Solidarity Park: My part Interpretation
This article explores my perspective on the Solidarity Park project and offers my interpretation of some of its constituent elements, especially the monument . I am writing it to ensure all my intentions for the project are clearly understood. These intentions may not align with other people’s views of what the project is. Although I founded and led the project, it is purposefully designed as a community project that operates within the democratic structures of an association, meaning my opinion is ultimately just one perspective. For some, it will be simply a local history project in Malgrat; for others, a radical transnational art movement. Both interpretations may be true. I am exploring these and other multiple meanings here, drawing from my own thoughts, and by no means suggesting that my view is conclusive. I am also writing this article so that I can contrast my opinion with academic criticism from myself and perhaps others, as I am currently pursuing an MA in Arts Practice, of which Solidarity Park is a central part. I wish to clearly separate my intentions for the project from my empirical analysis of those intentions.
What’s in a Name – Solidarity
The word Solidarity is broadly accepted as meaning coming together and supporting one another. For the Solidarity Park project, I chose it because it can unite a diverse group of people, but it also reflects the core ideals of the International Brigades that the memorial project seeks to commemorate. However, it is not meant to be a static memorial; rather, it is designed to enact today what they fought for yesterday by encouraging engagement with their motives and ideas. I often reflect: “If I were one of the International Brigadiers on the Ciudad de Barcelona, what would I want as my memory? A stone statue matching those of kings and queens? Perhaps. But truly, I would want something that continued and promoted the fight I died for.” Solidarity Park attempts to achieve this.
What’s in a Name – Park
From a distance, most people think Solidarity is a ‘Park’. It is not a park in the traditional sense at all. It has strips of grass running around and alongside it. It sits between the train station and the beach in a long grassy area that contains some children’s play areas, trees, and benches, but this whole area is not Solidarity Park—it is the space in which Solidarity Park is situated. For me, the word ‘park’ has always signified a collective space to relax, contemplate, and exist safely as a community. Its meaning is precisely ‘community’ in a beautiful setting.
What’s in a Name – The Monument as a Backbone for the project
Solidarity Park is the name of the monument, although, annoyingly, when the regional government included the monument on two different history tours, they took ownership of the Google Maps pin and changed the name I set, “Solidarity Park,” to “Monument to the Ciudad de Barcelona.” This change frustrated me because the name had the symbolic meaning previously explained, and also because the monument represents the entirety of the Solidarity Park project: the history project, the educational project, the festival, the community participation project, the community project that speaks to the people of Malgrat de Mar—their fisher folk and community history—and the people there today who carry the legacy of the event and Catalunya, as well as the obvious monument to the historical sinking of the Ciudad de Barcelona and the International Brigades. It also represents the entire international community that fought fascism during that era, reflecting the many languages of those aboard the boat. That is why it is an English name. English is a major international language. Spanish, another international language, would not have worked well in a Catalan context, and the boat carried many people who spoke English—Canadians, Americans, Scots, English, etc. Thus, in all texts originating from the project, the name remains simply Solidarity Park. The local council also placed the direct Catalan translation of “Solidarity Park” on the plaque. From my point of view as the creator of the artwork, this is incorrect. It demonstrates a flawed methodology of the government institutions. Nevertheless, I am not concerned with complaining because the project never yields on the issue, and the festival materials consistently use only the English name to reinforce this point.
Conceptual Aesthetics – Meanings of the Monument Itself
The Red World – Durable and Hard
The world map stone is chosen red to represent the colours of the working class. Most working-class political organizations incorporate red into their flags and logos, and it symbolizes the blood and sweat of the working class. It was these types of organizations—Communist, Socialist, and Anarchist—that primarily sent people to fight in the Spanish Civil War. The stone is a very hard sandstone, chosen both for its suitability for shaping intricate details and its durability, as it was anticipated that people might attempt to graffiti the floor. The harder, less porous stone makes it more resistant to damage, which also serves as a reflection of the toughness of the working classes.
The Stone Figures
Central to the monument are the 60 figures. They represent all those on the Ciudad de Barcelona, but especially those who died. Historians have confirmed that to date, 47 are known to have died in the sinking, and 127 are recorded as survivors, with reports suggesting between 250-300 were aboard. Reports at the time often quoted 60 dead, and while the mathematics suggest the number of deaths should be higher, we cannot know for sure as the International Brigades traveled clandestinely and the original ship’s manifest was false. Therefore, I chose 60 as a symbolically good mathematical number.
