'Everyone stay still'

When the coup of February 23rd took place, I was a young boy in high school. At home, we heard President Pujol's speech on the radio, and my father's comment—"Just like Companys in 1936!"—didn't help to calm the family atmosphere. Then the king spoke, and we understood that the tried It had failed. But the truth, with all its twists and turns, has gradually come to light as the key figures of that era have given their accounts. Books and documentaries have added—or removed—layers of mystery. And this week, ironically coinciding with Tejero's death, that chapter of historical memory has been officially closed with the declassification of official documents. As Javier Cercas predicted, there has been no sensational revelation. Perhaps because many documents were destroyed; perhaps because many things, who knows if the most important ones, were never written down.

But it wasn't necessary to wait for the release of these documents to confirm some disturbing facts about recent Spanish history and the true outcome of the democratic transition. We know, for example, that King Juan Carlos played a decisive role in the resignation of Adolfo Suárez, who stepped down "so that democracy will not again be a mere parenthesis in the history of Spain," a message so transparent that it admits no interpretation. We know, because it has been extensively explained, about the external pressure from reactionary sectors, uneasy about the scope of the political reform and the problem territorial. I'm referring to the political, economic, and media right wing, and most of the military leaders. Josep Tarradellas also played a significant role, and despite knowing what was brewing (he wrote about it), he made some striking statements in which he called for "a change of course" and lamented that on the issue of regional autonomy "we've moved too fast."

We also know that General Armada spoke with various parties—including the PSOE—about a military and democratic solution (if you'll excuse the oxymoron) to confront the chaos; whether King Juan Carlos, whose tutor he had been, either encouraged him or failed to interpret his words, we don't know, but we do know that when Armada appeared before Congress to transform Tejero's coup into a soft blow With him as president, he had the prior permission of the Zarzuela Palace, on the condition that he did not say that he was speaking on behalf of the king.

And we know, of course, the immediate consequences of February 23rd: Spain's automatic entry into NATO, just as the United States demanded, and the passage of LOAPA, a law to curb regional autonomy agreed upon by the UCD and the Socialists (including the Catalans). And we know, finally, that General Armada, sentenced to 30 years in prison, was pardoned by the PSOE government after serving only seven years (for comparison, Jordi Cuixart served four, and Pablo Hasél has served five).

We can therefore see that while February 23rd marked the end of the Spanish coup tradition, it also made it clear that the new democracy was under tutelage, and that part of its destiny lay in the hands of a head of state imposed by Franco and who held the leadership of the three branches of the armed forces, which, incidentally, proved decisive in the fallout of many captains general during the attempted coup. The current king, Felipe VI, has inherited this position of supreme military commander. But in his moment of glory, in the televised speech to endorse the repression of October 1, 2017, he was not in uniform; he didn't need to be.

The People's Party has called for the return of Juan Carlos I and the rehabilitation of his image as the savior of democracy. I believe that present-day Spain deserves no less.