We spoke with Rosa Pérez, granddaughter of María Silva 'La Libertaria', to
recover the figure of this anarchist woman who lived through the Casas Viejasmassacre of 1933 and was later retaliated against. ---- «Child, do you know fromwhom you are descended?» The question resounded in the classroom, and for a fewseconds all the students waited for the teacher to give the answer. But theteacher, despite Rosa's eyes imploring an explanation, continued to teach as ifhe hadn't said anything. When she got home, that teenager who had just gone underthe knife to remove a sixth toe didn't get much more help either. On thecontrary, her mother got very nervous and made her promise that she would not sayanything to her father on that subject.Who was Francisco Cruz? Where is Casas Viejas? Rosa had more and more loosepieces but she could not fit the puzzle. Franco had just died, but the silenceimposed by the dictatorship would last a few more years. Captain Rojas, ManuelAzaña, María Silva... More names and more questions. "Your grandparents were verygood, that's why they killed them," was one of the few phrases that, almost in awhisper, he managed to extract from his older neighbors. And little by little shewas connecting the dots, although it was not until the publication of the book'From crime to hope' by Gutiérrez Molina that Rosa was finally able to learn thewhole truth about her family and the Casas Viejas massacre.She is a direct descendant of Seisdedos, granddaughter of María Silva, LaLibertaria, heir to a sixth finger and a much more dominant gene: therevolutionary. A prominent activist in memorialist associations, just like hers,her ancestors burned in a straw hut for defending her dignity, Rosa cannot remainimpassive in the face of injustice. Her voice lights up when she talks about thattragic night in 1933, but she gets even hotter when she sees that, almost acentury later, Andalusian youth have no future or that her son works fourteenhours a day as she used to do. the Sixfingers. She does not pull a plow or carrycoal in large sacks, but she does not have a contract or insurance. Nothing andno one can silence her, not even the pettiness of the socialist mayor of San Josédel Valle who refuses to open the mass graves. "Each person has a purpose inlife," she repeats several times throughout the talk to justify the tenacity withwhich she dedicates almost all of her time to recovering the memory of those whohave suffered reprisals. Theirs have the particularity that they wereassassinated by the Republic, persecuted by fascism and ignored by democracy.Direct descendant of Seisdedos, granddaughter of María Silva, La Libertaria, heirto a sixth finger and a much more dominant gene: the revolutionary. A prominentactivist in memorialist associations, just like hers, her ancestors burned in astraw hut for defending her dignity, Rosa cannot remain impassive in the face ofinjustice.The first time she visited Casas Viejas, she understood to what extent the phrase"Spain does not need men who think, but oxen who work" has permeated society. Shehad to swallow saliva when in the town bar they told her, ignoring who she was,that enough of stirring up the history of the dead. But she continues determinedto dig the ditches watered by the blood of those who carried to the lastconsequences the ideal that the land is for those who work it. And no matter howmany times she has told them, she cannot help but shudder every time sheremembers the hardships suffered by her grandmother, one of the few survivors ofthe Casas Viejas massacre when she escaped protected by a donkey that was shotdead. by the guards.But what really happened in that small village in Cádiz that precipitated thefall of Azaña? It was not for less, since it was one of the cruelest andbloodiest episodes of the last century.Tired of working from sunrise to sunset and the fact that the promised agrarianreform never came, a group of CNT day laborers decided to put into practice whatGarcía Oliver defined as "revolutionary gymnastics" to prevent the consolidationof the bourgeois republic. In the early morning of January 11, libertariancommunism was proclaimed in Casas Viejas, and a few hours later the Civil Guardtook the town with a clear order issued from Madrid: put an end to theinsurrection by opening fire without mercy. The bloodthirsty Captain Rojas was incharge of executing her. El Seisdedos, an old charcoal burner who was accused ofbeing the leader of the revolt, resisted in a thatched hut together with part ofhis family.While she was handcuffed, she had time to smell the smell of burning meat thatpermeated the town for several days and to see how the dogs devoured the remainsof her relatives, an image she would never forget.They repelled the first attacks, until the assault guards burned down theprecarious house. But the repression did not end with that savage act.For this reason, in the photos of the massacre, day laborers dressed and notburned appear lying on the ground, contradicting the official version of theRepublic, which claimed that all the