“Beyond Violence: Defining Justice in the New Spain.”

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Beyond Violence: Defining Justice in the New Spain Author(s): SARAH BABOVIC and LISA VOLLENDORF Source: Revista Canadiense de Estudios Hispánicos, Vol. 34, No. 1, IMAGINARIOS DE LA

VIOLENCIA (Otoño 2009), pp. 77-98Published by: Revista Canadiense de Estudios HispánicosStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20779164Accessed: 01-03-2015 19:34 UTC

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SARAH BABOVIC and LISA VOLLENDORF

Beyond Violence: Defining Justice in the New Spain*

Este art?culo argumenta que los procesos de memoria hist?rica necesitan ser con

textualizados con respecto a otros movimientos relacionados con los derechos hu manos en la Espa?a del siglo XXI. Se cuestiona aqu? la representaci?n de la me

moria hist?rica como un fen?meno aislado y la contextualiza como uno de varios

procesos representativos d? la maduraci?n de la democracia espa?ola que se vio a

partir de 1995. El punto de partida del art?culo es la producci?n cultural y el acti vismo sociolegal que se ha visto alrededor de la violencia de g?nero. Los textos cul turales analizados en t?rminos de la evoluci?n de ideas y leyes en contra de la vio

lencia de g?nero y la trata de mujeres incluyen: Alg?n amor que no mate (1996), Solas (1999), Te doy mis ojos (2003), En la puta vida (2001), Princesas (200$),

Salvajes (2001), Poniente (2002) y Volver (2006). Al final las autoras ponen de relieve la poca atenci?n que se ha prestado a la violencia de g?nero en compa raci?n con la memoria hist?rica y proponen una reconsideraci?n global de todos los cambios que han venido a definir la Espa?a del siglo XXI como un estado

progresista y comprometido a un futuro ?tico.

"Este es un momento muy importante para Espa?a. Pero esta ley es

el comienzo, no el final, y estaba en mora de ser aprobada." Emilio

Silva on the Ley de Memoria Hist?rica. "Espa?a" BBC Mundo.

"Las soluciones llegar?n con nuestros hijos. Mientras, no podemos

quedarnos de brazos cruzados." -Spanish judge on gender violence.

Jer?nimo Andreu.

As the incredible story of contemporary Spain goes, out of the ashes of fascism arose a democracy that, within thirty years of Franco's death, came to embody one of the most dynamic nations in the European Union. At the turn of the

*We wish to thank Shirley Mangini for reading an earlier draft of this essay. We also

gratefully acknowledge the Graduate Assistant Program and the Predoctoral Scholar

Program at California State University, Long Beach for the financial and intellectual

support that made our collaboration possible.

REVISTA CANADIENSE DE ESTUDIOS HISP?NICOS 34.I (OTO?O 2009)



78

twenty-first century, the nation developed into one of the most dynamic economies in the euro zone. This unprecedented economic growth

was accom

panied by a rapid rise in immigration whereby Spain became the number one

immigrant-receiving country in Western Europe. A new diversity emerged as citizens of Africa, the Americas, and Eastern Europe arrived to take advantage of work opportunities. Where Franco had hailed national homogeneity and conservatism as the social glue binding all citizens to a glorious past and a

promising future, the twenty-first century put into relief the very allegiances and processes that helped forge democracy out of fascist remains. By the same

token, the story of the Transition has been told so many times in such a cele

bratory way that it flattens the complexity of that historical moment as much as

the homogenizing interpretation of Spain did during the Franco period.1 Recent efforts to come to terms with the fascist past have hinged to a great

extent on the concept of historical memory and victims' rights.2 The urgency of the historical memory movement is captured in the first epigraph above: Emilio Silva and the Asociaci?n para la Recuperaci?n de la Memoria Hist?rica (armh) have insisted since the inception of armh in 2000 that Franco's victims cannot wait any longer for justice to be meted out. Memory work surrounding the search for justice poses numerous challenges to everyday people and to the state. Political scientist Madeline Davis (876) hints at these challenges when she notes that both the Civil War and the transition to democracy are being scruti nized in this new political climate. A fine example of the democratic and par

ticipatory impulses of twenty-first century Spain can be found in the fact that much of the impetus to recover the silenced memory of victims of the Civil War and the dictatorship has come from grass-roots organizing. The armh has been

marginally successful in its efforts: its numerous local chapters have overseen

the disinterment of the remains of over one thousand victims of Francoist re

pression.3 The campaign to uncover the remains and the memory of these vic tims began at local levels then grew into a joint political effort after the return of the psoe to power in March 2004. The Comisi?n Interministerial para el estu dio de la situaci?n de las v?ctimas de la Guerra Civil y del franquismo was es

tablished in September 2004. After two years of investigation, in July 2006 the commission proposed a tentative version of a law to recognize victims of vio lence. Debate continued through 2006

- the year designated by the psoe as the "A?o de memoria hist?rica" - and the Ley por la que se reconocen y ampl?an derechos y se establecen medidas en favor de quienes padecieron persecuci?n o

violencia durante la Guerra Civil y la dictadura, better known as the ley de Memoria Hist?rica, was signed on 31 October 2007. The civic and political en

gagement with historical memory during the last ten years has had the effect of

exposing the exclusionary Francoist version of history as incomplete, and

opening up avenues for the inclusion of additional narratives.