During the design process and the early campaign to create the monument, I used the mantra that I would execute the figures under the concept of ‘All different but all the same’. My initial idea was to use stone from different places with the same design, but this proved impossible due to cost, and I am now content with the outcome. The final repeated pattern of the figures proved to be a powerful message of uniformity and unity. They were not soldiers; they were working-class activists from around the world who stood together like soldiers. Although there was a political decision to transform the Brigades and the Republican militias into a professional army, the soldier motif in the monument does not represent this for me. The meaning is more aligned with the saying that ‘they spoke different languages with the same tongue’.
The figures are all depicted with open mouths and singing to represent the reported moment that those trapped on the ship sang the Internationale as the vessel went down. These reports are central to the monument’s inspiration. It represents defiance, International Solidarity, and a last stand. Whether it truly happened is unknown, as other reports say the ship sank in seven minutes. It must have been a hellish and emotional experience. Regardless, the reports are significant, and the feelings of comradely power they evoke are real. Thus, the singing is deeply symbolic for the monument and the project as a whole, as it directly connects art to that specific moment and the international solidarity needed in the deepest moments of crisis. The figures are intentionally depicted not sinking; in fact, the opposite: they are on a boat that is strong and tall, and on top of the world. I was able to explain this deliberate choice in an important exhibition a few years before the monument was inaugurated. After 30 figures had been created, a mapping installation was exhibited (link to be added) that vividly portrayed the horror of the sinking, but I explained at the time that the finished monument would not reflect this defeat, but rather the opposite.
The heads of the figures are very important but caused me problems. They are shaped like fishermen’s boats. They represent the unity of the people of Malgrat de Mar and the Brigades—that they sang and stood together in the historical context. The problem I had was that they reminded me of the KKK or bishops. Consequently, I often go to great lengths to explain, preemptively, that they represent the people of Malgrat de Mar as a fishing village.
The pattern of the figures was an attempt to create a pleasing aesthetic of repeating patterns to increase the stunning and powerful nature of many figures huddled together against the odds. The curve in the back of one brigadista matches the face of the next; the neck of the one below allows the vision of the one above. They are offset so that all are as united as possible yet clearly defined in their own right. The position of the ship was intended to allow the sun to cross them, creating shadows that move right to left as the sun rises and falls, with the hope that it would create the appearance of them slowly looking toward the point of sinking. This effect is only partially realized. The figures at the back were designed to look at passengers passing in the trains that run behind. Unfortunately, the train security fences are too high, and this effect is lost. What was gained by accident was the lighting that appears in the evening, which creates shadows on the figures. This allows me to talk about the unknown brigadistas; they are the ghosts of the unknown who came to the monument without my design… and they are super welcome.
While mentioning that the 60 figures are all the same, this is, in fact, not true. When I created the monument, I left one figure around the back not singing. He has no mouth at all. I told nobody about this initially, but eventually, I let the students who came to visit in on the secret. I would ask them to look at the monument head-on and ask, “Are they all the same?” “Yes,” would be the reply. “Really?” I would reply, “Look again.” Eventually, a student would wander around the back and discover the one not singing. I would then ask the student, “Why?” The answer is that the Brigadistas fought and died against the tyranny of fascism; they stood for freedom, liberty, and socialism. They stood for the right for all of us to be different but still part of the whole. They fought for the right for one brigadista not to sing in unity with all the others.
Most importantly the figures where made with the participation of 700 people. The idea was that people would pass by and not just say I like or dont like that monument. The idea was they would say “I made that part.”.
The Mini-Brigadistas
Bringing Solidarity Home
The initial design idea for the Solidarity Park monument was to make each of the 60 figures “All different but all the same,” but this was ultimately expressed through a replicated pattern in the 3.5-tonne stone structure. This core concept was instead developed through the creation of mini-Brigadistas, a sub-project called ‘Bring Solidarity Home.’ These small, unique figures (typically 4–12 cm) were initially made from sandstone for the crowdfunding campaign, where 50–100 were produced. To make the project more inclusive, the material was later switched to softer, more varied alabaster for subsequent figures. While the original paper templates for the monument figures were used for the first few mini-Brigadistas, the focus quickly shifted to teaching others in community workshops to create their own unique versions, resulting in an estimated couple of hundred being made by participants. This approach reinforces the core idea of individuality within a unified movement, directly contrasting the uniformity of the large monument figures.
The ‘Bring Solidarity Home’ project is a symbolic response to the reality that many Brigadistas, including those from the Ciudad de Barcelona, never made it home and lie in unmarked graves across Spain. The project symbolically returns the Brigadistas’ ideals to their homelands, acknowledging that the rise of the far-right remains a global issue requiring internationalism. By distributing the mini-Brigadistas to supporters and the families of the Brigades worldwide, the project establishes a monument to solidarity in everyone’s house and community. This leads to the larger, transnational project “Bring the Brigadistas Home,” which aims to establish more participation workshops in other cities and countries. Participants will craft their own unique alabaster mini-Brigadistas from Catalan stone and take them home.
