Memory demands proximity. It does not reside only in capitals or major museums; it lives in towns and neighbourhoods, in old factories and railway lines, in humble plaques and unmarked graves, in stories of exile and return. If commemoration is not local and decentralized, it reproduces the very inequalities it claims to challenge. That is why we value local networks— libraries, civic centres, memory associations, schools. There lies the real citizenry we want to reach out to.
And it demands comparison. Portugal, Greece, and Spain share rhythms, repertoires, and dilemmas. When we look at ourselves in that Iberian and Mediterranean mirror, domestic noise lowers and the quality of argument rises. Memory, when opened to the European context, becomes de-provincialized and more useful: we learn with and from others, we recognize affinities and differences and we find new answers for old questions.
Let us not idealize things: polarization exists. Memory touches nerves, which should not be sedated. But we must propose informed disagreement: plurality of voices, attention to evidence, care for those who suffered, and clear rules of engagement. Democracy is not unanimity; it is the art of turning enemies into adversaries. That must be learned and practiced. A well-curated exhibition, an urban route, a contextualized screening can do more for public conversation than a hundred social media trenches.
Technology is part of the challenge. Synthetic recreations and disinformation trivialize, distort, and divide. The answer cannot be fear or blind rejection; it must be curation. We seek to label what is recreated, explain contexts, provide students with tools to identify fake news, release reliable materials for teachers and communicators. The goal is not to replace experience with a screen, but to widen access responsibly.
Finally, there is one symbol that speaks to us all: Cuelgamuros. Its re-signification cannot be solved with quick gestures. It requires history, ethics, and listening. We do not want to replace one symbol with another; we want to turn a difficult place into a civic classroom. That means public deliberation, participation of victims and experts, and pedagogical mediation that dignifies the visit. Doing it right will take time. Doing it wrong will cost us dearly.
Today, fifty years after Franco was buried in Cuelgamuros, this anniversary aims at two simple but demanding things. First, we have to make space for everyone, even for those who think differently, because democracy is precisely that: the art of living in difference. Secondly, we have to leave a useful trace—
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Observing Memories ISSUE 9