79

There has been much ink spilled on the topic of historical memory in

Spain. Joan Ramon Resina has engaged the vexed nature of that position and asked, for example, "How ... can one decide between the 'false' idea of Spain promoted by Francoism and the 'true (or at any rate, legitimate) idea of it re established by the Transition? The answer to this question, some may suggest, is

quite easy ... in short, by appealing to memory" (6). Whether reconciliation with a painful past will satisfy the desire for a solidification of democratic proc esses in a post-fascist age remains to be seen. Regardless, the impulse to recu

perate historical memory has played a vital role in Spain's political culture of the

past decade. Most observers agree that the failure to reconcile the fascist past with a democratic future in the 1970s and 1980s only exacerbated the intensity with which that impulse would surge again. Scholarship on the role of memory during and after the transition is informed by Paloma Aguilar's hypothesis that "the existence of a traumatic memory of the Spanish Civil War played a crucial role in the institutional design of the Transition by favoring negotiation and

inspiring a conciliatory and tolerant attitude on the part of the main actors"

(15). Jo Labanyi has summarized the import of recent memory work in

combating what has been called both a pacto del silencio and, more recentiy, a

pacto del olvido, noting, "En los ?ltimos a?os, la frase memoria hist?rica ha

llegado a convertirse en Espa?a en sin?nimo del deber c?vico de recorder la

represi?n llevada a cabo en la Guerra Civil y la inmediata posguerra" ("Histo rias" 88). More publicly, political activist Emilio Silva has argued, "Hay que re

parar lo que entonces no se pudo hacer; ese ser? el final de la transici?n"

(quoted in Risi). In a rich analysis of all of these issues, and in consideration of the place of justice in post-Franco Spain, political scientist Stephanie Golob has

argued that the lack of justice during the Transition is responsible for "todays thaw in memory politics" (127).

In our view, the thaw in memory politics must be understood in the broader context of the maturation of the democracy that emerged in the mid

1970s. Although the shift toward the acknowledgement of Franco's victims'

rights has received much attention, it has not been properly contextualized within the broader cultural landscape of twenty-first century Spain. An exami nation of the larger push for human rights seen in Spain from the late 1990s to the present suggests that many observers have focused on historical memory to the exclusion of successful advocacy for large-scale cultural investment in hu

man rights, not just Franco's victims' rights. This new phase has come to be defined by intolerance of violence in all its forms. If we step back from the focus on historical memory to look at the efforts placed on the containment of vio lence across a wide spectrum of causes, it becomes clear that recovering the

memory of Franco's victims is only one of a multiplicity of concerns related to the containment of violence as a necessary next step in the evolution of post



80

fascist democracy. The Basque terrorist group ETA represents a clear, recent

example of the push to containment: the fall of the Basque nationalist party in

the March 2009 elections signaled a tide change as well as a triumph for those

who had fought for decades to avoid violence in favor of peaceful political ne

gotiations. The example of the Basque nationalist party's presumed demise

exemplifies the emphasis on the need to change mentalities as a means of

overcoming past violent ways. Activists, politicians, and everyday inhabitants of

Spain have participated in anti-violence campaigns that include, but are not

limited to, the high-profile attempts to recover historical memory and to put an

end to ETA. Also at the center of the anti-violence movements are concerns

about the rights of women, children, and immigrants. Gender violence in

particular has come to the fore as an important social issue, as suggested by the

second epigraph, in which a judge comments that even though we cannot solve

all problems related to gender violence, "no podemos quedarnos de brazos

cruzados" (Andreu). In conjunction with concerns about historical memory and internal terrorism, attention given to rights and responsibilities underscores a critically important cultural shift in twenty-first century Spain.

Progress made regarding human rights, victims' rights, and anti-terrorism

defines that shift as resting on the containment of past and present violence.

The new ideology is remarkable for its progressive nature: for Spain to mature

as a socialist democracy, the nation must contain violence to pave the way for a

more democratic, equitable future. The following analysis of legal reform and cultural production related to

violence against women, families, and immigrants suggest that we must con

sider all of the anti-violence movements of the past ten years if we are to under

stand properly the changes that have placed Spain at the forefront of progres sive politics in Western Europe since the turn of the century. Our overview ex

plicitly highlights the important roles played by artists, activists, politicians, academics, the media, and the public in the human rights efforts of the past decade. Whereas historical memory and anti-terrorism efforts have received

extensive attention in the press and in scholarly circles, the changes related to

women, families, and immigrants in Spain confirm that the nation has under

gone a cultural transformation that is much more radical and, we would sug

gest, much more long-lasting, than one that exclusively aims to vindicate Fran

coist violence and eradicate nationalist terrorism.

GENDER AND FAMILY VIOLENCE

The constitution of 1978 marked a great leap forward for individual and collec

tive human rights in Spain. The document included articles on citizens' and

others' rights, and Chapter 14 proclaimed the right to equality and to freedom



81

from gender discrimination. In the years that followed, the state attempted to make more inroads toward rectifying the retrograde position in which women had found themselves in the Franco period by creating the Instituto de la Mujer (1983). Yet the struggle for equality continued to be a major challenge through out the 1980s and 1990s,4 As suggested by the passing of the 2007 Ley org?nica para la igualdad efectiva de mujeres y hombres (BOE n? 71, 23/3/2007), gender inequalities persist in both the public and private spheres.5

In the late 1990s, violence against women started to become a rallying point for activists concerned with those inequalities in Spain and around the world. The 1995 United Nations Fourth World Conference on Women held in

Beijing focused on the issue at an international level. For the Spanish context, Dulce Chacon's 1996 short novel, Alg?n amor que no mate, serves as a touch stone for what soon would become a change in mentality and activism regard ing gender violence. In 1997, police reports indicated that ninety-nine women in Spain died at the hands of abusive partners or former partners (Fuchs), but that violence remained relatively obscure as a social concern. Yet soon after Chac?n published Alg?n amor que no mate, the intimate portrayal of the physi cal and psychological consequences of gender violence in that novel would come to be understood beyond activist communities and victims' own lives. Chacon's heart wrenching portrayal of the isolation, fear, and psychiatric breakdown caused by gender violence was soon to be echoed by the tragic mur

der of a sixty-year-old woman, Ana Orantes, who had come forward to de nounce her abusive husband on a talk show only to be burned to death by him

shortly thereafter. The Orantes case and its extensive press coverage was the

catalyst that moved the Aznar government to initiate a reform of the penal code that would culminate years later, under Zapatero's government, in the passage of the Ley org?nica de medidas de protecci?n integral contra la violencia de

g?nero in 2004 (1/2004, -8 December), a law better known today as the Ley contra la violencia de g?nero.6