dead had fallen in the assault on the hut.The next morning, the troops arrested and shot another twelve people "and if itcomes down to Rojas, burn the entire village. They had to convince him not to doit, "says Rosa. The balance of the massacre, in addition to the dead, two widowswith eleven children in their care.Little Sidonio is then renamed Juan and is forcibly baptized. Thus begins therepression against the new generation. Although Francisca refuses to go intoexile, as some of her cousins do, she quickly understands that Paterna is not asafe place. There is an event that makes it clear. When Juan is only five yearsold, he is hit by a car driven by a Falangist who was trying to "put an end tothe lineage forever." The boy recovered from his injuries and grew up in thefarmhouses where his aunt served from sunrise to sunset. There Juan learned toread and write; he too shut up. Among the many rights lost, especially painfulwas the deprivation of memories. Like those of so many other children on thedefeated side, Juan's lips were sealed. Rosa never heard anything about herfamily from her father, but this humble electrician did not need words to conveythe heritage of the nicknamed six fingers. He preferred the example. On everybirthday, his house was filled with anonymous gifts. They were tokens ofgratitude from his neighbors, whom she never wanted to charge for the many favorsand jobs he did for them. «He always said that they were poor, that he could notask them for anything. My mother would get angry and tell her that in the end wewere going to be the poor, but she was unable to charge them", recalls Rosa, whohas another paternal lesson stored in her head, that of planting fruit trees bythe ditches so that she can eat people who have no resources, and that when theyare satisfied, the birds are fed. «Being honest when you have your needs coveredis more or less simple. The complicated thing is to be when you lack everything,and my family has always been that», this woman from Cádiz proudly assures thatbefore her father died, at least, she was able to restore part of her stolenidentity. In the DNI, they had put her date of birth on July 18, another subtlehumiliation. With almost no strength to stand, Juan was able to complete thepaperwork so that he could change to the authentic one and die peacefully. "ACivil Guard confessed to us that they had always kept us under surveillance, evenwell into democracy," says Rosa, who looks askance at the past but without losingsight of the future. «I am not afraid of the right and its resurgence because wealready know what they propose; The masked left scares me more. My grandmothergave her life to obtain labor rights that we are losing. Today the chieftaincyand the fear of talking too much continue», she sentences.«I am not afraid of the right and its resurgence because we already know whatthey propose; The masked left scares me more. My grandmother gave her life toobtain labor rights that we are losing. Today the caciquismo and the fear oftalking too much continue»La Libertaria, who had hidden in a relative's house after spending two days inthe mountains, is also arrested and taken to the jail in the neighboring town ofMedina Sidonia. While she was handcuffed, she had time to smell the smell ofburning meat that permeated the town for several days and to see how the dogsdevoured the remains of her relatives, an image she would never forget. Behindbars, La Libertaria meets Juan Miguel Pérez Cordón, who ended up being herromantic partner and the first person to bring the events of Casas Viejas tolight in the CNT newspaper. After the release of La Libertaria, nicknamed thatway after slapping a guard who reproached her for wearing a red and black scarf,the couple moved to Madrid. They were few months in the capital, but veryintense, in which they made contact with great figures of anarcho-syndicalismsuch as Federica Montseny. However, the birth of their son made them return tothe south, to Paterna, where they were surprised by the start of the Civil War.Juan Miguel decides to flee on a long journey on foot to Cartagena while Maríastays with the little one at home because the persecution was only supposed to beagainst boys. "Surely that decision weighed on my grandfather until the moment ofhis death, shortly before the end of the war," says Rosa. And it is that just afew days after the military uprising, La Libertaria is arrested, and along withother compañeras such as Ana Castejón, purged, peeled and led to the door of thechurch so that the priest would remove the communist demon from them.On August 24, she is executed without her remains having yet been found. Butbefore she fell, killed by the fascist troops, she gave him time to hand over herson to her sister-in-law, Francisca.https://www.cnt.es/noticias/el-legado-de-la-libertaria/_________________________________________A - I N F O S N E W S S E R V I C EBy, For, and About AnarchistsSend news reports to A-infos-en mailing listA-infos-en@ainfos.ca
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