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Title: Why the Blast? Author: Alexander Berkman Date: 1916 Language: en Topics: obituary, editorial, Alexander Berkman Source: Online source http://www.revoltlib.com/?id=1237, retrieved on November 18, 2020.
Alexander Berkman died 61 years ago on June 28^(th), 1936. We enclose
here his editorial for the first issue of The Blast published in San
Francisco on 15^(th) January 1916.
Do you mean to destroy?
Do you mean to build?
These are questions we have been asked from any quarters, by inquirers
sympathetic and otherwise.
Our reply is frank and bold:
We mean both: to destroy and to build.
For, socially speaking, Destruction is the beginning of Construction.
Superficial minds speak sneeringly of destruction. O, it is easy to
destroy — they say — but to build, to build, that’s the important work.
Its nonsense. No structure, social or otherwise, can endure if built on
a foundation of lies. Before the garden can bloom, the weeds must be
uprooted. Nothing is therefore more important than to destroy. Nothing
more necessary and difficult.
Take a man with an open mind, and you will have no great trouble in
convincing him of the falsehood and rottenness of our social structure.
But when one is filled with superstition and prejudice, your strongest
arguments will knock in vain against the barred doors of his bigotry and
ignorance. For thousand-year-old superstition and tradition is stronger
than truth and logic.
To destroy the Old and the False is the most vital work. We emphasize
it: to blast the bulwarks of slavery and oppression is of primal
necessity. It is the beginning of really lasting construction.
Thus The Blast will be destructive.
And The Blast will be constructive.
Too long have we been patient under the whip of brutality and
degradation. Too long have we conformed to the Dominant, with an
ineffective fist hidden in our pocket. Too long we have vented our depth
of misery by endless discussion of the distant future. Too long have we
been exhausting our efforts and energy by splitting hairs with each
other.
Its time to act
The time is NOW.
The breath of discontent is heavy upon this wide land. It permeates mill
and mine, field and factory. Blind rebellion stalks upon highway and
byway. To fire it with the spark of Hope, to kindle it with the light of
Vision, and turn pale discontent into conscious social action — that is
the crying problem of the hour. It is the great work calling to be done.
To work, then, and blasted be every obstacle in the way of the
Regeneration.
Vanguard Volume 3, No 3 Aug-Sept 1936
(Ed. note: this brief but vivid account of the life and work of
Alexander Berkman was written for the Vanguard by one of Berkman’s
intimate friends who prefers to remain anonymous.)
When Alexander Berkman’s tragic end was announced, many of the older
comrades, who knew him personally, felt that his death had left a space
which would never be filled. This was the logical fate of a man who,
when a mere youth of twenty-two, was ready to take the life of another
whose brutal egotism brought misery and suffering to thousands of
people. At sixty-six, he brought his life to an end when he felt he
could serve life no longer.
When Berkman started to avenge the Homestead strikers forty-four years
ago he knew a deed like that could only be paid for by his death and he
was ready to sacrifice his young life without hesitation for his
outraged sense of justice.
No matter how one evaluates his deed, none would doubt his sincerity if
one only had the patience to delve into the complicated soul of humanity
and guess its secrets. When a person, particularly a young man whose
life still has everything to offer, is ready to risk his all without
hope of return, he must not be evaluated by ordinary standards. This is
a deed which can only be explained when its motives are appreciated. He
who does not understand how one could give everything for a cause which
bore for him the whole meaning of life, will never understand a person
like Berkman. The average philistine who calculates his life by profit
and loss, and whose hardened soul cannot understand any action which is
not motivated by the desire for profit, will never see in people like
Berkman other than brutal force who menace the existence of society.
They will never comprehend that it was not crudeness of sentiment that
made Berkman commit his deed, but that it was his love for humanity, his
respect for human life, that impelled him to take a life. This rare
trait was characteristic of Berkman to his very end and was the key to
his personality.
It is not one’s political beliefs but the inner feelings which shape
character. Berkman was everything but a man of force: he was a man of
great kindliness, a sincere friend and a splendid comrade, one who lived
through the happiness and sorrows of his fellow humans. His clear
thinking, colored by a somewhat naive sentimentality, made everybody
love him. In this lies the elementary greatness of his personality, the
root of his moral influence. He was no sectarian and could tolerate any
sincerely presented opinion, but he always knew how best to express his
own ideas when the occasion arose.
Berkman came to America as a very young man in a period in which the
young workers movement had one of its tragic moments. Like Emma Goldman,
Voltairine de Cleyre, and so many others, he was drawn into the
revolutionary movement as a result of the Haymarket tragedy in Chicago.
It was the fiery agitative powers of Johann Most which attracted him to
the printing shop of Mosts Freedom where he learned typesetting. At that
time he carried with him the thought of returning to Russia to fight in
the underground movement, but the bloody happenings in Homestead brought
a sudden end to his plans. Berkman was sentenced to twenty-two years, a
tremendous sentence which had been applied only by a merciless
stretching of the law.