The 1999 film Solas, marks one of the many moments of participation of

Spanish artists in the campaign to stigmatize violence against women and to

help bolster support for reform of the legal system. Written and directed by Benito Zambrano, the film engaged the emerging national focus on gender violence by subtly evoking the figure of Ana Orantes and so many other women

of her generation who suffered abuse privately and without recourse. Like many of the films that examine the Spanish Civil War and the repression of its mem

ory, Solas is a story of two . generations contending with change. Its protagonist, Maria, is a thirty-something woman who grew up in an abusive home in a rural

village only to later escape to the city and cut ties with her parents. In exploring Maria's relationship with her mother, who comes to live with her daughter when the father is hospitalized nearby, the film hinges on the clash between



82

traditional and modern, rural and urban. The traditional, somewhat helpless mother dutifully sits at her abusive husband's bedside day and night, knitting and spoon-feeding him. By contrast, Maria makes choices that align her with the new independent Spanish woman: she drinks and smokes, is unmarried, and considers an abortion as a solution to her unplanned pregnancy.

Maria's behavior toward her father speaks to the choices women can make in the new Spain: when he berates her in the hospital, she removes his bib, takes

away his fork, and presents the full tray of food to the other patient in the room. In the end, Maria's mother outlives her father. The scene of her death seems to

pay quiet respect to Ana Orantes, while sending a message to the next genera tion of women. Like Orantes, Maria's mother dies in a chair. Unlike Orantes,

who was tied to a chair, doused with gasoline, and burned to death, in Solas the mother dies peacefully in her rocking chair, free from the burdens of her abu sive relationship.

In addition to addressing the effects of gender violence on victims, Solas

interrogates the understanding of masculinity in Spain as citizens' awareness of

gender violence deepens. While still in the hospital, Maria's father asks her

mother, "?Yo he sido un buen hombre?" (56), she responds, "S?... me pegaste unas veces" (56). When the father demands, "?Pero me port? como un hom bre?" (56), the scene puts the blame for the pervasiveness of gender violence on the widely accepted machista concept of masculinity. The point is punctuated by this exchange between Maria's mother and an elderly widower she has befriended during her stay in the city:

-Usted es un hombre bueno. Su mujer tuvo mucha suerte.

-No se crea, la hice sufrir mucho.

-Pero usted la quer?a. -S?...

-?La ha apaleado alguna vez?

-No, por Dios, eso nunca.

-Tengo yo raz?n. Es usted un buen hombre. (72)

As a contribution to the broader push to stigmatize gender violence after the murder of Ana Orantes, the film sends a simple, clear message: men who hit are not good men. At the start of the campaign to reform legal and social pre vention and response mechanisms, such a moral was well-placed to raise public awareness about the purportedly private problem of gender violence. Although the film does not broach the issue of the eradication of gender violence per se, the younger generation's relationships suggest that women can avoid violence if

they are selective in their choice of partner.



83

As an early anti-violence film, Solas simultaneously places the onus on women to avoid victimization while also probing the deeper cultural practices that connect masculinity to abuse.7 Soon after the release of the film, Luis Boni no M?ndez pinpointed the problem of blaming women in his report to the first Primeras jornadas sobre violencia dom?stica in Madrid (2000), noting that

although the advocacy had been somewhat effective, "Sin embargo, estas ac ciones pueden estar generando, sin percibirlo, un efecto secundario indeseado y contrario a sus objetivos. Este efecto consiste en que, al centrarse 'en* las mu

jeres, puede estar confirmando para algunos sectores la idea de que el problema de la violencia es 'de' las mujeres" (1). In the same year, Esperanza Bosch Fiol and Victoria A. Ferrer P?rez, whose work over the next few years both would influence and catalog the successful advocacy for the anti-violence law, em

phatically called for a shift in mentality, as announced in the title of their publi cation, "La violencia de g?nero: de cuesti?n privada a problema social." The

question of how to progress from private to public - from a women's issue to a

human rights issue - still posed a challenge, but the next few years would see a

public awareness campaign whose effectiveness would be confirmed not only in

the passage of the Ley contra la violencia de g?nero but also in the nearly unanimous support for that law among politicians and everyday people in

Spain.8

Although the conservative Partido Popular remained in power after the 2000 national elections, Prime Minister Jos? Mar?a Aznar continued to pro claim support for anti-gender violence legislation. Advocacy for a shift in men

tality regarding so-called "domestic violence" as a public ill increased at a steady pace in the years that followed. As the two main parties continued to work

through various versions of what eventually became the 2004 Ley contra la violencia de g?nero, what had begun as a grassroots campaign reached the me

dia on a wide scale. For example, between 1998 and 2002 The Instituto de la

Mujer ran five television ads focused on gender violence.9 In the context of in

creasing awareness of the need to shift the mentality away from "domestic" to

gender violence as a means of communicating the very public nature of the

problem, Idar Bolla?n released her powerful film Te doy mis ojos in 2003. This film graphically and realistically portrays the psychological and physical dan

gers of living in an abusive relationship. With a documentary style that relies on

close-ups, the film stylistically captures the pressures felt by both partners in violent relationships. The story line emphasizes those pressures by focusing on

the inertia and dysfunction that take hold in such relationships. After years of

abuse inflicted by her husband Antonio, Pilar escapes to her sister's house with her son. Under the guidance of her sister, who has a healthy relationship with a

Scottish man, Pilar becomes more confident and self-reliant. Unemployed her entire married life, she takes a museum job that leads her to study art and



84

dream about a future career at a museum. During their separation Pilar and

Antonio both attempt to reclaim themselves - she through art, and he through a therapy group for abusive men. Although Pilar resists Antonio's initial at

tempts at reconciliation, she becomes convinced by his progress toward under

standing the causes of his rage and strategies for controlling it. In the end, how ever, Antonio's jealousy overcomes him. Accusing Pilar of seeking sexual atten tion from men on her museum tours, he attacks her, strips her naked, and locks her out on the balcony for all of the neighbors to see. Pilar struggles in articu

lating the attack to the police, and only is able to say that her injuries are "por dentro" and that her husband "lo ha roto todo." The scene directly criticizes the state's lack of support for victims. One of the central features of the Ley contra la violencia de g?nero was, in fact, the introduction of a system of victim sup port and police training aimed at correcting the type of problems seen in the film. In spite of that lack of support, Pilar finally tells Antonio that she does not love him and that he does not matter to her. She also shows him the truth in her claims when she leaves him even after he slashes his wrist in an attempt to make her stay.