The Bench
While Solidarity Park is not a park in the conventional sense, it does feature a central bench designed for contemplation and reflection. This bench is intentionally shaped to evoke the waves of the sea, with the future addition of a ship rushing triumphantly through the waves. In this way, the monument utilizes a heroic motif—a style often borrowed from historical imperialist monuments of the Victorian and post-World War II eras. Although Solidarity Park carries a counter-monument message, it deliberately engages with traditional forms, which is perhaps not surprising given my background as a trained banker mason.
The bench offers a place for reflection, inviting visitors to sit in a space that would typically be inaccessible. I vividly recall, during construction, a city council representative asking if I wanted a barrier placed around the monument in front of the world map. I swiftly refused. The trade-off for this accessibility is that the bench is occasionally used for purposes like beer drinking, and stains can sometimes be seen. While not originally intended, the bench has also become a place where flowers are laid, a function that is certainly useful during ceremonies. Ultimately, the bench’s main purpose is to facilitate sitting and reflecting. If a visitor sits on the most appealing spot and looks out to sea at a 40∘ angle, their gaze aligns directly with the sinking site of the Ciudad de Barcelona. This viewing experience is now aided by one of the student-designed portholes, conveniently placed at knee level, which features a carved map indicating precisely where to look.
The Portholes
The portholes on the stone ship are arguably the monument’s most important feature and certainly highlight its role as the backbone of the entire project. Portholes are windows, and windows are fundamentally for looking—either in or out. They represent a literal point of entry and access to seeing, making them ideal for displaying a variety of stories that the main monument itself does not explicitly detail. Crucially, they are designed by students. This element is vital to the educational project, serving as the ultimate creative response from students after they have researched the history of the Ciudad de Barcelona and the International Brigades. The end result acts as the “carrot” that guides them through the educational process with me.
When engaging with students, I ask them to help me tell the world about this history, but I immediately follow by telling them not to believe my account—they must search the stories for themselves and then respond to the part that personally moves them. This co-learning (or, more precisely, co-teaching the world) is integral to developing their critical analysis—not just of the monument, but also of their young minds understanding the wider world. While the Porthole Project is not the only art activity they participate in (we run many creative projects, including video making, podcasting, life box making, alabaster mini-brigadista workshops, graffiti, murals, and storybooks), it remains central to Solidarity Park’s educational mission.
Furthermore, the project serves as a key bridge to the artistic and memorial aspects of the park. Every year, we add four new student designs, selected from the twelve winners that feature in our yearly calendar via a public vote. These calendars extend the reach of the history: alongside the images, the calendars sold to the public include historical data on key Civil War dates and the dates the brigadistas of the Ciudad de Barcelona died, importantly showing that many who were aboard that day died later in the war. All these elements converge at the annual festival, where the new portholes are inaugurated as the central community event. In this respect, the portholes transform the static stone structure into a living monument. Art should always be about the process, as the process itself is creative, and it is in that creative moment that the mind remembers. The project is infused with activism and community participation, but it is the portholes that make the physical, static monument come alive. It is the part I am most proud of, and it was the trickiest concept to explain to project supporters before we put it into action.
The Festival
The festival, which takes place over three or four days around the 30th of May—the anniversary of the sinking of the Ciudad de Barcelona—is the moment when all aspects of the project converge. It is a celebration where art, history, family remembrance, and the re-charging of internationalist, anti-fascist activism all come together. The festival serves these various roles while simultaneously solidifying the local and international community participation that defines the project. Its central aim is to create a “social tent”—a communal space for discussing the difficult questions of the past.
I had to fight hard for the festival to be established. Its modern genesis lies in the 75th anniversary commemoration (2012), where local archivists and dedicated historians, Sonia Garagou and Alan Warren, created a special series of events and critical historical documentation. This marked the re-birth of the Ciudad de Barcelona story’s remembrance. I was personally inspired to investigate further after reading accounts and by my namesake, the 21-year-old Robert MacDonald from Glasgow who died on the boat. This work led to a collaboration that sowed the seeds of the project, though the real momentum began around 2016–2017.
The first event I consider to be the festival took place in November 2019, commemorating the 80th anniversary of the International Brigades’ departure. The exhibition, provocatively titled “The Brigadistas Return,” served as the “festival in exile” and successfully laid the foundation for the full festival idea, cementing the importance of community participation and collective art. It was here I developed the propaganda statement: “It’s said that an image can say a thousand words, but what 1,000 image-makers can say is memory.”
