Reimagining: The Spanish Civil War
We believe an archive is made of both memories and things left behind. R:TSCW explores those missing pieces—moments the camera missed, stories that fell quiet, rediscovered relics, and memories held close by those who refuse to let them go. Through the lens of modern re-enactors, many of them young historians, these absent histories of the Spanish Civil War come back to life. Only this time, they wear new faces—many resembling those of their ancestors, with many being descendants of the original combatants.
The Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) split Spain in two and left scars in many homes. It was a conflict of families forced to fight, fields turned into trenches, and stories buried beneath decades of silence.
Today, the scenes that the re-enactors recreate often carry a touch of irony: individuals who personally identify with ideologies like Carlism—an ultra-conservative Spanish movement—taking on the roles of Republicans, while others who support communist ideals portray Nationalists, the faction led by fascist Franco, all firing at each other with the theater of war in full swing—smoke bombs, antique rifle blanks, the staccato of false machine gun fire, and the reverberation of sometimes imagined grenades. The surrealism is not lost on them; this blend of seriousness and humor makes these re-enactments very human. They are, after all, not just performing history but confronting it, shouting at the grey areas of living memory.
This idea incorporates previously unseen archives from the Spanish Civil War held by some of the re-enactors, set against one of the most iconic scenarios of documentary photography—the horizon of wartime Spain. These archives were uncovered through different means: inherited from family, gifted by friends, or purchased from antique shops in pueblos. During their re-enactments, the performers retrace the routes of soldiers and explore old trenches, where they often discover remnants of the war—shell casings, bullets, glass, grenade rings… The lines between past and present blur as the modern act of re-enactment is juxtaposed with the in situ stories from the former battlefield.
At times, when fate converges with an archive damaged by chemistry and time, re-enactors seem to slip into that altered world, as if the photograph becomes our memory and reality, the past itself, bruised and fragmented, reaches out to draw them into a fading memory. Re-enactors become part of the archive, reviving and expanding the history, allowing us to question what past survives and why.
The project also gains complexity through the involvement of a present re-enactor who portrays a war photographer from the era. Sean Edwards is an American citizen living in Spain who takes on the role of a correspondent photographer for the International Brigade. Using a Wirgin from 1937, he captures the re-enactments using the same techniques that would have been used during the Spanish Civil War.
In Spain, war reenactments seem to have transcended blank firing and playing dead. These reenactments become conversations, objects, and intellectualized representations of our darker episodes. They invite us to question how we understand their legacy. Pablo Gracia, a dedicated reenactor and historian, emphasizes that recreating the Spanish Civil War can dismantle romanticized notions and foster a critical awareness of violence and its consequences. According to Gracia, in a world still shaped by war, reenactments can help instill a critical and anti-war mindset.
Immersing oneself in a reenactment goes beyond attending a theatrical performance. It is about being at the site of events, hearing stories silenced by time, and seeing how the past confronts us. Attending a reenactment of the Spanish Civil War is an invitation to rediscover history and a direct path to the heart of memory.
AuthorJordi Jon PardoYear2024LocationSpainStatusWork in progress
Left: A fallen olive branch, integral to the landscape where ambushes, operations, and soldiers’ daily lives unfolded during the battles throughout many regions of Spain. The olive tree, ever-present, witnessed both the chaos of war and the quiet moments in between. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024. Right: Two re-enactors, one representing the Nationalist side (left) and the other the Republicans (right), stand inside the ruined church of Rodén, a pedanía of Fuentes de Ebro. “This candle here is made from a Coca-Cola can,” says the Republican. During breaks in their performances, they delve into discussions about the history of the war and its tales. Rodén, like nearby towns such as Belchite, was heavily shelled by artillery and bombed by aircraft, leaving much of the village, including the sacred place, in ruins. After the war, a new village was built nearby, but barely any people lived there, and the remains of the old town were still up there on the cerro. Rodén, 2024.
Nationalist forces advance into the town of Flix, recreating a scene from the Battle of the Ebro during Spain's Civil War. Smoke engulfs the streets as re-enactors portray the urban combat that defines this pivotal conflict chapter. Flix, 2024.
“The mortar was meant for the other side!”. In Vilanova de la Barca, between Zaragoza and Barcelona, a plan was to hold back Franco along the Segre River. The offensive occurred in the summer of 1938, marked by intense combat and significant casualties, culminating in one of the conflict’s bloodiest episodes. These lands still witness the fierce battles that shaped the region’s history today. In the photograph, re-enactors from both sides take their positions to perform the scene in front of a large audience in the fields where many people died. Vilanova de la Barca, 2024.
