Dolores
Ibárruri,
the eighth of eleven children, was
born in Gallarta, Spain, on 9th December,
1895. Born into a family of miners, Ibárruri
experienced
poverty as a child. Although an intelligent student, her family could
not afford to pay for her to be trained as a teacher and instead became
a seamstress.
In 1916 she married a miner
and had six children but only two survived to adulthood. She later
wrote that they had died because of her inability to provide adequate
medical care and nourishment for them. The family's financial situation
deteriorated when her husband, an active trade unionist, was imprisoned
for leading a strike. After reading the works of Karl
Marx, Ibárruri
joined the Communist
Party (PCE). Ibárruri
wrote articles for the miners'
newspaper, El Minero Vizcaino,
using the pseudonym Pasionaria (passion flower).
In 1920 Ibárruri
was elected to the Provincial
Committee of the Basque Communist Party. She soon became an important
local political figure and in 1930 was elected to the Central Committee
of the Spanish Communist Party. The following year she became editor
of the left-wing newspaper, Mundo Obrero.
Over the next few years she used her position to campaign for an improvement
in women's conditions in Spain.
In September 1931 Ibárruri
was arrested and charged
with hiding a Communist comrade on the run from the Civil
Guard. After being held in prison in Bilbao she was released
in January 1932. She was then re-arrested and held in prison until
January 1933.
Ibárruri
was a member of the Spanish
delegation of the Communist International which met in the Soviet
Union in 1933. She also attended meetings of the Comintern
where she supported what became known as the Popular
Front policy.
Concerned by the emergence
of fascism in Italy
and Germany, Ibárruri helped organize
the World Committee of Women Against War and Fascism and was a delegate
at its first conference in France in August
1934.
In 1936 Ibárruri,
now known by everybody as (La Pasionaria), was elected to the
Cortes.
During the first few months as a deputy she campaigned for legislation
to improve working, housing and health conditions. She also sought
land reform and rights for trade unionists. Ibárruri
also successfully negotiated
the release of several political prisoners in Spain.
During the Spanish
Civil War Ibárruri
was the chief propagandist
for the Republicans. On 18th July, 1936, she ended a radio speech
with the words: "The fascists shall not pass! No Pasaran".
This phrase eventually became the battle cry for the Republican
Army. In another
speech she declared at a meeting for women: "It is better to
be the widows of heroes than the wives of cowards!"
In September 1936 Ibárruri
was sent to France
and Belgium
to rally support for the
Republic. At one meeting she used the phrase "the Spanish people
would rather die on its feet than live on its knees." She became
a member of the committee designated to administer funds sent to Spain
by the Comintern. Ibárruri was
also involved in the destruction of the Worker's
Party (POUM) and the dismissal of Francisco
Largo Caballero and
Juan Peiro from
the government and supported the appointment of Juan
Negrin as
prime minister.
At the end of the war Ibárruri
fled to the Soviet
Union. Her only son, Ruben Ibárruri
fought for the Red Army during the Second
World War and was killed at Stalingrad
on 3rd December 1942.
Ibárruri
became
Secretary General of the Communist Party
(PCE) in May 1944. After the war she remained in Moscow and in
1964 was awarded the Lenin Peace Prize and the following year the
Order of Lenin. However, in 1968 she strongly attacked the Red
Army invasion of the Czechoslovakia.
The Russian leadership responded by sponsoring a breakaway Spanish
Communist Party led by Enrique
Lister.
After the
death of Francisco
Franco Ibárruri
returned
to Spain and in 1977 was elected deputy
to the Cortes.
Aged 93, Dolores
Ibarruri died
of pneumonia on 12th November, 1989.
(1)
Dolores
Ibárruri wrote
about family life in Spain in the early part of the 20th century in
her autobiography.
A married woman
was a domestic slave with no rights. In the home, the wife lost
her personality; she gave
herself, by dint of sheer necessity, to a life of sacrifice. She bore
the brunt of work, of privations, slogging in every way to make the
lives of her children, and of her husband, more pleasant, less harsh,
less difficult, until she had annihilated herself, eventually turning
herself into 'the old girl' who 'doesn't understand', who just gets
in the way, who at best is a servant for the young ones, a nanny for
the grandchildren . When my first daughter was born, I had lived in
less than a year an experience so bitter that only the love of my
little one kept me hanging on to life. And I was terrified not only
by the present, hateful and unbearable as it was, but by the future
which I could foresee as appallingly painful and inhuman.
