The million-odd Basques in northern Spain are Spaniards mainly by geography. As one of Europe’s oldest national minorities,*they have fought for centuries to keep their identity distinct from their Spanish neighbors, who had conquered the Basque provinces by the 16th century. During the Spanish Civil War, the Republican government granted the Basques autonomy, and thereby got most of them on its side. After the war. Generalissimo Franco returned to the older
Spanish policy of trying to stamp out Basque culture and traditions.
Politically powerless, the stoutly Roman Catholic Basques have rallied around their church as the last champion of their national rights. Their clergy, unlike the Spanish church, was overwhelmingly anti-Franco in the Civil War; the Franco government, in reprisal, executed 1.7 priests, imprisoned many others, and exiled the Basque Bishop of Vitoria. Although new Spanish bishops were sent to three Basque dioceses, the local clergy remained rebellious, went on teaching the catechism in the Basque language and talking about Basque national traditions from their pulpits—both serious crimes in the eyes of Franco’s government.
Mountain Monastery. Two years ago a group of Basque pastors began to publish a semi-clandestine mimeographed magazine called Egiz (Basque for “truth”), in which nationalistic as well as moral problems were openly discussed. It was highly successful. Each laboriously circulated issue found its way to some 50,000 readers. When the three Spanish bishops told the priests to stop publication, they ignored the order. The bishops then decreed that any priest connected with Egiz would be suspended. Reluctantly, some weeks ago, the priests yielded.
Last week hundreds of Basque parish priests gathered for devotions and conferences at the mountain shrine of Our Lady of Aranzazu, by tradition the patroness of the Basque nation. For more than 500 years Aranzazu’s monastery has been a wellspring of Basque culture. It remains so today. Its 128 cloistered Franciscan friars are outside the jurisdiction of the Spanish bishops. Although armed civil guardsmen are posted around their monastery, Franco’s government has never dared to invade it.
Cassock Ribbons. At their printing plant inside the monastery, the monks still turn out books and magazines in the Basque language. In their trips through the countryside, they work quietly to preserve the Basque consciousness of their people, as well as certain moral freedoms generally overlooked in the rest of Spain. A year ago, during serious anti-government strikes in the Basque provinces, Spanish bishops were warning priests to tell the people that such striking was a mortal sin. One of Aranzazu’s Franciscans, speaking from the pulpit, countered: “The right to strike without violence is a right granted by God as one of man’s natural freedoms.”
During last week’s meetings with the monks of Aranzazu, pious Basque priests earnestly discussed how they might keep their old culture and religion from slipping away from the country. A few days later, they left the monastery to go down to their scattered parishes, their faith renewed by the monastery’s support. Said one, caressing a small green, white and red ribbon (for the Basque national colors) pinned on his rough cassock: “While there is one Franciscan at the shrine of Our Lady of Aranzazu, the Basque culture will not die.”
*The fair-complexioned Basques are probably survivors of a prehistoric race of European aborigines. Their jawbreaking language has no resemblances to any European tongue.
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