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.
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.
“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.
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.
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 is 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.
The reenactors climbing a hill in the Central Aragón region, in the context of the Battle of Fuentes de Ebro. The Republican forces were attempting to break through Franco’s defenses with tanks supplied by the Soviet Union. The Republicans formed an infantry battalion on top of the tanks, a tactic the Soviets would later employ in World War II.
However, technical failures, a lack of coordination, and fierce enemy resistance led to the Republican's defeat. These arid hills became a graveyard for their ambitions, forcing the soldiers into a bitter retreat and leaving behind many dead, wounded, and tanks, which the Nationalist forces later repurposed for their troops.
Fuentes de Ebro, 2024.
Above, a group of young men from Vilanova de la Barca, barely out of their twenties, captured in 1937. Their faces betray a quiet resolve, lives caught mid-step and forever altered by the chaos of war. In their faces, I see a mixture of camaraderie and the quiet uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring.
These people, born into a world that would soon be doomed by conflict, found themselves on the frontlines of history, caught between personal destiny and the broader forces of violence that spared no one.
Author: Unknown
Archive: Jordi Verdú (organizer of the Vilanova de la Barca battle re-enactment, and once a re-enactor himself, he’s unable to fight due to an accident two years ago but continues to lead the event while recovering).
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
Olive branches ignite in the fields, a timeless agricultural practice now entwined with the memories of a war-torn landscape. During the Spanish Civil War, these same groves witnessed battle and survival, their trees bearing scars of conflict.
On Cota 221, where the Battle of Fuentes de Ebro etched its mark in September 1937, reenactors gather to pull threads from history’s fabric. The Wirgin camera in hand—one from that era—seems to blur decades, capturing a memory reawakened.
“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.
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.
Re-enactors, both Nationalists and Republicans, search for war relics along the region that defines the river valleys of Aragón. This horizon has witnessed extensive violence beyond the Spanish Civil War.
As they examine the ground, the reenactors gather more than just relics. They hypothesize about the origins of each object, envisioning the soldiers strategically positioned here and there. “Many shots were fired into the sky to scare the enemy”. Imagination breathes life into the past, offering a window into the war that melds memory with the interest of reenactment. Bound by this particular passion, they roam these fields, tracing the very metals of battles.
Left: A re-enactor falls, rifle in hand, recreating Capa’s Muerte de un miliciano. The original photo, argued over for decades, blurred the line between fact and fiction. Here, the performance is about the fictional act of war itself—staged, uncertain, and hauntingly human.
Flix, 2024.
Right: A souvenir from the Valle de los Caídos. The Valley of the Fallen, constructed under Franco’s dictatorship, was intended to represent reconciliation but for many represents a symbol of imposed narratives. Built with the labor of political prisoners, its cross and crypt dominate the landscape, reframing history through the vision of the regime. The burial of combatants from both sides—often without the consent of families—attempts to simplify the complex legacies of the war into a single narrative of sacrifice.
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.
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.
I believe an archive is made of both memories and things left behind. R:TSCWexplores 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 far-left 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.