Today is June 27th. Today marks 65 years since the attack that killed the little girl Begoña Urroz. And today is also the Day of the Victims of Terrorism. That’s why we wanted to return with this epilogue. Because you know when a story begins, but you never know when it ends. Here is the episode. Thank you for listening.

Bego: Hi, Isabel. How are you?

This story ended in the previous episode, where it was supposed to end — in Isabel’s kitchen. But just as we were about to wrap up…

Bego: I’ve received the file about my sister. Well, I mean — it’s just two pages, as I say.

The Ministry of the Interior sent you the file about your sister. That file you requested when we were trying to see if your sister appeared on any lists. That file we thought would help us understand how your sister’s case had been handled. So you took the file, we went to the studio, and we started recording.

Isabel: Tell me what this file is, because for someone who doesn’t know, right? Suddenly, you got this…

Bego: Yes. This is a file in which my parents apply for compensation for the death caused by a terrorist attack.

In that file there were several documents: the first was just that — a request in which your parents asked for compensation for the death of their daughter as a victim of terrorism.

Isabel: What does the letter say? Can you read it to me?

Bego: Yes, in this case, it lists my parents’ information and says that their daughter died on June 28, 1960 — the attack was on the 27th… Victim of the first attack that occurred at the Amara station through the placement of a bomb. As a result of the above, the daughter of the undersigned was the first victim of terrorism.

Isabel: Can you read that again?

Bego: Yes. “As a result of the above, the daughter of the undersigned was the first victim of terrorism.” Period.

Period. Your parents, asking the Ministry of the Interior to recognize their daughter as the first victim of terrorism. The request is dated 1992.

That year, in ’92, a law had been passed to compensate victims of armed groups and terrorist elements. That’s what it was called. Maybe someone told them they could apply for that aid — that they could also be recognized as victims of terrorism.

Isabel: It’s possible that it was advertised like that on TV, maybe. On TV, on the radio, suddenly, like, “Hey, some aid has been made available.”

Bego: Yeah, could be.

And yes, it rang a bell for you. You remembered that your mother had spoken with a lawyer.

Bego: Well, I don’t know — maybe it was someone a friend knew. Because, let’s be honest, we don’t have, as I say, any lawyer acquaintances or anything. So either through Isabel’s side, or I don’t know, a friend or whoever… Maybe someone told her, “Hey, let’s fill this out.” And you see, it’s just two and a half pages, and you submit it there.

With that application, your parents had attached something: a police report they had requested from the Gipuzkoa police.

Bego: It includes a report of a terrorist action at this police station. However, no organization can be held responsible since no one claimed the act.

So the police said yes, that your sister had died due to an explosive device in 1960, but that no group could be held accountable.

Bego: Then… here it says, yes, indeed. “Attached is submitted for consideration the resolution deemed appropriate, to agree upon the proceedings followed…”

And the next document in that file was the response from the Ministry of the Interior to that request.

Bego: “… from 1960, it is appropriate to confirm the proposed decision of rejection…”

Rejection…

Bego: … since at the time the events occurred, there was no legal basis for granting aid…

Out of the allowed time frame…

Bego: … it must be considered time-barred.”

Time-barred action.

Bego: That’s right.

So, they denied it.

Bego: That’s right.

I’ve spoken to several lawyers, and they all told me that the rejection was to be expected — that your sister’s case couldn’t fall under that law.

Isabel: According to that law, it was very unlikely that your sister, or your family, would receive compensation. Why? Not so much because of the time limits, but because the death of a son or daughter only qualifies for compensation if the parents are financially dependent on the child. So even if they had applied within the time frame, they still wouldn’t have granted it.

 

Bego: They wouldn’t have given it to them either.

Isabel: They wouldn’t have compensated them either. Because they didn’t depend on their child. Besides, the aid was… If the person who died was “unproductive” — I mean, your sister is considered a person who is not…

Bego: Unproductive, yes.

Isabel: Then there’s no compensation.