The failure of the attentat saved a precious life which in the terrible
years of imprisonment matured to greatness. Berkmans Prison Memoirs of
an Anarchist is one of those rare books which once read is never
forgotten. In this book all the suffering and pain of a courageous
spirit struggling against great odds is told in a background of drab
prison life. Most of those upon whom fate has placed such trials break
down under the pressure of personal sorrow. But a man who can survive
the long years of hopeless imprisonment without swaying from his
opinions, or being morally extinguished is a character of unconquerable
integrity and inner strength. Berkman was such a man. In the gray,
evil-foreboding days there was nothing to console him. He experienced
things which the average man would hardly believe possible. Only very
few realize how sadistically man can behave towards man.
For fourteen years he remained in that hell. Fourteen years! Very few
can imagine what an accumulation of pain and sorrow are hidden beneath
this dry number. On returning to life, he found everything changed. It
was not easy to find a pathway in this new world. Notwithstanding, he
found it and again distinguished himself in the fight for freedom.
Together with Emma Goldman he published Mother Earth. He worked
principally in the ranks of organized labor and among the unemployed of
the metropolis. Berkman had no illusions about the moral qualities of
the worker. He knew that the majority of them shared the social
prejudices of other classes. But he also recognized that the social
position of the worker was the creative power in life, that it made him
the most important factor in any social change and that this was the
lever to be used to pry up the decaying social system.
Then came the period when he edited the Blast on the Pacific coast. In
connection with this, it should be remembered that Berkman was the first
to come to the aid of Mooney and Billings. He traveled all over the
country, spoke at innumerable meetings and moved heaven and earth to
arouse the workers to protest. At this time none dreamed of using the
case for party propaganda. In their dedication articles Berkman’s name
is not mentioned. Perhaps someone felt that this man who had suffered
fourteen years imprisonment for his principles was too exalted to be
turned to the uses of narrow political interests which stood to profit
by the misfortune of others.
Then came the years of the World War when Berkman and his friends tried
their best to stir up public opinion against the prevailing hysteria.
But the untiring efforts of this small minority could not conquer the
overwhelming tide of misdirected human passion, and it was not long
before Emma Goldman, Berkman and so many others were sent to prison for
their anti-conscription campaign. Followed two terrible years at Atlanta
penitentiary. Berkman mentioned many times later that his two years in
that prison were worse than those he had spent in the jail at
Pittsburgh. It was because our brave comrade could not tolerate the
injustices done to others that he suffered so much during this
incarceration. It was his temerity in championing the cause of oppressed
Negro prisoners in a lynch state like Georgia that led to his disfavor
with the prison authorities. But he took every slap of fate with stoic
resignation.
Under the blows of the enraged masses Czarism broke its terrible hold on
Russia. The heart of Berkman beat with hope when he with Emma Goldman
and the rest of his comrades were deported from America and started the
trip to his native home on that renowned death ship. They all wanted to
cooperate in the building of a new world, of socialism and freedom. But
the experiences of our comrade in Russia were the greatest
disappointment of his unselfish life. He saw the dictatorship of the
proletariat grow into the dictatorship of a party over the proletariat
and all Russian peoples. Long he fought against the suspicions which
stirred within him. He sought to understand, to rationalize, to
comprehend and explain these happenings which were in conflict with his
free spirit. Finally the cold-blooded slaughter of the sailors of
Kronstadt put an end to all his doubts. His place could not be on the
side which ruthlessly killed the pioneers of the Russian Revolution, as
did the French bourgeoisie the 35,000 men, women and children of the
Paris Commune. His book The Bolshevik Myth renders his inner conflicts
in an expressive and striking portrayal. It was a terrible shock to
Berkman.
When Emma Goldman and Berkman came to Europe from Russia, they found
themselves in a new world fundamentally different from that which they
had known in America. The terrible ravages of the war were everywhere
manifest and all of the countries were shaken with revolutionary
convulsions. It is not easy to live in strange surroundings but here
again Berkman did the best he could. After a short stay in Sweden, he
went to Germany and contacted the young Anarcho-Syndicalist movement
there. His works, The Russian Tragedy, The Kronstadt Rebellion, The
Russian Revolution and the Communist Party, and his Prison memoirs were
all translated into German. Together with Emma Goldman he participated
in the Congress of Anarcho-Syndicalists in Erfurt and established close
relations with his comrades. Most of his work at this time was for the
imprisoned comrades in Russia. He organized the International Aid Fund
and edited the Bulletin in behalf of the Anarcho-Syndicalists in the
prisons of the Soviet Union.
