The organisers of the Symposium and exhibition, Michael Netter, Alfred Olivero and Alfred Sacramento
Photo courtesy of Gibraltar Chronicle

Meandering round art galleries is something that I like to do from time to time; I find it relaxing, sometimes stimulating, often simply an opportunity to pause and think outside of the usual hectic run of routine.  It is not often that I emerge from an exhibition so moved, and yet for the second time in a few months, I have emerged from the Gustavo Bacarisas Gallery at Casemates, Gibraltar, with a lump in my throat and a quiet, thoughtful sense of pride.

The exhibition was that on the Spanish Civil War and the Gibraltar dimension, organised by three former Unite members with the support of Unite the union.  It formed part of the Symposium held the previous week which brought together representatives from Spanish trade unions, local historians, union members and also academics, notably Dr Chris Grocott and Professor Gareth Stockey.  

The lump in the throat came from the stories I read on the display panels of brave local people and how they contributed to the care of thousands of refugees who flocked into Gibraltar.  Yes, some of these refugees were possibly rabble-rousers and trouble-makers, as our colonial masters at the time would want us believe.  Some turned out to be spies for both the Nationalist rebels and for the Republican government.  Most were simply people terrified of the horror that was unleashed at Gibraltar's threshold.  There were images of thousands of people pressed against the frontier gates, closed in panic by the British.  There were images of boats of refugees being rowed into the eastern beaches from the Spanish coast.  There were images of children receiving medical attention and food handouts.  These were images in black and white, not colour, but not dissimilar to those on our TV screens recently.

Explaining the exhibits to a child, so that generations to come can learn from the past

And Gibraltar stepped up to the situation.  Refugees camps were set up and when the authorities closed these down, the refugees were housed, crammed into back rooms, front rooms, any rooms of the local community who knew full well that return to Spain for most meant certain death with a likelihood of torture first. Soup kitchens were set up, food was distributed, medical treatment doled out.  The authorities protested and sent many back, but Gibraltarian heroes were made in those intense years between 1936 to 1939, heroes who cared about the hell that had been unleashed in Spain and the suffering of their neighbouring community.  Viewing this exhibition at a time when hundreds of thousands of refugees clamour for succour at Europe's gates, the pertinence of the acts of our grandparents is poignant and hugely significant.

In the furthest room of the gallery, a documentary was played, and the lump in my throat turned to pride.  My uncle, Humbert Hernandez, contributed to the documentary as he did to the symposium with a learned and beautifully delivered analysis of how the British, the Church and Gibraltar's business leaders gave support to the fascist Franco, his rebel army and his murderous regime.  It was refreshing to hear at last an objective and unabashed criticism of Gibraltar's establishment.  It is only through this sort of open criticism that societies can openly learn about their history, their roots, where they have come from and where they are heading.  

Pictured with colleagues from the Socorro Rojo, my grandfather, Rogelio Hernandez (bottom left)

The documentary was brilliantly put together, with local people talking about the experiences of their families - experiences so horrific that it can only give a small taste of the fear which our families experiences only two generations ago.  Among the images flashing onto the screen was that of my grandfather, who had been involved in helping refugees through the Socorro Rojo, and in getting aid raised by Socorro Rojo to those terrorised by Franco's repressive regime.  And an image of my Great Uncle, who, sickened by the terrible torture that he had witnessed, had made a comment criticising Franco, a comment fueled by alcohol in a Spanish bar, and who was kidnapped and shot.  

So many images, so many tragic stories.  Yet emerging from the exhibition were stories, publicly told for the first time, of Gibraltarians who went to fight for the Republic, some who were injured, killed, jailed.  Stories of some who tirelessly campaigned for the rights of the refugees to a safe home, to work and to remain in Gibraltar once the war was over; some who helped with feeding refugees, such as Judah Benzimrah; the many housewives who cooked all day tirelessly and gave up their homes to house whoever they kid; the people who risked everything to smuggle supplies of food and medicine across to Spain to help those captive of the terror.

Samples of William Gomez' diary, courtesy of his son Cecil Gomez, one of the exhibits

This is the first time that the lid has been lifted on this formative period in Gibraltar's history.  The stewards at the exhibition could not have been more helpful.  They were there to answer questions, explain some of the exhibits, such as William Gomez' diary of the period which chronicles the events as reported in the local press.  They also explained that dozens of people have come forward in the last few days with their own stories, their family memories of what happened at the time.  All of them significant.  All of them part of Gibraltar's as yet untold history.

A brilliant exhibition.  I would urge anyone interested in understanding why Gibraltar is how it is and how Gibraltarians are who they are to go along and see for themselves - on Monday it is moving to the Unite building at Town Range.  I left the building deeply moved, proud of my family, proud of Gibraltar.  The spirit that allowed us to open our arms in 1936 and help our neighbours, is precisely the spirit needed by the rest of Europe today.