Barcelona is a city packed with architectural wonders, but the Via Laietana office of Carlos Vallejo, head of the Catalan Association of Former Political Prisoners, is not one of them. Especially not on a day like today, where the pavements are greasy with rain, and building work to the nearby Jaume I metro station has the air & ground thick with dirt and dust.
The prison's menacing exterior, complete with guard tower. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
Pedro explains that, despite never spending time in jail, he has been part of the fight against fascism in Spain “from the first moment. Because to me it meant to be reborn in a Spain that I wanted to free, and in which we were enslaved”. And in Barcelona, the struggle against Franco and fascism always - eventually - came back to La Model.“Sometimes when a prisoner had complained about something, the guards would take them away at night time and whip them. Some died in the basements, and we could hear their screams”
An eerie glimpse of the outside world from behind the bars of La Model. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
The garroting of Salvador Puig Antich became a cause célèbre in the Catalan, and international, anti-fascist movements. Photos: a video still from a dramatised biopic of Puig Antich, and a mural from Wikimedia Commons
The prison's enormous, battered courtyard. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
The prison's ornate 19th century tented roof. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
The Panopticon interior hall of La Model. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
However utopian the original one man, one cell design of the prison, the relentless oppression of the Franco regime would eventually see La Model filled up to 20 times over. “During the post-war period, it was terrible,” explains Carlos, “there were 20 or 30,000 prisoners - 20 prisoners to each cell”. By the time Carlos and Gabriel entered La Model, there were roughly three prisoners to a cell.These days, the interior walls are painted a nondescript eggshell beige colour, in stark contrast to the filthy, claustrophobic black/grey milieu in which Carlos and Gabriel lived. “In the cells there was an iron bunk bed and another single bed,” explains Carlos, “with dirty mattresses; filthy, stuffed with straw, and full of insects… full of bedbugs. We had to set the beds on fire to try to kill the bedbugs, but then they would just climb the walls and fall from the ceiling instead”. “On top of that, they gave you a disgusting blanket,” says Carlos, “a military blanket, that was stiff because of so many people wanking on it”.
The cold, sterile rows of cells inside the prison. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
Cells 446-448 of La Model, now painted in pastel pink. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
Suicide netting bridging the gap between floors. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
Since its closure in 2017, La Model has been transformed into a museum and has held various exhibitions - free on Fridays and Saturdays - about the fight against fascism in Spain, as well as other more recent fights for social justice. It is not yet decided what is to be done with the building, and there is a chance that it may be demolished. Perhaps counter-intuitively, Carlos and Gabriel both believe it should survive.This may seem strange considering the trauma they suffered within its walls, but as Carlos explains: “It was very interesting architecturally, and we want [to develop] a centre for interpreting the history of La Model - and that is why we have fought to save the prison from being demolished.”
La Model's very own barbershop. Photo: Vincent Guillerm
The visiting booth; a rare window into life on the outside. Photo: Vincent Guillerm