Finally he went to France but the revolutionary situation in that
country precluded his doing open work forcing him to resign his position
as secretary of the Russian Aid Fund. He was deported from France and
only the help of influential friends made possible his return. It was a
tortured existence. Even the most beautiful surroundings of the French
Riviera lost all their glamour for him, living as he was, like a
prisoner at the mercy of the slothful bureaucracy which might at any
moment chase him across the border. Yet, he wrote ABC of
Anarchist-Communism and conducted a prodigious correspondence with his
friends in Europe and America. Then came illness and the constant fight
for material existence. A few months ago he was recuperating from a
painful and dangerous operation, he had a sudden relapse and felt that
the best thing he could do was to make his adieu to the world. We must
emphasize here his unwavering friendship with Emma Goldman who lost in
him her best and oldest friend. What that means can only be understood
by those who know that wounds exist that never can be healed.
A rare person has left us, a great and noble character, a real man. We
bow quietly before his grave and swear to work for the ideal which he
served faithfully for so many years.
Interview with Leo Voline
Third son of Voline, Leo Eichenbaum (better known as Leo Voline) was
born on 4 January 1917. From early on he shared his fathers ideals and
at the beginning of 1937, he made his way to Spain, there to join a
confederal column of the CNT. His account of the death of Durruti is
most interesting. Is any further information on this commando available?
or is it all part of the myth?
Itineraire — How did your father sample the Russian Revolution?
Leo — As ever, as was his lifelong habit, he gave himself up completely
to it: he was always the same way, whether it was family matters or
anyone in need. He would not allow himself any excuse or weakness, even
if his life depended on it. Sentenced to death by the Bolsheviks, he
refused to renege upon his ideas and go over to them in order to win a
pardon. He never wanted to play the leader and stay behind in Moscow
with the salon anarchists. Luckily, he used to say they are not the
one’s who will make the revolution. And so it was that he set off to
join the Makhnovist insurgent movement in the Ukraine, once he got wind
of it. My father was always a bit backwards in coming forward, telling
the masses: I count for nothing. It is up to you to act, to decide, to
organize yourselves. You know your problems best. I can merely offer
advice. His respect for every single individual was total. In his view,
everyone was good, and, if someone was not, that was the fault of
society. As I see it, even if there is a kernel of truth in that, he was
very often too forgiving. He never forced his opinion on anybody. One
time- I must have been about fourteen — I asked him: What are your
beliefs? and he replied: Never mind about my opinions, search out your
own truth (...) I only got to know my father when I was about five years
old and he was held in the Butyrky prison in Moscow under sentence of
death. He was released on condition that he leave the country – and that
thanks to a campaign launched by a delegation of French revolutionary
syndicalists led by Gaston Leval: it kicked up a real stink. So I cannot
remember anything about my father before that time. The only memories I
have are left are of our everyday life, with a village as a backcloth —
a village called Bobrow, in the northern Ukraine — and the tears of my
mother, on her own with three children, and without any news of my
father, no news of whether he was alive or dead. And the hunger... Food
was our main worry, our sole topic of conversation. I recall one old
peasant woman who lived with us and helped my mother. One day, our cat,
which ate nothing but mice- and there were plenty of those — turned up
with a great hunk of meat in its jaws, filched from who knows where. The
babushka ate well that day.
Itineraire — How come your father, who came from a bourgeois family,
wound up becoming a revolutionary?
Leo — He told me how, at the age of about 14, generally outraged by the
fate of the common people and in particular by that of their own maid,
Anita, a 16-year-old girl who was always the first to rise and the last
to retire at night, and who was only entitled to venture outside for two
or three hours every Sunday, he asked his mother how she was supposed to
make something of her life and meet boys. To which his mother replied:
Don’t you concern yourself with that or you’ll wind up in Siberia! Which
is precisely what happened nine years later, during the 1905 revolution.
He was deported for life at the age of 23.
Itineraire �� How did you live as exiles?
Leo — We left Russia carrying the mark of privation, in straightened
circumstances, with just two suitcases for all our worldly possessions.
You had to have been there to know what famine is, you had to have seen
the corpses in the streets, perished of hunger. Poverty accompanied us
into Germany. There were five of us children, the eldest two belonging
to my fathers first wife. We settled in two rented rooms near Berlin. We
saw very little of my father because he worked in the capital as a
bookkeeper, I seem to remember. To supplement his earnings, he gave
language lessons (in Russian, French, German). Those were tough times
but we were happy. My father seemed to be living out his dream of a
better society and was always in good form and optimistic. Harmony
reigned within the family and there was never an angry word. Then, after
three years, we moved to Berlin. My father made arrangements to leave
Germany for France. We were beginning to see Hitler Youth marches,
rallies and street brawling. My father was often away giving lectures.
My mother fretted about him. and lived on her nerves. We stopped going
to school, being on the point of departure. We spent the whole day
outside, as we had only one attic room in which we all — except for my
two older brothers who were staying with friends — spent the night.
Along with my sister Natasha, we spent a lot of our time on the tennis
courts adjoining our building. Wealthy Berliners used to use them and we
would be scampering about all day picking up balls, which gave us some
exercise and enabled us to contribute a little money to the household.
