When I was living in Barcelona in 2011-12, I often walked its ancient streets. One evening I stumbled upon a political demonstration in the Plaza Sant Jaume, the crowd clamoring for “historical memory”. Moved by the dedication of the participants and even just the melodic phrase “la memoria histórica,” I was driven to explore this subject further. As a lifelong historian, first by natural inclination and later by formal education, I have always bemoaned the lack of interest on the part of my own country in examining its past. The United States is so future-oriented, quite convenient for a country intent on avoiding an investigation of our role in slavery, Vietnam, and so many other atrocities. I was surprised by the presence of these demonstrators, and impressed that in a time of rising college tuition costs, labor strikes, and massive unemployment in Spain, what happened 75 years ago still is considered urgent.

Because of my sense that LGBT history can serve as a site of resistance against official narratives, the film had to go beyond the historical memory movement’s fight to gain some sort of justice for the disappeared. I also needed to learn what happened to the LGBT community under Franco, and place that story firmly in the context of the larger human rights struggle. This film brings together my love for the work of Federico García Lorca, my decades-long commitment to uncovering forgotten or erased corners of LGBT history, and the deep affinity I feel with Spain, as I have come to consider Barcelona my second home. I am honored that the people who appear in my film have trusted me with their stories, especially on a topic that is still so difficult and painful to discuss within Spain.