Following Franco’s death in 1975, Spain began the herculean task of transitioning to democracy. In hopes of pursuing peaceful progress, an amnesty law was passed in 1977 that freed political prisoners and allowed those in exile to return to Spain. The law also granted impunity to those who may have committed or participated in crimes during the war and the dictatorship. The law paved the way for El pacto del olvido in Spain, the Pact of Forgetting.
Some historians have described the Pact of Forgetting as necessary for a smooth and peaceful transition. Others question the long-term effects of silence on historical memory, identity construction, and human dignity. Scholars question whether the absence of a common historical narrative creates painful obstructions of justice and trust.
Studies estimate that over three hundred thousand children in Spain were possibly stolen from their birth parents and transferred or sold to families deemed “less degenerate.” The adoptions and thefts began in 1939 and lasted into the 1980s. During and after the Civil War, some infants were taken as punishment to those who opposed Franco. In the postwar period, the thefts were seen as a way to “rehabilitate” children who had parents or grandparents with the “Red gene.” In later years, the stolen children were said to be part of a continued trafficking operation involving doctors and the Church.
Today, there are many wonderful groups in Spain advocating tirelessly for stolen children. The United Nations has urged human rights investigations. Some have suggested the creation of a special DNA database (as was done in Argentina for stolen children) to pursue truth and reunification. Although this is incredibly complex, I am confident that progress is possible. I am also confident that readers can be part of that progress—particularly young readers.
I am considered a “crossover” author because my books are read worldwide by both teens and adults. It will be the young readers who carry our fading stories, their associated challenges, and necessary dialogue into the future. I have every confidence that the young generation—a generation of empathy—will gently clean the wounds and work together toward strength and healing.
Every nation has scars and hidden history. When stories of historical conflict are read and discussed, we have an opportunity to be united in study and remembrance. In that way, books join us together as a global reading community, but also a global human community striving to learn from the past.
I extend my heartfelt gratitude to the people of Spain and the regions within its borders. Thank you for allowing me to study your history. My hope is that this novel might inspire others to conduct their own research in an effort to learn, grow, and build bridges that will endure the tests of time and historical memory. When that happens, history will no longer stand between us, it will flow through us.
—Ruta Sepetys
RESEARCH AND SOURCES
The research process for this novel was a global, collaborative effort that spanned eight years. That said, any errors found herein are my own.
My Spanish publisher, Maeva, connected me with people, places, and experiences to bring this story to life. Laura Russo simply went above and beyond. I am forever grateful to Maite Cuadros, Mathilde Sommeregger, Eva Cuadros, Rocio de Isasa, Sara Fernandez, Montse Vintró, and the entire Maeva and SGEL team.
Translator and screenwriter Marta Armengol Royo in Barcelona is often my interpreter for events in Spain. Marta served as a consultant and partner for this project, read multiple drafts, passionately guided my efforts and research, and gently corrected my terrible Spanish. My longtime friend Claus Pedersen is a teacher of history and Spanish in Denmark. Claus worked with me for years, helped me find research materials, advised on many topics, and provided much-needed encouragement. Dr. Almudena Cros is a history professor in Madrid and helped plan and complete my research. Almudena accompanied me for many long days in Spain and for years after, exploring history and the myriad emotions it brings with it. Jon Galdos devoted much time and patience guiding me through Bilbao, Guernica, Getaria, Hendaye, Irún, San Sebastián, and the stunning Basque countryside.
Professor Soledad Luque Delgado is the president of the organization Todos los niños robados son también mis niños, which she formed to mobilize and educate people about the disappearance of children during the Franco dictatorship and in subsequent transition years. Soledad believes her twin brother was stolen and has spent many years speaking on the topic and tirelessly advocating for others. Soledad spent time with me in Madrid and was an enormous help with my research.
Ángel Casero, president of the organization Adelante Niños Robados, met with me and explained the history behind the thefts of children, the adoptions, as well as the treatment of women during the time period. Ángel’s baby brother disappeared from a medical facility in the sixties and his older brothers were shown the frozen corpse of a child, purported to be their deceased sibling.
Soledad and Ángel invited me to attend a panel presentation and meeting in Madrid devoted to stolen children. The sweltering room was over capacity with attendees. The stories shared were both heartbreaking—such as quests for true identity—and horrific—an exhumed coffin of an infant that did not contain the remains of a child, but instead held the bones of an adult arm. I’m grateful to all of the attendees who shared their personal stories, photos, and hopes for the future. You are constantly on my mind.
During my research I discovered Carlos Giménez’s award-winning graphic memoir Paracuellos: Children of the Defeated in Franco’s Fascist Spain. The heartbreaking stories tinged with humor depicted in the art made a profound impression and informed the characters and journey of Rafa and Fuga.
Father Fernando Cerracedo, a priest in Vallecas for over forty years, generously shared both heart and historical detail of the district that helped me bring the beauty of Vallecas to the story and those in it.
Dr. José Ignacio de Arana served as a physician at the Inclusa in Madrid for over forty years. He explained the structure and daily workings of the Inclusa, which underscored the love and dedication that most doctors and staff had for the children at the orphanage.
Mariluz Antolín and Elena Nieto welcomed me for extended stays at the InterContinental in Madrid, formerly the Castellana Hilton. Mariluz shared archival materials, provided space for research meetings, and allowed me to explore every last corner of the hotel during my stay to create Ana’s and Daniel’s world depicted in the book.
Antonio López Fuentes, master tailor at Fermín in Madrid, answered my endless questions and allowed me to spend time in the shop with his team to explore the creation and traditions surrounding a suit of lights.
Eduardo Fernández and his father, Antonio Fernández, generously shared their family’s story and memories with me. Antonio survived Asilo Durán, a “home” for boys in Barcelona, and became a waiter at the Castellana Hilton.
Efraín Royo Lascorz patiently recounted details and memories of working at the slaughterhouse, contributing information and dimension to the character of Rafa.