Lorraine Williamson
For decades, Spain has lived with a truth too painful to face openly: thousands of stolen babies. Spain’s dark legacy stretches from the Franco dictatorship into democracy, yet justice has barely touched it.
While countries such as Argentina and Chile have classified similar atrocities as crimes against humanity, in Spain most of those involved have died without trial — doctors, nuns, priests, and officials who turned newborn babies into commodities.
How stolen babies in Spain became possible
The practice began not as greed, but ideology. In the aftermath of the Civil War, Franco’s regime saw political opponents not only as enemies but as biologically inferior. Inspired by Nazi ideas of purity, officials developed a chilling theory — left-wing beliefs were hereditary. The solution was to remove children from “undesirable” mothers and give them to Catholic families loyal to the regime.
Hospitals, maternity homes, and religious institutions became part of this machinery. Women — especially unmarried mothers or those who did not fit Catholic norms — were told their babies had died during childbirth. They were handed closed coffins and discouraged from asking questions. Often, there was no body inside.
From political weapon to profitable industry
By the 1950s and 1960s, ideology faded and profit took over. The system expanded, quietly protected by silence and influence. Newborns were sold for large sums, often disguised as “donations” or administrative costs. Many adoptive parents genuinely believed they were helping unwanted babies. Others knew enough not to ask questions.
Even after Franco died in 1975, the network did not vanish overnight. Spain’s transition to democracy brought political change, but little scrutiny of institutions linked to the Church or the state. Adoptions remained poorly regulated. Paper trails were falsified. Death certificates were forged. By the 1990s, activists estimate up to 300,000 children may have been taken across five decades — a number never officially confirmed.
Spanish church acknowledges role in Franco-era abuse of women and children
A crime that legally ‘expired’
This is why victims demand that stolen babies in Spain cases be recognised as crimes against humanity — so they cannot expire under statutes of limitation. Today, most cases stall in court because too much time has passed, or records have disappeared. Spain’s own judiciary has repeatedly ruled that these are individual crimes, not systematic state repression — a decision that blocks prosecutions.
So far, only one person has ever been convicted: Dr Eduardo Vela in 2018, a doctor accused of stealing a newborn in 1969. He was found guilty — but could not be sentenced because the case was considered time-barred. For survivors, it was a message: the truth may be proven, but justice is still out of reach.
From a grave in Granada to a life in Murcia
Against that backdrop, stories like that of Antonio Marín Moreno pierce the silence. Raised in Murcia, he always knew he had been adopted, and his parents believed they had followed legal procedures. They paid a million pesetas — a fortune at the time — believing it was an official adoption fee.
It wasn’t until he turned fifty that the truth began to surface. He discovered his birth certificate was falsified and that he was not from Cartagena, but from Granada. His biological family had been told he died at birth. There is even a grave in Granada with the name he was supposed to have — Gregorio García Abad. No body was ever shown to the grieving parents.
When a woman named Luna, his biological sister, contacted him after decades of searching, a DNA test confirmed what the state had denied — he was alive. “I’m in shock,” he said. “Happy, but still trying to understand. I want to know who is buried in that grave — if anyone.”
The families left behind
Antonio’s story is one of thousands. Biological mothers still search cemeteries for graves that may be empty. Adults in their 40s, 50s, and 60s discover their names, birthdays, and even identities were invented. Many say they no longer seek revenge — only truth, acknowledgment, and the right to know where they come from.
Associations like SOS Bebés Robados and Todos los Niños Robados Son También Mis Niños began documenting cases in the 2000s, building DNA banks, organising protests, and helping families reconnect. They have filed thousands of legal complaints — but very few reach a courtroom.
Why Spain must decide
Spain stands at a crucial point. The democratic memory law, passed in 2022, acknowledges historical injustices under Franco, but it does not classify the stolen babies in Spain as crimes against humanity. Without this change, courts will continue to close files, and the truth will remain buried in silence, bureaucracy, and forgotten archives.
Victims say this is not about reopening wounds — it is about closing them properly.
Their voices grow louder
Antonio plans to visit Granada to stand beside the grave where he is officially buried. Many more continue their searches through DNA files, archives, and silent hospitals. Their voices grow louder: they want the law changed, records opened, and history told without fear.
Until that happens, Spain’s stolen babies remain one of the country’s deepest unresolved griefs.
Sources: Rtve, El Español, LevanteEMV