Our father kept a record for us. Later, in France, in 1929, it paid for
my first bicycle. It was 1925 by the time we finally got permission to
go to France, from where my father had once been expelled.
Itineraire — That was back in 1916, I believe?
Leo — Thats right. Discovering that he was due for arrest and
internment, having been reported for drafting a leaflet against the war,
he had fled, reaching Bordeaux and finding work as a coal-trimmer on the
Lafayette, under the name of Franois-Joseph Rouby. During the voyage,
exhausted and with hands bloodied, he thought of going to the captain
but, with help from the other coal-trimmers, he held out until they
docked in the United States, staying there until the Russian revolution
broke out. He let my mother back in Paris know that he would make his
way back to Russia via Japan and China, and asked her to meet up with
him there. And so we set sail from Brest aboard the Russian vessel
Dvinsk, part of a convoy, on 5 August 1917. The convoy made a lengthy
detour, steaming first towards the Equator before swinging out widely
northwards, only to sail past the north of England, the seas and oceans
being infested with German U-boats. There was one ship even sunk en
route and we arrived in Arkhangelsk on 20 August 1917.
Itineraire — And how did things go in France?
Leo — When we returned to France in 1925, at first we had to be taken in
by some old friends of my fathers, the Fuchs, in the Rue Lamarck in
Paris, just long enough for us to find lodgings. My father never fancied
living in large cities on account of the childrens health. Thanks to
Henri Sellier, the mayor and senator for Suresnes, we found lodging in
the newly-built garden city of Gennevilliers. Our living conditions were
still quite straightened. I remember that one day my father burst out
laughing: Were five centimes short of the price of a loaf! But he
insisted that we stay at school no matter what, especially as some of
his comrades reproached him for having children, and him a militant! The
two oldest boys — none too fond of school — true, they had arrived at
the ages of 13 and 15 in a land whose language they did not know – opted
to learn a trade in a school for mechanics. Natasha opted to be a
dancer: her teacher was the famous Russian ballet star who went on to
become the Princess Ksishinskaya, mistress of czar Nicholas II. My
father met her, and after a lengthy conversation was much taken by her,
but told her: ‘My beliefs do not come into it. My daughter wishes to
dance.’ As for me, I was a great handyman and I used to take everything
to pieces, even my mothers sewing machine, just to see how it worked. So
I was steered towards technology and proved a dab hand. My father worked
as a bookkeeper: he supplemented that with some morocco leather work
from home. He and my mother frequently sat up through the night
finishing an order. So, being a quick learner, I used to lend them a
hand of an evening, until the day came I made up my mind to quit
studying and look for work. I was a radio technician for several firms
until the war broke out in Spain.
Itineraire — And you fought in it. How did that come about?
Leo — For me the issue was straightforward: since I was campaigning for
a libertarian form of society, joining those fighting for just such a
society was the logical next step. Some Spanish officials came to the
house and I was present at their meetings with my father. Often the
topic was arms purchasing, but the money had first to be raised from the
sale of bonds and other valuables retrieved from Spanish banks. I wound
up strolling around Paris with the bearers of these valuables, with a
gun in my pocket. It was all very Hollywood. In November 1936, seeing
that this war was no trifling affair, I decided to set off for it. My
father told me: Now think this through, because it will turn your whole
life upside down. It took some time to make all my arrangements and off
I set on 14 January 1937. I had just turned 20. In fact, virtually the
whole of the small libertarian group in the 15^(th) arrondissement of
Paris set off: five guys and one girl. The CGT-SR saw to the travel
arrangements. There was a so-called identity check at the border, but
the French police had been ordered to let all these undesirables slip
across.
I had no belief at all in the success of the Republican forces. I always
reckoned that no political party, no government, no country could
countenance the victory of a predominantly libertarian force. Later I
saw just how accurate that was. They all betrayed us: from the
Republican government that withheld arms from the people, through the
Communists who had our units encircled by the fascists when they opened
up the front lines. Only 532 of us out of my unit of 4000+ men were left
to break out of the encirclement on 6 February 1938, after 24 hours of
battle. Not enough has been made of the American supplies that went to
Franco, whilst England and France, in cahoots with Russia, preached
nonintervention. (...)
When we reached Barcelona, our little group was surrounded by a gang of
Communists as soon as we stepped off the train: they welcomed us with
open arms and shepherded us into their units. Luckily, a group of the
Libertarian Youth — who were very strong in Catalonia — were also
waiting for us and saw them off. Given my background as a radio-
navigator, I had it in mind to join the Republican air force. After a
few overtures were made, I was sent to Valencia for induction.
Presenting myself in the appropriate office, I was greeted by a civil
servant sitting behind his cash register. Just then, three superior
officers who had arrived overheard me and, smilingly, clapped me on the
shoulder and told me in French: ‘Great! Well take you right now!’ I very
quickly retorted: ‘Take me where?’ Answer? ‘To the International
Brigades!’ I leaned back towards the door, saying ‘With the Communists?