The crude reality, the
bare truth, hit me as it did every woman, with its unforgiving hands.
A few short, fleeting days of illusion and afterwards. In my own experience,
I learned the harsh truth of the popular saying 'Mother, what does
it mean to be married? Daughter, it means to sew, to give birth and
to cry'. To cry,
to cry over our misfortunes, to cry over our powerlessness.
To cry over our innocent children, to whom all
we had to offer was our caresses soaked with tears. To cry over
our pain-filled lives, without prospects, with no way out. Bitter
tears, with a permanent curse in the heart and a blasphemy
on the lips.
(2)
Santiago
Carrillo first met Dolores Ibárruri
in April 1936.
I was moved. She was wearing rope-soled sandals, a huge
shawl of pretty colours and, as always, dressed in black. Despite
this simplicity, she seemed to me like a queen. There emanated from
her a dignity, a majesty that is so often found in the women and men
of our people. What seduced me, apart from her beauty, was her extraordinary
charm when she laughed or spoke. In those days, in the Party, she
was the great tribune who mobilized the multitudes, because she had
a voice which grabbed you by the throat and extraordinary gifts as
an orator. Above all, she had political instinct, an always correct
instinct about how to position herself and play her cards in any situation.
Certainly, where tactics were concerned, she could sometimes go too
far, carried away by the passion and sincerity of her character. People
came up to touch her
as they would a saint.
(3)
Mikhail
Koltsov, diary entry (22nd August 1936)
To the severe, masculine atmosphere of the Politburo,
excessively dominated by the rule-book, the presence of Dolores brought
warmth, joy, a sense of humour or of passionate anger. She was particularly
hard-line when it came to keeping promises. Dolores would arrive with
her joyful spirit, with her happy, mischievous smile, well turned-out,
elegant even, despite the simplicity of her dress, always black. She
would sit down, put
her hands on the table and slightly bending her large and beautiful
head, listen in silence to the conversation. At other times, dead
tired, struck with sorrow by something, depressed, her face grey like
stone, looking old, she would slump heavily into a chair by the door,
in a corner, and also say nothing. Then, suddenly, she would interrupt
something someone was saying and then it would be pointless to try
to stop her until, without pausing for breath, she had poured out
her long tirade, which could be happy, funny, ingenious, and triumphant
or gloomy, angry, almost plaintive, full of pained reproaches,
of accusations, of protests and of threats against the
obvious or hidden enemy of the day, against the bureaucrat or
the saboteur who had prevented arms or food being sent to
the militias at the front, or who had offended the workers or
who was involved in intrigue from outside or inside the Party.
(4)
Franz
Borkenau, Spanish Cockpit: An Eyewitness Account of the Political
and Social Conflicts of the Political and Social Conflicts of the
Spanish Civil War (1937)
In the afternoon I attended, in Valencia, a mass meeting
of the Popular Front (to which neither the anarchists nor POUM
belong). There were about 50,000 enthusiastic people there. When La
Pasionaria appeared on the platform enthusiasm
reached its climax. She is the one communist leader who is known and
loved by the masses, but in compensation there is no other personality
in the Government camp loved and admired so much. And she deserves
her fame. It is not that she is politically minded. On the contrary,
what is touching about her is precisely her aloofness from the atmosphere
of political intrigue: the simple, self-sacrificing faith which emanates
from every word she speaks. And more touching even is her lack of
conceit, and even her self-effacement. Dressed in simple black, cleanly
and carefully but without the slightest attempt to make herself look
pleasant, she speaks simply, directly, without rhetoric, without caring
for theatrical
effects, without bringing political sous-entendus into her
speech, as did all the other speakers of the day. At the end of her
speech came a pathetic moment. Her voice, tired from endless addresses
to enormous meetings since the beginning of the civil war, failed
her. And she sat down with a sad waving gesture of her hands, wanting
to express: 'It's no use, I can't help it, I can't say any more; I
am sorry.' There was not the slightest touch of ostentation in it,
only regret at being unable to tell the meeting those things she had
wanted to tell it. This gesture, in its profound simplicity, sincerity,
and its convincing lack of any personal interest in success or failure
as an orator, was more touching than her whole speech. This woman,
looking fifty with her forty years, reflecting, in every word and
every gesture, a profound motherliness (she has five children herself,
and one of her daughters accompanied her to the meeting), has something
of a medieval ascetic, of a religious personality about her. The masses
worship her, not for her intellect, but as a
sort of saint who is to lead them in the days of trial and temptation.
