From the LA Times, Guernica's birthdate:
Because Guernica had no air defenses, dozens of planes from the German
and Italian air forces, including the newest experimental warplanes,
were free to come in low in daylight, dropping with great accuracy an
unusual payload of incendiary and splinter bombs chosen by the Germans
for maximum destruction of buildings. People who fled were chased down
by planes with heavy-caliber machine guns. The planes came in so low
that there are still eyewitnesses who remember seeing the pilots and
who note that they looked like Germans.
Three hours later, the
planes were gone, the historic town had been reduced to burning rubble
and the Basque government estimated that 1,645 civilians were dead out
of a population of 7,000. It's hard to know just how accurate that
number is. The only ones who had a chance to accurately count the dead
were the rebel troops of Francisco Franco — on whose behalf the German
and Italian planes had swept in in the first place. They at first
denied that the attack had taken place; later, they admitted to only
200 deaths. The records of what they actually found have never been
released. But given the intensity of the attack, reports of survivors
and the number of missing relatives, the Basque government figure has
been recognized as at least being closer to the truth.
Two
days after the attack, London Times correspondent George Steer's
eyewitness account was published in the London Times and the New York
Times, and the world responded with outrage at this new type of warfare
— randomly attacking civilians from the air on a large scale. It was
widely seen as a crime that should never be allowed to happen again.
It
was not the first time civilians had been bombed from the air; not even
the first time in the Spanish Civil War. Gen. Emilio Mola of Franco's
pro-fascist rebel forces had vowed to destroy the Basque province of
Viscaya for its fierce opposition to the insurgency. "Starting with the
industries of war," he had said. But instead he started with the rural
town of Durango, a town of ancient churches, rambling cobblestone
streets and no industries of war. Next was Guernica.
Durango
had passed with little notice, but Guernica did not. Pablo Picasso, who
had been commissioned by the Spanish government to paint a mural for
the Spanish pavilion at the 1937 Paris World's Fair, chose Guernica as
his subject, and his stark depiction of mayhem and destruction
permanently fixed this image of war in Western culture. To many
previously apolitical Americans and Britons, it was the bombing of
Guernica that convinced them of the brutality of fascism.
Historians
argue whether the phrase "weapons of mass destruction" was first used
about Guernica or Hiroshima. Steer wrote in the Times: "In the form of
its execution and the scale of its destruction … the raid … is
unparalleled in military history." But 70 years after Guernica — after
the bombings of Coventry, London, Hamburg, Dresden, Berlin, Tokyo,
Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Hanoi, Hue, Beirut and Baghdad — it has become
clear that modern war is fought from the air and that the greatest
number of casualties are civilians.