No Way!’ Having taken some soundings, I learned that an anarchist column
was due to go to the front very shortly to relieve the Iron Column which
had been pretty well decimated during a six month tour of duty at the
front. So I reported to an official in order to enlist in a CNT column,
the Confederal Column, under the name of Leo Voline. They were
pleasantly surprised that I was one of the sons of my father. And so, at
the end of February 1937, with hundreds of young people packed into
lorries, I was off to the Teruel front along impossible roads, singing
anarchist anthems and revolutionary songs.
Itineraire — And how did your father stand with regard to the war in
Spain?
Leo — My father was totally committed to action alongside the Spanish
movement. He was in ongoing contact with officials, especially as he was
busy editing the newspaper L’Espagne antifasciste from Paris. Thus every
day he received reports on current developments. And so, on 21 November
1936, he got a telegram which read: Durruti murdered on the Madrid front
by Communists. One hour later, a second telegram arrived (just as my
father was setting out for the printshop) saying: Cancel first telegram,
in order to preserve unity of action. Which was the absolute obsession
of the time. Later, in prison in Cerbre, I came across a young Corsican
lad, making his way home as I was, disheartened by the Communists, and
he admitted to me that he had been a member of the commando that slew
Durruti. He was very emotional and shouted to me: But I swear to you,
Leo, I never fired a shot! His name was Andre Paris.
Itineraire — Lots of people used to visit you in order to see your
father?
Leo — There was a never-ending stream, a terrible situation for my
mother. Where my father was concerned, our door was never shut. Lots of
freeloaders used to come, basically to cadge a free meal, without a
thought for the problems that posed for us. Some made a habit of it and
used to turn up regularly for a meal. I have never forgotten my mothers
look when she saw them coming. Sometimes they were foreign fugitives,
persecuted for their beliefs, sent to Voline by French comrades. There
was a number of reasons for that: my father spoke several languages, and
he also had connections which he never called upon for his own benefit
but which proved very useful in pulling others out of a hole. He knew
Henri Sellier, the senator-mayor of Suresnes; and Leon Blum; and the
Paris prefect Jean Chiappe (whose life one of my fathers friends, Paul
Fuchs, had once saved and who had promised him help any time he might
need it). There was the lawyer Henry Torres too.
Itineraire — Some of these people would have been freemasons like your
father was?
Leo — Yes, maybe. By nature I am very reserved. So there are topics that
I never broached with my father, except one time when I asked him why he
was a freemason. He replied that he had hesitated on account of certain
rites with which he was not in agreement, but reckoned that those were
the circles in which one might spread one’s ideas widely, given that his
lodge was already very leftist. I also happen to know that through those
connections he was able to give lots of people a helping hand. When
comrades in difficulty showed up, my father would use his connections to
straighten things out for them, find them papers, residence permits,
lodgings and work. It was often very hard. Sometimes people lived with
us while they waited. Luckily there were also genuine friends who did
their damnedest discreetly to look after the children, lay on a party,
dress up as Father Christmas. I recall especially the Goldenbergs, Senya
Fleshine and Mollie Steimer, the Doubinskys, Arshinov and others.
Itineraire — And did Makhno and Arshinov come too?
Leo — Yes, Arshinov and his wife, along with their little lad, André,
visited for years right up until they left for Russia. My father used to
say to him: Marin... I have no idea why he called him that. I remember
especially one song that they used to sing together with Makhno, which
referred to Batko (Makhno), Uncle Marin (Arshinov) and Voline. When
Arshinov called to the house in Gennevilliers in 1927, pining for home —
I was just a kid of about ten — my father used to say over and over to
him: Marin, you must not go. They will shoot you. Do not kid yourself,
they will never forgive you. But he went all the same in 1932, and they
shot him in 1937. Makhno used to come often when we lived in Berlin in
our attic. I used to listen keenly to him, for all his talk was of his
battles, his daring coups, his guile in dealing with the enemy — a real
western for a lad of between 7 and 9 like me. The, in France, we lived
way out on the outskirts: he was worn out, ailing and handicapped by his
many wounds and we saw less and less of him until he died in 1934.
Itineraire — You did see your father again, in 1940, in Marseilles. What
was he up to then?
Leo – That’s right. Demobbed in August 1940 (I had belonged to a ski
troop unit in the Alps), I met up with my father in Marseilles on 28
October. In the interim, waiting to see how things would turn out
generally (Paris was occupied by the Germans) I had gone grape-picking
and various other things. There were a million and a half refugees from
the occupied zone in the Marseilles area. Work was very hard to come by.
My father, already hard hit by my mothers death and living from day to
day, was still active: meetings, lectures, propaganda. We talked about
it a bit, but, because of my reserve we did not get too far.
Communication between father and son is not very easy: I still felt too
much of a child beside him. It was a lot later on, once I had gained
some experience and greater knowledge of people, that I should have
liked to chat with him. But by then he was no longer around. Taken in by
one of his best friends, Francisco Botey, who (along with his wife
Paquita) had fled Spain for the Marseilles area, he had company and care
in those tough times, but passed away, exhausted and gravely ill, in
September 1945.
