A Politics of the Body: José Antonio Primo de Rivera's Fascism and Federico García Lorca's Benjaminian Response

Before I enter into the body of my argument, it is necessary to say a few words about my intention to read José Antonio Primo de Rivera alongside Walter Benjamin and then, through this first juxtaposition, to understand García Lorca's theatre as a response to José Antonio's fascism.

The Falange Española, the first fascist party of Spain, was officially pronounced as a movement in 1933 by José Antonio Primo de Rivera, who sought to emulate the fascism of Mussolini, seeing in Mussolini's doctrine a way for Spain to reconnect to its glorious past. José Antonio's own glory, however, was fleeting, as he was eventually captured by the Republicans, put on trial for being a traitor to the Second Republic of Spain, and, in 1936, sentenced to death. His writings, more than the dictatorship and totalitarianism of Francisco Franco, represent the ideology of Spanish fascism. In addition to this, his trajectory of success, in many ways, corresponds to Federico García Lorca's. So when García Lorca responds to fascism he is, as I see it, responding to the doctrine being laid out by José Antonio Primo de Rivera. Benjamin fits here as the theoretical boundary that can give form in words to the inchoate spaces of José Antonio's speeches and, later on, to the enigmatic theatre of García Lorca.

It might also be said, in a more mystical or spiritual vein, that it is fitting to read Benjamin as a crossing between the border separating José Antonio's fascism and García Lorca's theatre. Perhaps it is a coincidence that Walter Benjamin spent the last day of his life in a small Catalonian village, Portbou — Spanish territory, a designated border crossing between France and Spain. On this day, he was not permitted to pass through Spain, so that he could safely exit Europe; thus he committed suicide or accidentally overdosed. The irony, and therefore inescapable exigency, is that if Spain was initially closed off to Benjamin, he remains there to this day, ceaselessly disturbing the Spanish imagination with images of a modernity forsaken. Certainly, to deny Benjamin access to Spain at one moment in time does not prove that Spain is impenetrable to his thought in another. Benjamin's work, in a sense, was born out of Spain. For in his very first book, The Origin of German Tragic Drama, he hails Calderón as one of the best writers of Trauerspiel. Benjamin died in Spain; a circular path of his impressions might lead, if followed carefully, from Spain to Spain. Moreover, if Spain is implicated in Benjamin's death, then it is equally true that Spain surfaces at the crest of Benjamin's thought, making Spain another place to think his suggested response to fascism.

Ambivalent Response?

Lorca is in many ways the paradigmatic Spanish modernist: because of the ambivalence of his response to modernity, because of his inability to translate his political sympathies into direct political action, and because neither of these things prevented him from becoming a Republican martyr.

(Graham and Labanyi 14)

This passage is from a book that claims to be the first of its kind, a book that will establish a new discipline of cultural studies, Spanish Cultural Studies: An Introduction. It sets the postmodern tone, therefore, regarding Federico García Lorca and his work. His work, according to Graham and Labanyi was somehow lacking because it was not direct, or direct enough, in its response to the times. Yet, for some reason, García Lorca has become a Republican martyr. The sentiment is perplexing; it circles the edges of disappointment, leaving one to wonder with whom Graham and Labanyi are disappointed. I start here, at the end in many ways, where García Lorca's legacy limps about on the page of an introduction. I do so in order to demonstrate that his response to fascism is properly Benjaminian in its political sentiment and, above all, in its careful sending, which arrives subtle, yet direct; apparently disengaged...