(5)
Ilya
Ehrenburg, letter
sent to Marcel Rosenberg (30th September,
1936)
Except
for La Pasionaria, the leadership of the Communist party consists
of people who do not yet have authority on the national level. The
party's real general secretary was an individual about whom I wrote
you. Because he occupied just such a position not only within the
Central Committee but also outside it, he besmirched the reputations
of two institutions with all the people in the Popular Front. However
we evaluate his role, in any case, the fact that he himself took the
place of the leadership hindered the formation, from the leadership
cadres, of independent political leaders.
The Communist party, which
has attracted some of the more politically conscious elements of the
working class, is, all the same, insufficiently organized and politically
strong to take on even to the slightest degree the political work
for the armed forces of the revolution. In Catalonia, about which
I can judge only through partial evidence, the party is significantly
weaker and undoubtedly suffers from the provocative activities of
Trotskyists, who have won over several active leaders, like, for example,
Maurin. Undoubtedly the party is still incapable of independently
rousing the masses to some kind of large-scale action, or of concentrating
all the strength of the leadership on such an action. What is more
the example of Alcazar has been in this connection a notoriously negative
test for the party. However, I will not give a more definite evaluation
of the cadres and strength of the party, since this is the only organization
with which I have had insufficient contact.
(6)
Charlotte
Haldane
met Dolores
Ibárruri
in 1938.
Back
in Barcelona, I was particularly anxious to meet La Pasionaria, the
famous Spanish woman Communist leader. After I had been kept waiting
for some days, an appointment was made for me through the British
political commissar. I bought a huge bunch of scarlet gladioli - there
was no food in the shops, but there were plenty of flowers - and presented
myself at the headquarters of the Spanish Communist Party, a large
building, as closely fortified and guarded as a fortress. There were
armed men everywhere. In due course I was ushered into an important
and well-furnished office. Dolores Ibarruri rose from her seat behind
a big mahogany desk, and came forward to greet me. She had a matronly
but magnificent figure, and bore herself with that unselfconscious
nobility and dignity that is so characteristic of certain
Spaniards, irrespective of birth or class. Her features were regular,
aquiline; her eyes dark and flashing. She had splendid teeth, and
her smile was young and feminine. The voice that in public meetings
could enthrall thousands was, in private conversation, low and melodious,
though still decisive. She told me with gleeful amusement stories
of the terrible tales that had been spread about her by her political
enemies. To the fascists she was a dread, Medusa-like legend.
In fact, she was the daughter of an Asturian miner, and from childhood
had been used to abject poverty and violent political strikes and
battles to gain even the slightest amelioration of the living and
working conditions of her people. She had been illiterate until her
teens. Against tremendous odds, however, she had educated herself
whilst earning her living. Her devotion to the Spanish working class
was absolute and completely sincere. She became one of the greatest
orators her country has produced, on a par with such oratorical stars
as Jaures and Cachin in France. Her nickname was due to the fact that
the passion which filled her whole personality and her voice when
she defended her people or attacked their enemies was a mystical one,
and the passion with which she preached her cause was akin to religious
fervour. The hatred which she was certainly capable of feeling as
well as inspiring was due to an unusual sensibility, an outraged compassion
for her fellow men and women, the inversion of the immense love and
loyalty by which she was equally inspired.
(7)
Dolores Ibárruri,
speech in France on
8th September 1938.
The Spanish people would rather die on its feet than live on its knees.
And do not forget, and let no one forget, that if today it is our
turn to resist fascist aggression, the struggle will not end in Spain.
Today it's us; but if the Spanish people is allowed to be crushed,
you will be next, all of Europe will have to face aggression and war.
(8)
Dolores Ibárruri,
speech in Barcelona
on 29th October 1938.
Comrades of the International Brigades! Political reasons, reasons
of state, the good of that same cause for which you offered your blood
with limitless generosity, send some of you back to your countries
and some to forced exile. You can go with pride. You are history.
You are legend. You are the heroic example of the solidarity and the
universality of democracy. We will not forget
you; and, when the olive tree of peace puts forth its leaves, entwined
with the laurels of the
Spanish Republic's victory, come back! Come back to us and here you
will find a homeland.