Te doy mis ojos sends a warning to abusive men about the social isolation

they should and must face as agents of violence. Whereas in 1999 Solas focused more on the need for women to choose well in their partnerships, Te doy mis

ojos marked an evolution in public discourse on gender violence. Here men's

deep-seated anxieties and fears are brought into the psychological mix. Violent men must find a remedy to their problem, and victimized women must leave to

.protect themselves and their children. The connection between ill-conceived

masculinity and women's right to non-violent partnerships is summarized in the aggressive question Antonio poses about his wife: he asks the therapist if Pilar is "provoking him" with her behavior, as if she explicitly would seek his wrath. The film sets up this question to be rhetorical from everyone's except Antonio's point of view: viewers know that that Pilar, far from provoking An

tonio, is only trying to muddle through her complicated situation and her

newly discovered independence.10 Bollain's message about the responsibility of men to reform and the right of women and children to live free from violence reflect two pillars of the evolving views on gender violence in the early twenty first century.

Moreover, the film's exploration of the psychology of the perpetrator is nuanced in that it aims to encourage abusive men to see themselves in Antonio or other men in a violence therapy group. Bollain's tactic of portraying a ther

apy group for abusers is especially interesting given that when the film won its

Goya award in 2004, only two rehabilitation centers were in operation in the entire country.11 The group of men depicted in Te doy mis ojos offers a critique of machismo and its support of gender violence. The progress made by some of



85

the abusers in their understanding of violence also provides the audience with a

glimpse of the potential to overcome violence-based masculinity. Notably, men of all ages and social standings comprise the group; some wear suits, others construction boots. This detail underlines for the audience that no social sector is immune to gender violence. On Antonio's first day at the facility, the rest of the members list the excuses they have for beating their wives; these range from

general provocation to refusal to have sex. One man tries to justify himself by shrugging off the therapist's interjections: no s? si me quiere, si me respeta, si me odia - me da igual. Yo lo que quiero es estar tranquilo" (23). As the

group's participants joke and scoff, trying to convince the therapist that their wives deserve ill treatment, the underlying psychology of their dysfunction is revealed. This scrutiny of what it means to be a Spanish man recalls similar

probing of the issue in Solas. Here, abuse is stigmatized, but the violent man has the potential to change for the good, provided he has access to the appropriate assistance. The progress made by Antonio and his return to violence add di mension to his character, and also emphasize the difficulty of the journey that abusers - and the nation as a whole - must make toward rehabilitation. The social contract that would soon emerge with the passing of the Ley contra la violencia de g?nero codified the cooperative arrangement hinted at by Bollain in Te doy mis ojos.

Together, Solas and Te doy mis ojos comment on the changing attitudes toward gender violence as they play out over the generations. With the help of her sister and new friends, Pilar is empowered to leave Antonio; Maria's mother in Solas, however, seems never to have ever questioned her situation as an isolated and abused wife. Pilar's mother in Te doy mis ojos also appears to have endured abuse in her marriage. The generational conflict over how to contend with gender violence is illustrated in a conversation between Pilar, her mother, and her sister, Ana. Whereas Pilar's mother believes women have a

responsibility to put up with violent husbands, Pilar's sister, Ana, flatly rejects that proposition. Here we see the younger generation affirming that abused women are better off alone and should secure restraining orders against their abusers. Ana herself is engaged to a man who treats women as equals and shares in the housework. The Scottish identity of this fianc? introduces an

interesting comment on Spanish masculinity by posing the question of whether

Spanish men are up to the task of revising their codes of masculinity to include an ethos of gender equality. The attitudes and actions of the three young women in the films call for a break from the traditional, patriarchal marriage held up as central to Spanish identity during the Franco years. In this way, the film urges younger Spanish women to reject intimate violence. Indeed, while the generation to which both older mothers in the films belong was forced to contend with violence in the dictatorship, the post-Franco period has potential



86

to transcend violence only if everyone comes together and commits to change. Seen in this light, the evolution of the anti-gender violence campaign finds

many commonalities with the growing awareness and support for reconciliation with the Franco past that was occurring simultaneously with the women's and family rights campaigns of the early twenty-first century.

VIOLENCE AND IMMIGRANTS' RIGHTS

At the same time that gender violence evolved from a feminist issue to one of broad public concern, immigration also surfaced as an area in need of legal and attitudinal reform. The rise in immigration of documented and undocumented workers that would come to define the first decade of the twenty-first century already was underway in the 1990s. Consider, for example, that the foreign born population of Spain in 1980 was 182,000; in 1990, it only had reached

277,000. By the end of the 1990s, however, some 896,000 foreign-born indi viduals lived in Spain (approximately 2.7% of the population) (Domingo Vails