Leo Voline interviewed by Itineraire editors. ITINERAIRE 13, pp 21–24.
Some Militants of the CNT
In line with its policy of rescuing militants from the oblivion of
history, the KSL is proud to present these brief life summaries of some
CNT activists. Any extra information on these — or other — comrades is
welcome.
Macario Illera Tejada
Born in Vitoria in 1913, into a very poor family, he spent some time in
the workhouse. At the age of 14 he joined the army as a drummer boy and
was based in the Zaragoza military academy in the days when Franco was
the director there; when the academy was shut down under the Republic,
he transferred to an engineers regiment, first as a drummer and later as
a rifleman. Posted to stand guard on the prison in Zaragoza, he found
himself jailed for talking to the inmates, and a short time later he
happened to attend a CNT meeting in the city (in 1932). This made a deep
impression on him and decided to join the anarchist ranks. A little
later he crossed swords with his sergeant and was discharged from the
army. In 1933 he was living in Vitoria, a CNT member and when the
fascists captured the city in 1936 he fled (24 July) into the mountains
and made his way to Bilbao. He fought in San Sebastien, Tolosa and Irun
and later, having enlisted with the Bakunin Battalion, in Chivarte,
Sollube and Murguia as well, right up until the Bilbao front collapsed,
at which point he left for Santander where (thanks to treachery by the
Basque nationalists) he was arrested along with several thousand others
in August 1937 and taken to Santoña. This was the start of a lengthy
series of calamities (which included being sentenced to death) and a
voyage through the prisons of Bilbao and Burgos, until he was released
on parole in March 1943 and banished to Benicarló (Cervera) where he
became a goatherd. After some months he made his way back to Vitoria,
tried his hand at a number of trades and threw himself into the
underground struggle (becoming a member of the Alava comarcal
committee). In 1947 he tried to escape to France but was arrested in
Navarre and was jailed for some months in Pamplona and Vitoria. Sickened
by the workers lack of fight, he decided to switch trades and became a
boot-black, keeping the torch of anarchism aloft for many a year in
Vitoria, where he became an exceptionally popular figure. From 1967 on,
a series of thromboses sapped his strength but this did not stop him
from being one of the first to volunteer his help when the CNT started
to rebuild in Vitoria. A Tolstoyan advocate of a pacifist
libertarianism, tremendously strong-willed and impervious to loss of
morale, he was unbending in his principles which led him to repudiate
consumerism. He was the very symbol of the tireless militant of
indestructible faith.
Joaquin Pallarés Tomás
Joaquin Pallarès Tomás was born in Barcelona-La Torrasa in 1923 and was
the leader of an action group which started its operations almost as
soon as the civil war ended in 1939, in and around Hospitalet, Santa
Eulalia, Sans and La Torrasa (these being villages and districts in and
around Barcelona). Among the operations credited to it was the execution
of the chief inspector of the Hospitalet police (on 30 April 1939), as
well as a number of incidents in which police were disarmed or shot, and
robberies were carried out. His group was made up of Catalans, plus some
Aragonese from around Huesca. In addition to guerrilla activity, they
did remarkable work on the reorganization of the Libertarian Youth of
Catalonia, setting up the first postwar regional committee and Barcelona
local committee. At the time of their arrest, three of the groups
members (Pallars, Alvarez and Ruiz) held positions on the Libertarian
Youth regional committee. They were captured by the police in March 1943
and tortured; within days, Joaquin Pallarés – who displayed great
integrity — was executed (on 29 March 1943) alongside Fransisco Alvarez,
Fernando Ruiz, Francisco Atares, José Serra, Benito Santi, Juan Aquilla,
Arguelles and Tresols; other members of the group — Vincente Iglesias,
Jos Urrea, Manuel Gracia, Rafael Olalde and Hilaria Foldevilla — had
their lives spared. The Pallarés group was one of the very first
anti-Franco urban guerrilla groups.
José Siliceo Victorio
Born in 1906 in Bienvenida (Badajoz province, Spain) and died in 1934 in
Oran (Algeria). Member of the anarchist action groups in Andalusia. It
seems that while he was living in his native village he took no part in
the libertarian activities which had been initiated by Olegario Pachón;
his commitment to anarchism came when he moved to Seville shortly before
the coming of the Republic. Almost immediately after settling there he
joined the attack groups, joining one that also included Miguel Arca and
Jeronimo Misa. They soon became the most formidable anarchist group
/confederal defense group in the years when the CNT in Seville was
caught up in violent conflict (with Communists and anarchist fighting
for control of the Seville CNT and in clashes with the bosses). There is
no doubt that he took part in many operations against the Communists and
that he assassinated the president of the Andalusian employers,
Caravaca, when the latter refused to recognize the CNTs union. In 192,
he was present at an FAI rally in Seville with Durruti and others. In
the ensuing months he came in for a lot of harassment, as a result of
which he extended his operations outside of Seville, before eventually
being forced to flee to Morocco and Algeria. He died in Oran following a
gun battle with French gendarmes. He was the most celebrated of the
activists in southern Spain prior to the civil war.