(9)
Katharine
Stewart-Murray, the
Duchess of Atholl, wrote about meeting
Dolores Ibárruri in
1937 in her autobiography, Working Partnership (1958)
The
Prime Minister, Senor Caballero, found time to see us, and in reply
to a question I put to him, assured me that, in the event of a Republican
victory, there would be full religious liberty. But by far the most
interesting personality I met was the woman member of the Cortes,
Dolores Ibarruri, commonly known as La Pasionaria. I had been reluctant
to see her, as her nickname had suggested to me a rather over-emotional
young person, but on Ellen Wilkinson's pressure I agreed to meet her.
I have never ceased to
be glad that I did so, for the only person with whom I felt La Pasionaria
could be compared was the woman I had always regarded as the greatest
actress I had seen, Eleonora Duse. She had Duse's wonderful grace
and voice, but she was much more beautiful, with rich colouring, large
dark eyes, and black wavy hair. She swept into the room like a queen,
yet she was a miner's daughter married to a miner - a woman who had
had the sorrow of losing six out of eight children. I could understand
nothing that she said, and she talked with great rapidity, but to
look and to listen was pleasure enough for me.
(10)
Vincent Sheean,
met Dolores
Ibárruri
in May 1938. He
wrote about her in his book Not Peace But a Sword (1939)
I saw a deep-bosomed Spanish woman of about forty or a little more,
with a hearty laugh and a firm hand. There was a splendid earthy quality
about her laugh, but her face was very sad in repose. The voice was
not what is usually called 'musical' - that is, it had no melodious
tones and little sweetness. It was a little higher and lower than
the average, had a greater range, but that was all. Where it became
quite unlike any other voice I have ever heard was in the effect of
passionate sincerity. This
expressive gift abides in Dolores' voice throughout, in her slightest
remark as in the great sweeping statements, with the result that it
is impossible to disbelieve anything she says while she is actually
saying it.
Sometimes she gave it to
them so straight and hard that you could hear the gasp of the whole
audience. Her purpose was, of course, to make such failures and mistakes
rarer in the future. She criticized the government not at all, but
her own and the other revolutionary parties came in for some terrific
lashings. And then, having frightened the audience into breathlessness
by her picture of disaster, she set out to prove that victory was
possible, and on what conditions. To an ordinary American journalist
in the front row of the hall it seemed that she was asking these people
to stop being Communists altogether, at least until the war was won.
The genius of Dolores - her unquestionable genius as a speaker, the
most remarkable I ever heard - worked upon them its customary
miracle, and she had the
whole audience cheering with enthusiasm when she finished.
(11)
Fred Copeman met
Dolores
Ibárruri
in the Soviet
Union in 1939. He wrote about her in his book Reason in Revolt
(1948)
My meeting with Pasionaria hurt me deep down and I did not like it.
I expected to find her on the stage at the Bolshoi Theatre, holding
the hand of Stalin, and being introduced as one of the greatest living
Communists. I found her alone in
a little room closely guarded by units of the Red Army. If any living
creature had the right to everything we had, to me it was Pasionaria.
She had never given up the struggle for the Spanish people. She took
her chances with the men in the
line. She was the mother of a family which had made great sacrifices,
and one of her sons had given his life. She was a
worker born of the working classes, and her loyalty and integrity
was beyond doubt, yet at this moment, she was far from
happy. Spain to the Soviet Union had become an embarrassment. The
Brigade was beginning to pass into history. Future Soviet policy would
wish to forget it. Her new-found friends had no time for Pasionaria.
The Soviet-Nazi Pact had
already become an immediate possibility. This woman, with her deep
convictions and loyalty to principles, was likely to
become a political problem.
(12)
Edward
Heath, The
Course of My Life (1988)
Everyone we met seemed
to be inspired by Dolores Ibarruri - La Pasionaria - the renowned
and courageous communist whose emotional oratory did so much to maintain
the morale of those on the Republican side. She was a miner's daughter,
born in 1895, and did everything during the Civil War from running
a creche for the children of fighters to manning machine-gun posts.
Although she was a devout Marxist, La Pasionaria reached across political
boundaries by turning the Civil War into a crusade for the independence
of her country. It was moving after Franco's death, over forty years
later, to see this aged but still distinguished and defiant lady return
to a free democratic Spain under the renewed monarchy.
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