8). In 2008, some five million immigrants were registered (Anuario). Regulari zation programs have aimed to help normalize many of those immigrants' status. As Alejandro Bola?os has written about the rapid rise of Spain to the statistical lead in immigrant-receiving countries in Western Europe: "Con el viento a favor del crecimiento econ?mico, Espa?a ha asimilado sin grandes pro blemas convertirse en muy poco tiempo en el pa?s de la UE con m?s inmigran tes en su poblaci?n (5,3 millones, el 11% del total) y en su mercado laboral (2,9

millones de ocupados, el 14,3% del total)" (3). Many would disagree that the assimilation of millions of immigrants has occurred without "grandes proble mas." But with an immigrant population of less than 3% of the total population in 2000 to more than 11% in 2008, nearly all would agree that Spain experi enced tremendous demographic change in that period

Awareness of the shifting demographics of Spain was signaled by Monxto Armend?riz in his 1990 portrayal of African immigrants in Las cartas de Alou. Like Las cartas de Alou, the immigration films that followed during the 1990s tended to focus on male immigrants from Africa. Some of these include Bwana

(Imanol Uribe, 1996), Taxi (Carlos Saura, 1996), and Said (Loren? Soler, 1999). Manuel Guti?rrez Arag?n's Cosas que dej? en la Habana (1997) and Ic?ar Bo lla?n's 1999 Flores de otro mundo mark the beginning of a series of immigration films focused on female immigrants.12 In a logical merging of two of the hot button issues of the.late 1990s, the immigration genre began to treat the subject of violence against women. Two of these, Beatriz Flores Silvas En la puta vida

(2001) and Fernando Le?n de Aranoa's Princesas (2005), address violence

against foreign-born women, especially those working as prostitutes, and

Spain's culpability within the realm of international trafficking of women for sexual exploitation. The emergence of films related to female immigration and



87

violence against women signals an awareness of the anti-gender violence senti

ments discussed above as well as knowledge of the growing numbers of women

immigrants in the early years of the twenty-first century. According to the No vember 2008 Bolet?n Estad?stico de Extranjer?a e Inmigraci?n (2), 55.57% of the work permits given to immigrants as part of a reform effort aimed at regulariz ing undocumented immigrants went to women.

Released in Spain just four months after the closing date for applications to the 2005 regularization program intended to grant legal work permits to quali fying foreign workers, Le?n de Aranoa's Princesas explores some of the facets of

gender violence specific to female immigrants whose status is irregular. The feature follows the developing friendship between the Spanish Caye, who works as a prostitute by choice because she is saving for breast implants, and the Do minican Zulema, who has turned to prostitution to support her young son back home. Zulema's irregular status makes her especially vulnerable to victimiza

tion; in the hopes of resolving her situation, she engages in unprotected sex and endures torture by a client who claims he will obtain her papers. When Zulema tests positive for AIDS, Caye renounces prostitution and gives her savings to Zulema to support her friend's return trip home. Zulema's future, however, is not hopeful: marked by the violence she experienced abroad, she can only look forward to death in poverty in her home country.

Although earlier films depict violence against male immigrants, Princesas s attention to violence against female immigrants in 2005 contributed to the

larger movement that aimed to raise awareness about gender violence. In its denunciation of violence against women and call for acceptance of immigrant workers, the film resonates with the multiple reconciliations taking place through historical memory work in Spain. As Golob has noted, "Clearly influ enced by ideas and beliefs central to transitional justice culture, the goal of ad vocates for post-transitional justice politics in Spain remains the inclusion of 'the other Spain' in the ongoing (and admittedly contested) construction of a national grand narrative" (135). While here "the other Spain" refers to support ers of the Republic during the war and dictatorship years, immigrants and women are examples of other "other" Spains that recent reform and cultural

production have aimed to incorporate into the new, non-violent national narrative. On a similar note, Princesas echoes the historical memory and anti

gender violence movements' concern with speaking across the generations and

breaking down barriers that either have silenced or perpetuated victimization. The film ends with a breakthrough of honesty between Caye and her mother.

Only at the end do they acknowledge the truth they both have long known: that the mother has been pretending to have an admirer and sending flowers to herself and that Caye is a prostitute. In showing the two generations



88

acknowledging and accepting these disparate realities, Princesas comments on the possibilities

- and difficulties - of intergenerational communication. A growing phenomenon related to gender violence worldwide is human

trafficking for sexual exploitation. Spain's position as a gateway country to Western Europe makes it especially attractive to trafficking rings, which con tinue to force mainly women from Eastern Europe, Africa, and Latin America into sexual slavery. Released in 2001 in Uruguay, and in 2002 in Spain, Beatriz Flores Silva's En la puta vida exposes some of the connections between Spain and Latin America in the trafficking of women. Performed by a cast of actors from Argentina, Uruguay, and Spain, and filmed in all three locations, the co

production tells the story of Elisa, a young, single mother who works as a pros titute in Montevideo and willingly goes to Barcelona to earn more through prostitution there. Elisa becomes a victim of trafficking when her boyfriend, who is also her pimp, becomes violent and then takes her passport and all iden tification. After her friend is murdered by the trafficking gang, Elisa makes an

unsuccessful attempt to get help from the Uruguayan embassy. She eventually is rescued by a Spanish police officer with whom she returns to Uruguay and starts a romance.

Based on a true story, Flores Sirvas socially conscious film highlights an

increasingly prevalent aspect of gender violence worldwide. It calls for political responsibility in home countries, where trafficking begins, as well as in destina tion countries. In its treatment of corrupt Interpol officers and inept embassy officials, En la puta vida exposes the complicity of governments and police in the global trafficking network. However, although the film calls for increased

government action and responsibility, it seems to suggest that Spain's strategy for the protection of trafficked women leaves nothing to be desired. In a de

parture from the real-life story, the Spanish police help Elisa in Barcelona, and the Spanish embassy in Montevideo keeps her out of jail after her deportation.

While Spain has made some progress in preventing and responding to traf

ficking within its borders, action has been slow and some promises remain un

fulfilled. In 2003, Spain signed and ratified the Protocol to Prevent, Suppress and Punish Trafficking in Persons, Especially Women and Children, adopted by the United Nations in 2000. The Plan integral contra la trata y tr?fico de

personas was to make its way through the government, although a preliminary version was passed by the Human Rights Commission of the C?mara de Dipu tados on 3 March 2009.