The ‘Los Queros Guerrilla’ band.
The Los Queros group operated in the city of Granada and in its environs
in the years following the end of the civil war, inflicting heavy losses
on the Francoist government forces and their collaborators. The main
members of the group were the four Quero Robles brothers (Antonio,
Francisco, José and Pedro) and they had plenty of back-up. The Queros
brothers were the sons of a farm laborer who went on to become a
watchman and eventually a butcher in Granada. This latter trade was
plied in Albaicin and he had the help of his older sons. When the civil
war erupted in 1936, and after Granada fell to the rebels, the family
was targeted for persecution. A brother in law was shot, the father was
jailed, etc. and some of the brothers (Pedro, Antonio and Jos) escaped
into the republican zone. When the civil war ended, Pedro wound up in
the Benalua de Guardix concentration camp, returning to Granada after he
was released. However, he was soon forced to go into hiding after
suffering persecution when it became know that during the civil war he
had served with a special services (guerrilla) unit, and the family had
to put it about that he had fled to France. Years later he emerged from
hiding to join his brothers in their guerrilla activity. José and
Antonio had also been jailed after the war ended but had successfully
broken out of the La Campana prison in Granada and joined forces with
other guerrillas (Medina, Salcedo, Villa, El Tito.) The fourth guerrilla
brother, Francisco, was beaten up by the victors in the civil war, until
he took to the hills in 1941. The four Quero brothers were joined by
others unhappy with Francoism; people like Antonio Velázquez (from
Guéjar), Morales etc. The Queros guerrilla band commanded the respect of
the Francoist forces of law and order, so much so that they often could
live fairly openly in Granada. Among their more outstanding actions were
several robberies carried out in La Zubia and Granada in 1942–43, the
kidnapping of General Estrada in 1943, and numerous gunfights with
police detectives and Civil Guards, the execution of informers, etc.
Nevertheless, from 1945 onwards, the police noose was tightening and the
band began to suffer losses; Velázquez and Mecánico died in January 1945
when the Civil Guard dynamited their hide-out in Granada; in July it was
Modestro’s turn. After a fierce gun-battle in Granada itself, the Queros
managed to escape but within days 36 year old Pedro took his own life
when surrounded on Sacromonte, taking two of Francos goons with him. In
1946 Morales and Francisco Quero (23) were killed. Antonio Quero died on
22 May 1947. It seems that the fourth brother was killed in a shoot-out
on 2 November 1944. By 1947 the Los Queros’ guerrilla activity in
Granada, the most significant libertarian guerrillas alongside El Raya’s
band, was over.
Benigno Andrade Garcia
Known as Foucellas after the village in La Corunna where he was born. In
1936 he was working with a locksmith in Mesia and was a CNT member. Come
the fascist uprising, which succeeded in Galicia, and after fighting the
forces of repression in Cambruy, he joined the rural guerrillas
(Negreiro’s group in the mountainous Chamarde district). With the end of
the civil war, he carried on with his guerrilla activities alongside an
autonomous band based in the Bacelo hills, fighting in the area around
Betanzos, Ordenes, Guitiriz and Arzua, with forays into La Corunna and
El Ferrol (in 1948), striking fear into the fascists. Early in 1952, he
was ambushed in Betanzos as a result of treachery and was wounded and
arrested. He was executed in La Corunna on 26 July 1952. Of average
height, well-built, full of energy and shrewd, he was the most feared of
the Galician guerrillas, the undisputed leader of the guerrillas in
Central Galicia. He achieved considerable popularity, so much so that
the name Foucellas was used as a synonym for guerrilla.
Juan Brell Piñol
Born in Valencia in 1908 into an anarchist family, his childhood was
‘eventful’ due to the banishments and harassment inflicted on his
father. He belonged to the CNT’s Woodworkers’ Union. By 1936 he was
general secretary of the Foyos comarcal federation and he enlisted in
the anarchist militias, commanding the Puebla de Farnals centuria which
eventually joined the Iron Column; after some time in the rearguard, he
returned to the front; he fought in Somosierra right up until the end of
the civil war, at which point he was captured (in Loma Quemada). This
marked the start of a long calvary through concentration camps and
prisons... the monasteries of Santa Espina and Puig, Las Corneras
(Valladolid), Madrid, Valencia and San Miguel de los Reyes (in the
latter prison he was on death row, having been sentenced in 1941). In
October 1946 he was released on parole, but was back in jail by March
1947; he managed to break out shortly afterwards and, under an assumed
name, threw himself into intensive work on behalf of the underground
CNT; this ended with his being arrested in 1958. He was released on bail
and rejoined the struggle until his advancing years ruled him out of
positions exposing him to danger. With the collapse of Francoism, he,
like many another aged CNT member, devoted his efforts to championing
the cause of pensioners.
