Flags of Spain on bracelets or tied to vehicle rearview mirrors, many of them high-end, and various badges, most with patriotic messages. These are some of the distinguishing features with which it has been easy to identify the attendees at the wake, funeral, and subsequent cremation of the former Civil Guard lieutenant colonel Antonio Tejero, which was held this Thursday in the Valencian town of Xàtiva, next to the neighboring city of Alzira, where one of the daughters of the revolting ex-uniformed officer resided, and before transferring his remains to Torre del Mar in Malaga.

Right from the start Red hot On La Sexta, Antonio García Ferreras declared, circumspectly:This week's big question is: does the truth matter or not? Even if it's a bitch. The truth is always best, even if it's not always what you imagined, expected, or even wished for.This supposed significance served to highlight that the official documents from February 23rd solidified Juan Carlos I's role as the one responsible for stopping the coup. On every television channel, this was the headline drawn from the declassified documents. Following the People's Party's agenda, the debate focused on the emeritus king's return to Spain as a reward for his actions.But fate, which is often mocking, brought another protagonist to the forefront that day. The death of the coup leader Antonio Tejero resurrected him on television. And how! The image from 1981 of him storming into the Congress of Deputies, the one that secured his place in history, was the least likely choice to provide context for the character. The author of the "Everyone freeze!"He dedicated a good part of his old age to being a lively entertainer at banquets and parties of the Civil Guard and various fascist groups. In Public Mirror They preferred the sequence of Tejero escorted by neo-Nazis on the day of Franco's exhumation. Also, another in which he went to mass and a journalist asked him his opinion on the proposal to ban the Francisco Franco Foundation, and a scene in which he came out to greet people from his balcony. Red Hot They opted for a video of a Civil Guard meal, with the sword and axe emblem behind them. The man ended up raising his glass and shouting, with remarkable fervor, aLong live Franco!"very heartfelt."In Morning people La 1 used similar scenes. Those from the day of Franco's exhumation and another meal to honor him, this time with a fascist group that placed the flag with the eagle right behind Tejero's chair. The celebration culminated with aLong live Spain and long live Christ the King!"which filled the coup leader with jubilation. Most magazines, both morning and afternoon, had sent reporters to the funeral home and were updating non-existent information that was limited to showing the hearse equipped with wreaths of flowers.On public television, however, they went a little further and showed images that were not shown on any other program or channel: coinciding with the Real Madrid Champions League match, a large group of people gathered next to the Bernabéu to pay tribute to Tejero and sang the "Facing the Sun"With his arm raised. The program questioned which coup plotters remained after the coup and whether Francoism had died. The answer is obvious. Judging by the videos of Tejero that were broadcast throughout the day, toasting at various tributes and escorted by his devotees, the coup leader, before dying, was still very much alive." ofspree.

There have been sighs of relief among supporters and defenders of the 1978 Constitution upon discovering that the documents related to the February 23rd coup attempt have turned out to be rather weak and contained nothing relevant regarding King Juan Carlos's involvement in the preparations. This relief is rather debatable, because the image of a head of state who has had to take refuge in the United Arab Emirates for defrauding his country's treasury could hardly be more damaged. But these supporters and defenders still cling to the myth of Juan Carlos as the savior of the democracy we all built together, and they believe that this is enough (and surely it will be) to sustain the narrative of the supposedly providential parliamentary monarchy.

We'll finish this now. immersion in the 23-F which has been going on for days, not without highlighting the irony of fate that it means Tejero died yesterdayPrecisely. Today is the day of reckoning (the final tally). Winners: Pedro Sánchez, who, by declassifying these documents, has steered the political conversation for almost a week and it's worked out brilliantly for him. Winner: Juan Carlos de Borbón, who appears as someone who stopped the coup, with two very large asterisks: they haven't declassified the conversations the king had on the afternoon of the coup with the various captains general of the military regions, and therefore we don't know if he was testing them out; and second, we'll never know if in the days before the king hinted that he would be willing to support what was called "a change of course." Otherwise, nothing new, beyond rubbing our eyes at the fact that a diagram, a schematic that looks like something a primary school student would draw, showing several possible coups, has been kept confidential.

The partial declassification of documents from February 23rd has not brought about any historical shift in the definitive understanding of the coup. If anything, it has somewhat strengthened Juan Carlos's democratic image and revealed details that should come as no surprise: that six CESID agents were involved, that the king spoke with Milans del Bosch before the trial to protect the Crown, that some of the coup plotters regretted having let "the Bourbon" go free, and that the wife of the man who, coincidentally, died that day said: "He's a wretch, a fool"; "So much love for the homeland and look how they've deceived him."

A few days ago, archaeologists discovered underground remains in a hotel in central Barcelona that radically change the map of ancient Bàrcino. From the stones found, scientists have concluded that the forum did not follow the north-south direction, but rather east-west. A complete upheaval for the ancient history of the capital and a well-deserved euphoria for the excavators. Well, the declassification of the 23-F papers has not caused any joy or much surprise: not only because the official map established regarding the failed coup has not been changed, but because the few new stones found only confirm that all those who were involved ended up in prison, but not all who were involved were there. Some surnames: Commander Cortina and Captains García Almenta and Sánchez Valiente, all of them assigned to the Cesid. The first was tried and acquitted. The other two were neither prosecuted nor tried, despite having actively participated in the preparation and execution of the military rebellion, as evidenced by the papers. As for the majority of the rest of the documents I have been able to review, they have made me think of the remembered colleague Pepe Oneto, a brave journalist, director of the also brave Cambio 16 and Tiempo, who as early as 1982 published in a book the transcription of the calls made to the wife of Lieutenant Colonel Tejero and who now some are surprised by its content, more typical of a Berlanga or Torrente film than of a command from the "worthy corps". The same can be said of some Cesid reports now "revealed", which have also appeared in some of the hundreds of dedicated books.