The hope among activists is that the political and social approach to the

subject of human trafficking will gain the awareness necessary to bring about

significant changes, as has been the case in Spain vis-?-vis the conceptualization of gender violence as a social, not a personal, problem. According to the US

Department of State's Trafficking in Persons Report of 2008, "Spain announced



89

in early 2008 that it would allot $8.6 million to fund an anti-trafficking coop eration agreement with several Central American countries."13 En la puta vida

points out the need for such cooperation in Elisa's direct address to news cam eras from the Spanish embassy. She is broadcast on national television decrying that there are Uruguayan women being held against their will in Barcelona.

En la puta vida depicts trafficked women as victims and it advocates pun ishment for the individuals, institutions, and cultural practices that facilitate the victimization. Princesas does the same for immigrant women who fall victim to

gender violence. In these concrete ways, both films feed into the awareness

raising about gender violence by including immigrant women along with

Spanish women as potential victims who have rights and deserve assistance. The films also represent Spanish men as potential perpetrators who should be

brought to justice. In 2001, this was a necessary initial step in Spain's anti-traf

ficking strategy. Although progress has been slow, the country's April 2009 ratification of the Council of Europe Convention on Action against Trafficking in Human Beings is another encouraging step within the current movement to curb gender violence.14

From 1990 to the present, a growing awareness of the complexity of immi

grant issues and a growing awareness of the need for advocacy on several criti cal fronts (anti-violence, anti-exploitation, and anti-discrimination) can be de tected. Certainly, cultural production focused on the plight of female immi

grants grew in complexity and subtlety in its representation of issues, race, and difference.15 Similarly, two films released near the turn of the century, Carlos Molinero's Salvajes (2001) and Chus Guti?rrez's Poniente (2002), turned the camera on the unrest created by native communities that were unwilling and unable to cope with new waves of immigrants. Both films advocate a sense of

responsibility or engagement on the part of Spanish citizens vis-?-vis anti-im

migrant violence.16 These particular films are interesting in their treatment of the Spanish

- who do not come out favorably - and in their focus on commu

nities of immigrants across Spain. Similarly, both call for non-violence and in clusiveness but point out the ways in which Spanish society was failing in its efforts to effectively integrate immigrants, even when, as represented in Po

niente, those immigrants contributed much-needed labor to the economy. All of the films in question probe the contours of a rapidly changing society whose confrontation with immigrant others simultaneously poses a threat to the social fabric while strengthening that fabric by helping the economy grow at unprece dented levels for the first seven years of the new century. One might argue that the prosperity of those years allowed for a rapid maturation of the Spanish state to a new level of inclusiveness and concern for human rights across a broad

political spectrum. The public discourse surrounding historical memory and the exhumation of the ghosts of the fascist past constitutes only one of many



90

arenas in which serious and sustained attention was paid to human rights. The

anti-gender violence legislation of 2004 was followed by a marriage reform of

July 2005 mat aimed to help all women, but perhaps in particular abused women, to divorce more readily and also to make men responsible partners in the social contract of marriage (Ley 15/2005). These changes were afoot at the same time that the suffering of Franco's victims was being processed in mean

ingful and often surprising ways, given the years of silence that had preceded this turn of events. Thus, Golob Y comments on the Spanish situation in the

twenty-first century apply to more than just historical memory. She ruotes:

"Spain, in one sense, is a pioneer again, showing the way for pacted democra cies to pursue justice after, and apart from, the Transition moment - that is, the movement from transitional justice culture towards post-transitional justice' politics' (128). That culture of justice, as we suggest in our final comments on Pedro Almod?var's 2006 film Volver below, can only be understood within the

larger context of an affluent nation whose experiences of violence within and across communities converged in an anti-violence platform that, in turn, be came one of me defining factors of me millennial Spanish state.

HUMAN RIGHTS IN CONTEXT: VOLVER

Pedro Almod?var's 2006 Volver is particularly representative of the conver

gence of anti-violence ideologies. In linking the issues of historical memory, gender violence, and immigration in the story of three generations of women, the film weaves together the various strands of violence containment in play in

twenty-first-century Spain. Volver s plot centers on the characters' relationships with ghosts of the past. Numerous plot elements echo cultural conversations about historical memory and also about gender violence. Agustinas search for information about the disappearance of her mother is evocative of the investi

gations of the ARMH. Sisters Raimunda and Sole are eventually surprised by the return of their mother, Irene, who supposedly died the same day Agustina's

mother disappeared. Meanwhile, Raimunda and her teenage daughter, Paula, contend with the resurfacing of a different type of ghost: the incestuous secret behind Paula's conception. When Raimunda's husband, Paco, attempts to rape Paula and claims he is not her real father, Paula stabs him to death in self-de fense. Accustomed to piecing together a family budget on a shoestring and op erating in survival mode, Raimunda concentrates on the disposing of the corpse and thus defers revealing her daughter's true paternity. She temporarily keeps Paco's body in a freezer in a nearby vacant restaurant and, later, with the help of an immigrant neighbor, buries it near a river.

While the film complicates the relationship between women and violence

by showing women to be actors as well as victims of violence, it also argues for a

responsible approach to memory, gender violence, and immigration. When



91

Raimunda discovers the supposed ghost of her mother living with Sole and

posing as a Russian immigrant, the ghost reveals that she is indeed Irene, not returned from the dead, but returned from hiding in the village. She was not killed in the fire that took her husband's life; in fact, she set that fire in retalia tion for the impunity with which he had betrayed her over the years and, per

haps more specifically, for having sexually abused Raimunda for years and, as a

result, having fathered Paula. The female body found in the ashes was

Agustina's mother, who had been the father's longtime lover. In a statement evocative of the Spanish Transition and the pact of silence, Irene explains that, after the fire, she pretended to be a ghost caring for her aging sister because the

villagers assumed she was a ghost, and it was "m?s f?cil seguir la corriente que decir la verd?d" (103). She returns from this "purgatory" to rectify her relation

ship with Raimunda. The responsible approach to recuperated memory is shown here in Raimunda's reaction to her mother's reappearance. Angry with Irene since childhood for failing to protect her from her father, Raimunda ini

tially flees the apartment; however, she turns back to talk with her mother.