Re-enactors fall to the ground, pretending to be dead after being struck by imaginary bullets. Especially during performances in front of an audience, they can spend long times lying still, portraying the fallen soldiers of a real war. Vilanova de la Barca, 2024.
Republican re-enactment soldiers stage an offensive in the ruins of Rodén, near Fuentes de Ebro. These crumbling remains, abandoned during the height of the Spanish Civil War, bear the scars of intense bombardments. Today, the village stands frozen in time, a haunting monument of the battles that once tore through this region. The re-enactors bring these forgotten moments back to life, retracing the steps of those who fought in a war that forever changed the landscape. “I take off this hat, put on another, and voilà, I’m a Republican now!” says one reenactor, formerly on the Nationalist side, who wanted to join the offensive at the village church. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024.
Republican soldiers ready themselves inside a tank loaded with smoke bombs designed to simulate its destruction during the reenactment. The improvisation resembles the resourcefulness of a side that, by the time of the Ebro offensive, was running out of options and time. The battle, their last central stand, symbolized determination against overwhelming odds. But strategy and courage were no match for dwindling supplies and growing isolation. Like the cause, the tank is a vessel of hope destined to crumble under the weight of inevitability. Flix, 2024.
A blank round is fired into the sky; not to hit but to be heard. In the early months of the Spanish Civil War, dissuasive fire was often the only option. Many fighters had no real training, barely any bullets, and rifles that failed after a few shots. Orwell wrote of men sent to the front with useless weapons and no idea what they were facing. Shooting into the air became something for those who faced war without knowing how to fight it. It was fear, noise, and confusion. Pablo shoots into the sky, and the shot returns. A sound from the past, repeated without the intent to cause fear. Vilanova de la Barca, 2025.
At times, wounded soldiers are aided by their comrades, as seen here with two Nationalist re-enactors. Some soldiers, limping and battered, rejoin the battle, their bodies broken but their resolve unshaken, striving to fulfill their duty. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024.
A Renault FT tank hauled by horses at the port of Cádiz during the Spanish Civil War, c. 1936–1939. Archival photograph courtesy of historian Pablo Gracia. The image is rephotographed here on the tiled floor of a house in Tàrrega — a town bombed by Italian aviation during the war. A relic of conflict set against a ground once shaken by it. Tàrrega, 1936 and 2025.
A wounded soldier during the reenactment of the Battle of Brunete. He reappears minutes later, limping slightly, pulled by two others along the edge of the road. No more audience, just the dark and the dust. They carry him through the quiet until they reach the light again — the improvised infirmary under the open sky. In Quijorna, the war of July 1937 flickers back to life under electric light. That summer, during the Battle of Brunete, the Spanish Republic — joined by volunteers of the International Brigades — launched a desperate counteroffensive to relieve besieged Madrid. They fought under a merciless sun, suffering as much from thirst as from gunfire. The battlefield became a furnace: the offensive left devastating casualties in its wake. One British battalion emerged with only forty-two survivors out of 331 men. Now, nearly ninety years later, a medic’s hands bind a pretend wound as children who have never known war stand in hushed awe. Quijorna, 2025.
Rodén has been uninhabited since its 200 inhabitants fled the war. The exact moment Rodén became a ghost town is uncertain, but it likely occurred between 1936 and 1937. After the war, a new village was established at the foot of the hill. Today, it is sparsely populated and considered little more than a pedanía of Fuentes de Ebro. The old village, perched atop the mountain like an ancient acropolis, was never rebuilt—one of only a handful of towns destroyed in the war that remain abandoned, alongside Belchite and a few others. Yet, the ruins of old Rodén continue to evoke the presence of civil war, a milestone in the guts of human conflict. Rodén, 2024.
Left: Sometimes, you have to surrender. Here, a Republican re-enactor raises his hands during a Nationalist ambush in an olive grove. The soldier was caught in a moment of vulnerability, set in a landscape still connected to wartime. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024. Right: “Please, return me this one; it is a very beautiful piece.” The re-enactors unearthed rusty cartridge fragments during an excursion during which they practiced many different battlefield techniques. These artifacts, found in situ, are scattered across the ground almost 90 years later. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024.
An Italian soldier poses next to a destroyed BT-5 Republican tank on the outskirts of Fuentes de Ebro. The remnants of this battle, now part of the landscape, remain ingrained in the memories and re-enactments staged in these same olive groves decades later. Fuentes de Ebro, 1937. Author: Unknown Archive: Pablo Gracia (re-enactor, high-ranking member for both sides).
