In 1971, Casilda Hervés Gómez left her home in Galicia for France, a journey she recalls making without stopping her tears. At 25 years old, she traveled alone, without a telephone or a word of French, and with the crushing weight of leaving behind two daughters—one three years old, the other not yet two. “It was very black, very black leaving my daughters,” she remembers. When the taxi arrived in Vigo to collect her, she describes the moment as seeing “the demon” before her as the children were torn from her arms.
Her story is a window into a broader, often sanitized era of Spanish history. Between 1960 and 1975, approximately 3.5 million Spaniards migrated to Germany, France, and Switzerland, fleeing poverty and the stifling atmosphere of the Francoist regime. While the Spanish state viewed these departures as a convenient way to lower unemployment statistics—and benefited from up to $9 billion in remittances over 15 years—the human cost was a “history of failure and the search for success that, if achieved, left wounds along the way,” according to Joaquín Riera Ginestar, a Professor of Geography and History.
Today, Spain finds itself on the other side of the migration cycle, acting as a destination for those fleeing similar desperation. However, Riera Ginestar notes that the parallels between the Spanish exodus of the mid-20th century and current migration patterns are striking. From the struggle for legal papers to the stigma of being “foreign,” the cycle of de emigrantes a inmigrantes reveals that while names and nationalities change, the structural hardships of the migrant experience remain remarkably consistent.
The Shadow of Illegality: “Calladito” and in Hiding
Contrary to the popular narrative that Spanish migrants traveled with official permits, a significant portion of the exodus occurred clandestinely. Roughly half of those who moved to the three primary destinations bypassed the Instituto Español de Emigración (IEE) due to bureaucratic delays, grueling medical exams, and systemic gender and political discrimination. Franco’s government sought to retain skilled labor and discouraged women from leaving to ensure a steady flow of remittances from abroad.
For many, survival meant working “in black” and remaining invisible. Emilio Prieto, a Galician who moved to Switzerland, recalls his first year as a period of constant fear. “With papers? Not a chance. For a year I worked illegally,” he says. “How did I do it? Quietly and at home, afraid they would catch me.” In Switzerland, conditions were particularly restrictive; migrants often faced racist policies that functioned like “conditional liberty,” preventing them from changing their labor sector or canton under threat of expulsion.
The struggle for family reunification was equally grueling. Prieto eventually brought his wife, Mari Carmen Fariñas, to Davos, but they were forced to exit their children in the care of grandparents. Fariñas describes the disorientation of her early days working as a hotel chambermaid, later cleaning classrooms and supermarkets from Monday to Saturday, and spending her Sundays cleaning tourist apartments for cash—a risky endeavor that mirrored the precarious labor today faced by many migrants in Spain.
The Social Stigma and the “Dirty” Label
The Spanish experience abroad was not one of universal welcome. They carried a social stigma—a “sambenito”—often associating them with criminality and lack of hygiene. This mirrors the rhetoric currently used by some political factions in Spain against African migrants. The architect and writer Max Frisch captured this paradox with a single phrase: “We asked for workers and people came.”
Data from 1965 in Germany illustrates the gap between perception and reality. Statistics showed that among men aged 18 to 50 who committed crimes in Germany, 1.4% were Spanish, 2.2% were Italian, 3.2% were Turkish, and 4.5% were German. Despite this, Spanish migrants were frequently accused by local media of being “dirty” or carrying diseases, with the public blaming the migrants for the very squalor of the overcrowded barracks and unsanitary housing they were forced into.
Liberation Beyond the Border
For many Spanish women, migration was not only an economic necessity but a path to liberation from the national-Catholic morality of the Franco regime. In March 1960, for example, 43 women from Salamanca traveled 2,000 kilometers to Remscheid-Lennep, Germany, to work in the textile industry. Away from the pressures of provincial mediocrity and abusive marriages—from which divorce was impossible in Spain—these women learned to smoke in bars, dress as they pleased, and exist independently.
Casilda Hervés, now 80, found this freedom in France. “The French women were free, we were tied,” she reflects. “They didn’t depend on anyone, and I don’t like being told what to do.” This empowerment extended into the workplace; Hervés credits herself with helping to establish a union at her company. Despite her eventual return to Spain, she remains a self-described feminist, forever changed by the exposure to a society where women held autonomy.
The physical labor of these migrants also laid the groundwork for European scientific advancement. Toribio Vidales, among others, worked in the tunnels of the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) in Geneva, spending his days digging the infrastructure that now supports some of the world’s most advanced physics research, often while living in precarious conditions and working extra shifts in the fields on weekends.
Comparison of Migration Experiences
| Feature | Spanish Exodus (1960-75) | Modern Migration to Spain |
|---|---|---|
| Legal Status | High rates of clandestine/illegal entry | Significant population of undocumented migrants |
| Labor | “Black market” work in factories/cleaning | Precarious work in agriculture/domestic services |
| Social View | Labeled as “dirty” or criminal in Europe | Rhetoric linking migrants to insecurity/crime |
| Family | Separation of parents and children | Challenges with family reunification laws |
A Mirror of History
The Francoist state attempted to control the ideological drift of its citizens abroad by establishing “Casas de España” and deploying chaplains to maintain religious traditions. However, these efforts often backfired, as some clergy members ended up collaborating with migrants to alleviate their hardships, mirroring the “red priests” of the urban peripheries during the regime’s twilight.
The cycle of de emigrantes a inmigrantes serves as a reminder that the current crisis is not an isolated “invasion,” but a recurring human drama. Riera Ginestar argues that the only significant difference today is the increasing number of unaccompanied minors arriving in Spain and a perceived decline in the solidarity that once existed between compatriots in foreign lands.
As Spain continues to navigate its role as a destination country, the memories of those who once carried their lives in suitcases to Germany and France offer a blueprint for empathy. The history of the Spanish migrant is a testament to the fact that the desire for a better life often comes with a price that lasts long after the return home.
For more information on historical migration trends and current regularization processes, visitors can consult the Ministry of Inclusion, Social Security and Migration.
We invite our readers to share their family stories of migration or perspectives on these historical parallels in the comments below.