Here, the film may be seen as urging Spaniards to move forward and work

through the recovered memory of the violent Franco years. The same progression in communication between mothers and daughters

in Volver indicates an evolution in the cultural approach to questions of gender violence explored in the earlier films Solas and Te doy mis ojos. The mothers in these earlier films endured violence at the hands of their husbands and expect their daughters to do the same, but the mothers of Volver refuse to accept vic timization. Although Irene was unaware of the abuse Raimunda suffered while it was occurring, and although Raimunda misses clues as to the potential dan

ger Paco poses to Paula, both mothers fiercely defend their daughters once they understand the violence to which the younger generation has been subjected. Irene's response is violent while Raimunda condones Paula's act of violence. The actions of both women are emblematic of the growing sentiment in Spain that violence against women and children will not be tolerated. The film

thereby confirms a societal shift from awareness-raising to action aimed at

protecting victims of abuse. To derive a more literal lesson - that women must

fight back with violence - perhaps would be to miss the highly metaphorical

and playful filmmaking style o? the ever-creative and controversial Almodovar, but it does bear mentioning that Almodovar depicts retributive crimes by women that go unpunished.

In its exploration of responsible approaches to issues of memory and gen der violence, Volver also advocates the ethical treatment of immigrants. When Raimunda finally disposes of Paco's body, she pays a Latin American neighbor who works as a prostitute to help her bury the body. Perhaps a reference to the contribution made by immigrants to Spain's early twenty-first century prosper



92

ity, the neighbor, not Raimunda, has the strength to dig a hole deep enough to conceal the corpse. Additionally, even though "la Rusa" - the supposed Russian

immigrant living with Sole - is actually Irene, Soles kind treatment of her es

pouses respect and fairness toward immigrants. Irene's masquerade is an inter

esting comment on the question of integration as well. Posing as a Russian im

migrant who speaks no Spanish, Irene hears everything Sole's clients are saying, but remains an invisible, inconsequential, and potentially dangerous "other" in their eyes.

Golob has referenced Volver in a study of the Transition to democracy, affirming that, "Keeping individual memory out of the public sphere and col lective memory in the 'deep freeze' was widely viewed as the formula which

produced the Spanish success story: reconciliation without truth, Transition without transitional justice" (127). Like the freezer where Paco's corpse is put to

prevent anyone from discussing the violent acts that led to his death, other

symbols in the film can be seen as representative of the engagement with past memories of violence. Nearly a decade after Ana Orantes was burned alive by her husband, flames in Volver are reappropriated by Irene and converted into a

symbol of the fight against gender and family violence. Almod?var's mono chromatic colors underscore the progression toward a better, less violent day. The film is saturated with red, yet white gains power in progressively close shots in which we see white towels being laundered, gleaming white mops soaking up vivid red blood, and white windmills spinning on the hillside. In the context of the recent political, civic, and cultural advances toward the purging of past vio

lence, these shots punctuate the film's representation of the potential for Spain to move forward and transcend past and present violence in the new millen nium. By highlighting successful cooperation across generations and among both native-born and immigrant women, Volver argues for the possibility of a

healthy, strong nation that has both reconciled and transcended its violent past.

***

Cultural observer Jo Labanyi, who has written extensively about the political and cultural landscape of twenty-first century Spain, has noted: "La frase 'memoria hist?rica' describe no una realidad, sino un programa pol?tico cuyo

objetivo es la reconciliaci?n nacional a trav?s del reconocimiento de los cr?me nes que se cometieron en la guerra y posguerra" ("Historias" 89). That platform - to recover the past and reconcile it with the present

- lies at the heart of the last decade of public dialogue on fascism, Francoism, and violence. Yet, as our

analysis of gender, family, and immigrant violence has suggested, such a politi cal program only has been possible because it has emerged out of a much broader impulse to define and protect human rights in Spain.17 Labanyi has identified the struggles over truth in a "memory war" that has devolved into "a



93

competition to establish which political side has the greater claim to victim hood" ("Memory" 97). The emotional investment in that struggle makes sense when one considers the decades of pent-up frustration, anger, and pain that inform conversations and strategies about how to reconcile past victimization

with the relatively young democratic spirit of the nation. Nonetheless, as the

poignant representations of the victimization of women and immigrants in the texts discussed above suggest, the cultural investment in the eradication of vio lence against women and in the protection of immigrants> rights is similarly strong. Concerns about historical memory, nationalist terrorism, gender vio

lence, and the status of immigrants are linked by the common thread of an ethos of human rights on Spanish territory. All of these issues gained strength in the years preceding and following the turn of the century. Carolyn Boyd has noted about this time period, for example, "By the 1990s, with democracy fully consolidated, the Socialists envisioned a new purpose for history education: the creation of 'ethical and engaged citizens'" (139). The consolidation of the de

mocracy, bolstered by tremendous economic growth, freed the nation's atten

tion, in other words. This shift, in turn, allowed concerns about historical

memory, national terrorism, gender violence, the status of immigrants, and other human rights issues we have not addressed (such as the legalization of gay marriage, the 2005 marriage reform, and the 2009 inclusion of sexual orienta tion as a protected status for seekers of asylum)18 to come to the centre of cul tural conversations about where Spain was and where it wanted to go.19 The consolidation of confidence in the democracy and, by the turn of the century, in the economy allowed the nation to begin to examine at its past, present, and future without fear of failure.

