Tweet on ETA's 23 child victims reignites Spanish debate

ETA killed 23 children: from 'struggle' to parliament

A tweet sums it up bluntly: "He says 'struggle', but ETA murdered 23 children." The phrase, attributed to a leader of the abertzale left, is the trigger for a discussion that has been open for 1,113 days and resurfaces now due to a TV interview. The underlying issue is uncomfortable and cannot be solved with a headline: the political arm of the organization that killed 23 minors—and nearly 900 people in total, according to the narrative used in the debate—currently holds seats and influences parliamentary majorities. The figure of 23 children, repeated ad nauseam in the exchange, is both an emotional anchor and an undisputed argument.

What trinc is not a chronicle of indignation. It is a map of how the narrative claiming ETA was merely a public order problem, rather than a political structure with institutional ramifications, has been dismantled piece by piece over decades.

How many children did ETA kill and why is this number repeated?

The number 23 appears literally in the tweet that opens the matter and is repeated like a mantra in many interventions. It is not a round or symbolic figure: it is a concrete count of minors murdered by the terrorist organization. The material also mentions the attack on the Zaragoza barracks, where, according to one message, the car bomb was placed "under the only window with children's clothes hanging out." This detail, which is an image rather than a statistic, explains better than any graph why the figure of 23 has become a wall against any attempt at political normalization.

The discussion is not just about the past. Some argue that the organization dissolved in 2011 and has killed no one since; others respond that the cessation of violence does not equate to repentance or explicit condemnation of the murders. The lack of clear condemnation and apology is precisely the most repeated argument to reject any equivalence between victims and perpetrators.

ETA's political wing and its role in government

The central thesis of the tweet is that those who whitewash, associate with, or make documentaries about ETA are part of the same ecosystem. In the debate, this is specified: the party that inherited the political space of the abertzale left currently supports the Executive, and this is why the topic returns whenever there is an investiture or budget approval. The most repeated formulation is that "ETA ended up governing the PSOE," a phrase that summarizes a widespread perception: the organization did not achieve independence through arms, but its political environment ended up seated in the Council of Ministers.

There is no consensus on what exactly this means. One school of analysis argues that the successor party accepts all Spanish institutions and has become just another parliamentary "crutch," without the capacity to impose its own agenda. Another responds that accepting the institutional framework does not erase the origin, and that normalizing those who have not condemned the murders is a form of whitewashing. The discussion heats up when compared to how other past issues are treated: "When they talk about the Civil War 87 years ago, you don't believe them," says one message, "but when ETA comes up, having stopped killing in 2011, they don't condemn the murders nor ask for forgiveness."

Can we speak of ETA in the past tense?

Here lies one of the most interesting fractures in the debate. Some argue that ETA no longer exists, that it surrendered, and that continuing to agitate its ghost twelve years later is "low and base," in words that are repeated. The argument is that the PP uses the topic because it has nothing else to attack the Government with, and that big companies are happy with the current Executive. From that position, recognition and aid to victims have already been granted and there is nothing more to do.

The response from the other side is that the organization did not disappear, but changed methods. "Why do you speak of ETA in the past?" asks one message. "Now the acronyms are not visible and their terrorism is low-intensity: beatings, harassment, discrimination." This is a thesis that cannot be verified with data, but it explains why part of the debate does not accept the framework of a "resolved conflict." For that current, the absence of lethal violence does not equate to democratic normality, and the institutional presence of the abertzale environment is proof that the problem has not closed, only transformed.

The GALs and the reaction argument

One of the most controversial twists in the exchange arrives when state violence is introduced. "You can't clean a garden without getting your hands dirty," summarizes a message defending that the GALs were a reaction to pavor and that all European countries have had similar episodes. The response is forceful: "There is no difference between those who honor etarras when they leave prison and you." The debate then drifts toward the equivalence between terrorism and state response, a terrain where positions harden and where the exchange loses any possibility of nuance.

What is relevant to understand the whole picture is that the discussion about ETA is never just about ETA. It is also about what was done from the State, who authorized it, and to what extent Spanish democracy managed terrorism with tools that would be inadmissible today. That recognition, which has been made without drama in other countries, remains flammable material here.

Forgetting as a political strategy

"In Spain everything is forgotten, everything is forgiven, but Paco is still alive." The phrase, repeated in different versions, points to an idea that runs through the debate from beginning to end: memory is selective and that selection has beneficiaries. "They have destroyed memory and replaced it with another in very little time," says one message. "A people without memory is very easy to govern."

The argument is specified in a contrast that repeats itself: immense efforts are dedicated to reviewing Francoism while what ETA did is dodged or minimized. For part of the debate, this is not negligence, it is a strategy. For another, it is simply that society has decided to turn the page and those who insist on the topic do so for electoral interest. The two readings coexist without reconciling, and that uncomfortable coexistence is, probably, the most accurate portrait of the matter.

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What can be expected? If the pattern holds, the topic will return every time the Government needs parliamentary support and every time there is an anniversary or a documentary. There are no signs that either current will yield: those demanding explicit condemnation will not get it, and those considering the matter closed will not stop seeing provocation in each new documentary. The figure of 23 children will remain there, at the center, as a reminder that there are things that are not negotiable.