“ ¡Viva Cristo Rey! ”. The cry snaps across the trench just as the Nationalist wave breaks over the Republican line. On this slope near Fayón, Spain’s largest Civil War reenactment gathers more than a hundred volunteers—locals joined by Americans, French, Germans, and others—to replay the decisive 1938 Battle of the Ebro. Spectators ring the rim of the hill, cheering while the scripted assault takes place below. For a brief afternoon, they share the same swirling dust. Fayón, 2025.
On the Ebro, soldiers carry the colors of a vanished republic. This river, once the bloodstained artery of Spain’s Civil War, now flows as a stage where crossing it feels like passing through time and ghosts. After months of brutal stalemate, defeat at the Ebro paved the way for Franco's decisive advance into Catalonia, hastening the collapse of the Republic itself. Fayón, 2025.
In a cabin ringed by trenches where soldiers once slept, they borrow a night from the dead. He lifts the bottle. “I love the Spanish booze!” Hemingway laughs — half joke, half shield. A contest of uniforms, as the soldiers once held. The room answers with laughter, smoke, and a cheap truce. Outside, the war waits at the door like a dog. Fuentes de Ebro, 2025.
An original, deactivated grenade from the Spanish Civil War, integrated into a reenactment setting where authenticity is pursued with meticulous devotion. Among living historians, historical fidelity extends beyond uniforms and gestures—it inhabits every object. From glass canteens and wooden buttons to faded labels and period-correct weaponry, each element becomes a vessel of memory. These objects do not merely recreate the past; they also seem to insist on its presence. Viver, 2025.
In 2025, on the very ground where Gerda Taro staged a scene of resistance in July 1937, today's reenactors prepare to recreate that act. Taro arrived after the battle, capturing a reality reimagined—prisoners with raised arms, staged to lift Republican morale—an act of propaganda within documentary form. This is the moment before the reenactment of a reenactment. A gesture paused in anticipation, where actors align against the horizon, representing Taro's choreography. The layers of time fold into each other: once a potato plot, now wheat, then perhaps potatoes again. Spain’s inner lands change only by rotating the same soil, but memory captures the gesture... arms not yet raised. Brunete, 2025.
The horizon holds the pose. A past held up by hands, set against the same dry light. The gesture remains, not in the bodies, but in the land... Where wheat replaces memory, and memory replaces wheat. Gerda's archive floats above the stubble like a second skin, folded time balanced on a windless afternoon. Here, war is neither past nor present. It’s just the same ground, learning the same silence again. Brunete, 1937 and 2025.
Reenactors rest indoors during what was meant to be the Battle of Viver. Heavy rain made recreation impossible. In the UDT, they didn’t stop the offensives... they stopped the war. Viver, 2025.
Along the margins of small roads, abandoned houses suggest vanished lives, their spectral forms hinting at a broken story. For those seeking the past, a ruin is an inspiration where the memory gains a scenario. Zaragoza, 2024.
Republican re-enactment soldiers stage an offensive in the ruins of Rodén, near Fuentes de Ebro. These crumbling remains, abandoned during the height of the Spanish Civil War, bear the scars of intense bombardments. Today, the village stands frozen in time, a haunting monument of the battles that once tore through this region. The re-enactors bring these forgotten moments back to life, retracing the steps of those who fought in a war that forever changed the landscape. “I take off this hat, put on another, and voilà, I’m a Republican now!” says one reenactor, formerly on the Nationalist side, who wanted to join the offensive at the village church. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024.
Sunday. Mass is over and the pews fill with silence again. The reenactor stays and prays, as he does every Sunday. The front passed through here in October 1937; some battle accounts use the tower as a reference point during the tank assault, and locals say this church was affected. A few kilometres away, the Old Village of Rodén still lies in ruins from the war. A simple prayer, on ground that keeps its own memory. Fuentes de Ebro, 2025.
Fifteen shards of the Spanish Civil War, pressed edge‑to‑edge on a single strip of film. A wreck listing off the coast. A church tower pulverised to rubble. Bodies on whitewashed stone. A triumphant salute in a packed plaza. An overturned tank. Two soldiers wrapped in a blanket of mud. Hospital nurses dancing to drown the noise. A platoon drilling across frozen ground. Each frame is tagged in hurried black ink—“37,” “63,” “180”…—as though the photographer, an unnamed Spanish press man, clung to numbering to keep order amid chaos. The sheet surfaced recently in a provincial antiques stall and passed from hand to hand until it reached historical reenactor Pablo Gracia, who now guards it while the author’s identity and exact front remain unknown. Archive: Pablo Gracia (re-enactor, high-ranking member for both sides). Spain, 1936-1939.
