be paid to them, but rather to lament the results of a fratricidal war and do everything possible […] so that such a disaster is never repeated. I would not say the same of the people murdered in a ‘treta’, who deserve a special remembrance”.The distinction is important. If any person who dies during a war automatically becomes part of the same category of ‘victims’ devoid of context, where do we draw the line? Do we include those who died at the front? Those who died in accidents? And the victims of epidemics and famine? The problem is not remembering them. The problem is confusing remembrance and mourning with a public policy of memory that should necessarily explain the causes, responsibilities, and different types of violence.The danger of an abusive use of memory, as Tzvetan Todorov warned, is precisely ending up trivializing it. Because all deaths are terrible, we would do well not to simplify them or put them all in the same bag. It is in the differences, in the contexts and in the nuances where we find the explanations that allow us to truly understand the magnitude of the tragedy.That is why it is difficult not to see a contradiction in the policy of the Balearic government. A law of democratic memory is repealed and, at the same time, a memory of the victims of the bombings is promoted, presented practically without political conflict, without perpetrators and with almost no explanation regarding the causes of the war. It is a comfortable memory, because it can remain devoid of political and historical content.On the other hand, in Menorca, the same institutional interest has not been shown towards the Wall of Memory that will be installed in the Mahón cemetery. If it is a matter of dignity, there was a very clear opportunity: to dignify the space in the Mahón cemetery where more than a hundred executed republicans remain, for decades remembered only by a plaque that time has almost erased.Remembering the victims of the bombings is necessary. We ourselves have defended it. But remembering them well means also explaining what happened to them, why it happened to them, and in which war it happened to them. Without context, memory runs the risk of becoming a succession of names on a wall, detached from the historical processes that turned them into victims. Dignity should not consist only in remembering their names, but also in explaining their history.