The memory of the Franco regime has returned to the media spotlight due to the ritual of the fiftieth anniversary of the dictator's death. It was a day of subdued celebrations, in an atmosphere of anticipation because there were great doubts about how things would turn out. I remember that with my colleagues from the magazine Fear Favor We decided to play ping-pong on my terrace, until signs of indignation began to emerge from a neighboring balcony, protesting the lack of respect.
The first and foremost thing to remember is that the dictator died in his bed as head of state. And that, therefore, the beginning of a new era—if there was any consensus, it was that without Franco things couldn't be exactly the same—began with fascism in power. The responsibility of leading this new stage apparently fell to King Juan Carlos de Borbón, enthroned as successor by the dictator himself. But even he wasn't entirely sure. As I've explained before, a few years ago, at the CCCB, King Juan Carlos, in an exhibition about radio, in the room that commemorated the assassination of Carrero Blanco, told me: "If this hadn't happened, neither you nor I would be here now." "Not me; I don't know about you," I replied. "Neither would I," he said, "because you wouldn't have let me do what I had to do." An anecdote that reflects the precariousness of the Transition.
The general renewal of the right, represented by Adolfo Suárez, paved the way, despite always being in the crosshairs of die-hard Francoists. I believe the 23-F coup attempt was a defining moment. That charade—which foreshadowed a more substantial project and could have ended very badly—acted as a kind of inoculation. Suddenly, the path began to clear. And Leopoldo Calvo-Sotelo, the forgotten president, elected after the seizure of Parliament, made it possible for him to transfer power a year later to Felipe González, who brought to power a party from the Second Republic that had spent the dictatorship underground: the PSOE (Spanish Socialist Workers' Party). The shadow of Francoism was definitively fading.
Now, the fiftieth anniversary of the dictator's death coincides with a moment when the far right—which still yearns for and sanctifies Franco—has fully entered the political arena. And not only that, but in the right-left dynamic that shapes democracy, supposedly democratic right-wing parties are increasingly aligning themselves with the far right throughout Europe. In the Spanish case, precisely these days—an interesting coincidence of timing—the People's Party (PP) has taken the definitive step it had previously maintained in ambiguity: an alliance with Vox, on the occasion of the Valencian crisis, recognizing the far right as its main partner in building a majority in the Spanish Parliament. In other words, the taboo against fascism has been broken. The right wing is adapting. It's not the same, they say. Yes, but it's similar. Democratic unity against authoritarianism is waning. Franco's return to the headlines, in the form of the 50th anniversary of his death, thus takes on a cautionary tone. And it will be telling to see who commemorates the dictator's death and how.