Compensation — resarcimiento. That was the word used in the law. But it was material compensation. That is, it was a law that addressed only the financial side. And all of this, of course, must have been explained by that lawyer who helped them with the application.

Isabel: So they probably knew they wouldn’t get any money. So why did they do this?

Bego: No, they didn’t do it for the money — I’m absolutely sure.

Isabel: Then what did they want?

Bego: I think they wanted her to be acknowledged, to be made visible, for people to know that a little girl had died in a bombing. I’m convinced.

Isabel: That someone would embrace them, basically.

Bego: Yes, yes, yes. Of course — to be recognized.

Isabel: So maybe… Look, I’m getting goosebumps. Maybe your parents, knowing they weren’t going to get any help, still said: “We want to be acknowledged.”

Bego: Yes, probably.

And then I think of your parents, Jesusa and Juan, filling out those forms knowing they wouldn’t get any aid, and asking for it anyway. And I think that maybe, back then, your aita and ama were seeking recognition — a symbolic form of reparation — before any laws addressed that. And I think Jesusa and Juan were making a pioneering gesture.

Bego: And look, they got a rejection and they became even more silent. They withdrew even further.

Isabel: What do you mean?

Bego: Well, I think… I think that if they had been told “yes” back then, then maybe we would have talked about my sister much earlier. Probably. You see how long it’s been — right? That was 1992, and people only started talking about it in 2010. So my parents… I think when they got the rejection, they gave up. And after that, they talked even less. I don’t know how to explain it — they were erased, you know? I suppose it hurt them a lot. And then they closed the folder.

Isabel: Right, so…

Bego: They closed it. They said, “That’s it.”

Isabel: The 1960s — no one pays attention to them. 1992 — laws come out and they’re not recognized. 2000 — Ernest Lluch pays attention to them… and he’s murdered.

But those papers revealed one more thing. One of those things I really like: a date. Your parents sent that request to the Ministry of the Interior in October of 1992. And the book by Vicar Pagola — the one that contained that footnote which, in some way, started everything — was published a month later.

Isabel: I was also thinking that if your parents had been recognized at that moment — if the law had acknowledged them, or if someone had read that and said, “Well, we can’t give them compensation, but we can recognize her,” or something like that… then this podcast wouldn’t exist.

Bego: No, no, no, no. Most likely not.

Isabel: I mean, I see it now as two alternate paths, right? One, where they are recognized and that’s it. And then the other one, where it’s… Lluch, Pagola, I don’t know who else…

Bego: What happened is that this didn’t come out… I mean, this wasn’t talked about, right? And then you came across the news that there had been a victim…

Isabel: That’s true.

Bego: And no one had talked about her.

Isabel: That’s true.

Bego: And there was a sister who had started to speak because I was with… Because the first time I really spoke about it, I spoke with that group Bizikidetza. And they called me and said, “We’re going to meet at Isabel’s sukaldea (kitchen), and we’re going to interview everyone.” And I said, “Well, why not go?” They told me it was going to be a gathering for everyone to speak, with no political agenda — just as neighbors. I said, “Great, on that small scale,” I said, “I’ll start to talk.” So… I don’t know anymore…

Isabel: No, yes — you were saying that I wasn’t right, and you’re right. Maybe this podcast would have existed, because…

Bego: Of course.

Isabel: Because what I wanted was to tell the story… That’s true.

Bego: Of someone who… well… A story that was about “the thing no one talks about.”

Isabel: That’s true. So actually, yes — it would have existed, but it would have been shorter.

Bego: Yeah, because… Yeah, but that’s because you went deep, and you kept digging and digging and digging. Yes. That’s true. That’s true. So thank you, Isabel.

Isabel: Thank you, Bego. And thank you, Juanlu, who’s also here. Well, my dears, we’re done. Um… I don’t know. We’ll find an ending, because I don’t know how we’re going to finish this story.

Isabel: Bai. Milla esker.

Bego: Milla esker.

Isabel: Milla esker entzuteagatik. Thank you for listening.