BILBAO, Spain, Nov. 28 (Xinhua) -- Standing before Picasso's Guernica on Thursday during his state visit to Spain, German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier appeared momentarily transported. The painting's shattered bodies, frantic lines and muted greys seemed to pull him out of Madrid and into another time.
On the next day, when he stepped into Gernika - the town bombed in 1937 by German aircraft - the tones on the canvas aligned starkly with the real ground beneath his feet.
The streets were unusually still. Walking beside him were Spain's King Felipe VI and several survivors of the attack. As they approached the memorial from beneath the trees, no one spoke; only the soft scrape of footsteps on stone could be heard.
A wreath was laid, and a minute of silence followed - a simple ritual weighted with unspoken heaviness. When the official silence ended and the crowd shifted slightly, Steinmeier remained motionless a few moments longer, neither raising his head nor turning away. The stillness felt more eloquent than any prepared statement.
He later visited the Gernika Peace Museum, moving slowly through survivor testimonies and archival images. Speaking to the press, he called Gernika "a place where the horror of war and the vulnerability of innocent people have been indelibly etched into our European memory."
He acknowledged the bombing as "a brutal crime, whose sole target was the civilian population," saying he walked through the town "with humility" and insisting the suffering "must not be forgotten."
Those listening stood quietly. Emilio Apperibai - only eight months old when the bombs fell - told local media that the German president's visit was "deeply moving," adding that it should "serve as a reminder, so this never happens again."
Today, Gernika's houses stand neatly, its trees sway gently, its air is clear. Compared with the ruins of 88 years ago, everything has been rebuilt, yet nothing has been erased. As Steinmeier concluded his visit, he called for defending peace and freedom, saying "that is the message Gernika gives us today."
In this town, the words feel anything but abstract. They move like wind - across old stones, across the canvas, and across a community that insists on remembering.