The word “festival” was agreed upon for the following May commemorations, but the next two years saw the in-person idea halted by COVID-19. An unstoppable community project was already in full swing, however: in April 2020, a teacher named Mar contacted me, reporting her students had produced portholes despite the lockdown. This led to a month-long festival of online posts. Following the 2022 inauguration, the festival was truly born. Importantly, the festival now features history and art talks and exhibitions, guided tours, re-enactments, and workshops. The use of local and international choirs has become a central and evocative activity, embodying community, art (singing), and comradeship. At the time of writing, we are planning the fifth official in-person festival (but for me, it is secretly the eighth).
The Site and Materials
The specific placement of the monument is highly significant. We were guided by an internal International Brigade memo from 1938, which explicitly referenced the idea that a memorial to the sinking should be placed on the beach. Once we uncovered this document, there could be no other location. The stone I chose was also critically important. Firstly, it needed to be soft enough for community members to carve in the street, yet durable enough to withstand weathering on the seafront. I chose Florista stone in two shades—clara (light) and a greyer version for contrast. This stone was selected not just for its physical properties, but also for its symbolism: the quarry is near my workshop in Borges Blanques, a town that marked the farthest advance of the Fascist forces before the ultimate collapse of Barcelona.
Internationalising the Project
The Solidarity Park project in Catalunya has always been about the local and international story. Also from the start has had many international participants. However, in recent years, I have actively developed the international scope of the project. This expansion has led to the creation of a monument in Surrey, UK, with the direct support of the Surrey Unison branch, and a project in Wales involving artists who were previously part of the Catalan initiative. Crucially, we now have two very strong projects in Hull and Sunderland, both engaging numerous students and activists. The Sunderland project, in particular, aims to emulate the Catalan model and perhaps surpass its level of community participation. These projects are independent projects in their own right, but deeply connected to the whole project and will bring fresh developments in both the internationalisation and the participatory nature of the entire Solidarity movement. The Festival is deeply international inviting artists from all over the world and also the educational project with students participating from Australia, Germany, Sweden, France and Holland. We anticipate many new people and fresh ideas emerging from this international network but this article has only been able to touch on this rather than develop the area.
Conclusion: A Living Octopus of Memory
Solidarity Park embodies an “Outa-space” theme: a deliberate challenge to conventional notions of what a monument should be and how public space should function.This is connected to all my work and why my website carries the name outa-space.com.
The monument is a work of counter-monument art that, while utilizing a heroic motif in its design (The Bench) and playing with traditional forms (The Figures), ultimately serves not as a static marker of defeat but as a dynamic engine for remembrance and anti-fascist internationalism (The Festival). The project’s longevity is secured by its focus on process, participation, and the creation of a living monument (The Portholes).
As stated in the introduction, the intentions laid out in this article are solely my own perspective. A core aim of this work, which I perhaps do not emphasize enough here, is the essential role of the association, democracy, and collective organisation that governs the project. I owe a significant debt to the many people whose stories and contributions have shaped the monument and its surrounding activities. For example, while the overall concept for the monument was mine, the final design process was a collaborative effort with the architect. Similarly, many critical stories remain untold in this text, such as the creation of the workshop in Malgrat and the extensive help provided by International brigades families, unions, and social organizations, all of which facilitated dozens of events and presentations crucial to the project’s success. Also so much work and support from other associations 35 participated in the last festival. Again this key element of the project will need to be explored later. Its enough to say that without an army of volunteers as with the Brigdiers themselves the project would never have functioned. I also have not included much of the participation aspects that fall outside of art and education such as the amount of crowdfunding that has been raised over the recent years. I think its around 30,000 euros.
The aesthetic analysis of the physical object—whether the monument leans toward Brutalism or represents an element of Social Realism—or the comparison between the monument’s physical form and the broader Aesthetic of Narrative and Memory created by all the artworks, both “good and bad,” that have emerged in the project’s name, is a subject for future study. For now, I remain immensely proud of its artistic aesthetic value, even beyond its social aesthetic. I would add that budget and public safety constraints prevented other designs I believe would have been visually more stunning, yet the current result is uniquely effective.
Looking forward, the projects in Hull, Sunderland, Surrey, and Wales are not merely satellite extensions; they are independent projects in their own right, but deeply connected to the whole. They mark the critical next phase of internationalisation, which, in 2026 and 2027, will expand in new ways, all guaranteed to be community-led and driven by local needs and fresh ideas. The ongoing engagement through iconography (The Mini-Brigadistas) and open participation ensures the monument remains a relevant social and political tool. My deepest political reason for undertaking this work is to contribute to the general rebuilding of the workers’ movement by connecting past sacrifice (The International Brigades) with contemporary struggle. Ultimately, Solidarity Park will continue to expand its reach, operating as a multi-tentacled Octopus that reaches across borders and generations, ensuring that memory inspires action.
Outa-Space 