“You were the war photographer today; you deserve the medal.” Every participant in the battle reenactment received one. Natalia's portrait tells the story of the thousands of women who took up arms during the Spanish Civil War. Over 3.000 women served as soldiers in the Ejército Popular de la República, often defying societal expectations and fighting alongside men on the front lines. Many joined voluntarily, driven by a deep sense of duty to the Republic and the belief that defending it was inseparable from protecting their rights and freedoms, knowing that a fascist victory would erase the gains they had fought for during the 20th century. They were not formally recruited in the same way as men but took up arms in the early stages of the conflict, motivated by political conviction and the urgent need to resist Franco. Re-enactors come from all over the country and have formed a kind of family. They gather not only for battles but also to share meals beforehand, and after the reenactments, they celebrate as soldiers once did in camps between the trenches. Vilanova de la Barca, 2024.
Reimagined contact sheet of "the other photo of the fallen soldier." In 1936, on the Córdoba front near Cerro Muriano, Robert Capa made the photograph later known as The Death of a Militiaman. No contact sheet or negatives from that day survive (none at the International Center of Photography, and none surfaced in the so-called "Mexican Suitcase," three boxes of negatives by Capa, Gerda Taro, and Chim found in 2007), so what preceded the icon remains unknown. This piece rehearses a missing possibility: it re-stages Capa's vantage to imagine the trials we never saw (or that perhaps never existed). It does not resolve the decades-long debate about staging and authenticity but recreates that uncertainty. What if there were other frames and experimentations? The work revisits the mythology of the "decisive moment" (here tied to the instant of death) and asks what 35 mm practice obscures: the frames before and after, the ones discarded, the boundary between witness and construction. Spain, 2025.
Republican re-enactors in a trench, imitating the situation where the Republicans launched an offensive in July 1938. Vilanova de la Barca, 2024.
The face of war. A composition of artifacts discovered by re-enactors during their exploration of the battlefields around Fuentes de Ebro: rifle butts, grenade rings, shell casings, shrapnel fragments, bullets, and the base of a bottle, likely used for wine or medicine. There is even a fly! Always a fly. You’d find it in the trenches, in the camps, on the faces of the dead. It buzzed around the food they ate too quickly and the wounds they tried to forget. A fly doesn’t care who you are—a captain, a miliciano, or a mule. It lands just the same. A fly doesn’t know about politics or sides. It doesn’t matter if you’re dying for the Republic or marching for Franco. It just knows there’s life to pester and death to cling to. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024.
Many battles, like Quijorna, were fought on dry farmland — open fields, dry grass, little cover. The soldier on the right never truly fought, and at times, neither did the war itself. “The Spanish earth is dry and hard, and the faces of the men who work on the earth are hard and dry from the sun.” — Ernest Hemingway, The Spanish Earth (1937) Behind him, a wasteland. Beside him, another reenactor. And between them, an endless harvest of memories gathered where the war once planted its seed. Quijorna, 2025.
On April 7, 1938, two bombs fell in Tàrrega. One exploded. The other didn’t. Josep Flaquer wrote this in his diary as fascist planes flew overhead. He wasn’t a soldier, just a resident of the village recording events as sirens sounded and smoke spread over the fields. This photograph recreates his note: one light bursting, the other still. It captures a moment from a memory nearly forgotten, now reimagined. Many of Spain’s Civil War records came from civilians, not officials or newspapers, using words to document history. 7 d’abril. A la tarda, a un quart de sis segons l’horari oficial, un avió feixista ha sobrevolat la zona i ha deixat caure diverses bombes: una ha esclatat i l’altra no. [...] Tàrrega, 2025.
Nationalist artillerymen took a moment of rest and shared joy during the battles. Fuentes de Ebro, 1938. Author: Unknown Archive: Pablo Gracia (re-enactor, high-ranking member for both sides).
Re-enactment soldiers have a rest after trekking several kilometers in search of a relic. Their journey across this land is a quest for relics and a deeper connection to the past, tracing the footsteps of soldiers who battled around. Fuentes de Ebro, 2024.
A soldier’s helmet, pierced by a bullet. Light slips through the same wound that once meant death. On the cold front of battle, protection sometimes wasn’t enough. Barcelona, 2025.
Left & Background: Two photographs of Quinto, a village in the Zaragoza countryside, seen from the early stretches of the N-232, the road that once threaded small rural communities to the capital. In these images, time seems to reveal the blurred traces of a fragmented history. N-232, Zaragoza, 1937. Author: Unknown Archive: Pablo Gracia(re-enactor, high-ranking member for both sides). Right: Re-enactment soldiers march through a cold October night along the under-construction N-232, the road that still connects the villages of Aragón with Zaragoza and beyond. N-232, Zaragoza, 2024.