José Ledo Limia
Galician anarchist born in Lugo (some sources say in Orense) in 1900. He
emigrated to Rio de Janiero (Brazil) around the time of the great war
and later popped up in Argentina, Chili, Uruguay and Peru. He returned
to Spain as a stowaway and was arrested in Vigo. He joined the army in
the wake of the Anual military disaster (Morocco) and served for several
years as a gunner in Africa (1921–25). Later he traveled to Havana and
on to Mexico (1925–26) and worked in the United States (Pennsylvania).
It was in the USA that he came into contact with A. Quintas who
introduced him to anarchism. A short time after that he was deported to
Spain over his involvement in the Sacco-Vanzetti campaign. He arrived in
a Spain under the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera and spent several
months in prison. Later he lived in hiding but was very active (helping
to set up the social Ateneo in Madrid). During the republic he worked
for the Transmediterrnea shipping line (traveling to Brazil, Argentina
and Uruguay) acting as a liaison between anarchists on both sides of the
Atlantic (smuggling militants and propaganda materials). He gave up the
sea after a trip to Fernando Poo when he nearly died of malaria. He was
intensely active then in Barcelona and Madrid; the events in Asturias in
1934 found him up to his neck in the revolution and he was jailed along
with Fosco Falaschi and Benigno Mancebo. He was released on parole in
mid-1935 (although some people claim that he was sentenced to death and
released under the amnesty in 1936). Thereafter he was active in the
catering union in Madrid and in the FAI. When the civil war broke out,
he joined the Galician column as its trade union delegate, fighting on
the Madrid front — and rejecting promotion. He later joined the
Investigation Branch (in Barcelona-Madrid) whose task was to counter the
Stalinist counter-revolution (1937). At this time he was disappointed at
the course being taken by the revolution and was bitter at the sight of
yesterdays red-hot revolutionaries jockeying for ‘position’. He had a
miraculous escape from capture by the Francoists at the end of the war
and crossed into France via Matar and Camprodon, only to begin an
odyssey through concentration camps in Argeles, Barcares, St Cyprien and
Arles — from which he escaped several times (he was in Perpignan in
February 1939), but to little avail. He was sent to punishment camps and
assigned to the Sur-Niort labor battalion. Eventually he made it to
Paris where, after some harsh confrontation with CNT leaders, he secured
a passage to the Americas. In April he sailed from Le Harve, bound for
Cuidad Trujillo in the Dominican Republic. Later he moved on to
Queretaro in Mexico in 1942, where he remained until 1965 when he
smuggled himself to Portugal from where he was forced to flee to Mexico
after a short while. In 1974, sorely disenchanted, he returned to end
his days in his native land, working on the land. An indefatigable
battler, not much given to writing (though he was friendly with well-
known libertarian intellectuals) and a born activist, he was without
doubt one of the greatest anarchists of his day and one of the ones who
resisted the temptation to compromise which seduced lots of other CNT
members in 1936. Among his friends were Carpio, B. Esteban, Odón, Tato,
Lamberet and Mancebo. Yet he remains a little-known militant.
Benigno Mancebo
Born in Sanchorreja (Avila, Spain) in 1906 and died in Madrid in 1940
before a fascist firing squad. From an anarchist family, he spent
fifteen years (1908–1923) in the care of his grandmother and separated
from his parents who had emigrated to the Americas. By 1923 he was in
Argentina where he was associated with revolutionary anarchist laborism
and he quickly came into contact with the group publishing the legendary
anarchist newspaper La Protesta (on which he worked as a typesetter) and
improved his education. In Argentina he became a fan of the theater (the
Arte y Natura group) and he belonged to the Booklovers Guild set up by
Diego Abad de Santilln. Arrested by the Argentine military in 1930, he
was interned on the island of Demarchi and then in Martin Garcia and the
prison in Ushuaia, only to be deported along with his father, Pedro, to
Spain. He had scarcely arrived there when he was arrested as a draft-
dodger and he was sent to Valencia to do his military service; right
after discharge he joined the CNT and FAI and launched the important
Madrid newspaper El Libertario. His journalistic activity was fleshed
out with frequent pieces written for CNT, Tierra y Libertad and
Solidaridad Obrera (as a result of which he saw the inside of the
republics prisons fairly regularly). During the civil war he was
involved in activities of the first importance; he was a member of the
CNTs regional committee in Castile and of the commission given the task
of preserving the national heritage. In February 1939 he joined the
famous CNT Defense Committee of the Center. Later he fled to Alicante
where he was arrested. He was shot on 27 April 1940. Although less well
known than other Argentines, Benigno Mancebo was one of that legendary
band of militants with connections to La Protesta who played such a
decisive role in the Iberian peninsula in the 1930s.