Observers of Spain - both within and without the nation's borders - would

do well to attend to the broader context out of which these discourses and pub lic sentiments evolved from 1995 to the present. The attention paid to historical

memory has been merited - the topic is undeniably important for Spain and

any other nation or group that has suffered trauma. Yet if we neglect to con textualize historical memory within the broader campaigns for human rights for both citizens and non-citizens, we risk failing to appreciate the strides Spain has taken toward becoming a model progressive democracy within Western

Europe. Similarly, the lack of attention paid (particularly outside of Spain) to the most comprehensive law against gender violence ever passed in the world does raise the questions of whether violence against women and women's rights in general have failed to register as important issues, especially in comparison to historical memory. Much work remains to be done in all of these arenas: many victims of Francoist violence remain in anonymous graves; violence against women and children continues at alarming rates in spite of the comprehensive legal reform; and attitudes toward immigrants threaten to undermine recent



94

progress on the anti-violence front. Our analysis of the current cultural situa

tion suggests that much more is afoot than a mere reconciliation with the past. Trie new millennium has marked a period of reform that will have lasting im

pact on how Spain thinks about its fascist past and, more broadly, on how Spain imagines and enacts an ethical future in which men and women, natives and

immigrants, same-sex and heterosexual couples, and victims of violence have access to a legal code and a cultural system that value and protect human rights.

California State University (Long Beach)

NOTES

1 Joan Ramon Resina shares this skepticism, as shown in his discussion of post

Transition history as myth-making against which "Francoist myths pale by comparison" (5).

2 The boom in studies about historical memory dates approximately t? the turn of the new millennium. While it would be impossible to provide a complete bibliography on this vast topic, a sampling of some of the most compelling recent studies in the field demonstrates that the topic has attracted anthropologists,

historians, literary critics, and cultural observers, including: Paloma Aguilar

Fernandez, Carolyn Boyd, Jos? F. Colmeiro, Madeleine Davis, Ofelia Ferr?n,

Francisco Ferr?ndez, Jo Labanyi, and Joan Ramon Resina.

3 This figure comes from data provided to us personally by armh, which cites 116 exhumations and 1,061 bodies disinterred as of March 2009.

4 Anny Brooksbank Jones provides a concise overview of the changes in policy and

mentality regarding women's situation in the post-Franco period. In particular see

chapter two, "Women in the Public Sphere" (40-72).

5 A full text of the Ley de igualdad can be found at: http://www.migualdad.es/mujer/ pol?ticas/ Ley_Igualdad.htm.

'

6 As Shirley Mangini commented to us in a personal communication about this

topic, that Ana Orantes appeared on a talk show also raises the question of the

extent to which television shows have influenced the shift in mentality regarding gender violence in the past decade. That question lies beyond the scope of the

present article but certainly merits attention as the so-called Oprah effect of

consciousness raising on women's issues in the United States may well have its

counterpart in Spain.

7 An earlier film that also deals with gender violence and questions of masculinity is Ricardo Franco's La buena estre?a (1997).

8 Esperanza Bosch, Victoria A. Ferrer, and Aina Alzamora later published El

laberinto patriarcal: reflexiones te?rico-pr?cticas sobre h violencia contra las mujeres



95

(200?), the most complete publication to date on therapeutic, cultural, and legal interventions into gender violence.

9 The topics of these spots include: "Siempre se puede volver a empezar"; "Que no te

marque el miedo"; "La violencia contra las mujeres nos duele a todos"; "Recupera tu

vida. Habla. Podemos ayudarte"; "T? no eres la culpable, contra la violencia

dom?stica no est?s sola" (http://www.migualdad.es/mujer/medios/publicidad/

historico_campanas.htm). 10 If the message about men's need to reform their violent ways is not clear enough to

viewers, they can also watch the short film that appears on the dvd. Here we find

men incarcerated in a treatment facility for abusers. Forced to talk to therapists and

each other about their violent tendencies, they also must face the stigma of being

imprisoned for behavior that they viewed as private and normal.

Katya Adler discusses these statistics and the reconceptualization of Spanish

masculinity in "New man tackles Spanish machismo."

12 Helena Tabernas Extranjeras (2003) offers a documentary perspective on female

immigration in Spain through interviews with women from numerous immigrant communities.

13 Data taken from the Trafficking in Persons Report published by the US Department of State's Office to Monitor and Combat Trafficking in Persons (04 June 2008), which can be accessed via <www.state.gov>.

14 On 2 April 2009, Spain became the twenty-first state to ratify the Convention.

Information about Spain's involvement with the Council of Europe's anti

trafficking efforts can be found on its country profile at http://www.coe.int/t/

dghVmonitoring/trafficking/Docs/Profiles/SPAINProfile_en.asp.

15 On depictions of the racial other in Spanish film, see in particular Flesler, Garcia

Alvite, and Nair.

16 Pedro P?rez Rosado's 2005 film Agua con sal is another work that engages

questions of Spanish responsibility vis-?-vis immigrants and underprivileged

Spanish citizens. The film calls for the containment of exploitation as a necessary

step toward the containment of violence.

17 For a film that deals with family violence and the protection of children from abuse, see El bola (2000), directed by Achero Ma?as. Produced in cooperation with

Unicef, El bola won multiple Goya Awards in 2001, including Best Film.

18 The 1984 Ley de asilo was updated in 2009, extending protections to victims of

gender violence and persecution for sexual orientation. A complete text is available

at: http://www.boe.es/boe/dias/2009/10/31/pdfs/BOE- A-2009-17242.pdf.

19 One film that reflects Spain's efforts to usher in a new era of social justice is Los lunes al sol (2002), directed by Fernando Le?n de Aranoa, performed by an ensemble cast that includes Javier Bardem. The film's narrative of a group of

dockworkers who were laid off after a violent strike argues overtly for unionizing



96

and solidarity in the face of reduced wages and lay-offs in the ever-globalizing

economy.

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