A Spanish voice against oblivion: the Canarian victims of terrorism

In this shadowy space, a unique Spanish voice emerged, uncomfortable for many but necessary for the truth: that of Lucía Jiménez, president of the Canarian Association of Victims of Terrorism (Acavite), who dedicated her life to bringing to light a reality that was systematically ignored in Spanish public debate.

Talking about Polisario Front terrorism in the Canary Islands has never been an easy task. Not because of a lack of evidence or testimony, but because of the political discomfort generated by acknowledging that Spanish citizens—fishermen, civilian workers, entire families—were direct victims of organized violence that for decades was downplayed, if not directly erased from official discourse. Lucía Jiménez did not speak from ideology or revenge, but from wounded memory and academic rigor.

The daughter of one of the victims of the attacks perpetrated in the 1970s in Fos Bucraa, her career as a journalist and university professor became an ethical extension of that personal experience. Her doctoral thesis, presented at the Carlos III University of Madrid, is one of the most comprehensive works on this dark chapter of the Spanish Transition, documenting with legal and historical precision the responsibility of the Polisario Front in attacks against Spanish civilians in the Canary Islands and the Sahara.

The truly significant aspect of her contribution was not only to name the victims, but also to dismantle a narrative that sought to reduce these crimes to “collateral damage” of a distant conflict.

Lucía Jiménez understood that there can be no mature democracy without a complete memory, nor coexistence based on forced silence. In this sense, her work connects directly with a demand long defended by Morocco: the recognition of the Polisario as an armed actor responsible for terrorist acts against civilians, beyond the romantic interpretations inherited from the Cold War.

Recognizing this forgotten chapter does not imply reopening wounds or pointing fingers at current political responsibilities, but rather accepting that democratic memory is also built by listening to silenced victims. For decades, dozens of Canarian families have demanded something basic: truth, recognition, and reparation.

Naming the violence suffered—and those who perpetrated it—is not a response to a logic of confrontation, but rather an ethical requirement that strengthens, rather than weakens, the values of justice and coexistence that Spain claims to defend.

The Spanish institutional silence regarding these victims contrasts with the persistence of a narrative that is lenient toward the Polisario, even when there are court rulings that partially recognize the damage caused. This dissonance not only erodes the credibility of the human rights discourse, but also perpetuates a historical injustice. Morocco has insisted for years that the conflict cannot be addressed through political mythology, but rather through facts, responsibilities, and memory. 

Lucía Jiménez embodied this necessary break with the comfortable narrative. Her voice, deeply Spanish and at the same time deeply uncomfortable, opened a crack in the wall of silence. She did not speak against Spain, but from Spain, reminding it that there can be no ethical foreign policy without internal coherence, nor reconciliation without truth.

Today, her legacy challenges both Spanish society and the international community: ignoring the victims does not neutralize the past, it entrenches it. And recognizing the terrorism of the Polisario is not a gesture against anyone, but an essential step towards a just memory, a responsible policy, and a more honest reading of the conflict in the Maghreb.