A few days ago, archaeologists discovered underground remains in a hotel in the center of Barcelona that radically change the map of ancient Barcino. Based on the stones found, scientists have concluded that the forum did not follow a north-south direction, but rather an east-west one. This is a complete reversal of the ancient history of the capital and a well-deserved euphoria for the excavators. Well then, the declassification of the 23-F documents They have caused neither joy nor hardly any surprise: not only because the established official map of the failed coup hasn't changed, but also because the few new pieces found only confirm that all those who were responsible ended up in jail, but not all those who were responsible were actually there.

The death of Antonio Tejero Molina at the age of 93, coinciding with the declassification of parts of the secret documents surrounding the plot, has given double prominence to the Lieutenant Colonel of the Civil Guard who carried out the last successful military coup. It was the afternoon of February 23, 1981 (23-F), when the Congress of Deputies was voting on the investiture of Leopoldo Calvo-Sotelo as head of government. Tejero burst in shouting “Everyone to the floor!” at the head of 265 members of the Civil Guard who fired warning shots and kidnapped the parliamentarians. Jaime Milans del Bosch joined the coup in Valencia, where he was Captain General and brought tanks into the streets. However, the leader of the coup was General Alfonso Armada, who encouraged Tejero's assault on Congress and later presented himself as the savior of the deputies: he offered to negotiate with Tejero for the formation of a broad-spectrum government that the general would preside over if the parliamentarians voted for him. But when Tejero heard that Armada's executive included socialists and communists, he considered it a “botch job”. He said he had not pulled off that “feat” to end up like that and aborted the maneuver. When King Juan Carlos I condemned the coup on television in the early hours of the 24th, it collapsed. The implicated military personnel were tried in a court-martial, and Tejero was sentenced to 30 years in prison, but was released in 1996. After the trial, he withdrew from public life and allowed himself to be honored in prison by the stream of civilians who visited him (buses came) and bought his paintings. And, although he might have considered fleeing, he did not. Nor did he publish his testimony, even though the publishing house Planeta offered him a blank check in 2000. He became the “great silent one” of 23-F. In February 2016, the newspaper El Mundo reported that Tejero had written memoirs in prison, and the military man explained that one of his sons wanted to write a book about him. It would not be surprising, therefore, if the “Tejerista” vision of the coup were to emerge. But it seems unlikely that it would overturn what we know about the events, well documented by historian Roberto Muñoz Bolaños (El 23-F y los otros golpes de estado de la Transición, 2021). In fact, he points out that, above all, the civilian plot of the so-called “Armada solution” needs to be clarified: the plan that Armada devised to lead a motion of no confidence in Congress against Adolfo Suárez, which would lead him to preside over a broad-spectrum government. When the choice of Calvo-Sotelo as president thwarted him, Armada activated the 23-F coup. Thus, according to Muñoz, the most important of the archives on coup plots still inaccessible due to the official secrets law are likely the data on meetings of “economic and political sectors since 1977 with the aim of replacing Suárez” and making “a conservative turn” in the political change, meetings that gave birth to the aforementioned “Armada solution”. Nothing was declassified about this yesterday. However, if Tejero's testimony were to come to light, the plot he led among lower-ranking military personnel and civilians could be unraveled. This could include the Frente de la Juventud, so that its members would be the ones to occupy Congress. Likewise, it could shed light on a previous coup plot that Tejero orchestrated with fellow military man Ricardo Sáenz de Ynestrillas: the so-called Operation Galaxia, which aimed to occupy Moncloa in November 1978. Once discovered, the plot was downplayed to avoid causing concern, and those involved were sentenced to a few months in prison.

The author of the failed coup d'état of February 23, 1981, Antonio Tejero Molina, has died in Valencia at the age of 93, according to various media outlets that have confirmed the information with the family. The death of the former lieutenant colonel coincides with the same day the Spanish government declassified documents about the 23-F coup d'état. Tejero had been in delicate health for several years and this Thursday night he gave up. Born on April 30, 1932, in Alhaurín el Grande (Málaga), he joined the Civil Guard in 1951, from which he was expelled after being sentenced to 30 years in prison for military rebellion. He served part of his sentence in Sant Ferran Castle in Figueres, a former military prison. In 1996, he was released having served only half of his sentence.

Antonio Tejero Molina, the mastermind behind the failed coup attempt of February 23, 1981, died Wednesday afternoon in Alzira (Valencian Community) at the age of 93, as reported by the law firm representing his family in a statement. The former lieutenant colonel's death coincides with the same day the Spanish government declassified documents related to the 23-F coup. Tejero had been in poor health for several years and passed away Wednesday afternoon. In the statement, the family's lawyers explained that "in the absolute conviction that death is not the end, [the family] is grateful for all the expressions of affection received during these difficult times and requests the utmost respect for their privacy."

The title of this article is not a joke in bad taste or a boutade. This November 20th will mark half a century since the end of the dictatorship, but his long shadow continues to loom over Spanish society, with increasing intensity in recent times. Vox is working tirelessly to whitewash him. Franco doesn't rest in peace, and neither do we. On social media, it's occasionally trending topicAccording to the latest CIS survey, 21.3% of Spaniards believe that Franco's regime was good or very good, and among men the percentage rises to 26.8%. Naturally, Vox voters are the most favorable to the dictatorship (60%), but PP voters are no slouch (40%). Both Spains remain perfectly defined by the Caudillo. In history, buried continuities (family traditions, mentalities, inertia) are stronger than ruptures.